Forever Young

Chapter Seven

The taste of Peter's mouth haunted Iggy. It had been days since he'd gone with the elfin boy up to the treetops, since he'd seen the stars and felt lips pressed against his own. It had shocked him. Shocked him to the point of not returning the kiss, of staring at Peter with blank non-comprehension, until the fae creature had tilted his head in confusion.

It had been awkward.

But now, days later, days in which Peter hadn't shown him any favoritism or specific attention, he found himself licking his lips, hoping to catch the taste of lemongrass and honeysuckle still lingering there. But it was gone, leaving nothing but sweat and dirt on his tongue.

Playing with the other Lost Boys had lost some of its charm. The older boys were understandably not in the spirit of the games, their joy in playing sapped by years of violence and fear. The younger boys still had their childlike enthusiasm but it was so hard to entertain it without the creeping sorrow that it would fade with time, only to be replaced by yet another pair of hard eyes.

Iggy found himself becoming gloomy and irritable. He suddenly understood why all of the other oldest boys, at least the ones that accepted the way things were instead of having heads filled with ridiculous hope, had become taciturn and unapproachable. The only thing worse than knowing your own fate was watching others march into it. Tum Tum was next in line. After him, Roddy. Then Mikhail. Then...

With a shake of his head, Iggy cut off his train of thought. It was morbid.

Not to mention that at least a few of the boys would never make it that far anyway. Their resolve would waver and they'd run, or they'd lose their loyalty and Peter would simply snuff them out.

He stood at his place near Peter's side, as he had since recovering from his concussion. His arms were crossed and his gaze stern as his eyes darted over the other Boys, looking to stop any problems before they really got started.

Some of the Boys were tussling in the dirt, nothing mean-spirited about it, though one of them was already blooded. A few others were shooting arrows at a target they'd rigged up on a tree trunk. The little ones were throwing sticks up in the air and trying to dodge them as they fell. Everything was reasonably peaceful.

Iggy turned his eyes back to the stump where Peter was sitting, only to find that the elven boy was gone.

Looking around the camp, he didn't see Peter's signature green clothes or his head of tousled dirty blonde hair.

"Peter?" he called out, quite uselessly.

"Yes, Ignatius?" came the reply, breathed in his ear from far too close.

Iggy didn't outwardly startle, though his heart did pound against his ribs.

Peter chuckled in the boy's ear, his chin resting on Iggy's shoulder. It took a moment for Iggy to realize that Peter was floating about a foot off the ground in order to manage it.

"My fearless Ignatius," murmured Peter. "That's my favorite part about you, did you know that?"

"I didn't," said Iggy, wondering exactly what he'd done to draw Peter's attention. Or if the elven boy was simply bored.

Peter made an affirmative sound before bumping his head against Iggy's like a cat wanting attention...or marking its territory. "Your face is doing something I don't like. Make it stop."

Iggy sighed. "What is my face doing, exactly?"

"I don't know! It's all serious and looks like a stone." Peter darted around in front of him, his feet rejoining the ground at some point during his circuit, and peering up at Iggy's face, all curiosity. "Are you upset? Is that it?" He sounded proud of himself for guessing.