werewolf!Pevensies, Peter/Susan, ADULT
Mar. 25th, 2009 08:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardThis is post-LWW, which is only a teetiny bit different than in canon but which clearly at this point differs kind of wildly from regular Warsverse. Aside from the whole werewolf thing, I mean. (Peter: currently the only wolf.)
"Susan," Peter says raggedly, flipping a pen around absently between his fingers, a familiar nervous tic. "You shouldn't be here."
"I'm not afraid of you, Peter," Susan says, going around the side of his desk.
His laugh is a little ragged. "You should be," he says, but Susan can see no trace of the wolf on his face; all she can see is her brother.
She takes the pen from his hand and puts it on his desk. "I don't think so," she says, and climbs up to straddle his lap, her skirts bunching up around her thighs.
Peter's hands come up, but even he doesn't seem to know whether he wants to brace her or push her away. "Susan," he says again, his voice strangled.
"I'm not afraid of you, Peter," Susan repeats, and lowers her head to press her mouth against his.
His lips are chapped, softer than she'd expected. He doesn't kiss her back, but his hands come up to settle on her hips, so light that she can barely feel the press of his fingers through the fabric of her dress.
"Susan," he says roughly and she kisses him. His tongue is velvet-rough against hers, his teeth very sharp on her lip. Susan grabs his shoulders for balance as Peter's grip on her hips tighens suddenly, pressing bruises into her skin.
The kiss goes on for a long time, then Susan puts her head to one side and starts sucking kisses down Peter's neck, thumbing at the buttons on his shirt with one hand. He captures her wrist with one hand, fingers digging in, and pulls away, staring at her with wide blue eyes.
"Susan, we can't," he says, though it's less of a protest and more of a plea. "We can't."
"We can," she insists. "We're not in England anymore. We can do anything we want." She leans in again, but Peter holds her back.
"I can't," he says, sounding desperate. "Su, you should be scared. I'll hurt you."
"You're not going to hurt me," Susan says confidently. "You'd never hurt me, Peter. I trust you."
"Susan, I don't trust myself," Peter says, his throat working. His gaze is fixed on her mouth, then he seems to realize it and averts his gaze, looking over her shoulder.
Susan reaches for his hand and puts it on her thigh, pushing her skirts up to her waist. She's not wearing anything beneath and Peter's fingers skitter nervously across her bare skin, making her draw in a sharp breath.
"You're shaking," Peter whispers.
"So are you," Susan tells him. "I want this, Peter. I know what I'm doing. I'm not afraid of you. I couldn't be." She leans down and kisses him, reaching one-handed for the fastenings on his trousers.
She feels him swallow. "Not here," he says against her mouth. "Not like this."
"Hmm?"
"Bed," Peter says firmly, and Susan slides off his lap, dragging him up and along with her into his bedroom. He shuts the door behind him and pulls his shirt off over his head.
The wound on the bend between neck and shoulder hasn't quite healed yet; it still looks raw and ugly, just starting to scar over. Peter turns his head down towards it, then up again, looking at her steadily. "Just so you don't forget what I am."
"You're my brother," Susan says. "I know what you are." She reaches around to get the buttons on the side of her dress, undoing them one by one with her eyes on Peter the entire time. She can feel the flush spread down her cheeks to her shoulders as she steps out of her dress.
Peter's blushing too, trembling as Susan steps up to him and puts her hands on his chest. "Su," he says, bending his head to kiss her. "Don't let me use my teeth," he whispers, and lets Susan pull him back to the bed.
He sheds his trousers and his boots before he tumbles her back onto his unmade bed, kissing his way down her neck until he's mouthing warmly at her breasts. Susan gasps, clutching at his hair as he clumsily sucks a nipple into his mouth.
"Peter," she says raggedly, and pulls him up to kiss her. She runs her palms up over the smooth skin of his back and bites his neck just above the ridge of new scar tissue. "Do it."
His fingers are digging bruises into her hips. She sees his wide eyes flicker from blue to yellow and back again before he kisses her again, rough and messy.
The sound he makes when he pushes into her is like nothing human.
It hurts -- but just for a moment, and then everything is Peter, Peter, Peter. Her world is full of him -- the weight of him on top of her, the breadth of his shoulders beneath her palms, the taste of him on her tongue, his cock inside of her, opening her up, filling her up.
His face is wholly human when she looks at him, no trace of the wolf on his pained features at all. "Oh God," he says, holding himself so still he's trembling with the effort of it.
Susan can hear her own breath scraping ragged and strained in her throat. "Peter," she whispers. "You can -- you can move. I want you to."
"Oh God," he says again and then he starts moving. A little tentatively at first, then harder and rougher as they both find the rhythm of it. Susan hears her gasps and moans like it's someone else, saying, "Peter, Peter, oh my God, Peter --"
Peter doesn't say anything at all. His eyes are screwed tightly shut and his jaw is clenched, anything he might want to say hidden behind that.
She can feel him stiffen as he starts to lose control. He says, "Susan," into her hair in a strangled sort of way, and then he's coming, hips bucking up against her as Susan gasps in surprise, clawing a set of long stripes down his back as she puts her head back, her vision whiting out. Peter bites her neck, his teeth sharp against her skin. With her hands splayed out across her back, Susan can feel his bones and muscles begin to shift.
"Peter!" she gasps, and sees his wide yellow eyes for a bare moment before he jerks away, falling off the bed with a thump.
Susan scrambles up and over to the side of the bed. "Peter!" she exclaims again, but it's a wolf who rises from the floor, teeth briefly bared in a snarl. Then he runs.
"Peter!" Susan screams, throwing herself up off the bed and grabbing a sheet to wrap around herself. But Peter's already gone, vanished behind a tapestry on the wall, and when Susan flings it aside, there's nothing there but smooth white stone. Cair Paravel loves Peter, human or not.
She touches her hand to the spot on her neck where Peter bit her. When she looks at her fingers, it's with a sick kind of relief and terror -- relief because Peter hasn't broken the skin, terror because it's the first time she's realized that she is afraid. Not of Peter; she hadn't been lying when she'd said she could never be afraid of her brother. She's terrified of what he can do.
"Susan," Peter says raggedly, flipping a pen around absently between his fingers, a familiar nervous tic. "You shouldn't be here."
"I'm not afraid of you, Peter," Susan says, going around the side of his desk.
His laugh is a little ragged. "You should be," he says, but Susan can see no trace of the wolf on his face; all she can see is her brother.
She takes the pen from his hand and puts it on his desk. "I don't think so," she says, and climbs up to straddle his lap, her skirts bunching up around her thighs.
Peter's hands come up, but even he doesn't seem to know whether he wants to brace her or push her away. "Susan," he says again, his voice strangled.
"I'm not afraid of you, Peter," Susan repeats, and lowers her head to press her mouth against his.
His lips are chapped, softer than she'd expected. He doesn't kiss her back, but his hands come up to settle on her hips, so light that she can barely feel the press of his fingers through the fabric of her dress.
"Susan," he says roughly and she kisses him. His tongue is velvet-rough against hers, his teeth very sharp on her lip. Susan grabs his shoulders for balance as Peter's grip on her hips tighens suddenly, pressing bruises into her skin.
The kiss goes on for a long time, then Susan puts her head to one side and starts sucking kisses down Peter's neck, thumbing at the buttons on his shirt with one hand. He captures her wrist with one hand, fingers digging in, and pulls away, staring at her with wide blue eyes.
"Susan, we can't," he says, though it's less of a protest and more of a plea. "We can't."
"We can," she insists. "We're not in England anymore. We can do anything we want." She leans in again, but Peter holds her back.
"I can't," he says, sounding desperate. "Su, you should be scared. I'll hurt you."
"You're not going to hurt me," Susan says confidently. "You'd never hurt me, Peter. I trust you."
"Susan, I don't trust myself," Peter says, his throat working. His gaze is fixed on her mouth, then he seems to realize it and averts his gaze, looking over her shoulder.
Susan reaches for his hand and puts it on her thigh, pushing her skirts up to her waist. She's not wearing anything beneath and Peter's fingers skitter nervously across her bare skin, making her draw in a sharp breath.
"You're shaking," Peter whispers.
"So are you," Susan tells him. "I want this, Peter. I know what I'm doing. I'm not afraid of you. I couldn't be." She leans down and kisses him, reaching one-handed for the fastenings on his trousers.
She feels him swallow. "Not here," he says against her mouth. "Not like this."
"Hmm?"
"Bed," Peter says firmly, and Susan slides off his lap, dragging him up and along with her into his bedroom. He shuts the door behind him and pulls his shirt off over his head.
The wound on the bend between neck and shoulder hasn't quite healed yet; it still looks raw and ugly, just starting to scar over. Peter turns his head down towards it, then up again, looking at her steadily. "Just so you don't forget what I am."
"You're my brother," Susan says. "I know what you are." She reaches around to get the buttons on the side of her dress, undoing them one by one with her eyes on Peter the entire time. She can feel the flush spread down her cheeks to her shoulders as she steps out of her dress.
Peter's blushing too, trembling as Susan steps up to him and puts her hands on his chest. "Su," he says, bending his head to kiss her. "Don't let me use my teeth," he whispers, and lets Susan pull him back to the bed.
He sheds his trousers and his boots before he tumbles her back onto his unmade bed, kissing his way down her neck until he's mouthing warmly at her breasts. Susan gasps, clutching at his hair as he clumsily sucks a nipple into his mouth.
"Peter," she says raggedly, and pulls him up to kiss her. She runs her palms up over the smooth skin of his back and bites his neck just above the ridge of new scar tissue. "Do it."
His fingers are digging bruises into her hips. She sees his wide eyes flicker from blue to yellow and back again before he kisses her again, rough and messy.
The sound he makes when he pushes into her is like nothing human.
It hurts -- but just for a moment, and then everything is Peter, Peter, Peter. Her world is full of him -- the weight of him on top of her, the breadth of his shoulders beneath her palms, the taste of him on her tongue, his cock inside of her, opening her up, filling her up.
His face is wholly human when she looks at him, no trace of the wolf on his pained features at all. "Oh God," he says, holding himself so still he's trembling with the effort of it.
Susan can hear her own breath scraping ragged and strained in her throat. "Peter," she whispers. "You can -- you can move. I want you to."
"Oh God," he says again and then he starts moving. A little tentatively at first, then harder and rougher as they both find the rhythm of it. Susan hears her gasps and moans like it's someone else, saying, "Peter, Peter, oh my God, Peter --"
Peter doesn't say anything at all. His eyes are screwed tightly shut and his jaw is clenched, anything he might want to say hidden behind that.
She can feel him stiffen as he starts to lose control. He says, "Susan," into her hair in a strangled sort of way, and then he's coming, hips bucking up against her as Susan gasps in surprise, clawing a set of long stripes down his back as she puts her head back, her vision whiting out. Peter bites her neck, his teeth sharp against her skin. With her hands splayed out across her back, Susan can feel his bones and muscles begin to shift.
"Peter!" she gasps, and sees his wide yellow eyes for a bare moment before he jerks away, falling off the bed with a thump.
Susan scrambles up and over to the side of the bed. "Peter!" she exclaims again, but it's a wolf who rises from the floor, teeth briefly bared in a snarl. Then he runs.
"Peter!" Susan screams, throwing herself up off the bed and grabbing a sheet to wrap around herself. But Peter's already gone, vanished behind a tapestry on the wall, and when Susan flings it aside, there's nothing there but smooth white stone. Cair Paravel loves Peter, human or not.
She touches her hand to the spot on her neck where Peter bit her. When she looks at her fingers, it's with a sick kind of relief and terror -- relief because Peter hasn't broken the skin, terror because it's the first time she's realized that she is afraid. Not of Peter; she hadn't been lying when she'd said she could never be afraid of her brother. She's terrified of what he can do.
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Date: 2009-03-26 03:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-26 03:45 am (UTC)Meanwhile, Cair Paravel is the most fabulous castle ever.
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Date: 2009-03-26 02:08 pm (UTC)Please can I have a Cair Paravel?
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-26 07:38 pm (UTC)Oh, Susan, hon, there's something to be afraid of. Peter's not a tame wolf, and he may be her brother, but he's not just her brother, not anymore. And on top of that, it's now one of the most awkward situations in the history of ever.
I totally want one TOO.