Peter Captured

Hook entered the room dressed in the height of elegance and immediately locked the door behind him. Peter had been curled up on the floor asleep not far from Hook's bed, his hands still tied behind his back and his ankles chained down, but immediately picked up his head in apprehension at the loud noise the door made. So pathetic, mused Hook. Like a sorry little animal. Peter sat up, his back hunched and his eyes gazing up distrustfully.

"Did I wake you, my pretty?" Peter did nothing but blink and purse his lips. "Well I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait a moment before we begin. I did want to do one thing prior... Business before pleasure, as they say." Hook walked over and took out one of his books of maps. Peter followed him with his eyes. Hook was poring over the books for such a long time that Peter finally gave in to his fatigue and slumped back down to the floor. Sleep was rare and often interrupted on the ship. Moreover, most of Peter's dreams were exhausting nightmares, leaving him feeling drained even after many consecutive hours of shut-eye.

When the captain was finished he walked over very quietly to the boy. The face was positively angelic when he was asleep. His mouth was open ever so slightly. A real shame such lovely moist lips had to be brought so low into the dust, Hook thought. He gently touched the cold of his metal prosthesis to the bottom of Peter's chin, but the boy started up so violently that Hook pulled away in a scare. The look of wild terror left Peter's eyes when he finally focused them on the captain.

"Dreaming, are we? What does that miniscule brain of yours conjure up?"

"Just a nightmare."

Hook sneered. "About me, by any chance?"

"Don't flatter yourself..." But Peter pulled back and shut up promptly when the captain brought the hook back down, close to his face.

"This is all very interesting, but if you don't mind, I'll proceed with what I came for." Hook heaved Peter up onto the bed. He unlocked the ankle chains and untied the rope on the wrists, revealing painfully chafed skin. Hook was about to take off his false appendage when Peter bolted up from the bed. Flying felt surreal by now, not having had the opportunity to lift like this in weeks. Unfortunately, Hook was more alert than Peter anticipated and pounced on top of the boy, stifling him with his weight.

"Where would you have gone, Pan? I'm just curious... The door is locked, and so is the window. And if you think you could throw yourself through the glass, you're deeply mistaken. You'd bleed to death before you even reached the shore, my little pixie." Peter felt his insides groaning under the painful weight, and he tried squirming out, despite knowing in advance it would be to no avail.

"I'm not afraid to die. It's still better than being here..." Peter panted out, unable to fully inhale. Hook smiled patronizingly.

"Then you must not know what happens to little boys who act like little girls after they die." He looked at Peter for a prompt to continue, but the boy gave him none, so he picked up again on his own. "The little boys who act like girls go to hell, where devils roast your flesh in fire for eternity."

Peter's eyes grew a little larger at the thought, in spite of himself, but not for long. "And men who like little boys?" Hook smiled complacently, but Peter knew him well enough by this time to notice some agitation betrayed in the eyes.

"I'm a pirate, Peter. Pirates are so evil even hell doesn't want them... And you're no real boy, Peter-- trust me on that. I'll prove it to you." The captain finally lifted his crushing weight off of Peter, grabbed him by the ponytail, and impulsively dragged him across the cabin to his desk. Peter immediately grabbed hold of Hook's forearm to avoid losing his scalp. The captain slipped Peter under his right arm and began racing through his keys until he found the correct one, while the boy winced from the metal digging into his side, threatening to cut him at any moment. Hook unlocked one of the drawers and dug out a dusty box that he opened to reveal a very old set of cosmetics. He pushed everything on his desk to one side and plunked Peter down on the cleared space. Holding the boy in place with his right elbow applied to the chest, Hook began smearing something from every bottle and container onto Peter's face. The boy didn't like the sensation, but after turning his face away several times, Hook gave him such a violent smack on the rear he decided it would be less painful to comply. The captain had understandably little to no experience in the art, and often had to guess what a given powder was meant for. He stopped before applying the lip-paint when he saw how much of its original red luster it had lost. It was so dry and cracked that Hook had to spit in it in order to revive its consistency. Just as he finished spreading the gaudy color over Peter's trembling lips with his thumb, he shivered in the realization that he had completely desecrated his mother's memory by using one of his few mementos of her so inanely.

Hook felt Peter begin shifting out from under his right arm, which had temporarily relaxed somewhat. He grabbed his shaving mirror from the pile of items next to Peter's body and promptly squelched the boy's frame back into the mahogany tabletop. He took the mirror and placed his head next to Peter's so as to make sure it was properly aligned for the boy to see his reflection.

Peter had resolved not to show any emotions that would gratify Hook, even before the latter had finished his frenzied efforts, but when he saw the barely recognizable face staring back, tears welled up. The work was decidedly hasty and garish, but Hook found himself strangely pleased with the result.

"You make a tolerable girl," Hook remarked. "Maybe a little on the hideous side, but still a girl." The captain was exaggerating the ugliness. The mascara on the eyelashes really accentuated the seductive twitch of the eyelids that Peter displayed when a little upset, as now, and Hook felt himself overwhelmed with renewed lust. He put down the mirror and leaned over Peter. The smell of mother... even the look, to some extent... now all in this boy-- the very antithesis of everything his dear mummy ever stood for. Hook leaned down and kissed those lips of deep, unholy red.

Peter wanted to shrink away. He tasted the usual smoky tobacco from Hook's mouth, now intermixed with the revolting oily paint to produce an entirely new sickening flavor. Hook deepened the kiss. His arms rarely being so free, Peter began pummeling away at his assailant, each ineffectual hit only sinking the boy further into hopelessness. One particularly hard strike across Hook's face did prompt the captain to push his elbow down into Peter's abdomen rather viciously. There was a muffled sob, and Peter's arms dropped down in surrender. Hook mounted onto the desk still maintaining mouth contact. Peter whimpered, guessing well enough what would soon follow. Hook's tongue finally made an exit out of Peter's mouth. He unscrewed the dangerous weapon off his arm and cast it onto the floor. The rest was almost perfunctory-- unbuttoning just enough, pulling the boy's pants off completely, spitting into the palm, and preparing both himself and the destination before entering. Hook loved the way Peter's pupils always dilated momentarily from the initial entry, but after each time he cursed himself for risking damage to the boy by not starting more slowly.

Items on the edges of the desk crashed to the floor, as jumbled limbs spastically moved back and forth across its surface. Hook felt particularly dissolute when he looked up to see his mother's portrait looming over him with its piercing eyes, and then saw the eyes under him, grown red with tears, the same mascara flowing in dark streams out of the corners and into the boy's ears. Mother had been demoted from goddess to whore, and little Jimmy felt that much more liberated.

***

Peter lay motionless on the floor, in exactly the same position Hook had left him after re-chaining his ankles. It had been some time since they finished, but Peter always had difficulty falling asleep following a session. Hook was lying fully clothed on his bed, twirling the double cigar holder between his lips and watching the smoke he exhaled rush up towards the ceiling before coming back down all the way to the floor. He was no longer in a contented stupor but thinking. He had really been treating the boy rather harshly. True, sometimes he still felt urges to slice Peter in half and see the guts spill out onto the floor. But lately, these bloody fantasies were overshadowed by desires for the boy to reciprocate. To adore his oppressor. Hook sighed at the thought.

"Hook, there's something in my eye." Hook sharply turned his head to see that Peter had sat up. It was rare for the boy to speak shortly after a session. Hook got off the bed and leaned in to Peter's face. Peter was blinking rapidly, and one of his eyes was redder than the other.

"Must be the mascara," Hook said, almost apologetically. "I'll take it all off." He brought the basin of water intended for his own morning wash, and began rubbing off the various shades of red, white and black that had become rather smudged during their previous activity. Peter's eye was still irritated, and a solitary tear ran out of it, down his cheek. Hook caught it in his fingers before it could fall into the dirtied water of the basin and touched the salty drop to his tongue.

"At least untie my hands so I can rub it," Peter pleaded. Hook was completely mesmerized by the shimmer of tears in the large eyes. Desire was rising in waves in the captain. Peter had barely enough time to close his eyes before Hook suddenly applied his mouth to the hurting one, running his tongue over the eyelid and tasting the eye shadow he hadn't yet washed away. When he finally let go, he saw Peter glaring back at him, clearly having failed to appreciate all the intimacy.

"Why don't you untie my hands for just a few minutes, and I'll wash it off myself... Then you won't have to touch such a dirty girl..."

"I love it when you think you're being clever, Pan." Love, Hook thought. I love it when he says a lot of things, lately. I love him. He felt an urgent need to say it. The boy was so beautiful, even with the colors running down his face, reminding Hook more of the Indians than his former archenemy. He loved him, there was no denying it any longer.

"You look good enough to eat..." Was what came out instead. Hook leaned in and gave Peter a monstrous hickey on the neck. As he pulled away, he was disappointed to see Peter obviously cringing from this show of affection. The face was relatively clean now. Hook raised him onto his bed, keeping the chained ankles over the edge.

"My pretty pixie... why won't you let yourself enjoy your stay?" Hook said more pleadingly than he had initially intended. Peter said nothing. He was tired and the need for sleep was catching up to him. He prayed Hook was not contemplating doing another round this late in the day. The sun was low and its rays were streaming in directly through the paned glass, creating strange pools of light around the room, each one appearing to dance to a different tune. How he missed Tinker Bell. And why had she not tried to find him?

"...Hmmm? What's the matter with you, lad? Don't you know you have to make the best of every situation?" Hook pecked Peter on the cheek. "I love you..." The words seemed almost foreign in his mouth.

Peter was lying motionless, feeling his hands becoming numb under his own weight, and avoiding eye contact. "I really do love you," Hook repeated, and wrapped his strong fingers more than halfway around the thin white neck. "So much so that sometimes I want to kill you for it..."

"I wish you'd do it already and get it over with." The boy said, and shuddered when he felt Hook suddenly slip the severed limb under his shirt. Even through all the scarred flesh, Hook could relish how smooth and delicate Peter's chest was.

"Don't touch me with that," Peter blurted out nervously. Hook smiled.

"Would you rather I put my hook back on and caress you to shreds?" The red sunlight in the room was growing progressively dimmer. Sunsets were very quick things in Neverland. "I love you," Hook said again, bewildered at his own candor. He kissed Peter deeply, running his tongue over the boy's, and massaging the roof of the mouth. As Hook continued further towards the throat, he felt the boy begin to gag, and obligingly pulled out. Peter looked over Hook's body briefly before spitting directly on his impeccably clean coat. The captain's blood rose to his temples, his nostrils flared, and Peter secretly regretted his small rebellion. Hook grabbed the boy by the ropes that bound him and wiped the spittle off his coat with Peter's body as if it were not much more than a handkerchief. He then flung the boy off the bed, but Peter remained suspended in midair, ostensibly chained to the cannonball on the floor, but defying every fettering sense of logic Hook had proudly cultivated in himself. What aroused the greatest jealousy in Hook was the effortlessness with which the boy did this, even in his broken state. He quickly pushed Peter to the floor and delivered a painful kick into his back before returning to the bed. Peter braced himself for more physical assault, but Hook remained seated on the bed, grimly watching Peter trying to squirm back into a sitting position and conceal his pain.

"Why does the rosebud refuse to blossom?" The captain muttered to himself.

"Because it knows it will wilt soon after," Peter replied bitterly. Hook's eyes enlarged and a smile spread across his face. Peter turned away from Hook, just in case the pain in his back from the rough impact would make him tear up again.

"No matter how many thorns it tries to grow, it can still be picked easily," Hook said, this time addressing Peter directly.

"Easily? Only by the one who grew it and knows it well."

"A little prick here and there wouldn't stop someone who wants it passionately."

"True. But the one who wants it 'passionately' will tear it to pieces before he has a good chance to admire it anyway." Hook felt a shiver race through his body. This boy understood his innermost thoughts like no one else.

"You know, Pan, sometimes you sound half-way intelligent. If you hadn't spent all your time flittering about, you might have amounted to something interesting."

"I'm sure flittering is much better than what you've been forcing--" Peter stopped when he suddenly felt a familiarly large, firm hand tracing his spine and caressing the area hit so cruelly. Hook's voice was uncharacteristically shaky.

"Pan, I want to keep you forever and always... I'll be good to you if you can just act grateful." Peter said nothing. The captain got up and reattached his hook before walking out of the cabin. He returned with a bowl of porridge.

"I'm not hungry," Peter said promptly. He was deathly hungry, but he hated the way he often lost control of his emotions during the slight relaxation associated with eating. Beginning to cry at random in front of Smee was entirely different than in the presence of the captain.

"Smee told me you haven't eaten since morning. You're going to get sick if you never eat. Open up." Peter's mouth remained shut tightly, and Hook could insert the spoon only past the lips before it stopped at clenched teeth.

"Open your mouth," Hook repeated, taking care to sound calm, pulling the spoon back.

"I told you, I'm not..." but before Peter could re-close his mouth, the spoon had already darted in. The porridge was cold and absolutely tasteless, perhaps even a bit slimy. Peter spit it all out on the floor as soon as the spoon came out, and closed his eyes even before Hook's heavy hand landed with a terrific smack on the back of his head.

"Eat it off the floor now, you little princess." Peter looked away disdainfully. Hook was about to push Peter's face back into the bit of porridge on the floor, but stopped himself.

"I'll be nice to you, boy, despite your revolting behavior. You can thank those sparklers of yours for that." Hook pushed Peter over onto his back and kissed him briefly to remove a bit of porridge still on the lips. "I love you, Pan." Hook savored the words each time he pronounced them, but also felt the cold boring stare of the portrait on the opposite wall. Peter didn't opt to say anything.

"Pan? Don't be cold to me. I know you get a little stiff too." As soon as he touched the boy's groin, Peter's eyes bugged out in fear at the possibility of great pain. But Hook's hand merely rubbed gently.

"Do you like it?" Hook asked. Peter reddened. The naughty fairies, as Tink called them, who lived deep in the woods occasionally played with Peter like this. He enjoyed it.

"No." The hand briefly slid down to the boy's thighs, before creeping around and into the pants. Peter soon felt a long probing finger inside himself. His spine became rigid, his mouth tensed, and his thighs clapped together involuntarily.

"Glad I don't shove this up, eh, laddie?" The captain let his hook glisten menacingly in front of Peter's face before using it to gently fold away a few strands of hair from his eyes. It was when the second finger began to push its way in that Peter almost reflexively kneed Hook in the groin. The fingers immediately pulled out.

"You dirty little whore! Not grateful for my protection from the rest of those ruffians! I could always ask Bill and the gang to have a little fun with you--"

Hook got up and washed his hand in the basin. The crew had been asking for a night with Peter for days, but he had always refused, and even now swells of protective jealousy arose when he thought of handing the boy over. But the boy's behavior was infuriating and he had to be punished. "I have a feeling you'll regret your stubbornness soon enough, Pan."

Peter turned over onto his stomach to relieve the pressure on his hands, and turned his face away from Hook. The pain in the groin had subsided quickly, but the captain's anger was not so easy to extinguish. It was lust, mere lust, that he felt, Hook assured himself. He had never loved boys, and, in any case, Peter did not deserve his love. Hook squeezed the handle of his sword. He wanted to beat the child, rape him, stick knives into that tender flesh, rip him in half... for all those years of torment, and especially the confusing turmoil in him now.

But better to let the crew handle the punishment. It would instantly relieve the stirrings of mutiny that Hook's vast experience let him get whiffs of among his discontented men. Peter had evidently fallen asleep again, judging by the steady rise and fall of his ribcage. Hook walked around to get a view of the face. He wondered why the large eyes would never fully close in their relaxed state.

Hook sighed, feelings stirring again. The boy would come back with a better appreciation of what he had been spared all this time. He would learn the difference between love and lust. The boy would be forced to learn to love his protector sooner or later. Hook smiled blissfully at the fantasies that instantly began sprouting in his mind, and pushed all misgivings aside.