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Not My Cup of Tea	By : lordoberon Category: A through F > Chronicles of Narnia Views: 10049 -:- 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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*Finally* I'm writing an Edmund/Peter fanfic. It's a lot of fun!
Please don't be scared off by a temperamental, moody Edmund and the screaming argument at the very beginning. I promise it gets hot! ;D

IF YOU HATE PEVENSIECEST, BACK AWAY NOW!!
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NOT MY CUP OF TEA
A Narnia fanfic
by lordoberon

Edmund's POV

Edmund was not happy. In fact, he would have to say this was one of the worst days of his life. He missed Narnia. England was a hellhole in comparison. He missed being grown; being a sixteen year old male with an over-protective, bossy older brother and two sisters was not fun. What was more, he had been triumphant; he had kept Tom a secret for the entire fall semester, and had gotten away from Peter. His brother was three years older than him, and had just started university. He had helped Peter save up for it, and saved up so that he could attend a nice all-boys boarding school; it had taken two summers to earn enough, but that was fine by him. Anything to get away from Peter!
Peter. Edmund scowled. Peter was even more infuriating since they had last returned from Narnia. Now they were teenagers, nearly men, in England; but it was nothing compared to being grown in Narnia. In Narnia, Peter had been forced to show his younger brother some respect (which Edmund thought he deserved, for being fairly responsible and not "running around like a chicken with its head off," as Peter had once described him).
In England, Peter was bossy. He was nosy. He ordered Edmund around. When Edmund didn't want to go to school this past beginning of semester, he had almost dragged Edmund into the car to leave for the train station. When Peter had a project he wanted Edmund's help on, he would call Edmund and make Edmund skip classes. The only rule that Peter actually followed consistently, and that he expected his siblings to go by, was to do whatever Peter wanted!
And then there had been Tom...Edmund felt his eyes stinging, and resolutely pushed his fingertips against his eyelids. No tears. Tom was beautiful, tall and blonde. He had bright green eyes, and freckles dusted across his nose...he had been kind, and listened to Edmund's troubles. He had been funny, too, and befriended Edmund within their first week at school. They'd skived off classes together, and driven around the country. And there, beneath that oak that had reminded Edmund of one by Cair Paravel...they had reveled in each other.
Edmund could still remember the way the other boy's skin tasted on his lips; the way he would kiss Edmund, slowly, all over, until it drove Edmund mad; he remembered the way Tom would laugh loudly when Edmund got roaring drunk, and then become suddenly serious when Edmund dragged him back to the dorms and had him in nothing before the door was properly shut.
Now it was all over. A few letters over winter break; a mention of some girl, a redhead; and then, nothing. No letters. He'd stolen Peter's car in his anxiety, and drove to London to visit Tom. She had been there. Edmund had nearly hit her, but then he’d remembered. He was a king. He was royal. It would not do to hit a woman.
So Edmund had left. And now he lay on his bed in his room, with his stomach growling. He groaned when he heard a knock on the door, and turned over to stare at the wall. The knocking continued. Edmund stood up to scowl at his reflection in the mirror. From its lopsided position above his dresser, the mirror showed a pale face, with dark angry eyes. They were bloodshot, and the skin underneath was discolored from lack of sleep. He bit his full lower lip again furiously, watching blood come out with a tiny bit of satisfaction. Then he turned away from his pathetic reflection and shouted at the door, "WHO IS IT?"
The firm little voice of Lu came out tentatively, "Ed, are you hungry? Dinner time. Mum's worried about you...she went out to get dessert, to try and cheer you up. I know you aren't doing homework like you said. Come eat."
Edmund sighed, and swore beneath his breath. He hadn’t told any of them about Tom, but since the lack of letters, they’d all noticed he was bothered about something, he supposed. Lucy always knew him better than the other two. Susan would try to reason him beyond feelings to look at everything logically, or tell him what he should be feeling, or be his therapist. That only made him angry; at himself for being weak, and at her for being so coddling. Peter would want him to "man up", of course, and not be such an emotional wreck. Lucy, on the other hand, was neither chastising nor coddling, but would simply state the facts. She knew that he was sick of trying to be the perfect, responsible brother like Peter. She simply accepted his moods, and talked to him like all was normal.
"Alright, Lu. Just...gimme a minute."
He heard her walk away, and stood up. He ducked out of the room to the bathroom to wash his face and pee, and then marched his way slowly to the dining room.
The sight that met him nearly made Edmund turn around. His siblings sat orderly and neat at the table, with their hands folded in saying grace. Peter sat at the head of the table, with his blonde head bowed down in thanks. His napkin was perfect. His fork was perfect. Every little wave of hair on his damn head was perfect. Even the way his mouth moved a little in prayer was too serene and sweet. He hadn't a single freckle or blemish. He wasn't pasty like Edmund. With the light from the kitchen behind him forming a halo of golden light on his head, he looked like an angel.
Edmund bit his lip again. Susan was the perfect little angel, too, but her coloring was more like his, dark hair and pale complexion. Her long hair was plaited nicely, and she still wore her school things. Lucy, on the other hand, looked up at him when he stepped into the room. Her bright red-blonde head and that round face with the one crooked tooth in her smile almost, almost made him smile. But he wouldn't. Then they would think he was doing fine and all the regular dinner talk would drive him into a fury.
One thing that Edmund prided himself in was that he at least admitted his own flaws to himself. He knew himself. He looked at who he was, and how he thought. Unlike Peter, he didn't overestimate himself.
"I saved a seat for you, Ed." Peter inclined his head to the empty seat on his right, as if that was a new, amazing thing he had thought of and not the same every day of the week.
"Thanks," Edmund forced out, and sat down at the table. He knew he'd been late and missed grace; he knew if mum were around, she'd be giving him that knowing stare from across the table. Thank god she wasn't here right now. He'd be able to just eat dinner and then go back to his room.
Edmund purposefully ignored Peter and Susan's gazes on him, and piled salad, potatoes, and gravy onto his plate. When it was sufficiently mountainous, he dug in.
God it felt good to eat. For a moment, he could ignore his brother's curious, snuck-in glances, and Susan's sympathy, and just chew.
Then, Peter let the other shoe fall. Edmund recognized it coming by the way Peter cleared his throat, and put down his cup with timed, precise delicacy. Lucy shoved Edmund's cup closer to him, and he saw this for what it was: drink, she was telling him, so that you won't have to look him in the face while he says this.
So Edmund picked up his cup and drank, but Peter was sitting right by him, so he couldn't ignore his words.
"Edmund," Peter said carefully, "Under normal circumstances I would be very upset, considering that you took my vehicle without my permission this morning after breakfast, and judging by the miles, went nearly across the country -” Edmund could hear a tiny bit of anger there, and put his cup down in time to see Peter share glances with Susan. Rallying for support, as usual. Jesus.
"But," and here Peter looked at Lucy. He was so obvious! He had no tact when it came to family, it seemed; only his enemies had trouble reading the Magnificent like an open book. "I've decided to be lenient, Ed. I know that you've been having trouble sleeping lately, and something's been on your mind. I've held off asking about it because I could see it was something you wanted to deal with yourself. Evidently, judging by today...well, I'm sorry whatever it is didn't work out. Because you're in such a bad state at the moment, I'm going to let it go. Please just ask me next time you want to use the car."
Edmund bit his lip again, and stared down at the table. Shit. He had been hoping, for a moment there, that Peter would be angry. Then they could have a fight, and Edmund could vent some rage. But no. Peter had decided to be the diplomat. Oh how Magnificent of him! Ugh. Edmund didn't feel as hungry anymore. He wished he could do a bout of sword fighting or something right now. Damn.
Edmund stared around dully at the small, cramped kitchen, the narrow hallway, and the dirty fireplace in the living room. Finally, he forced himself to meet Peter's blue eyes with his hazel ones.
"You're right," he said hoarsely. "It didn't work out. I'm supposed to say thank you for your being so kind and considerate, right?" His eyes narrowed to a glare as he continued to look at Peter. "You want me to bow down and say, 'thank you, your majesty' for your forgiveness?? Well I don't think so!"
Lucy sat up a little, and reached over to grab his wrist, saying, "Edmund, please..."
He threw off her hand and slammed down his fork, and stood up, resting his hands on the table. He hadn't even looked at Lucy, and kept his eyes on Peter. Peter was frowning now, with his arms crossed over his chest. It felt good to see him angry, too. To see him unhappy.
Edmund couldn't stop now. "I'm sick of you! I'm sick of your preening and your questions, your acting like you rule everything at home! Well, you know what? YOU DON'T! You're barely nineteen here in England, and I'm sick of all your bossing!"
"Excuse me -" Peter said, but Edmund cut him off. "I'm sick of your acting like I'm supposed to be so happy when you're happy with me! I'm not your subject who wants to please his master, you know! I'm not your DOG!"
They could hear the sound of the car coming up the driveway. Peter had his hands very tightly on his knife and fork now, and his cheeks were flushed pink. He was positively glaring at Edmund, and Edmund loved it. Yes. THIS was the reaction he wanted!
He continued raving, feeling a grim satisfaction from it. "You don't care what's been going on with me; you're just being nice because of Lucy!! I HATE IT! STOP pretending to be sympathetic, when really you're just curious to nose into my business!!"
Peter's face was flushed even more now, and he stood up suddenly, roaring, "I AM NOT! You're just too-"
Edmund slammed his fist on the table, and slammed it again when Susan opened her mouth to try and break this up. He felt his blood pumping fast in him now, and it felt good. He wished he'd yelled this much at Tom, but he hadn't wanted to appear the emotional fool. Yelling at Peter was different. So he said, "You know what, I'll TELL you what's been going on!!"
Susan was giving him a reproachful glare, Lucy looked curious, and Peter, oh he could see Peter was furious. Good. He'd be even more furious in a minute.
"I'll tell you, alright? So you can stop asking me about my letters, and you" he pointed at Susan, "Can stop coddling me! Okay? I met a bloke! He was great! He was so fucking great -"
"Language, Ed -" That was Susan.
"Fuck language! Let me finish! ...His name was Tom. He practically moved into my room, ‘cause I let him." Edmund felt a lump in his throat and swallowed it down, searching for words that would make Peter even angrier. Why not just tell the whole truth? Yeah. That would rile him up. He would be mad for days. Maybe even a week. Then maybe he'd avoid Edmund, too. That would be a relief.
He could see Peter opening his mouth to say something, and that only made him angrier. He finished quickly, almost shouting again, “We buggered all over town! He, he sent me all those letters, and now's he's buggering some red-haired bitch in London, okay? THERE! So you can all just leave me the hell alone!!"
He turned around and kicked his chair away from him, feeling anger and satisfaction simultaneously burning within him, hot air in his nose and another lump in his throat. Damn it.
Peter wouldn't let him go, after that. Of course. Edmund half wanted to storm out and half wanted to stay, so he walked a little slow, and before he was in the hallway Peter marched up from behind and grabbed his shoulder, whirling him around. Peter had bright red spots high in his cheeks, and his usually peaceful blue eyes seemed like they might shoot sparks. His hair was even messed, a rarity. He held Edmund down with his other hand on Edmund's other shoulder, and then it seemed he couldn't stand to touch Edmund, because he suddenly pushed him away.
"What were you thinking, Edmund." His fury was unusually quiet today. Edmund wished he would at least scream. "How could you...you...with a boy! Did you even think?! Did you even use your brain at all?" Peter's voice was rising now and he had his hands curled like talons, as if he'd like to shake Edmund or tear him apart.
"I can't believe this! All the trouble I go to- to help mum, and raise you right, and then you go off and -! WHY are you so ungrateful?! I'm trying my hardest I can with work and school, with Narnia feeling so far away and -"
"Don't you try to get my sympathy! You won't get it! You never get it! You never get me!! Here you are talking about yourself and all your troubles again, and ignoring everything I just said!!"
"I'M NOT IGNORING IT! How could I ignore it?? You put yourself out like some sort of - of - cheap thing, and, w-with some strange boy no less -"
"HE WAS NOT STRANGE! What are you suggesting? Just because I went and buggered some boy, I'm strange? I'm dirty now? I'm a sinner? You're going to throw your righteousness in my face, aren't you? Have I sullied your conscience? Are you going to throw me out because I'm not your brother anymore just because I looked for someone who'd give me an ounce of love and respect -"
"Don't!" Peter held one finger up, and he was so close now that his spit landed on Edmund's chin. His voice shook with fury as he said quietly, seething, "Don't you go saying that I have no love and respect for you. I do. I just wish you would listen sometimes. Then you wouldn't have had to go and look for it in some - some gross -”
Edmund shoved Peter's hand out of his face and turned his back to him. "Forget it. I'm tired of you."
He stormed down the hall, and made sure to slam the door as hard as he could, and lock it. When his mum came by later, he ignored her, and pretended to be asleep.
* * * * *
Peter's POV

Peter had resolved that he would not speak to Edmund. He just couldn't. Every time he even looked at his brother, it all came up again inside him. He was furious. He was hurt. But the feeling that he hated most in himself was his jealousy.
Peter was jealous of this boy, Tom. It was a feeling that he absolutely hated, and he felt it very rarely. As Susan often remonstrated, Peter thought too highly of himself. But he didn't think of it like that. Peter's philosophy was that if he did not try his best at everything, then how could he be happy with himself? And if he was happy with himself, then he could help others, specifically, he could take care of his siblings.
Their mother was an ailing, tired woman, who had never been able to shake off her husband's death. The times they were away at the Professor’s - spending time in Narnia - had not helped her to become stronger. Instead, she pressed further in on herself, like a turtle wanting its shell. When Peter was younger, this had hurt his feelings, but age had made him realize that his mother didn't do it on purpose. She didn't want to hurt any of them. She just couldn't handle the world anymore.
So Peter took it on himself to take care of his siblings. And he thought he did a good job of it, usually. Edmund was always the kink in the pattern, though.
Edmund. It had been a while ago - years, now - that Peter had started to take extra notice of his brother. Peter’s body was older in Narnia, but in England, it was full of hormones and teenage frustration. This whole thing had started in Narnia, anyway, when he’d gone through the teenager thing the first time. He loved his brother, as any older brother should, but...there was more.
It was the way his stomach felt like it flipped sometimes, when Edmund laughed. It was the way he had tried hard, in Narnia, to lay off and just let his brother be. It was watching Edmund take up the part of a king, and grow as a person. At least in Narnia, Edmund was more responsible, he was less moody, and he seemed wholly capable of a number of things without needing Peter's help at all. And it was so good to watch him grow like that...but Peter watched him too much. He knew it. Tumnus had seen it. Lucy would have seen it, except Tumnus distracted her. Susan had been occupied in her own romances, dancing with various princes, except she could never decide on which one was the one.
Peter, the more he watched Edmund, knew that his heart had already decided. Edmund was his. Edmund was the one for him. But his mind refused to accept it. They were brothers! So he told his heart to shut up, and tried to focus on the work of being a king. At night though, as he lay alone, he longed for the warmth of someone beside him, and Edmund's smiling face swam into his mind.
And then there was his body. His betraying, awful body. He remembered wishing he could only switch bodies, or become bespelled by some beautiful nymph, and then it would all be alright. He had found himself watching the way his brother moved during sword practice with others. His brother's body was becoming taller, and adding on muscle. Twice, now, Peter had dealt with the agony of seeing Edmund grow into his body and become quite handsome.
Edmund had always been shorter than Peter, and moved more clumsily. Now, he was still shorter than Peter, but he had muscle definition in his arms and his chest, his shoulders were broader, and his voice had deepened to a silky, sensual cadence. Although he wouldn't ever be as graceful as Peter, he was quick in battle, and at home he had the slow, swaying gait of a cheetah.
Peter liked the way Edmund would run his fingers through his thick, dark hair when he was frustrated or trying to figure something out. The wavy tendrils that Edmund sometimes let grow a little long would become wild. Edmund's hazel eyes seemed to turn colors with his moods, darker when he was angry and capturing light when he was happy. He had a full mouth that a nymph had once told Peter was "like freshly squeezed berries," and his jaw was chiseled and smooth.
The betraying body that Peter had gotten so used to denying - and trying to fulfill occasionally with kisses from various nymphs and princesses, which always failed - wanted Edmund. It wanted Edmund's mouth to kiss. It wanted Edmund's body to twine around his own and hold and lick and caress. When he heard of Tom, his brain seemed to leave all rationality behind. He'd found himself yelling back at Edmund, even though he'd told himself not to. Usually Peter was a master of self control and sacrifice. He should have let Edmund yell and then leave; he shouldn't have fed Edmund's moodiness and temper.
But he'd felt jealousy crawling into him, dark and slimy, and she whispered angry words in Peter's ear, which he had repeated in their argument. At night, she fed his imagination images of his brother naked and hard, gasping under the body of another boy, or Edmund moaning as the same ominous figure, dark and unnaturally large in Peter's dreams, feasted his lips and tongue on Edmund's cock.
The hurt was easier to let it just flow in him. He hadn't liked hearing that Edmund was tired of him, or that Edmund thought he was too controlling. Edmund just didn't understand what it was like to be the older brother - the parent, really - with all the responsibility. All Edmund had to take care of was school; Peter had to take care of himself and everybody else. It was not an easy task, and not one he always relished. Edmund made sure of that.
The fury he felt was for his own self more than Edmund; he was furious at himself for being so bristling with jealousy. That had made him lose his self control and rise to Edmund's anger; usually, it was easier to let go. The jealousy made it impossible for him to let it go this time, though.
Peter tried to shut jealousy out, and just focus on work and school. He drove for long hours on the weekend, letting the wind tousle his hair, and enjoying the brisk winter breeze. He even found himself lying in the snow one afternoon and returned home sopping wet. When Susan asked him how he'd gotten like that, he said simply, "I just stepped outside a little," and when he saw Edmund in a corner staring at him from over a book, he resolutely looked away.
Edmund, Peter was sure, was still fuming. After all, he'd given Edmund the impression that he was absolutely disgusted with Edmund, for buggering around with some boy. And Peter was. But he knew this made no sense, because he'd thought of buggering Edmund himself, a few times. These were the times where he lost control in the middle of the night after a wild dream, or when he had the bath tub to himself and was feeling discontent. He went out with friends one night, and tried to drown all of his feelings for Edmund in drink and girls. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it. But all he had left the next morning at his friend's place was a headache and a phone number he would never call.
Being with a girl was wholly different than buggering another boy, being buggered by another boy, or even touching or thinking of another boy like that, in Peter's opinion. He wished fiercely now, sitting in his room attempting to do homework, that he could at least be satisfied and pleased with just any boy, as Edmund was. But every time he even considered going out with one, or kissing one, his entire self seemed to recoil. It wasn't that he wanted boys. He just wanted Edmund.
Three days of successfully ignoring Edmund - with an explanation to his mother that consisted of three words, "Had a fight," - and Peter felt no better. He looked up as a knock came to his door, and lunged up to help the person struggling on the other side with the stuck handle. He needed a distraction now.
He wrenched it open, and to his simultaneous relief and disappointment, it was Lucy.
"How's the work going?" She smiled at him. Peter smiled back. Lucy was one of those people that was so good at noticing things. She always knew what was going on with each of them (and often had to explain it to one of them. But she had stopped trying this, as of late, with Peter and Edmund. Peter wasn't sure why. He supposed angry teenage boys were a little intimidating, even to their fourteen year old sister).
She walked in behind him, and Peter flopped onto the bed and pushed the chair up for her with his foot. He wondered why she was carrying a cup of tea on a tray, and why she hadn't brought any for herself.
"Homework is going alright. You?"
Lucy smiled. "I'm not working. I finished mine yesterday. I'm reading one of Susan's books."
Peter sat up. "Uh oh. Which of Susan's books?"
She laughed. "Don't worry, I'm not reading the dirty ones that she hides from you that I know you harassed her about last year…back when she used to read and not just do makeup.” Lucy sighed.
Peter smiled, and said again, “Which of Susan’s books?” He didn’t want to open up again the troubles between Susan and Lucy…trouble with Edmund was far worse than Susan’s vanity, in his opinion.
She brightened, saying, “I'm just reading the classics. Jane Eyre, Austen, and that sort..."
"Oh. Good." He frowned at the thought of Susan's books (but at least she wasn't fantasizing about other girls, or her brother; her appetite was normal). Then he scooted himself up more on the bed to sit closer to Lucy.
"Um, why the tea?"
She looked at it, and then back at him. "Well...I thought maybe...if you brought it in to Edmund, he just might take it. It might help things a little."
Peter looked at her, and then looked at the tea cup. It was such a little thing. How would that help? Sighing, he looked back at Lucy and said, "I doubt it. He'll probably just throw it in my face, if he even lets me in his room."
Lucy looked at him intently. She sat back, crossing one leg over the other and her arms across her chest, copying him. Then, with one of those impish Lucy smiles, she said, "Look, just try it, won't you? I mean, did you ever think that maybe...he's tired of you being angry with him?"
Peter scowled. "It's only been a few days. How'm I supposed to forgive him that quick? Plus...he seemed to enjoy it when we were yelling at each other."
"Yes, but that was then, and he was in a mood. You know how he is. He just wanted to spread his gloom. Now, he might be feeling different."
Seeing his doubtful expression, Lucy hopped out of her chair, saying, "Well, just you try it. Please. Susan and I are going out to do errands with mum; we'll be back in a few hours. You two have a go. If you yell more, it can't be worse than right now, can it?"
He half scowled at that, as she walked to the door. "Don't jinx it, Lu!"
She laughed, and shut the door behind her.
Peter lay back on his bed, legs crossed, one foot jiggling. He stared at the tea for a while. It was a peace offering. It was humbling himself before his brother. Ed might like that. But Ed still thought that Peter was sickened by him, when the fact could be no further from the truth. It was the opposite...he shuddered, trying to fend off wayward daydreams of Edmund, and fought his way back to reality. He listened attentively to the sounds of the women of the house leaving, and when he heard the car drive away, he got off the bed.
Then he sat back down. He sat there for a minute or two, or three, and stared at the tea cup. He hoped Lucy had remembered that Edmund liked tons of sugar in his. Ah, what the hell. It was the thought that counted, wasn't it?
Resolutely, trying to ignore his lurking doubts, Peter picked up the tray with the teacup sitting in the middle, and opened his door quietly. It was a trick only he knew how to do, and for some reason, he felt like if he were quiet, then Edmund would be quiet, too. No more yelling, he resolved. I will not yell! Even if he yells at me, I'll take it calmly. And if he yells at me for that, I'll...I'll...
He walked down the hall and paused in front of Edmund's door. Holding back a sigh, he lifted his hand to knock. Then he stopped, because he noticed the door was already open a crack.
Now what? Had Edmund done this on purpose to invite him in? Was he out? These days his door was always closed, whether he was in or out, though. So he was definitely in...
Peter could hear a heavy breathing coming from in the room, and wondered if maybe Edmund was asleep. Then he heard something like a groan, and thought, he's definitely asleep. Maybe not having a great time of it, but still, asleep. I can leave the tea by his bed and tell him it was from me later, and then if he's actually not angry with me anymore, and realizes I'm not mad at him, he'll approach me later. Then he'll feel like he initiated the make-up and feel good about it.
He put his hand on the doorknob, and pushed just a little. With both hands on the tray, he pushed into the room, and paused to steel himself for what could be Edmund's anger, if he wasn't actually asleep.
Edmund wasn't angry...but nor was he asleep? Peter studied the strange bedcover-y shape on the bed. Edmund had his knees up and the bedcovers pulled up to his chin, but then there was a movement beneath the covers and, when Peter took a step into the room he looked closer at Edmund's face.
Then he realized what Edmund was doing, and swallowed hard. His brother was coiled in the sheets, lying on his back. His head was thrown back against the pillow, dark hair splayed about. That sensuous mouth the nymph had admired was open and panting. Occasionally he let out a moan or a grunt. His eyes were shut, with his long eyelashes curving delicately on his flushed cheeks. Peter could see the shape of his chest rising and falling quickly beneath the sheet, and lower, somewhere in the vicinity between his chest and his upward-pointing knees, was a repeated movement that shook the covers...
Peter licked his lips, unable to take his eyes away. He clenched his teeth and held the tray with shaking hands, as he heard his brother groan in what was clearly pleasure. The movement behind the cover changed, and he saw Edmund slide one foot down the bed, until it hit the footboard with a ‘thunk.’ Peter wondered what his fingers were doing, how he was playing with himself…
Was he pressing hard, or sliding his fingers gently against the smooth, sensitive underside of his cock? Were his hands shaking? Did he like it rough, like Peter did, and ever use his fingernails? Peter bet he did. Maybe Edmund was fisting himself, and drawing his grip up and down his hard length...He was moaning more now, and his foot had pulled the bedcovers down, so that now Peter could see his chest. His senses told him, with no protest from his brain - it had disappeared sometime between two of Edmund's loud sounds - that he wanted that bed sheet to be pulled down further, and he hoped Edmund was naked.
The nymph had had no idea how delicious Edmund was besides his red, red mouth. He was like a female Snow White, it occurred to Peter, with his dark hair, that mouth, and his pale skin...But Edmund was more gorgeous a sight to Peter than any girl. He had muscled arms now, and his erect nipples were a dusky rose color. The sight of them, with his chest heaving, made Peter want to lick them. In fact, he wouldn't mind licking Edmund all over...he had done that with women, but the sight before him made him long for sex in a way he hadn't in a long while. Sex had been a way of venting frustration, not a joy; but this, this made him sure that he wanted to experience its joy.
Edmund had abandoned all signs of scrawniness or unhealthy pallor; now his torso was hardened from sword practice. From what Peter was seeing, he could tell Edmund had voracious appetite. He himself was never this loud when he was playing with himself. Peter wondered what Edmund's roommates at school thought, because he had a feeling Edmund was a screamer...the thought made him almost make a sound himself, and he clenched his teeth so hard it hurt.
When the movement beneath the sheets changed again, faster, a whimper came from Edmund's mouth, begging. Peter's jaw dropped open, and then he closed it, feeling saliva gather over his tongue. His shoulders were strained with tension now, and he felt like all of his blood was going south. He could feel his body heating up from what he was watching, and the sudden, painful throb below his belt confirmed that he was very aroused. He didn't dare let go of the tray even with one hand, for fear of dropping it.
His brother swore, and then he sat up a little, licking his lips. Now his head hung low, and his hand moved faster, and then with a moan it was obvious he was coming, and Peter felt his throat tighten up so much he thought he would choke, as he imagined his brother's body beneath the sheets. The heat, the stream from that hard length, the tightening thigh muscles...Peter gripped the tray harder, and that was when the tea cup slid loudly across it. He saved it from falling with a finger, his brain almost too numb to do it but too embarrassed, suddenly, to do anything else.
He felt his ears redden and his face, too, as Edmund turned to look at him. The darker boy swore again and shuffled under his blankets. Then he sat up straight, exclaiming shakily, "What're you doing in here?!"
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More coming soon! Please tell me what you think. I've never written these two before...
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Not My Cup of Tea