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Game	By : cravache Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Slash Views: 12942 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 1-Game
- 1
“So. You have returned.”

The man’s voice is as smooth as silk. It sends a shiver down Peter’s spine as he stands still, naked and blindfolded, in the middle of the Captain’s cabin. His arms are secured behind his back, tied firmly together with a shred of coarse fabric. Having being denied sight, he is much more aware of everything around him. The cool air wafts over his youthful skin, tickling each tiny hair. The low creaking of the ship as it rocks serenely in the water prick his ears. Yes, without his sight, everything sounds so much sharper. Peter can hear Hook breathing; each steady, slow breath. In, out, in, out, as rhythmic as the lapping waves that are gently swaying the ship from side to side.

Peter loves this game; sneaking on to Hook’s ship to play. It had started out as something that was mere fun, something innocent, to hide on the ship and see how long he could stay on there without being caught. Smee discovered him, hiding in an empty barrel and yanked him out by the hair. He dragged Peter to Hook’s cabin and, as the Captain of the Jolly Roger held his hook to Peter’s throat, Peter insisted on playing a game. Oh, what a game it has turned out to be.

There is a sound of rum being sculled, sloshing down Hook’s throat greedily, followed by a loud thump of the silver goblet being slammed on the wooden table.

Peter jumps.

“Smee, leave us,” Hook orders.

“Yes, Capt’n.” Peter hears the sound of scurrying footsteps on the wooden floor. A door clicks open and then shuts with a thud.

There is a pause. “Well, well,” Hook says. “Alone. Together. Again.”

Peter licks his lips. “Yes,” he softly replies.

The floorboards creak and groan as Hook slowly circles him. Peter turns his head in the direction of the footfalls. He imagines how Hook looks; hand-and-hook clasped behind his back, head cocked to the side, piercing blue eyes studying him closely. He wishes he could see. He wishes he could—

A hand, firm and strong, closes over his shoulder and Peter gasps in fright. “Face forward,” Hook orders.

The tone in Hook’s command is menacing and Peter obeys.

“Good boy,” the man murmurs. Peter can hear the smirk in his voice. He imagines that smile, that familiar upward curve of Hook’s lips, framed with the dark trimmed moustache and trail of thick bristles that line his chin and jaw.

Hook’s hand is heavy on Peter’s slender shoulder. He feels the man’s strong fingers digging in and gripping down to the bone. His young cock twitches. Anticipation floods his veins like a surging current. Excitement ripples through his body, from his head down to his toes. His breath quickens.

“Excited, are you?” Hook breathes.

Peter flinches and lets out a soft cry of surprise. Hook has silently moved in and his lips are mere inches from his ear. His breath is hot and balmy and Peter whimpers; softly, softly, it is barely audible.

But, oh, Hook hears it. Peter pictures that smirk again as the man chuckles into his ear. “You are. I can smell it.” He hears a psssssssssssssh as the man inhales through his nose, and then…silence. Hook is savouring his scent, holding it in his lungs. Peter hears the creeeak of the ship as it lazily rocks in time with the rolling, gentle waves. Very faintly, outside, he hears water splashing, slapping, swilling softly as it swells in subdued ripples around the Jolly Roger. His pulse thumps in his ears, throb, throb. Everything is so much louder without sight. Everything is—

“Ahhhhh.” Peter jumps as Hook lets out a throaty, lustful exhalation of pleasure. Hook’s bristles skim over the conch of his ear, rough and prickly, and Peter trembles. “You smell so good.”

Peter swallows loudly around the thick, unyielding lump that has formed in his throat. His mouth feels parched and gluggy. His tongue feels as coarse and dry as sandpaper, and when he swipes it over his lips, it snags on the sensitive skin of his mouth. Peter thinks about how wonderful it would be to have a drink right now; something to wet his throat, to quench his thirst. Water would feel heavenly, trickling down his—

Cold metal, hard and curve-shaped, presses against his flushed cheek. Peter gasps and, oh, his cock throbs. That hook, that iron claw that has gutted many innocents, takes his breath away. Not being able to see, not knowing if Hook is going to strike like a viper and pierce his skin is exhilarating. This, this is why Peter keeps coming back, keeps seeking the thrill of stealthily trespassing on Hook’s ship.

Long, curly hair brushes on Peter’s perspiring cheek as Hook presses his lips to his ear. “You just cannot stay away, can you?” he whispers. The man digs the bluntness of the hook firmly into the boy’s cheek and forces Peter’s head back against his shoulder. “Does your little clan know you do this? Do they know you steal away into the night like a thief to seek such forbidden thrills?”

Peter can’t take his mind off the man’s sultry breath billowing against his ear in quick bursts, like puffs of smoke. His quivering lips form the word ‘No’, though he makes no sound.

The grip on his shoulder loosens. Peter feels Hook’s warm palm slide across his collarbone to his neck. It slithers like a snake up his throat and the man’s thick fingers curl around the shape of his jaw and grips it. He forces Peter’s head back with a jerk and leans in against the boy’s back. Skin meets skin; clammy, hot, sultry skin. Peter’s fingers, being that his hands are bound behind him, brush over the man’s bush of wiry hair that trails from his navel to his groin. Hook’s prick, naked and aroused, presses against the cleft of Peter’s buttocks. “I hear not an answer,” Hook hisses.

Peter’s cock twitches again. “N…N-no.” He feels the steady rise and fall of Hook’s firm chest against his back. It is as rhythmic as the man’s thick length throbbing eagerly against the swell of his arse.

Hook smiles. Peter feels the man’s prickly bristles graze his skin. “I thought not,” he murmurs. “After all,” he continues in the same sardonic drawl, “what would—“ He lessens the pressure of his iron hook against Peter’s cheek and slowly begins to trail it down over the curve of his chin; “—they make of their Captain coming—“ The hook is suddenly pulled away and Peter’s breath hitches in his throat; “—here to—“

Peter gasps loudly the moment the hook presses against his cock. The touch of cool metal is biting on his hot, dry length. It sends a jolt through his slight body, like a fork of lightning, sharp and intense. He almost, almost comes, from the sheer anticipation.

“—play, hm?” Hook finishes. He runs the side of the hook up and down the shaft of Peter’s prick gently. The fingers that are gripping his jaw like a vice loosen and Hook slides his palm down Peter’s throat quickly before taking his hand away.

He moves back from the boy’s ear and Peter feels a waft of cool air blow over the dewy moisture that Hook’s humid breath left. He shivers again and tries to swallow. His nerve endings are alive. Not being able to see makes his skin feel incredibly sensitive; Peter has never realized how much he feels, how powerful the sensation of touch is. He has never—

Hook’s fingers snatch his sandy blond hair and his head is wrenched back as far as his neck allows; tendons pull and stretch in his throat. Peter lets out a strangled cry of surprise and his cock throbs against the hook. He squeezes his eyes shut behind the blindfold. Yes, oh yes, this is the thrill he seeks; the fear, the uncertainty. The adrenalin pumping through his veins is as powerful as flying through the sky, as overwhelming as the happy thoughts that permeate his mind when he soars like a bird through the clouds.

“This is hardly a playground, my dear boy,” Hook drawls. He continues to skim the curve of his hook up and down Peter’s cock, pressing his own elongated length firmly against the boy’s buttocks. Hook leans in and presses his lips to Peter’s ear again. “Yet, you continue to come to my lair to play,” he whispers.

Peter bites his bottom lip and gulps. Hook has his hair grasped so tightly Peter can feel the sharp sting of each follicle being pulled tautly.

“Tell me, Pan,” Hook continues. “Do you frolic with your tribe, hm?” He slowly releases the boy’s tresses and claws his nails against Peter’s scalp, down to his neck. He curls his fingers around it and urges Peter forward, forcing him to bend over.

Peter’s cheek touches the cold, grimy surface of Hook’s table and he flinches. He can smell the acrid stench of stale rum that had been spilt time and time again, ingrained deeply in the aged wood. The man roughly pushes his face against the table and orders in a low voice, “Stay.”

Peter knows what is coming. Oh, he knows and his cock throbs. The man’s hook continually caresses his length in lazy strokes. Peter’s breath increases to quick, shallow pants and he licks his lips. He twists his hands within their binds. His shoulders are aching and his wrists hurt from where the material is cutting in.

Hook releases his neck and slowly begins to trail his hand down Peter’s back. Peter can feel the rough calluses on the man’s fingertips scratching across his skin. “Are you a naughty boy with your clan like you are here, Pan?” Hook asks silkily as he traces each undulating shape of the boy’s ribs, each knot of his spine.

Peter trembles. Oh, the anticipation! His skin prickles and breaks out in goose bumps. Every hair on his body stands on end.

Hook slides his palm down over the swell of Peter’s buttock and grips it. A rush of air gushes into Peter’s crevice as Hook pulls his cheek aside. He feels the man’s firm hand massage it, kneading his fingers in as if it is clay, as though he is molding it like a potter. “Lovely,” Hook murmurs.

Peter moans softly as he writhes against the table and arches his back.

The man takes his hand away. Peter hears the scrape of the silver goblet being dragged towards him. Hook slides his fingers into the chalice and wets them with the residue of rum. He moves his hand back to Peter’s behind and—

Peter gasps loudly the moment Hook’s moist fingers slip between his cheeks and rub against his entrance. The alcohol burns. It sends a shockwave of pleasure through to his prick. He mewls and twists his wrists in their binds, panting loudly.

Hook chuckles. He nudges a foot against Peter’s ankle and forces the boy to spread his legs. He takes his hook from Peter’s cock and lifts it to the boy’s neck. Sliding it carefully underneath, he presses the sharp end of the iron hook against Peter’s throat. The boy instantly tenses up. He can feel it digging into his skin. Fear floods his mind and sends his heart racing. Hook can end this in one vicious swipe; claw Peter’s throat out, pierce his veins, rip his neck to shreds. Oh, the thrill, the excitement of it all.

A fine sheen of sweat breaks out over Peter’s body. His skin glistens in the dim light and his chest rises and falls with each rapid breath. He doesn’t dare move, for fear that the hook will sink into his neck. Peter mewls as one of Hook’s thick fingers breach his entrance. The alcohol that has seeped into the man’s skin burns like fire within Peter’s passage as fingers probe, sinking deeper and deeper into him. He is stretched, pulled open, gouged into with each twist and plunge.

He holds himself as still as he can. He listens to everything around him; the steady creak of the boat, the faint caw of a gull in the distance, the sound of Hook’s quick, lustful breathing. He opens his eyes against the blindfold and sees very small specks of light filtering through the material. Without the permission to see, everything is amplified; each touch to his skin, each sound to his ear, each inhale of fumes from the rum-soaked table. He can feel the point of the hook directly on his pulse. Peter swallows and his Adam’s apple rubs against the hook as it bobs up and down in his throat. He takes in a sharp breath and jerks back just as Hook’s fingers slip from him and—

Peter cries out the moment the blunt, thick head of Hook’s cock pushes against his entrance. He hears Hook let out a deep throated groan. In and out, in and out, Hook works his way in, stretching Peter wider and wider.

Peter can’t help but move. He jerks and writhes and the sharp point of the hook digs deeply into his throat, pierces his skin and he shrieks.

Hook snaps his hips forward and plows deeply into Peter, growling, “Silence!”

Peter feels a thin line of blood trickle down his throat. The hook nicks deeper into the boy’s flesh as Hook establishes a fast and heady rhythm, grunting and cursing with each glide of his cock into Peter’s arse.

The pain of the metal jabbing into Peter’s throat sends ripples of excitement to his prick. His hands squirm within the bind securing them together. Tears fill his eyes and seep out, soaking into the blindfold. His breath becomes erratic and wheezy.

Hook spears into him. Peter feels the man’s cock thicken and lengthen. The pace intensifies. The table scrapes over the wooden floor with a loud grrrrroannnn and Peter hears the silver goblet topple to the side, roll across the surface and land on the floor with a clatter.

Peter bites his lower lip. He feels his peak approaching. There is intense heat surrounding the spot where the hook is caught in his skin. He focuses on it, feels it tugging, jerking, snagging at his neck. Peter’s breath catches in his throat and he holds it. And holds it. And holds it. His lungs burn and his head swims. A roaring sound erupts in his ears. His fingers and toes tingle. Black spots dance behind his eyelids. His cock throbs. His heart hammers. He feels…he feels…he feels—

He comes. It’s an explosion. His body is alive. Pain and pleasure mingle into one and lift him into an elevated plateau. In his mind, he is flying; he is above the clouds, way up where his happiest thoughts are, where the sun is highest. He is floating like a bird, drifting with the wind, feeling the rush of adrenalin roll through his veins like a tide. He holds his breath until the roaring sound in his ears becomes unbearable and the burning in his lungs is like a raging fire. He wheezes again and—

Hook is coming within him. Skin slaps against skin, hips snap forward, the table scrapes loudly again and there is a sudden sharp, splitting pain in Peter’s throat as the hook rips across it, slicing his skin. Warm blood cascades down his neck, down his chest, drips to the floor. He hears Hook bellowing, though it sounds far away. His head is spinning. Peter is vaguely aware that he is coughing, that he is spluttering and gasping for breath; he is too busy soaring above the clouds to pay much attention. Peter is gliding through the air. He is—

His happy thoughts suddenly leave him. It is as if he is plummeting from the sky. Peter slumps against the table as Hook milks the last of his leavings into him. His head continues to spin. His body is weak and as Hook withdraws and lets him go, Peter collapses to the floor, shivering and wheezing.

He hears a laugh, loud and boisterous. Strong hands seize him and lift him from the floor. Hook props him against the table and roughly tugs the bind free. Peter’s arms flop to his side limply and he gasps and blinks furiously once the blindfold is snagged from his face.

Peter hears a 'clink' as Hook scoops the silver goblet up within his hook. Liquid chugs from a bottle, glug glug, and sloshes into the chalice. A bottle is slammed on the table and Hook grabs Peter’s hair and wrenches his head back. He gurgles as Hook presses the silver goblet to his lips and tips scalding rum in his mouth. The fumes sear down his throat and his eyes water as he chokes and splutters, desperately trying to swallow the drink that is flooding in.

Slowly, he comes around. The room stops tilting, his heart slows down and his breath calms. He lifts a hand to his throat and gingerly touches it. He is bleeding, though it is not a deep cut.

“Smee!”

Peter jumps in fright at Hook’s shout. The goblet is taken from his lips and thumped on the wooden surface. Moments later, the door handle rattles and the sound of feet scuttling across the floor fills the room.

“Yes, Capt’n?”

Hook yanks Peter close and presses his lips to the boy’s ear. “Until next time, hm?” Without awaiting an answer, he shoves Peter to Smee. “Take him out of my sight.” He waves his hand dismissively and turns away.

One would question why Hook does not do away with Peter. Smee has asked this time and time again. Hook merely tells him to be quiet, to mind his business. But the answer is simple; he enjoys frolicking as much as Peter does. He likes this game. He looks forward to next time.

So does Peter.
- 1
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