(no subject)
Title: Blind
Author: xiwill_follow
Rating: R
Author's Note: This is my first fanfic :]
She was always there to tell him he was wrong.
"Oh seriously, Peter, not like that!" she scolded, and though her words were reprimanding, her voice was nothing short of loving as she crossed the floor and reached out to correct his tie. It was still hard for him sometimes to do the simplest things on his own, and she was always there to give him the help he needed. She kept her eyes averted from his until she finished, running her hands over his shoulders to unnecessarily smooth out his crisp white shirt before raising her eyes to quickly gaze into his own. Seconds that felt like a natural eternity passed between them before she turned away to stand beside him, staring into the full-length mirror that adorned the wall of her room. She stood next to him, admiring her handiwork in their reflection and much, much more.
She turned, her raven colored hair letting off the sent of lavender that he would never forget. It enveloped him like a warm blanket on a cool night and he never seemed to get warm enough. He always wanted, always needed, more. Turning away from his own image, his eyes were met with her figure bending over the ancient wooden dresser and watched her staring into the small magnifying mirror. Rouge swept over her lips, those naturally pale yet perfect lips.
"You don't need that," he told her, time and time again but she only ever smiled that smile she knew could break his heart in reply. It was torture to watch as she pressed it to her lips, dragging it in swift and graceful movements, he hated that that was what she'd rather have caressing them. Her pale blue dress clung too all the right curves on her body, not that (in his opinion) there were any wrong curves on her, and left just the right amount to the imagination.
It had been over two years now, since Narnia. Over two years since every innocent touch of her skin sent lightening through his veins. She knew. She had always known. Possibly even before he did.
As she finished her final yet unneeded touches, she turned without a word and he opened the bedroom door for her. Closing it behind them, he extended his arm to her and she took it without hesitation as they descended with such delicacy and perfection down the stairs and into the dining room.
Discussion that remained meaningless to the both of them surrounded the table, important business matters for their parents. Both of them had been invited to the formal dinner and it was only polite not to refuse. It was difficult for him to not show a reaction every time their fingers met in the passing of a side dish, every accidental (and yet not so much) brush of elbows.
Time passed, food diminished, company left and the house emptied out. A polite offering to clean up led them both to the kitchen sink, soapy water halfway up their forearms. Soap on her nose. Soap on his cheek. Soap on her collarbone. Soap on his lips. His lips on her lips. The bitter foam entering both of their mouths, landing harshly on both of their tongues. He could taste her lipstick above anything else.
She pulled away, decades, minutes, only second passed before she realized what had happened. She wiped her mouth off with her upper arm, the bitter taste still on her lips.
"Why did you do that..." she whispered, and remained unable to look at him the duration of their offered cleaning. Once everything was put away and both their hands were dry, they retreated up the stairs to closed doors.
Days passed, neither bothering to acknowledge the exchange or even the others presence in the room. He watched silently in the days as boys came and went. As he stood at the top of the stairs every time she would leave the house on a new ones arm she always turned and smiled her rouge smile up at him before the door closed. Every night she returned, her lips and her cheeks a little paler, her hair a little less kempt than when she had left. He knew what she was doing, and in turn, she knew what she was doing.
On the night she returned in that same blue dress, he opened the closed door to her room to find her standing in front of the mirror. No words escaped her lips, her eyes didn't even flicker to his as he stood behind her but not before closing the door and turning the lock. She would be his tonight, in every way he ever wanted her.
She did not move when he made to untie the ribbon that held her dress tightly against her body. Did not flinch as his fingers slid smoothly across her skin of her back and moved to her shoulders to slide the dress down her arms and only when it pooled around her feet on the floor did her eyes meet his.
It was only seconds he was able to view her body, barred naked for him, before she reached out to turn off the light. They were blind now, and they would always be blind. Blind in the darkness while she unbuttoned his shirt, while his belt buckle sounded as it hit the floor, while the rest of his clothes were discarded. Blindly, they fumbled their way to her bed, he never dared let his hands leave her body for fear of this all being a trick, a dream, and if he let go it was all over. He didn't care that he couldn't see as he pushed her back onto the bed, as he leaned over her and pressed his lips to hers for the second time.
In blindness, his hands roamed and searched every mountain and every valley of her body. He didn't need to see, only to hear as her breathing became ragged, as she moaned and guided his hands. He was blind to God when he pushed into her. All he needed was to feel her, was to hear the panting from both of them, of the low moan escaping her lips, was to smell the lavender of her hair.
A last moan rushed past his ears and barely the whisper of the only word spoken as they both reach release.
"Brother."
Too little time had passed before the sun seeped through the cracks in the curtains. He woke without her next to him and saw her standing by the door, cloths on and hair straightened, make-up plastered face.
"This won't happen again," she said, before leaving the room without looking back.
She was always there to tell him he was wrong.
Author: xiwill_follow
Rating: R
Author's Note: This is my first fanfic :]
She was always there to tell him he was wrong.
"Oh seriously, Peter, not like that!" she scolded, and though her words were reprimanding, her voice was nothing short of loving as she crossed the floor and reached out to correct his tie. It was still hard for him sometimes to do the simplest things on his own, and she was always there to give him the help he needed. She kept her eyes averted from his until she finished, running her hands over his shoulders to unnecessarily smooth out his crisp white shirt before raising her eyes to quickly gaze into his own. Seconds that felt like a natural eternity passed between them before she turned away to stand beside him, staring into the full-length mirror that adorned the wall of her room. She stood next to him, admiring her handiwork in their reflection and much, much more.
She turned, her raven colored hair letting off the sent of lavender that he would never forget. It enveloped him like a warm blanket on a cool night and he never seemed to get warm enough. He always wanted, always needed, more. Turning away from his own image, his eyes were met with her figure bending over the ancient wooden dresser and watched her staring into the small magnifying mirror. Rouge swept over her lips, those naturally pale yet perfect lips.
"You don't need that," he told her, time and time again but she only ever smiled that smile she knew could break his heart in reply. It was torture to watch as she pressed it to her lips, dragging it in swift and graceful movements, he hated that that was what she'd rather have caressing them. Her pale blue dress clung too all the right curves on her body, not that (in his opinion) there were any wrong curves on her, and left just the right amount to the imagination.
It had been over two years now, since Narnia. Over two years since every innocent touch of her skin sent lightening through his veins. She knew. She had always known. Possibly even before he did.
As she finished her final yet unneeded touches, she turned without a word and he opened the bedroom door for her. Closing it behind them, he extended his arm to her and she took it without hesitation as they descended with such delicacy and perfection down the stairs and into the dining room.
Discussion that remained meaningless to the both of them surrounded the table, important business matters for their parents. Both of them had been invited to the formal dinner and it was only polite not to refuse. It was difficult for him to not show a reaction every time their fingers met in the passing of a side dish, every accidental (and yet not so much) brush of elbows.
Time passed, food diminished, company left and the house emptied out. A polite offering to clean up led them both to the kitchen sink, soapy water halfway up their forearms. Soap on her nose. Soap on his cheek. Soap on her collarbone. Soap on his lips. His lips on her lips. The bitter foam entering both of their mouths, landing harshly on both of their tongues. He could taste her lipstick above anything else.
She pulled away, decades, minutes, only second passed before she realized what had happened. She wiped her mouth off with her upper arm, the bitter taste still on her lips.
"Why did you do that..." she whispered, and remained unable to look at him the duration of their offered cleaning. Once everything was put away and both their hands were dry, they retreated up the stairs to closed doors.
Days passed, neither bothering to acknowledge the exchange or even the others presence in the room. He watched silently in the days as boys came and went. As he stood at the top of the stairs every time she would leave the house on a new ones arm she always turned and smiled her rouge smile up at him before the door closed. Every night she returned, her lips and her cheeks a little paler, her hair a little less kempt than when she had left. He knew what she was doing, and in turn, she knew what she was doing.
On the night she returned in that same blue dress, he opened the closed door to her room to find her standing in front of the mirror. No words escaped her lips, her eyes didn't even flicker to his as he stood behind her but not before closing the door and turning the lock. She would be his tonight, in every way he ever wanted her.
She did not move when he made to untie the ribbon that held her dress tightly against her body. Did not flinch as his fingers slid smoothly across her skin of her back and moved to her shoulders to slide the dress down her arms and only when it pooled around her feet on the floor did her eyes meet his.
It was only seconds he was able to view her body, barred naked for him, before she reached out to turn off the light. They were blind now, and they would always be blind. Blind in the darkness while she unbuttoned his shirt, while his belt buckle sounded as it hit the floor, while the rest of his clothes were discarded. Blindly, they fumbled their way to her bed, he never dared let his hands leave her body for fear of this all being a trick, a dream, and if he let go it was all over. He didn't care that he couldn't see as he pushed her back onto the bed, as he leaned over her and pressed his lips to hers for the second time.
In blindness, his hands roamed and searched every mountain and every valley of her body. He didn't need to see, only to hear as her breathing became ragged, as she moaned and guided his hands. He was blind to God when he pushed into her. All he needed was to feel her, was to hear the panting from both of them, of the low moan escaping her lips, was to smell the lavender of her hair.
A last moan rushed past his ears and barely the whisper of the only word spoken as they both reach release.
"Brother."
Too little time had passed before the sun seeped through the cracks in the curtains. He woke without her next to him and saw her standing by the door, cloths on and hair straightened, make-up plastered face.
"This won't happen again," she said, before leaving the room without looking back.
She was always there to tell him he was wrong.