Narnia fic: never ever meme results
Nov. 1st, 2008 06:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardPeter/Susan porn, for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lassiterfics.
"It's all right," Peter says against her hair. "It's all right. I believe in you. It's all right."
Susan feels someone else's laugh vibrate in her throat. "No, it's not, Peter, don't you understand?" she says against the warm fabric of his shirt. "It's not all right. It won't ever be all right again. That's gone, gone, as dead as Narnia --"
She expects him to protests, expects him to spring to Narnia's defense, but he's silent. "You know it too, don't you?" she continues, emboldened. "You know that --"
"Don't," Peter says abruptly. "Susan, don't. Just because I know it doesn't mean I want to hear it." His arm tightens across her back, and Susan turns her head sideways, lets her cheek rest against his shoulder.
"I love you," she says, just to hear the words out loud.
"I know," Peter replies, and then tips her chin up with one hand, his lips improbably soft against hers.
Susan twists in his arms to get her hands in his shirt, pulling him against her. She can feel his heartbeat against her palms, fast but steady, and then he pulls back enough to get the bottom of his shirt in his hands, dragging it off over his head. She hasn't seen him shirtless since he came back from Burma all those years ago, and the scars that were raw and ugly then, shockingly new, are old now, faded by time into familiar patterns. Susan presses the tips of her fingers to them, but Peter catches her wrist in one hand, halting her.
"Don't," he says, and his eyes are very dark. "Susan."
"Peter," she replies softly, and reaches for the buttons on the back of her gown. Peter reaches around to cover her hands with his, and together they get her dress undone so that she can simply pull it off over her head, leaving them pressed together skin to skin. Peter stretches out on his back and Susan spreads herself over him, balancing her weight carefully as they kiss slowly and languorously. Peter's hands are broad and familiar across her back, his chest flat and familiar against her breasts, his lips soft and familiar against her mouth.
"I missed you," she whispers.
"I've been right here," he murmurs.
She rolls off him, onto her side and her back, and watches Peter slither out of his hose. Susan runs a hand down lazily between her breasts. "Come here," she invites.
He leans down over her to kiss her, and Susan curves a hand over the back of his neck and pulls him down.
It's been a long time since they were here together, but she remembers what it's like, her and Peter. Even the calluses on his hands are familiar, pilot's hands fading into swordsman's again. She curls her legs around his hips and pulls him against her, smiling at his groan as he slides into her.
Peter cups her face with one hand and kisses her as they move together. "Susan," he breathes. "Susan."
She steals his breath from his lips and replaces it with hers, kisses his forehead as his teeth nip lightly at the soft skin of her shoulder, benediction and prayer for it all at once.
"Don't leave me," she whispers, and he promises, "Never."
Peter has no idea how to run a kingdom or win a battle, foralmostinstinct.
While the tail end of the army is moving out to the battlefield, Peter is nowehre to be found. Edmund, his armor heavy and unfamiliar on his body, goes looking for his brother because there are people asking for him, and because they need to leave now or they may well (if one satyr's dire predictions are true) miss the entire battle.
He hasn't had to look for his brother for a long time, and for a few panicked minutes he doesn't even know where to begin to look. Then he remembers what it was like before he went off to school, before Peter went off to school, and starts to get an inkling of an idea.
Peter's in the second place he looks, which means he's sitting behind a little ridge of hillside, half his armor spread out in pieces around him, looking pale and shocky with his sword unsheathed on his lap.
"Hey," Edmund says, approaching from the side, and sees his brother's hand close compulsively on the hilt of his sword before Peter turns toward him.
"Ed," he says quietly. "Should I --"
Edmund shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, hearing his armor clink. The sound is unfamiliar, but it's rapidly growing less so, and he's almost used to it now. Just a little longer, he thinks, and maybe he will be. It's not as hard to get used to as the weight of a sword.
"The last of the army's moving out," he says. "The only people left in the camp are the rear guard." Which is all the reason he needs to think that Peter, of all people, knows exactly what he's doing, because Oreius had looked at him like he was mad when he'd ordered it, in that opening flush of knowing exactly what he was doing and what needed to be done. Then that unfamiliar confidence had gone away, and now Edmund's left with the same Peter who he might have laughed at back in Finchley. Now he's just feeling the ragged edges of panic he used to feel whenever Peter had said, "I don't know," no matter how trivial the question had been. Except the matter's not trivial now, nowhere near it. This time the question is life and death.
Peter bends his head to his knees and takes a ragged breath, burying his hands in his hair.
"I can't do this, Ed," he says. "I can't -- I'm not who these people think I am. I'm not. I'm not a -- a knight, or a king, or any of that, I don't know how to do this --"
"Well," Edmund concedes, "you're not king yet. You just have to do this one little thing first --"
"Little?"
"I know you can do it," Edmund says. "Lucy told me about the wolves -- at the river, and the one that you killed --"
Peter looks up at him. "This isn't like that, Ed," he says, and smoothes a thumb down the fuller of his blade. "It's bigger than that -- people are going to die, and if I do this then it's -- it's on me, it's on my head, and I don't know how --"
"Yes," Edmund says, "you do, if you stop thinking about it. Those people out there are depending on you, Pete, and so am I --"
"Stop," Peter says. "Ed, don't --"
"-- because you know this, you know you do, somewhere in you --"
"Edmund."
"-- and Aslan chose you, so you should --"
"Stop," Peter says, and there's the ring of command in his voice, so Edmund stops.
"See?" he says. "You can do this."
"I don't know how," Peter says again, helplessly.
"Then I guess we'll both have to learn fast," Edmund says, and reaches down to pick up the first piece of Peter's armor that comes to hand. "Come over here," he adds, "I think you might want this."
Any of the Pevensies break down in public, forburntcopper.
"What, King Peter?" Alarbus sneers. "Too much of a coward to settle this man to man? You certainly had no such compunctions when you were being paid for it."
"Duke Alarbus," Edmund says through his teeth. "Walk away. Walk away right now."
"I think you're afraid," Alarbus continues to Peter's back. "I don't think you dare face a gentleman --"
Peter turns around and punches him in the face.
Alarbus staggers backwards, hands raised to his face. Peter hits hard, and he's wearing his signet ring; the blow has split Alarbus' lip.
"You were saying?" Peter says, shaking out his fist.
"How dare you!" Alarbus spits, along with a mouthful of blood that makes Sidonie growl low in the back of her throat, and then he rushes at Peter.
Edmund steps forward to prevent it, but Peter's moving too fast. He catches Alarbus' arm and pulls it around behind him, tangling one hand hard the duke's hair as he brings his face down into his knee, once, twice, three times, then throws him over his hip onto the floor.
If there's one thing Edmund can say for Alarbus, it's that he doesn't know when to quit. He puts his hand on his sword-hilt and gets about an inch of steel drawn before Sidonie knocks him back down, crouching on his chest with her teeth bared. Edmund spares a moment to look at Peter, make sure he isn't about to take Alarbus' head off, and is surprised to see Peter standing still with his arms crossed across his chest, an unfamiliar smirk on his face. He hasn't even reached for his sword.
Edmund steps past him, drawing his own sword. He settles the point against Alarbus' throat. "To draw steel against the High King is the highest of treasons," he says. "Think carefully before you do so."
"That's not the High King who left Narnia," Alarbus snarls.
He's right, but Edmund can't say as much. "Do you think it matters?" he asks, then sheathes his sword and turns his attention to the palace guards standing alongside the walls. "Take him away --"
"No," Peter says. "Don't."
"Pete?" Edmund asks dubiously.
"Sidonie," Peter says, and the jaguar rises smoothly from Alarbus. Peter leans down and offers him a hand.
Alarbus looks at it for a long time, then he closes his fingers around Peter's and lets the High King pull him upright. When he tries to let go, Peter doesn't let him. He bends his lips to Alarbus' ear. "Do that again," he says softly, "and I'll kill you." And with that he lets Alarbus go and strides away, Sidonie and Vangie trailing his heels.
"Now take him away," Edmund orders, and goes after his brother.
And in other news, NaNo is so far going better than ever before, though we'll see how long that lasts...
lassiterfics."It's all right," Peter says against her hair. "It's all right. I believe in you. It's all right."
Susan feels someone else's laugh vibrate in her throat. "No, it's not, Peter, don't you understand?" she says against the warm fabric of his shirt. "It's not all right. It won't ever be all right again. That's gone, gone, as dead as Narnia --"
She expects him to protests, expects him to spring to Narnia's defense, but he's silent. "You know it too, don't you?" she continues, emboldened. "You know that --"
"Don't," Peter says abruptly. "Susan, don't. Just because I know it doesn't mean I want to hear it." His arm tightens across her back, and Susan turns her head sideways, lets her cheek rest against his shoulder.
"I love you," she says, just to hear the words out loud.
"I know," Peter replies, and then tips her chin up with one hand, his lips improbably soft against hers.
Susan twists in his arms to get her hands in his shirt, pulling him against her. She can feel his heartbeat against her palms, fast but steady, and then he pulls back enough to get the bottom of his shirt in his hands, dragging it off over his head. She hasn't seen him shirtless since he came back from Burma all those years ago, and the scars that were raw and ugly then, shockingly new, are old now, faded by time into familiar patterns. Susan presses the tips of her fingers to them, but Peter catches her wrist in one hand, halting her.
"Don't," he says, and his eyes are very dark. "Susan."
"Peter," she replies softly, and reaches for the buttons on the back of her gown. Peter reaches around to cover her hands with his, and together they get her dress undone so that she can simply pull it off over her head, leaving them pressed together skin to skin. Peter stretches out on his back and Susan spreads herself over him, balancing her weight carefully as they kiss slowly and languorously. Peter's hands are broad and familiar across her back, his chest flat and familiar against her breasts, his lips soft and familiar against her mouth.
"I missed you," she whispers.
"I've been right here," he murmurs.
She rolls off him, onto her side and her back, and watches Peter slither out of his hose. Susan runs a hand down lazily between her breasts. "Come here," she invites.
He leans down over her to kiss her, and Susan curves a hand over the back of his neck and pulls him down.
It's been a long time since they were here together, but she remembers what it's like, her and Peter. Even the calluses on his hands are familiar, pilot's hands fading into swordsman's again. She curls her legs around his hips and pulls him against her, smiling at his groan as he slides into her.
Peter cups her face with one hand and kisses her as they move together. "Susan," he breathes. "Susan."
She steals his breath from his lips and replaces it with hers, kisses his forehead as his teeth nip lightly at the soft skin of her shoulder, benediction and prayer for it all at once.
"Don't leave me," she whispers, and he promises, "Never."
Peter has no idea how to run a kingdom or win a battle, for
almostinstinct.While the tail end of the army is moving out to the battlefield, Peter is nowehre to be found. Edmund, his armor heavy and unfamiliar on his body, goes looking for his brother because there are people asking for him, and because they need to leave now or they may well (if one satyr's dire predictions are true) miss the entire battle.
He hasn't had to look for his brother for a long time, and for a few panicked minutes he doesn't even know where to begin to look. Then he remembers what it was like before he went off to school, before Peter went off to school, and starts to get an inkling of an idea.
Peter's in the second place he looks, which means he's sitting behind a little ridge of hillside, half his armor spread out in pieces around him, looking pale and shocky with his sword unsheathed on his lap.
"Hey," Edmund says, approaching from the side, and sees his brother's hand close compulsively on the hilt of his sword before Peter turns toward him.
"Ed," he says quietly. "Should I --"
Edmund shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, hearing his armor clink. The sound is unfamiliar, but it's rapidly growing less so, and he's almost used to it now. Just a little longer, he thinks, and maybe he will be. It's not as hard to get used to as the weight of a sword.
"The last of the army's moving out," he says. "The only people left in the camp are the rear guard." Which is all the reason he needs to think that Peter, of all people, knows exactly what he's doing, because Oreius had looked at him like he was mad when he'd ordered it, in that opening flush of knowing exactly what he was doing and what needed to be done. Then that unfamiliar confidence had gone away, and now Edmund's left with the same Peter who he might have laughed at back in Finchley. Now he's just feeling the ragged edges of panic he used to feel whenever Peter had said, "I don't know," no matter how trivial the question had been. Except the matter's not trivial now, nowhere near it. This time the question is life and death.
Peter bends his head to his knees and takes a ragged breath, burying his hands in his hair.
"I can't do this, Ed," he says. "I can't -- I'm not who these people think I am. I'm not. I'm not a -- a knight, or a king, or any of that, I don't know how to do this --"
"Well," Edmund concedes, "you're not king yet. You just have to do this one little thing first --"
"Little?"
"I know you can do it," Edmund says. "Lucy told me about the wolves -- at the river, and the one that you killed --"
Peter looks up at him. "This isn't like that, Ed," he says, and smoothes a thumb down the fuller of his blade. "It's bigger than that -- people are going to die, and if I do this then it's -- it's on me, it's on my head, and I don't know how --"
"Yes," Edmund says, "you do, if you stop thinking about it. Those people out there are depending on you, Pete, and so am I --"
"Stop," Peter says. "Ed, don't --"
"-- because you know this, you know you do, somewhere in you --"
"Edmund."
"-- and Aslan chose you, so you should --"
"Stop," Peter says, and there's the ring of command in his voice, so Edmund stops.
"See?" he says. "You can do this."
"I don't know how," Peter says again, helplessly.
"Then I guess we'll both have to learn fast," Edmund says, and reaches down to pick up the first piece of Peter's armor that comes to hand. "Come over here," he adds, "I think you might want this."
Any of the Pevensies break down in public, for
burntcopper."What, King Peter?" Alarbus sneers. "Too much of a coward to settle this man to man? You certainly had no such compunctions when you were being paid for it."
"Duke Alarbus," Edmund says through his teeth. "Walk away. Walk away right now."
"I think you're afraid," Alarbus continues to Peter's back. "I don't think you dare face a gentleman --"
Peter turns around and punches him in the face.
Alarbus staggers backwards, hands raised to his face. Peter hits hard, and he's wearing his signet ring; the blow has split Alarbus' lip.
"You were saying?" Peter says, shaking out his fist.
"How dare you!" Alarbus spits, along with a mouthful of blood that makes Sidonie growl low in the back of her throat, and then he rushes at Peter.
Edmund steps forward to prevent it, but Peter's moving too fast. He catches Alarbus' arm and pulls it around behind him, tangling one hand hard the duke's hair as he brings his face down into his knee, once, twice, three times, then throws him over his hip onto the floor.
If there's one thing Edmund can say for Alarbus, it's that he doesn't know when to quit. He puts his hand on his sword-hilt and gets about an inch of steel drawn before Sidonie knocks him back down, crouching on his chest with her teeth bared. Edmund spares a moment to look at Peter, make sure he isn't about to take Alarbus' head off, and is surprised to see Peter standing still with his arms crossed across his chest, an unfamiliar smirk on his face. He hasn't even reached for his sword.
Edmund steps past him, drawing his own sword. He settles the point against Alarbus' throat. "To draw steel against the High King is the highest of treasons," he says. "Think carefully before you do so."
"That's not the High King who left Narnia," Alarbus snarls.
He's right, but Edmund can't say as much. "Do you think it matters?" he asks, then sheathes his sword and turns his attention to the palace guards standing alongside the walls. "Take him away --"
"No," Peter says. "Don't."
"Pete?" Edmund asks dubiously.
"Sidonie," Peter says, and the jaguar rises smoothly from Alarbus. Peter leans down and offers him a hand.
Alarbus looks at it for a long time, then he closes his fingers around Peter's and lets the High King pull him upright. When he tries to let go, Peter doesn't let him. He bends his lips to Alarbus' ear. "Do that again," he says softly, "and I'll kill you." And with that he lets Alarbus go and strides away, Sidonie and Vangie trailing his heels.
"Now take him away," Edmund orders, and goes after his brother.
And in other news, NaNo is so far going better than ever before, though we'll see how long that lasts...
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![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-01 11:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-02 05:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-02 12:06 am (UTC)Also, loved when Peter tells Edmund to shut up and he does and Ed uses it against Peter.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-02 05:11 pm (UTC)Edmund: political genius in training.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-03 01:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-03 01:09 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-03 01:17 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-03 01:39 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-03 01:48 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-03 02:09 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-03 02:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-02 04:05 am (UTC)The Edmund-Peter was also fabulous. I love your Narnia.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-02 05:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-02 10:05 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-02 05:13 pm (UTC)