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Seven Ways To Hell	By : Nevoreiel Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Slash Views: 4609 -:- 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-Seven Ways To Hell
- 1
Disclaimer: All familiar characters and situations are Copyright by J. M. Barrie, Universal Studios, etc.

Warning: Slash, chan, snuff, character death [sort of], noncon, whipping, beating, etc.

Notes: The story is a convoluted mix of a few of my ideas, one of them being the use of the seven deadly sins.

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i.

It pleased Hook to gaze at himself in the glass and feel a sense of satisfaction. After all, he was the handsomest of the lot of scurvy pirates. Come to think of it, he was the best-looking in the whole realm of Neverland. Those rag-a-tag boys running wild, faces dirty and thin, wearing leaves instead of something more fitting for human beings.

Realizing that his mdelvdelved much too fondly on the little rascals and Pan, the worst one of all, James Hook went back to fluffing the feather stuck into his most excellent hat.

The Jolly Roger may lack in mercy and other such weak and useless emotions but it had all the fancy clothing that its Captain would ever need. A thought of Pan wearing one of his beautiful hats in mockery crossed his mind and snatching it off his own head, Hook threw it to the ground. Pan always managed to foul things up, even when he wasn’t there.

Sticky boy begging to be brought to a sticky end, thought Hook.

ii.

There is nothing more damnable, in Hook’s opinion, than seeing someone repeatedly and quite happily belittle his authority. Most who’ve tried have at least lost a limb or two, nothing too harsh, but one Peter Pan always slips right out of his very sharp grasp.

Flighty and airy as if his very head was filled with nothing but emptiness, Pan flitted around, oblivious that he upset the balance. They were certainly on no equal footing, not to mention altitude.

It’s not something Hook would admit to anyone who he thought would live longer than it took for his hook to feast on flesh. It’s not something Hook likes to admit even to himself, but sometimes it’s hard not to. He knows that his hear twinges every time the brat careens out of the sky. The freedom that he thought he’d gain by gaining a ship on sea did not lie in the sea at all but in the air. That’s the place to be!

Sometimes Hook wonders what it’d be like to be young again. Young and virile like Pan but then he looks at his shriveled stump of an arm and no longer envies Pan. After all, who would envy a dead man?

iii.

This day was a day to be remembered in the long and prosperous history of Captain James Hook.

It was no easy task to catch the spritely Pan but it could be accomplished.

The wretch snapped and glowered from his corner in the hold of the shop, far from his sunny world of fairies, mermaids, and freedom. Hook did not find any of the light insults a direct reflection on him. He’d caught the unreachable – a laudable feat that overshadowed all shortcomings.

His eyes glinted in the gloom of the brig and his hook shone dully. He did nothing more that savour victory, drinking in the futile attempts to escape.

Hook did not know that was sweeter to watch, the frantic mptsmpts to snap the heavy irons, slight muscles straining tautly, or the distressed expression on Pan’s face when all that did was rattle them. Seeing no reason for the contrary, Hook watched both with equal delight.

It raised the spirits seeing the haughty boy flinch in his presence, his clever tongue fearful to offend. He must understand by now that a quick death is the farthest from the pirate’s mind. And so it was; Hook had the obligation to gloat over the victory, wringing all the misery out of Pan before cutting his life painfully short.

Stepping closer, Hook drew back his hand, mouth turning up into a triumphant smile as Pan seemed to shrink. The open-handed slap rang shrilly and the boy’s head jerked to the side, offering the other, perfectly unmarked cheek.

iv.

Hook took to visiting the brig for prolonged periods of time. There was no longer any incentive to sail around in search of Peter whe when the quarry was safely stowed away.

Denying the boy water one day, Hook would bring a bowl a put it on the floor, made Pan crawl to it. He was sourly tempted to kick the bowl over, each and every time, but found it in his interest to kick Pan instead while the boy was stretched out so, in the interest that the prisoner live.

Pan would not beg but glowered, drinking and eating greedily whatever was thrown at him. Hook drank as greedily of Pan’s misery. Finding some solace in the tightness of Pan’s face when he’s not been fed, arms wound tightly around his burning stomach.

It brightened his heart and brought comfort to stand, observing the boy while eating apiece of venison heartily. The cornered look in the blue eyes was much preferred to the usual arrogance in Hook’s much revered opinion. Once only the bone remained, he would throw it at Pan. Still retaining some pride, the boy did not scramble to pick it up until he heard the heavy boots receding above deck.

Curious, one day the Captain decided to fill the customary bowl with wine instead of water. Pan lapped it up, most certainly noting the difference but not caring enough to question.

Having his first taste of spirits, even though the wine was, by far, one of the softest kinds, Pan started acting silly. At first he snickered, going cross-eyed, staring up at Hook. Clutching a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle the laughter, Pan finally gave in and laughed mirthfully about nothing at all, fingers brushing against Hook’s pants as his arms swung wildly. When his hand chanced to whisper past the front of the pirate’s breeches, Hook stepped back.

Eyes slitted, Hook saved the half-formed thought for a later time. Satisfied, he left Pan to his amusement.

Once the delight wore off, Peter cried. Feeling sick, the wine resurfaced, leaving him more miserable than before.

v.

Quickly tiring of being only the indirect cause of Pan’s suffering, Hook resorted to some rough handling. Now, with his every visit, Peter expected a kick to the ribs or a burning cut with the gleaming hook. He’d found out that the double clawed one hurt the most, burning twin lines of pain down his side. The cuts were superficial but stung in the heat of the hold, burning whenever Peter moved, inadvertently pulling at the healing skin.

Hook no longer held an air of dispassionate scrutiny; not wholly satisfied with the slow breaking of Peter Pan, he hastened to speed it up, face contorted in anger. Self-righteous anger at Pan who had dared cut his hand off!

Not wanting to kill the boy, just yet, and not completely trusting his self-restraint, Hook took to beating him with blunter objects. The toe of his boot fit perfectly into the small of the boy’s back. It was easy to leave a bruise on that tender flesh; all that was needed was a tight enough grip on the slender throat and his fingers were imprinted in hues of blue and red.

Longing for some variety, Hook brought the cat o’ nine tails with him on his next visit. He was sure Pan saw the whip in its full glory, trailing it on the ground right before his eyes.

Feeling a grim satisfaction as Pan trembled, the Captain ripped into the filthy cloth that constituted for Pan’s clothing with his hook, tearing it off and exposing more of easily yielding skin.

Mortified, the youth tried hiding, curling in on himself. Hook found it amusing, but his mirth did not last long. Resolute, he brought the whip down and it snapped lively in the air before cracking sharply against the taut skin, leaving angry wheals.

Peter whimpered, at first, writhing away from the flying whip, his chains keeping him in place. Soon his breath came in gasps and his cheeks were wet with tears while his back glistened with pearls of blood.

Eyes burning red, Hook sneered and left the cringing mess.

vi.

It no longer interested Hook to just break the body, now was the time to break that haughty spirit. It was heartening to see Pan bruised and clearly in some pain. Oh, he knew it would be evil to continue with the plan but it would be unthinkable to turn back now.

The boy was curled in on himself, eyes wearily following Hook’s every move. He gave a little gasp when Hook started to disrobe. Somewhat used to the constant physical violence, this new turn of events sent a chill down his spine.

It had been some time since Hook had had a satisfying release. It seemed only fair to grace Pan with that honour.

Face set, Hook strode forward, in his boots and breeches with harness firmly in place, to loom over Pan. Smiling cruelly, the pirate dragged Pan out of his corner, forcing him to uncurl. Pan struggled weakly, body ac fro from past beatings.

When Hook started unbuttoning his breeches, Pan whimpered and triededgeedge away but was stopped by the sharp hook, pressing painfully to his throat.

As Hook knelt, leaning over the gaunt body, a litany of “please, no” whispered past his ears. Hook was unfeeling to all but the desire coursing through his veins and the flesh that would quench it.

Not wishing to cause more physical harm than necessary, it would be counterproductive, the pirate pushed blunt fingers into the burning hot entrance. Pan gasped and cried out, wriggling to Hook’s delight.

When Hook finally pushed in with relish, Peter knew agony.

Trapped and helpless, Peter screwed his eyes shut while Hook rutted above him. It burned and stung and sent a strange tingle through his abdomen. He did not know the name for the feeling but it left him feeling shameful.

The feeling was irresistibly overwhelming and Hook thrust with fervor, his hook chafing the skin of the boy’s throat.

Knowing that blissful release was close, Hook raised the hook and, feeling the pleasure sweep through him, smiled with contempt, noting with interest that Pan had responded. Just as well.

Drawing the steel down one cheek, Hook was pleased to see Pan open his eyes. Raising the hook high, he brought it down to lodge in Pan’s throat.

Gasping feebly, Pan struggled to breathe, each breath gurgling wetly. Eyes wide, he gave one last bloody breath before he ceased the struggle.

Peter Pan was left lying in cooling blood with pearly white seed glistening starkly on his belly.

vii.

It was done. It was as if a heavy burden had finally been lifted and now Hook just felt empty.

There was nothing to look forward to anymore. It seemed quite anti-climatic. Of course, he could always sail away and seek new fortune but there was not much challenge in that.

It did not console anymore that that brat’s body now lay at the bottom of the lagoon unless the dratted mermaids had fished it out.

The weather had been dreadfully depressing as well, the sun hidden by dark storm clouds from which not a drop fell.

Sitting idly in his cabin, Hook had the fright of his life when he glimpsed the late Peter Pan perching casually on the edge of his bed.

“Pan, you’re dead! But what are you still doing here?”

The wisp of a boy smiled impishly, “This is my bit of heaven, where else could I be?”

Feeling fear and revulsion, Hook realized that he had crafted himself a hell.

***

Waking up in a cold sweat, Hook quickly dressed and in haste made his way on deck. The sky was clear, partially a good sigh. Not until he saw the familiar figure of Pan flying into the forest did Hook breathe a sigh of relief.

Maybe having Pan about was not as offensive an idea as he had previously so vehemently thought.

Security is found in familiarity, after all.

End
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Seven Ways To Hell