Author's Note: I'd like to thank all of you who have reviewed. It brightens my day and makes writing so much more enjoyable when your readers love it as much as you do. Also I would like to give a wonderful thanks to my beta Nat who does such a wonderful job helping me figure out what exactly I'm trying to say. I must also give credit to marwen17 on the King and Queen lj community who gave me the idea from one of her fics about Peter writing (it just sounds so much like Peter). Without further ado, here is chapter two. Enjoy.

"We might make out

When nobody's there

It's not that we're scared

It's just that it's delicate."

No lights shone through the windows at the Pevensie house. There was no sound of laughing children, or smell of a Sunday roast being cooked. Every member of the Pevensie family had left hours ago. Everyone had gone out except for one.

In an upstairs bedroom sat Peter Pevensie writing in his most prized possession, his journal. These days Peter found he had so much more to write about than just adventures that seemed more like dreams. The sound of the front door closing caused Peter to stop mid sentence. Closing the notebook, he hid it in this week's spot (for Edmund always inevitably found it) and approached the landing of the stairwell.

There, looking too grown up for a girl her age, stood Susan. Her cheeks were falsely pink and her lips painted an unnatural shade of red. Peter screwed up his face at her mussed hair and smudged lips. Susan caught his eye from the doorway. He quickly looked away and walked down the hall. Neither met that night.

A week flew by before Peter had the chance to be alone with Susan again. Edmund was staying the night with a friend and Lucy had gone on a holiday with a schoolmate's family. Mother and father had a formal dinner party to attend. Susan had spent the afternoon out and decided a night in would do her well. Peter agreed to stay behind and keep her company.

Heavy footsteps filled the house as Susan read in her bedroom. Soon she heard the front door close. Tip toeing down the hallway she made it to the small closet. Stealthily she slipped inside, only to find that someone had beaten her here. Peter chastely kissed her lips as he pulled her down to sit with him.

Curled around one another, in the dark cramped hallway closet, Susan and Peter Pevensie exchanged whispers of what had happened today. Susan spoke of the trouble her friend Sybil had put her in when Sybil decided to steal a tube of lipstick while Susan paid for hers. Peter conversed about the lazy day he spent with Lucy and Edmund down at the park. Both did not speak of why Susan did not join them that day, or where she was going the next night.

Peter held Susan's hand against his heart, while she laid her head upon his sturdy shoulder. Nobody was home to disturb them, yet in the closet they remained, finding comfort in its four small walls.

Susan had long ago removed the rouge from her cheeks and the paint from her lips. Peter had always said she was beautiful without it.

"Peter," Susan began softly "no one is home, and still we are in the closet. Why don't we go downstairs on the sofa where shelves aren't pressing into our backs?"

Glancing inquistivively down at her, he kissed the top of her head. Moments passed in silence with small kisses exchanged to interrupt the quiet. Playing with his fingers, Susan noticed how one did not flow smoothly like the others. On one of Peter's fingers was a bump that was hard as bone.

Susan remembered horses and a game of tag. She recollected Edmund touching Peter so hard in passing that he fell over the side of the ledge they were playing upon, and a sickening crack reached her ears. The rush of running to the fallen King, returned to her as she sat in Peter's arms. The finger bent at an odd angle, clearly broken and a large bump began to form on his head.

Edmund felt guilty. Lucy asked if she should fetch her vile, in which Peter responded no. Susan stood away from them, tears in her eyes. The High King strode to the distraught queen opening up his arms. Running into his embrace, he soothed away her tears, hushing the sobs to sniffles, and soon to nothing. Edmund and Lucy had left with the horses to let Peter and Susan have their moment.

"I thought I…" Susan began, then corrected herself "…we, lost you when you fell over the ledge."

"It was a slight fall. I am perfectly fine," Peter assured Susan as he held her close to his frame.

Eyes gleaming with tears unshed; Susan pressed her head against his heart to be sure that he was all right. Though it beat faster, he was alive and well.

"Promise you shall never leave me," she whispered against his chest. At first she was afraid he had not heard her. Yet soon she felt a rough and tender hand lift her chin, and a pair of heavenly lips crashed upon hers.

All other kisses before paled to the passion and fire this one contained. Susan felt Peter's tongue run against her own lips begging for entrance. Gladly, she tilted her head and let him in.

The memory felt real and less like a dream the more Susan touched his hand.

"We were riding horses when you did this."

Peter looked at her with a questioning glance. "No," he began "I did this playing rugby at school."

Sighing, Susan dropped her gaze from Peter's stare. She wondered where that memory came from, if it was just a dream or if it came from somewhere deeper than that. Slowly she brought his hand to her lips, letting them graze across the surface.

"Right, I remember now," she stated in a practical tone.

There was a faltering to her voice and Peter held her closer because of it. He had meant to only give her a small peck, but his heart and body wanted more from her. His mind screamed at him to stop, that it was wrong that one should not kiss their sister in this way. But his heart remembered the horses as he explored her mouth that she willingly gave to him. He remembered not answering to her promise, because he could not make a promise to her that he had the inability to keep.

It was a strange thrill for Susan when Peter wanted more than a simple kiss. There had been many kisses from other boys, but this one created butterflies and fireworks. This kiss could stop time in its tracks, and she pondered if that would not be a bad thing. Her hands knew where to go on instinct, that they had mapped all the right places on his body long before their first closet adventure. Susan smiled against Peter as a sound escaped his throat.

Abruptly, Peter pushed Susan away, only to see a look of hurt on her face. Leaning his forehead against her own, he waited til his heart slowed down and he could catch his breath again. He could not push this any further, not so soon. Susan would understand one day.

"Why do we always meet in this tiny closet?" Susan questioned to try and lighten the mood.

Peter gazed into her eyes and voiced, "I'm not scared. Just, our relationship is fragile. It's very delicate."

The next night, Susan went out with her latest beau. Lucy asked if Peter was having a horrible day, and he gruffly responded no. He watched as she strode down the drive with her arm on the latest suitor. All of his self-control had been used to not punch the boy when he came to pick up Susan. Peter drove himself crazy all night wondering where they were and what that boy might be doing with Susan.

It was eleven when the closet door opened and Susan sat in Peter's arms again. This time she still had her painted face on. Gently, she kissed him.

"He and I, we didn't do anything," she began.

His heart took flight, and so on instinct he kissed her with all the pent up jealousy and passion he had. As they snuggled in the closet, Susan yawning against Peter's strong chest, Peter stroked her raven locks idly with the hand that had made Susan remember.

When Susan's breathing became deep and heavy, he whispered to her "I remember the horses too."