Disclaimer: C.S Lewis is the creator of everything in the story except the gayness. I am only a humble unpublished writer who likes to imagine William Moseley and Ben Barnes fucking each other senseless.
There was a short list Peter kept in his head of all the wonderful things Caspian could do. First was the way he used his hands. Caspian had frightening natural talent when it came to his hands. Just by palming and rubbing him through his pants, Caspian could make Peter come in under five minutes. Embarrassing as that was, it seemed to make Caspian proud rather than sceptical about Peter's level of control over his own body. The other was his eyes. Girly as it sounded, Peter loved Caspian's eyes. In fact, he loved everything about his face. All he needed to do when they made love was open his eyes and see the sheen of sweat on his lover's forehead, the parted lips, and those eyes ... and he could take leave of reality. Another thing, perhaps his favourite, was Caspian's voice. Peter had learned fairly quickly that, when he wanted to, Caspian's voice could be so deadly seductive it was practically pornographic. His everyday voice, sensual as it was, was nothing compared to the language he used to bed. To the voice he used in bed. Peter thought he'd die of jealousy if he ever heard Caspian use it on anyone else. And when Caspian discovered the power his lowered, husky, thickly-accented voice had on Peter, he immediately began to use it to his advantage.
'What do you want tonight?'
'You know exactly what I want.'
'I want to hear you say it.'
'I won't ...'
'Peter ... tell me what you want me to do to you.'
Caspian was adventurous by nature and soon the language he used in bed became so hard and heavy it came damn near close to turning Peter off. But strangely, even though it made him feel like the girl in the relationship, it was somehow ... scary. Sexy. It sounded unlike Caspian sometimes, but at the same time it was so personal, so intimate, it was infinitely appropriate.
'I want to touch you, Peter.'
'Shouldn't we at least go to the bedroom for this?'
'I want to taste you. Now. I want to suck you so hard I choke.'
'I want your cock in my mouth. I don't care where we do it. Fuck my mouth.'
Peter wasn't sure if Caspian was a closet exhibitionist hoping to get caught, but whatever he was, he was daring. And in the same way his filthy talk was sexy, his excited insistence on having sex in Every. Room. In the castle. At least Once. Was bizarrely exciting.
'Do you want me to beg, Peter?'
Endearing, almost submissive, but so obviously dominating that it confused Peter as to who was really in charge. So after a while, he joined the game. He'd show Caspian what talking dirty could do.
'Beg for me, Caspian.'
'I want it. Please.'
'Tell me what you want, love.'
'I want you to make love to me, fast and brutal.'
'Do you want me to fuck you?'
'Do you want me to take you so hard you scream for me?'
'Peter, yes, I'll scream for you ... love me, take me ...'
The suspense was nothing compared to the instant result his reciprocated dirty talk was having. Peter saw why Caspian liked it so much. It was freeing, somehow. Liberating. Arousing. And thanks to Caspian's sudden pleading approval, Peter got the feeling all he'd been trying to do all along was get Peter to talk dirty to him.
'Does that feel good, my king? Do you like me riding you like this?'
'Yes ... oh, Peter ... so hard ...'
'Take it. I promised I'd make you scream, my love.'
'Ahh-ah ... Fuck me, fuck me, say those things ...'
'Take it all, love, say my name ...'
'Come, Caspian ...'
'I ... I ... I'm coming ...'
'I want to see you come for me. I want to hear you talk filthy and fucking come for me.'
Caspian was a writhing, begging mess by the time Peter was done wielding every kinky sentence that entered his head. And, as instructed, he came, hot and hard, as Peter spilled his seed inside his lover, and when they lay together afterwards, arms tightly wound around each other, Caspian said the sweetest, most sincere, most innocent thank you Peter had ever heard. It made him blush.