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Joy Boy	By : lexyhamilton Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Het Views: 6295 -:- 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-Joy Boy
- 1
Title: JoyBoy
Pairing: Mostly Hook/Wendy. A bit of Peter/Wendy. etc. etc.
Rating: NC-17 probably
Warnings: Um... explicit het and implied slash. That should alienate just about everybody, I think. If not, then I'll add OOCness to the list.
A/N: The origin of this can be vaguely attributed to Dancing Salome's wondeful Man's Greatest Joy fic. 'Vaguely' is key here. Hopefully it doesn't really need additional background-- just citing the source of the plot bunny.
So... first time het-centered panfic. First time Wendy POV. First time grownup!Pan. First time Hook is not at all gay. My female character writing is still high on illegal substance of choice, though. I think it is slightly better than my previous efforts at Wendy. Enough disclaiming.

He moves about quickly, setting the table with obviously practiced skill. His eyes are darting about, but he never dares raise them at either me or Hook. Hook’s leaning back in his chair, twirling his twin cigar holder, the hat taken off already. His coiffure is perfect, all dark auburn locks, but only because I’ve been plucking out the few stray gray ones lately in idle play on the bed. He only has to clear his throat and our server is sent into trembles, dropping utensils all over the table. I wince at the discordant clash of silver against the dishes.

Peter looks over, already cowering, but Hook only motions him to continue in his task. So much relief he exhibits, and who could blame him? Hook’s strap is only a little less familiar to him than the crew’s hands. I stare at him, trying to exhume the boy who brought me to Neverland from this anxious wreck of a human being. He’s grown so lanky—exceedingly tall but obviously undernourished, spine in a perpetual submissive slouch. His face has changed, grown longer and gaunter, but he would still be lovely to look on if he’d stop wearing that frightened, obsequious smile.

He steps back to the wall, trying to disappear into the shadows. He usually waits on us throughout the whole meal, and Hook is never discomfited in the slightest by his presence, carrying on easy, intimate conversation with me. Yet Hook’s exceptionally bored tonight. I can discern these things nowadays before he begins acting on his whims, and I’d tell Peter to find a way to excuse himself immediately—if only there were any way to communicate that to him without Hook hearing. As it is, I can only sit and watch it unfold.

“No, no, lad, don’t make yourself scarce,” he beckons with his metal. “Sit down and enjoy the meal with us.”

Peter walks over slowly, trying to smile amiably though I can see the cords of his neck tightening and betraying his anxiety. I’m sure Hook can too, and it probably only makes him more hell-bent on pursuing whatever it is that he’s got planned for tonight.

Peter takes a chair between us—probably afraid to sit too close to his captain and not wishing to be presumptuous with the lady. He hasn’t even brought another set of silverware, so I pray internally that he won’t do something gauche using his hands. No, he’s too timid for that. He only reaches into the breadbasket, afraid to do anything more than nibble even though I’m sure he’s burning with hunger.

I wish Hook wouldn’t do this—play these games, keep me on guard. I haven’t talked to Peter directly in ages, but I still care for him in some notional sense. Though he evidently doesn’t remember much of our past, I still feel visceral pity even when I simply lay eyes on him.

There was a time, only shortly after we’d been captured, when I pleaded with Hook, clutching his clothing, disregarding what harm might come to me, begging him to call off the terrible occupation he had designed for Peter aboard the ship. Little Peter—he seemed even younger than me back then. While I’ve gone untouched by the crew even to this day, he was committed to a most degrading and unhealthy life from the start, far less ready it seemed than I was, who even back then was already at an age where I could not pretend to be wholly unresponsive to the Captain and his body.

Though Peter was so intractable the first few days that not all the crewmembers were willing to try their luck with him, he soon became docile and even pleasant. He quickly became popular with the crew, and forgetting his former glory allowed him to accept his place as if it had been law passed from the heavens themselves. Slowly, we both grew up—our childhoods no longer tethered in place by that magical land, and yet in what different circumstance upon the same vessel!

The biggest discomfort I suffer lately is tiredness from the lady’s boots I wear, and feeling a bit indisposed every month, and even that Hook will not let me dwell on. On the whole, I’ve been rather fortunate—Hook is easily pleased, and I’ve grown to enjoy him in bed, if not always elsewhere.

Peter, on the other hand, works hard all day having taken over for Smee who retired from life and sea, and services the entire crew between ports, from what I understand. Back in the day, I felt sorry for him, and cried on his behalf, and even sneaked out sometimes to see him and comfort him. Now… now we haven’t spoken in months if not years, though Hook could care less where I go nowadays. So I stare at him now, sitting there chewing on the bread, forlorn and uneasy-- and only now realize just how long it’s been, and how blithe and careless I’ve been living in my own cozy little world.

“Master Pan,” Hook’s voice suddenly invades my thoughts. I’ve noticed that ‘Master Pan’ usually precedes a beating only shortly, and I grow determined to save Peter, if only just this once. Peter’s neck cranes down further than usual, but he cautiously looks over anyway.

“Either grow your beard out and have it nice and trimmed, or go without. I despise when a man walks around looking as though he was alarmed in the middle of the night.”

Peter smiles and quickly nods his head. Just when I believe I’m mistaken and no beating is coming after all, Hook starts again.

“You have hardly looked at the lady seated to your right. Do you find her not as pleasing to the eye as I do?”

Peter looks over, that stupid smile still plastered on his face.

“Well, what do you think?”

“I-I-I think sh-she’s very pretty.” I realize I haven’t heard him speak in quite a while, since he only does so when prompted. His stammering has only gotten worse since he had last opened his mouth in my presence.

“Pretty?” Hook raises his eyebrows, his eyes cold and predatory, belying his amused tone.

“Th-th-that is, I wouldn’t know. I-I-I wouldn’t d-dare j-j-judge…” Peter’s swallowing hard between almost each word.

What the devil is that smug bastard up to?

“A harlot on the street can be pretty. I’ll wager Wendy is above that level, but I know that’s the best compliment your mind can conjure up, and since she’s so to your liking, perhaps you’d like to try her out yourself.”

The idea petrifies me. I distinctly remember wanting to be more intimate with Peter when I was young, but the thought seems ludicrous and almost disgusting now. I must own up to the fact that I like Hook’s touch and Hook’s touch only. What is most distasteful about this suggestion is Hook orchestrating and watching us—and no doubt punishing Peter doubly afterwards.

Peter only broadens his smile, failing to voice either protest or acquiescence.

“Well? I’m not going to wait all night for you to find yourself in the mood.”

Peter nods quickly, and stands up, pulling his threadbare trousers down and stepping out of them with a quick, easy motion marred only the tremble of his hands. I am beginning to feel sick, but then he places his hands on the table in front of him, jutting his behind out. For me?

Hook bursts out laughing, and Peter joins him shortly—a quiet, nervous laugh.

“Shut up, you idiotic twit. Don’t laugh when you don’t understand what’s funny.”

“Yes s-sir.” Peter stops on cue and turns back to me.

“Imbecile!” Hook is tearing up from laughing. “Very well, you’d better give my girl the time of her life if you don’t want to be whipped for your stupidity.”

“Oh, please Wendy L-l-lady, please d-do me…”

“I shan’t be able to ‘do’ you,” I whisper, drawing back in my chair without realizing it. How is it possible that he doesn’t know such simple things? I hate to see him like this, trapped into an impasse from which he can only come out with a thorough beating, but I can’t think of anything I can do. There’s something very pathetic about all of this, and I really wish Hook would stop milking the situation, and just tell Peter to put his trousers back on.

But he’s grinning, the bastard. “I take it you’re not amused, Wendy-Lady?” How loathsome the phrase sounds coming from Hook’s mouth. He thinks he’s being sardonic and clever, but it’s only because he can’t fathom the sincerity and the awe of this pitiful youth. Every emotion, he has effectively wrung out of him, replacing it with this ludicrous desire to please. If Peter’s an idiot, it’s only Hook’s fault.

“How do you still live on this ship with that empty head of yours?” Hook’s already out of his chair, removing his belt as he approaches the body still standing exposed, cowering but not daring to try and flee.

“Stop it!” I shout suddenly. I haven’t protested like this in a long time, but somehow seeing just how violated Peter’s spirits and body are, I can’t stand to see any more punishment. “Let him be! He’s done nothing to upset you today!” I suddenly wish I could do more than run between them and flail my arms in protest. Hook shoves me away easily enough.

“You’ve no reason to hurt him!” I continue from the floor where I’ve been thrown. This injustice suddenly angers me, and I’m happy. Happy that my anger can still be aroused like this—that I still care. “Or are you simply too lazy to think up an occasion this time?”

What has come over me? I squeeze my eyes shut when I see Hook’s heavy hand poised to deal me a blow across the face but I don’t move back. I almost want him to hit me. Peter won’t understand, but at least I’ll redeem myself in my own eyes. No slap ever comes, however, and I hear the belt snap against skin, and Peter’s low quiet moan following on its heels.

“It still gnaws at you, does it? The guilt that you have come to terms with his fate just because he has? He’s an idiot alright, but he doesn’t need your help. He makes do with what he’s got, just as you have with your lot.”

“Why do you beat him then?” I ask, only realizing that I’m crying when I hear my voice shake. Hook ignores me and delivers the second blow, calmly directing Peter to stop flinching away to make the strokes fall harder and more precisely.

“Why do I beat you, Peter, she asks.”

“It’s… your… pl-pleasure to?” Peter offers feebly, spastic sobs making him hiccup out the words.

“It could have been. But you have given me very good reason tonight, Peter dear.”

At this Hook leans down to retrieve the trousers, suddenly rending them in two with a quick motion. Several golden coins fly up in all directions and clatter to the floor.

“Whore! On our own ship! Asking to be paid separately for one’s job! That’s the lowest kind of degradation. You thought I wouldn’t hear them jangle as you walked around this table?”

Peter falls to Hook’s feet, trying to explain something, rushing, stumbling, by now utterly unable to carry himself through a single word. Hook launches a boot forward catching the boy in the mouth. I wince, and see blood on the boot as it moves away.

“Go and clean the dishes, trollop. And if I ever catch you with money again, you’ll come out with something permanent to remember the punishment by.”

Peter stands up, blood coursing down his chin from a split lip, but he smiles again in that doltish cowardly way and makes to start cleaning the table, still half-naked.

Hook extends his hand to me and picks me off the floor. I can already see he isn’t about to wait for Peter to leave the room before we set to our nightly escapades. Let him. I’m not about to be embarrassed in front of that tragic figure. Yet instead of loosening the laces of my corset, Hook calls Peter over to tighten them.

“Cherish your two hands, boy. Don’t take them for granted, especially if you have a mind to disobey me again.”

I can’t see Peter’s response, but I feel the tightening becoming painful. It’s not the best time of the month for such confinement, and my insides gurgle in protest. Sometimes I wonder if mother ever did it while it was her time on the rag. I’m sure father would have been too tidy for that. Probably didn’t even refer to it as ‘on the rag.’ Hook, of course, doesn’t mind. He wouldn’t dream of missing days because of it, and I’m not appalled by it either, even if I should be.

“Tighter, stupid boy.”

I gasp as the air is squeezed from my lungs. The strings in the back are giving out crackling sounds that are beginning to resemble that of the wood in the fireplace. I’m beginning to feel my pulse in places where I shouldn’t.

Hook takes me on the bed, in my dress, evidently unwilling to disclose all my secrets to the poor soul still clearing off the table. Hook is bent on having him see, though, and keeps looking over. I do too, but Peter studiously avoids picking up his gaze at us. It’s ludicrous really, making love for an unwilling spectator, watching the audience to see if he dares watch in return.

Not for long—soon I am lost to sensation and am no longer sure what sounds I’m emitting as I’m impaled over and over in that sweet way. The dull ache is completely gone as my insides shudder with pleasure. Hook ruts more and comes with a gasp through clenched teeth. Ever afraid to voice any more enjoyment than that. I smile up at him, knowing I look the vixen at the moment, and feel very happy and sultry. He slumps forward onto the bed, and I get up to clean us both. Peter’s already gone.

***

I walk out of the cabin lazily, tiredly. Hook doesn’t care what I do after I finish my duty. Such tiredness, but at least that dull ache is gone. I must not have eaten enough at dinner because I’m hungry now, and it gives me the perfect excuse to go visit the kitchen. I don’t rightly know why I want to see Peter again, but I do.

I make my way across the dark corridors blindly, stopping when I finally reach the door of the kitchen. It’s closed and I hear voices inside, so I wait. Peter’s evidently entertaining someone within and I listen closely in spite of myself, remembering all too well how he looked standing half-naked at the table. Does he smile so vacantly at the crew too? He must.

“If ya ever need me to keep your money for ya, lad, just ask.”

“No need. Th-thanks.”

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that Peter’s voice has changed, though it happened some years ago. The door opens and Mason comes out, eyes widening in surprise for a moment to see me standing to the side, studying my nails as a diversion.

“You tell the Cap’n not to lay it on so hard on our boy, Ms. Darling.”

Such deference. My supposed influence on Hook is little more than a myth, but the crew likes their beliefs. The poor ship never had a figurehead, and I seem to have filled in that niche nicely with my legendary reputation. It wouldn’t do to deign to answer vocally, and I just give a small nod before going in.

Peter’s body tenses, neck immediately falls forward in an attempt to be shorter in stature than his captain’s mistress.

“I d-d-didn’t ask for m-money-- he just… just gave it to me.” He takes the coin out of his pocket and flings it on the table as if touching it taints him. I am his enemy, it seems.

“You really don’t need to fear me,” I say. “You must not remember it very well, but we were friends long ago.” I take out the rest of the coins that Hook had scattered on the floor and I had gathered on the sly just now, but Peter refuses to take them, refuses to do anything but stare at me in disbelief.

“I… I don’t ask for money. They pay me… just p-pay me for s-s-special… special…” He can’t find the words, or perhaps just can’t pronounce them in his agitation, and closes his mouth in surrender. He’s moved to the farthest corner of the room from me, as ill at ease as I’ve ever seen him.

“Fine, don’t take the money for nothing. I’ll pay you for a second dinner. I didn’t eat enough before, so if you could make me something, that would be lovely.”

He looks relieved to be ordered to task, and quickly begins scrambling eggs after he gets my approval. He’s gotten better at cooking since he began, by now probably better than I could manage.

I get closer and wrap my arms around his waist, slipping the coins into some pocket of his. His body stiffens and he begins to tremble. It feels good suddenly. He’s petrified with fear, ready to do anything I would command him. I turn him towards me—his long lean body moving as if lacking a will of its own—and press my lips to his. He’s tall and even my high heels don’t suffice. I’m hanging on his neck, pulling his face into mine, feet hardly touching the floor. He’s about as passionate as a ragdoll, eyes glued to the door expecting intrusion at any moment. He’s afraid he’s doing something he shouldn’t be, and at the same time dares not refuse me. I let go. The exhilaration is gone. I don’t know what the crew sees in him. He stares down at me, no desire in his eyes. His thoughts are all far away, worrying whether he’s violating rules. And then that sheepish smile starts to spread, the kind that appears when he’s afraid and doesn’t know what he should be doing. I feel slightly nauseous.

The eggs have started to burn while I was distracting him, and he quickly ushers them off the pan with a greasy old wooden utensil. Apology and fear color his words as he gives it to me on a plate: “I can… I can make another, if you l-like…”

I don’t answer and eat the burned food quickly, washing it down with a glass of rum that he offers me so helpfully. Yes, Hook has produced a wonderful little jack of all trades. Keeps the crew very happy.

“What are you saving for, Peter?”

He looks cornered and hopeful that he won’t have to answer, but I don’t let my gaze wander off of him as he begins to move about the kitchen, pretending to be very busy cleaning up. He should know better than not to answer. Who knows, but I might go and complain to Hook, in his confused little mind.

“N-n-not for anything in particular. I don’t ever get per-permission to go on shore, so…”

He trails off without a mind to continue. Lovely answer. About as clear as his thinking, apparently.

“You’re popular with the crew, aren’t you… That’s good.”

He turns back to look at me, trying to see if this is some sort of trap, but finally nods in his cautious way, shrugging and smiling again. I realize what bothers me about the smile now. His eyes never smile with his mouth.

The pain in my stomach is returning slowly, and I tell him that it’s probably time for me to go back to the cabin and join Hook in bed, but suddenly he springs a question on me. I’ve somehow managed to make him feel a bit bolder after all.

“You… you know, you should tell him… tell the Captain that he sh-should be gentler. With you, I mean.”

“Oh?” I feel too tired to be too surprised at his sudden meddling. “Did it look rough?”

“I… I just find… b-blood on the sheets… wh-when I do the laundry, that is…”

I smile and tell him not to worry about it, and he nods dumbly, staring at me as at some sorceress—afraid again, sure he has said the wrong thing. I make my way back using my hands on the walls as guides and change my undergarments as quietly as I can, because Hook is already asleep, judging by his soft breathing. I climb in by his side, guilt over Peter receding as I nestle myself against the man’s body. As long as the youth’s happy with his lot in life, I’ll be happy with mine.

“Been down to the kitchen, have you?”

My heart jumps to my throat, and I wait for my voice to be stable before answering truthfully. He can play jealous all he wants, but I know he isn’t.

“You find him pleasing, do you?”

Does he think he can trap me? “You’re the one who keeps him around, so don’t lay the blame on me.” I run my hands over his body, and know he’s smiling, even if I can’t exactly see him in the dim light.

“This crew of mine would mutiny, I fear, if I ever got rid of him.” He reaches down and pulls down the thick undergarments I use during this week before I straddle him. There’ll be more blood for Peter to worry about soon, I suppose. I resolve to start stealing money from that desk and bringing it down to the kitchen. Whatever his plans are, he deserves some happiness like I'm receiving.

Fin

Yes, my Wendy is always a bit... strange.
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Joy Boy