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Peter Captured	By : lexyhamilton Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Slash Views: 19631 -:- 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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Peter's quality of life rapidly improved, though in return for this he had to abandon some sense of decency. His mornings were filled with studies, which he enjoyed for the most part. Once he began learning things more quickly, the captain became much happier and more approving, and his disturbing habit of touching Peter's body would subside almost entirely. The boy began to do minor chores in the cabin itself, as well as dishes and laundry for the whole ship when Smee could use the help. Hook rewarded him for progress in his studies generously, letting him loose in the cabin and giving him hot baths with far more frequency than the captain had ever allowed himself. Of the crew Peter usually saw nothing, except when he'd be taken outside for his dose of fresh air and sunlight, but none even approached him when the captain was nearby. It was a mundane existence, but very much a bearable one, and Peter's fears of Hook's violent mood swings slowly diminished.

In the meantime, Hook took great pleasure in Peter's obedience and, though he still dreamed of far greater intimacy, proceeded very slowly in breaking down the boy's inhibitions. Hook’s excuse for beginning to put makeup on the boy was that he could not easily discern his features when Peter was up near the ceiling. Peter would sit patiently as Hook accentuated his lips and eyes, each morning’s application more garish than the last. His neck usually bore signs of violent goodnight kisses, but there was no one to ridicule him, so Peter stoically bore whatever didn't hurt. Hook, in his turn, knew well enough at which activities his captive drew the line and had no desire to overstep and jeopardize their precarious concord… not at present, in any case. Not when he could watch the boy bite at his lips in such concentration as he memorized his multiples. Not when the boy could be given lessons on the harpsichord-- his two hands, though a tad too small for some of the chords, still so perfect and intact. Hook would stand over the boy, taking care to be gentle in his reprimands, and though the melodies churned out were simple and clumsily performed, there was something very satisfying for Hook about seeing all ten fingers traversing the keys.

Routine was only unpleasant when it hampered one’s own whims. Peter very much preferred routine to Hook’s whims, and learned to savor the monotony of life aboard a harbor-bound ship. This was why he protested vehemently when Hook suddenly decided to hold a meal with the crew one evening.

Hook brought Peter out in full cosmetic splendor, chaining him to the table leg where the other crewmembers had gathered. Peter sat stoically, simmering with hatred for being made into a spectacle. Bawdy comments were confined to whispers in Hook’s presence, but when Hook left to check on Smee, there was no mercy from them. Everything aroused the greatest mirth in the men. The bruises on Peter’s neck and the golden bangles dangling from his ears were suddenly his most salient attributes. None of them dared touch him, however, except for Starkey, who took a prime seat next the boy and assured the others that Peter Pan’s backside had filled out nicely since they had last had their fun with him.

Peter prayed silently for Hook’s speedy return, hardly guessing that the captain was just around the corner, sadistically curious to see how his boy carried himself among the boors. If there was anything that sent the boy into his arms, it was fear of the crew. Hook returned at last to his seat, amused to find everyone now on good behavior and frantically taking up an entirely different topic of conversation-- all except Starkey, who took to running his hand up and down Peter’s thigh under the cover of the table. When Smee brought the food in, Hook stood up to announce that the special occasion was the three-month anniversary since Peter Pan had become a “guest” aboard their ship. This was more pretext than anything else-- Hook had abandoned accurate counting of days long ago, and it hardly mattered, in any case, when a vast, possible eternity stretched out before him. He wanted to show Peter off, plain and simple, though he grieved this was his only possible audience. They would hardly be able to judge the boy’s merits, beyond anything subtler than his physique. Even comeliness was not so much valued among them, let alone the subtlety of an interesting personality that Hook had yet to explore fully himself.

Peter heard whispers from the crew, which Hook seemed oblivious to, ranging from doubt that it had only been three months to complaints about what it was that they were still doing in this godforsaken region. Peter quickly occupied himself with the food on his plate, hoping to finish early and be allowed to leave, pretending not to notice the jealous glances the other pirates threw at the profusion of fruit and quality meat on his plate.

"Show us how far along you've gotten with your computation, Pan," Hook suddenly addressed him, taking it into his head to entertain himself. "Thrice two?"

Peter swallowed down everything in his mouth far too quickly for comfort. He looked in dismay at his audience, and then focused back on his plate when he found all eyes on him. "Six."

"And twelve less a five?"

"Seven," Peter sighed. He hated being forced into performing, preferring to show off of his own accord and, in any case, not in front of these men. Most of all, he hated the fact that he had come to trust Hook enough to be surprised by this sort of callous behavior.

"And thrice four?"

Peter scrambled to remember, but his agitation was beginning to cloud his thinking. He quietly tapped his fingertips against his knees under the table to count the problem out, but it seemed that the longer it took, the more quickly he would lose count. He grew pale in spite of himself, frantically blurting out "More than ten," when Hook cleared his throat.

The pirates all burst into laughter. Peter stuffed his mouth full of the first thing that came under his fork, tasting nothing in his embarrassment. He felt the unwelcome sensation of Hook's lips against his cheek.

"My vacuous little beauty." Hook was grinning as he leaned back, but secretly regretted what he said when he saw Peter glaring at him with the same enmity he bestowed on the rest of the assembly.

"It's twelve," the boy finally said, his voice shaking. "And I'm not stupid."

"No worries, Peter," Robert said, elbowing Cecco and winking to the rest. "It ain’t like the Cap’n’s been keeping ya around for sage advice."

Everyone’s eyes returned to the head of the table when they heard an ominous click.

"We're not keeping you for advice around here either, Mullin," Hook said, leveling a pistol at the man's head. "I'd pull it, you know, if I were certain there was something to blow out from that head of yours."

Robert sat motionless and wide-eyed, staring back at Hook until the pistol was put away. Starkey had taken the opportunity to slide his hand across Peter's thigh again. The boy gripped his fork in response, but was only slightly distracted from what seemed like a very volatile situation developing.

"Cap'n, it’s too early for this, we haven't even started on the rum yet…" Bill finally offered, and the rest of the crew laughed nervously. Hook smirked and the men relaxed enough to clamor for Smee to bring the rest of the food in. Just as the old boatswain trudged off, Starkey suddenly leapt out of his seat and yelped. Desperate to avoid ridicule, he took great care to hide the four bloody puncture marks on his hand as he clutched it. Peter quietly pulled his pants back to their original position and wiped his fork thoroughly on the napkin.

The rest of dinner was far less eventful. Peter ate in silence, listening to the other men. As more alcohol was passed around, their conversation devolved from theories about what strange effects might have caused them to keep returning to the island, to reminiscing about favorite taverns and whorehouses. Hook sat wordlessly too, rather dismayed by the loutish quality of the men that surrounded him. It was, however, a wonderful opportunity to watch Peter shine like a jewel among them. He knew the boy sensed his gaze, though he did not turn to meet it. Hook hoped he would come around when they were alone in the cabin.

He soon grew impatient with the whole affair. He had no wish to get drunk, and had even less inclination to see the decline of his men into stupor or violence. Peter had been drinking the rum that was poured for him, smiling now at the warmth that was sweeping his body. He smiled at Hook, lightly flushed but hardly ashamed. Seeing the boy’s unguarded state, Hook had even fewer reasons to remain at the table. He unchained Peter and began to carry him off, clutched tightly at the waist.

"Cap'n, weren't we getting a turn with him tonight?" Cecco asked, forgetting the impudence of the question in his disappointment.

Hook turned, squelching Peter into his body with renewed fervor.

"Who said anything about you getting a turn?"

The pirates eyed each other.

"No one," Cecco quickly corrected himself. "It only seemed fitting… we thought. With him healed and all…" but the captain turned and was already heading towards his cabin, trophy in tow. Clutching Peter’s chest tightly to his own, Hook smiled when he felt the boy’s rapid pulse slow once more. He had to admit he preferred the boy’s fear when it was caused by someone else.

***

“It was stupid of you.”

Hook looked up at Peter, who was soaking in the tub. “What was?”

“Showing me off to them. I was out of sight and out mind, but now they’re jealous.”

“And?” Hook barked, annoyed by Peter’s audacity, though he could easily guess what the boy was driving at.

“And… just… they’ll mutiny. You shouldn’t show me around.”

“You know, Robert may be an idiot but he was right. I don’t keep you around for advice.”

“Oh? What do you keep me for, then?” Peter climbed out of the tub, his naked form shivering as he made his way across to the towel.

Hook looked in dismay at the big trail of water under Peter’s feet. “For warping the wood of my floor, I’ll venture.”

Peter laughed with an abandon Hook rarely had the pleasure to witness. He was adorable this way-- his usual frown nowhere in sight, replaced by that sunny little disposition that had always characterized the boy before his capture, albeit without the grating arrogance and vanity.

“Let me dry you off,” Hook quickly offered. Peter plopped down onto Hook’s lap, wrapping the towel around himself coyly. Hook rubbed his back, pressing Peter’s wet body into his own.

Peter threw his head back, his hair grown long enough to slap against his shoulders when it was wet. Hook grimaced at the brief shower he received as a result. Perhaps it had been longer than three months. He ran his hook through the boy’s dripping locks, untangling them before they dried into hideous knots as usual. He saw both of their forms in the mirror he’d strategically placed for the express purpose of enjoying the Peter’s beauty from all sides. There was something frightening about how scrawny and pale the nude figure appeared compared to his own. His hair might grow, but the boy himself never would. Hook was all gaudiness and surreptitiousness in that reflection, concealing his lurid lust from the child who sat there so white and innocent. Though not so innocent anymore, perhaps, Hook reasoned as he looked at Peter’s lopsided smile.

The boy’s hands slipped into Hook’s sleeves, sliding along the forearms until they grasped at the very elbows. “Why do you keep me, really?”

“For company,” Hook said, letting the towel fall to the floor, though Peter’ hair was still dripping everywhere. “We’re not so different sometimes, are we?”

“But you’re old!” Peter said, breaking the heavenly contact, and using his hands to move himself back towards Hook’s knees. How the man wished his body would calm down and not disturb the boy in his lap! There it was-- the flicker of fear in Peter’s eyes. No matter how tipsy he was-- how familiar and relaxed he acted-- there was one thing he was always on guard against. He had to be distracted again. There was no hope for intimacy, of course, but Hook wanted to make this cheery atmosphere last a little longer.

“Old, I’ll grant you. But does that mean we can’t ever hope to be friends?” He pulled off his coat, putting it around Peter’s naked shoulders. Peter’s hands barely made it out of the long sleeves. The flamboyant matching hat was conveniently just within reach on the nearby table, and Hook pulled it down to the boy’s eyes. “I’d rather teach you endlessly than talk to those oafs.”

“How do I look?” Peter grinned, his attention completely diverted to his new wardrobe.

“Wonderf…” but Peter had already jumped off and rushed to the mirror on those incongruously thin legs, which were still visible where the coat ended below the knee. He posed, tilting the hat to the side and generally flirting with his reflection. Hook shook his head, smiling at what a fop in the making he had acquired. After admiring himself to his satisfaction, Peter turned around, blowing at the feather cascading from the hat’s edge and obscuring some of his vision.

“I only need a sword. Then I’ll really be like you.” The pearly whites shone brilliant in the candlelight.

“I’ll give you a sword after I cut off your hand,” Hook rasped, standing up and grabbing at Peter, throwing him down onto the large bed, and giving in to the urge to kiss the tender skin violently. Body and boy were abstracted from each other for a moment, the writhing, gasping, squirming of the small frame underneath him almost animal in its struggle.

“Stop it!” Peter shouted, panicking. Even after all his experience, he still could not always predict such an outburst from Hook. The pirate’s body convulsed, but he pulled away at the sound of the voice, fist pressed to his lips as rational thought and self-control slowly seeped back to their place. Peter’s body still lay splayed out, thin torso exposed by the open coat, bouncing up and down with fearful breaths.

“Oh Peter…” Hook finally descended again, and though the boy flinched, no hand touched him. “What I wouldn’t do to have you again…”

“If you let me go afterwards, I’ll let you.” Peter heard the words he said as something foreign. His eyes flew up to Hook’s. The man was frozen by the suggestion. Peter could imagine everything perfectly. He would make Hook promise to be gentle, and in the morning would already be headed home. Perhaps he would even stay to have breakfast before going out. Yet Hook was still hesitating, and Peter had no qualms about doing something bold if a chance for freedom was at stake. He slipped up to a sitting position, sliding out of the coat, wrapping his arms around Hook’s neck and planted a kiss on his lips.

“Damn you, Pan!” Hook pulled away for a moment, only to return to the kiss, fingers running along the small jawbone.

What a shameless tease he was when he wanted something, Hook mused. “Alright, I’ll let you go after ten nights.”

Peter’s face fell. “Ten? How about one?”

“How about,” Hook said, pulling his hat off of Peter, “we don’t bargain, and just agree on ten.”

“But…”

“We’ll go nice and slow,” Hook muttered, trailing his metal along Peter’s breastbone.

The boy shivered. “Please. Three, maybe?”

They settled on seven, with Peter promising to be a most willing participant, though he felt anything but willing after bargaining with no clout. Peter lay down on Hook’s bed, already trembling. As usual, nothing was going according to his plans. Hook rubbed scented oil into his skin, taking the opportunity to massage Peter into relaxation. Seven times, was all it would take. Seven times to enjoy Peter’s body was more valuable to Hook’s damned lust than an eternity with Peter Pan himself. Noble intentions never lasted.

“Does it feel nice?”

Peter felt Hook’s hot breath on his shoulder and nodded quickly, unthinking in his nervousness. Hook took out some caramelized sugar he had kept on reserve in a small tin. It was to be a reward for Peter for some more honorable achievement than cheapening himself like this. A reward for Hook too, to give them to Peter-- for keeping the pledge he was now breaking. Sweetness was sweetness, whether earned or not, and the boy’s eyes widened, a light smile passing his lips. It was so easy to please him sometimes.

The rum followed, passing easily enough through Peter’s mouth with the caramel as a decoy, and he downed an entire pint without discomfiture. He could not, however, ignore the warmth that hummed in his stomach before sending out scorching little worms to tunnel out to the rest of his body. Growing hot, then slightly dizzy, he helped Hook out of his harness. Not such a tease now, Hook noted with dismay, as Peter’s hands immediately left after doing their duty.

“I want you to show me you’re enjoying this, Pan. Perhaps you’ll have to pretend at first, but I hope that will change.”

Peter stared dumbly at him for a few moments, before running his hands across Hook’s chest. Hook rolled over onto his back on the bed next to Peter, and the boy quickly caught on. He straddled his captor, leaning forward to kiss his neck, biting gently at his ear, and running his tongue against the jaw-line, already rough with stubble. The actions were like a parody of what had been done to him so many times, and Peter was beginning to smile. The mimetic game was ridiculous, but Hook seemed to enjoy himself-- intense blue eyes clouding over, and lips curling into a genuine smile. Peter finally kissed that smile, though he did not have the audacity to invade with his tongue as he was probably expected to do. Hook’s eyes fluttered closed in pleasure, and Peter’s confidence mounted. Perhaps he would be let go sooner if he did well, but he dared not ask for fear of being annoying at an inopportune moment.

Hook rolled over with him, and Peter found himself on his back again. He lay quietly as Hook retouched his makeup. “We’re going to start soon,” the man rasped, already full of need.

Peter was exceedingly nervous. Each of the previous times had hurt greatly and the memories were returning with dreadful detail in his imagination. His senses were assaulted on all sides-- the pungent aroma of his own skin, the mind-blowing syrupiness of the sweetmeat in his mouth-- stronger than any berry-- the internal burning heat, and Hook’s insistent fingers pressing almost painfully into his tense muscles, forcing them to loosen. The man finally lay down next to Peter, pushing the boy onto his side to face away and molding him to his own body. Peter’s heartbeat flew into panicked frenzy, though he consciously tried to calm down as he felt the familiar cold oil being rubbed into his cleft.

Hook felt the body in front of him stiffen, and the frightened expression on Peter’s face as he tried to turn it back made Hook hardly able to contain his lust. It was to be his curse that what he considered his purest love would always be marred by these violent impulses to take Peter resistant and unwilling. He shook it from himself and rubbed the boy down, moving continuously forward, until he was stroking an area that made Peter try to squirm away, held fast by Hook’s right arm coming under his ribcage and wrapping around. The naughty fairies had been far gentler. And here, in Hook’s arms, he felt trapped. He began to hate this whole enterprise, wondering what had possessed him to not only suggest it, but also put on that shameful display.

Hook’s fingers traveled back until they rediscovered the taut ring. Dipping into more lubricant first, the man entered the boy slowly and considerately. Peter arched away from the invasion, head narrowly missing Hook’s head behind it. A tiny whimper was choked by the stuffy air of the cabin. Hook bit his lip, feeling Peter gripping his finger mercilessly, his tightness practically virginal after the long hiatus.

“Shh, shh…” Hook stroked the boy’s stomach with his foreshortened arm when he heard something like sniffling. It was discouraging that the boy was already on the brink of tears from one digit. “I love you. I want to love you. Let me love you. Tell me when it hurts.”

“N…now.” Peter’s voice was trembling. His body was heating up with fear and a strange physical tension. He was incapable of achieving anything beyond an unpleasant feeling of need, but it still made every touch, every caress on the rest of his body feel exceedingly sensual.

Details. He was paying attention to all the wrong details, he sensed. All his impressions were becoming progressively more confused. He knew he felt pain only by watching the way the sheets bunched up in his fingers, knuckles whitening. The tears coursing down his own face felt like someone else’s.

“Are we alright?” Hook said, but it was as if Peter could only sense the vibrations in the man’s chest passing through his own. It felt strange to shake his head-- the neck no longer seemed his to control.

“It will pass. We’ll wait for you.”

Peter turned his head back, but instead of listening on what the man was saying, was transfixed by the motions the mustache made as Hook explained something. The lips suddenly descended on Peter’s, and the boy thought he could feel Hook’s mouth engulfing his insides. The idea was so unpleasant that he groaned. Hook came away from the kiss, and exited Peter’s backside to collect more oil before easing in again, moving the finger back and forth languidly, wet slippery sounds suddenly very loud and unpleasant. The room seemed to run about, and Peter could not fix his gaze on any one thing.

Finally the muscles relaxed somewhat. “Ready for more?” Peter shook his head, his expression completely unhappy.

“It will go by faster if we don’t keep stopping, you realize. But whatever you want is fine by me,” Hook said, trying to keep the urgency in his voice masked. It was a lie-- his erection was straining madly to enter the tight heat he was manually penetrating. Peter suddenly found himself feeling very tired and wanting to go to bed.

“ Have another caramel, lad.” Hook practically shoved the piece of candy into Peter’s mouth, not using the fingers that had been penetrating, but some residue of the oil still coated it with a brief, nasty taste. Sucking on the cloying burnt sugar did allow Peter to forget the raw tenderness of his opening for a moment. Teardrops were making a large spot of dampness on the sheets in front of his face.

“Alright now?” Hook asked, praying Peter would answer in the affirmative. The boy’s face was pain-wracked, but he nodded silently. He would nod until he was dying. He only had to finish one of these, and there would only be six left after that. Six. A whole six. And he would be sore for those, as well, Peter realized with dismay.

Hook moved Peter up his thighs and unbuttoned the breeches to release his throbbing member. Peter listened intently as Hook threw lubricant over the shaft, dreading the feeling such a massive organ would soon produce inside him. He felt the head of Hook’s cock pushing itself into his crack, seeking the portal to slip into. Only one repositioning of his hips and a thrust and Hook would be inside…
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Peter Captured