AN: Shorter than the wait warrants but I'll do better next time, I promise.

milk teeth couldn't hold me

chapter three

In the morning, Wendy's memory of the dream did not fade. She had not expected it to. None of the others ever had. But, for once, the events of the night had seemed so unreal that she half-expected them to have actually been the products of her imagination instead of moments truly lived.

But then what was Neverland if not imagination made real?

Wendy did not bother to philosophize on the nature of her nightly prison-garden. Instead, she found herself vacillating between relief and horror (and then more horror) as the sun marched steadily forward into the day.

What she had done last night - what she had let the Pan do; what she had begged him to do - had happened on some plane, in some way. She had given her first kiss (and her second, third and fourth until counting was lost to her) to a demon. She was defiled; a harlot by any proper standards. A quiet scandal under her unsuspecting father's roof.

In the humid half-real jungles of Neverland, the Pan had taken what remained of her childhood's innocence.

Pan had kissed her artfully, with finesse and experience. Wendy had not known it then, had not recognized it even as it happened. But to be fair, she had barely known her own name under the influence of his mouth and magic. The only things she had been aware of were the unrelenting pressure of soft, full lips on hers, the clawing warmth of his bony embrace, and the pervasive, all-consuming slick, hot wanting of the Pan's kiss.

Wendy had never kissed anyone before. Not the way the Pan kissed her, all passion and possession and the slip-slide of his tongue against hers. She had never before had someone else's teeth biting at her lips nor someone else's breath mingling intimately with hers. She had heard of it, of course, from the looser girls in school and the more sensational French novels they had started reading in secret. She had never imagined experiencing it herself.

(Lies, a voice spat in her darkest of hearts, you have imagined this. You have imagined this and more with that very same boy, you foolish, uncareful girl.)

In retrospect, the Pan's ease with changing the nature of their physicality contrasted greatly with any concept of 'boy' Wendy had ever construed. He had been all parts man with his fingers fisted in her hair and his mouth dragging burning trails down her neck.

Perhaps, in a way, that was a victory for her. She had forced that desire out of him with her femininity.

It had been obvious, even from her first time on the island, why the Pan preferred to have only Lost Boys. Boys had little interest in girls and when it did manifest, it was as cruel games of pigtail tugging and childish bullying. Anything beyond that ventured too closely to seriousness and the realm of grown-up feelings.

("Love? The very sound of it offends me," the Pan—Peter back then—had sneered at her and her aching heart beating in her hands.)

So to force this shift, to corrupt the very essence of Neverland with something so close to grown-up, was a victory she would claim. She would not call whatever the 'something' was love, not anymore, but maybe it was even worse because it was so very raw. It felt more feral beneath her skin than the Lost Boys' bloodlust. Wendy she decided by nightfall that she would see things only in light of her victory. She had to or else she would truly go insane.

As she slipped beneath her blankets, she felt as though there would be no sleep for her that night. There was too much running in her veins beside her blood – too much fear and, humiliatingly, too much anticipation. She thought it a good if dangerous thing. Who knew what the Pan's reaction would be to her absence?

Remembering that it had been Pan who pulled away from her, face suddenly angry in the midst of a particularly heated lick to her clavicle, gave Wendy a small measure of comfort.

Perhaps I should have fed the fear more, she thought as she landed in Neverland's seas.

Salt water clogged her lungs as she struggled to the surface. Wendy knew better than to linger in any of the island's bodies of water, its surrounding sea included. The mermaids bent to Pan's will without question, their twittering worship of power overruling any common sense they might have possessed. Wendy did not like the mermaids same as they did not like her.

As she clambered onto the shore on her hands and knees, she felt more than saw Pan's arrival. Indignant about her unceremonious and obviously intentionally poor landing, Wendy chose to ignore him. She crawled out of reach of the surf and settled onto her knees to wring out her hair. There was nothing to be done about her nightgown, it was soaked through.

She had managed to get almost all the knots out before the Pan lost his patience.

He made noise as he stalked toward her. That was the first indicator that it was not safe. The Pan never made noise. Wendy had come to think it impossible on Neverland's soil. Still, his clothes rustled, roughly hewn shoes scratched against the sand, his breath heaved in a disgruntled sigh above her. Everything seemed loud and somehow obscene.

Wendy kept her gaze averted, suddenly shy and appropriately afraid. Victories - especially victories over the Pan won on his own territory - were not without retribution.

Pan's fingers were uncharacteristically gentle against her skin. He trailed them along her brow and into her hair, the chapping skin on his fingertips creating a sharp sensory contrast that sent shivers down her spine.. Wendy felt her head tilt into the touch of its own accord. Then, abruptly, his hand clamped tight on her jaw.

Wendy's eyes flew open. The Pan jerked her face upward to meet his stare. It occurred to Wendy in light of recent events that she found him attractive. From his unruly hair and pretty lips and his forest eyes to the corded length of his forearms in the corner of her vision. She did not get to analyze the revelation. There was something hard and confused in the green of his devil's gaze, something angry and hungry all at once.

"You're late, Darling," he hissed. "I don't like waiting."

She knew that was a lie. Pan was the most patient boy she had ever encountered. He played the waiting game as well as any other. There was no way to say so though; none that would not cause her harm. Instead of replying, she stayed quiet and waited.

If there was one thing Wendy knew she could count on, it was that Peter always got what he wanted, regardless of anyone else's role. If you didn't do what he wanted you to, he made you do it anyway. She let her head roll with the pull of his grip but kept her eyes on his face.

His eyes roamed from her widow's peak down to the arch of her neck. She felt her blood heat under the intensity of his gaze. He yanked her upwards suddenly and her knees dug uncomfortably into the sharp sand. Over-sensitized as she was, she sucked in a harsh breath at the unexpected pain. Pan's eyes sparked.

"Let's play a game, Wendy-bird," he suggested in that gleefully wicked tone of his.

She could tell he planned to enjoy whatever it would be. Despite her disadvantaged position, her muscles began to tense in preparation for the chase. Pan seemed to notice this for his smirk grew wider and more cutting.

"Don't worry, you don't have to run," he soothed.

Every word was a blade sliding feather-light along her spine. She held as still as possible. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of anticipation - and indeed it could have been for they were in Neverland - Pan bent his head to her ear.

"Wendy, darling," he whispered lowly. It was a blast of heat along sensitive flesh. Her entire body tightened in response; abdomen pulling taut (wetness rushing between her thighs). She felt Pan's smile against her skin briefly before his tongue flickered out to trace the ridge of her ear.

"My darling bird," he breathed between caresses, "you can't win at this game."

She blinked rapidly. "I'm not playing any games."

He laughed, a deep chuckle that sounded like a man's indulgence rather than a boy's delight. He tugged at her hair again and made her look him in the face.

"We're always playing this game, you and I," he explained as though to a very small child. "And you can't win."

Even as she opened her mouth to protest, she knew what he was going to do. He pulled her half onto her feet and fitted his mouth over hers in a way that was both new and startlingly familiar. Her feet scrambled for purchase on the dry, shifting sand as he plundered her mouth with an expert tongue. Her flailing eventually got the better even of Pan's balance because they crashed together onto the ground, limbs tangled in all awkward angles.

Pan rolled up on top of her, hands pinning her wrists beside her head. His hands were, however, the least of Wendy's concerns. In their fall, her nightgown had been driven up over her hips and the Pan had settled himself solidly between her thighs. She could feel the hard length of him pressing against her most intimate area. Shamefully, she could feel herself growing more aroused the longer he pressed himself against her.

He shifted slightly, brushing something against some part of her that made her keen. It should have been embarrassing but this was Neverland. There were no rules but what they made. Pan stared down at her with wide, bright eyes - half wonder, half-calculation. Then, he smirked and Wendy would have run, if she could have.

"You can't win this game, Wendy-bird, because I already know how to play."

Apparently, she had had far more innocence left than she thought. But even as she discovered it, Pan took it away.

TBC