Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6967.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Chronicles_of_Narnia_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      Eustace_Scrubb/Rilian
  Character:
      Eustace_Scrubb, Jill_Pole, Puddleglum, Rilian
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, The_Silver_Chair, POV_Third_Person, Past_Tense
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-01-11 Words: 1849
****** Fumbling in the Dark ******
by Angelike
Summary
     As the four companions make their way through the darkness of the
     Underworld, certain truths come to light. Years of living under a
     dark enchantment have left their mark on the young Prince Rilian.
Notes
     Although I'm aware that in the bookverse Eustace is merely age nine
     and Rilian is age thirty-one, I've always mentally seen Eustace as a
     teenager and Rilian as a good deal younger. So this story assumes
     that Eustace is fourteen and Rilian is twenty-two. The age difference
     still makes any sexual activities akin to statutory rape, whether
     Eustace consents or no, so please be aware that this story may be
     inappropriate for anyone offended by instances of dubious consent,
     child molestation, etc. I've tried to make the story as palatable as
     possible, but this is meant to be an exploration of how the witch's
     control might have warped Rilian's mind. There will be romance, yes,
     but the story is not intended to be light-hearted by any means.
The seduction was such a surreal experience that Eustace later had trouble
believing it had ever happened at all.
It all started out innocently enough.
Although they had good reason for hurrying along their way following the
breaking of the witch's enchantment and her subsequent defeat, the horses could
not go on forever without a rest—and, well, neither could they. The Prince may
have been (rather obnoxiously) chipper in light of his newly regained freedom,
but then again he had not been deprived of adequate food and rest for what felt
like eons prior to the all-too-exciting series of events that had led them to
this point. Even Jill didn't object to pausing for a brief shut-eye, and that
was saying something, what with the way she had very nearly worked herself into
hysterics about being buried alive a short while ago. Aslan's chosen heroes and
their faithful guide had been running on adrenaline and the rush was wearing
down.
Eustace had never been so happy to lie on jaggedly rocky earth.
He was a little surprised when the Prince settled down next to him a short
while later—a little nervous, too, if he was being honest. This young man may
be Caspian's son—may share some of those same arrogant traits that had once
offered both frustration and comfort in equal measure—but he was still strange
to him. There was something in the intensity of his eyes, in the brittleness
hiding behind an easy smile that made his chest tighten and belly flutter
nervously. Eustace had never felt so out of sorts around another person and he
didn't like it.
Still, the warm nearness of another body in the dark was a welcome comfort.
Loneliness dwelled in this dreadful place, weighing down on him and coiling
around his thoughts like some terrible disease. He was exhausted, but rest
would not come to him. Every time the world began to fall away, he would jerk
back to himself, a sob caught in his throat at the thought of being left,
forgotten and alone in this tomb. Groping blindly for reassurance, his hands
would seek out the man beside him, fingers tangling in ruffles and lace for one
desperate moment before remembering himself, ashamed. He was not a coward. And
the Prince may be an ally, but he was not a friend.
Time slipped by with terrible ease. Eustace lay, caught in that place between
sleeping and waking, and listened to the even breathing of Jill and Puddleglum
from across their tiny makeshift fire, to the muffled crackling of the flames,
to the restless shifting of the man at his side. Suddenly he missed his mother.
When the Prince inched closer and careful hands pulled him to rest against a
firm chest, Eustace tensed but did not argue. “I don't want to be alone
either,” the Prince whispered kindly. Relaxing, Eustace buried his face in
those ridiculous frills and drifted off to the sound of a steady heartbeat and
the feel of gentle fingers combing through his hair.
Their respite ended all too soon.
“We mustn't dawdle,” Puddleglum said, pointedly ignoring the unseemly way
Eustace was clinging to his liege lord. “Sleep can wait until we're
aboveground.” Blearily, he mumbled something about bossy frogs and curled in
closer. The vibrations of the Prince's rumbling chuckle sent shivers down his
spine.
His face burned, but he didn't know why.
Later, as they all nibbled at their meager rations and speculated over the
extent of the damage they had left behind, Puddleglum confessed the reason for
his sudden haste: “I am more interested in the lamps on this road. Look a bit
sickly, don't they?”
The lamps were fading.
Eustace tried not to think of it—of the very real possibility that the glowing
green lights might be the last light they ever saw, that they may soon be
swallowed forever by the dark. Pursing his lips, Eustace rested his forehead
against the broad shoulder of the newly-rested and saddled Snowflake with a
gusty sigh, wishing he could share some of the timid beast's peace. Oh, to be a
mindless animal!
“If you're still feeling tired,” the Prince said earnestly as he made the final
adjustments to the saddle of his steed, “you might consider riding in front of
me this time.”
“In front of you?” Eustace repeated, peering through the gloom at the young man
gazing back at him. The offer seemed strange, somehow—intimate?
The Prince grinned, humor sparking ominously: “Come now, I don't bite! This
way, you could catch a little shut eye without fear of injury. We wouldn't want
you to slip off the back and break something important, now would we?”
Eustace grumbled, but the Prince's offer seemed genuine and he was tired. And
he had slept rather well last night ... this morning ... well, earlier (and
what wouldn't he give to know what bloody time of day it was!). So. Could he
really say no? Just because the idea made him feel vaguely unquiet? It wasn't
as if he wouldn't be awkwardly close to the Prince anyway.
“I wouldn’t be in the way? Of the reins, I mean? Or, er…”
A choked laugh: “I think I'll manage!”
Less than an hour later Eustace was already drowsing quietly, leaning into a
loose embrace. The Prince was a solid presence at his back, one hand resting on
Eustace's belly, holding him steady, the other resting in his lap, grasping the
reins. Silence had settled over the four companions some time ago. The sound of
soft breaths tickling his ear and the clip-clip-clip of the horses' hooves were
a tranquil lullaby.
He didn’t even really notice anything was amiss until the Prince’s hand slipped
under his shirt and a wet mouth had latched onto his exposed neck in a manner
that could not be mistaken for anything but what it was. “Oh,” he gasped, wide-
eyed and stunned, but the sound was muffled by a calloused hand. Apparently the
Prince wasn’t all that concerned with guiding Coalback after the dim form of
Snowflake and her two weary passengers (who had already drawn ahead by some
distance)—not when he could be molesting Eustace instead!
“Peace, Eustace,” the Prince breathed lowly, voice lust-thickened and dark.
Cool fingers trailed feather-light up his chest, circling one nipple
consideringly before rolling it between his fingers. Eustace chocked, jerking
violently, and tried to elbow himself away—but the Prince was bigger than he
was and utterly determined to have his way. “Peace. I won’t hurt you. Just—just
be silent and let me touch you. You’ll like this. I promise.”
Eustace was not comforted.
With a terrified whimper, he wiggled and squirmed and writhed in the Prince’s
arms, trying to break free, but a barely restrained moan against his throat and
a foreign hardness pressing into the small of his back stilled him. “I don’t
suggest you do that again,” the Prince warned, voice trembling and strained.
Oh, bloody hell!
Swallowing nervously, Eustace indicated his assent with a curt nod. The last
thing he wanted was to encourage him.
“That’s a good lad.” And the Prince set back to work with great concentration,
returning to his teasing with renewed vigor.
The Prince was skilled, Eustace had to grant him that—not that he knew a whole
lot about such things, really, because he was only fourteen and the closest
he’d ever come to something like this was a fumbling kiss in a broom-closet
with some bushy-haired girl he’d never met before (and would likely never meet
again, thank goodness!) during a game of truth or dare so, yeah, not a lot of
room for comparison here but oh, yes, the Prince knew what he was doing.
Eustace was a panting puddle of goo before too long and he was biting his own
fist to silence the sound of his whimpers before he realized that while the one
hand continued to caress and torment, the other was busy unlacing his trousers.
His breath hitched. Being kissed and fondled was one thing; being touched
there, on the other hand… “Stop,” he pleaded plaintively, “I can’t do this.”
“Quiet, now,” the Prince reminded him, “and just let me take care of you.”
“But I can’t…”
“You don’t have to do anything. Just keep quiet and I’ll take care of the
rest.”
Yes. That’s what he was afraid of.
“But–”
Any capability he might have had for further argument vanished in the next
moment, when a certain part of him was exposed to the cool air and the Prince’s
avid attention. To his utter mortification, blood was already pooling in his
groin and when the spit-slick hand wrapped around him, he knew he was done for.
His own hand never felt like that.
Heart thumping wildly against his chest, he darted a panicked glance at their
unknowing companions, half-hoping and half-fearing that one of them might
hazard a glance back to see what was keeping them and, thus, put an end to this
insanity.
How could something so wrong feel so right?
The Prince stroked him gently, at first, easing him forward to the brink of
ecstasy with cautious motions and a constant murmur (“–look so lovely like
this, as I knew you would, right from the moment I saw you–”), but it seemed he
wasn’t satisfied with the small, kittenish mewls he was drawing from his victim
of lust. No, he wanted to make Eustace scream.
His fist tightened.
His pace quickened.
Eustace threw his head back and a savage mouth covered his own, swallowing his
startled cry as he fell into oblivion. He squeezed his eyes so tight that
phantom lights danced across his vision, erratic and strange.
When he came back to himself, he was twisted awkwardly and staring into the
Prince’s shadowy face. He fancied the man’s expression was very much
reminiscent of the cat that stole the cream. The thought took new meaning when
Prince brought his soiled hand to his lips and lapped at the evidence of
Eustace’s pleasure. “Mmm,” he moaned, smacking his lips wickedly, “delicious.”
Then: “Red is a good color on you.”
Funny how he still had the energy to blush. Certainly he hadn’t the energy for
much else.
Chuckling, the Prince took mercy on him and set him to rights, cleaning away
his … er, fluids with a handkerchief before tucking him back into his trousers.
Boneless, he melted back into the Prince’s insistent arms without protest, not
even when the man curled around him and buried his face in the nap of his
abused neck.
“You smell like sunshine.”
Eustace wanted to speak, to ask what sunshine smiled like, but his tongue was
like cotton and the words stuck, thick and heavy in his throat. Speech was well
beyond his cognitive abilities at this point, and what did it matter, really?
He was tired, so very tired, and the Prince's embrace was so pleasant, so
warm...
“Sleep,” the Prince bade him. “Sleep, and dream of me.”
And this sounded like a perfectly lovely idea—so he did.
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