Fic: "Emotion in Motion"
Title: Emotion in Motion
Authors: aella_irene and bedlamsbard
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Incest. Underage sex. (13/15)
Summary: Inappropriate relations with inappropriate relations in inappropriate situations. Jack/Helen, first-time.
Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia and its characters, situations, settings, etc., belong to C.S. Lewis. Some characters, settings, situations, etc., belong to Walden Media. Title from Mae West: "Sex is emotion in motion."
Helen grabs the front of Jack's tunic and shakes him -- maybe a little harder than necessary, but at the moment she doesn't particularly care. "He's all right?" she demands. "Dickie's all right? You're sure?"
Jack's teeth clack together while she shakes him; he makes no attempt to stop her. "I can feel his broken arm," he says, "so 'all right' is perhaps not entirely accurate, but it means that at least he's not dead --"
"Oh, thank Aslan," Helen says, and kisses him.
He stands absolutely still for a moment, then slowly, carefully, slides his fingers into her hair, and kisses back. He's a very thorough kisser, she notes distantly, very methodical.
"Helen," he says slowly, pulling away after a moment. "Are you --"
She doesn't know how he was planning to end that particular question, but however it was, she's sure she doesn't care, and she pulls him back in again. His hands flail desperately for a moment, then land on her waist, and she becomes abruptly aware of how long his fingers are. For the moment, Helen still has height and weight on him, so she backs him up against the wall of the stable, Jack stumbling a little before he finds his footing.
He tugs at her shirt, pulling it out of her breeches, and moving his hands under it, tracing circles on her skin. Helen moans in a distinctly embarassing fashion, and starts unbuttoning his shirt from the bottom up, scraping her fingernails gently up his chest.
"Have you ever done this before?" she whispers against the soft skin of his jaw, feeling strangely possessive of him. She's not entirely certain what her reaction will be if the answer is "yes."
"No," Jack says breathily, his hands shaking a little as they brush against her breasts.
"That makes two of us," she says, and kisses him again. His hands are tentative, and she brings her own up to cover them, to show him the few things she knows she likes. He catches on quickly, squeezing gently, and kissing her neck, and she moves her hands down, to his breeches.
"Aslan," he whispers, "oh, Aslan," as she undoes the buttons one by one. "Helen --"
"Sh," she says, and kisses him on the mouth, swallowing his groan as she lets her fingers slip inside.
He is hot, and heavy, and slightly damp against her fingers- though that could just as easily be the sweat she's sure is springing up on her palms. She wraps her fingers around him, and he shudders.
"Helen," he breathes again, voice breaking in the middle of her name, and his hands have stilled on her breasts.
Her own voice is shaking slightly, to her embarrassment, as she says, "Tell me -- tell me if this is...all right."
"Oh, Aslan, yes," he groans, and thrusts, gently, into her hand. She takes a breath, and then moves her hand, slowly, looking into his eyes, trying to divine what he likes.
The answer to that, apparently, is 'everything'.
"Helen," he says again. "Helen. Maybe we should -- oh, Aslan." He presses a messy, off-center kiss to the edge of her mouth, and Helen smiles, can't help doing so.
Given what she remembers Alix and Gauzia telling her, it's really kind of amazing that Jack possesses the presence of mind to say, brokenly, "You --"
"Same thing," she breathes against his mouth, considers a moment, and flops ungracefully onto the straw. He follows, kissing her neck and her breasts, rubbing against her, then, shakily, starts unbuttoning her breeches.
The sword-calluses when he draws his hands up the inside of her thighs are fucking amazing, Helen decides, twisting to get the remainder of her shirt off. She puts her hands beneath his, pulls it over his head -- he ducks his head so she can do so -- and tosses it blindly aside.
"You're hot," Jack murmurs, sounding amazed as his fingers brush against her, and Helen hisses.
He slides one finger in, slowly, and she can't help but whimper, because it feels incredible.
"Are you-" he says, "You aren't-"
It takes a moment for her to realise what he means, and she has to lick her lips before she can speak.
"Probably not," she says, "With the riding, and the swordplay."
"But not," he swallows, "er. Jos?"
"I told you," Helen says, hearing the slight whine in her voice. "I haven't -- done this. Before."
"All right," and his voice is a bare whisper against her breasts, making her shiver.
"Your faith in me is reassuring," she mutters, recovering enough to be sarcastic, and then he moves his finger, and she melts into a puddle of desire.
"Um," he says, breath puffing against her neck, "Do you want to, um."
"Yes," she gasps, "Yes, I want to-"
And then he's inside her. It hurts, but not very badly, and the pain lasts only for a few seconds. Still, she can't help but whimper, and he looks down at her, worried.
"Are you alright?"
"Alix said that's supposed to happen," Helen says shakily. She reaches tentatively to slide her hands up the line of his back, feeling each knob of his spine, and feels Jack shudder.
"What now?" he asks, and Aslan and Calla Macha and Tethys, she can't tell if he's joking or serious.
"You move," she says, and wriggles her hips, tentatively. He groans, so she does it again, feeling warmth start spreading in her pelvis.
"Helen" he shouts, and comes, collapsing on top of her.
Helen's first thought is alarm: oh, Aslan, did I break him?. She tightens her grip on his shoulders and shakes him, which feels...interesting, to say the least. "Jack? Jack?"
"Mpmphblg," he says into her neck, or some approximation of it, anyway, and Helen frantically tries to remember if this is supposed to happen or not.
She thinks so, but she was rather drunk by the time Alix and Gauzia got to that part of the explanation.
"Jack?" she tries again, and he gathers himself enough to kiss her neck.
"'m fine," he mutters, "You?"
"Fine," she says, which is truthful insofar as it goes- she's not in any actual pain, but she thinks her legs are about to start going numb, and there's straw poking into her back.
Also, she's a little annoyed. She's reasonably certain there's meant to be more happening than this. "Roll over," she orders. "You're heavy. Have you been getting into the Beavers' sweets again?"
"Mmph," he says, which isn't any kind of answer, but he does eventually roll over.
After a moment he says, "Did you-"
"No, I did not."
"Oh."
He puts a tentative hand on her belly, and trails his fingers downwards. She can't help the hiss that escapes her as he reaches a particularly sensitive spot, and he stops.
"Don't stop," she gasps.
He moves his fingers a little, enough to make her hiss again, and glances up at her, his expression one of total concentration. "Do you like --"
"Yes," Helen says fiercely, the end of the word breaking off in a long sibilant hiss as he puts a finger -- two -- inside her, where she's still damp with his seed. He crooks them a little and she says, "Oh," arching up into his hand.
He does it again, and leans over to kiss her breasts. Helen whimpers, and he catches one nipple- very gently- between his teeth, tugging ever so slightly. She feels hot, and entirely unlike herself, every movement producing unfamiliar sensations, until Jack moves up to kiss her neck.
"So beautiful," he whispers, and twists his hand, and suddenly she feels as if she's falling, or flying, as sparks go off behind her suddenly closed eyelids.
"Oh," Helen says dreamily a little while later, when she's sensible enough to talk again. Jack's managed to spread their shirts over them as some protection from the slight chill that still lingers in the air and Helen lets herself pretend that this, this moment, is their whole world, that there's nothing outside of it and them at all. There's less light filtering in the high, arched windows now; it's been -- it seems like a long time since the news came that the fleet had lost Dickie's ship.
Jack is curled against her shoulder, the way he and Dickie used to climb into her bed when they were children, but he raises his head at her voice, his expression suddenly wary in the dim light. "Helen?" he says tentatively. "Are you --"
"I'm wonderful," she says, and leans over to kiss him again.
The illusion of solitude is broken when Azaeli pokes her nose in the door, and says, "They're starting up again."
Helen sits up.
"When did you get here?"
"I've been here since before you began," Azaeli tells her kindly, "I've even looked in a few times, not that you would have noticed if the High King your father was holding a Military Review in here."
Helen is uneasily conscious of a flush creeping up her breats.
"You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" Jack asks.
"Not unless we have to," Cerveris says, pushing in next to her, "But next time, could you possibly arrange to do it in a bed? Or a more out of the way store cupboard? It's been very uncomfortable sitting out here and listening, and heading people off."
Jack has gone bright scarlet and -- bastard! -- can only make a faint squeaking sound in reply. Helen reaches for his hand and grips it tightly. "Thank you for -- going above and beyond the call of duty," she says at last, which seems like the sort of thing her father would say in this sort of situation. Not that the High King Peter ever gets caught in this sort of situation. Oh, gods, she doesn't want to think about Papa in this sort of situation.
"Not really," Cerveris says. "This is covered in service school. What to do when your charge has inappropriate relations with innapropriate relations in inappropriate situations."
"Oh, gods," Jack manages, covering his face with one hand.
"Please," Helen says, "Stop there."
Azaeli is laughing, damn her. She finally controls herself enough to say, "You need to get dressed shortly, or you'll be late for dinner. And I don't think you really want to answer questions if you're late."
"No," Helen agrees faintly. Jack is already sitting up and trying to work out who's shirt is whose.
Helen recognizes hers because of the embroidery on the cuffs and snatches it hastily from him. They dress in silence, Azaeli and Cerveris politely turning their backs until Helen announces that they're decent.
"You may just squeak in at the last minute," Cerveris decides, glancing up at the sky as they emerge into the courtyard, where another three members of the Guard are lounging, expressions bemused. Chambliss catches Helen's eye and grins a lioness's grin, crinkling up the corners of her mouth and making her whiskers tremble a little as she laughs.
"Helen," Jack begins, awkwardly.
She reaches for his hand. "Come to my room tonight," she whispers, just for his ears.
He squeezes her hand in what is probably agreement, then tugs a bit of straw out of her hair.
"I love you," he says, and she smiles at him, and then they both run for dinner.
Authors: aella_irene and bedlamsbard
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Incest. Underage sex. (13/15)
Summary: Inappropriate relations with inappropriate relations in inappropriate situations. Jack/Helen, first-time.
Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia and its characters, situations, settings, etc., belong to C.S. Lewis. Some characters, settings, situations, etc., belong to Walden Media. Title from Mae West: "Sex is emotion in motion."
Helen grabs the front of Jack's tunic and shakes him -- maybe a little harder than necessary, but at the moment she doesn't particularly care. "He's all right?" she demands. "Dickie's all right? You're sure?"
Jack's teeth clack together while she shakes him; he makes no attempt to stop her. "I can feel his broken arm," he says, "so 'all right' is perhaps not entirely accurate, but it means that at least he's not dead --"
"Oh, thank Aslan," Helen says, and kisses him.
He stands absolutely still for a moment, then slowly, carefully, slides his fingers into her hair, and kisses back. He's a very thorough kisser, she notes distantly, very methodical.
"Helen," he says slowly, pulling away after a moment. "Are you --"
She doesn't know how he was planning to end that particular question, but however it was, she's sure she doesn't care, and she pulls him back in again. His hands flail desperately for a moment, then land on her waist, and she becomes abruptly aware of how long his fingers are. For the moment, Helen still has height and weight on him, so she backs him up against the wall of the stable, Jack stumbling a little before he finds his footing.
He tugs at her shirt, pulling it out of her breeches, and moving his hands under it, tracing circles on her skin. Helen moans in a distinctly embarassing fashion, and starts unbuttoning his shirt from the bottom up, scraping her fingernails gently up his chest.
"Have you ever done this before?" she whispers against the soft skin of his jaw, feeling strangely possessive of him. She's not entirely certain what her reaction will be if the answer is "yes."
"No," Jack says breathily, his hands shaking a little as they brush against her breasts.
"That makes two of us," she says, and kisses him again. His hands are tentative, and she brings her own up to cover them, to show him the few things she knows she likes. He catches on quickly, squeezing gently, and kissing her neck, and she moves her hands down, to his breeches.
"Aslan," he whispers, "oh, Aslan," as she undoes the buttons one by one. "Helen --"
"Sh," she says, and kisses him on the mouth, swallowing his groan as she lets her fingers slip inside.
He is hot, and heavy, and slightly damp against her fingers- though that could just as easily be the sweat she's sure is springing up on her palms. She wraps her fingers around him, and he shudders.
"Helen," he breathes again, voice breaking in the middle of her name, and his hands have stilled on her breasts.
Her own voice is shaking slightly, to her embarrassment, as she says, "Tell me -- tell me if this is...all right."
"Oh, Aslan, yes," he groans, and thrusts, gently, into her hand. She takes a breath, and then moves her hand, slowly, looking into his eyes, trying to divine what he likes.
The answer to that, apparently, is 'everything'.
"Helen," he says again. "Helen. Maybe we should -- oh, Aslan." He presses a messy, off-center kiss to the edge of her mouth, and Helen smiles, can't help doing so.
Given what she remembers Alix and Gauzia telling her, it's really kind of amazing that Jack possesses the presence of mind to say, brokenly, "You --"
"Same thing," she breathes against his mouth, considers a moment, and flops ungracefully onto the straw. He follows, kissing her neck and her breasts, rubbing against her, then, shakily, starts unbuttoning her breeches.
The sword-calluses when he draws his hands up the inside of her thighs are fucking amazing, Helen decides, twisting to get the remainder of her shirt off. She puts her hands beneath his, pulls it over his head -- he ducks his head so she can do so -- and tosses it blindly aside.
"You're hot," Jack murmurs, sounding amazed as his fingers brush against her, and Helen hisses.
He slides one finger in, slowly, and she can't help but whimper, because it feels incredible.
"Are you-" he says, "You aren't-"
It takes a moment for her to realise what he means, and she has to lick her lips before she can speak.
"Probably not," she says, "With the riding, and the swordplay."
"But not," he swallows, "er. Jos?"
"I told you," Helen says, hearing the slight whine in her voice. "I haven't -- done this. Before."
"All right," and his voice is a bare whisper against her breasts, making her shiver.
"Your faith in me is reassuring," she mutters, recovering enough to be sarcastic, and then he moves his finger, and she melts into a puddle of desire.
"Um," he says, breath puffing against her neck, "Do you want to, um."
"Yes," she gasps, "Yes, I want to-"
And then he's inside her. It hurts, but not very badly, and the pain lasts only for a few seconds. Still, she can't help but whimper, and he looks down at her, worried.
"Are you alright?"
"Alix said that's supposed to happen," Helen says shakily. She reaches tentatively to slide her hands up the line of his back, feeling each knob of his spine, and feels Jack shudder.
"What now?" he asks, and Aslan and Calla Macha and Tethys, she can't tell if he's joking or serious.
"You move," she says, and wriggles her hips, tentatively. He groans, so she does it again, feeling warmth start spreading in her pelvis.
"Helen" he shouts, and comes, collapsing on top of her.
Helen's first thought is alarm: oh, Aslan, did I break him?. She tightens her grip on his shoulders and shakes him, which feels...interesting, to say the least. "Jack? Jack?"
"Mpmphblg," he says into her neck, or some approximation of it, anyway, and Helen frantically tries to remember if this is supposed to happen or not.
She thinks so, but she was rather drunk by the time Alix and Gauzia got to that part of the explanation.
"Jack?" she tries again, and he gathers himself enough to kiss her neck.
"'m fine," he mutters, "You?"
"Fine," she says, which is truthful insofar as it goes- she's not in any actual pain, but she thinks her legs are about to start going numb, and there's straw poking into her back.
Also, she's a little annoyed. She's reasonably certain there's meant to be more happening than this. "Roll over," she orders. "You're heavy. Have you been getting into the Beavers' sweets again?"
"Mmph," he says, which isn't any kind of answer, but he does eventually roll over.
After a moment he says, "Did you-"
"No, I did not."
"Oh."
He puts a tentative hand on her belly, and trails his fingers downwards. She can't help the hiss that escapes her as he reaches a particularly sensitive spot, and he stops.
"Don't stop," she gasps.
He moves his fingers a little, enough to make her hiss again, and glances up at her, his expression one of total concentration. "Do you like --"
"Yes," Helen says fiercely, the end of the word breaking off in a long sibilant hiss as he puts a finger -- two -- inside her, where she's still damp with his seed. He crooks them a little and she says, "Oh," arching up into his hand.
He does it again, and leans over to kiss her breasts. Helen whimpers, and he catches one nipple- very gently- between his teeth, tugging ever so slightly. She feels hot, and entirely unlike herself, every movement producing unfamiliar sensations, until Jack moves up to kiss her neck.
"So beautiful," he whispers, and twists his hand, and suddenly she feels as if she's falling, or flying, as sparks go off behind her suddenly closed eyelids.
"Oh," Helen says dreamily a little while later, when she's sensible enough to talk again. Jack's managed to spread their shirts over them as some protection from the slight chill that still lingers in the air and Helen lets herself pretend that this, this moment, is their whole world, that there's nothing outside of it and them at all. There's less light filtering in the high, arched windows now; it's been -- it seems like a long time since the news came that the fleet had lost Dickie's ship.
Jack is curled against her shoulder, the way he and Dickie used to climb into her bed when they were children, but he raises his head at her voice, his expression suddenly wary in the dim light. "Helen?" he says tentatively. "Are you --"
"I'm wonderful," she says, and leans over to kiss him again.
The illusion of solitude is broken when Azaeli pokes her nose in the door, and says, "They're starting up again."
Helen sits up.
"When did you get here?"
"I've been here since before you began," Azaeli tells her kindly, "I've even looked in a few times, not that you would have noticed if the High King your father was holding a Military Review in here."
Helen is uneasily conscious of a flush creeping up her breats.
"You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" Jack asks.
"Not unless we have to," Cerveris says, pushing in next to her, "But next time, could you possibly arrange to do it in a bed? Or a more out of the way store cupboard? It's been very uncomfortable sitting out here and listening, and heading people off."
Jack has gone bright scarlet and -- bastard! -- can only make a faint squeaking sound in reply. Helen reaches for his hand and grips it tightly. "Thank you for -- going above and beyond the call of duty," she says at last, which seems like the sort of thing her father would say in this sort of situation. Not that the High King Peter ever gets caught in this sort of situation. Oh, gods, she doesn't want to think about Papa in this sort of situation.
"Not really," Cerveris says. "This is covered in service school. What to do when your charge has inappropriate relations with innapropriate relations in inappropriate situations."
"Oh, gods," Jack manages, covering his face with one hand.
"Please," Helen says, "Stop there."
Azaeli is laughing, damn her. She finally controls herself enough to say, "You need to get dressed shortly, or you'll be late for dinner. And I don't think you really want to answer questions if you're late."
"No," Helen agrees faintly. Jack is already sitting up and trying to work out who's shirt is whose.
Helen recognizes hers because of the embroidery on the cuffs and snatches it hastily from him. They dress in silence, Azaeli and Cerveris politely turning their backs until Helen announces that they're decent.
"You may just squeak in at the last minute," Cerveris decides, glancing up at the sky as they emerge into the courtyard, where another three members of the Guard are lounging, expressions bemused. Chambliss catches Helen's eye and grins a lioness's grin, crinkling up the corners of her mouth and making her whiskers tremble a little as she laughs.
"Helen," Jack begins, awkwardly.
She reaches for his hand. "Come to my room tonight," she whispers, just for his ears.
He squeezes her hand in what is probably agreement, then tugs a bit of straw out of her hair.
"I love you," he says, and she smiles at him, and then they both run for dinner.