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The trip back to Neverland is rather uneventful, even despite Peter's new toy, the Jolly Roger. His pride in owning the great ship is somewhat diminished by the fact that there's no one around to care, except for him and Tink. The ship scuds gracefully across the surface of the bay to Neverland, the host of fairies bringing it to a gentle stand-still in the becalmed waters before departing for the forest. Peter takes great delight in prancing about the abandoned deck for awhile, his impressive impersonation of the dead Captain booming out across the waters, but only the mermaids are there to hear it. Finally, he can bear the growing sense of aloneness no longer, and he turns for home. His going is rather slow, because he is reluctant to return to what is going to be a very empty treehouse. He doesn't even have Hook around anymore to torment...

It took him hours to claw his way out, hours of darkness and pain and so much despair that it nearly broke him. The beast screamed, fought him with every ounce of strength it had, but a crocodile has no teeth on the inside, it has no crushing jaws and no powerful tail. He was deafened by the agonized roars of the dying creature but finally, finally he saw light. He pierced the belly of the beast and crawled out, caked in filth, exhausted beyond his ability to bear, and passed out beside the carcass and let the waves of the shore wash him clean. And now... Now he's waiting.

Peter flits aimlessly through the forest for awhile, finding various reasons not to go back to the treefort just yet. This old trap hasn't been checked in ages, he tells himself. And when was the last time he ventured down into the crocodile's cave? But no... the thrill of adventuring has lost something, without Nibs and Slightly and Toodles and.... Best not to go there. The beast is curiously absent, but Peter chalks it up to having a bellyache after its lunch of the Captain. Hook, too, is a train of thought that Pan is reluctant to linger on, especially since every thought of the Captain brings with it a strange sense of emptiness. It's as if, after all this time, with everyone gone----his friends----Wendy----his archnemesis---what's the point? But Peter hates such feelings, and has spent countless years avoiding them, to the point where not thinking about it has almost become an art form. So he doesn't think about it, and finally he stands outside the door to the treehouse, pulling the rope to the entrance with an umcomfortably heavy heart.

He hears the creak and his ears, still ringing from his ordeal, perk eagerly. The boy is home, at long last. What will he think when he sees his old foe, Captain James Hook, sitting in his chair, back from the dead? Hook wishes he were an artist, that he might capture the look of shock and fear on the boy's face. He's waited a long time to have Pan right where he wants him...

Peter slides down the long tube and rolls gracefully to his feet, the actions second-nature to him after all these years. But the sight that greets his eyes as he rights himself is enough to freeze him to the spot in shock and horror. He's recovered his strength somewhat since his taxing fight, but his recent adventures have taken a lot out of him, and as a result he's rooted to the spot, eyes wide, mouth agape, several precious moments slower than the normally nimble master of Neverland. "Hook!" he finally gasps, his reactions kicking in too late, too late.

By the time Peter speaks, Hook is on him, sword to his slender neck, eyes flashing red in the gloom of the treefort. "Hello Peter," he breathes, voice rough. The boy smells clean, like the stars, and he takes a deep breath. Finally... "I noticed all your little friends were gone, and I thought it would be a terrible shame if there was no one here to greet you when you came home, triumphant." He spits out the last word, chewing on it as though it's rotten meat.

Instinctively, Peter shies away from his old enemy, but he has precious little space to move. His back is to the treefort wall, and the killing steel of Hook's blade is pressed against the smooth skin of his neck. "But you're dead," he cries, his voice plaintive, terrified, and angry all at once. "I saw the crocodile eat you!" This isn't fair. Pan saw Hook disappear into the beast's maw, saw the monster descend into the ocean bearing the Captain in its belly. This can't possibly be happening. His wide blue eyes are angry and petulant, but the flicker to one side almost imperceptibly as his fairy prepares to dive-bomb Hook from the side.

Hook doesn't even spare a glance for the pixie, just curves his thin lips in a cruel smile and addresses her calmly. "My dear, I suggest you go now, or I shall be forced to rend you limb from limb, and no amount of chanting will bring you back this time." He sees her hesitate out of the corner of his eye, and he raises an eyebrow at Pan. "Go on, lad, tell her to leave. This is between you and I. It always has been." And it always will be...

Peter swallows, giving Hook a mutinous glare, but what choice does he have? Besides... as much as it galls him, something about the Captain's words ring true. After everything, all that's come to pass, with everyone else gone... it still comes back to him and Hook. "Tink," he says softly, his eyes going to his beloved fairie friend. "...you should go." Tinkerbell immediately screeches in protest and begins to gesticulate wildly, but Peter cuts her off, his voice imperious. "I said, GO! ...I can't bring you back a second time, Tink. Trust me, okay?" Tink burbles angrily, flittering from Hook's face to Peter's, her tone and manner scolding, then with one last worried flutter of her sparkling wings, she flits out through one of the myriad holes of the trunk.

"That's better," Hook purrs, stepping a little closer. The boy feels so... clean. So warm and fresh, like a wild summer breeze. "Isn't that better, Peter? Now we can talk in peace." He's surprised at himself. He'd intended to gut Pan as soon as he came through the door. Now he's practically sitting the boy down to tea.

Peter watches Hook warily, his face clearly stating that the doesn't trust the Captain any farther than he can throw him. "I have nothing to talk to you about, Hook," he says guardedly. Hook already tried to turn his beloved Wendy against him, use her to get to him. Peter knows he's not above lulling him into a false sense of security, only to run him through when Peter least expects it.

"You said that I was dead," Hook replies conversationally. He twists his sword, tickling the brown skin of the boy's neck. "Don't you want to hear my story?" A wicked grin steals across his aristocratic features. "I'm not as good a storyteller as your Wendy, but..." Surprise, as false as his friendliness, blankets his face, and he glances around the treefort. "But Peter! Where is she? What have you done with your Wendy?"

Peter glares murderously at Hook, pain spasming across his boyish face. "I took her home," he spits, eyes smouldering and wounded. He doesn't blame Wendy or her brothers for going home, or the Lost Boys for going with them, not after what he witnessed at the Darling's window sill tonight, but he can't help but feel abandoned. He doesn't think he can bear it if Hook taunts him about it, not when it's still so raw for him.

"Took her home," Hook purrs, pressing Peter hard against the wall. He almost can't believe his luck. Pan, emotionally bereft, alone, no friends to rush to his aid this time. Poetic justice was never so sweet as it is now. "So she can grow up and forget all about you. Poor boy."

"STOP IT!!" yells Peter, anguish flashing in his blue eyes. Why does Hook know so well how to cut him to the quick, know exactly what to say to make him hurt so badly? "She won't forget about me!" His hands clench of their own accord, and he fights to keep the emotion out of his voice. He won't let Hook do this to him. He won't. "She gave me her kiss..."

"She has another," Hook says softly, leaning close so his breath gusts against Peter's smooth cheeks. "She'll give it to some other man, and forget all about you." His eyes are soft, blue as forget-me-nots, as he stares into Peter's eyes, blue as the summer sky. "But I won't, Pan. I'll never forget you."

"No, she won't," cries Peter, unable to keep his voice from breaking as he shrinks against the wall. Why is Hook doing this to him? It was fine when they had their rivalry, when they were sworn enemies. This... this feeling, this manipulation, is too much to be borne. "Stop... please..." He hates this. He feels small and alone and powerless, and Hook isn't even acting like himself, either. Everything is all wrong. The fun is gone, leaving only an awful ache and confusion in its place. What's wrong with everyone?

"Stop..." Hook seems to contemplate the word, turn it over in his mind, chew on it a while. A slow smile spreads across his face, the corners of his lips pushed up by the feel of the word, and he rests his cheek against Peter's forehead. "Stop, Peter? When have you ever known me to stop?"

Peter shivers, a peculiar knot forming in his stomach at how close Hook is. "G-get off me," he stammers, forcing anger back to the front of his mind to replace the sickness and fear. He shoves at Hook, trying to get the other man away from him. "What are you doing?"

Hook snarls then, lifting his hook and plunging it into Peter's shoulder. The boy's flesh gives with the ease of ripe fruit, just like he always knew it would, and the blood that flows from the wound is bright like pomegranate juice. "What do you think I'm doing, boy?" he growls. "I'm going to kill you." And even as he says it, he knows it's not true. He doesn't want Pan dead, not now. Not yet...

Peter screams, Hook's claw digging into his shoulder a searing pain like nothing he's ever felt. He's never let the Captain get close enough to deal him anything more than grazing flesh wounds, and his face twists in agony as the blood runs down his shoulder and arm, staining his golden skin. He clutches instinctively at the wound, tugging at the Captain's hook, desperately trying to remove it and staunch the flow of blood.

"No, no," Hook murmurs, pressing close again. Peter's face twisted in agony is a sweet vision, one he wishes to see more of. "Don't try to pull it out. It will only twist and deal you more damage." A fire stirs in his belly, sensations he hasn't felt in years, and his eyes sheen red. "I don't want you dying on me quite yet..."

"Stooop," moans Peter, tears of pain pricking in his blue eyes as he struggles against Hook. He's terrified and in pain and utterly baffled. He doesn't understood what Hook is doing or why; his age-long battle with the Captain has always led him to believe that his nemisis would give him a quick, clean death if he ever got the chance. And he's not used to coping with pain; his best method for staying alive has always been to avoid getting hurt, not gritting his teeth and bearing it. And Hook is uncomfortably close now, pinning Peter against the wall with the weight of his much larger body.

"You keep saying that," Hook murmurs. The boy is even sweeter close up, warm and soft and so young, so unspoiled and innocent. To think, he almost lost this lovely creature. "If only," he continues. "you knew what I want from you..." His body shudders at the thought, gently aching. The boy will be his again.

"What? What do you want?!" cries Peter desperately, anger and confusion flashing in his blue eyes, their normal clarity clouded with pain. It's not so much the hook in his shoulder that's bothering him now as the peculiar purr in Hook's voice, the tremble in his body. Whatever it is he's planning, Peter's sure it isn't good. "If you want me dead, then kill me!"

"In time, in time..." Hook smiles. The boy has always been hasty, but he won't let this be rushed. He'll take his time with Peter, taste and adore and tear his sweet flesh until he screams for mercy, till he screams for release. The thought brings Hook fully erect, and with a groan he presses his hips against Peter's.

The winds howl outside as Peter shrinks back against the wall, the fearsome weather reflecting the pain and confusion the boy is feeling right now. He doesn't think he wants to know what that strange, heavy bulge is that has suddeny formed in Hook's pants, that the Captain is pressing against his thigh. It's far too similar to the strange occurance that happened to Peter when Wendy kissed him, and when he snuck glances at the sunbathing mermaids. Most of the time he pays no mind to it, but now he's being confronted with the unsettling feeling on a whole new level. and he doesn't like it one bit. "Get off of me," he gasps, trying to sound intimidating, but his voice is too filled with fright and pain.

"I'll get off you when I'm through with you, boy," Hook growls. He slings Peter away from him, ripping his hook from the boy's shoulder. Peter falls heavily, and the captain strides over, snatching him up by the hair and tearing into Peter's flimsy clothes with the heavy metal appendage. They flutter to the ground easily, dead before they strike dirt. "When I'm through, and not before..."

Peter screams again as he's thrown to the ground, the metal like hot iron as it rips out of his shoulder. He doesn't have time to move or even think before Hook grabs him again, yanking his hair hard and shredding his clothes. "What---STOP!!" he yells, struggling madly and wrthing away from the wicked curve of the Captain's hook, still wet with his own freshly-shed blood. He puts forth a frantic burst of energy and manages to writhe out of Hook's grasp, but he stumbles and catches himself hard against the wall. Bleeding, naked, and afraid, he shields his nakedness as best he can, too wounded and tired and confused to defend himself properly.

"Get on the bed, boy," Hook rasps. His eyes are wide, drinking in the sight before him. Peter is more beautiful than he'd ever hoped, ever imagined. His wildest dreams had not concieved of such a creature, lovely and wild and his for the taking. Had he but known... "Quickly, before I tear another hole in you."

"Never!" Peter's eyes flash defiantly, and he summons what strength he's gathered and darts, quick as a thought, towards the ladder leading up and out and away from the obviously deranged Hook. Yes, his shoulder is bleeding, and no, he can't fly right now---he's too upset, too confused and bereft by all that's happened recently. But he's still Peter Pan, quick as a whip and elusive as a night breeze, and he'll die before he obeys Hook like some dog.

Hook bares his teeth in delighted anger. Had Peter obeyed, crawled to the bed like a wounded animal, he would have left. He doesn't want his foe to come easy, doesn't want to see him beaten, not even at the last. This isn't about breaking Peter. His good hand darts out, swift with determination, strong with hunger, and catches Peter around the ankle.

Peter shrieks in rage and tumbles to the ground, hissing in pain as he lands on his wounded shoulder. But almost as soon as he hits earth he lashes out with his free foot, aiming for the side of Hook's knee, the blow intended to break or at least cripple the joint. It's a tactic he's used on Hook's henchmen to great effect. At the same time, he rolls to one side, further from Hook's grasp, pivoting his ankle in the other man's hand to wrench himself free.

Hook sees the blow coming, and his hook meets Pan's foot, the edge deflecting the crippling kick. He's on Pan in an instant, larger body pressing the slender, writhing boy to the ground. "Now, now. Didn't your mother teach you to play nice, Pan?" he taunts, breath hot on Peter's ear.

"Don't remember my mother!" snarls Pan, his struggles turning even more desperate now that Hook is on him once more. This time he doesn't even have the frail barrier of his clothes, and that terrifies him even more. His arms are pinned, as are his legs, so he head-butts Hook for lack of anything better, their skulls colliding with a sicekening crack as Peter's head meets the bridge of Hook's nose.

Hook only laughs in Peter's face. The pain is fleeting. He's endured far worse in the past twelve hours than a mere boy can deal. His mind is focused elsewhere. "What a terrible thing to forget," Hook purrs. The more Peter struggles, the harder he gets, and he knows when it happens it's going to be the most glorious thing he's ever felt. "I wonder if she was like your Wendy at all..."

"Don't you talk about my Wendy!" screams Peter, tears of pain and fury streaking down his boyish face. He hates Hook at this moment worse than he's ever hated anyone or anything. Hates him for tormenting him about Wendy, hates him for making Pan feel vulnerable and afraid, hates him for the feral gleam Peter sees in the Captain's eyes. "You don't know anything about her! OR my mother!"

"I know that they left you," Hook bites out, leaning close to Peter. "They abandoned you to get on with their lives. Miserable women, the both of them." He'd intended the words to rile Peter, but there's a ring of conviction in them that he cannot conceal. His voice grows softer with the next words, the red fading from his eyes. "They left the most wonderful boy in the world..."

The boy in question chokes on his intended response, the anguish in his eyes drowning the words before they can leave his mouth. "How can you say that?" he demands, his voice thick with rage and tears. He doesn't want to believe what Hook says, but he can feel the truth of it in his bones. If Wendy---or his mother, for that matter---really cared about him, then why did they leave him all alone? Wendy could have stayed with him. His mother shut the window, after awhile. Locked the doors at night. She even had another son after Peter left. He went back and looked, at first, to see how they were getting along. He's stopped going back when he saw their new son.

"I can say it because it's the truth," Hook breathes. He can see the despair in Peter's eyes, and he knows that he's won. He knows the boy hears the truth of his words, though he longs to shut his ears against them. "But I haven't left you. I clawed my way out from the crocodile's belly for you, Peter Pan."

Peter stares bleakly up into Hook's intense blue eyes, a horrible trembling starting in his belly and threatening to spread throughout his slender frame. His mind casts desperately back to the scene that he spied on at Wendy's house, the warmth and love and devotion of her parents that they showered on total strangers. He felt like some kind of mouse, nibbling at the crumbs of their happiness that they happened to let fall. He's never felt so utterly, miserably alone. "But you want to kill me..."

"No, Peter," Hook breathes, releasing the boy's hands and reaching down to stroke one smooth cheek. The tenderness almost comes as a surprise to him. So long has he allowed his enmity towards Pan to overwhelm him that he's had precious little time for any other emotion. Now that the boy is here, though, beneath him, trembling and uncertain, he can allow himself to be soft, if only for a short time. "I can't kill you. Not now."

Peter couldn't be more confused if he tried. The people he cared most about in the world, his Lost Boys, and his Wendy, have abandoned him; and his sworn enemy, the man whose hand he fed to a crocodile, is now comforting him in his moment of bereavement. How did this come to pass? "I don't understand," he whispers, not daring to let himself belief this isn't a trick. He expects Hook to laugh at him at any moment, bring that bloody curve down into his exposed face.

"I don't expect you to," Hook murmurs. His bloody hook strokes the side of Peter's brown face, leaving in its wake a trail of congealing blood. He sees the mistrust in Pan's eyes, and knows that this will go harshly. As long as Peter survives to see another day... "But know this, boy. You are mine now."

This last comment sends a shiver down Peter's spine, and his eyes cloud rebelliously. "I don't belong to anyone but myself," he declares, some of his normal impetuousness creeping back into his voice. But he can't help but be afraid, and confused, and even a little wistful. He desperately needs a friend right now, and it seems like the closest thing he has is Captain Hook. At the same time, though, he'd rather be alone than submit to anyone. So he squares his face resolutely, ignoring the sickly smear of his blood on his cheek, pain-filled eyes determined.

"Oh, I know," Hook laughs, sitting up. He stays straddling Pan's hips, holding him down, trusting the boy to be smart enough to stay still. Carefully, he removes his ruined jacket, follows it with his silken shirt, in tatters now. "That's why I'm going to make you mine."

Peter is smart, but he's also stubborn. Even bloody, tired, and sorely confused, he still grabs at every chance he can get. As soon as some of the weight lifts from his chest, he sits bolt upright, shoving at Hook's chest to knock him backwards, off-balance. At the same time, he grabs at the mechanism on Hook's arm, clever fingers finding the spot where the contraption hinges together.

As soon as Hook sees Peter going for the clasp on his harness, he swings his arm hard. Even as he falls backwards, the side of his hook catches the boy in the temple, toppling him to the ground. Snarling, Hook picks himself up and refastens the harness. He's through with kindness. Any mercy he was inclined to extend before has vanished, and he snatches Peter up by his hair before the boy can recover, and slings him across the room to land heavily on the bed.

Peter tumbles in a heap on the bed, groaning as he curls into a little ball of misery. He's terribly sore, bleeding from two different spots on his temple now, a slash on his arm, and a large, painful gore in his shoulder (two of the wounds Hook gave him in the ship-battle having reopened). He's tired, emotionally and physically exhausted from everything that's happened recently. And Hook... Hook is just too strong. So he curls on his side, fighting a valiant but losing battle with his tears of frustration and pain, watching Hook as the Captain recovers himself.

Hook paces across the room to where Peter is curled in a cringing ball on the bed of leaves. As he speaks, he kicks off his boots and undoes his belt, letting his pants fall to the ground, freeing his straining erection. "Do you know what fucking is, boy?" he growls softly, leaning over Pan.

Peter gasps and edges further away on the bed, too wounded at the moment to move much. "No," he responds fearfully, wide eyes flickering from Hook's face to his newly freed erection, and a new dimension of bewilderment blossoms on his tired face. He almost wishes Hook would just grab up his sword again and stab Peter. At least he understands that.

"Pay attention, then, because this will be your first lesson." He grabs Peter roughly, forcing him onto his back and knocking his legs apart with one knee. Smirking, he wets a finger with his own saliva and lowers it to the boy's virgin opening. It's not out of consideration that he does so, but out of a desire for more. He intends this to be only the first of many times he takes Peter.

"What are you doing?!" cries Peter, gasping and arching away from Hook's touch. Hands are not supposed to go there, certainly not fingers, and suddenly Hook is even more terrifying than he was when he was slinging Peter around like a ragdoll. "Stop, stop, GET OFF OF ME---" His voice is pure, unadulterated confusion and fear now.

"Do try to relax," Hook purrs. "It will hurt so much less." He crosses one arm over Peter's chest to hold him down, then thrusts his finger hard into the boy. His eyes drift closed in delight at how tight, how hot and smooth and delicious Pan's body feels around him. The terror in the boy's voice only feeds his lust, and he growls and rubs the wet head of his cock along Peter's hip.

A noise between a sob and a scream rips its way out of Peter's throat at the invasion into his body. His hips jerk up in automatic rejection of Hook's finger, and he clenches desperately around the Captain's digit, trying to reject the foreign object.

Hook moans at the glorious sound that issues from the boy's lips, and he swoops down to cover Peter's mouth with his own. He thrusts his tongue past the boy's teeth, deep into his throat to taste the fire that burns inside him. His finger mimics the motion, sliding deep and hard into Peter's body in spite of the resistance.

Peter sobs into Hook's mouth, tears running unchecked down his youthful face at this latest violation. It's somehow even worse than Hook's finger, because it's a mockery of the sweet parting gift his Wendy gave him, her thimble. Her kiss. But the finger is bad enough, forcing itself deep into Peter's lithe body, brushing over a sensitive spot that sends a shudder of unexpected sensation through Pan, and he gasps.

Hook leans back, laughing mockingly at the shiver that runs through Peter's body. He knows well what it is, and he crooks his finger to hit the spot again. "Do you like that, Peter?" he whispers, sharp white teeth nipping at the boy's earlobe. "It feels good, doesn't it?"

"N-nooooo," moans Peter, shying away from Hook's touch as best he can, his tear-stained face suffused with blood. It horrifies him that Hook can make him feel good in the midst of this violation; it's somehow makes what the Captain is doing that much more wrong. His own erection twitches to life of its own accord, hardening slightly at the repeated stroking of Peter's sensitive spot. "Ahhh---! Stop!"

"There, my little beauty..." Hook's voice is very nearly a coo as he slides another finger into Peter, stretching the boy wider in preparation for his cock. He's so hard now that it hurts, and every sound that Pan makes, every whimper that falls from his lips only serves to fan the flame of desire in him. Peter will be his, and the rest of the world can rot in hell for all he cares.

"Please, no," moans Peter, crying out as another finger forces inside him, stretching his muscles painfully. He struggles vainly against the weight of Hook's chest, cursing his slight frame. Peter has a good idea of what's going to follow those fingers, and the thought terrifies him. But each time Hook strokes his fingers across Peter's sweet spot, Peter's erection hardens a little more, and suddenly the Pan is having to deal with an altogether unfamiliar sensation: arousal.

"Stop struggling, lad," Hook murmurs, pumping his fingers in and out of Peter's sweet little ass. His first, and his only. No other hand will ever touch Peter's skin, not the way his does, just as no other person will ever love Peter the way he does. "Let yourself enjoy it..."

The boy continues to struggle, but his cries take on a different tone; still afraid, still confused, but with a new resonance behind them. He can no longer deny that what Hook is doing feels good, in a perverse, twisted sort of way. Something this painful isn't supposed to feel good, or so Peter has always believed, but there's a growing tension and pressure in his cock that he doesn't know how to deal with, and each rough, painful slide of Hook's fingers in and out of his ass brings with it a blinding spark of pleasure.

"Good boy," Hook breathes. He can feel Peter's erection against his belly, and with a wicked smile, he slides down the boy's body to take it in his mouth. Peter isn't fully grown yet, and his erection fits easily between the captain's lips. He closes his eyes and begins to suck gently, sliding his lips up and down the boy's shaft, listening for the pain in Peter's voice to be overrun by pleasure.

Peter screams again, but not in pain this time. The sensation of Hook's mouth around him is incredible and awful all at once, and he writhes madly, spine arching up off the bed of leaves in a graceful bow. He still hurts, especially his shoulder and now his ass, but all he can concentrate on at that moment is the warm wetness engulfing his erection.

Hook laughs and sits back, letting the boy's erection fall from his mouth. His eyes, sheened red with lust, stare down into Peter's face. The lovely, boyish features are twisted in pain and pleasure, and are so gorgeous it takes his breath away. "You see, Peter," he whispers, withdrawing his fingers and spitting into his palm. "It's not all bad. And if you're very good, I'll do that for you again..."

Peter whimpers, curling up into a ball and wrapping both arms tightly around his knees, staring up at Hook with wide, bewlidered eyes. For once, though, he doesn't try to get away. The look in Hook's eyes fascinates him as much as it repulses him, and he feels pinned by the other man's gaze, like a small animal entranced by a snake. A tall, tattooed, hook-handed snake whom he had supposed up till now was trying to kill him.

"Spread your legs, boy," Hook commands, stroking his spit-slick hand up and down his erection. He's trembling in anticipation, wanting this so much he can feel it in his bones. How did he never realize this before? His mind supplies the answer even as he asks the question. Never before was he in danger of losing his adversary, his Peter. And now, after this, never again.

Peter shivers, huddled in his little ball for a long moment, staring at Hook, obviously torn. Part of him wants to scream at Hook, to spite him even now, fight to the last man. But part of him is lonely and cold and hurt and wants to give in, because at least what Hook is offering feels good, even through the pain. Finally, reluctanly, nervously, he spreads his legs, trying to stifle the slight trembling that permeates his supple figure.

Hook breathes out, a breath he didn't know he was holding. "That's my lad," he whispers, leaning over Peter, pressing the head of his cock against the boy's opening. It feels massive against Peter's slight body, and he shivers delightedly. "Brace yourself, boy. This is going to hurt." He clenches his teeth and thrusts in hard, the head of his cock breaching Peter's body.

Peter lets out a ragged scream, tears springing unbidden to his eyes again at the pain. Hook's erection is huge and hard and unforgiving inside him, and his face twists in agony, small fingers clawing at Hook's back in desperation. "H-hurts," he gasps, shuddering. That's an understatement. Even the gash in his shoulder fades to a dull throb in the face of this burning ache.

Hook barely hears the boy's protest, barely feels the scrabbling nails on his back. Peter is so tight and hot that it hurts to thrust in, hurts to move, hurts to breathe. But he continues on, forcing his cock into Peter inch by agonizing inch, until he's sheathed to the hilt in the boy's tiny body, sweat covering every inch of his skin. "Peter," he gasps. "So lovely..."

Peter Pan's face is a masque of pain, stretched agonizingly tight around the thick length of Hook's cock. He's breathing hard, his vision hazy from the sensation of his ass being forced to accomadate a shape it was never meant to hold. Hook's body is pressing him to the bed of leaves, pressing inside him, threatening to consume him, he feels. It's terrifying, especially for a boy who's so used to being independent and self-dependent. He's not sure he can stand it, and for a moment panic wells up in his beautiful blue eyes.

Hook doesn't notice the pain on Pan's face, or the trembling in his lithe, beautiful limbs. The tightness around his cock is the sole focus of his attention. Never has he felt anything so gloriously painful, so incredibly, agonizingly perfect. Pan is his now, and he pulls out, slams back in. His...

Again, as before, Peter screams, but this time it ends in a choked moan as Hook's cock hits his prostate, sending those shooting sparks up from the base of his spine. His muscles shriek in protest, and he's suddenly very glad he can fly, because it's going to be utterly impossible to walk after today for quite some time. He's in agony, bad enough to make his vision swim, but the friction, the pleasure is there, too, and he cries out, grabbing blindly for something, anything.

Hook's lips meet Peter's once again in a devouring, hungry kiss. He wants to swallow up those screams, keep them as his own in the pit of his belly. "Peter," he moans, lips moving harshly against Pan's mouth. "Peter," on each thrust, like a mantra as he nears his climax.

The boy-king of Never Never Land sobs into Hook's mouth, the Captain's mustache rough against Peter's smooth skin. Each hard thrust into his tight ass sends a shock of pain and pleasuring coursing through his slender figure. He's almost blind with tears of pain at this moment, but not so far gone that he can't see the expression of utter ecstacy on Hook's face.

With a beastial howl and one last thrust, Hook comes hard. His cock pulses inside Peter as he spills himself, flooding the boy's ass with his seed. It feels as though it goes on forever, wave after wave of raw pleasure that shake his limbs and turn his bones to liquid. He's never felt like this before, and he owes it all to the boy beneath him, to Peter Pan.

Peter's voice is hoarse and raw as he screams once more in conjunction with Hook's last, brutal thrust, arching off the bed in desperate sympathetic reaction. Then he slumps to the leaves, slender body trembling violently, beautiful blue eyes clouded with pain and arousal.

Slowly, Hook draws out of Peter's body and, with a quick stroke of the boy's cheek, he slides down once more to take Peter's erection into his mouth. It's the least he can do; Peter's been a very good boy. He sucks gently, and his tongue swirls and darts around Peter's cock, teasing an orgasm out of him.

A little ragged sob escapes Peter's throat as Hook pulls out, the sound traveling into a long moan as the Captain returns once more to his erection. It doesn't take long before Pan is screaming again, this time in ecstatic release, throwing his head back and arching up off the bed in an almost-perfect bow.

Hook swallows greedily, loving the taste of Peter, coveting it. He's sweet and fresh like a spring rain, warm like summer. He's beautiful, the forever-boy, the only child who will never grow up, and now he belongs to Captain James Hook. Smiling, Hook slips back up to Pan's side, wraps his good arm around the boy's waist and pulls him close.

Peter sags limply against the bed of leaves, not resisting in the slightest as Hook gathers him to his chest. He doesn't have the energy, and he's not even sure if he wants to, anymore. He's just so tired, and it hurts so much... Pan curls his face into Hook's broad chest, his stubborn pride finally surrendering control as silent tears begin coursing down his cheeks again. He's not even sure what he's crying for anymore. Wendy? The Lost Boys? His parents? Losing? Because Hook has won, in his own way. All Peter knows is that dearly wants to be held, and Hook seems more than willing to take the job.

Hook can feel the boy's body shaking and, though Peter doesn't make a sound, he knows that the tears have started. He offers no solace, extends no comfort. All he can give is what Peter has right now, a warm body to sleep against and warm arms to cradle him. Eyes the blue of forget-me-nots slide closed, and Hook buries his nose in Peter's hair, murmuring softly, "You're mine now, Peter Pan, until the end of time."