the_seafarer | [au] Narnia and the North

[au] Narnia and the North

There's a chill bite to the air, these days. The horses have been growing out their winter coats, and they look shaggy and plump as Caspian turns them out into the paddocks. Behind the stables, in the makeshift woodshop he'd cobbled together, the sleigh from his drawings is starting to come together.

He hopes he'll have it finished by Christmas. With a little luck, and maybe some assistance, he thinks it should be possible. The tack, he's largely left up to Susan's devices, though he'd commission Gimli the dwarf for the various buckles and other metal pieces they'll need.

Once the horses are turned out, he gets to his other morning chores with a will, whistling cheerfully as he does. The stable stays strangely quiet around him. It takes him the better part of an hour to realize the strangeness is because he's become accustomed to Susan's cheerful presence working alongside him, talking or humming or simply working in companionable silence.

Caspian pauses in his task – refilling the grain chest – and looks around. Susan's nowhere to be seen, and when he later wanders through the stables, checking each stall and outside, he can't find her there, either.

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Her breath catches at the feel of his hand on her back, and she gives herself willingly to his kisses. Susan threads her fingers into his hair, tangling them in his golden curls, and traces an aimless pattern over his nape with her thumb.

He shivers again, then wraps his arms tight around her and lifts himself, lifts her, so that he can lie back on the bed and bring her with him, covering him like a blanket as he kisses her and kisses her and kisses her again.

The world spins dizzyingly around her as he moves, as he carries her with him. Susan ignores it, utterly lost in him as she returns each sweet kiss. She stretches against him, one hand in his hair and the other at his shoulder, and shivers a little at the soft scrape of fabric against skin.

He groans to feel the press of her body as she stretches, and buries his hands in her hair, which is falling around him in a golden flood, then rolls to kiss her down into his own pillow. His heart hammers in his chest, but his hand is warm and steady as he traces it down her side, to the place where his shirt hangs against her leg. He slips his fingers beneath the hem and slides his palm up the outside of her thigh to her hip.

She arches up against him, into his touch. "Caspian," she murmurs, and kisses him again as she wraps her arms around him. "Oh, Caspian."

Her soft voice seems to turn the blood in his veins to wine; he's heady with it, and with her soft warm skin beneath his fingers, his palm. He runs his hand up her ribcage and shifts his body to the side so he can curve his fingers over her breast, thumb sweeping gentle but firm over the sensitive tip.

"Su," he whispers back, and ducks his head to press kisses along the line of her throat. "Dearest, darling."

A small whimper escapes her as his touch sparks shocks of sensation through her. Susan tips her head back to give him more space, and runs her hands along his back to his waist. She tugs the hem of his shirt free and presses her hands to his skin, wanting more of him.

He makes a low, rough sound as her fingers press into his bare skin. The Kings and Queens of Narnia carry a good deal of polish and politeness, genteel manners and proper conduct, but beneath it all they are, each and every one, Sons and Daughters of Adam and Eve, and the Sons of Adam have ever wanted more.

As he wants, now. His finger squeeze gently around her and he rolls her nipple between two fingers, then lifts his head and shifts down along her body to set his mouth over the tip of her breast, caring nothing for the fabric between his mouth and her skin.

"Oh--"

She bends like a bow, trying to get closer, and runs one hand along his back even as she pulls the other free to cup the back of his neck, cradling his head with her fingers.

He laughs, breathless, and tugs at her borrowed shirt. "Is it terribly rude to ask you to take this off only moments after you've put it on?"

She dissolves into giggles, thrilling at the teasing and laughter near as much as at the sweetness of his touch, say true.

"I'll not mind it," Susan manages, mischief in her glance. She lifts her hand from his back to tangle her fingers in his shirt, pulling lightly. "Mayhap I'd be able to convince thee to do the same?"

His smile breaks like dawn over the ocean, and he sits up abruptly to skin the shirt up and off, over his head. Its passage leaves his hair even more mussed than before, and he's flushed pink all across his bare chest.

"Perhaps," he allows, and lets the shirt fall where it will before he leans down to kiss her once more more.

She kisses him back, slow and sweet and lingering, as her hands roam over his chest and shoulders. Susan traces along each line and curve, describing him with her hands and her touch as though she's trying to memorize him.

He shivers deliciously beneath her touch, and strokes his own hand down over the borrowed shirt she wears, tugging at the hem and coaxing it slowly up along her body, allowing himself to caress each inch of warm skin as it's bared.

She sits up so that he can have his way and draw the borrowed shirt free more easily, taking the opportunity to kiss the side of his neck and down until she breathes kisses into his chest, over his heart. Susan thinks she can feel the sweet race of his pulse tingling in her lips, and kisses him there again.

His heart thuds hard against his ribs as her mouth presses to his chest, and he's trembling by the time he grasps the shirt and tugs it up and over her head. He watches her hair spill free with the dark-blown eyes of a man lost in her beauty and sweetness, and he takes a hard breath as he looks at her. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, trailing a reverent hand along the bared curve of her arm, her side.

She looks back, blushing a little at his words and oh, Susan Delgado sees him, she sees him very well indeed, and she's lost in the way he's watching her and how it makes her feel.

"As are thee," she counters. Susan shakes her hair forward over her shoulders, watching how his glance follows, and leans close so it can spill over his skin like silk as she places another kiss to his heart, then moves slowly up along the path she'd traced before to his shoulder and along his throat.

He shivers again and combs his fingers gently through the fall of her golden hair, marveling at its softness and sheen and length. His other hand he places flat against her back, holding her to him as he tips his head, offering up his throat, his chest, the most vulnerable places of himself.

"The Calormenes have a saying," he murmurs, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes. "'My eyes are darkened because of her beauty.' I've never quite understood it."

Though his eyes are darker now, pupils blown wide with desire. "For all I can think is how you brighten everything I see. You've brought me such joy, Su."

"Give you joy from my joy," she tells him, sweet and clear and certain.

(come come commala)

Her own gaze is soft, but oh, her eyes are shining with everything she feels. Susan curves her hand against the side of his face, stroking her thumb gently over the arch of his cheek, back and forth, and then leans down to kiss his mouth, with all of her heart in the kiss.

His lips meet hers with all of the sweetness and warmth and desire that's flooded his chest like sunlight –

(the dream is ended – this is the morning)

– and Caspian plunges his fingers into her hair, wraps his arm around her, holds her close like the precious thing that she is, giving himself up to her with all the will in the world. "Susan," he murmurs. "Beloved."

Her heart leaps within her at his soft words, and she clings to him as he holds her tight, shivering at the feel of his hand in her hair and his strong embrace.

"As are thee," she whispers. "Caspian, as are thee."

He makes a small sound and for a moment only holds her, pressing his face into the crook of her neck, his arms wrapped securely about her slender frame. She still smells of fresh grass and saltwater and of the flowers of Aslan's Country – and of herself, most of all, warm and wonderful.

Caspian lifts his head to kiss her once more and lets her go only long enough to shuck off his trousers and underthings, shoving them away until he's long and lean and bare beneath her, twining her legs with his own.

She stretches against him, desire rising in her like a tide in the sea. Susan kisses him back and trails her fingers along his skin from his arm to his side to the angle of his hip, coaxing him closer still.

He sets his hands at her hips and shifts her up along his own body, so that she can lean on her elbows on either side of his head with her hair spilling all around them, and so that he can catch one breast in his mouth, his hand curving over the other. Desire is swiftly becoming need, a sweet warmth in his blood, and all his thoughts are bent on helping her feel as nice as possible.

She lets out a soft moan at the feel of his mouth and his hand, and shudders helplessly at the sensual onslaught. Susan tangles the fingers of one hand in his hair and presses a kiss to the crown of his head, then shifts her weight with the native grace of a rider to settle astride his body.

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