Caspian/Peter
After the Fight
Peter/Caspian.
NC17
Written both for a prompt here and for iscaris who wanted Caspian on his knees.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
He wasn’t a child - he knew the cost of war. He’d seen that better than anyone. But he also knew that losing half his men in one failed attack was completely unacceptable and that if fucking Caspian had done what he was supposed to do then maybe some of those men and beasts would still be alive.
The thick stone of the how muffled the sound of his boots and he wanted to stamp harder, wanted to hear the bang of each step, wanted to warn Caspian that he was coming. That he was furious.
Their brief fight on the way back had done nothing to cool his temper. It had stoked his rage. How dare this untrained boy question his orders. He was High King Peter the Magnificent and it would do well for Caspian to remember that. That Telmarine had no right to rule Narnia. It was his Narnia and it had all gone to ruin.
When he turned the corner and Caspian was standing there, facing him, jaw set angrily to argue back again, Peter hit him, hard, pain jolting up his arm as his knuckles collided with Caspian’s jaw.
The prince stepped back, eyes narrowing and darkening, but before he could lash out back Peter pressed him face first to the wall. “Don’t speak, just listen. Listen!”
Caspian snarled into the rock pressed up against his face, but he didn’t speak. Peter pressed his shoulder hard against Caspian’s back, completely immobilizing him.
“This isn’t going to work,” he growled into Caspian’s ear, trying to take breaths, to make this stupid boy see. “If we are going to win this thing we have to do it as one force. That means you have to do as I say. Completely and with no reservations.”
He could feel Caspian shaking, see his hands clenched into angry fists against the wall. He removed his hand from the back of Caspian’s head, letting the prince turn slightly so that he could see him.
“Do you understand me?” Peter asked, his voice threateningly soft. “I am your king.”
Caspian nodded once, brief and sharp, and Peter stepped back, panting.
Caspian didn’t move, staying with his body pressed against the hewn stone. “I’ll do what you want,” he growled, his Telmarine accent slurring the words. “Just let me pay him back. He killed my father.” His face was turned half towards Peter, his other cheek resting against the wall.
“Miraz will pay,” Peter vowed. “And I will let you strike the final blow.”
Caspian’s eyes closed and his chin dropped.
“Then I will follow your orders… my king.” His voice was rough, as if hoarse from shouting.
Peter stood, arms crossed, and stared at Caspian as if his glare were pinning him to the wall. He had what he wanted now - Caspian’s promise - and yet his veins still boiled with rage. He shouldn’t have lost that battle - the castle ought to be in his hands this night. And it was still Caspian’s fault.
Caspian looked at him, and slowly began to turn from the wall.
“Don’t move!” Peter barked. “This isn’t over.”
Caspian’s eyes were hot and black. “I did what I thought was right, my king.” The emphasis on the final words was heavy, not with sarcasm, but with anger and with something else.
Peter grabbed the back of Caspian’s neck and turned his face away, back to the wall. “Who gave you the right to think at all?” he snarled into his ear.
He felt Caspian shudder at his words and a streak of satisfaction sizzled through him. Caspian would pay for his disobedience.
“Do you honestly think that you can break orders and not be punished?” Somewhere below his anger Peter was honestly surprised. He’d never been questioned - ignored - like this before. His siblings would defer to him in war, when it came down to the line. They might argue strategy in the safety of a war council, but on the battle field they obeyed their High King.
He realised his fingers were digging deep into the back of Caspian’s neck. There would be bruises under his hair tomorrow. Good, Peter thought. He needs to remember.
Caspian made a sound, and Peter wondered if he’d spoken out loud. The sound was a cross between a gasp and a whimper and it was laced with pain, but not fear.
Realisation hit Peter like a spear thrust to the chest and the red heat raging in his body surged until Peter is amazed that he’s not glowing.
“Are you enjoying this?” he growled, deep and rough, his breath gasping hot against Caspian’s ear.
Caspian groaned again, short and truncated as if he was trying to stay silent. His eyes were squeezed shut and his cheek pressed hard against the bare rock. Holding his right hand firmly where it was, fingers gripping tight against Caspian’s skin, Peter ran his left hand down Caspian’s side, feeling the quiver in his chest, the tremble in his thighs.
He stepped backwards, pulling Caspian away from the wall, flinging him down on his knees. Caspian remained there, fists balled on the floor, head down, his thick dark hair hiding his face.
“Look at me,” Peter ordered, and Caspian lifted his head. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes burned with resentment. Peter could hardly breathe, his chest was so tight he thought it would burst.
“Come here.” Caspian crawled towards him, eyes never leaving Peter’s face and Peter had to put his hand on the wall to steady himself.
He could see that Caspian was hard: the folds of his clothing were somehow wrong around his groin. And yet Caspian made no move to hide himself, but knelt silently where Peter had pointed, looking up at Peter, the anger in his eyes a contradiction to the shaky breaths he took through parted lips.
Somehow Peter kept his fingers from trembling as he unfastened his trousers. Caspian’s eyes never left his face but the red on his cheeks deepened.
“You will obey your king?” Peter whispered, heavily.
Caspian’s nod was slow, arrogant. His eyes dropped, unhurried, to where Peter’s hand was wrapped around his erection. “I will obey my king.” His accent was thick, like treacle.
Peter knew Caspian wouldn’t move without an instruction but words weren’t there. His mouth was dry and he couldn’t get enough air. Eventually he managed to gasp, “Now!” harshly, stepping forwards towards Caspian, holding himself out, wanting desperately.
Caspian’s mouth was sinfully hot and Peter had to remind himself to breathe as he watched himself disappear between those lips. Caspian moved as though sure of himself, firm and deliberate, his fists clenched at his hips until Peter told him he could move them. Then one wrapped tight in the hem of Peter’s tunic and the other, soon wet with his own saliva, wrapped around the base of Peter’s cock, squeezing and stroking. His eyes were closed and he was totally engrossed in his task. Occasionally his hips shuddered slightly as if he was trying to hold still, trying not to cant them forward in a vain attempt to give himself some friction.
Peter couldn’t have looked away for anything. Caspian’s fingers were dark against him, fondling and stroking, his lips were wet and red where they closed around Peter, sliding obscenely back and forth. Slowly, as if expecting to be told not to, his fingers explored further, tips grazing at Peter’s balls. Then, when not stopped, taking a firmer hold, rolling them against his fingers as he took in a much of Peter’s cock as possible.
Peter wanted it to last forever and at the same time he was desperate for more, pushing himself forwards, taking control of Caspian’s movements. The fingers on him were driving him mad and he couldn’t help his thrusts, the short sharp noises that came gasping from him. Then Caspian’s fingers tightened in his pubic hair and pulled and Peter was coming, his whole body shaking and he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying Caspian’s name.
Caspian swallowed, his tongue darting out to clean the come that his smeared across his cheek when Peter pulled away. He was looking at Peter, his eyes unreadable, and it was all Peter could do to keep looking back.
Caspian’s tongue slipped out again, to lick across his lower lip, almost in challenge. He knelt motionless, his unattended erection obvious, his breathing heavy though his swollen lips.
Peter fastened his trousers carefully, adjusting his tunic. “Remember I’m the High King,” he said forcefully as he turned to leave, careful not to look back.
He almost thought he heard the sound of a chuckle behind him.
Peter/Caspian.
NC17
Written both for a prompt here and for iscaris who wanted Caspian on his knees.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
He wasn’t a child - he knew the cost of war. He’d seen that better than anyone. But he also knew that losing half his men in one failed attack was completely unacceptable and that if fucking Caspian had done what he was supposed to do then maybe some of those men and beasts would still be alive.
The thick stone of the how muffled the sound of his boots and he wanted to stamp harder, wanted to hear the bang of each step, wanted to warn Caspian that he was coming. That he was furious.
Their brief fight on the way back had done nothing to cool his temper. It had stoked his rage. How dare this untrained boy question his orders. He was High King Peter the Magnificent and it would do well for Caspian to remember that. That Telmarine had no right to rule Narnia. It was his Narnia and it had all gone to ruin.
When he turned the corner and Caspian was standing there, facing him, jaw set angrily to argue back again, Peter hit him, hard, pain jolting up his arm as his knuckles collided with Caspian’s jaw.
The prince stepped back, eyes narrowing and darkening, but before he could lash out back Peter pressed him face first to the wall. “Don’t speak, just listen. Listen!”
Caspian snarled into the rock pressed up against his face, but he didn’t speak. Peter pressed his shoulder hard against Caspian’s back, completely immobilizing him.
“This isn’t going to work,” he growled into Caspian’s ear, trying to take breaths, to make this stupid boy see. “If we are going to win this thing we have to do it as one force. That means you have to do as I say. Completely and with no reservations.”
He could feel Caspian shaking, see his hands clenched into angry fists against the wall. He removed his hand from the back of Caspian’s head, letting the prince turn slightly so that he could see him.
“Do you understand me?” Peter asked, his voice threateningly soft. “I am your king.”
Caspian nodded once, brief and sharp, and Peter stepped back, panting.
Caspian didn’t move, staying with his body pressed against the hewn stone. “I’ll do what you want,” he growled, his Telmarine accent slurring the words. “Just let me pay him back. He killed my father.” His face was turned half towards Peter, his other cheek resting against the wall.
“Miraz will pay,” Peter vowed. “And I will let you strike the final blow.”
Caspian’s eyes closed and his chin dropped.
“Then I will follow your orders… my king.” His voice was rough, as if hoarse from shouting.
Peter stood, arms crossed, and stared at Caspian as if his glare were pinning him to the wall. He had what he wanted now - Caspian’s promise - and yet his veins still boiled with rage. He shouldn’t have lost that battle - the castle ought to be in his hands this night. And it was still Caspian’s fault.
Caspian looked at him, and slowly began to turn from the wall.
“Don’t move!” Peter barked. “This isn’t over.”
Caspian’s eyes were hot and black. “I did what I thought was right, my king.” The emphasis on the final words was heavy, not with sarcasm, but with anger and with something else.
Peter grabbed the back of Caspian’s neck and turned his face away, back to the wall. “Who gave you the right to think at all?” he snarled into his ear.
He felt Caspian shudder at his words and a streak of satisfaction sizzled through him. Caspian would pay for his disobedience.
“Do you honestly think that you can break orders and not be punished?” Somewhere below his anger Peter was honestly surprised. He’d never been questioned - ignored - like this before. His siblings would defer to him in war, when it came down to the line. They might argue strategy in the safety of a war council, but on the battle field they obeyed their High King.
He realised his fingers were digging deep into the back of Caspian’s neck. There would be bruises under his hair tomorrow. Good, Peter thought. He needs to remember.
Caspian made a sound, and Peter wondered if he’d spoken out loud. The sound was a cross between a gasp and a whimper and it was laced with pain, but not fear.
Realisation hit Peter like a spear thrust to the chest and the red heat raging in his body surged until Peter is amazed that he’s not glowing.
“Are you enjoying this?” he growled, deep and rough, his breath gasping hot against Caspian’s ear.
Caspian groaned again, short and truncated as if he was trying to stay silent. His eyes were squeezed shut and his cheek pressed hard against the bare rock. Holding his right hand firmly where it was, fingers gripping tight against Caspian’s skin, Peter ran his left hand down Caspian’s side, feeling the quiver in his chest, the tremble in his thighs.
He stepped backwards, pulling Caspian away from the wall, flinging him down on his knees. Caspian remained there, fists balled on the floor, head down, his thick dark hair hiding his face.
“Look at me,” Peter ordered, and Caspian lifted his head. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes burned with resentment. Peter could hardly breathe, his chest was so tight he thought it would burst.
“Come here.” Caspian crawled towards him, eyes never leaving Peter’s face and Peter had to put his hand on the wall to steady himself.
He could see that Caspian was hard: the folds of his clothing were somehow wrong around his groin. And yet Caspian made no move to hide himself, but knelt silently where Peter had pointed, looking up at Peter, the anger in his eyes a contradiction to the shaky breaths he took through parted lips.
Somehow Peter kept his fingers from trembling as he unfastened his trousers. Caspian’s eyes never left his face but the red on his cheeks deepened.
“You will obey your king?” Peter whispered, heavily.
Caspian’s nod was slow, arrogant. His eyes dropped, unhurried, to where Peter’s hand was wrapped around his erection. “I will obey my king.” His accent was thick, like treacle.
Peter knew Caspian wouldn’t move without an instruction but words weren’t there. His mouth was dry and he couldn’t get enough air. Eventually he managed to gasp, “Now!” harshly, stepping forwards towards Caspian, holding himself out, wanting desperately.
Caspian’s mouth was sinfully hot and Peter had to remind himself to breathe as he watched himself disappear between those lips. Caspian moved as though sure of himself, firm and deliberate, his fists clenched at his hips until Peter told him he could move them. Then one wrapped tight in the hem of Peter’s tunic and the other, soon wet with his own saliva, wrapped around the base of Peter’s cock, squeezing and stroking. His eyes were closed and he was totally engrossed in his task. Occasionally his hips shuddered slightly as if he was trying to hold still, trying not to cant them forward in a vain attempt to give himself some friction.
Peter couldn’t have looked away for anything. Caspian’s fingers were dark against him, fondling and stroking, his lips were wet and red where they closed around Peter, sliding obscenely back and forth. Slowly, as if expecting to be told not to, his fingers explored further, tips grazing at Peter’s balls. Then, when not stopped, taking a firmer hold, rolling them against his fingers as he took in a much of Peter’s cock as possible.
Peter wanted it to last forever and at the same time he was desperate for more, pushing himself forwards, taking control of Caspian’s movements. The fingers on him were driving him mad and he couldn’t help his thrusts, the short sharp noises that came gasping from him. Then Caspian’s fingers tightened in his pubic hair and pulled and Peter was coming, his whole body shaking and he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying Caspian’s name.
Caspian swallowed, his tongue darting out to clean the come that his smeared across his cheek when Peter pulled away. He was looking at Peter, his eyes unreadable, and it was all Peter could do to keep looking back.
Caspian’s tongue slipped out again, to lick across his lower lip, almost in challenge. He knelt motionless, his unattended erection obvious, his breathing heavy though his swollen lips.
Peter fastened his trousers carefully, adjusting his tunic. “Remember I’m the High King,” he said forcefully as he turned to leave, careful not to look back.
He almost thought he heard the sound of a chuckle behind him.