Being a strong leader meant doing things you sometimes didn't like—but Peter Pan always thought he had a knack for delivering a suitable punishment.

Using surprise to his advantage, Peter's blade flashed out into the open, his arm straightly extended. The fleshy, pale apple to Felix's throat bobbed slightly against metal. The wild, carefree laughter from around their camp's bonfire slowed to a halt.

"… You directly disobeyed a command earlier," Peter said, nothing but candied-pleasant tones.

It had been nothing truly mulling over now. One of the clumsier boys had needed practice with his bow. Always ready for a new challenge, Peter volunteered as a target. Offering a feast worthy of twelve fat and lazy kings to the Lost Boy if he could find it in himself to summon the courage to strike Peter in the chest. And Peter wanted no interruptions.

Not one lick of defiance.

Before the flying, poison-tipped arrow could reach Peter's heart, a stoic-faced Felix had stepped out of the boundary and expertly yanked it mid-air, raising it above his head in victory and splintering the arrow in his fist. The other boys had cheered him on, banging their hands and hollering, stomping and pounding their feet to the dirt.

"… Didn't you?"

With a similar widening grin, Felix's body relaxed obediently to the accustomed, dangerous weight of Peter's interest, neck exposing further. Like an invitation.

"That I did," he murmured, calmly.

Peter's teeth further bared, lips contorting, his expression malice and awful delight as a trickle of Felix's vibrantly red blood appeared on his blade.

"You hear that—!" Peter yelled hoarsely into the night sky, tilting his head back. Copper brown hair leaf-tangled.

"What do we do to those who disobey Pan's orders, boys—?—!"

Mayhem erupted on all sides of them. Angered mock screams with overly flushed faces and screwed up faces—burn him, drown him, hang him, leave him to rot!—and he watched Henry shrink on a nearby log, soil-dark hands covering his ears and quivering. Like Baelfire had quivered and stared down at his pajama knees, youthful jaw clenching.




Stars left glowing trails of dust, wandering surreptitiously high over the canopy of the overgrown jungle trees.

There was nothing remotely human about this island. Not the chasm of howling dark, not the air shimmering invisible and sharp-stinging like currents. The inhabitants do not sleep. They don't tire. They don't need to relieve themselves. They may hunger, and may desire thirst, but for the pure enjoyment of it. There were no limits, no impossible dreams.

(You can't always have what you desire the most…)

Peter shoved out the aching reminder and blew several experimental notes on his flute, wrinkling his nose in sullen annoyance.

"Don't just stand there. You know what to do," he said, as if to emptiness.

But it was not. He was lonely, but never alone.

"Then why don't you say it?" Felix asked loudly from behind him, inclining forward with one gnarly hand on a walking stick. Those eyes crinkling up in dimmed amusement when Peter's hand seized at him, pinching Felix's squared chin between his curling, boy-like fingers. "Or have you grown soft?"

One of Peter's nails scratched into the ridge of a milky scar, traveling right under Felix's bottom lip. He leaned in as well, eyes narrowing.

"The time for playing coy is over now, laddie. I have to set an example with you."

Felix nodded, posture slackening. "If Pan insists," he whispered.

And naturally, Peter didn't have to.




Felix's hands grasped, knuckling to the ends of rope dangling another shoulder's width from both sides of him, as he grunted and knelt to the floor.

"With or without?"

"Without," Peter told him immediately, storm-bright eyes on one of Felix's hands stretching down to unfasten the belt to his trousers.

He would do it himself, slip his fingers under Felix's belt and tear it open, but he did prefer to observe for himself when Felix submitted to his demands, to his wishes. Even if there was a sarcastic remark due to slip forth. It came down to an odd sense of devotion to his leadership, sometimes in the cover of Neverland's darkness, scraping fingers and lips and with their bodies grinding together—warm, tangy blood welling up in Peter's mouth, Felix's harshly bitten lip sucking to Peter's teeth as they writhed and moaned.

Felix had never showed him another less than complete devotion, to Peter's cause, to his life and his safety. The arrow had been a threat.

The thickness of the walking stick was ideal, as Peter's arm extended out, as he smacked the rough wood against the back's of Felix's thighs and buttocks. He swung, swung again. No one grew tired. No one could. The grunts began to puncture out of Felix's open, rounding mouth, in low cries of ecstasy and the raw feeling of pain building.

Or perhaps it's wishful thinking.




"This is what I admire about you, Felix," he murmured solemnly, a burst of air trembling the small, spotted feather pendulous near Felix's ear.

Neverland's cool air torments his victim when Peter's boy-like fingers skimmed his naked arse, touching along Felix's cleft, feeling all that rosy heat swelling.

"… Your ability to take the blunt consequences to your actions."




OUAT is not mine. I'm back from a personal semi-hiatus. This is another mutual writing challenge result but from early December. Pandasushiroll asked me for "OuaT: Peter Pan/Felix (Pan showing his "affection" in rough ways)". Thanks for giving me this, honey. It's been fun. This was actually difficult because I never thought of exploring these two, but I'm glad I did and that this was your prompt to me. Challenges are great for that reason. Forcing yourself to consider an element or a relationship that didn't seem to appeal to you. Anyway, rambling aside, I hope everyone and the shippers had a good experience reading this!