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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.

Chapter List
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Written 5/27/04

Well, dear Peetah's been put through a lot in this community. I offer you this new form of torment in answer to a challenge by I-don't-remember-whom.

Title: Breach of Trust
Pairing: ambiguous Hook/Pan
Rating: R
Warnings: MPREG, omg. And sadly, it's not crackfic. Also... cruelty, nudity, and gratuitous H/C.

"Please just let me go,” Peter moaned, sweat pouring down his face.

“You’re in no shape to go anywhere,” Hook said, laying his heavy hand on the boy’s stomach. Peter curled up, trying to escape the man’s touch.

“I’m going to make a mess,” he whispered brokenly, seized with violent shaking.

“For the last time-- what in the bloody hell is happening to you?”

Peter did not answer, only whimpering and pressing himself further into the corner. Hook spat, and left the cabin cursing. He did not take care to even restrain Peter, as the boy only seemed to get weaker and less mobile as time went on. He had found him quite by accident, noticing footprints on the wet forest soil as he traversed Neverland with his men, grown bored as he always did during Pan's occasionally prolonged absences. He was in search of Indians or Lost Boys. Indeed, when he first discerned the trembling form deep inside the narrow burrow the tracks had led to, he mistook the eternal boy for a lowly member of his ragtag band.

They extracted him kicking, protesting, and crying to be left where he was. His breathing came in pained gasps. They'd stripped him in the forest, searching for wounds, for surely Peter Pan would crawl into such a hole to shake and cry only if he were healing or dying. No signs were visible however, though any touch to his stomach prompted anguished wailing. Hook conveyed this unexpected prisoner of war back to the ship-- determined to counteract what appeared to be internal injuries or at least be witness to his enemy's demise. It was by his hand that Pan was destined to die, Hook had told himself many times, grinding his teeth, while Smee applied hot compresses to the boy's stomach and forehead.

Hook stopped in his tracks as he heard a loud sob from his cabin. He could not miss these moments if they were to be Pan's last. He opened the door to a strange sight indeed. Peter was propping his back against the walls of the corner, half sitting up, knees bent and thighs spread. A small, wet creature had appeared… it could not be. Hook watched with disbelief the emergence of a second such creature from Peter's opening.

"They're fairies," Hook murmured finally.

Peter avoided looking Hook in the eyes, cheeks flushing with exertion and humiliation. Hook used a handkerchief to clear the newborn fairies from his bedspread. They were still a tad crumpled and covered with mucus. Hook looked frantically about the room before spotting the small wash basin. He threw the contents out of the open window, and placed the fairies into it.

The remainder of the evening was spent in a peculiar fashion. The boy’s agonized groans were muffled into Hook’s coat, as the man held him close to his body. Peter was on his lap, perched over the basin, now held between Hook’s thighs-- expelling newborn fairies into it one by one. As soon as the last one made its exit and a whole mass of clear slop dribbled out of him, Peter relaxed, eyelids falling of themselves after all the pain and sleepless nights. The boy dozed off in the arms of his former enemy before he could be cleaned or laid into bed.

Peter awoke in a silken nightdress, lying between a wall and the captain. The man promptly awoke when the boy began to clamber over him to get out of bed.

“Up and about this morning, I see.” Hook smiled as Peter stood, surveying the cabin in search of his clothes.

“Smee has them in the wash. They had soil and sweat on them. I thought you might care to spend some more time here recuperating anyway.”

Peter looked back at the man and finally smiled.

“Alright, I’ll stay. I’m still too weak to fly now anyway.” The boy walked over and sat down at the table. “Do you have anything to eat on this ship?”

"I'm sure we can arrange something or other," The man smirked, getting out of bed and immediately reaching to assemble his hook apparatus. Peter watched him with a fascination strangely uncolored by fear.

***

It was only after a filling breakfast that Peter finally related the details and causes of his ordeal as a desultory tale that Hook had some difficulty in piecing together into order. The fairies of Neverland apparently reproduced only parasitically, developing while slowly travelling through the human gut for three days. Peter Pan had been surrogate parent of choice ever since his arrival, and though his memory of those early days was patchy, he remembered bartering the occasional discomfort of these services for eternal youth. It was also this activity which sustained his fairy dust-independent flight, being the only inhabitant of Neverland suffused with the substance from the inside. These effects would slowly fade if he did not continue in this fashion, as far as Peter could remember.

“So how often is it that you do this?” Hook asked, pleased with how open the child was being with him.

“It used to be many days in between. I never bothered to count how many. Tinker Bell would just ask me to come to one of their nightly orgies, and they’d mate right in my mouth, but...” Peter looked down at his hands nervously.

“But...?” Hook turned his head as if to hear more easily, eyebrows upraised expectantly. He could discern the boy’s face coloring slightly out of the corner of his eye.

“But an awful lot of fairies die now, because hardly anyone believes in them anymore. And I’m supposed to compensate. They began asking me more and more often and sometimes I’d say no. Because it hurts-- it hurts so much! And I’m always so miserable and cold and lonely for those three days. Lonely, because I’ve never told anyone else before...” Huge tears began rolling down his cheeks, and he suddenly sought solace in Hook’s arms. The man grinned, gently lifting the lanky frame onto his knees, and stroking the hair of the tragic boy.

“They sneak up on me if I dare fall asleep on the ground, and I think even Tink’s been helping them trick me into eating that mating dust...” Peter’s speech was broken up with sobs now, while Hook lavished kisses on his forehead.

A close friend Hook had suddenly become, Peter mused, attempting to rub away his tears with the back of his hand. Closer than the Indians he dared not stay with during the ordeal that shamed him without knowing exactly why. Closer than his faithful band of Lost Boys who would not have judged him, but would have stared wide-eyed and terrified if they ever saw what he went through. Closer even than Wendy, whom he had tried to think about at every ordeal since first seeing her at the nursery window. She was his unwitting muse as he lay in that secret burrow in tears-- hoping that the forest sounds would drown out the occasional anguished howls he’d let forth when a fairy refused to come out the easy way. Even beautiful Wendy would chastise and question him about his absences. But here, in the most unlikely of all places, he’d found someone who not only commiserated, but saw him through his time of torment.

“I’ll come here every time,” Peter whispered, the tears having gone now, though hiccuped sobs still occasionally launched his torso forwards into Hook’s warm, tobacco-reeking body. No answer came.

“Have you released the fairies yet?” Peter suddenly remembered. “Their wings dry up after a few hours and they’re ready to fly away after that.”

“I have not,” Hook said, pulling the boy’s anxious head back to his chest.

“Please do.” Peter attempted to pull away, but Hook’s arms kept him close. “Or they’ll make me do it again very soon.”

“My little Peter Pan... raped by fairies.” Hook laughed.

The boy squirmed, growing a bit uneasy at Hook’s tone. “Really-- where are they?”

Hook called to Smee to bring in the jar of fairies.

"You shouldn't keep them in a jar. They might all start dying."

"Don't worry yourself, Pan," Hook murmured, nipping at his ear, causing the boy only further discomfort. He would leave as soon as they released the fairies, he decided.

Smee brought in a small jar of a nondescript, dull-colored powder. Hook was prepared for, and suppressed the sudden jerk out of his arms.

"My pretty, long-suffering boy… the discovery that you can produce dozens of fairies a night-- easily gatherable fairies, I should say-- has made me happy beyond your imagination. For, you see, while it's quite true that children can use fairies and happy thoughts to fly, we adults must make do with happy thoughts induced by the little buggers."

Hook's arms held Peter put, despite the boy's rather violent attempts to free himself.

"Tonight I'll let you smell burnt fairy. It makes such pretty pictures in your head. You grind them up after they dry, and stuff them in a pipe... then smoke away. It was the highest of delicacies, because we could never catch more than one or two in weeks. But thanks to you…" Hook finished his sentence with a hickey on the neck, where he felt the pulse run frantic with distress.

Peter could barely make out Hook's face through his tears. "You killed all of them?" He was not particularly fond of the creatures himself, besides Tinker Bell. But to have the fruits of his labor and agony so callously destroyed was painful-- especially when he considered having to repeat the ordeal so soon. He would have to find a different place to stay this time, too, because Hook seemed likely take it into this head to revisit him.

"Not all, my dear boy. I am a gentleman, but I'm not ashamed of enterprise. I have kept a few pairs." Peter's questioning expression was too delicious to bear. "To provide for future generations, of course."

***

Peter felt sleep creeping on him as the contractions temporarily let up, but he already knew this was only the quiet before the storm. He had it perfectly rehearsed and memorized by now… now after Hell knew how many infestations Hook had induced in him. Peter, for one, had lost all count. Hook abused his body almost as much as the fairy essence that he smoked every evening. He had taken to forcing dozens of matings at a time, so that each batch of fairies came to nearly thousands. The ordeal was now more painful, and much longer.

The blinding pain came again, and he bent his knees until his fettered ankles could go no further. Hook chained him by three limbs, though there was not a smidgen of hope at this moment that Peter could stand up, let alone fly away. It was about to begin, he knew. His free hand stuffed a well-worn rag into his mouth and lightly caressed his stomach-- stretched to frightening proportions, teeming with fairies to be born, only to be ground up by his captors for mind-bending pleasures.

Peter shuddered as half a dozen fairies spilled out of him at once, onto the towel laid out to buffer him from the cold wood of the kitchen floor. Or, most likely, to keep the floor clean from all the mucus, Peter thought dejectedly, opening his eyes as the contraction ceased. He watched these first arrivals already begin to crawl about, wings still completely folded and glistening wet in the dim light of the lone candle on the high surface of the table. He cursed them, cursed the entire species that had chosen him to be a conditional prince of this island, only to end like this-- an animal to be milked for its products.

Hook walked into the ship's kitchen just as a new wave of pain began. He very rarely visited Peter, especially when the latter was in condition. The boy recognized the sickly sweet smoke lacing the usual tobacco, and the resultant idiotic grin plastered on the captain's otherwise sedate expression. Hook crouched down, his long hair swaying, a few ringlets brushing past Peter's face. His hand came down painfully heavy against Peter's bloated stomach.

"Only a little more, Pan. And then I'll let you rest for a couple of days."

Peter did nothing but groan in reply, several more fairies leaving his body, and salty sweat stinging his eyes as he panted against the rag. A few whacks across the towel, and all who had been born lay crushed by the swatter Hook had taken up from the floor. Peter felt the heated sting of it across his cheek next.

"You're supposed to dispatch them yourself if Smee's not around," Hook bellowed, suddenly angry as part of his usual mood swings-- his words slightly slurred and the forget-me-not blues clouded over. They were red, but only with veins. Peter often wished it were a sign that he was about to be clawed to death. "The more escape, the sooner we'll have to knock you up again."

The man sauntered out, Peter clenching the swatter in his unfettered hand as yet another contraction threatened to engulf him. Hot tears scalded the cheeks already burning with shame, and he struck at the frail, newly emerged creatures between his thighs with unparalleled fury.
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A Bunch of Hook/Pan Oneshots