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bedlamsbardNaturally, as a response to my freakout over being pinholed as a pairing writer, my response was to write more Peter/Susan. *facepalm* (My RL friends are angels for putting up with me declaring at odd moments, "I really want to write porn right now.")
Didn't study, though. Must rectify that.
Apparently On a Summer Sunday wasn't first-time Peter/Susan. That happened right before the Natare fiasco went down -- Peter doesn't remember. May not actually ever remember. And the Natare fiasco happened right after Peter was possessed by the White Witch. (Look, I like piling tragedy and drama on top of each other, sue me.) Like, days afterward.
He's standing in Peter's bedroom, trying to decide what books he can sneak into the bags his brother's taking, when the door to the hallway opens and Susan comes into the sitting room, leaving her guard in the hall and shutting the door behind her.
From where he's standing, mostly hidden behind the half-open bedroom door, Edmund has a good view of Peter's desk, where Peter's been throwing files into a bag. He looks up at Susan's step.
"You're leaving," she says.
"Just until I can get my head straight," he says. "There's trouble in Telmar again; someone should be in Arn Abedin to keep an eye on the situation just in case."
Susan takes a step closer to him, then another and another, backing an uneasy-looking Peter up against his desk. "I'm not possessed," she says.
His expression is startled. "I should hope not," he says, but he puts the file he's holding down anyway.
Susan reaches out for him with one hand, turning his face toward her, and leans up to kiss him.
Edmund sees Peter freeze, his expression torn between shock, surprise, and naked desire. "Susan," he breathes, raising one hand to cup her cheek. He deepens the kiss, pulling her closer, and Susan puts her arms around his neck.
For a moment it's slow and uncertain, then all at once they're kissing messily, with the desperation of those who've never done so before. Edmund stares in horror as Susan tugs at the buttons on his shirt, his trousers, and Peter turns them around, lifting her up so that she's sitting on the desk. He pushes her skirts up, sucking kisses into her neck as Susan gets his trousers open.
Edmund puts a hand over his eyes, seriously consideringly dropping a book, and wishes he could put his fingers in his ears when he hears Susan's rough gasp, the hitch in her breathing along with Peter's low groan. His mind's eye gives him the image of what they must look like now: Susan spread out and gasping, Peter clutching at her as he thrusts.
"Peter," Susan says, her voice strained, "oh, Aslan, Peter, Peter."
"Aslan," Peter gasps. "God, Susan --"
She moans, low and heartfelt, and Edmund looks up again to see Susan with her legs wrapped around Peter's waist and Peter's hands buried in her hair, kissing her with increasing desperation, like this is the only thing he's ever wanted, that they've ever wanted.
"I love you," Susan says breathlessly and Peter freezes.
"I can't do this," he says abruptly, pulling away, and Edmund has a clear view of Susan, her disheveled hair and flushed face, her expression turning to shocked hurt as Peter does up his trousers, his cheeks scarlet. "Not right now, I can't do this, not when I can still remember -- her -- in my head."
Susan slides off the desk, pulling her skirts down, and declares with some heat, "I am going to shoot you in the face."
Peter turns toward her, looking disheveled and stricken, and flinches when Susan reaches for him. She kisses him gently, softly, and Peter raises one hand to touch her hair before he lets it drop back to his side.
"I'll be here when you come back," she says, lingering a little before she pulls away. She keeps her hand on his cheek. "Peter, you're not her. You're never going to be. You couldn't be."
"I had in her in my head," Peter says, sounding wretched and broken. "The things I did -- the things I said -- I can't stay here, not right now, not when -- gods, she's dead, Aslan killed her, she's dead --" The words break off in a sob and Susan pulls him against her.
"I can't stay here," he whispers again. "Not now."
Susan cups his face between her hands. "I love you," she says steadily. "I always have. Come back soon; Narnia needs you. I need you."
Peter leans forward and kisses her. "I will," he says. "I love you." He touches her cheek with two fingers, then pulls away and picks up his bags from the floor. He doesn't look back when he leaves.
Three days later his guards and escort are found murdered on the road between Arn Abedin and Cair Paravel. Standing amidst the bodies, Edmund leans down slowly and picks up Rhindon, unsheathed and blood-stained. Susan takes one look at the sword and is violently sick, kneeling in the grass and retching until she's dry-heaving, tears streaming down her face.
The only good thing is that there's no body. But Peter's still missing.
Didn't study, though. Must rectify that.
Apparently On a Summer Sunday wasn't first-time Peter/Susan. That happened right before the Natare fiasco went down -- Peter doesn't remember. May not actually ever remember. And the Natare fiasco happened right after Peter was possessed by the White Witch. (Look, I like piling tragedy and drama on top of each other, sue me.) Like, days afterward.
He's standing in Peter's bedroom, trying to decide what books he can sneak into the bags his brother's taking, when the door to the hallway opens and Susan comes into the sitting room, leaving her guard in the hall and shutting the door behind her.
From where he's standing, mostly hidden behind the half-open bedroom door, Edmund has a good view of Peter's desk, where Peter's been throwing files into a bag. He looks up at Susan's step.
"You're leaving," she says.
"Just until I can get my head straight," he says. "There's trouble in Telmar again; someone should be in Arn Abedin to keep an eye on the situation just in case."
Susan takes a step closer to him, then another and another, backing an uneasy-looking Peter up against his desk. "I'm not possessed," she says.
His expression is startled. "I should hope not," he says, but he puts the file he's holding down anyway.
Susan reaches out for him with one hand, turning his face toward her, and leans up to kiss him.
Edmund sees Peter freeze, his expression torn between shock, surprise, and naked desire. "Susan," he breathes, raising one hand to cup her cheek. He deepens the kiss, pulling her closer, and Susan puts her arms around his neck.
For a moment it's slow and uncertain, then all at once they're kissing messily, with the desperation of those who've never done so before. Edmund stares in horror as Susan tugs at the buttons on his shirt, his trousers, and Peter turns them around, lifting her up so that she's sitting on the desk. He pushes her skirts up, sucking kisses into her neck as Susan gets his trousers open.
Edmund puts a hand over his eyes, seriously consideringly dropping a book, and wishes he could put his fingers in his ears when he hears Susan's rough gasp, the hitch in her breathing along with Peter's low groan. His mind's eye gives him the image of what they must look like now: Susan spread out and gasping, Peter clutching at her as he thrusts.
"Peter," Susan says, her voice strained, "oh, Aslan, Peter, Peter."
"Aslan," Peter gasps. "God, Susan --"
She moans, low and heartfelt, and Edmund looks up again to see Susan with her legs wrapped around Peter's waist and Peter's hands buried in her hair, kissing her with increasing desperation, like this is the only thing he's ever wanted, that they've ever wanted.
"I love you," Susan says breathlessly and Peter freezes.
"I can't do this," he says abruptly, pulling away, and Edmund has a clear view of Susan, her disheveled hair and flushed face, her expression turning to shocked hurt as Peter does up his trousers, his cheeks scarlet. "Not right now, I can't do this, not when I can still remember -- her -- in my head."
Susan slides off the desk, pulling her skirts down, and declares with some heat, "I am going to shoot you in the face."
Peter turns toward her, looking disheveled and stricken, and flinches when Susan reaches for him. She kisses him gently, softly, and Peter raises one hand to touch her hair before he lets it drop back to his side.
"I'll be here when you come back," she says, lingering a little before she pulls away. She keeps her hand on his cheek. "Peter, you're not her. You're never going to be. You couldn't be."
"I had in her in my head," Peter says, sounding wretched and broken. "The things I did -- the things I said -- I can't stay here, not right now, not when -- gods, she's dead, Aslan killed her, she's dead --" The words break off in a sob and Susan pulls him against her.
"I can't stay here," he whispers again. "Not now."
Susan cups his face between her hands. "I love you," she says steadily. "I always have. Come back soon; Narnia needs you. I need you."
Peter leans forward and kisses her. "I will," he says. "I love you." He touches her cheek with two fingers, then pulls away and picks up his bags from the floor. He doesn't look back when he leaves.
Three days later his guards and escort are found murdered on the road between Arn Abedin and Cair Paravel. Standing amidst the bodies, Edmund leans down slowly and picks up Rhindon, unsheathed and blood-stained. Susan takes one look at the sword and is violently sick, kneeling in the grass and retching until she's dry-heaving, tears streaming down her face.
The only good thing is that there's no body. But Peter's still missing.