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Awakenings	By : KimberlyA Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Het Views: 16011 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Author's Note: I must admit that the Peter I've been writing in this fic is mostly based on the 2003 film, but he is also slightly influenced by the character in J.M. Barrie's book. The film shows that Peter Pan doesn't know what a kiss or a thimble is, but in the book his ignorance extends much further than that.
Many thanks to MistressofDragons, who submitted the second review of this story!

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Chapter 8
In the Bedroom
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Peter did not sleep long, for his instincts would not allow it while they were so exposed to any approaching attack. But he did not wake Wendy immediately, instead lying still with her in his arms, their bare bodies pressed together. He watched the stars above them, so different from the stars in Neverland. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the ocean in the distance, the sound of the wind in the grass, the sound of his heart beat, now slow and steady.
He lay there in their grassy nest and tried to memorize every inch of Wendy's body where it pressed against his: the curve of her shoulder, the soft weight of her breast, the firmness of her hipbone, the smooth length of her legs, the silky brush of her hair against his neck and shoulder, the subtle arch of her cheekbone, the dear angle of her chin.
When the dark, starry sky began to lighten with the first distant sign of the coming sun, Peter gently turned Wendy in his arms so that he could kisr lir lips. She blinked sleepily, making Peter smile.
"Come on," he whispered. "Let me take you home."
But Wendy's limbs were still heavy with relaxed languor, and so after re-dressing himself Peter attempted to dress her in her nightgown, causing much sleepy giggling on Wendy's part. Once she seemed reasonably well covered, he lifted her into his arms and bestowed one more gentle kiss upon her lips before flying into the air and back toward London.
As they flew, Wendy became somewhat revived by the cool air in her face. She began pressing distracting kisses upon the side of Peter's neck and throat, which at times seemed to disrupt his flying, causing it to grow rather erratic, but he did not tell her to stop, only smiling more broadly.
By the time they arrived at the Darlings' home, the night sky had still only shifted from starry darkness to a brightening blue. The dawn was still some time away.
Peter flew in at the window and into Wendy's bedroom, depositing her carefully upon the soft piles of white bedding. He gazed down at her a long moment, adorably snuggled as she was, with her eyes drowsily closing again, before he whispered, "Good night, Wendy," and flew reluctantly from the room, onward toward Neverland.

* * *

When Wendy moved to change position in the bed some short time later, she sleepily realized that she was hopelessly tangled in her nightdress. Stumbling to her feet beside the bed, she found her gown not only rather twisted about her waist, but also terribly misbuttoned. This last brought an amused smile to her slowly wakening face, for Peter must surely have attempted the buttons himself, with a rather obvious lack of success.
Shaking her gown to let it fall loosely around her, remedying the tangling problem, Wendy then went to work on unbuttoning the rather haphazard top half of her nightdress.

* * *

As he flew, Peter thought on all that he had felt this night, as well as all that Wendy had done and said, and he slowly began to have an idea. A very strange idea.
He remembered now that Wendy had said something about a man's body fitting inside a woman's body. It had made no sense to him at the time, but now, remembering the moment when his finger had accidentally slipped into some unexpected hollow between Wendy's legs, Peter wondered if the two weren't somehow related.
He wondered if perhaps the same place his finger had gone was meant to encase the hardness that grew between his own legs. Could she possibly have a hole between her legs large enough for that? But then how did she walk? Wasn't it terribly inconvenient? Did things get lost in there? How could she just have a big empty place in the middle? The possibility seemed exceedingly strange.
And yet it made sense, in a strange way, that the place between his legs might somehow relate to the place between hers, if men and women truly were made to fit together.
The more he thought on it, the more the idea grew and expanded in his mind. He was not sure if he was correct, but he found himself far too excited by the possibilities to simply go home and wait to see Wendy later.
Peter turned around and flew very rapidly back toward London.

* * *

When Peter flew quite impertinently through the window, Wendy clutched her nightdress closed before her, for she had only just finished unbuttoning the mess he had created earlier.
"Peter!" she hissed in surprise, glancing back toward the door as if expecting her father to come walking in at any moment.
Peter landed only inches from her, putting his hands upon her upper arms and gazing into her upraised face. "Come with me!" he insisted. If he were to ask her such momentous questions, he would prefer to do it somewhere he was more comfortable. The insides of houses made him itch, all enclosed and permanent and locked.
But Wendy shook her head, quite confused at Peter's sudden reappearance and demand. "Peter, I need to sleep."
"Then," began Peter hesitantly, trying to think of some alternative that might still allow him to investigate these puzzling new ideas he was having, "may I stay here with you, just for a little while? I'll go before morning, I promise."
Wendy hesitated, but found that she could not resist the eager plea in Peter's eyes. In truth, she was flattered that Peter had come back so quickly, and excited to be near him again. She smiled. "All right, Peter. Just for a little while."
Peter nearly whooped with victory, but Wendy clapped a hand over his mouth just in time, shaking her head. "We must be very quiet, Peter. My parents are in the next room!"
Peter nodded, her hand still over his mouth. He smiled against her palm, and Wendy released him. Looking down at her, Peter boldly pushed her nightdress off of her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor around her feet. Wendy gasped, but the sound was almost coy, as if she had been wanting this as much as he, but had not been brazen enough to say so.
As Wendy sat upon the edge of her bed, Peter let his own leaves and vines fall to the floor, and then followed her onto that soft mound of white. When they lay down beside each other, Peter's skin was brown against the paleness of the bedclothes, but Wendy had not long to ponder the contrast before he was flying into the air to hover above her, their bodies aligned as they had been that first night when he woke her.
"Peter...?" she began, but Peter pressed his mouth to hers, and all desire to talk was lost. Wendy returned his kiss greedily, her body still humming with the earlier pleasure he had given her. She raised her arms to stroke Peter's back, her hands caressing the smoothness of his skin over firmly defined muscles. Tightening her arms around him, she pulled him down toward herself.
As Wendy drew him down, Peter settled between her legs, where he had been before. But this was the first time he had been there when they were both naked, and the experience was quite different. The dark curling hair pressed against him until he shifted his position.
And then, suddenly, the wet heat he had explored with his fingers was suddenly touching the most sensitive part of his body, the hardness between his legs, and Peter sucked in a shocked breath of air. At the meeting of their flesh, Wendy, too, gasped and pulled her face away to look up at him above her.
Peter smoothed his hands over her pale breasts, cupping them and gently squeezing, toying with the hardened nipples, wanting to experience all parts of her body at the same time, wanting everything at once, for the longing within him was just that strong.
Wendy could not help but arch against him in response to his treatment of her breasts, but her movement caused them to rub against each other between their legs. Both of them groaned softly.
Leaning down to claim Wendy's lips in another heated kiss, Peter began artlessly thrusting his hips so that his hardness slipped and slid against Wendy's heat. Even in his passion-hazed mind, Peter felt sure that there must be some entry there, though he did not understand how or where.
Beneath him, Wendy too was drunk on kisses, on the feel of Peter's body above her own, on the memories of the pleasure they had shared on the moonlit hillside. Peter's ill-aimed thrusts sent him sliding against her over and over again, building her passion higher and higher.
But as Wendy reached down one trembling, eager hand to guide him, to show him the way, some small noise, some creaking, perhaps of her sleeping parents turning over in their bed, made her eyes open wide, made her suddenly remember where she was, and who she was. Made her suddenly remember the responsibilities of a proper young lady, and of a someday bride.
The awareness of her trusting parents so near, of her brothers sleeping so innocently down the hall, of the fashionably appropriate gowns hanging in the armoire against the wall ... it all brought duty and propriety crowding thickly about her like a curtain ... or like a shroud. If this moment had arrived on the grassy hillside, she might have forgotten, might have acted on instinct and desire alone. But here, in her family's home, everything was different.
She would not shame her family. She could not be so selfish.
The hand she had been extending to guide Peter into her body instead rose to press against his chest, holding him away from her. "No, Peter," she whispered, fighting tears. "I cannot."
Peter gazed down at her in utter confusion, his lips red and glistening with her kisses. "You cannot what?"
"I cannot do this," Wendy explained, helping Peter not at all. And then she met his eyes with sorrow and apology. "This one thing ... I must save for ... my husband."
Peter jerked back as if he had been burned. Husband? It was Wendy who spoke the word, but Peter heard it instead in Hook's deep mocking voice, telling Peter that he would be replaced, that Wendy would find a husband and forget all about him.
Hook had been right about Wendy latching the window. It appeared he had been right about this, as well. Wendy was pushing him away, saving something, something most likely very valuable, something she would not give to Peter ... she was saving it for this other man, this man who was her husband.
She was turning Peter away ... for a husband. She would forget all about him. All of his feelings for her meant nothing.
Peter had little experience with rejection, and his dislike for disappointment was well-known. His heart thudded dully in his chest, his eyes fighting tears. He averted his face quickly, not wanting Wendy to see how deeply she had wounded him.
As soon as he had recovered from his initial shock, Peter flew from the bed, rapidly re-clothing himself, purposely not looking at Wendy where she huddled miserably among the white bedclothes. As he turned toward the open window, Wendy said softly, with tears now spilling from her eyes, "I'm sorry, Peter."
But Peter did not reply, flying out the window and into the rising dawn, his heart burning with a pain as real as if Wendy had plunged a sword through his chest.

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Author's End Note: Sorry 'bout that. My stories always have at least a little bit of angst, because I love it so. :)
3 more chapters.
- 7
- 8
- 9
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Awakenings