A Makeshift Christmas

Hi! It's that time of year, and I wanted to write a little something for Christmas with my absolute favorite couple. So this is my little DarlingPan Christmas story. Sadly, Peter Pan and Wendy Darling don't belong to me, and neither does Once Upon a Time. Oh well! Happy Christmas All!

Holiday's weren't celebrated where time stood still, that had been made abundantly clear years and years ago. No Lost Boy thought to question Pan, no Lost Boy even thought about how they missed holidays, but then again, the bird was no Lost Boy. Wendy liked holidays, it was one of the only happy thoughts that she managed to cling to with ragged, dirty fingers, because it reminded of her. It reminded her of family, of Michael and John, and how they were there, waiting for her. Still, Pan had said no anytime, and one time that Wendy got up the courage to ask to celebrate, despite that Wendy still asked. She asked about Halloween, the boys would have lots of fun, they could dress up, mess with the Pirates. Peter said no. She asked about Thanksgiving, food, food and more food. A time to give thanks. Peter reminded her the only thing to be thankful for was that he hadn't killed one of them. Thanksgiving didn't sound so good anymore after that. Now, it was Christmas Eve, and Wendy hadn't gotten up the courage to ask him this time around. It had been on her lips too many times to count, too many times when he was touching her privacy of her little treehouse, hoisting her nightgown up to pool at her hips, or when his bite was leaving wicked marks on her thighs, still, she never asked.

Inwardly, as Wendy sat on a log, staring at the fire and listening to Pan play his pipes, she was thinking about Christmas Eve, of all the joy that came from it. The decorations, and how the lights would glimmer and bounce of the walls. How sitting by the warm fireplace, where their stockings had been hung made her revel in the peace of it all. Her look was distant, so far away she didn't notice the subtle shift in the music that was being played by the pipes. It was so familiar, and it pulled at her, like it was calling her name and finally it struck a chord, reached far enough into her thoughts that she realized, he was playing a Christmas tune.

Her attention was brought spiraling back to the present, the reminder that she was in Neverland, with Peter Pan and his Lost Boys, except the Lost Boys were nowhere to be seen now. She and Pan had been left alone, around the fire, and he was playing the soft jingle on the pipes just for her, his eyes on her, as if he could read her thoughts, and there were many times, that Wendy was almost certain he could.

"Peter," her voice came out more choked than she had meant, the emotion seeping into her voice. He didn't answer, just kept playing the song, watching her, as if her reaction was the most precious thing to him. Why, she wondered for a brief moment would he play this game with her? Did he want to get her hopes up, only to dash them against the rocks, like waters that pounded against the cliff sides? However, he hadn't stopped yet, he was still playing a song she recognized from her childhood, Silent Night. Perhaps he was making a kind gesture?

The frizzy haired female rose from her spot, and moved towards him, coming to rest next to him, she didn't care that she'd chosen to sit next to him on the ground, or that her already dirty nightgown was going to be wet later, she wanted to be closer to him, closer to the sound, revel if only for a few short lived moments in something that was for her. Her blue eyes rose, to meet green ones, as Pan tilted his head to look down at her, as he played. It felt like he played the song forever, and it tugged at her heartstrings, reminded her vividly of being at home on Christmas Eve, sitting by and listening to Christmas music as Michael and John would fight about who left out the proper cookies for their late night visitor, Santa Claus. Asking Wendy now, she might have laughed and made a joke about there being no Santa Claus, but that Peter Pan had eaten those cookies, and stolen off with the presents instead of leaving them. All she knew now, was Peter Pan, she supposed that's what brought on the thought.

The song finally tapered off, and she could feel tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. Weakness was flooding her bones and she was steeling herself for his harsh laugh, and painful taunt but it didn't come. Instead, he set down his pipes, and reached down to brush his fingers across her cheek, gently, too gently for a sharp smiled monster like she'd come to know Pan as.

"Come on then, bird. It's time you went back to your cage," It was said with the sweetest, yet most venomous voice she'd ever heard, but she didn't fight him. She took his hand when he extended it to her, and watched his sharp smile brighten. He left her, winding her away from the camp, and back to her little tree house. Everything looked normal, but she could feel an energy pouring off of him, as he led her up the latter. When she reached the top, pulling herself over, she froze. He was there behind her, watching her with satisfaction.

Her little tree house has been decorated, no easy feat she imagined. Tiny makeshift lights had been made by countless fireflies, and flowers had been strung together to make wreathes and garland, all things that Neverland had never seen, and never would see. No doubt the work of the Lost Boys, forced into decorating her tiny little treehouse at Pan's order, still, it made it no less wonderful to her. Her blue eyes glittered from unfallen tears in the faux Christmas lights, and she felt like she hadn't took a breath in years, her chest hurt so badly. It was all so wonderful. His hands were on hers again, pulling her against his body, warm and strong. She didn't fight him. His green eyes flickered upwards, her only warning before his lips descended onto hers.

His kiss was electric, a spark rushing through her veins so fast she felt she might faint. His rough lips pressed to hers, and she leaned into his kiss after what felt like minutes, her own lips pressing back, moving with his, adding her own spark to the kiss. When he finally pulled away, she was panting, her cheeks a bright pink, and her lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss. His fingers had found their way into her hair, during the lip-lock, and he was brushing the fairest hint of his lips across her cheek to her ear.

"Happy Christmas, my pretty bird," his voice was a mere whisper, heated and filled with longing. There was something behind his tone, behind the faint tremble of desire that was lacing his breathy tiding of good cheer. He pulled back, and his demeanor went back to normal, all daggers and broken glass.

"Holidays are stupid, really…" He murmured quickly, as if that would change the past minutes, the past time he spent showing her something magical, some sort of humanistic side to his demonic form. He was gone, and she was left with his biting kiss on her lips, and the reminder that he had done something sweet for her. A smile broke onto her lips, and with him gone she could break down into quiet sobs. Sobs from both remembering what Christmas used to be like, and for finally getting a Christmas here on Neverland, something so beautiful and heartbreaking from someone so evil, and dark hearted.

Slumping onto the bed her fingers found catch of something under the sheets, and she ripped them away to find a box. A sniffle left her, and ragged breathing from her quieted sobs echoed as she pulled the box from its hiding spot, and opened it. A nightgown glared back at her, pure white light freshly fallen snow. In perfect condition as if it had been brought fresh from her world. Her fingers clutched the soft material and fresh tears fell as she clutched the beautiful nightgown to her chest. How could he do this to her? How could he build her up to know that he was a monster, to despise and fear him, only to break her down so easily with a moment of humanity?

"Every pretty bird needs a new dress," his voice echoed around her, but she couldn't see him. Perhaps she'd imagined it? It would not be the first time Wendy imagined Peter's voice, saying something, doing something sweet, it often kept her sane in times of real pain. When he was unbearable to her, or when the Lost Boys had done something particularly hurtful. Her gaze drifted to the ladder, and where they'd previously been standing, where the feeling of his lips that still lingered on hers found its start. Hanging there, a makeshift mistletoe, all poison berries and poison leaves. It made her choke on her own laugh.

A kiss spawned by a poisonous plant would no doubt poison the lips of those who kissed. She didn't care. He'd given her something she hadn't had in decades, and even more than that, Pan had lit a fire in her veins, that was silently thrumming, desperate for more of his jagged kisses, and electric touches.