Disclamier: I do not own any one, and I am not making any money, this is just for fun

Her King

The blankets felt heavy against Susan's legs, pressing her down, suffocating her.

The High Queen of Narnia gives off an undignified grunt has she kicks off her blankets, twisting her sheets around her, trying desperately to go to sleep. The morning will come faster if I sleep Susan tells herself, switching potions again.

For three month Peter has been up on a northern patrol, and for three months Susan has been unable to sleep. Tomorrow the High King would return, and Susan could finally rest, hopefully in his arms.

Sleep is impossible, when everything about you reminds you that you aren't with him, that it has been three month since you felt his kiss or his hand trail up your leg.

Susan fights a scream of frustration.

Even this position of sleep reminds her of Peter; it's how she would sleep if he were here now, her head pillowed upon his chest listing to his heart beat, feeling his fingers lightly caressing her back, he would stare at the celling unable to do anything but breath, because there was nothing better then this.

Heat pooled through out Susan as she thought of it, her body needed his touch, her eye's ached for the sight of him, her ears wanted the sound of his laughter or the darker lower sound of calling out her name, yes! That is what she wants his body over her, covering her, surrounding her, marking her as his. Yes!

The sheets between her legs could almost be him, moving gently slowly, till she pushes him to take her hard, to demand more of her, because he was the only one who had the right to demand more of her, Her King.

The sheets creese her legs, so much like Peter's touch, Susan rolls over buries her head under her pillow, and gave up. She lost the war of control, her muffled scream of frustration, smothers her room.