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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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- 4
Chapter 3

Peter lay on his side, staring at the empty room. Hook had been gone for three days now, gone ashore with most of the crew to resupply the ship. He’d slept badly for the previous two nights, plagued by nightmares so badly that he was more exhausted upon waking than he’d been before he’d gone to sleep. And now he’d give anything to have Hook back, to keep from having to suffer a third night of dreams. He reached out his hand, tentatively touching the blood-encrusted sword he’d taken from its place on the wall. “I’m sorry, Wendy,” he whispered. “Please, I’m sorry, don’t visit me tonight again.”

He lay awake for a long time, shivering despite the blanket that covered him. He wondered where Hook was, the men should have returned this morning. He wondered if the crocodile had come, and he prayed that it wasn’t so. The crocodile only chased Hook because Peter had tossed it the man’s hand, so if it finally caught him, Hook’s death would be his fault too. He couldn’t take anymore ghosts speaking to him in the dark, and he needed Hook too much lose him now. He lay there, his fears conjuring dark imaginings and scenarios, each worse than the last. Finally, his exhaustion took him, plunging him into merciful oblivion. For a little while.

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

“My brothers!” Wendy screamed, whirling away from Michael’s body to glare at him with anguished eyes. “Your fault! You sent John away. How could you?”

Peter stared back, his own shock and grief leaving him dazed. “I didn’t send Michael out; I tried to make him stay. Neverland’s dangerous at night, I warned him!”

“It’s so dangerous that you’d cast John into it without a care?” Wendy shouted. “Why bring us here if you care so little for our lives?”

Peter answered her bluntly, his own overwhelming confusion of emotions depriving him of any eloquence, tact, or excuse. “I only brought them here for you. You wouldn’t come without them.”

Reality blurred, time slowed and sped with gut-wrenching fluidity. One moment she was beside Michael, the next she was charging him with her sword. Her sword – he’d given it to her this morning, hoping its cold steel and keen edge would calm her worried nerves and give her a measure of protection. Without thought, his own blade came up, sword in one hand, dagger in the other. A ringing clash rent the air as he parried her clumsy strike. A jar went up his right arm as her body collided with the end of his sword, her momentum carrying her halfway along the blade. Eyes wide with disbelief and accusation bored into his. Lips red with the blood that poured from her mouth formed one word with her last breath.

“Why…” she whispered, falling into his arms.

And he screamed…

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

“WENDY!” Peter screamed, coming awake abruptly. Someone was shaking him and he flailed in panic, trying to fight them off while he struggled to orient himself. A sharp blow across his cheek stilled his struggles and his arms crossed his face protectively.

“Brimstone, brat!” Hook snarled angrily. “I’ve been patient with you, but if you come awake swinging at me, you’d best be prepared for me to swing back!” He stood and stepped back, watching as Peter slowly uncurled and sat up. The boy blinked at him owlishly, gingerly touching his stinging cheek while he got his bearings.

“Welcome home, Captain,” Peter said at last, relieved to see the man again. It was still dark outside, and the captain was in a state of partial undress, wearing only his breeches and an untucked shirt. Peter guessed that the man had been getting ready for bed just before he woke him up. He saw the man was staring at him and he looked away, his back itching. He didn’t dare fidget or scratch at the scabs. He’d get in trouble.

Hook considered the boy’s face, noting how drawn and haggard it was in the lamplight. His eyes flickered to the sword by the pallet and sighed. So much for going to bed soon. “If you want to torture yourself, Pan,” he said quietly as he took up the sword and placed it on his desk, “I wish you’d wait and do it when I’m here.” He didn’t want Peter having access to blades, especially when unsupervised, and he kicked himself for leaving this one within the boy’s reach.

“You were supposed to come back yesterday, this morning at the latest,” Peter mumbled, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them.

“We were delayed,” Hook replied. “We’ll bring the supplies aboard at first light, me and most of the shore party returned a little while ago to rest up.”

“I was worried,” Peter mumbled, staring at the captain’s bare feet.

“How touching,” Hook sneered, taking a seat in his chair. “Neverland has become a God-forsaken cesspool, and foodstuff is hard to find. I swear, I’m going to find some way to cheer you up, if only for a little while, so we can get some honest sunlight. If it’s not raining then it’s dreary and overcast, and it’s downright depressing. It’s been nearly a month, boy, I think you’ve grieved enough.”

Peter merely shrugged, increasing Hook’s annoyance. “You weren’t like this three days ago, else I’d never have left you. What’s wrong? Did Jukes and Mellon take proper care of you?”

“They were fine,” Peter answered. “A little stand-offish at first, but fine. Mr. Mellon wouldn’t let me leave the table every meal ‘till I’d finished my plate, like you said. Mr. Jukes looked at my back every day.” Peter smirked briefly. “He slapped my hand whenever he saw me picking at the scabs. I helped with chores and didn’t sulk all day in the cabin.” He brightened some, a hint of pride lighting his features. “I learned all the knots and Sissa taught me some cooking. He wouldn’t let me help peel vegetables though.”

“If he’d given you a knife, I’d have skinned him with it,” Hook swore.

“I’m not going to hurt myself,” Peter protested, but he wasn’t really so sure. If he’d awakened tonight from that nightmare, and found himself alone again, he didn’t know for sure if he wouldn’t have. It would be fitting, somehow, to die upon the sword that had killed Wendy. “I just have bad dreams when you’re not here.”

“You dreamed of Wendy?” Hook asked. He knew the answer; he’d heard Peter screaming her name. But it was as good an opening as any to get Peter to talk. If he wanted to get any sleep tonight, he needed to get the boy settled.

“I keep dreaming of what happened, and I keep killing her. Sometimes I see all of them, they’re all dead but they’re walking towards me. They ask me why I killed them. They say I’m bad and they hate me.”

“Come here,” Hook ordered, beckoning to the boy. Peter climbed off his pallet and approached the captain, his expression wary yet hopeful. With infinite care, Hook pulled the boy closer until Peter stood between his knees. Very lightly, he brushed the boy’s cheek where he’d struck him, soothing the sting away. “You’ve had nightmares every night I’ve been gone?”

Peter nodded slightly, not wanting to disturb his contact with the man’s warm fingers. He’d missed Hook, he couldn’t deny it and he didn’t try. He missed the man’s gentle touch, the heady kisses and the soft words spoken to lull him into sleep. It was a far cry from anything he expected to receive when he’d asked Hook for punishment. He’d thought at first that being away from the man for a day or two would help him regain a measure of his old self-confidence and autonomy. He knew he was far too dependant on Hook for comfort and in some ways it bothered him. But instead of finding himself again, he’d fallen further away. He cried whenever he was alone, he’d become so plagued by nightmares he could barely sleep, and he found himself longing for the man’s return. “It’s worse now, my dreams,” he whispered. “Worse even than the first night after she died. I’m afraid to go to sleep.”

Hook’s eyes flickered to Peter’s pallet, affirming what he’d noticed before. “You stole my pillow and blanket?”

Peter hesitated a moment before answering. He’d tried sleeping in Hook’s bed, as he’d done only once before, but it was too big without the man’s presence in it with him. So he’d taken some of the bedding instead. “They smell like you,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

Hook’s eyes lit up, delighted by the childishly sweet gesture. “Did it help?” he asked, catching the boy by the chin and forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Some,” Peter admitted, taking heart in Hook’s happy expression. “I pretended I was sleeping with you.” He barely got the words out before he was yanked forward and Hook’s lips closed upon his in an intimate kiss. Automatically, his arms encircled the man’s neck, pulling himself closer. He and Hook had kissed often in the days before he’d left, and this kiss reaffirmed how much he’d missed it. He melted into Hook’s embrace, his head spinning and his heart racing. His fears eased and his grief receded, replaced by feelings of being adored and wanted, of being desired regardless of his sins. Or, perhaps, because of them.

Hook reveled in the boy’s mouth, his body igniting at the eager contact. When Peter’s lips left his to travel along his jaw and tease at his earlobe, just like he’d taught the boy, he smiled with pleasure. Pan was talented, no doubt, and heartbreakingly eager to please. Peter was desperate for affection and approval, and that need coupled with his desire to find forgiveness made him like clay in Hook’s hand – yielding and ready to be shaped according to the degenerate captain’s whims.

Hook knew that Peter wasn’t seeking forgiveness for cutting off his hand, just as the boy wasn’t anxious to throw himself on John’s tender mercy again. No, Pan couldn’t forgive himself and he was giving in to Hook wholeheartedly in an effort to be shriven. Hook didn’t care why Peter submitted to him, he only cared that the boy did. He was going to reap the benefits of the boy’s guilt to its fullest.

While Peter nuzzled his neck, nipping and kissing while his small fingers fumbled at the buttons of Hook’s shirt, the man carefully ran his hand along the boy’s back, testing. One spot halfway down made Peter’s breath catch. “Does it hurt too badly?” he asked.

“No,” Peter answered, opening Hook’s shirt and slipping his hands inside to caress the broad chest, touching like he’d been instructed. “It’s mostly okay, only a little sore, itches too. Please,” he kissed the man’s collarbone, “don’t stop.”

Hook complied, running his hand up and down Peter’s spine, occasionally pausing to lightly squeeze the boy’s buttocks. From time to time he deliberately ran his fingers over the boy’s sorest spot, delighting in the way Peter would jump, loving the way his breath would hitch and hiss. Peter’s hands caressed his chest, back and stomach, the youth’s lips and tongue blazing a trail from his collar to his right nipple. Hook gasped when he felt the moist, hot softness close upon the nub, and sparks flashed across his vision. Pure, liquid fire coursed through his body and he clamped his thighs about Peter’s waist. Blindly he ground his hips against the youth, seeking sensation.

Peter chuckled when he heard Hook gasp, delighted that he could make the fearsome, dreaded pirate captain react this way, and all with just simple kisses and touches. It made him feel needed and it made him feel powerful, filling him with intoxicating excitement. When Hook’s legs closed around him, squeezing him even closer, he felt the hard bulge pressing against him and he smiled. He’d felt that before in their kissing sessions, and Hook had told him it meant he was pleased. He knew what it was of Hook’s that had hardened, but he’d never seen or touched it with his hands. He’d tried once, out of curiosity, but the man had told him that it would be revealed later, when Peter had healed enough to not hurt anymore.

Feeling rather bold and wicked, Peter lowered his hands to Hook’s groin, letting his fingers run over the bulge beneath the cloth. Hook groaned and his hips thrust forward again, pressing into the boy’s cupped hands, grinding against them. Peter felt head rising in his own private area and wondered if he’d become hard like that. Hook had told him if he was very good, they’d find out. He continued to rub the hardness while his tongue began caressing Hook’s other nipple, not even feeling the stinging in his back when the man’s arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly. He was enjoying himself thoroughly, loving the control he’d gained over the man. It was the best game he’d ever played, and he seemed to be winning.

Hook was in an agony of need, the mouth at his breast and the hands at his phallus evoking sensations that stole away nearly all his self-control. He’d been patient, oh, how he’d been patient. He’d treated Peter well, teaching him while he’d healed so that he could be prepared. Now the boy was rewarding him by displaying his new talents, and yet Hook wanted more. He wanted to throw the boy on his bed, to plunge himself inside and ride him to completion. A lone bastion of sanity screamed at him, reminding him of the damage he cold do if he went too fast now. He could hurt Peter badly, possibly even push him over the edge and destroy him utterly. Patience, his mind screamed, and with a cry of agony he shoved the boy away.

Peter fell on his rear, gasping in surprise at the sudden, violent rejection. He stared up at Hook, seeing how red the man’s face was. His eyes were tightly squeezed shut and his hand was tightened into a fist on his knee. He was breathing heavily and Peter wondered with rising fear if he’d somehow angered the man. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked. Hook didn’t answer, he just sat there shaking, and Peter felt his happiness and new-found confidence shatter like glass. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking with dejection. He felt tears rise again when Hook still didn’t answer. He’d thought he’d been doing good, thought he’d been pleasing the man, but apparently he’d been horribly mistaken. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, looking down in shame as fat tears rolled down his cheeks. “I’m stupid, I thought you liked it…”

“Peter,” Hook called, wincing at how harsh his voice was. He opened his eyes and saw the boy bowed on the floor, his shoulders shaking as he cried.

“I’m no good,” Peter sobbed, all his negativity from before returning tenfold, utterly crushing him. “I’ll leave… you’ve been nice and I made you mad. I’ll go away and everyone will be glad…”

“Belay your sniveling and come here,” Hook barked, making Peter jump. The boy had misunderstood him completely, automatically heaping the blame upon himself. The child had a full-blown guilt complex, apparently, and Hook kicked himself for making it worse. The captain knew he needed to reassure the boy quickly, before this got any worse. “Come here, Peter,” he repeated, gentler this time, holding out his arms welcomingly.

Peter stood, sniffing as he approached Hook. He expected to be struck, maybe even lashed, but instead he felt the man’s large hand pull him closer. A soft kiss was placed atop his head and strong arms surrounded him, hugging him gently. “You’re not mad?” Peter asked hopefully.

“No, lad,” Hook reassured him. “I’m pleased, very pleased.”

“Then why…”

“You pleased me too much,” Hook explained. “I wanted too much again, and if I’d done what I wanted I would have hurt you by going too fast. I pushed you away so I could calm down. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

“I don’t understand,” Peter replied honestly. “Why are you afraid to hurt me? I deserve it.”

“I’ll hurt you when I want, and I don’t want to now. Do you want me to hurt you?” When Peter shook his head, he smiled and ruffled his hair. “Then don’t complain. You made me happy, Peter, and I want to reward you. Because you were good, I’m going to let you earn a little bit of forgiveness.”

Peter pulled back enough to look up at the man, hope lighting up his face and making him smile. “Thank you,” he murmured happily. “What do I do?”

Hook returned the boy’s smile, surprised at the vague twinge of guilt he felt. “Get on your knees.” When Peter complied he played with the boy’s hair, staring down at his upturned face. “You’ve pleased me to the point where, if it isn’t finished, I’m going to be very upset for a long time. Listen to me and I’ll tell you what to do to finish. If you don’t do it right, I’ll be angry.” He knew it was an awful sin that he was committing. He was warping the boy’s grief and regret to satisfy his own depravity. He was twisting this so that Peter would see satisfying him as both an act of attrition and a reward. If there was a Hell and he wasn’t already going to it, he surely would be damned for this. He didn’t care, the need to feel the boy’s lips around him too tempting a prize.

Peter listened dutifully as Hook began to speak, listening to the man’s soft voice as he gave him orders, walking him through this new and uncomfortable task. With hands that trembled slightly, he unfastened Hook’s breeches, fumbling with the buckle and buttons. He felt the hardness just below Hook’s waist, heard the man’s voice hitch when his palms slid over the bulge as he worked. It made him smile and helped to calm him. This might be new and strange, but Hook wanted it very much… wanted him very much. He got the front of the man’s breeches open and looked up, smiling, as Hook stood before him. He rose up some, grasping the top of the garment, and slowly pulled them down, following Hook’s whispered instructions to the letter. When the man stepped out of them, Peter tossed the breeches aside and looked up. His smile turned to a gape when he beheld the man’s erection.

Hook sat down again, smiling at Peter’s astonishment. “Something, isn’t it, boy?” He chuckled when Peter nodded dumbly, not looking away from his phallus. He took the boy by his shoulder, pulling him a little closer. “Touch it, Peter. I’ll tell you how.” With agonizing slowness, the boy reached out with one finger, touching the tip lightly, pulling back suddenly as if he expected it to bite. Chuckling with delight at the innocent reaction, Hook began explaining how to touch, how to hold and caress. Peter looked up at him while he spoke, his hand reaching out again to encircle the rigid member, closing around it lightly. Hook hissed at the firmer contact, forcing himself to remain still and not thrust against the soft hand. Patience was still his watchword, and he’d hold to it as long as he could.

Peter stared at Hook’s erection in utter fascination, experimentally running his hand up and down the length of it. He heard the man give a soft moan, and his smile returned as he once again remembered his game. There were new rules to be sure, but the goal was still to get Hook to make those noises that indicated he liked it. He increased the pressure of his grip slightly, moving his hand again. Hook continued to speak to him, instructing him to go slowly, not too hard, like that yes, keep going. Peter listened dutifully, taking this time to become familiar with the organ and to understand which actions evoked favorable reactions in the man.

Phallus, member, manhood, organ, cock, dick, prick… all words used to describe this thing he held. Grown-up sounding words for something Hook said he would have if he ever finished growing up. It was a far cry from the words Peter and the other boys had used… thing or simply it, as if talking about it were secret and wrong. He’d been confused before, hearing Hook use all those words in his whispered stories as he’d lulled Peter to sleep. He thought he understood now why men had so many more words than boys… there was ever so much more to it, in both appearance and use, than he’d ever thought possible. He vowed he’d learn those uses, knowing it would make Hook happy.

Suddenly Hook’s hand was on his wrist, halting his repetitive stroking. Peter looked up at the man, smiling when he saw the gleam in Hook’s eye, the heavy flush on the man’s cheeks. Then Hook gave him a new set of instructions, and Peter blinked in sudden confusion. “You want me to do what?”

“Take it in your mouth, Peter,” Hook instructed, his voice rough with want. “I want to feel you suck.”

Peter frowned, lip curling in disgust. “That’s… gross,” his words faltered when he saw Hook’s expression turn to anger and the hand gripping his wrist became painful. Alarm filled him as he remembered Hook’s words: You’ve pleased me to the point where, if it isn’t finished, I’m going to be very upset for a long time. He’d agreed to do this, Hook had promised that if he did it well he’d forgive him some; and if he didn’t finish, Hook would be very angry. The man might even hate him more and stop caring about him and being nice.

“Okay,” Peter said, his voice shaky. Hesitantly he leaned forward, inhaling the man’s strong, musky scent. It was familiar, it was the smell that he’d found on Hook’s pillow and the smell that had helped ease his nightmares, but it was a lot stronger now. He stuck out his tongue and carefully ran it across the head of Hook’s phallus, wincing in anticipation of tasting something nasty. He felt Hook shudder in reaction, giving a deep groan and a small curse, and Peter felt a surge of triumph. He’d done this little bit, and Hook reacted like that… and it didn’t even taste that bad. Salty, yes, and it tasted of that muskiness he smelled, coupled with something he couldn’t identify… it was different but not disgusting.

Feeling bolder, he opened his mouth and took the head between his lips, using his tongue to rub the flesh much like he would in a kiss. Hook groaned again and Peter felt his hand come up to rest on his head, the man’s fingers twining in his hair. Encouraged and feeling more confident by the moment, he listened to Hook’s shaky words and slowly eased his head downwards, taking in as much of the length as he could. He kept his lips over his teeth (Hook said teeth were uncomfortable and could hurt him), maintaining pressure around the organ. He gagged himself at first and had to pull away completely, coughing while his eyes watered up. Hook merely chuckled at him, so Peter tried again when his reaction calmed, this time listening when Hook told him not to be greedy.

Soon he had the rhythm of it, keeping the pressure constant as he bobbed his head up and down the shaft. He held Hook’s hip with his left hand to support himself and maintain his balance, while his right hand gently rubbed and squeezed the man’s balls, once more at Hook’s order. His tongue worked against the underside of the phallus and he could feel Hook’s pulse pounding through the contact. It was strange, to be sure, to have this thing in his mouth, but it was also exciting, feeling Hook’s reactions and knowing he was the one responsible. The man’s words ceased eventually, replaced by moans and whimpering cries, but Peter had learned enough to continue on without instruction.

The hand in his hair tightened, nearly painful, urging him on, and soon Peter had both hands on the man’s hips, holding on desperately as he increased his pace. Even if the man’s cries weren’t encouraging him, driving him to speed up and suck harder, the hand on his head and the frenzied thrusts of the man’s hips surely would have. Soon, though, it changed as he felt himself loose control of the game. The hand kept pushing him further down, faster and deeper than was comfortable. He tried to slow, tried to stop, but he wasn’t strong enough. Helpless, Peter squeezed his eyes shut and held on, wondering how long this would continue as Hook thrust into his mouth and deep into his throat.

Hook cried out again, driven to mindlessness, only aware that he wanted more, needed more… faster, harder, MORE. He thrust into Peter’s mouth with wild abandon, his climax approaching with breakneck speed. He swore, commanding, pleading, begging and threatening the boy. Peter moaned around him, the boy’s whimpers driving him further. His hand gripped Peter’s hair harder, forcing him to go faster and further, driving into him despite the way the boy’s fingers dug into his hips, despite the feeble resistance Peter’s neck muscles put up against him, trying to slow. He was coming… closer and closer, needing it, wanting it… taking it. He gave a ragged scream as he thrust forward one more time, further and harder than before, and his climax broke over him like a clap of thunder, sending his seed bursting into the warm wetness that had milked him so well.

He felt resistance and tightened his grip, keeping the boy in place roughly. “Swallow,” he commanded hoarsely, his body still rigid and tense, his member twitching and pulsing within Peter’s mouth. He heard the boy mewl softly and jerked in excruciating pleasure when he felt the suction resume around him, felt the boy’s mouth, tongue and throat working to swallow his essence. When the last drop was gone and the wave of ecstasy had passed, he slumped back in his chair, exhausted and limp with bliss.

Peter jerked away as soon as the hand released him, falling back. He coughed, struggling not to vomit. He didn’t know what he’d swallowed and tried desperately not to think about it, afraid that Hook would be angry if he puked on the floor. Slowly, by agonizing degrees, he caught his breath and calmed. He was shaking from the effort, however, and he was trying not to cry. Arms encircled him, then, lifting him up and pulling him into Hook’s lap. He didn’t resist and he didn’t hold the man back, unsure of what to expect. He hadn’t expected it to turn so rough, and his throat was sore from the treatment. But he began to relax as Hook’s hand started caressing him, stroking his head until his hair was no longer mussed, then moving down to run across his chest, shoulders, then back up to stroke his face. Callused fingertips lightly caressed his lips and at long last Peter opened his eyes to see Hook staring at him, wonder and delight suffusing the man’s features.

“You are the most beautiful, exceptional boy, Peter,” Hook said fervently, meaning every word. “You’ve made me happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

Peter blinked, surprised and immensely pleased by the compliment. “I did good, then?”

Hook laughed, kissing him deeply and continuing to caress him. “You did better than good, Peter. So much better than good.” He gathered the boy up, cradling him, and walked shakily to his bed. He lay the boy in it and climbed in beside him, kissing and touching him, trying to impart to Peter some of the pleasure and bliss he’d been given. “I forgive you some, just as I promised. I’ll forgive you anything, forever, if you stay with me and always make me so happy. You’re so beautiful, so wonderful.” He continued to murmur praises, delighting in Peter’s giggles. He’d used the boy harshly at the end, and he was determined to wipe away that unpleasantness by covering it up with sweetness. It wasn’t hard for him to do, Peter was desperate for praise and Hook meant every word of it.

Peter snuggled against Hook, feeling warm all over. He basked in the man’s touch and praise, glowing with pleasure that he’d done so well. It wasn’t bad at all, what he’d done, and in retrospect he kind of liked it. And if Hook liked him so much afterwards every time, then he’d do it whenever the man wanted. Soon he drifted off to sleep, lulled by soft words and caresses once more and a faint smile on his face. His dreams were filled with Hook, and they were good dreams.

When he awoke late in the morning, he was alone.
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Atonement