Forever Young

Chapter Nine

"Why aren't there any girls in Neverland?" Iggy idly asked Peter. They were in the hammock again, far above the Dark Forest and the sleeping boys below. The stars were blotted out in places by a few errant clouds, marring their scatter.

Peter turned from his activity of throwing rocks into the forest below. "Why? Do you wish there were girls here?"

"No, I was just curious," Iggy replied, laughing.

"They're too smart," Peter said flatly. "I don't like them."

"What do you mean 'they're too smart'?" What had begun as an idle question had turned into genuine curiosity on Iggy's part, mostly due to the elfin boy's unpleasant reaction.

Peter stood and gestured out at the black expanse of the night sky, vaguely in the direction of the star he'd pointed out as the way back to the world Iggy had come from. "They don't fall for tricks! If you appear in a girl's bedchamber in the middle of the night and offer to take them to a land of magic, they throw the bedpan at you." He shook his head, shuddering with the memory. "Vile little creatures, girls."

Iggy laughed, he couldn't help it. It was death to laugh at Peter Pan, he knew that, he'd known it for years, but the otherworldly boy crowing about how awful girls were because they didn't play along with him was too funny. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Iggy wondered if all of his sense of self-preservation had flown. It seemed likely. The sword of Damocles can only hang over one's head for so long until you start to wish it would just get it over with.

Peter glared daggers at him. "It's not funny," he snapped. His green-glass eyes looked sharp enough to cut.

"It really sort of is, Peter," Iggy said, still chuckling.

Peter made a sound that was suspiciously like harrumph before turning back to throwing rocks into the woods. "You know," he said, not looking over his shoulder, "You're quite lucky that I favor you. If you weren't you, I'd have dropped you from this perch for such insolence, just so I could enjoy your screams on the way down."

Iggy fell into seriousness suddenly. Without really thinking about the words leaving his mouth, he said, softly but surely, "I wouldn't give you the pleasure of screaming."

Peter went completely still. The kind of still that a living thing shouldn't be able to manage. No movement of breath, no subtle shifts of muscle.

In a flash, he was in front of Iggy, his face centimeters away, his eyes flashing.

This is it, Iggy thought. He didn't even feel afraid. He stared down at the elfin boy.

Peter reached up and grabbed a handful of ginger hair, pulling. "You..." he growled in Iggy's face. He grinned, his perfect, straight teeth looking very sharp in the moonlight. "You are delightful, Ignatius." He dragged the taller boy's face to his, kissing him with bruising force.

Iggy didn't quite know how to react so he went with it. His large, calloused hands clamped down on Peter's waist. He let himself get lost in the taste of Peter's mouth, the feeling of the slight body pressed against his. Even the delicate, long-fingered hand still holding a fistful of his hair was a delight, the pain drawing a contrast to the pleasure.

Without warning, Peter stepped back, cocking his head, a few silken copper strands of hair dangling from his fingers.

"What...?" Iggy began but Peter held up a hand for silence.

Tilting his head this way and that, the elfin boy looked like a wild animal searching for a sound that was just out of hearing range. He walked to the other side of the hammock and leaned over, a perplexed look on his perfect features. Slowly, a grin spread across his face.