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Peace Pipe	By : lexyhamilton Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Het Views: 9213 -:- 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
- 1-Peace Pipe
- 1
Title: Peace Pipe
Pairing: Peter/Wendy
Rating: hard R?
Warnings: Pretty badly PWP. Chan, I guess, depending on definition of 'chan.' (Softcore) bondage.
A/N: In answer to the_nether_land's challenge #3. Music, bonfire, and leather mentioned. Plus some denied orgasm thrown in, though I didn't exactly intend to...

The Indian celebration of Tiger Lily’s return was wilder than anything Wendy had experienced. The primitive instruments made simple but surprisingly affecting music. They had all danced madly that evening, Peter flying up in crazy spirals not unlike the amber sparks that shot out of the bonfire when some of the wood inside it collapsed. Wendy was quite upset at seeing Peter bestow so much attention on Tiger Lily. He inhaled from the long peace pipe many times, with such fervor as if he was drinking it in, heaving out his chest comically, laughing hysterically when the Indian girl bestowed kisses on his body, acrid smoke rolling out of his mouth in short bursts with each frenzied ‘Ha’.

Wendy had been sitting, witnessing all this without a word, hoping Peter would turn to her so she could give him a ponderous sort of glare, but the boy had no mind to. She finally sprang to her feet, surprised at her own indignation, and grabbed Peter by the wrist, hauling him up to his feet and dragging him into the woods under the pretense of going home, though she was not even sure which direction the treehouse was in from that small clearing.

Peter was laughing, stumbling once in a while over roots and stones as they traveled deeper and deeper into the woods. Finally Wendy stopped, reluctantly asking him if he knew the way home. He grinned and shrugged. There was a strange look in his eye and his cheeks were noticeably flushed even under the red stripes he had taken the liberty to draw on his face.

“I don’t know. But I feel like my heart is going to jump out of my chest!” he cried, hugging his own ribcage, laughing. “And it starts going even faster when I look at you. And I keep wanting more—to get even closer to you. As if I want my chest to burst!”

Wendy instinctively felt there was something inappropriate to this and shrank back. But then Peter smiled, and her resolve melted away. What harm could it do? Better with than with the Indian girl. They rolled on the grass together, Wendy sensing they were on the verge of something great but not quite knowing how to get there. She had heard something from the girls in her class, but the thought both frightened and confused her. And yet the very wilderness of Neverland made it seem alright. Nothing that transpired here made much sense, so fear seemed little reason not to tell Peter that it would feel better to do it naked.

Naked they became—two smooth bodies on the mottled forest floor. Wendy looked for stars twinkling between branches and then saw the same untamed light in Peter’s eyes above hers. No, something was amiss with him tonight and it made her uneasy. Perhaps he was growing up at last. But then the blind, furious passion with which he rubbed himself to and fro against her lower body did not remind her in the least of her father or any other adult she knew. They were discovering something new, it seemed.

“Oh!” Peter gasped out and collapsed on Wendy, breathing erratically. “Something in my chest is really going to explode.” He was fever hot and she could feel his heart race as he lay on top of her.

“Peter get off, you’re too heavy.”

He lifted without really moving a muscle, the beginning of levitation, though still in contact with her body. Something hard was nudging itself between her legs and though Wendy knew well enough what it was, she could not bear to look. Peter seemed wholly unembarrassed by the funny things happening with his body and was only bent on insinuating himself between Wendy’s legs. He succeeded with a sudden push and Wendy clapped her legs together, all too late.

Peter moaned. The smell of the smoke was still on his breath as his head fell forward to meet with Wendy’s forehead. She hated the feeling of being pinned, but the frenzied rubbing that resumed courtesy of a light movement of Peter’s hips brought very new, surprisingly pleasant sensations. She grasped at his back, fingers digging in so much that the boy had a brief look of pain on his face.

Whereas they started dry, almost chafing, the area was now slick with something even stickier than sweat. Their movement even produced funny sounds, but Peter hardly seemed aware of anything by now, biting into his own lip, eyes half-closed, sweat droplets occasionally falling on her. He was moving irregularly, faltering, clumsy in his own frenzy and sometimes slipping out from between her legs entirely. Wendy clenched her thighs not only because it felt better but because of how his eyelashes would flutter down and a moan that seemed to be born deep in his gut would escape his lips. Finally his whole body shuddered, spine arching, crotches digging into each other so closely that Wendy felt it, wet and hot, against her very buttocks.

The boy rolled off and lay grinning and panting. Wendy was still feeling strange deep inside. At once she remembered herself.

“Dear Peter, I think we shall have to be married since we did that.”

“What’s that?” Peter mumbled, still stupid with bliss.

“It means we will forever be bound to each other and love one anoth—”

“Tiger Lily never said that. And she’s the one who taught it to me.”

Wendy felt the feeling suddenly wither, as if his words had somehow affected her body directly. “You did this with Tiger Lily?”

“Mmhm. She also puts her mouth on it. That’s really good. But you’re not bad either. She has these things…” Peter gestured on his own body, rather unmistakably forming breasts with cupped hands. “I like to put my mouth between them.”

Wendy's nose was tingling with tears and she became acutely aware that there was still nasty clamminess between her thighs when she sat up. “Putting her mouth there? That’s appalling, Peter. No girl should ever do that.”

“But I do it to her too. It feels so good for the person.”

“Well you’re a nasty boy then, Peter. That’s wrong.”

“Who says.”

“…I… do…” Wendy’s hesitation increased as Peter turned to her, smiling lopsided like something wicked from the woods. She gave out a little scream when he lunged for her, hooking his arms around her legs and throwing his face into the fray. She protested the first several licks, but was soon lost to a sensation many times more powerful than that which she felt before. It felt marvelous, Peter even licking up the residue left on her thighs, and his tongue did such wonders elsewhere that she soon grabbed his hair as if to make sure his head would not leave. He was on his knees, his head low at the ground, sending his ass up into the air. Wendy came to release his hair and ran her hands up his back until she reached his buttocks, her hand pulling them in, launching his whole torso forward into her. Peter moaned luxurious air currents before delving in deeper.

Pleasure crescendoed several times, each a series of upsurges that had her pulsating inside and without. Having pleased her to his satisfaction, Peter rose up grinning, licking his lips obscenely, but Wendy could hardly criticize him when her limbs were still trembling from that onslaught.

“I like you better, you know,” he said, as he huddled next to her, suddenly cold and goosebumped. Wendy had already forgotten about his callous words from before, and felt only gratification at this admission.

“I like your looks more,” Peter murmured as he lay back on the grass, saying it with an air of grave consideration. “More like me.”

Wendy did not have the urge to dissect his words and be angry so she lay down next to him, in such long silence that she witnessed the dew begin condensing on the eyelashes of his closed eyes. She startled when they suddenly flew open and she immediately noticed something had changed in them.

“I’m so hungry. Let’s go find something to eat.” He got up, hardly waiting for her.

She stood at the base of the tree, looking up at him sitting on the branch, thin legs coming down almost low enough for her to reach. He was gorging on fruit like she’d never seen him do before.

“What’s the matter with you tonight?” she finally ventured to ask.

“What, you mean the coca?” He said it with such a mouthful still in his mouth Wendy wasn’t sure if she’d heard it right.

“Coca?”

“The stuff in the peacepipe. The first round was a calming one, makes you sleepy, and I don’t much go for that, but the second round is the victory mix. That’s where the coca is. I love the feeling of coca. Makes you feel alive.”

“Do you have to smoke that to feel alive?” she asked incredulously, though she had to admit the previous hour or so had been exciting for her too.

“Fighting pirates can do it too, but you can’t do that all the time. Coca is almost better. Makes me feel real funny all over. Makes me like touching.” He jumped down, face frightfully dirty and sticky from the fruit. “Come on, I want something else than fruit. It always feels like I haven’t eaten for days after coca…”

They returned to the site of the celebration, hand in hand, though Wendy tried to wipe off the sticky juice that got transferred to her palm as soon as Peter’s grip opened. The Lost Boys had all left, and the Indians had already retired to their teepees, within a stone’s throw of the site. No food besides small scraps on the ground had been left, but both Peter and Wendy espied something on the ground. Peter approached it, sniffing at the pipe.

“There’s still stuff in here. You want to try it now?”

Wendy shook her head timidly. She rather liked the effect it produced in Peter, but it also frightened her. In any case, it seemed wholly inappropriate for a lady to behave in that wild fashion.

Peter lit a stick in the dying embers of the bonfire and lit it up. He inhaled, his eyes rolling up in pleasure. Wendy laughed. It was funny to watch to him. He took several long drags before putting it on the ground, wisps of smoke traveling up from it.

“Do you want to play a game Tiger Lily taught me?”

Mention of the other girl no longer bothered Wendy now that she had been proclaimed the more desirable, so she gladly agreed and followed Peter’s instructions to tie his wrists and ankles back around one of the totem poles. He was now kneeling, his back pressed against the carved wood, obscenely exposed. Wendy felt a thrill when she thought that someone might come out and see them.

“Now if you put your mouth on it and suck… but only once…”

Wendy hesitated but obeyed. Her inhibitions were slowly fading away and taking it into her mouth didn’t seem quite as dirty as it did before. Peter’s body responded quickly and unmistakably, and what had made her uncomfortable before now seemed to delight.

“Now—do it every once in a while, but never twice in a row. Even if I beg. It’ll be so much better at the end…”

Wendy followed his instructions, leaning back each time. Peter was soon straining against the leather bonds binding him, attempting to thrust, moaning, pleading, begging, soon crying for her to lavish more attention on it, and groaning very loudly when she finally would descend for a quick lick. She watched him—sagging against his bonds, flushed, face suffused with tears, looking like a lunatic because he was giggling between sobs.

“Oh!” he cried. “It hurts already, it hurts!”

Wendy knelt behind him to untie but he turned, surprisingly very stern and annoyed, to tell her that it was not the time for it yet.

She felt awesome power and fright at the responsibility she carried. She could hear the excited thump of her heart in her very ears, as if the drums, lying abandoned, had revived. How wonderful coca was, to reduce someone cold and aloof like Peter Pan to a mewling, carnal mess—ready to give and take pleasure in a way she never thought imaginable!

This was why she did not hesitate to bring the pipe to his lips when he asked for a boost. It was why she laughed right along with him when he shouted and chortled at how his chest felt like it would burst with happiness, and only shushed him in fear that they would be discovered at their game. It was why she didn’t know what to do when his head slumped forward and he was suddenly seized with a few shakes before falling very silent and still.

She untied him with some difficulty and his body fell forward onto the forest floor, lifeless where there had just now been the very fountain of youth and vivacity, not just bubbling but veritably on the boil.

Wendy turned him over, but didn’t like the look of the sand that had gotten into his open eyes. His mouth had still been sticky and dirt now clung to his face. Death was very dirty, she noted, growing progressively more afraid. She had heard that people pissed themselves, that their bodies grew stiff and gave off a smell, but why did that pretty face have to grow so blank and… dirty? She was crying rather hard by now, and flung the long wooden pipe deep into the woods, refusing to really think about what had just transpired.
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Peace Pipe