seven, peter/edmund, r
I've been wanting to write Narnia fic for ages, but haven't really had any ideas until now. I recently bought the DVD, so I've been watching it a lot, and finally I came up with this.
Title: seven
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Peter/Edmund
Rating: R
Warnings: Incest, violence, some sexual content, all that good stuff.
Summary: Edmund and the ways he has committed the Seven Deadly Sins.
i. Gluttony
The stairs sound like firecrackers under Edmund’s feet, and, on tip-toe in his slippers, he invents an elaborate dance to avoid the most rickety parts of the wood. Reaching the end, he heaves a sigh of relief, and pads along the hallway. The larder cupboard door creaks when he pulls it open. He leaves it ajar after he slips inside, the strip of dusty midnight light letting him read the labels on the tins and packets piled up in front of him.
Susan finds him there, sitting with his legs crossed on the dirty floor, surrounded by open cans and jars, his fingers dirty with jam and sauce. He knocks a half-full bag of sugar off the shelf in surprise when she flings open the door, and for some reason he feels more ashamed when she helps him clean up the mess than when she lectures him later.
When they are back in bed, he runs his fingers down his legs and feels that he has tiny dents in the skin of his knees from the granules of sugar. He hears a noise in his stomach that rises to his chest, opens his mouth. There is an empty feeling somewhere inside of him, a ravenous beast needing to be fed, and it is hungry when he is not.
It growls, roars, expands in his body when Peter looks at him, when Peter turns away from him, and the empty feeling is back, unexplained, making him pile more potatoes onto his plate at dinner time. He does not worry about gaining weight- he is growing upwards, but not outwards, and he is just a scrawny, skinny body, with long bony limbs.
He still has a sweet tooth, but he cannot eat Turkish delight anymore. It makes shame burn in his throat.
ii. Envy
Edmund is talking too much one night, arguing with Lucy, and from his bed Peter’s muffled voice quotes, “Magna res est vocis et silentii temperamentum.”*
Susan laughs, Lucy pays no attention, and Edmund feels a green wave course through him. Peter knows everything, Peter can do everything. He demands to know what Peter said, but Peter just tosses a cushion across the room (well-aimed; hitting him in the face) and says “Go to sleep, Ed.”
Peter gets better grades in school, he is better at sport, he knows what to say to whom and the grown-ups always trust him. Peter is taller, more handsome, gets more attention. He is allowed to do things that Edmund is not. Their mother loves Peter more, Edmund is sure of it.
Edmund is not smart, he can rarely hit a ball, and he is always tripping over his words and saying things he doesn’t mean. He is clumsy and awkward, quick to insult. He cannot comfort Lucy when she is scared. He goes on impulse, does what he thinks is right at the time. He is a bad judge of character.
He’d never admit it, but he’d give anything to live as Peter for just one day. He’d sooner claim he despised his elder brother than confess he was jealous of him.
Peter is the Magnificent, and Edmund is the Just.
Just what?
Caeca invidia est.^
iii. Sloth
“You ought to help Lucy set the table,” says Peter.
“You ought to help Susan in the garden,” says Peter.
“You ought to make your bed,” says Peter.
There is not a lot to do out in the country, but there are still chores, and if Edmund only wants to stay in bed just a few minutes longer - well, it’s no crime.
He will not do something if there is someone to do it for him.
“The devil makes work for idle hands,” says Peter.
Edmund slumps on the wicker chair in the living room, picking at the tangled, peeling strands of wood. Peter, Susan and Lucy are playing makeshift Snakes And Ladders - a piece of card that Lucy drew the game on, a wooden die they found under the sofa with half of the numbers worn off.
“Come on, come and play with us, Ed,” Lucy pleads, shuffling over to him on her knees and tugging at the hem of his shirt.
Edmund says nothing, bats her hand away. He pulls at a thread coming loose from his sweater. He does not understand why he should do something he does not want to do, no matter how many times Peter tells him that’s exactly how life works.
Edmund never gets to the ladders, and Peter is his sedative.
iv. Avarice
Edmund stole some of Peter’s pocket money once. Only a little bit, only to make it even, because it wasn’t fair that Peter got more just because he was older. He stole sweets from the shop up the road when he was seven.
They don’t get pocket money now. They don’t get much of anything, but whatever Edmund is given, he wants more of it. He wants to go back to Narnia, to the life he had there. He wants to play more games, buy more things, spend more time doing what he wants to do.
When Peter’s hugs linger just a little too long, he wants them to go on even longer, and he presses his face into his brother’s shoulder. He wants to inhale him, drink him up. He needs more of this.
He’s always been this way. Jadis knew it - she knew everything about him, it was like she could see into his soul - and she offered him a crown and a throne, knowing it would make him do what she wanted. He is broken by his own greed, his own desperate want for so many things. He wants riches, he wants fame, he wants love.
Susan’s purse lies open on the table next to her bed. His hand slips inside, then immediately back out again as if it has been stung. He throws himself back onto the bed, empty-handed but guilty regardless, and sobs.
v. Pride
Edmund looks at himself in the mirror. He does not find himself particularly attractive - hair the colour of coal, freckles dusted over his too-pale skin - but he looks at his reflection anyway. He stares at it for longer than he thinks he should, examining every pore, every hair, every inch of his body. He thinks he is too thin, and too white (except for when he blushes, which is too often and too red).
Before he bathes, he spends a few minutes inspecting his naked body, running his fingers through the crisp black hair growing between his legs, touching the pads of his fingers to his nipples - coral-coloured, hard little nubs - turning his back to the mirror and looking over his shoulder.
Sometimes he thinks he is better than everybody else. He can’t help it. Sometimes he thinks he is smarter than anyone else his age, more aware of things. He feels older, feels wiser. He is not better than Peter in any way, and never will be, but he likes to pretend.
His bath is full, the tap dripping quietly to itself. The door is not locked. Naked, he presses his face up against the mirror, closes his eyes and whispers “I am perfect.”
“It goeth before a fall.”
He opens his eyes, sees Peter behind him in the mirror, and turns, his arms crossed. He is blushing - though he is trying hard not to - and he says, frostily, “I’m getting in the bath. You can go now.”
Peter smirks and leaves. Through the crack in the door, he whispers “You are perfect,” but Edmund steps into the bath at the same moment, and the splash of water covers his words.
vi. Wrath
Edmund has a quick temper, a devil on his shoulder. Peter riles him, winds him up - knowingly or otherwise - and he screams into his pillow, muffled vibrating silence. He lashes out too often, snaps at Lucy when she’s only trying to help. He does things too quickly, not letting himself think first. He stands outside the bathroom, trying to cool his blood. Through the open door he sees Susan rolling up the waistband of her skirt.
Sometimes he is plagued by horrific images, himself harming others when they won’t let him do what he wants, and he has to sit down, his hands over his face. His breathing quickens and he bites his tongue. Susan sashays out of the bathroom, slinks down the hall. Edmund watches her pass Peter, her eyes narrowed and catlike, her hips swaying.
He and Peter are arguing again - Peter is bossy, accusing; Edmund is irritable, frustrated. Peter mentions their father. Their faces grow closer. Edmund has never shouted so loud in his life, his throat is raw, his voice is hoarse, and Peter’s face is so close, soclose -
Peter has no comeback. He is silent, but he is not moving - not storming out, slamming the door, doing nothing to replace the lack of response - and Edmund finds himself staring at his brother’s lips moving closer to his own. He cannot remember the last thing he said.
A second later and Peter has straightened up, his eyes angry and his cheeks burning. Edmund sees red. Peter’s voice in his head tells him to count to ten, and he tries.
Onetwothree-
His fist connects with Peter’s nose - a satisfying, sickening crunch - and the red fades into black.
He has lost his temper - it wanders, whispers, vanishes - and it won’t be back for a long time.
He who angers you, conquers you.~
vii. Lust
Susan finds lipstick in Mrs. MacReady’s dresser, and Edmund watches, transfixed, as she slicks the red wax across her lips. He hovers in the doorway. His sister’s burgundy Cupid’s bow parts and joins again, smack, vain in front of the mirror.
Peter tugs at his sleeve, drags him away, and kisses him feverishly, hands running over his entire body -
And then he stops, steps away like a fearful child, his eyes wide and blank. Edmund stares back, his body stiff as a doll’s, his lips still warm and wet, and he watches as Peter leaves the room, his hand clamped over his mouth.
Peter’s eyes do not meet his own for nearly a week, and Edmund touches himself under the covers, eyes scrunched shut, hand in his shorts, desperately bringing images back into his head.
Peter walks in on him, and through his flushed embarrassment, stammers -
“Y-you ought not to do that.”
First words spoken to him in days.
Edmund ignores it - it feels far too good to stop, and anyway, he walked in on Peter once too, he just didn’t say anything.
He can’t stop himself that night - he’s not alone but he’s almost certain everyone is sleeping. Peter’s watchful eyes float into view in his mind, making his hand move faster, his fingers curl tighter. He can hear a tiny creak of floorboards but the sound is distant, echoing from some other place. Under the covers, a hand suddenly sneaks, and joins his. His gasp is lost in a kiss, and he comes harder than ever, shuddering against his brother’s body.
Peter crawls into bed with him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, the words falling helpless off his tongue.
Edmund shakes his head. Their hands are sticky, unmoving. Peter apologises again.
“Oh, do shut up,” Edmund hisses.
There is a short silence. And then the reply - and Edmund can hear the smile in Peter’s voice - “Make me.”
*The great thing is to know when to speak and when to keep quiet - Seneca
^Envy is blind - Titus Livius
~He who angers you, conquers you - Elizabeth Kenny
Title: seven
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Peter/Edmund
Rating: R
Warnings: Incest, violence, some sexual content, all that good stuff.
Summary: Edmund and the ways he has committed the Seven Deadly Sins.
i. Gluttony
The stairs sound like firecrackers under Edmund’s feet, and, on tip-toe in his slippers, he invents an elaborate dance to avoid the most rickety parts of the wood. Reaching the end, he heaves a sigh of relief, and pads along the hallway. The larder cupboard door creaks when he pulls it open. He leaves it ajar after he slips inside, the strip of dusty midnight light letting him read the labels on the tins and packets piled up in front of him.
Susan finds him there, sitting with his legs crossed on the dirty floor, surrounded by open cans and jars, his fingers dirty with jam and sauce. He knocks a half-full bag of sugar off the shelf in surprise when she flings open the door, and for some reason he feels more ashamed when she helps him clean up the mess than when she lectures him later.
When they are back in bed, he runs his fingers down his legs and feels that he has tiny dents in the skin of his knees from the granules of sugar. He hears a noise in his stomach that rises to his chest, opens his mouth. There is an empty feeling somewhere inside of him, a ravenous beast needing to be fed, and it is hungry when he is not.
It growls, roars, expands in his body when Peter looks at him, when Peter turns away from him, and the empty feeling is back, unexplained, making him pile more potatoes onto his plate at dinner time. He does not worry about gaining weight- he is growing upwards, but not outwards, and he is just a scrawny, skinny body, with long bony limbs.
He still has a sweet tooth, but he cannot eat Turkish delight anymore. It makes shame burn in his throat.
ii. Envy
Edmund is talking too much one night, arguing with Lucy, and from his bed Peter’s muffled voice quotes, “Magna res est vocis et silentii temperamentum.”*
Susan laughs, Lucy pays no attention, and Edmund feels a green wave course through him. Peter knows everything, Peter can do everything. He demands to know what Peter said, but Peter just tosses a cushion across the room (well-aimed; hitting him in the face) and says “Go to sleep, Ed.”
Peter gets better grades in school, he is better at sport, he knows what to say to whom and the grown-ups always trust him. Peter is taller, more handsome, gets more attention. He is allowed to do things that Edmund is not. Their mother loves Peter more, Edmund is sure of it.
Edmund is not smart, he can rarely hit a ball, and he is always tripping over his words and saying things he doesn’t mean. He is clumsy and awkward, quick to insult. He cannot comfort Lucy when she is scared. He goes on impulse, does what he thinks is right at the time. He is a bad judge of character.
He’d never admit it, but he’d give anything to live as Peter for just one day. He’d sooner claim he despised his elder brother than confess he was jealous of him.
Peter is the Magnificent, and Edmund is the Just.
Just what?
Caeca invidia est.^
iii. Sloth
“You ought to help Lucy set the table,” says Peter.
“You ought to help Susan in the garden,” says Peter.
“You ought to make your bed,” says Peter.
There is not a lot to do out in the country, but there are still chores, and if Edmund only wants to stay in bed just a few minutes longer - well, it’s no crime.
He will not do something if there is someone to do it for him.
“The devil makes work for idle hands,” says Peter.
Edmund slumps on the wicker chair in the living room, picking at the tangled, peeling strands of wood. Peter, Susan and Lucy are playing makeshift Snakes And Ladders - a piece of card that Lucy drew the game on, a wooden die they found under the sofa with half of the numbers worn off.
“Come on, come and play with us, Ed,” Lucy pleads, shuffling over to him on her knees and tugging at the hem of his shirt.
Edmund says nothing, bats her hand away. He pulls at a thread coming loose from his sweater. He does not understand why he should do something he does not want to do, no matter how many times Peter tells him that’s exactly how life works.
Edmund never gets to the ladders, and Peter is his sedative.
iv. Avarice
Edmund stole some of Peter’s pocket money once. Only a little bit, only to make it even, because it wasn’t fair that Peter got more just because he was older. He stole sweets from the shop up the road when he was seven.
They don’t get pocket money now. They don’t get much of anything, but whatever Edmund is given, he wants more of it. He wants to go back to Narnia, to the life he had there. He wants to play more games, buy more things, spend more time doing what he wants to do.
When Peter’s hugs linger just a little too long, he wants them to go on even longer, and he presses his face into his brother’s shoulder. He wants to inhale him, drink him up. He needs more of this.
He’s always been this way. Jadis knew it - she knew everything about him, it was like she could see into his soul - and she offered him a crown and a throne, knowing it would make him do what she wanted. He is broken by his own greed, his own desperate want for so many things. He wants riches, he wants fame, he wants love.
Susan’s purse lies open on the table next to her bed. His hand slips inside, then immediately back out again as if it has been stung. He throws himself back onto the bed, empty-handed but guilty regardless, and sobs.
v. Pride
Edmund looks at himself in the mirror. He does not find himself particularly attractive - hair the colour of coal, freckles dusted over his too-pale skin - but he looks at his reflection anyway. He stares at it for longer than he thinks he should, examining every pore, every hair, every inch of his body. He thinks he is too thin, and too white (except for when he blushes, which is too often and too red).
Before he bathes, he spends a few minutes inspecting his naked body, running his fingers through the crisp black hair growing between his legs, touching the pads of his fingers to his nipples - coral-coloured, hard little nubs - turning his back to the mirror and looking over his shoulder.
Sometimes he thinks he is better than everybody else. He can’t help it. Sometimes he thinks he is smarter than anyone else his age, more aware of things. He feels older, feels wiser. He is not better than Peter in any way, and never will be, but he likes to pretend.
His bath is full, the tap dripping quietly to itself. The door is not locked. Naked, he presses his face up against the mirror, closes his eyes and whispers “I am perfect.”
“It goeth before a fall.”
He opens his eyes, sees Peter behind him in the mirror, and turns, his arms crossed. He is blushing - though he is trying hard not to - and he says, frostily, “I’m getting in the bath. You can go now.”
Peter smirks and leaves. Through the crack in the door, he whispers “You are perfect,” but Edmund steps into the bath at the same moment, and the splash of water covers his words.
vi. Wrath
Edmund has a quick temper, a devil on his shoulder. Peter riles him, winds him up - knowingly or otherwise - and he screams into his pillow, muffled vibrating silence. He lashes out too often, snaps at Lucy when she’s only trying to help. He does things too quickly, not letting himself think first. He stands outside the bathroom, trying to cool his blood. Through the open door he sees Susan rolling up the waistband of her skirt.
Sometimes he is plagued by horrific images, himself harming others when they won’t let him do what he wants, and he has to sit down, his hands over his face. His breathing quickens and he bites his tongue. Susan sashays out of the bathroom, slinks down the hall. Edmund watches her pass Peter, her eyes narrowed and catlike, her hips swaying.
He and Peter are arguing again - Peter is bossy, accusing; Edmund is irritable, frustrated. Peter mentions their father. Their faces grow closer. Edmund has never shouted so loud in his life, his throat is raw, his voice is hoarse, and Peter’s face is so close, soclose -
Peter has no comeback. He is silent, but he is not moving - not storming out, slamming the door, doing nothing to replace the lack of response - and Edmund finds himself staring at his brother’s lips moving closer to his own. He cannot remember the last thing he said.
A second later and Peter has straightened up, his eyes angry and his cheeks burning. Edmund sees red. Peter’s voice in his head tells him to count to ten, and he tries.
Onetwothree-
His fist connects with Peter’s nose - a satisfying, sickening crunch - and the red fades into black.
He has lost his temper - it wanders, whispers, vanishes - and it won’t be back for a long time.
He who angers you, conquers you.~
vii. Lust
Susan finds lipstick in Mrs. MacReady’s dresser, and Edmund watches, transfixed, as she slicks the red wax across her lips. He hovers in the doorway. His sister’s burgundy Cupid’s bow parts and joins again, smack, vain in front of the mirror.
Peter tugs at his sleeve, drags him away, and kisses him feverishly, hands running over his entire body -
And then he stops, steps away like a fearful child, his eyes wide and blank. Edmund stares back, his body stiff as a doll’s, his lips still warm and wet, and he watches as Peter leaves the room, his hand clamped over his mouth.
Peter’s eyes do not meet his own for nearly a week, and Edmund touches himself under the covers, eyes scrunched shut, hand in his shorts, desperately bringing images back into his head.
Peter walks in on him, and through his flushed embarrassment, stammers -
“Y-you ought not to do that.”
First words spoken to him in days.
Edmund ignores it - it feels far too good to stop, and anyway, he walked in on Peter once too, he just didn’t say anything.
He can’t stop himself that night - he’s not alone but he’s almost certain everyone is sleeping. Peter’s watchful eyes float into view in his mind, making his hand move faster, his fingers curl tighter. He can hear a tiny creak of floorboards but the sound is distant, echoing from some other place. Under the covers, a hand suddenly sneaks, and joins his. His gasp is lost in a kiss, and he comes harder than ever, shuddering against his brother’s body.
Peter crawls into bed with him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, the words falling helpless off his tongue.
Edmund shakes his head. Their hands are sticky, unmoving. Peter apologises again.
“Oh, do shut up,” Edmund hisses.
There is a short silence. And then the reply - and Edmund can hear the smile in Peter’s voice - “Make me.”
*The great thing is to know when to speak and when to keep quiet - Seneca
^Envy is blind - Titus Livius
~He who angers you, conquers you - Elizabeth Kenny