Celebrating our Victory

The restoration of the world had an immediate, physical effect on the Hangman's Tree. As we descended back into the Hideout, the mildew and rot were gone. The wood smelled of sap and resin. The torn hammocks had knitted themselves back together, and the gloom was replaced by the warm, golden glow of moss-lanterns that flickered to life on the walls.

I carried Tinkerbell, still fast asleep in her human form, into the Captain’s Quarters. This was formerly Peter’s room, a hollowed-out nook at the top of the root system, lined with furs and stolen pirate silks.

I walked to the large, central bed and gently lowered her onto the pile of velvet cushions. The moment her back sank into the softness, her eyes fluttered. She stretched, a long, feline movement that arched her back, and blinked groggily up at the moss-lights. She looked around, confusion clouding her sleepy features, until she realized where she was. She sat up slowly, her eyes going wide. "He never let me in here," she whispered, running a hand over the silk sheets. "He said this was the Captain's room. No girls allowed. Only Wendy was allowed to come in to tell stories."

"New Captain, new rules," I said, locking the heavy wooden door behind us.

Tink looked at me, a sudden shyness overtaking her. She looked down at herself. Her leaf dress was a ruin, shredded from the fight, hanging off one shoulder and reavealing large patches of her delicate skin. She tugged at a torn piece of foliage, trying to pull it over her exposed, soot-smudged skin, suddenly self-conscious of her disheveled state in such a royal room. "So..." she started, biting her lip. "We saved the world. The bad shadow is gone. Peter is gone too, apparently. The time is moving."

"We did save the world, yes."

"And now?" she asked, tilting her head. "In the stories... after the hero wins... there's usually a 'happily ever after,' right?"

I walked closer to the bed. The mattress dipped under my weight as I sat beside her. "This isn't a storybook, Tink. But there is usually a celebration."

She scooted closer, her leg brushing against mine. The heat radiating from her new human body was intense. "I want to celebrate," she murmured, her blue eyes darkening. "I want to do what grownups do when they claim a victory."

She placed a hand on my chest, feeling the heartbeat she loved so much. "Peter played 'House'," she said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "He pretended to be the Father. But he didn't know what that meant. He just wanted someone to darn his socks and tell him he was great."

She looked up at me, her expression a mix of naivety and confused, overwhelming craving. "I don't want to pretend, Master. I have a real body now that matches yours. I... I can't stop thinking about the cave," she whispered. "When you... when you cleaned me with your tongue. It made my insides feel tight. Like I was going to explode."

She fumbled with the remains of her ruined dress, letting it peel away from her chest to pool at her waist. Her skin glowed in the moss-light, dusted with soot but smooth underneath. Her nipples hardened in the cool air, twin peaks of pink demanding attention.

"I think I need to be scrubbed again," she begged, her voice trembling with a mix of shame and eagerness. "I want you to use your tongue. Please, Master... clean me once more."

I didn't need to be asked twice. I reached out and cupped her face. She leaned into my touch, closing her eyes, letting out a soft, purring vibration that must have been a remnant of her fairy nature.

"We’ll find a spring to bathe properly later," I whispered, leaning in until my breath ghosted over her lips. "But for now... I’ll clean everything my tongue can reach."

I kissed her. It wasn't a chaste peck. I crushed my mouth to hers, forcing her lips apart. Tink gasped into my mouth, her hands flying up to grip my shoulders. She didn't know how to kiss, she was stiff for a second, but she was a quick learner. She mimicked my movement, her tongue tentatively touching mine, tasting me.

When I deepened the kiss, sweeping her mouth, she moaned, a loud, vocal sound of surprise and pleasure. She fell back onto the pillows, pulling me down with her.

I hovered over her. She looked small beneath me, even in human form. Delicate. Precious. "You're heavy," she breathed, her eyes fluttering open, looking at me with adoration. "But I like it. Crush me, Master. Make me feel real."

I lowered my head, but I didn't kiss her lips this time. I went for her cute fairy ear. I traced the delicate, pointed curve with the tip of my tongue, swirling into the shell before biting gently on the lobe. Tink reacted violently. She gasped, her back arching off the mattress, her hands flying up to tangle desperately in my hair. A high-pitched chime escaped her throat. "That... that's too intense!" she squeaked, breathless, her whole body shivering. I realized the pointed ears of a fairy weren't just for decoration; they were a concentration of raw nerves.

I lowered myself to the side of her delicate neck. I dragged my tongue flat against her skin, lapping up the hint of soot from the fight and the salty tang of her sweat.

Tink shivered, her hands tangling in my hair. "That tickles," she giggled, the sound turning into a gasp as I moved lower.

I circled her left breast. It was firm, heavy with her new humanity. I swirled my tongue around the areola, cleaning away invisible dust, before latching onto the hardened pink nub. I sucked hard, pulling it deep into my mouth.

"Oh!" Tink cried out, her back arching off the mattress. "It... it zaps! It goes right to my tummy! Why does it do that?!"

"Wires," I mumbled against her skin. "Everything is connected."

I moved down her stomach, licking a stripe of soot from her navel. I reached the waistband of her ruined dress. With one swift tug, I pulled the tattered leaves down and off her legs, tossing the last remnant of her old life onto the floor. She was completely bare. Her hips were wide, her thighs thick and soft, and between them, her golden curls were already slick.

"Spread," I commanded softly.

She obeyed instantly, dropping her knees wide open, exposing the pink, glistening slit that was weeping with anticipation. "Is it dirty?" she whispered, watching me with wide, anxious eyes.

"It's perfect."

I buried my face in her. I didn't just clean her; I devoured her. I licked her from bottom to top, dragging my tongue through her folds, savoring the musky, sweet taste of a fairy turned woman. It was intoxicating, like honey and ocean water.

Tink let out a high-pitched, broken chime. Ting-a-ling-ahhh! She grabbed her own thighs, her fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Master! You're... you're drinking me! You're drinking it all!"

I grabbed her ass cheeks, lifting her hips to get better access. I worked my tongue rhythmically, flicking her clit with crude, wet precision while two fingers slipped inside her tightening channel. She was so wet I was sliding against her. The sounds of my feasting, wet slaps and slurps, filled the quiet room.

"It's too loud!" she wailed, tossing her head from side to side. "The feelings are too loud! I'm going to ring! I'm going to ring!"

I gave her one last, punishing swirl of my tongue, sucking the pearl of her clit until she convulsed, her inner walls clamping down on my fingers. She shuddered, her heels drumming against the mattress, her human voice cracking into a sob of pure, overwhelming pleasure.

I pulled back, wiping my chin. My face was wet with her. Tink lay there, panting, her chest heaving, her skin flushed a deep, rosy pink. Her eyes were unfocused, swimming in a haze of endorphins. She looked utterly ruined.

"What..." she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "What was that? I felt like I broke into a thousand pieces."

"That was an orgasm, Tink," I said, my voice low and rough. "It's the body's way of celebrating. A reward grown-ups get when they win."

She blinked slowly, processing the new word. Orgasm. A shiver ran through her. "It was... heavy," she decided. "But the tongue... can we do the tongue again?"

I stood up, looming over her, my hands moving to my belt. "The tongue is just the beginning," I told her. "Men are built differently. We have a part made specifically to fit inside that emptiness you felt. It feels better than a tongue. It fills you up completely."

Her eyes widened, curiosity cutting through the haze. She pushed herself up on her elbows, staring at my waist. "Better than the tongue?" she breathed, skeptical but eager. "Show me. I want to learn. I want to be full."

I stripped off my tunic and belt. Tink watched every movement, her eyes glazed but glued to my body. When I finally revealed myself, her jaw dropped.

"Oh," she squeaked, staring at the throbbing result of my work on her. "That... that fits?"

"We make it fit."

I spread her legs wider, hooking them over my forearms to open her completely. She was open, eager, and glistening, her body reacting naturally to the arousal she had never felt before, weeping onto the sheets.

I guided the tip of my length to her entrance. She let out a shaky breath as she felt the sheer width of me pressing against her virginal opening.

"This will hurt," I warned softly, my thumbs stroking her inner thighs to soothe the trembling muscles. "Just for a second. You’re very small, Tink."

"I don't care," she challenged, her jaw set with a stubbornness that was all her. She lifted her hips, trying to **** me in. "Do it. Make me yours."

I didn't hold back. I pushed forward. She cried out, a sharp, human sound of pain, and dug her nails into my shoulders. Her body bowed upward off the mattress, her back arching like a drawn bow. It was tight, virgin tight. I could feel the resistance of the barrier, the tight ring of muscle that had never been touched, stretching taut to accommodate me. But she was a creature of magic; she was resilient.

I broke through, sinking deep into her heat. I buried myself to the hilt, hitting the very back of her. Tink gasped, her mouth opening in a silent scream as the shock of the intrusion hit her. Her inner walls clamped around me like a vice, pulsing with the trauma and the sudden fullness.

I held perfectly still, propping myself up on my elbows, letting her adjust to the invasion. I could feel her heart hammering against my chest, thump-thump-thump, rapid as a hummingbird.

"It feels..." she panted, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, spilling over to run into her hair. "Full. I feel... split open. So full."

"Breathe," I whispered, kissing the sweat from her forehead. "Let me in."

She took a ragged breath, and slowly, her body began to accept me. The pain faded into a heavy, throbbing pressure that she leaned into.

"Look at me."

She locked eyes with me. Her pupils were blown wide, black eclipsing the blue. "You are not a sidekick," I growled, withdrawing slowly, feeling her tight sheath drag against every inch of me. "You are not a tool for lighting dark rooms. You are mine. You are the Fairy Queen, and you are mine."

I slammed back in. "Yours," she sobbed, the pleasure finally overtaking the pain. She clumsily synced her hips with mine, meeting my thrust. "I'm yours!"

I began to move in earnest. It was slow, deep, and heavy. I wasn't just fucking her; I was grounding her. Every thrust was a lesson in gravity. I wanted her to feel every inch of her new humanity, the friction of skin on skin, the wet slap of our bodies meeting. I grinded against her clit with every stroke, overstimulating her until she didn't know where the pleasure started or stopped.

Tink was a mess of sensations. She cried, she laughed, she babbled incoherent things. As I picked up the pace, driving harder, her human voice began to crack. Cling! Ohhh-ting! When the pleasure hit her too hard, her magic bled through. She chimed like a bell, the sound vibrating through her chest and into mine. Her wings fluttered uselessly against the velvet sheets, twitching in time with my thrusts.

"I'm going to... I'm going to..." she wailed, her legs tightening around my waist, locking me in place.

"Let go, Tink."

I drove into her one last time, hitting her deepest spot. She shattered. It was a high, keening wail that harmonized with the sound of breaking glass. Her inner walls spasmed, milking me with a strength that nearly blackened my vision. She convulsed in my arms, her back arching so high only her shoulders and heels touched the bed.

The sensation snapped my control. I groaned, burying my face in her neck, and poured my seed into her. It came in hot, heavy spurts, flooding her womb. Tink gasped with every pulse, her eyes rolling back. "Warm," she slurred, clutching me tight, terrified to let go. "It's inside. It's so warm."

She held me there as I emptied myself completely, whispering my name over and over again like a prayer, anchoring herself to the man who had finally made her real.

Later, as we lay tangled in the furs, the sweat drying on our skin, the silence of the hideout was broken.

Thump.

Tink sat up instantly, clutching the sheet to her chest. Her ears twitched. "Did you hear that?"

Thump. Thump.

It was coming from below the floorboards. Not the deep hole where the Shadow had been, but somewhere else. A hollow sound.

"It's coming from the Brig," Tink whispered, pointing to a trapdoor in the corner of the room, hidden under a rug. "Peter locked it years ago. He said... he said he put away the things he didn't want to play with anymore."

I stood up, pulling on my trousers. I grabbed the Keyblade. "Stay here."

I walked to the trapdoor and kicked the rug aside. The wood was dusty, sealed with a heavy iron padlock. Thump. Something, or someone, was knocking from the inside.

I raised the Keyblade. "Unlock." A beam of light hit the lock. It clicked open.

I threw the door open. Darkness stared back up at me. And from the darkness, a voice drifted up, weak, parched, but unmistakably posh and English.

"Peter?" the voice cracked. "Is that you? Have you finally decided to let me out?"

Wendy Darling was not in London. She was right under our feet.