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Not My Cup of Tea	By : lordoberon Category: A through F > Chronicles of Narnia Views: 10050 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own 'Chronicles of Narnia' or its characters. I make no money in the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Happy Valentine's Day, all! =D
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NOT MY CUP OF TEA
A Narnia slashfic
by lordoberon
Chapter Two
Peter's POV continued...
Peter resolved not to be weak. But he would not yell, either. He took a deep breath and tried to grasp the rational, calm Peter. But that Peter had walked out, it seemed, in the face of his burgeoning lust. He moved the tray a little lower, because it was his only way of hiding his erection. He forced himself to lift his head and look at Edmund.
His brother was kneeling on the bed, his hands clenching the bed sheets at his sides. Edmund’s face was flushed as brightly as Peter had ever seen it, but instead of wearing a scowl as Peter had expected, he simply looked like a thief who'd been caught. His hazel eyes were wide, and his mouth was slightly open, making Peter want to run his tongue over those full lips...Edmund's hair was an absolute mess, ends sticking out, and a few strands were plastered to his neck and cheek in sweat, which Peter found very attractive. His brother's nipples were still hard, and the muscles in his neck stood out in tension, again making Peter want to use his mouth on his brother's body...
Edmund had a line of sweat down his chest, which went straight down into his trousers. He had pulled them up messily, for they were lopsided, revealing one bony hip. The zipper was open...Peter swallowed. Beneath them Peter could see his underwear, which was white and so sweaty that he could see the dark of Edmund's pubic hair. Edmund had tucked himself back in neatly, but the trousers were already slipping, because he had forgotten his belt. It lay on the floor in the corner of the room. Peter decided he would rather not tell Edmund where it was.
"I came...I came to give you some tea," Peter heard himself say breathlessly. He took a deep breath, and this time sounded much more like himself. "Sorry for the interruption. Do you, um...would...would you like some?
He didn't think he had ever lost his composure so thoroughly ever in his life. Little did Edmund know just how completely his display had affected Peter, for although he could see Peter's flushed face and hear the stress in his voice, he couldn't tell that Peter was aching in arousal, or see that Peter's trousers were tented and it wouldn't go away.
"Um, uh, s-sure," Edmund stammered. Peter watched him shove his hair back from his neck and face, and try to create some order in his clothes and hair. The hair he managed to neaten, but he looked around the room at a loss to find his belt.
Peter was so hot and bothered, that he felt sure Edmund would be able to feel his heat if he handed him the tea cup. He walked to the bed and thrust the tray forward a little and stood there. Edmund lifted the cup with shaky fingers, and gulped it down. As soon as the cup was gone, Peter lowered the tray in his hands to work as a sort of shield hiding his arousal. He forced himself to look at the mirror on the wall behind Edmund. In the mirror, his reflection had tidy fair hair and a flushed face, and he couldn't stop biting the inside of his cheek.
"Mmm," Edmund said simply, in response to the tea, and he tossed the teacup casually back on the bed behind him. It rolled and then hit the footboard with a resounding 'tink.' Peter smiled a little to himself as Edmund flung himself back onto his bed. Edmund would always pretend to be alright, while hiding all his jumble of nerves inside. Peter wondered how far he was from being angry. He supposed Edmund might not be, after such a good wank...
He bit the inside of his cheek again, telling himself, stop that! He wasn't sure if he meant the cheek biting or the way his mind wanted to dwell on Edmund's gorgeous half clothed body lying in front of him...
Before Peter could start turning away and attempt to leave the room with some dignity remaining for them both, Edmund sat up and, taking him all in, asked, "Why are you holding the tray like that?"
Peter looked down at the tray, and then at Edmund. "Why I am holding the tray like this? Why not?"
He wished he wasn't so close to Edmund. Then he could look around his brother's messy room and latch onto something to talk about, or complain about...but that would only create another argument. Damn it!
"Well, it's a little...strange..." Edmund fingered the lower edge of the tray, and Peter felt his cock jump in response. Shit.
Strange. He knew Edmund had chosen that word on purpose. Gullible as Edmund may have been as a boy, especially in Narnia, he had become quite clever. He was wily with his words now. "Strange" was what Peter had called Edmund's ex-lover, Tom.
Peter would not rise to Edmund's goading. He said simply, "You're in an odd mood, Ed."
That wasn't what he'd wanted to say. He didn't want another argument, because then he would throw the tray in anger and Edmund would see how hard he was for him. Fuck. Peter knew he was supposed to be an example for Edmund, but it was hard to be an example for self control when the person you were trying to be an example for was very good at making you lose it. Edmund knew Peter prided himself in being contained, so he was always trying to put Peter off his guard.
This was such a moment. Perhaps the defining moment of all such frustrating, teetering moments...
To Peter's surprise, Edmund didn't respond to being called "odd." Instead, he stood up, which forced Peter to take a step back. Edmund began to march forward, straight towards Peter, and like a deer cornered by a mountain lion Peter stepped back, back, until his spine hit Edmund's desk chair painfully.
"Edmund, what are you doing?" Peter was losing it. His voice had a note of anger in it, he couldn't help it. He wished Edmund would go pee or something so he could have a moment’s space without him and lose the erection. Somehow it was still going; it liked this.
Edmund was forceful, and Peter, knowing this and knowing it would not change, had used this fact in his sexual fantasies to make Edmund just as insistent as he was being now. (Except his insistence in Peter's fantasies involved him grinding over Peter against the kitchen cupboards, or wrenching Peter out of the bath to give Peter head with that saucy tongue).
Edmund laughed. "I'm just teasing you, Peter. Don't you like to be teased? Everyone likes a little teasing sometimes...plus...I think you're hiding something."
He grinned, those bright eyes positively glowing with triumph, and Peter knew with a sudden drop in his stomach that Edmund knew what Peter was hiding; he was just drawing this out. Edmund wasn't an idiot; what else would Peter be hiding?
"Why would I be hiding something? What on earth would I be hiding?" Peter hissed.
Edmund was still grinning that infuriating grin. He slid one foot in next to Peter's, which effectively distracted him, and then to Peter's chagrin his brother had grabbed the tray and wrenched it out of Peter's hands. He then threw it to the floor.
He looked down at the tent in Peter's trousers, and for a moment he was silent. Peter felt angry and at the same time he felt like laughing because this was so awkward. Why the hell was Edmund staring at it like that? Probably to make him uncomfortable. He tried to ease out of the corner Edmund had put him in, but Edmund's arm shot out and blocked Peter's only exit.
"So." Edmund spoke slowly. "You heard me. And you liked it. And it made you think of things you would like to do..."
Those hazel eyes were pinioning Peter to his place, and he could not speak or move. He could only stare into those beautiful eyes and hope for mercy. He was feeling humiliated and inferior. Edmund had "got him" in a way he never had before.
Did Peter want to leave, or did he want to be right here, so close to Edmund? His cock liked it...but his brain was sending alarms, because if Edmund knew Peter wanted him, wouldn't he find it horrible? Edmund might like boys and their bodies, but Peter was not any boy, Peter was his brother. It was wrong, and Peter knew it, and Edmund would, too.
Edmund had moved now so that he had his arms on either side of Peter's head, forcing Peter to stare at Edmund’s face, body, or down at his own still-standing erection. He couldn't move a muscle, or bat an eyelid, without Edmund noticing. There was no way out.
But when Edmund smirked and said in his low, delicious sexy voice, "You like boys," smugly and finally, Peter protested. His wounded ego flamed up, ignoring the way his lust enjoyed that sexy smirk and Edmund's low laughter. He found himself roaring at the top of his lungs, "I DO NOT LIKE BOYS!!"
Edmund rolled his eyes, and suddenly his hand had landed on Peter's chest. Peter watched it as it travelled slowly down, down, until terrifyingly and suddenly Edmund's hand was over the tent in his trousers. Peter thought he might stop breathing. Those delicate fingertips traced the shape of his erection, finally pausing to rest between his legs, as if Edmund might begin to caress his cock or go for his ass.
"If that's so," Edmund licked his lips, and began to talk faster, "Then what is this?" He pressed his thumb over Peter's cock, and Peter shut his mouth to not let any sound escape, but Edmund must have heard the moan caught in his throat. He didn't smile and make fun, though. He looked at Peter seriously.
"Edmund." Peter forced his voice to be stern and hard. "This is not appropriate. Move your hand."
His brother licked his lips again, and instead pressed his palm tight against Peter's cock, forcing a strangled moan out of Peter.
"Edmund," Peter said breathlessly. "Stop."
Edmund wasn't looking at him anymore; his eyes were down on what his hand was doing, as he teasingly stroked up Peter's length with just the tips of his fingers.
"Stop what?" Edmund’s voice was husky
"Ed." Peter's voice shook, and he knew he had to take the humble position. "Please." His voice came out a whisper.
Edmund was circling the head of Peter's cock with his thumb now, and Peter almost lost his footing, but not quite. He stood on shaky legs.
"Please what?" Edmund was so quiet that Peter almost had to read his lips.
Peter opened his mouth, but he was out of words and he was out of sense. His brain couldn't function anymore, with Edmund's voice so good and his thumb roving over Peter’s cock as it was. It was inching down his length, and it was so agonizing that Peter simply closed his eyes, and let a groan come from his mouth. He groaned again, against his own volition, as Edmund put all his fingers into play and massaged the tightening balls.
Then suddenly Edmund's silky voice was a hot whisper beside Peter's ear, and he murmured low and breathy, "You aren't doing a very good job at hiding it, you know..." His tone was slightly accusing, but also full of desire. Peter didn't bother to make sense of that desire he sensed in Edmund's tone, until his brother's mouth was pressed against his.
He opened his mouth, trying to open his brain, too, and protest, what are you doing? But Edmund only used this to his advantage, successfully slipping his tongue into Peter's mouth. At the same time, his fingers were frisking Peter's hungry cock to its great delight, brushing up and down, stroking. When Edmund wrapped his fingers around it and pressed his entire body against Peter, while his tongue dallied and teased Peter's tongue, the older boy shuddered, moaning, and finally let his true colors show. He wrapped his fingers around Edmund's arms and pulled his hands up, up. Then, he let his fingers bury themselves in Edmund's dark, thick hair as he had so long wanted to do.
He knew he was gone; he was grinding his cock against Edmund's hand, which was trapped somewhere between them, and then as Edmund's tongue was licking his neck and biting really hard so hard fuck it was good, Edmund's fingers scrabbled to let Peter's cock get release. Finally he was free, and he ground himself against his younger brother with no sense left in him, only lust, and his mouth latched onto Edmund's ear. Then with his arms around his brother and Edmund's hands on his shoulders, his come shot hard and fast to splatter all over Edmund's stomach.
It felt so good, and he basked in the heat of Edmund’s body against him, trying to catch his breath back. He still felt heated, but now it was a good, satisfied heat. Edmund felt good against him.
A moment later, Peter realized what he had done. Oh no, oh no…he had gone and let himself go, and let his body reveal how much he wanted Edmund’s touch. He shut his eyes in horror and disbelief. He had come all over Edmund! No matter how good all that teasing and biting and grinding had been, now he was back in reality.
He licked his lips, and forced himself to look at Edmund.
* * * * * Edmund's POV
Edmund was staring down at Peter’s stockinged feet with his eyes wide open, breathing hard. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. What was going on? He’d had a bad beginning to the day, with more of Peter avoiding him, and then he had lost himself in thoughts of Peter’s body in a really good wank, and then suddenly his brother was standing before him with a fucking cup of tea, staring! Jesus!
He had taken advantage of Peter’s embarrassment to tease him mercilessly, trying to hide his own severe embarrassment and get back at Peter for walking in on him like that. He hadn’t expected that Peter would…would…like what he’d seen? He hadn’t ever seen any sign of Peter liking boys in the long, agonizing years he’d had a thing for his brother, and to have it turn up so suddenly shook him to his core.
It had been a long time of ogling boys at school, until Edmund had realized, long ago, that Peter was his ideal. Peter was what he wanted. It wasn’t blonde hair, it wasn’t someone tall and confident and strong, it wasn’t a piercing blue gaze. It was all of that, in Peter. He wanted to stroke Peter’s perfect hair, he wanted to wrestle with Peter, and he wanted Peter’s eyes looking at him. It wasn’t just Peter’s approval, Peter’s hand teaching him how to deal with the car, Peter’s arm guiding his in a sword stroke, or Peter’s cry of “Well done!” that he wanted. He wanted to touch Peter, too, more than he’d ever wanted to touch any of the number of boys that, well, seemed to like his touching.
But he’d known that Peter, being noble, good, magnificent Peter, would never approve of or respond to him in that way. So he’d kept it inside, and listened more to his anger towards Peter. When Tom came along, he’d been like Peter, but minus the overbearing brother part. He was kind, funny, and his eyes clearly enjoyed looking at Edmund. Edmund wished Peter would look at him like that, but knowing Peter wouldn’t, well, why not go for Tom? Tom, Edmund had convinced himself, was what he really wanted and deserved: he looked like Peter, but he treated Edmund so much better. He was perfect.
But once it was all over with Tom, for the days that Peter avoided him like he was a plague infestation…his thoughts had returned, unerringly, frustratingly, to Peter. His ire had grown, at how quickly his fantasies and fixation had returned to Peter. But how could it not?
Peter was right there…his long body sprawled on the couch, his delicious mouth not pursed in irritation towards Edmund, but sucking the top of his pen in thought…His toned torso stretched to get books from the top shelf for Lucy, and muscled arms carried in items for mum…Yesterday Edmund witnessed that fine ass rippling, and a great purring sound come out of Peter, as he stretched like a lion after hours of being stuck at his desk.
All of this enticement had been gone for the past few months, and now, unmistakably, so horrible and good it made Edmund’s stomach turn, it was back, thumping in his heart and making his cock so hard he just hadn’t been able to stand it anymore. Fine, he’d said. He would have to feed his hunger with his own hands.
(It had been surprisingly good, considering that he hadn’t had to depend on his hands for a while, with Tom around. Having Peter angry with him almost seemed to fuel his lust; he liked getting Peter riled up).
Edmund wondered, what part of watching him had Peter liked? Was it the sounds? Was it the idea of touching another boy? Was there someone Peter was attached to? Or was it Edmund himself? Peter had let Edmund kiss him…and had responded, violently and with more fervor than Edmund had seen him give anything in England except a screaming argument (which, incidentally, was always with Edmund).
Edmund listened to his heart pound in his ears and hoped that Peter hadn’t noticed that he was sporting a hard-on. He was confused and dazed, and he still had Peter’s sounds in his ears and that tea and toast flavor of Peter in his mouth and he wanted, oh he wanted to kiss him again…
Teasing Peter had been far too enjoyable. He’d had a feeling Peter was hiding arousal, because he knew nothing else but anger, excitement or cold to make Peter that flushed in the face. Plus, Peter with his head hung low and that tray in front of him was clearly not angry Peter.
Once he’d discovered the source of Peter’s agitation, he hadn’t been able to hold himself back. His eyes had been fixed on that hard heat of his brother’s, and he’d enjoyed touching it, even through a pair of trousers. Unthinkingly he had let himself drown in his lust, teasing Peter only half on his mind as he had enjoyed fondling Peter’s trouser tent. It was delightful to watch all of Peter’s self-control and calm vanished…then thought had returned to Edmund in the form of surprise, as Peter grinded with so much force against him, deliciously…
And Peter had emptied himself, loud and thrumming as he grinded his body against Edmund. Edmund knew he had bitten Peter in his enthusiasm – he’d really lost it! – and had no idea what to say or do now. He knew he had Peter’s come on his stomach, hot and wet, and if it were anyone else he would’ve been playing with it or washing it off by now…instead he just stood there, frozen.
He sensed Peter’s gaze on him, but rather than look into those confusing blue eyes, he leaned down to the floor, and picked up the once innocuous tray. He licked his lips, and wished he could wipe the sweat from his forehead without Peter looking at him. God, this was awkward. How was he going to hide his hard-on? He wished he knew if Peter’s erection and hunger had been for him, or if he’d just given Peter ideas (and a little help).
The thought that it might have been for him had his heart pounding. He lifted his head a little as Peter said quietly, “Edmund? Um, let me…let me get that.”
He handed the tray to Peter wordlessly, and then as soon as Peter had walked past to collect the teacup, too, he sprinted to the bathroom. There, he collapsed into the tub, and turned the tap on. Cold, cold water flooded out, but he was still hard, because Peter had sounded and looked so good, and the water hadn’t reached up to his cock yet. So with the sound of the water drowning him out, he wrapped his hand around himself for the second time that day, with Peter, only Peter, on his mind…
When he came, it was so good that he almost wanted to do it again. But imagining it wasn’t as good as having Peter physically against him. Grumbling, Edmund got out of the tub, switched the water to hot, and determined to think of nothing while he cleaned up.
The sound of the women returning home came when he had just finished his bath. He had toweled his hair dry and was staring at himself in the mirror, wondering again what had made Peter so deliciously hard. He quickly wrapped a towel around himself and studied the deep cut on his lip, as the broken door opened, revealing Susan. That door lock had to be fixed soon, he told himself.
“Oh, sorry.” She paused, watching as he squeezed his lip to look at the cut closer. “Are you feeling any less moody?”
Edmund rolled his eyes. Thanks for the sympathy, sister. “Maybe,” he said, and then turned to grin wickedly at her. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
She sighed, and shut the door behind her. He heard her voice float back to him from down the hall, “Come to dinner, mum expects us all to be on time. She can’t make it today, though…”
“Shit.” Edmund knew he’d said that out loud. No mum meant more tension between him and Peter. What was he going to do? He should stop by and see mum, and then go out. He’d eat later. That would save tons of tension. Then he wouldn’t risk getting a fucking hard-on during dinner, with Peter’s eyes on him and his sisters sitting right there. He wished his body would learn to control itself. But that was his problem. He had no control. Peter was the control master. Maybe not anymore, though…Edmund grinned at the thought.
He dressed quickly and dodged around Lucy’s concerned questioning, and stormed past Peter’s room to the room at the end, where his mother slept.
The door was open a crack, and he nudged it open with his toe. “Mum?”
She lay on her bed, yawning widely, and then patted the mattress when she saw him. “Oh, Ed. That trip exhausted me; I’m just about to sleep. How are you?”
He went around the foot of the bed and sat down next to her. Sneaking a glance at her, he saw that she had her night dress on already, and her long dark hair was spilled across her shoulders. Dark circles sat under her eyes, and he felt a glimmer of grim camaraderie, that she had them, too. Then he chastised himself for being so cruel to his own mother, and grabbing her hand, he held it to his chest. He traced the lines on it, the wrinkles that told of her overly stressed state as much as her grey hairs did, and murmured, “I’ve been thinking too much mum, as usual. You know how I get. But Peter…” he gulped, and lied firmly, “Peter’s been keeping me in line, and Lu and Su know how to cheer me up.”
His mother turned to look him in the eye, and with her other hand she stroked his cheek. “My dear Eddy,” she said softly, laughing. “You’re always the eye of the storm. Yes, but we need that. Otherwise life wouldn’t be the same. Just keep going. Remember, if the problem is big…just talk to him.”
Edmund growled low in his throat. Him. His mother always saw what was really going on! Well, she wasn’t often well enough to be around, but even so she’d known it was another argument between he and Peter. She didn’t know that this one was different from the other arguments, though…but what she didn’t know, he thought, wouldn’t hurt her.
He nodded assent, and she smiled at his scowl, until he was forced to smile back. Then she proffered her cheek and said, “Kiss me good night, Eddy.” His mum was the only one he could ever stand calling him that.
Smiling, Edmund leaned in and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. It was a rather reversed role moment, and he felt his stomach flip uncomfortably at the thought. What would he do if his mother weren’t around to calm him down when his mind was on Peter? He shifted off the bed so she could put her legs up, and turned the lamp off and closed the door behind him.
Then he stood there, leaning back against the hard wood, thinking. He was relieved that Peter wasn’t angry with him anymore, actually. Of course, he would never admit that (except perhaps to Lucy). Sometimes it seemed like Peter was angry with him all the time and Edmund got tired of being angry back. The cup of tea, troublesome as it had turned out, had been a sign that Peter wasn’t as angry anymore (his confused feelings about whether he liked boys or not probably helped; and, of course, sweet meddling Lucy).
Edmund grumbled in response to his growling tummy, and said, “Give it a rest.” He ran down the hall, grabbed his coat and gloves from his bedroom floor, and was out in the snow before he could be caught. He needed to think.
The snow felt good. Edmund was a winter person. He liked the flurrying snow, the chill that made him feel awake and alert, the beauty as everything was covered in layers of white powder. The crunch of snow beneath his boots was very satisfying, and the quiet and darkness.
For a while he basked in the snow. He walked beneath the trees and let snow drop on his tongue. He whistled to himself, and scraped shapes in the snow with the heel of his boot. Then he walked down the muddied driveway and down the lane to check the mail. By the time he was back from that he thought his balls were probably so blue even having Peter touch him (if only that could happen) wouldn’t unfreeze him.
He stared at the house, biting his lip and tasting the salty blood in his mouth. He wanted and did not want to see Peter. He wanted and did not want to know, what was going on in Peter’s mind right now. He wished almost that the weird happenings of today hadn’t happened, so that his brain would shut up. Then he could have simple anger and tears at Tom again. But at the same time, he enjoyed remembering teasing Peter – Peter was great fun to tease, especially when he was feeling too guilty to yell – and the surprising reactions Peter had had…
It was damn cold out, but the glow of lights from in the house was not inviting. Edmund looked around and saw the car, its top buried now by a layer of snow. It looked warm and lonely. A good place for a nap, after which maybe he would be able to make sense of things…and during which he could not think of how he was even hungrier now (his stomach and his cock; hell, couldn’t his body give him a break?).
The car smelled like leather and it was also freezing, but Edmund turned the engine on when he thought he saw his siblings engrossed in talk (their three heads were bent closer together at one point across the dinner table). Then, he switched the heat on. He tossed his coat, hat, and gloves in the back seat. With his back against the driver door and one elbow on the steering wheel, he sank into sleep.
In his sleep, he dreamt that he and Peter were floating in the ocean by Cair Paravel, except the ocean was hot and full of bubbles. They were yelling at each other, angry, and then suddenly they were kissing, and Edmund could tell that they were both enjoying it. They were enjoying each other.
Then in the dream, Aslan appeared, and Edmund asked him a question; he couldn’t hear it, but subconsciously he understood that the question was about him and Peter. In his dream, Aslan said, “There is nothing wrong with love.”
Then, Peter was trying to get his attention, and Edmund kept turning away. So Peter grabbed a hot poker, and pushed it into Edmund’s elbow…”OUCH!”
Edmund woke with a start, and yanked his elbow away from the heat coming out by the steering wheel. The heat was on high, right next to his elbow, and when he looked the skin there was bright pink.
He was leaning forward to turn the heat down, when he heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow, moving towards him. He looked up just in time to see Peter’s torso framed in the window, and then the car door opened, and his brother ducked down into the car.
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hehehe...that scene with the tea tray and Peter hiding it was what came to my head first, and the rest of this fic developed around it. More soon!
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Not My Cup of Tea