A/N: So, I was watching the Prince Caspian movie and this just came over me. I have been in a battle of who is the hottest - Caspian or Peter, for ages, and then I realised that I didn't have to choose, I could just write slash instead! Amazing idea, no?
Anyway, for those of you who haven't figured this out yet, this is slash, male on male, between Peter the Fabulous and Prince Caspian. Nothing too explicit, but I thought I'd warn anyway. And since it was ages since I read the books I apologise for any mistakes I've managed to cram into a 584 word story.
So read and tell me what you think, because for Christmas I wished for reviews. :3
It is late when Caspian visits and Peter's room is lit with torches that still don't manage to chase away the shadows. He has started doing that lately, not leaving until almost morning, when they have talked for hours, about whatever comes to mind. Battles, old Narnia, the telmarines' Narnia. Their childhoods, their parents.
Peter tells him about England and Caspian talks about his uncle, and his life at the castle. Peter tells him things he has never told anyone, and he believes that Caspian does the same.
"I grew up with the telmarines", he says this time, the light from the fire reflecting in his eyes. "I was told fairytales about all this. It was all this ever was to me. Fictional stories told to a child."
Peter understands. He was also told about magic and talking animals when he was a boy. He never imagined that it could have been true, not until he set foot in Narnia.
"Even you", Caspian continues in that strange accent of his. "I was told tales about you too."
Peter stays quiet under Caspian's gaze. It is slightly unsettling, being scrutinised like this.
"Somehow I expected someone..." he pauses and his eyes travel up to Peter's face again. "Someone older."
Yes, well, Peter wants to say, but finds himself unable to. They all expected someone older, and now he and his siblings are greeted with disappointment and crushed expectations.
"Do you mind if I...?" Caspian says quietly, almost hesitating. But of course, Caspian is a prince, and full out hesitating isn't what he's been raised to do. He continues to bring his hand up to Peter's face, without listening to his response to the question.
He has never touched him before, at least not outside training, and certainly not like this. This is different, this is tender and loving.
His hand against Peter's cheek is smooth, but Peter can feel that the skin has hardened in places, traces and blemishes after using a sword.
His hand continues to his hair, twisting the blonde strands between strong fingers, Caspian's eyes following its journey.
"You feel real", he mumbles and Peter is very aware of how close he is standing, of the warmth coming from his body.
So do you, he wants to say, because the hand that trails down his body sure feels real. It moves confidently down his arm, finding his hand, entwining their fingers together. Peter looks down, looks at his own pale skin against that tanned, darker and slightly larger hand.
When he looks up at Caspian's face again, he is met with serious, dark eyes.
He presses his lips against Peter's softly, only just brushing against him. It is agonisingly hesitant and careful. Peter wants more, wants to feel the whole of him, wants to see more of his dark skin against his own. It is an urge - a need - stronger than he has ever felt.
Peter is the one who deepens the kiss, it is his hands that find their way inside Caspian's clothes first, touching lean muscles, it is him who pushes him down on the cot, it is him who lets his lips wander elsewhere, it is him who lets out the strangled cry of release as Caspian's hands show him what else he is talented in besides sword fighting.
And later, afterwards, it is him who leaves, abandoning the sleeping boy, leaving him to wake up alone in the morning.
But the kiss, that one first kiss, that will always be Caspian's.