Written for Prompt #2 over at 100foraslan on LiveJournal. 100 words exactly.
It's so cold. Winter is settling over England, painting the sky dull grey. Tiny droplets of water fall from the heavens, sparkling like shards of diamond in his golden hair as he waits for the bus.
It hadn't rained in Narnia. The clouds were like cotton, white and fluffy, and they had feasted and danced under the pale light of the moon.
Peter barely remembers those feasts. He thinks only of the stifled cries and urgent moans as he made love to his russet-haired angel in the dark. In Caspian's arms, Peter was never cold.
Shivering, he signals the bus.