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A Bunch of Hook/Pan Oneshots	By : lexyhamilton Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Slash Views: 9605 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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The following are a bunch of one shots (one chapter, standalone fics) that I have written about Hook and Pan. Most were written for a Livejournal darkfic peterpanfic community called the_nether_land. Each comes with its own set of warnings, etc.

I've written a lot of these things (can you tell I love those two?), and instead of cluttering this site, I'll just post them all together. Viva consolidation!

Written 2/21/04

Title: A Lesson of Three
Pairing: Hook/Pan
Rating: NC-17, I think
Category: squick, mild violence, just general... nastiness
Summary: Hook decides to… ‘educate’ the cockiness out of Pan.
This was strange, not my style, really, and I’m unsure about what the hell this was all about. Oh well. Had to purge away the mentally ill plot bunny.
Dedicated to and semi-inspired by and her wonderful world of kinky sadism. Make this an early birthday present.

His body is already shaking. Is it from fear? I come around to get a view of his face, and to my delight, it’s wild rage that’s making him convulse. His body is vulnerable and naked, bent over my desk, chained down. His proud head is brought low to the desk’s surface, while his feet are planted on the ground, apart, each ankle chained to a leg of the table. And despite the hopelessness of this state of affairs from his point of view, he doesn’t beg for his life, but only plans his revenge against me once he regains his freedom. I can see it in his eyes. If I were a cold, calculating man, I would probably sunder his body apart with my sword. Right here, between two arbitrarily chosen protruding vertebrae. My hook lands in one such furrow and his entire frame shudders.

“Let me go,” he suddenly says through clenched teeth.

“That’s a generous offer, Pan. I think I’ll refuse for now.”

“I thought we had an understanding.” He is almost whining. Utterly disgusting.

“Understanding?” I cannot help but scoff. “The understanding being that you do as you please, and I let you torment me as entertainment? Is this our understanding?” I bring the hook to his face, and nick the side of his cheek. He shudders again, evidently unused to receive hurt without immediate retribution.

“This is my understanding now. My understanding is that I do whatever I want with anything, and that includes your sorry little body.” The chains prevent his ribcage from expanding as much his haughty indignation would call for.

“But I won’t be overly cruel,” I purr, passing back around for a view of his ass. I languidly reach into the pocket of my great coat. “I’m only going to teach you a few lessons.”

Years of having only one hand have made it dexterous, and I push apart his buttocks and simultaneously begin inserting what I have just retrieved up his chute. A neverbird egg-- slightly larger than the chicken eggs from what I can recall with difficulty from the real world. Good omelettes can be made from these eggs, but this particular one has a more sinister fate. The boy gasps, and I can feel his ring clench impossibly tightly. I have not yet inserted it a quarter of an inch. I push on relentlessly, and his prideful silence abruptly degenerates into pained squeals, his bony body writhing within the confines of the chains. He is unbelievably tight, and I am for a moment discouraged in my own abilities to shove the entire egg up. A sudden push, however, and the globe is in, blood beginning to slowly drip out from the opening and unto the impeccably clean floor of my cabin. The boy is screaming his lungs out, attempting to say something, but utterly unintelligible.

“That was for my hand,” I say calmly, searching the room for a cloth of some sort. This assault on my ears can at least be muffled up a bit. After stuffing Pan’s mouth completely full with a bunched up rag Smee uses to wash the floor, his tormented screams are pleasantly softened into stifled moans. His body is already trying to expel the foreign object, the egg sometimes flashing its beige shell from within his body through the hole that he is incapable of completely closing at the moment.

The second egg goes in with somewhat less difficulty, but his muted shrieks are unabated.

“That’s for presuming that a child can ever be better than a man.” It surprises me, given the nature of my occasional dreams, that I am not aroused by the sight of his naked body, ready for the taking, against his impudent, arrogant will. I feel inspired, in fact, to flog him to death, perhaps, or keelhaul him around until he loses his wits underwater. This can only come later, however. The insertion of the final egg is rendered more difficult by the two already inside, but I manage.

“And that’s for your godless hatred of mothers, you bastard sprite.” I recall my mother from the vague reaches of my memory. How she tried to stay my father’s hand as he pelted me with his belt for… what it was for, on any of the occasions, I cannot, for the life of me, remember. Ever.

The boy’s body is stiff and slightly trembling. His screaming has ceased, so I graciously take the gag out of his mouth.

“Let me go,” he pants out, his horror-stricken face livid, and barely recognizable. I smile pleasantly, and he thinks he has found a way out.

“You won. I lost. You’re better than me. Now let me go...” And he breaks into tears as a spasm wracks his entire frame.

I shake my head. “Oh, but my dear, sweet lad-- I’m not nearly as shallow as you take me to be, or as you yourself evidently are. My sole purpose in this is, shall we say… improvement of your revolting character. Nothing is beyond correction, I like to believe.”

Pan is straining, and previously unseen veins on his forehead suddenly reveal themselves. At his other end, a most grotesque bowel movement is taking place. I have inserted the trio little end in, rendering it doubly difficult to expel them.

“I imagine this approximates how your mother felt when she was pushing your ungrateful head out of herself,” I whisper in his ear, stroking the trembling muscles of his buttocks with my cold metal.

Finally, one of them escapes his body, and falls to the floor, splattering its slimy contents across the wood. The bloody doomed embryo bursts open-- stark red against the sunny yolk in the puddle between his two feet. The next egg soon makes its appearance, but stops neither here nor there.

“Please… help me,” Pan gasps between sobs. There is so much sweat that it is dripping off his face onto the polished wood of the desk. At least he is graciously sucking back the filthy blood from a gash he has bitten through on his lip. His needy cry for help finally arouses me. I twist the protruding beige out ever so slightly, and leave the rest of the efforts to him. He pushes it out in a few moments, and I step back to prevent drops of yolk from landing on my clothes.

I am ready.

He is beginning to push out the last one when I position myself against his thrust out ass.

“I’ve been quite forgetful today, Peter, so you will have to learn things backwards. While I’m sure your birth was quite fascinating, you should also learn about the original cause of your mother’s agony.” I thrust into him without ceremony, guessing that the previous activity has stretched him more than any of my finger foreplay ever could. I feel the egg inside him, and push it up deeper. He squirms under me, letting out a pained little gasp, but really nothing extraordinary. I am desperate to continue my speech, and have to keep myself still for this.

“Since she was, in all probability, a dirty, loose whore, I expect that she didn't much enjoy the gentleman who bestowed you on her. So don't be alarmed at how coarse this is.” The last words escape as a grunt. I finally pump my hips into his vigorously, and am satisfied much too quickly for my liking. He has been stretched so lax, my come is quicker than I am to leave his limp, fatigued body.

I fight lethargy and take out a belt from my closet-- a monstrous leather item, with too many metal clasps for real usefulness-- and pelt him several times across his ravaged bottom.

“Little boys without mothers are lost,” I say soothingly, just loud enough to be heard above the din of his anguished howling, and watch the blood gather and begin to streak down his thighs, glistening lovely red, from the newly formed welts on his skin.

I will let him go-- he can suffer out the last egg onto the forest floor somewhere. I will let him go, he will heal, and-- most puzzling of all-- he will eventually forget. In years perhaps, but years are at times indistinguishable from days in the nebulous sea of time on this island. He will return to laughing and thinking himself the crowning achievement of the universe. And then I can teach him all over again.
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A Bunch of Hook/Pan Oneshots