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Atonement	By : Panymede Category: M through R > Peter Pan > AU/AR Views: 10484 -:- 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
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Chapter 2

“Five,” John’s voice quavered, his voice barely carrying over the weeping of the two boys standing next to him. He jumped as the whip cracked again, the snap followed by a desperate scream. “Six,” he said faintly, staring at the new cut on Peter’s back, blood welling from the wound.

Hook held up his hand and the pirate wielding the whip paused, lowering it obediently. The captain looked at John intently, a faint smile on his lips. “Lost your stomach, lad? Do you want this to stop?”

“Yes, John, please stop it,” Curly begged the boy, his eyes welling up with tears. The two youngest, the Twins, nodded their agreement, still bawling. None of the boys had the stomach to see Peter tortured this way. Spankings were one thing, most of the boys vaguely remembered that they’d gotten such treatment from their own parents when they’d misbehaved. This, to them, was wrong and too harsh for a child to bear. Especially for something that they all deep down knew had been an accident.

John hesitated, obviously torn between his desire for vengeance and his horror at seeing it carried out. But then he remembered Michael, lying cold and dead on the ground. He remembered Wendy covered in blood, her eyes staring at nothing. “No,” he said at last, shaking his head. “I’ve lost my whole family because of him. Keep going.”

“Alright, lad,” Hook answered, nodding at the whip-master. The swarthy pirate raised the lash again, and once more a crack ripped the air. Peter screamed again, his legs buckling beneath him and only the shackles that bound his wrists to the mast kept him upright.

“Seven,” John continued, his voice stronger now. He concentrated on his siblings, seeing them pale in death once more. He thought of his parents, vaguely remembered as they were. He’d never see them again either, not without Peter to take him home. And how could he ever go home again without his dear brother and sister?

Peter screamed as the lash cut into his back once more, unaware of the voice counting his pain or of anything else besides the agony that wracked him. In between his screams he sobbed, the pain in his body masking the pain in his heart. As much as he wanted the whipping to stop, he preferred it to the grief and despair that plagued him. Every score across his back drove the image of Wendy, Michael, Nibs and Tootles further and further away, memory fading as darkness encroached upon his consciousness.

“Eleven,” John counted, ignoring Curly’s continued pleading and Slightly’s curses and insults. They’d forgive Peter and forget about the children that were dead, if John would let them. But John hadn’t been a part of Neverland for long, and the island’s magic didn’t hold that much of a sway over him. He’d not forget those he’d loved so easily, and he’d forgive even less readily.

Hook watched Peter intently, a part of him delighting in the torture while another part of him cringed. If this had happened before Peter had broken, he’d have taken immense satisfaction in watching the boy writhe in pain. But now he had other uses for the boy and he didn’t want Peter damaged too badly. When the boy’s head fell forward and the muscles in his body lost their tension, he held his hand up once more. “That’s enough,” he said quietly. “Smee, let him down. Gently now, I want him tended to with the best possible care.”

“No!” John protested, stepping forward. “I said a dozen, Captain! You promised!”

Hook glared at the boy, his eyes flashing in annoyance. “You can be a blood-thirsty little bastard once you get into it, brat. I can admire that in a lad.” He stepped towards John, holding his claw threateningly. “But do not forget who is the Captain here, and who is the slave. I gave you a favor, an opportunity for vengeance. Be satisfied with it and don’t push your luck, or I’ll have you mounted up there in Peter’s place, to get a dozen of your own plus the one he didn’t get.”

John paled, his eyes widening in fear. “Yes, sir,” he said faintly. He looked at Peter again, watching as his wrists were freed. He felt a faint twinge of concern when the boy slid limply to the deck, landing with a muffled thump. “Peter?”

“God damn it, I said gently!” Hook roared, snatching the lash away from the whip-master and cracking it over Smee’s head. The bosun ducked and scooped the boy up, taking care not to touch his back as he carried him to Hook’s cabin. The captain shouted a few more oaths at the men before following Smee.

“Is Peter dead?” John asked fearfully.

Hook paused, taking another look at the boy. “Do you want him dead, Mr. Darling? Would that satisfy you?”

John frowned. He thought of his siblings again, and the anger and need for violence rose in him again. But then he thought of Peter a little while ago, lying in a heap on the deck, and his heart quailed. “No, sir. I want him to pay for what he did, but I don’t want him to die. I don’t think Wendy would have wanted that, Michael neither.”

Hook gave the boy a faint, mocking smile. “Would either of them have liked to see Peter Pan lashed into unconsciousness?” When he saw John’s eyes drop, his smile broadened. “Peter will live, and I’ll see to it he heals as quickly as possible. You’d do well to satisfy your vendetta against him soon. Trust me, boy, you don’t want to become me. Vengeance is a dark and lonely course, and once it’s satisfied there’s nothing left for you to live for.”

“What will you live for now, sir?” John asked.

“Oh, I still live for Pan,” Hook replied, his eyes glittering. “I’m not done with him yet.” With that, the captain went to his cabin, leaving John and the other boys to themselves.

****************************************

Peter lay on the bed, still and mostly quiet while Smee washed and tended his back. The whiskey soaked rag stung and burned enough to bring tears to his eyes, but it was nothing in comparison to the stings of the lashing. The old man nattered on while he worked, trying to reassure the boy that only one or two of the cuts looked bad enough to scar, that he’d be ‘right as rain’ (whatever that meant) in a day or so, and other such cheerful niceties that grated on Peter’s nerves.

“Oh, shut up and finish, Smee,” Hook barked from across the room, finding the bosun just as tiresome. “Go see to the other brats, I want them calmed down and back to their duties.” Smee apologized and quickly finished with Peter, leaving before Hook could get any more annoyed.

Peter turned his head to see the captain, watching as the man poured himself a glass of rum and took a swig. Carefully he sat up, grunting at the sharp pains as his skin stretched and twisted with his movements. Sitting, at least, wasn’t an ordeal anymore, the pain in his rear mostly gone as the tenderness and the bruising began to fade. Hook hadn’t spanked him once in the three days since Peter had asked him for more.

“Some rum, lad?” Hook asked, his tone friendly as usual. “I don’t know if we can put the numbing balm on an open wound. Some rum would help ease the pain, though.”

“Yes, please,” Peter replied, feeling his spirits lift a little at the offer. He’d often seen Hook sip at the ruby colored liquid, and he was more than a little curious at how it would taste. He took the small cup that Hook poured for him and drank it quickly, wheezing and coughing at the unexpected burning sensation in his stomach and throat. Immediately he felt warm all over, his face flushing in response to the sudden rush of alcohol.

“You surprised me, boy,” Hook told him, sitting at the head of the bed beside Peter, his back against the headboard so he could view the boy’s profile. “I thought you’d give the safe word halfway through. You should have, if you were feeling faint.”

“It hurt a lot worse than I thought it would,” Peter admitted. “But it’s what John wanted. If it makes him feel better and will help him forgive me, I’ll endure it.” He smiled wryly, glancing over at the captain. “I much prefer the spankings, though.”

Hook chuckled. “As do I. I always wanted to flay the hide off your back, boy. But, as I’m sure young John learned today, we don’t always enjoy what we think we will. Besides,” he took another drink of his rum and set the glass on the nightstand, “It’s not as entertaining to torture you when you’re asking for it. You’ve spoiled a lot of my fun with your desire for atonement. And it’s a lot harder to hate you when you’re not being such an obnoxious little hellion.”

Peter turned towards the man, wincing with the movement. “Are you saying you don’t hate me anymore?” He wasn’t sure if he still hated Hook or not, there were too many other black feelings on his heart for him to tell, but he suspected that he didn’t. Especially not for the past few days.

“No,” Hook answered, leaning closer to the boy. “I’m just saying it’s harder.”

They stared at one another for a long moment, each taking the other’s measure. Peter, as usual, was confused and a little flustered by the intensity of Hook’s stare. The man had been fairly mild during his captivity, rarely speaking to Peter. Their only true interactions had been the spankings, leaving Peter to stew in his own grief the rest of the time. Peter had been relatively satisfied with that, too miserable to want to deal with his old enemy. He couldn’t deal with Hook’s hate on top of everything else that was tearing his soul to shreds, and he’d been vaguely grateful to the man for not adding to his burden.

But things changed three nights ago. The bare-bottomed spanking had been a turning point for the boy. It had felt so good to cry, to just let go and give himself over to Hook’s cruel mercy. The captain’s gentle caresses between the painful blows had made it easy to surrender, almost pleasurable. He could almost pretend there was genuine caring in Hook’s touch. Those thoughts and feelings alarmed him yet he couldn’t deny that he liked it. Every night since then, Hook had applied the balm to Peter’s bruises, taking his time to massage the salve into the boy’s skin and murmuring softly about things Peter barely understood. He’d not really listened to the words; instead he’d taken comfort in the man’s tone, the gentle voice soothing to his soul. Peter wasn’t sure if his feeling were right, somehow it seemed wrong to enjoy Hook touching him, but he did. He wondered if Hook would do it again tonight, and a faint smile curled his lips.

Hook’s thoughts had been running along the same lines as Peter’s, recalling his change of course after Peter’s submission. He hadn’t wanted the boy lashed today but he’d foolishly offered John a boon this morning when the boy had caught Tinkerbell skulking around the door to the cabin and presented her to Hook. The Captain had thought to encourage the boy’s newfound loyalty by offering him a favor, but he’d been extremely upset when John had requested that Peter get a dozen with the whip. Hook had been looking forward to Peter being healed up soon and now his wounded back was going to delay things… things that Hook had been looking forward to for the past three days. Only three days and he was already impatient; the fact that he hadn’t already indulged himself said a lot about his desire to keep Pan in one piece. He would have broken his promise to John, but Peter had asked him to go through with it, hoping that it would give both John and himself a measure of relief. He’d humored Peter by relenting, just as he’d humored the boy by letting the pixie go after Peter had ordered her not to return again. He’d also imposed the condition of a safe word, which Peter was supposed to cry out if the lashing was too much and he needed it to stop. Peter had chosen ‘nemesis’ as his safe word, a good choice in Hook’s estimation.

He was already anxious, his nightly sessions with Pan only heightening his lust for the boy’s flesh. It was odd for him to feel this way; he’d never been attracted to boys and only when desperate had he satisfied himself with men. But that changed when Peter had submitted to his punishment, stirring within him a hunger unlike anything he’d felt before. His close proximity to the boy now was stirring it within him again. When he saw the boy smile, those beautiful lips curling ever so lightly, chasing away for a moment the shadows of grief and despair, Hook felt his blood surge with desire. Without even thinking, he leaned closer, cupping Peter’s cheek with his hand and pressing his lips to the boy’s in a kiss. He felt Peter gasp, his mouth opening in surprise, and he pressed his advantage, letting his tongue slip between those full, soft lips to explore the moist heat behind them.

Peter stiffened when he felt Hook’s tongue in his mouth and he very nearly closed it in reflex. His hands came up to press against Hook’s chest to push him away, but the boy held himself back and didn’t carry through. Instead he sat there, trembling in apprehension and dawning excitement, and let Hook plunder his mouth. He suddenly thought of Wendy, the night he’d talked to her in the nursery, and of how she’d tried to give him a thimble. He wondered if this was what she’d meant to do, and his heart broke anew at the memory. He moaned and shuddered, his hands gripping Hook’s coat tightly for support.

Hook growled softly in response to Peter’s moans and he broke the contact. He stared down into the boy’s eyes, noting the tears shimmering in them. There was pain there, but he thought he also saw desire and his eyes narrowed in anticipation. “Kiss me back,” he whispered, his voice husky with need. “Don’t sit there gaping like a goldfish, kiss me.”

“Kiss?” Peter asked, momentarily confused. “I… I don’t…”

Hook pressed his lips against Peter’s again briefly. “This is called ‘kissing’, Pan,” he told him, barely containing his delight at Peter’s naïve ignorance. “Kiss me back, do what I do.” He kissed the boy again, his hand sliding to the back of Peter’s head, fingers twining in his hair to maintain possession and control of this most delicious treat.

Peter was at a momentary loss, remembering that Wendy had done something very different when she’d given him her kiss. Had she not known what a kiss was? But further wondering fled his mind when the kissing resumed and he struggled to comply with the captain’s demand. Hook had said there were things he could do to atone, things that they both would enjoy, and Peter decided that this might be one of them. If it was, he’d try his best to earn Hook’s forgiveness. When the man’s tongue snaked into his mouth again he pushed back with his own, feeling a strange thrill when he heard Hook moan against him. His own hands moved to tangle in Hook’s dark curls, fingers reveling in the unexpected softness. He whimpered quietly as he closed his eyes and surrendered himself to Hook’s kiss, a strange ache building within him as the intimate, dueling caresses intensified. He felt safe, warm and loved, and he’d do anything demanded to be allowed to feel this way for just a little longer.

Hook wanted more, so very much more. If this was but a foreshadowing of the pleasure he’d derive from Peter, his mind reeled in anticipation. The boy’s lips and tongue were as soft as a woman’s, as were his moans and whimpers. He could feel Peter trembling, but he knew it wasn’t from fear by the clumsy yet eager way he returned the kiss. His body aching, his blood singing with need, he leaned forward, bearing Peter down onto his bed with the weight of his body and the intensity of his desire.

Peter screamed as his back made contact with the bed-covers, his cry sharp and desperate with surprised agony. The man’s weight on top of him pressed him down, forcing the rough wool of the blanket into the open and uncovered cuts on his back. Despite his cry, the man continued to kiss him, moving from his lips down his neck, seemingly oblivious to Peter’s pain.

“Stop,” the boy gasped as those insistent lips continued their attentions, tears blurring his vision when he opened his eyes. It was too much, the pain on top of these confusing, frightening sensations and feelings. Being exposed to John’s naked hate again, the cruel lash cutting into his flesh, Hook kissing him… this pain, this new punishment on top of all the others was too much for him to bear. He’d atone later, now he just desperately wanted it to stop. “Nemesis! Please, nemesis!”

Hook broke away with a snarl, frustration and anger filling him when he heard Peter give the safe word. For a moment he was tempted to ignore it and press on, his pirating instincts telling him to take what he wanted and to hell with the rest. But with a supreme effort he climbed off of Peter, swearing angrily at the boy and himself. He knew better than to defy the safe word. It would destroy the tenuous hold he’d gotten over the boy. Peter trusted him, trusted that he’d find redemption if he gave Hook what he wanted, be it pain or pleasure. If he proved himself a liar with the safe word, Pan could very well believe him a liar in his promise of forgiveness and withdraw his submission. So he stopped, though he didn’t like it. Still swearing a blue streak, his need like a ball of molten lead in his groin, he retrieved his glass and drained it down to the last drop of rum.

Peter lay where Hook had left him, sobbing softly. He couldn’t move, his burning back flared in agony when he tried to roll over or to lift his weight up on his elbows to sit up. He could tell Hook was angry at him, he could hear the man swearing at him and he knew that harsh tone of voice well. He feared he’d undone any redemption he may have gained in the man’s eyes. He feared Hook would be so angry that he’d never touch him again. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed in pain and misery, his hands fisted in the blankets and his eyes squeezed shut.

Hook turned to glare at the boy, focusing his frustration into cruel anger. He stood over Peter menacingly. “Get up,” he snarled. “If you’re sorry, then get up and I’ll show you how to make it up to me.”

“Can’t,” Peter gasped, trying anyway. He felt the cuts reopening, felt the warm wetness of blood oozing where the fragile scabs pulled off. But over it all he felt the pain. Too much, too soon, and he felt that he would break.

“Get up!” Hook roared, grabbing the boy’s upper arm roughly and hauling him upright. Peter’s eyes flew open in shock and the blood drained from his face. His cries ceased with an abrupt, gasping breath. Soundlessly, he crumpled forward, his eyes rolling up as he fainted for the second time that hour.

**********************************************

Hook felt the boy’s return to consciousness before he heard it. The limp legs around his waist trembled and twitched, the lax arms that hung at Peter’s sides reached up to wrap around the man’s chest in a weak embrace. Peter’s head stirred, unconsciously burrowing itself under Hook’s chin, the youth’s body seeking protection and comfort even before his mind was awake enough to want it. Then came the soft moan, a gasp of breath, hot against Hook’s neck. A moment later, Peter was wide awake once more, trembling with trepidation.

“Welcome back, lad,” Hook said gently, unable to hide the relief in his voice. Peter had been out for the better part of an hour and Hook had held him the entire time, sitting in a large stuffed chair. He ran his fingers through Peter’s hair, hoping to calm the boy’s fears. He could feel Peter’s heart hammering through the thin shirt.

Peter took a moment to get his bearings, trying to sort out the sensations. He was straddling Hook’s lap, the man’s hips between his knees, his rump resting on the man’s thighs. He felt the cloth beneath his fingers, recognizing it as Hook’s shirt instead of the customary coat. He felt the hand caressing his head and he savored the touch that promised comfort and caring. His cheek pressed against the man’s chest, and he could hear the faint steady beats of Hook’s heart. The next thing he noticed was that the pain in his back was mostly gone, and some kind of cool, soft cloth lay upon it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you mad. I – I liked the thim… the kiss. My back hurt too much.” Peter sighed apprehensively. “It was too much. Next time I’ll let you, even if it’s unbearable. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you, Peter,” Hook replied, smiling gently. When Peter had passed out, his fear for the boy had been like cold sea-water on his ardor. He hadn’t realized how much pain the boy must have been in until that moment. “I understand why you stopped me and I forgive you for that. I pushed you too far, too fast. You’d just been lashed and I forgot how much you’d been hurt. You did the right thing to use the safe word.”

“I did?” Peter asked, mystified. “But you were angry.”

“No. I was just disappointed, not angry,” Hook lied. “I wanted to do those things to you that I’ve told you about, those things that we’d both enjoy. Kissing you made me want it very much and I was disappointed when you stopped it.” He bent his head forward and kissed Peter lightly on the brow. “But as I said before, if it’s too much, then speak up. I don’t want to damage you too badly.” He chuckled lightly then, tracing the side of Peter’s face with his thumb, relishing the smooth, soft cheek. “So you liked my kiss, lad?”

“Yes,” Peter answered, pulling back slightly and tilting his head back, offering his lips to the captain once more.

“Oh, you are going to be a delight,” Hook purred, claiming them in a brief but heady kiss. Peter was a quick study and his response made Hook’s breath catch. Reluctantly the man pulled away, his eyes smoldering with yearning. “You’re going to sorely try my patience, too.” He pressed the boy’s head to his chest again with a regretful sigh. “Patience is my watchword with you, boy. I’m not going to rush you again. I want you willing and I want you taught properly. Please me and you’ll earn my forgiveness pain-free. Speaking of which, how is your back?”

“Lots better,” Peter answered, relaxing against the man once more. “Numb. The balm?”

“I diluted it and soaked some cloths in it. I probably shouldn’t have but…” Hook paused, frowning. It had terrified him to get a close look at Peter’s wounds. Smee had told him afterwards that he’d made light of the damage for Peter’s benefit, to keep the boy calm. He was waiting to tell Hook in private the true extent of the wounds. The captain had told the whip-master to go lightly. He was going to give the man a taste of his own lash, to better remind him of how deep it could cut. Peter was going to be sleeping on his stomach and sides for a while longer, they were all much too deep to be made light of. “You needed it,” he finished lamely. He honestly didn’t know how the boy had been sitting up at all without some sort of pain killer.

“Will you put some on my bruises tonight, before I go to sleep?” Peter asked hopefully.

“Do they still hurt?”

“A little,” Peter answered, flushing with embarrassment. “It helps me sleep. I like it… its nice when you…” he trailed off, ashamed.

“You like it when I touch you?” Hook guessed. A bolt of pure pleasure shot through him when he felt the boy nod, and he once more began stroking Peter’s hair. “Then I’ll apply the balm tonight, to help you sleep. If you’re a good boy, I’ll touch you however you like. If you’re a bad boy, I’ll touch you however I like. Either way, you’ll never lack for my attention.”

Softly, gently, he began to speak, once more explaining to Peter the wonderful caresses and kisses he’d give him and that he expected in return. He spoke to the boy of the arts of love, of what to expect when he took him, and what he should do. As usual, Peter drifted off into sleep, too innocent to grasp the import of Hook’s words, to naïve to understand them or care. Lulled by Hook’s gentle tone, he fell into sleep untroubled by nightmares of his dead friends. It was for oblivion and peace such as this that he’d submitted to Hook, and he didn’t regret it in the slightest.

**************************************

Author’s Note:

This is the last chapter of Atonement that I’ll be posting on ff.net. If you like this fic and want to read chapter 3, I direct you to adult-fanfiction.org, and my site there: http: //adultfan. nexcess.net /aff/story. php?no=26277&chapter=3 C/P the address, and take out the spaces to make it work. Chapter 3 is a definite NC-17, so if you aren’t qualified to read it, please don’t.
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Atonement