Enchanted to Meet You (tack two from Not So All Alone) by Glacis. Rated NC17, no copyright infringement intended (to Barrie OR Rowling et al). Will make no sense if read without reading the other story first. Probably won't make much sense even then, but hey, it's smut. Sense is optional.

Since there was no room for him between the Darlings, Hook decided to go looking for his own darling to kiss. As he was flying north of London, a strong breeze came up, tumbling him arse over tea kettle all the way up to Scotland, and nearly making him drop the fairies tied in his pocket. Finally righting himself with an effort, he checked to make sure his emergency store of dust was secure (as he certainly didn't want to find himself stuck in England with no way to get back to Neverland, and he knew he couldn't count on enough happy memories of his own to keep him flying).

Looking about, trying to get his bearings, he was startled to see that everything was grey. The land looked to be made up mostly of rocks, with a weed or two squashed between them. There were no people nor houses to be seen. It was desolate, dreary and dank.

Much like his castle, actually. He smirked, feeling quite at home.

Then squeaked with dismay as he found his feet dragged unrelentingly downward. One panicked glance showed him there was no massive crocodile waiting to make him its supper this time, so that was a relief. There were, however, a multitude of grey hooded beings shuffling toward him. They looked like they might perhaps be threatening. Hook grinned.

Unsheathed his sword, angled his hook, and dove in to battle.

Wicked light gleaming in eye and off teeth, sword slashing merrily and hook gutting everything in reach, Hook had a high old time killing whatever the hell it was that had come after him. Now this, THIS made him happy. Cutting and slicing away, dealing death like the professional pirate he was... seldom did he so enjoy himself. Only when his enemies lay in heaps about him did he stop for a breath.

"Ah, now, THAT was fun!" he proclaimed to the still air.

"How did you do that?" a voice asked behind him, startling him into a jump (that he skillfully disguised as a turn). "How did you overpower them? They feed on human happiness, draining thought and memory--"

"Well, that's easy enough," Hook interrupted before the drone of questions bored him to death. "As I have no happy memories, they couldn't harm me. As I also have both a sword and a hook," he brandished both flashily, smirking all the while, "I could do a great deal of harm to them."

The old man who'd addressed him, as grey as the beings he'd killed and nearly as droopy, in his grey long robe with his long grey hair, pointed a grey stick at Hook as if it were a weapon. Not giving his new enemy a chance to get the drop on him, Hook lunged forward and sliced the hand holding the stick right off.

"Too bad there aren't any handy crocodiles for you," he sneered, then stuck his sword through the man's heart, silencing the irritating screaming. Wiping his sword carefully on the grey robe (as one must take care of one's blades) and thinking absently that the red quite brightened the place up, Hook wandered through the fortress the dead grey beings no longer guarded.

Carved into the stones above the entryway was the single word 'Azkaban.' Hook stared at it for a moment.

"Who in the world would come up with a name like that? It sounds like something a bad stage magician would say whilst pulling a puppy from a top hat."

Hmm. Puppies. Hook hadn't kicked anything in awhile, so he kicked at the nearest corpse, for the fun of it. Then he stepped on it as he walked into the fortress. It rolled beneath his feet but didn't crunch. Ah. No bones. Well, whatever it was, it was no threat now.

The long entryway emptied into a series of hallways. Down each hallway were what looked like cell doors. Hook stepped up to one and peered through the peephole in the door with curiosity.

Yes. Cells. Complete with prisoners. Very dirty, very apathetic, very ugly prisoners. Hook's lip curled.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to waste his time breaking that one out! Or that one, he thought, staring into the second cell, or that one, at the third. And so it continued, until Hook was bored nearly out of his skull and seriously considering letting some of the prisoners out of their cells just so he could kill them and have something to do. Then he came to the last cell on the row.

Oooooh.

That one wasn't ugly.

Nor apathetic; more angry than anything else. He was rather dirty, but Hook spent most of his life as a pirate; a little dirt was nothing. And this one, beneath his dirt, gleamed.

His hair, long past his shoulders, tangled, still shone white-gold, even in the dim light of the cell. His skin was white beneath the grey dust. His eyes were silver blue, sparkling with fury as they locked with Hook's. Tearing his gaze away, Hook continued his perusal. The body lived up to the beauty promised by the face; even in shackles (perhaps especially in shackles) it was enticing. Ragged linen, smeared with dirt and sweat and blood, hung from broad shoulders, hinting at a muscular chest; the remnants of well-tailored trousers clung to strong thighs, draped the length of sprawled legs. The prisoner sat with his back against the wall, hands caught up in cuffs chained over his head, face turned with resolute hatred toward the door.

Now, this looked like fun! Even without the killing!

The door wasn't locked (between the now-dead grey beings and the shackles, locking the door would have been over-kill). Hook kicked it open and strode in, making sure to pose as the light struck him from behind, to suitably impress the prisoner. He knew, with his silver and velvet, satin and trim, feathered hat and flowing ebony curls, not to mention a body to die for, he was quite an imposing figure.

"If they've sent you to break me out, stop wasting time and get to it," the prisoner demanded imperiously, no sign of awe anywhere to be heard.

Well, that would never do. Hook felt his temper rising. Glanced down at his tightening breeches.

Not only his temper was rising to the occasion.

Gliding over to the chained man, who was attempting to rise, Hook caught the back of the man's ankle with the toe of his boot and took the man's feet right back out from under him. The prisoner landed flat on his arse with a pained sound and a glare up to Hook.

Instantly, Hook stepped between the prisoner's legs, kicking the thighs until they were splayed widely. At the same moment, he put the cutting edge of his hook beneath the man's chin, tilting it up and moving the metal forward until the man could feel the kiss of it against his throat.

"No one sends Captain Hook to do anything," he told the man fiercely. "I'm here for my own pleasure, and if you want to live through it, you'll do as your told without any further impertinence. Is that clear?"

"Go to hell," the man spat back at him.

Hook dropped the hook from its precarious position and backhanded the man hard. As the pretty blond head was still bouncing against the stones, Hook unbuttoned his breeches and caught the man's chin once more on the flat of his hook.

"Bite and I'll cut your throat," he said, then placed the tip of his prick against the man's closed mouth. Fluid from the tip smeared across the thinned lips. "Open up and take it like a man," Hook ordered him, pressing in with the sharpened edge against the tender skin of the prisoner's throat until he could see a trickle of blood trailing down to the ragged collar.

Silvery eyes full of hatred stared at him as the prisoner opened his mouth.

"Good lad," Hook praised him, then thrust all the way down the man's throat. Ignoring the choking sounds and the thrashing of arms in the shackles, Hook wrapped his hand in the long blond hair, angled his hips, and fucked away happily. Ah, it had been so long.

It was horrible being the only adult in a land full of perpetual children. He could have his wine or his grog, his cigars and his slaughter, but sex... sex was out of the question, unless one were of the sick sort that liked it with children, and Hook most certainly was not.

Well, children, or pirates (and none of his appealed) or Smee (and even Hook wasn't that desperate), or one of the Indians (and none would oblige). So the unaccustomed pleasure of a hot mouth and tight throat wrapped around his prick was absolutely wonderful, and he made the most of it. By the time he came, the prisoner had given up the unequal struggle and simply sat there taking it.

"Lovely," Hook said as he drew his spent prick from the man's mouth, not knowing himself if he meant the sex or the man. He bent down, pulling the man's head back by the hair, grazing his own knuckles on the stone wall, and thoroughly kissed the man, lazily sweeping his tongue over the man's teeth and tongue, cleaning up the last of the seed that hadn't been swallowed. "I think I'll keep you."

Before the man could ask, Hook shifted his grip and efficiently rapped the man's skull against the stone wall, rendering him unconscious. His hook through the link at the cuff of the shackles broke the link cleanly, and in a moment, Hook had his pretty blond prisoner all set to go to Neverland. Buffered by his recent happy memories of death and little death, boosted by a fairy or two that he squeezed for the dust before stuffing them back in his pocket, it was the work of a moment to fly to the stars and back home.

The castle welcomed him back as much as it ever did. Hook stalked through the drafty, echoing corridors until he got to his bedchamber. Once there, he commanded the castle to provide him with appropriate accoutrements; in moments, his bed was adequately equipped with silver chains and velvet-lined cuffs. Much nicer than the grimy rusting shackles the prisoner had back in the fortress. Not that Hook expected thanks.

No, the only thing Hook expected was sex, and lots of it. He hardly waited for the first signs of consciousness returning to start in on his new toy. There was one good thing to be said for shagging the barely conscious; the absolute relaxation made it quite easy to stick it in (which Hook did, with enthusiasm).

The man regained his senses to find himself splayed out on Hook's bed, bouncing away on the feather mattress, as Hook feasted on his mouth and plundered his arse. If he'd had a protest, he didn't give voice to it, most probably because Hook's tongue was in the way of any talking he might have tried to do. A man's body being what it was, and the prostate being the joy button it so often could be, at least this time the man was a more active participant.

That is, if arching and screaming and coming like a geyser could be termed 'active', and to Hook, it was quite enough. The man's orgasm tripped his own, as his prick was squeezed in that nicely tight behind, and Hook did some screaming of his own as he came. That was followed by more kisses, and more wriggling, and sighing more than screaming. Eventually it settled into snuggling, as much as a pair can snuggle when one of the pair is trussed up like a Christmas goose.

"By the way," Hook finally offered, nuzzling the tangle of white-gold hair to get at the tasty neck beneath it, "my name is James."

His new toy gave a surprisingly elegant snort. "Of course it is," the man grumbled. "If it isn't Harry, it has to be James."

As that made no sense to Hook and was moot to boot, he bit the tender flesh beneath his mouth. Hard. The man yelped. "And you are?" Hook asked testily.

"Lucius Malfoy," the man replied haughtily, "at your service."

The words sounded rote, but as they were, in this case, completely true, Hook had to stifle a chuckle. "So you are," he agreed, and licked the place where he'd just bitten. At the same time, he lowered his hand to knead the sticky balls below the half-hard prick lying so temptingly beside him.

Lucius Malfoy was too busy moaning to answer.

The next few days passed in the same delightful manner. Fucking, hand-feeding, sleeping, a wash when necessary, then more fucking. Eventually, Hook unchained Lucius, long enough for him to use the facilities, but he always chained him up again. Hook didn't know (nor care) how Lucius felt about it, but he himself much preferred Lucius chained. Access was simply so much... easier that way.

The second time Hook unchained Lucius, Lucius tried to sneak out. Hook, being a professional when it came to sneaking about, caught him before he got out of the master suite. Being a bit of a showman, Hook went for the flashy move to stop him.

He reached down and caught Lucius' prick in the curve of his hook.

Lucius looked down. His eyes widened. His breath caught. He shivered.

His prick filled.

Ooooooh, very interesting indeed! Hook grinned. Evilly, of course. "You like that," he said. It wasn't a question.

Lucius slanted him a sideways glance. Pure heat shimmered in the silver-blue depths. A smirk quite as evil as Hook's own graced Lucius' mouth. He didn't answer.

Hook reached over and pinched the closest nipple. Hard. Lucius gasped. His prick hardened further. Hook walked closer, letting go of the peaking nipple to walk behind Lucius, changing the angle of his grip as he moved to keep the swelling prick within the metal embrace at all times. When he was behind Lucius, he wrapped his arm around Lucius' waist and pressed his hand solidly against Lucius' chest.

Then he moved the hook.

With the first strop up, Lucius gasped again, louder than before, and shuddered. When Hook stropped down, the flat edge of the hook pressing Lucius' balls back against his thighs and the tip of the hook barely pricking the skin on his groin to the side of his prick, Lucius moaned. It was stifled, as if Lucius was fighting it, and that made Hook enjoy it all the more.

"How delightfully perverted," he whispered, licking the side of Lucius' jaw. "We do make a well-matched pair."

He planted one boot between Lucius' bare feet and shoved forward with his pelvis, pushing Lucius' prick against the unrelenting steel of the hook, and not incidentally moving Lucius' thighs further apart. It was the work of a moment, as well-used as Lucius' arse was by then, for Hook to thrust his own dripping prick deep in Lucius' body.

That prompted a few more gasps, as well as some involuntary movement from Lucius, first back onto Hook's prick then forward into the curve of his hook. For the first time since he'd lost his hand, Hook put his steel appendage to use for something other than wreaking death.

From the jolt it gave Lucius, it was clear it wouldn't be the last such use.

It was a hard, long, awkward fuck, standing there, holding Lucius up with one arm and trying not to castrate him with the hook, keeping his rhythm and taking his pleasure at the same time. It was easier when Lucius reached back with both hands, wrapping them around Hook's hips and pulling him in. As his climax hit him, Hook burrowed through the hair in the way and bit down on the juncture of Lucius' neck and shoulder, leaving yet another mark.

Lucius came all over the hook without so much as a touch of living flesh to his prick.

After that, Lucius didn't try to escape again.

Still, after a few weeks of blissful fucking, and an occasional conversation, came the question Hook knew would eventually have to come.

"Will you allow me to go home?" It was obvious, from the white line around Lucius' lips and the tension in his jaw, that even after all their debauchery (and Lucius' submission in all its various forms) the plea didn't come easily. Hook rewarded him with a kiss.

Forty minutes later, after the thorough fucking the kiss prompted, they returned to the question at hand.

"What awaits you back there?" Hook asked.

"My family, wife and son, my duties to my estate, to my... master's cause." Lucius' voice softened with each word until by the end it was barely a whisper.

"Your master?" Hook asked archly, ignoring the rest. "I fill that role quite sufficiently, I must say."

He ran the tip of his hook down the center of Lucius' chest, leaving a thin red line in its wake. Lucius' eyes followed the hook's trail, visibly trembling, prick trying valiantly to rise. Alas, it had risen (and fallen) so many times recently it was not up the task. Hook dropped a nibbling kiss on the tip as consolation and Lucius whimpered.

Then he gathered his thoughts, forced his body to calm, and told Hook all about a wonderful ball of mayhem and madness, wrought by a mad wizard called Voldemort (Hook snorted at the name; really, who wouldn't?), complete with treachery and world domination and lots and lots of killing.

It sounded like jolly good fun. Hook was all set to head off and join in.

Only, oddly enough, as Lucius described it, he himself seemed less and less enthused to return. When he was finished, Hook smirked at him and asked, "Well, when do you want to go?"

Lucius' gaze swept over Hook's naked form, the rumpled bed, the shackles... the hook... then back up to meet Hook's eyes.

"On second thought, why bother? I'd just as soon stay here. Warm," he leaned over and kissed Hook, then murmured against his lips, "alive, and very well taken care of..." The words ended with his tongue in Hook's mouth, as he slung a leg over Hook's hip and ground their lower bodies together.

Well-taken, anyway, was the last coherent thought Hook had, before he gave up dreams of gory glory for the golden glory right there in his bed.

END (click here for tack one)