Fic: Please

Aug. 2nd, 2010 10:05 am
[personal profile] gmtaslash
Title: Please
Author: Trojie
Beta: Bridget
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
Pairing: Edmund/Caspian
Rating: NC-17
Notes/Summary: Angst over the possibly-imminent end of the voyage and therefore the possibly-imminent separation of Our Heroes. Mild orgasm-denial. Sex. Y'know.

'Just ... don't, all right?' is all Edmund says, and there's no pleading, nothing but iron control and studious intent in his voice, but Caspian knows what he means.

Don't. Don't let this night be over. Don't let this voyage be over. Don't ever stop. Don't leave me.

Every last night on every island has been like this so far. Every island could be the last, every night. Every night, they die a little, every night they say goodbye.

Edmund pores over Caspian's body like he's a map to be memorised, like every muscle's edge is a mountain pass and every trickle of sweat a river to follow out to sea, but he never touches where Caspian would like him to, never traces his hands in compass-arcs to the logical destination, and eventually Caspian must yield to his impulses or be killed by cartography.

But even with tables turned and Edmund lithe and sinewy in his lap, up against the headboard of a bed far too luxurious after nights in hammocks gilded with sweat and salt, Caspian is somehow still not allowed to touch.

'Please,' he says, only for the word to be kissed out of his mouth. Edmund holds his hands away from both of their bodies, allows only accidental touches of knees and elbows.

'Don't,' he says, with all its meanings, and sucks a bruise below Caspian's collarbone, shifts until he straddles his thighs, trapping him. 'Don't want to sleep tonight,' he mumbles, licking and biting.

'You infuriate me,' Caspian points out, winkling a hand free and threading his fingers through Edmund's hair, gone shaggy after all these weeks, before it can be grabbed again. Edmund relaxes against the scratch of fingernails on his scalp. Caspian's proud of his ability to get out words like 'infuriate' when his vocal chords are desperate to moan, when his breath catches in his chest. 'Edmund, please-'

And just like that, like Magic, a blessed hand settles around him where he needs it most, and that moan can come to the surface, but it's still not enough ... 'Edmund.'

'Hush,' Edmund commands, and strokes delicate and slow, and kisses him. 'Not yet.'

They are sweet kisses, and light, and Caspian entertains the thought of throwing Edmund up against the wall and ravishing him like he'd done at the beginning of the voyage, at the beginning when they were young and stupid.

Two weeks ago, it was. So much has changed in so little time, except for the urgency of this.

As if Edmund senses the direction of his thoughts, he smiles against Caspian's mouth. 'Don't make me tie you up,' he teases, and sits back up.

And doesn't that just send a delicious frisson down Caspian's spine and ... other places. 'Don't make me beg,' he counters.

Edmund relents, and opens Caspian up after that little chat, but he waits until he has Caspian writhing, one heel scrabbling for grip against the bedsheets, before taking himself in hand and then in. He bites his lip white as he does so, fingers twisted tight in the same sheets Caspian couldn't find purchase on, and the sight of his face like that is enough to have Caspian reaching desperately for himself only to be batted breathlessly away.

'Don't.'

Caspian would never whine, but he feels driven almost to it now, a heartfelt sound caught in his throat, because he wants, he wants this and this moment and this person and this feeling, and he wants it all to never end but mostly, wherever this is going, he wants Edmund to go there with him, doesn't want his lover's desperate cataloguing and saving and remembering to stop him being here at this moment and in this moment, here with Caspian.

'...Edmund.' It's all he can say, all he can think of, just the name, just the person sweating above him to make this last.

When the tidal roll of Edmund's hips speeds up to match the tick of the clock in the corner and then to the speed of their laboured breathing, he shoves his forehead into the crook of Caspian's shoulder, and arches up so he doesn't touch. Caspian is aching now, lifting his hips and panting.

'Not yet,' Edmund is saying again, strained, but he must be able to feel Caspian's desperation, and he scrabbles for Caspian's wrists to hold him down again. 'Please hold on, come on, just a little, just a little, hold on-'

'I- I ...' Caspian is gone now, no more dancing round it, no more thought, just Edmund. He's running before the wind now, the bed rocking like it's caught in the teeth of a gale.

'Yeah,' Edmund is saying now, finally, finally, 'Yeah, now, come on-'

Caspian doesn't remember it, when it comes. He remembers the gasp, the feeling behind his eyes, the feel of Edmund's forehead against his, and he feels like he's woken up, afterwards.

'Sorry,' Edmund says, and he has the good grace to look sheepish as he peels himself out and away. He leaves Caspian feeling cold and lost, and sits on the edge of the bed, gingerly trying to clean himself off with the corner of a sheet. He's pale in the half-dark, the contrast leaching the shipboard tan from his freckled shoulders. Caspian rolls over and cuddles himself behind Edmund, reaching for the sheet as well.

'What for?' he asks, although he knows what Edmund is apologising for. He doesn't care, though. He feels, has always felt, that Edmund deserves to be a little selfish in bed.

'You know what for.' Edmund turns back, meets Caspian's eyes frankly. 'I'm sorry, Caspian. I just ... there's no excuse, I know, but sometimes I feel like ...'

'I want it to last as well,' Caspian points out, trusting Edmund will know he's not just talking of their time between the sheets.

'I'm still sorry.'

Caspian sighs and takes Edmund's hand. 'Don't be,' he says as he pulls him into an embrace, maybe, again, for the last time.
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