Peter Pevensie was absolutely insufferable sometimes. He knew all too well how to treat others the right way. Ever so careful to mind his manners and to patiently and sound-mindedly solve whatever problems were thrown at him during the day. The throne truly fit him well. When something irked him, he quickly covered it with a well-practiced smile. He didn't fake that smile most of the time. Oh, no: he was disgustingly authentic with his delight of talking to people. As an introvert, it frustrated and awestruck me simultaneously. I wished it all came as easily for me. I cared, deeply. But I was awful at showing it in a crowd setting. He excelled at it. Politeness and patience were traits he had learned to possess.

But I knew the man beneath the crown. My slight petty jealousy was always eased by the tell-tale signs of his humanity that very few others knew. Like the tell-tale twitch of his jaw before the calculated smile when something little frustrated him. Like the way his boot would silently tap the floor under the table when the council got particularly boring. Like the ways his eyes would traitorously sparkle in amusement if somebody said something that could have a humorous double meaning. Like the way his eyes would go a little greyer in undertone when a particularly dark matter presented itself before him. His heart truly did bleed for the people, and his compassion is part of what drew me to him in the first place and continues to do so.

Yes, Peter Pevensie was beautifully human under all the gold magnificence. He was also beautifully male. Especially in private. Sureness and warmth radiated from his immense hands. He was so acutely aware of my tell-tales too, and he knew just how to drive me mad. Yet, once again, even in moments of hot breaths and wet kisses, Peter minded his manners, in a way of speaking. He held back. He loved strongly, and still sweetly and slowly, as if I were made of thin crystal to be shattered at any moment. As if by habit, his patience lay thick between his mind and his body, only allowing his passion out so much. I saturated in the level of slow intimacy in which he loved, yet I also found myself longing to unleash the unchecked passion behind his eyes. For what would happen if he didn't shake with self-restraint in his own set pace. For what would happen if he didn't muffle the sounds that escaped his lips. I wanted to see High King Peter lose control.

So I found myself scheming. And I formulated a plan.

Now, I do not possess any level of patience whatsoever. So, I quickly put my idea into action.

The next morning, I took my seat next to Peter at the breakfast table. Susan and Lucy were sitting across from us, Susan quietly taking bites of eggs and toast, and Lucy talking excitedly about a funny dream she had. I liked breakfasts. The meal was sacred because it was usually the only one that it was just us. Lunch was usually spent in our separate ways with whoever we had business with that day, and supper, although together, was often attended by a number of courtiers and friends. For just a few hours in the morning, we didn't have to mind our manners to quite the extent that we did for the rest of the day. Thus why we never bothered to wait for Edmund. He came down the stairs twenty minutes later looking like he didn't bother to do anything to groom himself after he rolled out of bed. Rubbing his eyes, he plopped down into his chair. Lucy gave an enthusiastic "Good morning!" while the rest of us echoed at a lower decibel. He grunted a "Morning," before focusing on his toast.

Fun fact about Ed: He actually is a morning person. But he usually stays awake so damn late reading that he ends up sleeping in and waking just a bit grumpy.

Fun fact about Peter: He actually is not a morning person. He gets up early, sure. But that is just to be up long enough so he can become coherent. The first hour he's awake, he's in a groggy and only half-present. And that unawareness is what made it so easy this morning.

Peter took a sip of orange juice when I decided to discreetly move my hand under the table over to his inner thigh and start drawing slow circles there with my fingers.

He choked on the orange juice.

Susan's eyes sparkled behind her tilted cup of tea. Ed let out a lazy snicker. Lucy stopped her story. "Are you alright?"

Peter cleared his throat. "Yes." Another cough. "I just forgot there was pulp in the juice."

"There's always pulp," Susan quipped.

All this while, I never stopped my circles. I waited for him to start his reply to Susan to move my hand over his groin.

"I…" was all he got out. Susan raised her eyebrow in victory, but then went back to her toast.

Meanwhile, I was quite enjoying the evident reaction I was getting from Peter.

Slow strokes. Slight touches.

I took a sip of my coffee, and set it back down and swallowed. "How is the treaty of trade with the Black Dwarfs coming along? Has the council approved yet?"

He made eye contact with me, and the fire I found there was almost enough to deter me from my game. Almost.

But there was also resolve in those blues. Peter was competitive, and by now he knew I was challenging him.

So when his reply came, although punctuated a bit more staccato than usual, it came with confidence. "They haven't officially approved, but it's looking well like they will by the end of the day."

The conversation moved forward with Edmund going into more detail about the treaty as I continued my strokes. Just when Peter started to raise his hips slightly, I moved my hand away.

If looks could kill. Exasperation, frustration, and desire swirled in the glance he threw my direction.

It was then that Tumnus came in the room, politely announcing the first task that needed attending to in the throne room.

Lucy greeted Tumnus with a warm hug before going off with Susan to the throne room. Edmund rose slowly up to leave, straightening his posture, when he noticed that Peter and I were still sitting.

"Aren't you coming?"

I rose up first with a smug smile. "Of course."

"Pete?" Edmund prompted, again.

"Give me a minute, Ed," came his rasp reply.

Ed may not have known the exact nature of what was occurring, but he was no idiot. He looked to me, back to Peter, rolled his eyes, and then left.

Peter stood and turned to me. Just as he moved to pull me close, one of the kitchen staff came in to clear the table.

She started to mutter an apology, but I informed her not to worry, as we were just leaving. Which I did, and left Peter time to collect himself.

This little game was going even better than I hoped.