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13 August 2008 @ 03:38 am
Title: Chess (Aimless) (part four of the Heartless series)
Fandom/Pairing: NARNIA; Peter Pevensie/Edmund Pevensie
Rating: R
Summary: Peter and Edmund play chess. Peter doesn't like the results very well, he's prone to showing it. They get down and dirty amidst haphazard chess pieces.

They’re playing chess like they would normally. A game taken outside to their shared balcony, overlooking a horizon won through a war.

It’s funny because whilst Peter doesn’t have half a hope of winning, he tries. Oh, does he try. Peter tries so fervently despite constant results. His strengths lay elsewhere. Anywhere but here. Edmund’s the best chess player in and out of Narnia. Peter knows. He knows it very well. He’s heard of the dozens of commendation alike regarding Edmund’s skill. All the same old thing: “He’s amazing.” Peter knows. From dukes and ambassadors, from knights and maidens alike. They say it over and over.

Nevertheless, Peter tries. He tries his hand at chess. Like it’s actually going to get him somewhere. Well, better to learn at the hands of your brother now, than later, elsewhere.

Edmund’s down to a check, checkmate’s coming close in a literal hand. Only a step or two away, depending.

The Just King knocks Peter’s bishop out of the line-up; takes it out of play, smoothes the well-crafted item loose between fingers rough. He’s staring hard at the board with bared intent. As if Edmund’s worried the chess set might very well go ahead and jump or dance, or move or sing, or something equally as odd and, perhaps, pretentious, of it to do.

Peter moves his knight closer towards the finishing line after a moment’s thought, and a grin splits wide on Edmund’s face at victory that’s come down on swift wings of bad mistakes and wrongful placing.

He moves a piece forward, has already anticipated the move that Peter’s made. Playing chess is like playing at being master tactician, master strategist. It’s what Edmund does besides his rule. And he does it well.

Edmund can’t seem to wipe the smile that sneaks ob his face. So he raises his head, careens it to the side, still thumbing the bishop in-between his fingers. He takes a look over at Peter’s face. Just for curiosities sake.

Peter’s eyes are hooded; what cannot be seen. Edmund’s just about to move his piece forward, knock Peter’s out of the way, declaring, yes, victory, yes, checkmate, when Peter moves swift like a burst of lightning before Edmund can even form the words.

The pieces are sent flying. They hit the ground like broken fragments of a girl’s toy torn apart.

Edmund can’t think very well at the moment. He’s pulled up by the front of his tunic in an easy motion. His wrist is caught in Peter’s hold, drags him up and keeps him there. Quick, effortless action on Peter’s part alone. Edmund bangs against the table, or he nearly does, but Peter has him up by his knees to the table, their mouths locked together in unrestrained need.

Edmund is trying to stave away a smile, feels the press of a rook against a clothed leg in idle notice. It proves futile trying to hide it. So, he smiles, lets his eyes fall shut and lets his body rock against Peter’s. Edmund brushes against his brother’s lips, intertwines his tongue with Peter’s that sends Edmund wanting to gasp for air. He stays on.

Hooking his arms around Peter, Edmund is amused at the growl that is torn from the High King’s throat like he was something feral; something wild, uncontrollable.

They kiss long, explorative. It sends a thrill down Edmund’s spine at the contact. Peter tastes amazing.

They press their arousals together in joint momentum and agreement, thinking, forget games or badly played moves or chess that doesn’t matter when Peter can just take him on the table, up on the balcony, for all to see.

The thought sets Edmund on fire. He pushes harder against Peter, meeting the urgency with calmly set discipline. Even now it’s like a game of chess. You move back; you move forward, you lose pieces, you lose your Queen and King, and you lose the game.

It’s like it’s started from the beginning. Just reverse without the pieces, Edmund and Peter are the metaphors in this imagery. Edmund plays brilliantly all over again, works his fingers to the middle of Peter’s breeches, rubbing at the prominent arousal that’s all a little hard to hide.

“Yes? Edmund smiles. He breaks away from a kiss, breath a little ragged for his own liking. He presses a kiss to the side of Peter’s mouth, then pulls back away, as if baiting. Edmund looks far too innocent for Peter. He slips his hand lower, a little more possessive against the obvious bulge.

Peter just looks blazing, but it bears little heat. He’s more than a little lustful right now. He covers Edmund’s hand with his own, lets it rub against his arousal, savouring the friction. He hisses, biting the side of Edmund’s neck, running his other hand to grasp possessively at his waist, then trail down and linger on his arse.

“You’re a tease,” Peter finally manages to half-mumble, and half-sigh, against skin already slick against his tongue. He trails a licked path from Edmund neck to his ear, nipping at flesh bare. Peter’s hand is still holding Edmund by the waist, whilst the other is working underneath his tunic, trying to peel it off.

Edmund just smiles, like everything’s all good and dandy. He runs fingers against Peter’s clothed cock, tugs his other hand to the front of Peter’s breeches. “One you enjoy all the same.” Peter has nothing to say to the truth.

Edmund lets Peter undress him, lets the wind peak at his chest, cold bristles against his skin. He kisses Peter back fiercely, letting slip his hand into the insides of Peter’s breeches. Peter groans, lets his head sag against Edmund’s chest as Edmund works fingers of magic. Edmund just chuckles. Half-naked and wanting to play it by ear, Edmund’s leading by the head in this game, Peter’s gladly giving him the reigns for now.

Somehow, Edmund gets Peter to say, “Edmund, please,” after a hand isn’t enough to sate the welling desire. And then Edmund’s already hopped off the table, sends some more chess pieces hitting the ground. Sinks down to his knees, takes Peter hot and thick and fast in his mouth.

Peter’s no good with losing, after all. All Edmund can say to that is, Checkmate. You lose.

The bishop that was once in hand is somewhere on the ground, rolling around aimlessly, as if trying to find a spot to land on.

NOTE: SO. Knowing better now to ever write James McAvoy/Skandar Keynes again, went back to Peter/Edmund to make my life easier. But might be continuing James/Skandar because that's sort of too hot to ignore right there? IDK. And favourable reviews are favourable! ♥ Thank you, folks!

(Also. S'UP poll? Please answer if you can! From the girl who brought you the Heartless and Colours series. Outside opinions are much loved and welcome!)
Profiterole: Dante's Cove - Toby and Kevin_profiterole_ on August 13th, 2008 06:47 pm (UTC)
Yay for chess!hotness. ^___^
cocomouse123: brotherlyluvcocomouse123 on August 13th, 2008 09:50 pm (UTC)
wow... that was awesome. i wanna play chess with peter.... or ed.
lighttheshadows on August 14th, 2008 12:40 am (UTC)
way to combine two of my passions
chess and incestual boy love
Noorde_tensai on August 15th, 2008 01:40 pm (UTC)
That was hot. And wonderful shift from battle at chess to lust :D