It's a bit rough, but it was one of those annoying plot bunnies that just stuck in my mind and insisted on being written. Please remember to tell me what you think!

Oh, and be warned - there's a lot of sexual content in this piece. Pornographic isn't what I'm aiming for at all, but things do get a bit descriptive. If that sort of thing bothers you, or if you're offended by masturbation, voyeurism or the idea of men having feelings for other men, then I'm afraid this isn't your story.

Edmund prided himself on his dignity, his principles, his ability to think rationally in difficult situations. It was essential to his very identity; for how could justice be temperamental or impetuous? He was not one for self-indulgence, or jealousy – he accepted what he was offered, and did not lust after what he was not. At least, he never had before.

Never since the affair with the White Witch had Edmund allowed jealousy or greed to gain mastery over him. But the scene that unfolded before him now, as he stood by the door of the library, made his blood boil with violent and despicable feelings.

His sister was pressed against a bookshelf not ten feet away, her arms wrapped fiercely around Caspian's waist as he kissed her passionately. The Telmarine King gripped the shelf white-knuckled to steady himself, his other hand pressed against the curve of her hip.

If it had been Peter looking on, the Magnificent King would doubtless have flown into a protective fury and attacked his sister's fervent suitor. All Edmund felt was burning, agonizing jealousy. It was meant to be him who stole away with Caspian, him who drove the other youth into a lustful frenzy – and that desire disturbed him more than anything. He despised himself for it, but he could not bring himself to relinquish his sinful, wicked feelings.

What he was not sure of was why Caspian made him feel so strongly. From the moment he had first seen him, Edmund had not been able to stop thinking about the Telmarine. His beauty, his zest for life, his fiery temperament and sharp wits kept Edmund captive to a grudging admiration and desire he knew he would never act on. Not that it did anything to temper his feelings he felt as he looked on passively while the two lovers grew steadily more passionate. There was something else mixed in with the anger – arousal. He felt his pulse quickening.

Caspian pulled back, his breath ragged and uneven. "I…we should stop," he gasped, though he did not remove his hand from where it had moved upwards of her waist to caress the soft curve of her breast. Edmund's heart leapt into his throat and he began to draw back, terrified that Caspian would come out into the corridor and catch him observing them in such a private moment. He could not wrench his eyes from Caspian's face: his swollen red lips, his impossibly dark eyes glazed with lust, his tousled russet hair. Susan shook her head fiercely, her hands wantonly clasping his shoulders all the tighter.

"What if I wish you to stay? Would you deny a lady her heart's wish?"

Edmund's fear dissipated as he realised the Telmarine was not going anywhere anytime soon. "My queen…" he murmured, husky and breathless. Edmund's stomach clenched as the voice made his body react in a very blatant way, and his cheeks turned crimson. How could Caspian still be so alluring even when he was making out with Edmund's own sister? Still, he could not turn away.

Caspian let out an urgent groan, his hands grappling with Susan's stays. She fisted her hand in his silky hair and whimpered as Caspian succeeded in pushing her bodice down her shoulders and began feverishly exploring the new skin to which he now had access. Susan, meanwhile, had managed to loosen the ties of his tunic, and the offending garment dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Susan sunk down after it, pulling Caspian with her and then gasping as he pinned her swiftly to the ground and began trailing kisses over her exposed breasts, simultaneously hitching her skirts up past her knees, over her thighs…

Edmund knew that they were exchanging words, husky and incoherent as they were, but the blood pounding in his ears blocked out any other sound. All he was aware of was the sight of Caspian's bare skin as Susan divested him of his remaining garments, the rather large and obvious testament to his arousal. Unthinkingly, his hand slipped inside his belt as he caressed the growing bulge, free hand over his mouth to stifle his ragged breathing.

Caspian's olive hand disappeared from sight, stroking his sister in her most private of places and eliciting a gasp of pleasure. She arched her back, pressing further into his touch and urging him on wordlessly with soft moans and whimpers.

Edmund quickened his pace, ignoring the small voice in his head that was currently screaming at him to immediately stop this impingement of his moral code. His fingers tightened around his erection, and he imagined that it was Caspian's hand and not his. He bit back a moan.

Susan was murmuring something insistently to Caspian, tugging urgently at his wrist to stop him in his ministrations. Her purpose became clear as she fair leapt upon him, tearing off her last layer of petticoat and pulling him roughly on top of her.

Edmund's eyes no longer saw Susan. Caspian consumed every aspect of his vision as he thrust into her, and whatever he was trying to say was abandoned to a throaty cry. Edmund shut his eyes and threw his head back, the image of Caspian now so firmly branded into his vision that he could picture him with absolute clarity. His – no, Caspian's, he imagined – hand quickened its fast jerking movements, pleasuring him mercilessly. Susan's moans grew louder, and Caspian was crying out something that Edmund wasn't entirely sure was even English, and as the two lovers crossed the threshold and abandoned themselves to blissful, all-consuming release, Edmund too felt a white-hot surge of pleasure building inside him and erupting as he convulsed and clamped his teeth down on his knuckles to keep silent. Utterly spent, he leant back against the cold stone wall and tried to regain some of his breath.

Caspian still lay over Susan, propped up on his elbow and panting for breath, shoulders shaking slightly. All of a sudden, Edmund felt as if he was suffocating. He could barely digest what had just transpired. His skin felt soggy and disgusting, like he had been rolling in putrid mud. He fled, not caring if his pounding footsteps disturbed the two lovers in the library. A hard lump was rising in his throat, and a horrible sensation of heat burned his cheeks. Reaching his chamber and slamming the door behind him, he collapsed onto the bed and roared out all of his pain and humiliation into his pillow.

He couldn't believe what he had just done. What kind of sick, perverted creature was he? He wept without restraint until he could weep no more. Gradually exhaustion caught up with him, and he fell asleep with his face still pressed to his tear-saturated pillow.


Emerging into the brightly lit great hall, Edmund carefully composed his features into an expression of calm contentment. His siblings were all there, and so was…Edmund bitterly averted his gaze. King Caspian was there already, smiling rather foolishly at Susan from his place at the end of the table. Fortunately, Edmund was seated between Peter and Lucy, so he didn't have to witness her reciprocal soppy glances and conspiratorial smiles. He stared furiously at his plate, willing himself to ignore their presence. It was not to be.

"Edmund, are you alright? You look terribly pale." The last person he wanted to hear from right now, tone politely concerned and respectful. There was not a hint of the huskiness he had heard in that voice last night, and Edmund was almost tempted to wonder whether he mightn't have dreamt it all up. But no – Caspian definitely bore that indescribable air of someone who had recently gotten laid. There was no point pretending otherwise. He fought back a blush as he remembered what Caspian looked like in the throes of his passion, and how he had so shamelessly taken his vicarious pleasure from an interaction never meant for his eyes.

"I'm fine, thanks." He forced a smile. "Just a little tired."

"Here," said Susan kindly, holding out a platter of some sort of rich pastry. "Some food will make you feel better." Edmund did not think he had ever hated his sister so much in his life. The resentment nearly tore his heart in two, because at the same time he loved her dearly as a brother should, and yet she had taken from him the thing he craved more than anything else in the world. And then there was Caspian, catching his eye cheerfully and smiling that beautiful, tantalising smile – he almost felt he hated him as well. He felt like he was suffocating. He needed to leave before he betrayed himself.

"I'm not hungry." He rose quickly, pushing his chair back so that it scraped against the stone floor. "I think I might go for a walk."

Alone at last, Edmund came to a decision that he knew he should have made right from the beginning. He would not allow his hopeless little fantasy to get in the way of everyone else's happiness. He needed to train himself to think of Caspian as a brother and comrade, and nothing more. The resolution, though difficult, brought him a strange sense of calm. He knew with absolute certainty that this is what Aslan would want from him.


When he returned to their company later that day, his feelings were buried deep inside him. He talked and joked as casually as ever, betraying no hint of hurt or resentment. He forced himself to smile mischievously at Susan when she caught his eye from across the room where she was standing just a little too close to Caspian; she beamed at him, understanding that her secret was known and that he supported her decision. Edmund was, before all else, the Just King. His duty was to take care of others and make sure they were happy. And if, in the dark privacy of his own chambers, he cried himself to sleep wishing selfishly that Caspian was there to comfort him – well, it was not for anyone else to worry about. Just, maybe, but he was also human and he could not entirely suppress the melancholy that stole over him like a dull grey shroud. He would recover, as all broken hearts must eventually do. In the meantime, his feelings were only hurting himself. And that was about the best outcome Edmund could wish for.