It always surprised him how troublesome the hook could be. Scarce two months had passed since he had finally told Smee of his true feelings for him and had them requited, and he had had enough experience to know that having a hook on your right hand wasn't exactly convenient, whether snogging or screwing.

He remembered the first time he'd brought Smee into his cabin for the night. It was that day he composed an ode for his love. And that infuriating hook! He'd accidentally poked Smee in quite a number of places, including some places best not mentioned. Sure, it had done wonders for Smee's lust, but the look of pain on his face afterwards just wasn't worth it.

He'd debated how to ease the torment on his lover. He'd tried wrapping the hook with strips of Smee's white-and-blue shirt, but that didn't work-it came off halfway just as he was getting horny. Smee had squealed in pain, and for two weeks afterwards walked bow-legged. Hook was at his wits end. Even tying the cloth tightly didn't help-it sort of lessened the blood flow in his arm, which made the task quite a difficult one.

The hook, also, made it so difficult to apply lubricating gel. He couldn't unscrew (excuse the pun) the tube without piercing it through with the hook, which of course made for a lot of waste. Nor could he bring himself to ask Smee to do it, for getting his love tired by even getting up from his position on the bed was something that Hook could not bear. Instead, he settled for biting the tube, and then taking off the cap with his left hand.

But then, there were lots of difficulties in love, weren't there?