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bedlamsbardAnd this is what I was writing in class these past few days.
"Caspian," Peta whispers out of the darkness, and he stills, trying to wipe his fingers clean on his breeches. Without the groan of shifting earth and stone, he can hear her breathing -- too fast and too shallow, with a sharp rasp of panic in its edge.
"Queen Peta?" he asks, and shudders a little at the way his voice sounds in the close, still air.
"Could you please just...come over here?"
"Of course," he says, and gropes his way over to her, sitting down on the packed dirt beside her. Peta is shaking against his shoulder; she finds his hand with hers and hangs on like she's drowning.
"I'm sorry," she says abruptly. "I just can't --"
"It's all right," Caspian says, squeezing her fingers. He's never seen Peta scared of anything during their short acquaintance; her fear scares him more than being trapped underground. "I'm sure King Edmund will get us out soon," he adds, trying to sound soothing.
"Of course he will," Peta says. Her breathing is slowing, but she still sounds like she's on the edge of panic. "He always does." She swallows, then adds, "He and Susan were the ones who got me out when the Caves of Angrisla collapsed and trapped my army with the White Witch's goblin horde."
Caspian turns to look at her sharply but it's too dark to see anything of her face. "I'm sorry," he says awkwardly, not sure what he's supposed to say.
Peta laughs, still with that ugly edge of panic. "What for?" she says. "It's fifteen years past and they're thirteen hundred years dead. They're all thirteen hundred years dead."
There's nothing Caspian can say to that, so he settles for squeezing her hand again. Peta puts her head on his shoulder, fine hair brushing his chin.
He doesn't know how much of the How has come crumbling down on them; the layers of earth and stone deaden all sound. It's been long enough that he would have expected to hear digging by now -- a few hours, at least.
He's aware of the warmth of Peta's body against him, the curve of her breast against his arm and her sword-callused fingers against his. It works a tight knot of desire up in the pit of his stomach; he grits his teeth and does his best to shove that away. It's inappropriate.
Beside him, Peta makes a soft, pained sound in the back of her throat. "What are you afraid of, Caspian?" she asks.
Losing, he wants to say, but he's not sure if that's exactly right anymore. He's starting to get the idea that there's soemthing bigger at stake than just his throne. "I don't know," he says slowly.
"SPiders? Snakes? Enclosed spaces?" Peta presses, and at this last she shudders a little.
"Well," Caspian says after a moment's thought, "I'm not very fond of spiders. There aren't any talking ones here, are there?" he asks suddenly, sharp with suspicion.
Peta laughs. "The White Witch had some, but I haven't seen any since we got back. We wanted to wipe them off the face of the earth." Her voice goes soft. Caspian tightens his fingers against hers.
"Castle Telmar is supposed to be haunted," Caspian says quietly. "I used to see -- things. Or think I did. I used to listen to the guards tell stories. It's probably just a myth, but I still wonder --"
"Sometimes the myths are true," Peta says, with an edge of bemusement in her voice, and straightens.
Caspian's automatic reaction is to think that he's done something wrong, then Peta slides her free hand into his hair, fingers cupping the back of his skull, turns his head toward her, and kisses him.
The angle is awkward and Caspian's made clumsy by surprise, but Peta shifts until something falls neatly into place and then --
She kisses like she's been waiting for it all her life, like there's nowhere she'd rather be than here and now with him, licking up into his mouth as Caspian makes a soft, desperate sound he can barely recognize. Peta moves, still kissing him, and straddles his lap, thighs firm and strong against his.
"Oh," she says as Caspian's hips arch up off the ground, bucking into her. She's so hot he can feel it through their clothes, like a brand or an eternal flame. She grinds down on him and he gasps, dragging one hand up her back and pulling her shirt free until he can touch bare skin beneath.
"Yes," Peta breathes, the word humming against his jaw. She cups his face in both hands and kisses him again.
Caspian splays his hands across her back, the smooth expanse of her skin, and steadies her as Peta kisses her way down his neck, undoing the laces on his shirt with one hand. "Wait --" Caspian says as she makes to squirm off him, and when Peta looks up he kisses her again, wrapping her braid around one hand.
She stills with her hands on his chest, fabric rumpling beneath her fingers, and kisses him back, a little slower this time, careful and concentrated.
"Is this a bad time?" King Edmund says, along with a sudden gleam of torchlight that makes Caspian blink furiously. "Because I can leave and come back later."
Caspian lets go of Peta's hair hastily as she slides back, scrambling to her feet. "No, now is good," she says. "Now is excellent."
Caspian follows her, trying to hastily do up his shirt, as Edmund steps back from the entrance they've cleared aside. Once they're out in the hallway, now littered with dirt and debris and partially collapsed at one end, Peta throws her arms around her brother's neck. "You could have come sooner," she says, pulling back.
"Yeah, I was working on that," Edmund says, glancing over her shoulder at Caspian, who feels himself flush again.
"Thanks," Peta says, smiling at him fondly. "I guess you're good for something after all. And you --" she adds, swinging around and catching the front of Caspian's shirt in her fist, "-- you can come with me."
"Caspian," Peta whispers out of the darkness, and he stills, trying to wipe his fingers clean on his breeches. Without the groan of shifting earth and stone, he can hear her breathing -- too fast and too shallow, with a sharp rasp of panic in its edge.
"Queen Peta?" he asks, and shudders a little at the way his voice sounds in the close, still air.
"Could you please just...come over here?"
"Of course," he says, and gropes his way over to her, sitting down on the packed dirt beside her. Peta is shaking against his shoulder; she finds his hand with hers and hangs on like she's drowning.
"I'm sorry," she says abruptly. "I just can't --"
"It's all right," Caspian says, squeezing her fingers. He's never seen Peta scared of anything during their short acquaintance; her fear scares him more than being trapped underground. "I'm sure King Edmund will get us out soon," he adds, trying to sound soothing.
"Of course he will," Peta says. Her breathing is slowing, but she still sounds like she's on the edge of panic. "He always does." She swallows, then adds, "He and Susan were the ones who got me out when the Caves of Angrisla collapsed and trapped my army with the White Witch's goblin horde."
Caspian turns to look at her sharply but it's too dark to see anything of her face. "I'm sorry," he says awkwardly, not sure what he's supposed to say.
Peta laughs, still with that ugly edge of panic. "What for?" she says. "It's fifteen years past and they're thirteen hundred years dead. They're all thirteen hundred years dead."
There's nothing Caspian can say to that, so he settles for squeezing her hand again. Peta puts her head on his shoulder, fine hair brushing his chin.
He doesn't know how much of the How has come crumbling down on them; the layers of earth and stone deaden all sound. It's been long enough that he would have expected to hear digging by now -- a few hours, at least.
He's aware of the warmth of Peta's body against him, the curve of her breast against his arm and her sword-callused fingers against his. It works a tight knot of desire up in the pit of his stomach; he grits his teeth and does his best to shove that away. It's inappropriate.
Beside him, Peta makes a soft, pained sound in the back of her throat. "What are you afraid of, Caspian?" she asks.
Losing, he wants to say, but he's not sure if that's exactly right anymore. He's starting to get the idea that there's soemthing bigger at stake than just his throne. "I don't know," he says slowly.
"SPiders? Snakes? Enclosed spaces?" Peta presses, and at this last she shudders a little.
"Well," Caspian says after a moment's thought, "I'm not very fond of spiders. There aren't any talking ones here, are there?" he asks suddenly, sharp with suspicion.
Peta laughs. "The White Witch had some, but I haven't seen any since we got back. We wanted to wipe them off the face of the earth." Her voice goes soft. Caspian tightens his fingers against hers.
"Castle Telmar is supposed to be haunted," Caspian says quietly. "I used to see -- things. Or think I did. I used to listen to the guards tell stories. It's probably just a myth, but I still wonder --"
"Sometimes the myths are true," Peta says, with an edge of bemusement in her voice, and straightens.
Caspian's automatic reaction is to think that he's done something wrong, then Peta slides her free hand into his hair, fingers cupping the back of his skull, turns his head toward her, and kisses him.
The angle is awkward and Caspian's made clumsy by surprise, but Peta shifts until something falls neatly into place and then --
She kisses like she's been waiting for it all her life, like there's nowhere she'd rather be than here and now with him, licking up into his mouth as Caspian makes a soft, desperate sound he can barely recognize. Peta moves, still kissing him, and straddles his lap, thighs firm and strong against his.
"Oh," she says as Caspian's hips arch up off the ground, bucking into her. She's so hot he can feel it through their clothes, like a brand or an eternal flame. She grinds down on him and he gasps, dragging one hand up her back and pulling her shirt free until he can touch bare skin beneath.
"Yes," Peta breathes, the word humming against his jaw. She cups his face in both hands and kisses him again.
Caspian splays his hands across her back, the smooth expanse of her skin, and steadies her as Peta kisses her way down his neck, undoing the laces on his shirt with one hand. "Wait --" Caspian says as she makes to squirm off him, and when Peta looks up he kisses her again, wrapping her braid around one hand.
She stills with her hands on his chest, fabric rumpling beneath her fingers, and kisses him back, a little slower this time, careful and concentrated.
"Is this a bad time?" King Edmund says, along with a sudden gleam of torchlight that makes Caspian blink furiously. "Because I can leave and come back later."
Caspian lets go of Peta's hair hastily as she slides back, scrambling to her feet. "No, now is good," she says. "Now is excellent."
Caspian follows her, trying to hastily do up his shirt, as Edmund steps back from the entrance they've cleared aside. Once they're out in the hallway, now littered with dirt and debris and partially collapsed at one end, Peta throws her arms around her brother's neck. "You could have come sooner," she says, pulling back.
"Yeah, I was working on that," Edmund says, glancing over her shoulder at Caspian, who feels himself flush again.
"Thanks," Peta says, smiling at him fondly. "I guess you're good for something after all. And you --" she adds, swinging around and catching the front of Caspian's shirt in her fist, "-- you can come with me."