You'll be my fag from now on Ed....
Title: Series: Edmund Pevensie's Schooldays Part 2/?: Playing games
Pairing: Peter/Edmund (eventually)
Rating: This part is PG, smut soon I promise...
Summary: Edmund tries to settle into his new role
Disclaimer: All made up, Whetstone is not a real place, none of the characters (except Ed and Peter of course) are based on anyone.
Warnings: Angst, inadvertent comedy, not perfect AT ALL, which is why I'll probably only post this in my journal from now on *sudden shy attack*
Notes: I think I know which line is going to crack people up this time...
Dedicated:To everyone who made me laugh last time, but especially suborbital who made me get on and write some more
Relax, relax, relax...my little brother
All that you'd been through...a lifetime
So cling on, cling on, cling on to me my little brother
And we'll laugh at the grand scheme of things...
Little Brother~Turin Brakes
Edmund opened his eyes, blinking slowly, trying to accustom himself to the gloom. He was lying stretched out in a darkly lit room that didn’t seem to have any windows. A figure suddenly loomed over him and Edmund reeled back, bringing his arms up instinctively for protection.
“He got you with the poker” a familiar voice stated bluntly.
“P-peter?” Edmund called out, his eyes opening wider, lashes skimming his pale cheeks.
Peter (who indeed it was) moved a small tin lantern lit with a candle closer to Edmund’s face, looking down at him with cool blue (almost transparent) eyes
Peter looked away quickly as Edmund caught his eye so Edmund turned his gaze to his surroundings instead. The room was about the size of a broom cupboard, with a small stove in the corner, topped with a whistling kettle.
He looked at Peter questioningly.
“This is the head boy’s place, he lets me use it sometimes” said Peter, shaking his head slightly in dismissal “You have to get used to how things work around here Ed….” He trailed off, whining a little in frustration, his voice betraying the first sign of emotion Edmund had seen so far before returning to flat monotone.
“You’ll be my fag from now on Ed, I squared it with Baines”. Peter gave a quick roll of his shoulders and moved away, lifting the kettle off the hob, pouring it into two chipped china cups and handing one to Edmund. Edmund tried not to wonder just how Peter had managed this arrangement.
“So, what exactly does that mean Peter?”
Peter continued as if Edmund hadn’t spoken,
“We’ll have to keep up appearances, you’ll have to be seen to do things for me, otherwise Stronzo will get suspicious”
“Anything to get away from Baines!” Edmund sat up, touching his head and wincing, feeling a bandage wrapped around his forehead.
Peter glanced at him briefly, his grey eyes flickering to his head, then to his face, then away.
“Peter” Ed risked “We have a lot of catching up to do”
Edmund couldn’t be sure whether it was a flicker from the candle flame, but he thought he saw a tiny smile come to the corner of Peter’s mouth at that, before melting back into the mask of calm composure Peter seemed to need.
“Just drink your tea and rest Ed”.
The days rushed by and Ed found himself settling into the routine of Whetstone. He was bright at his studies and although he didn’t have any classes with Peter, managed to keep his head down and not get into trouble. One or two of the other younger boys even talked to him and he cautiously allowed himself to hope that one day, he might have a proper friend in the school.
He saw no more of Baines, or the red-faced boy he had met on his first day. He took to running from one class to another, to avoid getting caught in the corridors, the most dangerous place as far as he could see.
As for his other duties, Edmund was determined to make things work with Peter as best he could. He was remotely aware that Peter had struck some kind of deal that meant people left them alone and didn’t question the ethics of a younger brother fagging for an older one. Ed tried to take orders from Peter without flinching, and this was made easier by the fact that Peter usually delivered him his duties via small notes, rather than face to face. Notes like the one he was clutching now, in a rather sweaty hand, as he rushed from his last class of the day, Geography, to collect Peter’s football kit from the dorm.
The metal locker beside Peter’s bed banged open loudly and Ed jumped a little in the empty room. There was something strange and vaguely illicit about being in the dorms during the day, although fags were allowed in at any time to collect books or equipment for their charges. He picked up Peter’s sports bag, pulling out his shirt and sniffing it gingerly. It smelt fresh, and faintly of the soap, he knew Peter used. Edmund was relieved. He really didn’t have enough time to wash and dry it before Peter’s game in half an hour. He slung the bag over his shoulder, pausing to grab Peter’s studded boots, turning them over to see if they were dirty. They looked clean too and Ed couldn’t help wondering if someone had been looking after Peter before him. (I must ask him, could I ask him? No, I shouldn’t, but I will Edmund’s mind raced as he hurriedly made his way towards the gym.
As Ed approached the communal changing rooms, he could hear his brother’s voice yelling something. He quickened his pace a little, not sure whether to feel worried or alarmed. He cautiously peeked his head round the door and saw Peter, dressed only in his white undergarments, vest and long drawers, standing on one of the wooden benches with a towel round his shoulders, reciting very loudly and throwing his arms about dramatically.
“ Who think me, from my little verses
Which are sensual, to be far too wanton.
For it is proper for a poet to be
Pure, pious and unsullied by naughtiness
Himself. The same need not be true of his verse.
My verses, in short, then, may have wit and charm,
If they should be sensual and lewd enough…”
The other boys around Peter were whooping a clapping their hands. Edmund stared at his brother, dropping his kit bag onto the tiles; unable to reconcile this loud performer with the silent ghost he had been dealing with the past few days.
“Psst!”
Edmund whipped his head round suddenly. A small boy with a pasty face looked up at him, trembling rather violently.
Edmund stared back at him.
“Come with me!” The boy said, turning suddenly on his heels and disappearing. Edmund, without quite knowing what to do, followed him.
The boy led him through a narrow stone passageway and out to a small grassy embankment, overlooking the football pitch.
“We can watch from here,” squeaked the boy, reminding Edmund more and more of a mouse.
“What’s your name?” Edmund demanded (and what the hell are we doing here?)
“My name’s Colin”, said the boy, seeming incapable talking above a whisper “I come here, when I want to watch…”
“Watch?” Edmund gaped at him, his mouth hanging open in puzzlement
“Watch…him” squeaked Colin before crossing his arms and folding in on himself, seemingly done with explanations.
Edmund shook his head, about to get up and away from this obviously crazy person when he spotted movement of the far side of the pitch. The rabble of boys came streaming out of the changing room, Stronzo leading the way in his ref’s uniform, whistle swaying from his neck.
From their hideaway behind the grassy hill, Edmund and Colin had a perfect view as the older boys started to play. Edmund could spot Peter in the crowd easily. He moved with fluid grace, dodging vicious tackles, spinning the ball high into the air and passing it skillfully. He was King even at this. Edmund watched the chorded muscles in Peter’s legs pull back and release their force, the potential energy stored in his shoulders as he looked to his team mate for the throw in. Edmund watched Peter’s clean white shorts become caked in mud, saw his boots scrape the ground and another boy’s ankle, earning him a swift look from Stronzo. Edmund could just make out Peter holding out his hand to the other boy, who took it, shaking it firmly and they were off again, running against the wind and the time.
Edmund kept the same position, in a constant vigil, until Stronzo blew his whistle and signaled the end of the game. Peter’s team had won of course, and the other boys ruffled his hair and patted his back in celebration. Edmund felt suddenly cold, coming to his senses to realize he had been sat on the wet grass for over an hour.
He looked back at Colin, feeling almost guilty, but not knowing why. He felt he didn’t know what to say to this boy and suddenly wishing desperately to be alone, he got up and marched his way back across the field, to the gym.
He could almost smell the sweat and vapors coming off each boy as he entered the changing rooms. The thought that he shouldn’t go any further darted quickly across his mind, but Edmund pushed it aside, he needed to see Peter.
Peter was sat amongst a ring of boys, his golden hair just visible between their shoulders, they moved forward slightly as Edmund approached, a tall dark haired boy opening his mouth wide and leering at Edmund,
“Here comes your fag to help you celebrate Peter! I must say you’re a lucky one, if you shut your eyes he might almost be a girl!”
The other boys doubled over in raucous laughter at this, patting Peter on the back again as he rose to face Edmund, standing up next to the boy who had spoken.
Edmund looked from one to the other in panicked confusion, feeling the tears spring to his eyes unbidden and unwanted. He turned on his heel, running blindly out of the room and across the hardwood floor of the gym, his footsteps echoing in his ears. He only realized Peter had followed him and overtaken him swiftly when his way was blocked. Edmund was suddenly very aware of the great expanse that was Peter’s chest in front of his face.
Peter reached down and cupped Edmund’s face gently, thumbing at the bruise which was still there, although faded from his attack a week ago.
“Ed…” Peter hummed his name in his throat and smiled down at him.
Ed looked up, blinking back tears and trying to keep his bottom lip from wobbling
“It’s ok, it doesn’t matter” Edmund murmured back. And he meant it, the revelation hitting him abruptly. It didn’t matter that he was standing in the middle of a deserted gym with his half dressed and smiling (for the first time in forever) brother, didn’t matter he’d never felt so stupid and lost in his entire life, all that mattered now was that they were there together.
End of Part 2.
Pairing: Peter/Edmund (eventually)
Rating: This part is PG, smut soon I promise...
Summary: Edmund tries to settle into his new role
Disclaimer: All made up, Whetstone is not a real place, none of the characters (except Ed and Peter of course) are based on anyone.
Warnings: Angst, inadvertent comedy, not perfect AT ALL, which is why I'll probably only post this in my journal from now on *sudden shy attack*
Notes: I think I know which line is going to crack people up this time...
Dedicated:To everyone who made me laugh last time, but especially suborbital who made me get on and write some more
Relax, relax, relax...my little brother
All that you'd been through...a lifetime
So cling on, cling on, cling on to me my little brother
And we'll laugh at the grand scheme of things...
Little Brother~Turin Brakes
Edmund opened his eyes, blinking slowly, trying to accustom himself to the gloom. He was lying stretched out in a darkly lit room that didn’t seem to have any windows. A figure suddenly loomed over him and Edmund reeled back, bringing his arms up instinctively for protection.
“He got you with the poker” a familiar voice stated bluntly.
“P-peter?” Edmund called out, his eyes opening wider, lashes skimming his pale cheeks.
Peter (who indeed it was) moved a small tin lantern lit with a candle closer to Edmund’s face, looking down at him with cool blue (almost transparent) eyes
Peter looked away quickly as Edmund caught his eye so Edmund turned his gaze to his surroundings instead. The room was about the size of a broom cupboard, with a small stove in the corner, topped with a whistling kettle.
He looked at Peter questioningly.
“This is the head boy’s place, he lets me use it sometimes” said Peter, shaking his head slightly in dismissal “You have to get used to how things work around here Ed….” He trailed off, whining a little in frustration, his voice betraying the first sign of emotion Edmund had seen so far before returning to flat monotone.
“You’ll be my fag from now on Ed, I squared it with Baines”. Peter gave a quick roll of his shoulders and moved away, lifting the kettle off the hob, pouring it into two chipped china cups and handing one to Edmund. Edmund tried not to wonder just how Peter had managed this arrangement.
“So, what exactly does that mean Peter?”
Peter continued as if Edmund hadn’t spoken,
“We’ll have to keep up appearances, you’ll have to be seen to do things for me, otherwise Stronzo will get suspicious”
“Anything to get away from Baines!” Edmund sat up, touching his head and wincing, feeling a bandage wrapped around his forehead.
Peter glanced at him briefly, his grey eyes flickering to his head, then to his face, then away.
“Peter” Ed risked “We have a lot of catching up to do”
Edmund couldn’t be sure whether it was a flicker from the candle flame, but he thought he saw a tiny smile come to the corner of Peter’s mouth at that, before melting back into the mask of calm composure Peter seemed to need.
“Just drink your tea and rest Ed”.
The days rushed by and Ed found himself settling into the routine of Whetstone. He was bright at his studies and although he didn’t have any classes with Peter, managed to keep his head down and not get into trouble. One or two of the other younger boys even talked to him and he cautiously allowed himself to hope that one day, he might have a proper friend in the school.
He saw no more of Baines, or the red-faced boy he had met on his first day. He took to running from one class to another, to avoid getting caught in the corridors, the most dangerous place as far as he could see.
As for his other duties, Edmund was determined to make things work with Peter as best he could. He was remotely aware that Peter had struck some kind of deal that meant people left them alone and didn’t question the ethics of a younger brother fagging for an older one. Ed tried to take orders from Peter without flinching, and this was made easier by the fact that Peter usually delivered him his duties via small notes, rather than face to face. Notes like the one he was clutching now, in a rather sweaty hand, as he rushed from his last class of the day, Geography, to collect Peter’s football kit from the dorm.
The metal locker beside Peter’s bed banged open loudly and Ed jumped a little in the empty room. There was something strange and vaguely illicit about being in the dorms during the day, although fags were allowed in at any time to collect books or equipment for their charges. He picked up Peter’s sports bag, pulling out his shirt and sniffing it gingerly. It smelt fresh, and faintly of the soap, he knew Peter used. Edmund was relieved. He really didn’t have enough time to wash and dry it before Peter’s game in half an hour. He slung the bag over his shoulder, pausing to grab Peter’s studded boots, turning them over to see if they were dirty. They looked clean too and Ed couldn’t help wondering if someone had been looking after Peter before him. (I must ask him, could I ask him? No, I shouldn’t, but I will Edmund’s mind raced as he hurriedly made his way towards the gym.
As Ed approached the communal changing rooms, he could hear his brother’s voice yelling something. He quickened his pace a little, not sure whether to feel worried or alarmed. He cautiously peeked his head round the door and saw Peter, dressed only in his white undergarments, vest and long drawers, standing on one of the wooden benches with a towel round his shoulders, reciting very loudly and throwing his arms about dramatically.
“ Who think me, from my little verses
Which are sensual, to be far too wanton.
For it is proper for a poet to be
Pure, pious and unsullied by naughtiness
Himself. The same need not be true of his verse.
My verses, in short, then, may have wit and charm,
If they should be sensual and lewd enough…”
The other boys around Peter were whooping a clapping their hands. Edmund stared at his brother, dropping his kit bag onto the tiles; unable to reconcile this loud performer with the silent ghost he had been dealing with the past few days.
“Psst!”
Edmund whipped his head round suddenly. A small boy with a pasty face looked up at him, trembling rather violently.
Edmund stared back at him.
“Come with me!” The boy said, turning suddenly on his heels and disappearing. Edmund, without quite knowing what to do, followed him.
The boy led him through a narrow stone passageway and out to a small grassy embankment, overlooking the football pitch.
“We can watch from here,” squeaked the boy, reminding Edmund more and more of a mouse.
“What’s your name?” Edmund demanded (and what the hell are we doing here?)
“My name’s Colin”, said the boy, seeming incapable talking above a whisper “I come here, when I want to watch…”
“Watch?” Edmund gaped at him, his mouth hanging open in puzzlement
“Watch…him” squeaked Colin before crossing his arms and folding in on himself, seemingly done with explanations.
Edmund shook his head, about to get up and away from this obviously crazy person when he spotted movement of the far side of the pitch. The rabble of boys came streaming out of the changing room, Stronzo leading the way in his ref’s uniform, whistle swaying from his neck.
From their hideaway behind the grassy hill, Edmund and Colin had a perfect view as the older boys started to play. Edmund could spot Peter in the crowd easily. He moved with fluid grace, dodging vicious tackles, spinning the ball high into the air and passing it skillfully. He was King even at this. Edmund watched the chorded muscles in Peter’s legs pull back and release their force, the potential energy stored in his shoulders as he looked to his team mate for the throw in. Edmund watched Peter’s clean white shorts become caked in mud, saw his boots scrape the ground and another boy’s ankle, earning him a swift look from Stronzo. Edmund could just make out Peter holding out his hand to the other boy, who took it, shaking it firmly and they were off again, running against the wind and the time.
Edmund kept the same position, in a constant vigil, until Stronzo blew his whistle and signaled the end of the game. Peter’s team had won of course, and the other boys ruffled his hair and patted his back in celebration. Edmund felt suddenly cold, coming to his senses to realize he had been sat on the wet grass for over an hour.
He looked back at Colin, feeling almost guilty, but not knowing why. He felt he didn’t know what to say to this boy and suddenly wishing desperately to be alone, he got up and marched his way back across the field, to the gym.
He could almost smell the sweat and vapors coming off each boy as he entered the changing rooms. The thought that he shouldn’t go any further darted quickly across his mind, but Edmund pushed it aside, he needed to see Peter.
Peter was sat amongst a ring of boys, his golden hair just visible between their shoulders, they moved forward slightly as Edmund approached, a tall dark haired boy opening his mouth wide and leering at Edmund,
“Here comes your fag to help you celebrate Peter! I must say you’re a lucky one, if you shut your eyes he might almost be a girl!”
The other boys doubled over in raucous laughter at this, patting Peter on the back again as he rose to face Edmund, standing up next to the boy who had spoken.
Edmund looked from one to the other in panicked confusion, feeling the tears spring to his eyes unbidden and unwanted. He turned on his heel, running blindly out of the room and across the hardwood floor of the gym, his footsteps echoing in his ears. He only realized Peter had followed him and overtaken him swiftly when his way was blocked. Edmund was suddenly very aware of the great expanse that was Peter’s chest in front of his face.
Peter reached down and cupped Edmund’s face gently, thumbing at the bruise which was still there, although faded from his attack a week ago.
“Ed…” Peter hummed his name in his throat and smiled down at him.
Ed looked up, blinking back tears and trying to keep his bottom lip from wobbling
“It’s ok, it doesn’t matter” Edmund murmured back. And he meant it, the revelation hitting him abruptly. It didn’t matter that he was standing in the middle of a deserted gym with his half dressed and smiling (for the first time in forever) brother, didn’t matter he’d never felt so stupid and lost in his entire life, all that mattered now was that they were there together.
End of Part 2.