![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
[...all those years ago...]
Edmund knife-fights naked! Peter almost knife-fights naked (but Edmund pwns him before he gets the chance)! Incest of the R-rated variety! And DEAD PEOPLE. (Not all in one fic.) COMING SOON.
NOW SHOWING. Susan and Caspian having sex.
Don't forget to visit our concession stand!
And do not learn from/Experience.
Narnia movieverse. Caspian/Susan. R. The title is from the poem 'Do Not Accept' by Yehuda Amichai. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
girlgroovy3 and boogalooed for the beta. Spot the Gaiman reference and win a cookie!
After the battle at Aslan's How.
After the battle, after gathering the fallen, after the flagons of wine are distributed, Caspian follows Susan to the river.
She doesn’t think anyone took notice when they left, and glances behind her only once during the whole walk: Caspian is small in the distance, but Susan recognizes the silhouette of his Telmarine clothes and the dance of the wind in his hair.
This is how Caspian sees Susan when he reaches the river: shoes off, bow on the ground, lifting her skirts to dip her feet in the water. Susan doesn’t protest when he falls upon her, as she had been fighting impatience, keeping him in her peripheral vision as she waited casually with her heartbeat in her ears.
It is spring in Narnia, and the grass is soft.
Her dress tears in places she can care less about. Caspian leaves bruises and Susan leaves scratches: wounds they will inspect on one another later on, as an odd sort of inventory. Sometimes they won’t be able to tell which wounds have been caused by battle, which have been caused by each other.
When Caspian kisses her neck he uses his teeth. Her arms slide under his tunic and her nails dig into his back like talons; he muffles his cry against her shoulder. Susan rolls them over, traps him between the earth and her body, and crushes their lips together. She tastes blood, and doesn’t know whose it is.
When Caspian asks her if it’s her first time, she nearly laughs. Of course it’s not, but then she remembers that’s from her other life. She is a virgin again, here and now, altogether an odd realization, altogether too complicated to explain. That can be for another time. Susan just tells him no, it’s not, and asks him to be gentle.
When they return to Aslan’s How, the revelry is in full swing. They keep to the edge of the clearing, nearest to the trees, and don’t hold hands.
A piercing voice exclaims, “Susan!”
Lucy runs to her with a wide grin and a faux-indignant tone: “Where have you been? You’re missing it all! Ed’s even found a couple bottles of that Terebinthian rosé you’re so fond of from the last time, but come quick before the Fauns drink it all…”
“Where is Edmund?” Susan asks, but it’s too late.
Lucy takes in the rips in her sister’s clothes, the spots of dirt and mud stains. She looks at the state of Caspian and his clothes with similar rips, similar dirt.
“Forgive my appearance-” begins Caspian.
“I fell into some brambles-” begins Susan.
And Lucy lets them both splutter on uninterrupted right to the end of their story, and when they are blushing and have nothing more to add, Lucy turns to Caspian and says, “Your tunic’s inside out.”
“Don’t tell Peter,” Susan immediately implores.
“Tell him what?” asks Lucy, and she gallops off again without waiting for an answer.
Susan stares after her with wonderment in her eyes. She forgets more often than she remembers that Lucy was grown up once, too. Her youngest sister has harbored her own secrets, and had lovers. Lucy knows about disapproval and dismissal, and is not afraid of any of these things.
In the castle, Caspian puts her up in his old room, which Susan thinks is a lovely sentimental gesture, until she sees him emerging out of the wardrobe one afternoon, just as she’s attempting to pick out something to wear for supper. There is a dagger to his throat before he’s even completely out.
“Jumping out of wardrobes and terrorizing helpless ladies, Caspian?” Susan murmurs. “Really, how old are you?”
“As old as my tongue,” he shrugs. “A little older than my teeth.”
Then he takes the dagger from her hand, slashes first the left strap of Susan’s negligee, then the right. The sheer fabric falls to the floor.
She tops this time, and she moves against him like she learned to, all those years ago. Susan wonders detachedly if sex in England is as dull as everything else in England, when compared to Narnia.
She’s done such a lot of things in Narnia that she hasn’t yet in England.
“You were very adamant,” says Caspian, as they curl together in the sheets afterwards, “about not wanting your brother to know about us.”
It’s a question without being one, and Susan doesn’t know how to respond. She absently caresses Caspian’s face with one hand, stalling, letting him kiss her fingertips. Susan keeps on thinking of the dismissive look on Peter’s face in London when she mentioned Linus and Charles – and it’s not like she’s done more than kiss them, really – and she is finding that his dismissal is more difficult than his disapproval. She doesn’t want Peter to drift from her more than he already has.
“Peter’s so proper,” says Susan, by way of explanation. Caspian seems to wait for her to say more, and when she doesn’t, he kisses her again.
When Caspian leaves, he closes the wardrobe door behind him with a soft click, and Susan listens to his footsteps retreating through the hidden passageway until she hears nothing.
There is a flash of déjà vu, then, coupled with trepidation. Susan looks at the closed wardrobe with a feeling of unease, as if the thing would reach for her with claws. But of course, it doesn’t: it’s a wardrobe.
She’s going to be late for supper and she still has to fix her hair.
previous | next
NOW SHOWING. Susan and Caspian having sex.
Don't forget to visit our concession stand!
And do not learn from/Experience.
Narnia movieverse. Caspian/Susan. R. The title is from the poem 'Do Not Accept' by Yehuda Amichai. Thanks to
girlgroovy3 and boogalooed for the beta. Spot the Gaiman reference and win a cookie!After the battle at Aslan's How.
After the battle, after gathering the fallen, after the flagons of wine are distributed, Caspian follows Susan to the river.
She doesn’t think anyone took notice when they left, and glances behind her only once during the whole walk: Caspian is small in the distance, but Susan recognizes the silhouette of his Telmarine clothes and the dance of the wind in his hair.
This is how Caspian sees Susan when he reaches the river: shoes off, bow on the ground, lifting her skirts to dip her feet in the water. Susan doesn’t protest when he falls upon her, as she had been fighting impatience, keeping him in her peripheral vision as she waited casually with her heartbeat in her ears.
It is spring in Narnia, and the grass is soft.
Her dress tears in places she can care less about. Caspian leaves bruises and Susan leaves scratches: wounds they will inspect on one another later on, as an odd sort of inventory. Sometimes they won’t be able to tell which wounds have been caused by battle, which have been caused by each other.
When Caspian kisses her neck he uses his teeth. Her arms slide under his tunic and her nails dig into his back like talons; he muffles his cry against her shoulder. Susan rolls them over, traps him between the earth and her body, and crushes their lips together. She tastes blood, and doesn’t know whose it is.
When Caspian asks her if it’s her first time, she nearly laughs. Of course it’s not, but then she remembers that’s from her other life. She is a virgin again, here and now, altogether an odd realization, altogether too complicated to explain. That can be for another time. Susan just tells him no, it’s not, and asks him to be gentle.
When they return to Aslan’s How, the revelry is in full swing. They keep to the edge of the clearing, nearest to the trees, and don’t hold hands.
A piercing voice exclaims, “Susan!”
Lucy runs to her with a wide grin and a faux-indignant tone: “Where have you been? You’re missing it all! Ed’s even found a couple bottles of that Terebinthian rosé you’re so fond of from the last time, but come quick before the Fauns drink it all…”
“Where is Edmund?” Susan asks, but it’s too late.
Lucy takes in the rips in her sister’s clothes, the spots of dirt and mud stains. She looks at the state of Caspian and his clothes with similar rips, similar dirt.
“Forgive my appearance-” begins Caspian.
“I fell into some brambles-” begins Susan.
And Lucy lets them both splutter on uninterrupted right to the end of their story, and when they are blushing and have nothing more to add, Lucy turns to Caspian and says, “Your tunic’s inside out.”
“Don’t tell Peter,” Susan immediately implores.
“Tell him what?” asks Lucy, and she gallops off again without waiting for an answer.
Susan stares after her with wonderment in her eyes. She forgets more often than she remembers that Lucy was grown up once, too. Her youngest sister has harbored her own secrets, and had lovers. Lucy knows about disapproval and dismissal, and is not afraid of any of these things.
In the castle, Caspian puts her up in his old room, which Susan thinks is a lovely sentimental gesture, until she sees him emerging out of the wardrobe one afternoon, just as she’s attempting to pick out something to wear for supper. There is a dagger to his throat before he’s even completely out.
“Jumping out of wardrobes and terrorizing helpless ladies, Caspian?” Susan murmurs. “Really, how old are you?”
“As old as my tongue,” he shrugs. “A little older than my teeth.”
Then he takes the dagger from her hand, slashes first the left strap of Susan’s negligee, then the right. The sheer fabric falls to the floor.
She tops this time, and she moves against him like she learned to, all those years ago. Susan wonders detachedly if sex in England is as dull as everything else in England, when compared to Narnia.
She’s done such a lot of things in Narnia that she hasn’t yet in England.
“You were very adamant,” says Caspian, as they curl together in the sheets afterwards, “about not wanting your brother to know about us.”
It’s a question without being one, and Susan doesn’t know how to respond. She absently caresses Caspian’s face with one hand, stalling, letting him kiss her fingertips. Susan keeps on thinking of the dismissive look on Peter’s face in London when she mentioned Linus and Charles – and it’s not like she’s done more than kiss them, really – and she is finding that his dismissal is more difficult than his disapproval. She doesn’t want Peter to drift from her more than he already has.
“Peter’s so proper,” says Susan, by way of explanation. Caspian seems to wait for her to say more, and when she doesn’t, he kisses her again.
When Caspian leaves, he closes the wardrobe door behind him with a soft click, and Susan listens to his footsteps retreating through the hidden passageway until she hears nothing.
There is a flash of déjà vu, then, coupled with trepidation. Susan looks at the closed wardrobe with a feeling of unease, as if the thing would reach for her with claws. But of course, it doesn’t: it’s a wardrobe.
She’s going to be late for supper and she still has to fix her hair.
no subject
GRABBY HANDS OMG.
Hey, so, do you feel inclined to be a helping hand re: my post-Beruna pagan
orgiasticrevelry fic? I've encountered A Conundrum. No probs if you don't.no subject
Alright, how shall I get the fic to you?
no subject
no subject
NOT THAT I AM EAGER OR ANYTHING
UHM
no subject
AM SENDING IT NOW
HOLD ON TO YOUR HATS LADIES AND GENTLEMEN
no subject