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"this room has many windows", narnia, susan/peter/edmund, pg13
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likecharity's prompt was 'Peter/Susan/Edmund'.
Slightly different from the version I posted on the meme. I cut some things out, added some things in, and here it is.
this room has many windows
Chronicles of Narnia. Susan/Peter/Edmund. PG13. Warning: incest.
Set years after PC but before that thing. "There is a difference between forgetting who you are and forgetting what you do."
ETA: Now with bonus missing scene.
Edmund surpassed her in height years ago, and Susan grows to hate having to look up to see his eyes. But they still mirror certain aspects of each other: dark hair, pale skin, a certain distance.
"Which boy are you seeing this time?" he asks.
She rolls her eyes. "Don't you start, too," and pushes past her brother.
+
It took Peter some time before he understood that when his subjects called him Your Majesty, that really was whom they were addressing: his majesty, his highness. Not Peter Pevensie of Finchley.
It's Peter Pevensie of Finchley who says to his brother, "It's very strange, having to grow up again."
Edmund shrugs. "At least some things are the same."
"Like what?"
And Edmund reminds him.
+
She purses her lips at the mention of Narnia, and flinches when Peter touches her unexpectedly.
"Don't you ever miss it?" he asks.
Susan says "No" too quickly, and he knows she is lying.
+
"She's a lost cause," Edmund tells him, voice flat. "We can't make her problems ours."
Peter doesn't look up from his book. "What do you think would have happened if Aslan had said that of you?" There is no reply, so he continues, "She is not the only one forgetting herself."
He doesn't look up when Edmund rushes away, either.
+
"Oh Edmund," Susan says through her tears. "I do remember. I do, I can't help but remember."
He is used to tears, remembers protests from offended emissaries and heartfelt pleas from those who had been sentenced to death. "You don't act like it."
"How can I?" she demands.
Still, after the argument subsides and they return to their wary silence, he finds himself no longer able to hate her. He has learned what it is like to want and want, to anger and to want, and Edmund still sees the Witch in dreams sometimes, pale and beautiful and ready with promises.
+
The boys' bedroom is dark, and absent of the even breathing of the deeply asleep.
From one bed comes the question, "It's not the same, is it?"
There is an extended pause before the reply from the other bed. "I suppose you can't expect it to be."
+
Peter wipes the lipstick from her mouth with his hand.
"You see?" he says. "You are more beautiful this way."
+
The body remembers where the heart chooses to forget: the taste of skin, the sound of sighs, the ability to interpret wordless demands.
Afterwards they open the window and lean on the sill, sharing a cigarette, and Peter asks her, "Won't he mind? Your man, that is."
Susan exhales a cloud of smoke. "You don't have to worry about my men, Peter."
+
Edmund buttons his shirt as Peter watches him from the bed.
"Well, for one thing," says Edmund, "I'm not trying to forget."
"There is a difference between forgetting who you are and forgetting what you do."
"Which is it that you're forgetting then, Pete?" asks Edmund, keeping his tone level.
Peter smiles at him, a small sad smile. "I like to think I remember the important parts."
+
At night, when Peter thinks no one can hear him, he touches himself and thinks of: dark hair, pale skin, a certain distance.
+
And if you think the body cannot remember secrets, you are wrong. There are habits that stolen moments have imprinted onto her bones like: willing your footsteps to be silent, holding your breath like it makes a difference, cringing at the creak of the bedroom door.
Susan's voice is tentative and low. "Peter?"
She realizes there are two bodies in Peter's bed and not just one, but this has never stopped them before. Peter holds out his hand, and she drifts to them like a ghost.
"I miss it all," she finally says, and Edmund replies, "I know," and Peter, in his fashion, doesn't say anything at all.
In other news,
likecharity's prompt was 'Peter/Susan/Edmund'.Slightly different from the version I posted on the meme. I cut some things out, added some things in, and here it is.
this room has many windows
Chronicles of Narnia. Susan/Peter/Edmund. PG13. Warning: incest.
Set years after PC but before that thing. "There is a difference between forgetting who you are and forgetting what you do."
ETA: Now with bonus missing scene.
Edmund surpassed her in height years ago, and Susan grows to hate having to look up to see his eyes. But they still mirror certain aspects of each other: dark hair, pale skin, a certain distance.
"Which boy are you seeing this time?" he asks.
She rolls her eyes. "Don't you start, too," and pushes past her brother.
+
It took Peter some time before he understood that when his subjects called him Your Majesty, that really was whom they were addressing: his majesty, his highness. Not Peter Pevensie of Finchley.
It's Peter Pevensie of Finchley who says to his brother, "It's very strange, having to grow up again."
Edmund shrugs. "At least some things are the same."
"Like what?"
And Edmund reminds him.
+
She purses her lips at the mention of Narnia, and flinches when Peter touches her unexpectedly.
"Don't you ever miss it?" he asks.
Susan says "No" too quickly, and he knows she is lying.
+
"She's a lost cause," Edmund tells him, voice flat. "We can't make her problems ours."
Peter doesn't look up from his book. "What do you think would have happened if Aslan had said that of you?" There is no reply, so he continues, "She is not the only one forgetting herself."
He doesn't look up when Edmund rushes away, either.
+
"Oh Edmund," Susan says through her tears. "I do remember. I do, I can't help but remember."
He is used to tears, remembers protests from offended emissaries and heartfelt pleas from those who had been sentenced to death. "You don't act like it."
"How can I?" she demands.
Still, after the argument subsides and they return to their wary silence, he finds himself no longer able to hate her. He has learned what it is like to want and want, to anger and to want, and Edmund still sees the Witch in dreams sometimes, pale and beautiful and ready with promises.
+
The boys' bedroom is dark, and absent of the even breathing of the deeply asleep.
From one bed comes the question, "It's not the same, is it?"
There is an extended pause before the reply from the other bed. "I suppose you can't expect it to be."
+
Peter wipes the lipstick from her mouth with his hand.
"You see?" he says. "You are more beautiful this way."
+
The body remembers where the heart chooses to forget: the taste of skin, the sound of sighs, the ability to interpret wordless demands.
Afterwards they open the window and lean on the sill, sharing a cigarette, and Peter asks her, "Won't he mind? Your man, that is."
Susan exhales a cloud of smoke. "You don't have to worry about my men, Peter."
+
Edmund buttons his shirt as Peter watches him from the bed.
"Well, for one thing," says Edmund, "I'm not trying to forget."
"There is a difference between forgetting who you are and forgetting what you do."
"Which is it that you're forgetting then, Pete?" asks Edmund, keeping his tone level.
Peter smiles at him, a small sad smile. "I like to think I remember the important parts."
+
At night, when Peter thinks no one can hear him, he touches himself and thinks of: dark hair, pale skin, a certain distance.
+
And if you think the body cannot remember secrets, you are wrong. There are habits that stolen moments have imprinted onto her bones like: willing your footsteps to be silent, holding your breath like it makes a difference, cringing at the creak of the bedroom door.
Susan's voice is tentative and low. "Peter?"
She realizes there are two bodies in Peter's bed and not just one, but this has never stopped them before. Peter holds out his hand, and she drifts to them like a ghost.
"I miss it all," she finally says, and Edmund replies, "I know," and Peter, in his fashion, doesn't say anything at all.