Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/156999.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Chronicles_of_Narnia_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      Caspian/Peter_Pevensie
  Character:
      Caspian, Peter_Pevensie
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time
  Stats:
      Published: 2008-07-02 Words: 2187
****** World Enough and Time ******
by airspaniel
Summary
     All time and no time, and things we have to get used to.
Notes
     This story only wanted to be written on trains, apparently. Otherwise
     it would have been done a while ago. Comments/crit always adored!
He had become so accustomed to the noise - the tense muttering and angry shouts
of a people dispossessed, the clamor of horses' hooves, the clash of swords and
the hard clatter of arrows like a storm; and finally the sound of a hundred
voices whooping and cheering their victory - that the silence of the bedchamber
is almost deafening. It covers him like a woolen blanket, and Caspian closes
his eyes.
He will have to reacquaint himself with the quiet, learn again how to be at
peace, how to be still. But for now the blood still pounds in his ears, the
heady rush of adrenaline urges him to move, to do, to act, makes his palms itch
to take up his sword. His hands feel so empty without it.
This is another thing he must get used to. He curls them into fists, letting
the tips of his fingers take the place of the hilt of his blade and it is
enough. For the moment.
Footsteps in the corridor outside the room, and Caspian turns to the window and
waits. He doesn't need to see to know to whom they belong. No one else walks
with such determination and arrogance in their stride, even when they are not
sure where they are going.
The steps pass his door and shuffle briefly, as if unsure of the direction they
wish to go. A moment passes and then another, the silence hanging heavy and
still once again. When the knock finally comes, it sounds like rolling thunder.
"Enter," Caspian calls, willing his voice to seem every bit the king he's not
yet sure how to be. The door creaks slightly on its hinges, but he doesn't
turn, not yet; for this is a battle he may have still to win.
Wood slams against stone, the lock slides home with a groan of iron on iron,
and those footsteps are approaching him now, perhaps a little warier than
before.
"Caspian?" Peter says softly, and there's something in his voice that catches
Caspian's heart, and makes it impossible for him to look away any longer.
The evening sunlight is shining low through the window, casting a pale orange
glow over the entire room, and Peter... Peter looks like an impossible thing,
with lips like rubies and eyes like the dawn on the ocean, golden waves of hair
gleaming like the crown he ought to wear. Caspian can't help himself, he
reaches out, drawing Peter close and bringing their lips together, passionate
and adoring and grateful.
Peter sighs, giving in just a little, and the kiss turns deep too fast; becomes
something wild and uncontrolled. It would be more than enough, Caspian thinks.
He could give up the sword forever; never again feel the balance and precision
of a blade in his hand, if only he could have this, the curve of Peter's back
taut and warm against his palm.
"Caspian, wait," Peter pulls back just a fraction, hands still buried in the
waves of Caspian's hair. Caspian doesn't wait; he leans in and takes Peter's
mouth again, nipping softly at that full lower lip until Peter stops resisting
and opens for him.
"Are you certain you want to be talking right now?" asks Caspian playfully,
between kisses.
"I..." Peter begins, and never finishes, as Caspian's mouth travels across his
jaw, teasing his earlobe with teeth and tongue. He makes a soft noise in his
throat and arches forward, bringing his body more fully in contact with the
solid form in front of him.
"Would it not," Caspian asks softly, between kisses, "be more pleasurable to
save the conversation for later?" His head is reeling with the potential, the
promise of this moment and every one after. They have time now. All the time in
the world.
This last he whispers against Peter's lips, though he isn't aware he has done
so until Peter's breath catches, and the small strangled sound that escapes his
throat is not one of pleasure.
Caspian pulls back, concerned. "Peter, what's wrong?"
There is a moment where Peter vacillates, looks away, clearly struggling; and
the nearly frightened indecision on his face is surely more disturbing to
Caspian than any words could be.
Then, resolve. His eyes snap up to Caspian's and they are so bright, so bright
and so sharp and Caspian is stricken breathless.
"I thought you didn't want to talk," he growls, and smothers Caspian's protest
with a hungry kiss.
Peter throws himself into it almost angrily, hands winding in Caspian's hair
just a little too tightly and pulling him just a little too close. Caspian,
sensing his distress, holds him tighter, lets him lead, knowing it is useless
to defy his king.
Peter's hands are just as hungry as his lips, divesting Caspian of his garments
as he walks him backwards to the bed. He strips his own clothes off with the
same ruthless efficiency, and Caspian has a moment of regret. He longs to go
slowly, to lay Peter down on a bed of silk and spend endless moments undressing
him, kissing each exposed stretch of pale golden skin as it is revealed.
But Peter is too hot, too urgent, and Caspian smiles instead, arching up
against the lithe body above him. Next time will be slow, sure touches, languid
caresses, and kisses that last an eternity. And now...
Peter grinds down against him, slick and hard, and both of them are gasping
aloud. Caspian slides his hands up Peter's thighs, clutches his hips with a
grip just this side of bruising.
"God, Caspian, I need..." Peter trails off, one hand skimming over his own
chest, down his side, interlacing his fingers with Caspian's.
"Anything," Caspian swears, lifting their joined hands from Peter's hip and
bringing them to his mouth, pressing kisses to the inside of Peter's wrist, his
palm, the soft, soft skin on the back of his hand.
Peter shudders, eyes closed, and Caspian marvels once again at how beautiful he
is, how the sweeping curves of his closed eyelashes and the slight parting of
his rosy lips are enough to make him surrender.
"Anything, Peter," he repeats, and releases Peter's hand, intending to slip it
slowly down Peter's body, into the infinitesimal space that separates them,
and...
And Peter stops him, holds his wrist in an unyielding grip as he lowers his
head and takes two of Caspian's fingers into his mouth. Caspian groans, head
falling back against the pillows as Peter sucks them, licking around and over
and between with hot, wet swipes of his too clever tongue. Then, only then does
Peter guide his hand downwards, and Caspian takes the hint, rubbing his now
slick fingers in slow circles around Peter's entrance.
"More," Peter demands, "I need... God, Caspian..." His breath is coming fast
and ragged, and his body hardly resists as Caspian presses one finger deep and
searching. Peter bucks his hips back into it, still so demanding, and Caspian
is desperate to please him. On the next push in he adds another finger, still
wet from Peter's mouth, twisting them together as Peter writhes against him and
cries out, suddenly going still.
"Now," he pants, hands clutching the sheets. "Now, now, now, Caspian,
please..."
"I can't," Caspian says, though it kills him. As much as he would like to bury
himself in Peter's body, wants that connection so badly he can taste it, his
feelings for the young king are too great. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't, you can't." Peter brings his hands to Caspian's face, forcing their
eyes to meet; willing every ounce of his need and hunger and the deep, strange
emotions he dares not name to show in his face.
Caspian makes a soft noise, somewhere between a gasp and a prayer. He leans up,
curving around Peter's body and forcing him to roll to his back, then holds him
there, just looking, for just a moment.
"You are sure?" he asks, though Peter has never looked more resolute or intent.
Hands circle his face, stroking back through his hair to rest on the back of
his neck, as Peter pulls him in for a long kiss.
"I want to feel you," Peter sighs, at length. "Please let me."
And Caspian knows, in that moment, that he can never refuse to give anything
that Peter may desire. He nudges Peter's hip with his palm, trying to coax him
over. "It will be easier if..."
"No!" Peter cries, as if the idea terrifies him. He clutches Caspian's
shoulders and lifts his hips, winding one long, pale leg up around Caspian's
waist. "Like this, just like this. I need to see you." He tightens his leg,
pulling their hips together sharply, and Caspian moans.
Next time. Next time will be slow and tender and decadent and all the things he
had imagined. But now, there isn't any time left at all.
He aligns himself, pushes forward, wills himself to be steady. Peter is so
unbearably hot, so tight that it must be hurting him, but he doesn't say.
Doesn't do anything but bring his other leg up, voice a broken murmur of yes
and god and please, and he digs his heels into Caspian's lower back, urging him
deeper and faster.
Caspian is lost, mind and body reduced to a roaring cascade of sensation. He
leans in, captures Peter's mouth once again, swallowing the hungry moan that
escapes Peters lips when he changes the angle, driving over and over against
that place inside that makes Peter cry out, wild and wanton.
Peter's hands scrabble at his back, nails raking fine red furrows against his
tanned skin, and the sting of it only heightens Caspian's pleasure. As much as
he would like for this to last a lifetime, he is afraid it's going to be over
all too soon.
He holds on until Peter goes tight and still, his release pulsing between their
bodies as he groans out Caspian's name in harsh, broken pants. Then he is
dragged over, helpless to do anything but submit, thrusting once, twice, three
times before falling, boneless, into Peter's arms.
They lie there for a moment, sticky and sated, and when Caspian finally pulls
away, rolling to his back with a wince, Peter follows, wrapping his arm around
Caspian's waist and burying his face in the crook of his shoulder.
"What is it you wished to tell me, Peter?" Caspian asks at length, when he has
once again found his voice.
Peter inhales sharply, sighs heavily, and Caspian can feel his breath warm
against the side of his neck. "I..." Peter begins, and waits so long to finish
that Caspian fears he has fallen asleep.
"I really loved... that," Peter mumbles. "Thank you, Caspian. So much."
Caspian laughs low in his chest and tightens his arm around Peter, stroking his
hair affectionately. "I'm glad," he smiles, pressing a kiss to Peter's temple,
and Peter whimpers softly, drawing away.
"I should go," he says, carefully avoiding Caspian's eyes.
"I would like it very much if you stayed."
Peter smiles at that, but it seems weak; thin. "I know," he replies, reaching
his hand out to caress Caspian's cheek. "But I shouldn't."
"Why?" Caspian asks, and Peter doesn't answer; simply lies back down beside
him, pillowing his head on Caspian's chest.
"For a few minutes," Peter murmurs softly, kissing his collarbone, and Caspian
falls deeply and peacefully asleep.
*****
Peter knows he's been a coward, knows he's been reckless and a fool and a
million other terrible things besides. He knows that Caspian loves him; knows
that, even after so brief a time, he might even return that love.
Peter also knows that he doesn't deserve it. Not any of it. And it is only that
knowledge that lets him move his feet; lets him leave this behind, even as the
knowledge that he can never come back nearly drives him to his knees.
Caspian's face... He can't even look at Caspian's face, can only imagine the
mute shock, the betrayal there, and yet...
His eyes flick up for just a moment, and he is caught. Caspian's eyes are so
tortured, so disbelieving, and all Peter wants to do is run across the
courtyard and kiss him; kiss that pain away and promise he'll never leave,
never do anything so stupid and hurtful again.
He doesn't. He can't. He can't even move. He watches Susan (sweet Susan, who
doesn't know that none of this is about her) lift her face to Caspian's,
pressing their lips together in a kiss just too long to be chaste.
But it isn't lost on Peter that Caspian doesn't really kiss her back.
Susan takes his hand just before they cross between worlds, and maybe she
understands after all. Peter closes his eyes, mouths I'm sorry, and wills
Caspian to believe him.
They leave Narnia, the two of them, for the last time; and Peter's chest aches
with loss. The memory of Caspian's strong hands, his kisses, his deep brown
eyes cuts him like a blade.
He wonders if he'll ever get used to it.
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