A Bunch of Hook/Pan Oneshots

Title: Nettles
Pairing: Hook/Pan
Rating: R-ish
Warnings: Chan, slash obviously, and... cruelty?
A/N: So I offer this humble ficlet to Moshesque. She challenged me to include BREATHPLAY and RUTTING in a H/P fic. So... I went ahead and did it. Sort of. And I really tried to keep De Sade's ev0l influence out, but this slightly smacks of him, unfortunately. Hence, DARK but not necessarily SEXY. Bad habits.


“Green suits you, Pan. Did you know that?”

He had been rather happy at first to see what he thought were his clothes returned to him after several excruciatingly cold days spent naked and chained in the hold. At least he thought it had been several. He couldn’t rightly tell in the dank darkness. Neither could he immediately see that the leaves were quite strangely shaped.

Peter had struggled madly, so that four of the crewmen, all in gloves, hardly managed to slip Peter into his newly commissioned outfit. They exited, leaving the captain and his prize alone. Hook stood impassively, watching Peter go from writhing in pain, to finally deciding better and lying still to minimize the stinging on the rest of his body.

Peter finally braved sacrificing his palms and began ripping the evil foliage from his body.

"No, no, that won’t do at all.” Hook moved in, crushing Peter into the floor with his own person, causing excruciating agony when he began to rut against his body. Hook had thick, elaborate clothes to protect himself. Peter had the nettles. Still he refused to cry out from old pride-- a vestige of his former existence of only a few days ago, already grown quite useless.

“This is the form I fell into obsession with, not some sorry prisoner. I’m afraid you'll simply have to keep wearing this suit."

Hook wasn’t afraid. He hadn’t been afraid since he’d captured the boy. Even if the crocodile were to suddenly happen upon him and swallow him whole right at this moment, it could never swallow his victory over Peter. Even if the boy got away afterwards.

Unless he’d forget eventually…

Hook made sure Peter wouldn’t forget. He raised Peter and began rubbing into his groin. Peter gave out a whimper then finally started crying for mercy when he felt his most sensitive part subjected to such cruelly acute pain, redoubling his attempt to tear the outfit clean off.

"And when this one wilts we'll fashion you a new one, I imagine." Hook's gloved hand descended to the boy's groin, rubbing before suddenly snatching out a whole clump of nettles, leaving Peter quite naked in that particular spot. And quite hurt. The whole ship must have heard.

“Your screeches are not as melodious as you might think, my little sprite.” He suddenly stuffed the nettles into that small, delicate mouth. Before Peter could react in any way. Before he realized the potential pain. And then two large fingers thrust up his nostril, stuffing the remainder up the last remaining passage of air.

Peter’s eyes watered over before he could do anything else. He felt Hook’s hand against his mouth and nose. Panic rose as the urgency to take a breath mounted.

“Will you remember this, Pan?”

Peter nodded desperately, seeing Hook only as a washed out mirage disappearing behind yet another wall of tears.

“Always?”

Peter nodded, again against Hook’s crushing hand, afraid he was losing consciousness. All pain in his body ceded center-stage as he felt his throat and nasal cavity swelling with inflammation.

Hook’s hand finally left and clumps of nettles were immediately snorted and coughed out. Hook released him, and Peter fell to his knees, drool, snot and tears still pouring out as he struggled to breathe again through his constricted passages. He hardly took notice of Hook massaging the nettles into his backside by this point.

“Get up, brat.” Hook kicked Peter’s backside, and the latter scrambled to his feet. Hook was pleased to see that the inflammation had aroused Peter like no gentle stimulation had done.

“Take off that outfit.” The boy gladly obliged, revealing frightful blisters all over his previously unblemished skin-- pulsating, burning. The boy stood gulping belaboredly, still looking quite the feverish mess. Hook couldn’t resist and ran the roughened leather of his gloves across Peter’s stomach, red spots like a map of where he had so eagerly thrust into the boy’s body moments before.

He might remember this, Hook thought, though with little conviction, when he heard Peter practically howl in pain at the touch. Perhaps he’d start taking more drastic measures to permanently mark the boy up, but not today. Those affairs had to be conducted carefully and with planning, after all.

As long as Pan lived, he could never be guaranteed that his victory would be remembered. With Pan dead however, he could be sure it wouldn’t be-- which made these things irritatingly difficult.