Felix didn’t know what he’d been expecting, if he’d been expecting anything at all. It was just a day, like any other. Playing games with the Boys all day and running errands for Pan - typical, and the closest thing to monotony you could get in Neverland.
So, it was fair enough to say he hadn’t been expecting anything when his fingers stumbled over the clasps over his boots that night.
He didn’t even expect anything different when Pan materialized, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed around his chest. It was typical when Pan crossed the floor and knelt down over the foot of the bed, pulling off Felix’s boots and skimming his hands up his legs, tapping his fingers as he chattered away, as always.
Felix had stopped paying attention to the exact words Pan said in these times a few decades ago. It was always the same. “How shall we play the game tonight?” and “Can you guess what I’m going to do to you?” and constant strings of coercive sentences that pattered into his ear, both asking and commanding Felix to play his whore.
And so, as usual, Felix just keened into the words, sinking back onto his elbows. He still wasn’t listening entirely when Pan’s hands reached his hips and climbed over his thighs, or when Felix started pawing at the back of Peter’s shirt.
Felix definitely had not been expecting what happened next.
Pan’s breath was hot in his ear, “Tie me down.”
“What?” Felix’s jaw dropped, wincing in confused elation when a pair of sharp teeth bit down on his neck.
“Tie me down.” Pan repeated against Felix’s pulse point. “Bind me and give me what for.”
Trying not to fall into the situation. Scouring his brain for a potential motive, Felix’s lips quivered. “Why?”
Pan lifted up from his neck, eyes glowing and hot like embers, mouth already swelling and wet. His words, however, didn’t permit for an ounce of doubt, and would not be mistaken for anything other than utter dominance, despite his request. “To prove you can.”
Pan rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t act like you’ve never wondered if you can make me moan. Let’s entertain the possibility.”
Felix gave a funny little laugh, before reclining down, taking Peter’s lips down with him.
Pan’s eyes flashed, he wriggled closer. His whisper was husky and scratching in Felix’s ear, an explicit, heated command as his hand crawled across the front of Felix’s throat, pressing his fingers over the skin in affectionate asphyxiation.
Felix’s fingers wrapped around Pan’s wrist as he pulled the hand upwards, away from his throat, and up to his lips. He set about offering a slew of devout kisses up his fingers before swallowing down the heel of his palm with a slide of tongue and minute pull from the back of his throat.
A green cloud of smoke appeared, starting small and growing thicker by the second, until a long black cord materialized in Felix’s hands.
Felix smiled darkly, skimming over his lips in favor of finding the vein on his neck, peppering it with springy kisses and slowing down to allow his tongue to break through his own teeth and catch the salty sweat on Pan’s neck. Fingers twisting and turning over tight knots, scraping his wrists together.
“Not so tight.” Pan winced, gritting his teeth and believing, for a moment, that they were looser.
Felix frowned, pulling the cords in his hand taut again. “No magic.”
“Are you really that confident?” Peter sneered.
“If you want me to try to make you moan, it’s got to be me doing it. Not your magic.”
Pan glared, but found himself cut off by a pair of hot lips against his mouth and hip bones grazing over his belt.
Felix knotted the cords over the magical boy’s wrists with a final jerk of the hand, pulling them tight enough to elicit a strained noise, before slamming Peter down on the mattress, and climbing over him, lying flush against his stomach and busied himself in securing Peter’s bound fists to the headboard.
Pan laughed and tested the strength of the knots, pulling away with the best of his non-magiced strength, finding them held fast.
Laughter then turned to a small gasp when his pulse caught into Felix’s mouth, a tiny tickle building in his tailbone as Felix’s lips caught harder and his vehemence increased on that little patch of skin, taking Peter away and sucking hard.
Felix pulled upwards again, nipping into Peter’s breath and lips as he did so.
They stared at one another, eyes trembling, in almost nervous anticipation.
Almost nervous, Peter thought, but not quite.
It wasn’t as though it was anything new, after all.
They’d done this hundreds of times before. Peter had lost track of the amount of times he’d used his magic to heal rope burns on Felix’s wrists, or how often he’d wrapped vines around those thin, long limbs or used leather cuffs or a belt to bind his arms, or had his shadow hold Felix down.
But of course, there was something titillating in switching roles.
“One little spell?” Peter asked, voice airy.
Felix’s eyes flashed, pressing Peter’s forearms perpendicular up the headboard, digging him into the mattress, making the entire treehouse shake. “No.”
Pan’s eyes darkened instantly, quivering and flushing. He tried to hide his surprise in the intensity in Felix’s face. He looked almost dangerous - if he’d had anyone else but Peter Pan under him, they might’ve been frightened. Pan blinked with a crooked grin, clouded over in violent lust.
Utilizing his limited mobility, Pan wrapped his legs around Felix’s back, tilting his hips to meet Felix’s - causing the taller boy to keen and grind into it.
Pan struggled against the ties, half vying for leverage and half basking in the restraint.
It wasn’t as though he would make a habit of this, but he couldn’t deny the desire to get fucked, while still controlling everything. With Felix on metaphorical strings - doing everything he wanted - even with Peter’s wrists in leather.
The oxymoron was titillating, but he couldn’t think on it too much. The restraints on his wrists were white hot, blurring coherence, Felix was pressing into him, holding him still even though he struggled.
Thier lips and tongues collided and intertwined, no pattern and no dignity left, leaving both boys to pant into the other’s mouth.
“Felix,” Peter’s command was strained, almost in that moan he’d been vying for. “Wreck me.”