Like Waves in Summer
Title: Like Waves in Summer
Pairing: Peter/Caspian
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Written for the prompt "What if we fell in love?" for 100foraslan . LWL. Peter and Caspian enjoy the first days of summer.
I haven't been on in a while...college just started (about three weeks ago, but still). Hopefully there will be more fic to come (of the non-fanfiction variety as well) as I've told my English Professor that I write and now he wants to read and clearly this is not something someone who is grading me needs to see. But yeah, I'm back. Anyone else here live in Boston? Let's have coffee.
Peter doesn't even want to consider it, with the warm welcome weight of the crown on his head, no longer speckled in blood but coated in gold. It's too soon for him to allow himself those thoughts (he could have been sent back); he needs to make sure it'll still be real tomorrow, needs to hold it all together until he's sure it won't fall apart.
He closes his eyes and opens them wide against the bright white spots of light - just to make sure.
It's summer: Cair Paravel in the sunshine, the spray striking up from the breaking waves, the languid beat of bird's wings, the world in front of him and Caspian behind, pressing soft kisses to the back of his neck. There are strong hands holding onto his arms, a smile he can't so much see as feel. And it's just him and them and Narnia, and Peter has everything he ever wanted.
He shifts his body tighter, closer, so used to the feel of it could all just go away if he's not paying attention hard enough. Caspian feels the flexing tendons beneath his fingertips, growls low enough to produce shivers: "Peter."
Peter lets his body sink deeper into the warmth around him and a smile to tug at his lips. "I know," he says to which Caspian sighs like he hopes it true that Peter believes it, but slips his arms around him anyway and leans into Peter, body humming with something like this is where you belong.
It's not the first time he's said it (thought it, felt it), not the first time he's hoped to say something more, but promise is all that comes to mind and everything else is lost in the hazy warmth of Peter. Just promise promise promise. Narnia is yours. Stay.
He wants Peter to know that this is the only place Caspian will ever belong, that he feels the magic thrumming through their bodies, between their laced hands, catching in their palms but doesn't know how to say it, just holds on tight.
Peter closes his eyes, the wind breathing past hair like spun gold, and answers with a light press of fingertips. I know.