title: what i am to you is not real
author: kirstie (lullabylucky)
rating: pg-13
disclaimer: not mine.
characters/pairings: susan/peter. lucy. edmund.
notes: movie!verse. susan/peter is my otp and i don't care to hear your opinion if you think this is wrong - so don't bother continuing.
other: not beta-ed. sorry. title lyric from damien rice.
it starts with a storm. lightening shakes the house and illuminates the walls with figures that only you can see when looking.
lucy and susan both end up in his bed - curled into either side of him. peter doesn't mind, he's used to being the father by now.
lucy falls back into slumber, grateful for the protective force beside her.
susan, still trembles. shaking like a leaf - shaking him. where is her mask? her facade? never before has he seen her this way, not even facing battle with creatures that shouldn't exist.
"su?"
"it reminds me of home," she quickly spills and by the look on her face, unintentionally. but she never could lie - not to him.
"it reminds me of the war."
in that moment, she is vulnerable and peter then realizes that her facade is just that. no matter the face she puts on for lucy or edmund or narnia - she is scared.
he pulls her to him. he kisses her forehead and she tucks her head under his chin. she cries, but won't admit it in the morning.
she cries and it shakes peter to the bone.
it started with a storm.
-----
she's cautious now. he has seen her without her cover and she plays it safe.
nods in the hall, "thank you"'s at dinner, and "hello"'s for the siblings sake don't satisfy him.
"susan."
strong. firm. king-like.
it makes her frown.
she excuses herself from a game of checkers with lucy and enters the hall, turning slowly.
he watched her carefully, knowing full well that she already has one foot out the door.
"you've been avoiding me."
it's not a question but she nods. he's sick of the motion.
"talk to me."
her eyes narrow, "i don't take orders."
"then don't make me have to give them." as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's wrong. he practically cringes.
cue bravado.
"excuse me, if i don't beckon at every call that 'king' peter throws my way. i am not your servant."
she brushes past him, hitting his shoulder on the way, and her hair smells like lavender.
"excuse me, your majesty."
even she'll admit - that was low.
-----
lather, rinse, repeat. a storm barrels over them that very same night and he's not surprised to see her standing at the foot of his bed.
he can see her glistening blue eyes from the bed.
he sighs, but only for good measure before he lifts his blanket, relishing the heat of her body as it molds into his own.
she's too close but never close enough.
-----
"this is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong."
but it doesn't mean a thing when it's murmured against his lips.