Work Text:
After a while, the animosity between Captain Hook and Peter Pan dwindled to a muted competitiveness, smoldering between them. Hook often peered through his telescope at the island, watching Peter and the other Lost Boys. For his part, Peter took great pleasure in waiting until the dark of night to infrequently swim out to Hook’s ship and clamber aboard. He did little other than enjoy the thrill of trespass, tiptoeing about on softly booted feet to deliver small manners of mischief. He climbed the rigging and stole a pennant from the top of the mast, wearing it as a jaunty feather in his cap. He crept belowdecks and carefully stole Smee’s darning needle from where it lay threaded in Smee’s own cap -- although on a later trip he of course brought it back. And on one occasion, Peter quietly unhooked the stay that kept the ship’s wheel from turning, then watched gleefully from shore the rest of the night as the Jolly Roger spun in lazy circles.
That last was what made Hook take the actions he did.
He woke groggily, aware only that something was amiss aboard his ship. And as soon as he rose from his bed he knew: a captain knew the motions of his ship as he knew his own breathing, and it took only a few seconds for Hook to surmise what had happened and, as soon as he set foot on deck and saw a certain green-clad boy laughing and slapping his thighs with merriment, Hook knew exactly who was responsible.
“That boy has gone too far,” he growled. “If we’d not dropped anchor who knows how far we’d have drifted out to sea.”
At his elbow, Starkey said, “We’ll double the watch, cap’n. Post a man fore and aft, four hour shifts so none fall prey to the Sandman and let the little bastard set one more foot upon these decks.”
“Hm,” replied Hook thoughtfully.
“We’ll keep a longboat at the ready, and at the first sight of him, drop after him. No way a slip of a lad like that could outswim two grown pirates at hard row,” Starkey continued.
“Hm,” Hook replied again. “Interesting suggestions all, but I think I perhaps have a better plan. One that will give our little friend quite the souvenir of his adventures.”
Starkey waited for the captain to elaborate, but no further details were forthcoming. Instead, the captain grinned a shadowy grin and made for his cabin.
***
All the watching of Peter Pan that Hook did, had given Hook a certain familiarity with Peter’s habits and routines. He knew, for instance, that Peter, easily distracted by his peers and the cheerful mayhem of the island, would not return to the ship for a good week or so, but that like Hook, he kept a careful watch on his nemesis. After all, even now Peter sat cross-legged on the beach staring at the Jolly Roger with an expression of what looked very much to Hook like wistful curiosity.
Hook had seen the expression before on the lad’s face, in glances he stole out towards the ship as he and Wendy walked along the beach, or when the Lost Boys gathered en masse in the shallows, splashing and playing about, Peter often could be seen staring out at Hook’s ship. Now, with this latest night-time jape, Hook decided it was high time Peter’s curiosity was satisfied. And, truth be told, Hook’s own. “After all,” he muttered grimly, folding away his telescope, “all boys have to grow up sometime.”
He turned from the railing and headed inside his cabin to make the necessary preparations.
***
A week later, almost to the day, Peter returned to the ship.
Hook had taken to striding the deck while tossing in his hand a large and shiny copper coin. He was well aware that it flashed in the sunlight as he did so, and as such couldn’t fail to catch Peter’s eye. He’d stop what he was doing and watch for a few moments, and Hook would return the coin to one pocket of his fancy waistcoat before going about his business.
Peter would come aboard to steal Hook’s coin, this Hook was counting on. It was only a matter of time. So just before retiring for the night, Hook laid a sturdy rope net on the floor under the one window to his stateroom. He knew Peter would know the door to the room creaked with the slightest movement, which left only the window. And just to be on the safe side, Hook gave orders that Foggerty be assigned to the crows nest for night watch, confident that as soon as the moon reached its zenith, the old souse would sink into a deep slumber despite his precarious perch.
And so, preparations made, each evening Captain Hook left the shutters of his window open to the night air, retired to his bunk, blew out his candle and slept an excited and anticipatory slumber, rife with dreams of Peter Pan.
He woke on the third night to the sounds of someone trying to be very, very quiet and nearly succeeding.
Hook refused to open his eyes, instead focusing on controlling his breathing, hoping to look for all the world like a man fast asleep.
Soft footfalls on the desk under the window then the noises Hook had been dreaming of: someone jumping down from the desk, a weight dropping, ropes zipping through a pulley, a startled gasp...then only the creak of salt-worn rope hanging from a ring in the ceiling.
Grinning, Hook opened his eyes, sat up, and lit the candle beside his bed.
Over next to the window, Peter Pan hung in Hook’s trap, struggling against the bonds that held him.
The net had taken him in such a way that Peter lay on his back, his knees tucked up next to his ears, his feet tangled above him.
“Well, well, well,” Hook said softly, rising from his bed. “If it isn’t Peter Pan.” He crossed the stateroom, carrying the candle. Peter’s eyes shone in the candelight, fierce and brave. He said nothing.
Hook took in the sight of Peter captive in the net. His cock swelled under his nightshirt and he took his time, circling around Peter, taking him in from all angles. His plan had worked better than even his wildest, most toe-curling dreams could’ve provided. Hook set the candle on his desk and untied the knot holding the net fast to the wall. He lowered Peter a little, until the boy hung just at the height of Hook’s hips. Sensing the movement, Peter struggled further, but the net remained taut, and he continued to swing gently with his own momentum.
Hook returned to stand where his captive could see him. In the few years since Peter’s arrival in Neverland, he’d grown. His chest had broadened and his legs filled out with muscle. And even by the dim light of the candle, Hook was well able to see the challenging, defiantly curious look in Peter’s eyes.
He reached out a finger and caressed one of Peter’s ass-cheeks through the rope. Peter gasped and wriggled, and Hook’s loins set up a fierce and needy ache. “Tch, tch,” he said softly. “You’ve been a very naughty boy, Peter. You’ve been going places you haven’t been invited.”
A flush spread up Peter’s chest and lovely throat, blossoming in his cheeks. But still he said nothing.
Hook continued his exploration, letting his fingers travel over the hard clench of Peter’s ass beneath his breeches until they dropped into the warm valley between his cheeks, straining the rope as they following it up until it met the firm, giving sac that nestled atop the cleft. Hook captured the sac between fingers and thumb, feeling it move under his touch, tightening. He looked up to find Peter had thrown his head back against the net, a soft frown creasing his boyish features.
Hook withdrew his hand and slipped it up under his nightshirt, grabbing the base of his cock fiercely, willing the tide of his need down. He’d been in two minds about the next part of the plan, but seeing Peter’s expression, seeing him lick his parted lips as he returned his gaze to the captain -- a hint of fear creeping in now -- decided him. And he would enjoy every last minute of it.
Sneering, Hook raised his other arm and slipped the hook inside the net. Peter gasped again, then began thrashing like a fish on a line as the curving silver drew near. But as Hook laid his hook over the lip of Peter’s breeches the boy grew still, panting as he looked down his chest at the wicked implement.
In a single, continuous movement, Hook tore Peter’s breeches down the center with his hook.
A moan escaped Peter’s lips as the hook slid gracefully down over his balls, slipping along the line of his sensitive cleft. Hook bit back a groan of his own. Peter’s cock lay hard and proud against his belly, protruding from a cloud of downy hair. The tip glistened wetly.
Hook reached in with his good hand and squeezed Peter’s cockhead. Sticky pre-cum coated the pads of his fingers and he brought them quickly to his mouth, eager to taste Peter’s essence. “Delightful,” he whispered.
Peter re-setted his knees next to his ears. His hips had started writhing gently against the rough jute, and the sight of them set Hook alight, and he took another moment to steady his cock, rubbing the last of Peter’s essence across its base.
Hook used hook and hand both to tear Peter’s breeches in twain, pushing the sundered sides down his thighs and baring the lad’s sweet rose to view. This time, Hook had no recourse for the groan that escaped him and he crouched before the net, desperate for more. He grasped Peter’s hips in both hands and tilted that tender opening up towards him. The jute rasped against his cheeks as he licked and bit at Peter’s hole.
Peter bucked desperately in Hook’s grasp, but the net held him tight. He moaned as Hook pushed at the entrance with the tip of his tongue, demanding access, slicking him, making him ready. His moans only grew in fervor as Hook flicked his tongue up towards Peter’s tightening ball-sac.
This will never do, Hook thought, rising. The boy’s moans would alert the others. He rose and, with a glance at where Peter lay, expression fierce and needing, grabbed the lamp oil from the desk. He slicked his hook thoroughly, then returned to where Peter swung in the trap.
Controlling his mounting excitement, Hook slipped his hook back through a hole in the net and pushed so gently at Peter’s entrance.
Peter opened his mouth to cry out and, quick as thought, Hook pushed his fingers in the lad’s mouth, just as his hook began to breach the tight little rim. Never, he thought, had he stayed so focused, conscious of how gentle he needed to be as he worked his hook into Peter’s virgin passage. He went as slow as he could, but pushed inexorably deeper. As the hook worked its way inside, Peter sucked at Hook’s fingers, muffling his soft and eager cries.
Hook bit his lip, brow furrowing in concentration.
He worked the hook back and forth, twisting it, making Peter ready, feeling the rhythm of Peter’s clenching muscles echoing up his arm. But the sensation of Peter’s satin tongue working eagerly against his fingers, each eager suck matching the movement of the hook, was driving him to distraction.
Then Peter’s hips began to buck in time with his mouth as Peter began fucking himself on the hook.
Hastily, Hook withdrew, ignoring Peter’s moan of protest. Returning to the desk, he slicked his rigid member with lamp oil.
This time, Hook made no effort to stifle the boy’s cries.
Peter’s tight, quivering rose was no match for Hook’s thick cockhead, and as it gave way to the intruder, Peter writhed against the ropes, bracing himself with his feet as best he was able. Rucking his nightgown up to his stomach, Hook held the base of his cock in one hand and steadied Peter’s hips with the other.
The sensation was incredible.
Peter’s ass seemed to be pulling him inside, drawing him in, demanding more of him even as Peter thrashed and cried out, sweat limning his neck and chest. Hook held firm and pushed himself deeper, moving back and forth in Peter’s passage, making himself at home in the tight little ass he’d watched from afar for so long.
Finally, Hook’s thighs brushed up against the rough jute, and he grasped Peter’s hips in both hands, sunk into to boy’s tender passage to the hilt. Peter was panting, wide-eyed, writhing in Hook’s grip as Hook pulled back and took a rough first stroke.
Peter arched in the net, crying aloud as Hook’s eyes fluttered closed. Peter’s ass gripped him like a fist, the incredible heat of him consuming Hook’s throbbing cock. Peter’s own cock dripped freely, pre-cum dribbling over the lad’s stomach.
Hook reared back and thrust himself inside again, deeper, but Peter’s wanton cry only fanned the flames of Hook’s need and he set up a rough, punishing rhythm of strokes, fucking the boy’s ass hard.
It had been so long. He’d watched and waited and then finally this. Peter Pan at his mercy, taking his cock up inside that sweet tight passage. Hook pounded Peter’s ass, fingers tightening over Peter’s hipbones, giving vent to the full span of his need.
Peter’s cries had died down to a soft, startled series of murmurs, and as Hook watched, he tried to work a hand down to his neglected cock. But the net held him far too tightly, and Peter’s fingers grasped at air.
Grinning, feeling his tide rising hot and high in his balls, Hook shifted in Peter, adjusting the angle until he felt the firm sweet spot in Peter’s passage. He slowed his pace, dragging his cock over it in short, hard thrusts.
With a yell to wake Poseidon himself, Peter arched in the net, frozen, then his cock quivered, and jets of musky, metallic-smelling come painted his chest and face. Hook, seeing the startled, pleased expression of his captive at last allowed himself the pleasure of release, and slamming his cock deep in Peter’s ass, dumped his load in long spurts that wracked his entire frame.
Somewhere nearby, Hook heard an oath, but ignored it in favor of clinging to the last dregs of his orgasm, Peter’s ass wringing every last drop of come from the captain’s cock. Surely the boy’s cries had woken someone, and he knew, despite the barring of his stateroom door, that their time together was dwindling. He opened his eyes and looked down at the thoroughly debauched Peter Pan.
Peter still panted, his cock lying stickily in the nest of hair at the base of his stomach. But in his eyes Hook saw a pleased release. The answer to the wistful curiosity Hook had borne witness to.
Footsteps outside the captain’s cabin. Whispered voices and the nearly silent whisper of a sword being drawn.
Hook pulled out, wiping his cock off on his nightshirt. Peter’s expression turned hooded and drawn.
A knock at the stateroom door and they both flinched. Hook stepped over to the wall and untied the net from its post, dumping Peter unceremoniously on the rough planks of the floor. He reached a hand down to help him up, but Peter scrambled backwards, up against the desk. His breeches slid down his knees, torn beyond repair, and his cock had softened and lolled against one thigh.
“Cap’n, sir,” someone called through the door.
Peter looked up sharply. Hook, well sated on Peter’s ass, allowed himself a smirk. “Well Peter,” he said softly. “Did you get what you came for this time?”
Peter’s expression deepened to a scowl and then he was up, turned and clambering across the desk to the open window, well-used little ass winking as he fled. A few seconds later Hook heard a splash and reluctantly crossed to the stateroom door. “Stand down,” he called through it. “All’s well.”
A reluctant muttering on the other side, then footsteps receding away across the deck.
Hook returned to the desk only long enough to blow out the candle and nudge the lifeless pile of ropes on the floor with his toe. The smell of Peter’s musk hung heavy in the stateroom and Hook was tempted to close the window to keep it with him a little longer.
But then again, he reasoned, what if Peter wanted to return?
He grinned and stretched, back and shoulders crackling, before carrying the candle back to bed. He blew it out and made himself comfortable, feeling more at ease than he had in ages.
After all, he still had the coin as well.
***
The days passed in a welter of sun and sea and a jaunt up to the Indian Village. Commerce would have its demands, and Hook let himself be drawn into the consuming business of piracy. The buying and selling and provisioning. Two of the men quarreled over the same lass and settled the matter with a duel, which left the Jolly Roger one man short, so Hook had to get that straightened out, and then detach the lass in question from his ship. But throughout, Hook found his mind wandering, returning time and again to the feel of Peter: the way he’d eagerly taken Hook’s fingers into his mouth, the protesting clench of his ass brushing against Hook’s cockhead, the expression on his face as his body betrayed him, and made way for Hook’s plundering.
The crew had grown restless and various murmurs had surfaced of setting sail for the outlying islands, until one evening a meeting was called, the cutlass was thrown, and Hook found himself having to quell his men with a fierce, unyielding hand.
By the time he returned to his cabin he was exhausted. That, he told himself later, was the reason he didn’t notice Peter until he was almost upon him.
He’d donned his nightshirt and had pulled back the covers of his bed before realizing there was already someone in it; Peter lay sprawled against the pillows, thighs wide. He wore neither breeches nor tunic, and already had a hand on his cock, stroking languidly. His eyes were heavy with lust, and as Hook’s own cock filled, rising against the fine Madeira linen of his bedclothes, Peter squirmed against the mattress. In his other fist he held Hook’s shiny gold coin.
Hook grinned, knowing when he was bested. Knowing too, how to repay the challenge presented. He blew out the candle and climbed into bed.