BY : Mek
Category: M through R > Peter Pan
Dragon prints: 341
Disclaimer: This is an original work of fan fiction based on the original stage play: Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie. Any resemblance to actual people, events or similar fan fictions is entirely coincidental.


By Mek

Flat 4, 14 Kensington Gardens, London.

All of this has happened before, and as surely as the sun shall rise and set it will all happen again. Although maybe not exactly. For events that might start the same as they always have and follow a familiar path, the passage of time can play tricks upon an aging mind, you may have remembered things differently or not at all. But as certain as every time you set foot outside your front door, whenever an opportunity presents itself there is truly no telling where you could end up and what awaits might very well be an awfully big adventure.

On this occasion like many others that came before, it began with the oddest noise in the dead of night like the ringing of bells. Not the great tolling bells of a church, but those more akin to the jingling of a Christmas sleigh. The yuletide had come and gone though, and the new year had rolled into January some three weeks past with icy cold frosts and long, dark nights. All the joyful decorations had long since been packed away leaving only the room, a cot and a small bed, an even number of wardrobes and a box full of toys. Three mice staggered drunkenly across the floorboards on their way home from an orgy. A cool draft wafted through the old sash window at one end of the room, shivering the white net curtains as they hung long and loose on either side. Beyond the frost covered rooftops and steaming chimney stacks of Kensington, countless specks of starlight shone through the vast black vale as it hung over London.

If you are lucky enough to glare into the darkness of a clear night at just the right moment, you may see at times a shapeless pool of colours suspended there in the sky. Then if you focus your eyes tighter, the pool begins to take shape and the colours become so vivid that with a little imagination they must set on fire. But just before they turn ablaze you shall see all of time and space unfold. This is the nearest you ever get to it on the mainland, just one heavenly moment and if there could be two moments you might just see in the distance, far beyond the second star to the right, a small island where faeries live, were natives dance, pirates squabble and mermaids singing. Such are the innocent dreams of a child.

“Tink.” A voice whispered through the dark. “Tinkerbelle?” It came again, stirring the subconscious of the youthful listener abed beneath the covers. Tucked down below, between her lithe young legs, her fingers had been gently massaging, enjoying the exquisite pleasure that she gave to herself. “Oh Tink. Where are you Tink?”

“Come now Tink, I’m bored of this game.” The voice came again. “Just tell me where you’ve hidden it. Tink?”  The listener slowly expelled a breath through her nose, frustrated at being disturbed from her dream, for this child’s dream was not so innocent. The girl opened her tired eyes. For a moment she thought she saw a shape in the dark, flash over the television set and… she blinked and rubbed those sleep filled eyes in wonder. A boy stood in the twilight between the open wardrobe doors to the left of her bed. Her finger slipped across her clitoris as she tensed, increasing the unexpected rush of adrenaline tenfold. Cautiously she slipped the other hand from under the covers, reached out and plucked her mobile telephone from the bedside shelf.

“Ah, here it is.” The boy declared. He was an unusual looking boy with scruffy hair beneath a triangular green hat, a long olive green shirt with several holes and even greener stockings. Yet there was something strangely familiar about him, as though she knew the boy or remembered seeing him somewhere before. There was a handsomeness to him too, a confidence in the way he held his head up. He flitted back, holding something dark in his hands, hopping on one foot as though trying to press the object, whatever it was, to his other. “I found it, Tink, I found it. Oh the cleverness of me.”

“Hello?” She asked from beneath the comfort of her duvet as she held up the phone, pointed it in his direction and took a photograph. The boy started with surprise as the phone flashed like lightning had abruptly erupted from it, a bright cold light that shone across the entire room. He appeared to almost jump out of his skin in fright as he repelled backwards, tripped over the toy box and fell with a great crash against the radiator on the far wall. Toys, computer games and dozens of Lego bricks scattered across the floor. How this commotion did not wake the infant sleeping in the cot, she could not tell. With concern she leaped from her bed and rushed to his side. “Oh dear, are you alright?”

“I think so.” The boy looked at her uncomfortably, blinking like one not sure whether he was awake or asleep. Gingerly he pushed himself up until he was sat against the warm radiator and could look around. He dusted himself off while he glanced this way and that, as though searching for something until his eyes set upon her and stared openly with increasing bewilderment. Instinctively she blushed and thrust her arms across her bare chest with a sudden onset of modesty. “But I’ve lost my shadow again.”

“Your shadow, how can you lose your shadow?” She asked in confusion as she looked down upon him. He bore a sorrowful sight slumped against the white corrugated metal of the radiator in clothes that were slit and torn. In fairness she could not have looked much better, long scraggly bed hair flowed in all directions across her young body covered only by the slip of her little black thong and a thin choker around her neck. “You didn’t hit your head, did you?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, it was sown on and everything.” The boy complained. “But it came off and…”

“What is your name?” The girl asked blankly while looking down at the mobile phone in her hand. She was curious and half certain the boy was concussed, but thought it better not to draw any conclusions too soon. She also had an odd feeling, as though she should know the answer.

“Why, I’m Peter.” He said proudly standing, as though she really should have known all along. “Peter Pan, at your service.” He bowed elaborately with one arm tucked under as he bent over and the other outstretched, which he twirled for emphasis before returning upright. She had to admit, his name did have a familiar ring to it, as though somehow from a story she had heard, although she could not for that instant remember which one. “And you are?”

“Oh, well I’m Leigh-Fleur Elizabeth Francesca Darling-Finchwood.” She declared while trying to copy his movements and still keeping one arm modestly over her otherwise bare chest, with the other reaching out to stop herself from tumbling over. The attempt might have looked elegant if it had not been quite so absurd. “Erm, excuse me.”

“That’s a very long name.” Peter called after her as she dashed across the room to the open wardrobe. Leaf was sure she recognised him, or his name at least. Where from exactly she did not rightly know, although she recalled vaguely a story her grandmother had once told. A story of pirates and mermaids, and a young boy that could fly.

“Yes.” She agreed, grabbing a fluffy white dressing gown and forced her arm into it. “I suppose it is. Most people just call me Leaf.” With one arm in the gown and the other holding it up, she was momentarily exposed. Two small nipples protruded like little thimbles from her torso, surrounded by two circular pink areolae upon two very pert, fleshy mounds. They had just enough curve around them to stand out from the rest of her body as deliberately shaped, delightfully youthful, perfectly formed breasts.

“Leaf.” Peter blinked. “There is almost nothing that has such a keen sense of fun as a fallen leaf. Yes, a fine name for you if I do say so, which I do.” He was standing proudly with a hand on each hip as though posing for his photograph to be taken and seemed entirely oblivious her bashful humility of her indiscretion, or at least he was making a valiant effort to look like he was. In truth she quite liked the thought of being seen, but he was glancing about again distracted. Quickly she pushed the other arm into its sleeve and covered herself with the long furry gown as it draped around her knees, tying the fluffy cord about her waist.

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