A Few Self-Indulgent Scenes with Edmund

[illicitresearch]

Who: Zexion & Edmund Pevensie
Where/When: City of Ariel (Pre-Reboot), A Fussy "Prudish" Tearoom on a Chilly Late Afternoon
Warnings: Foodporn, Footsie, All that underaged sex good stuff that comes from a heavily aphro'd game context.


The end of Zexion's nose was still a fierce shade of pink by the time he finally shed his outer layers and unwound his scarf, and it still felt colder than the rest of his face, prompting the habitual rubbing between service as the tea parlous maids bustled about, shooting disapproving looks and tutting and gaping in wide-eyed disapproval at couples fondling each other beneath the twee tables as if that were actually a scandalous offense.

It was all tongue-in-cheek play, of course, and that in itself was marvelous people-watching entertainment, if not for the spoils of his own present company. Upon Edmund's arrival, he held up his own shrunken cup from its saucer with sly guilt playing at the corners of his mouth, along with a rich brown smear that he licked away with far less sublety than was proper, shrugging.

"I know, I know, skipping tea for drinking chocolate's a right punishable offense by your sensibilities,"  He surrendered, easing his shoulderblades back against the parlour chair and setting his cup back down. "But alas, it tempted me, I simply couldn't help myself."

The array of sweets seemed unfairly delectable today too, three tiers of crispy, fudgey and chewy, ganache truffles oozing caramel and delicately half-dipped rolled wafers, rich two-bite black forest cakes and other attractive morsels rolled in crushed nuts and candied peel.

Comments

[just_edmund]

Something lonely and yearning stirred in Edmund in congruence. It was a feeling he was used to pushing down deep, for it served no purpose here where an intimacy with anyone was a dangerous, useless thing. But the pliant drape of Ienzo's body, the whispered confessions, needled at him that his own words might turn very well on himself. You needn't be entirely alone.

"Then be kind to it," he replied simply, a hand passing over Ienzo's slight chest. "As you would be to your body." Whether or not there was a cure for it wasn't the point. Whatever troubled this boy, it weighed heavy enough on him to keep him up at night. It wasn't fair for him to bear all the burden of those unanswered questions alone.

His flush betrayed him when insinuations were turned his way suddenly. Edmund looked away, pointedly. "They're just nightmares," he said, pushing down the rise of panic. He had no idea what he'd cried out in his sleep, that Ienzo might have heard. "A bad supper can do that to a fellow. Or a lumpy rock of a bed."

Hoping for distraction, he slid his fingers through the curiously silky spiked locks. Ienzo really didn't mind this touch, did he? "I wouldn't turn down that offer. If it isn't any bother." Till then, he would just have to angle for some oral recitation of those dangerous musings. If he could manage it without adding to Ienzo's case of heartsickness.

"Lost yourself?" Edmund pressed his lips together thoughtfully. The wriggling of back and thighs under his fingers was not the resistance of a frigid tarte nor a shy retreating virgin. There was another pause as he weighed his probable success and, finally, went with his gut. He laid the bottle to one side, out of the way, and reached for Ienzo. His hands took hold of gracefully flared hips and drew them, not inescapably, towards his lap.

"I don't mean anything by this," he murmured, soothing, almost apologetic. "I just thought you might...miss this. Maybe." He didn't have any real evidence, only suspicions, assumptions, and hunches to go off of. But the way Ienzo had spoken so adoringly of his older chums...

[illicitresearch]

It was a piece of advice kindly meant, but poorly recieved, especially as Edmund laid a hand over his heart. Ienzo's lungs emptied, dry, shuddering heave of a sound, and he bowed his head, shaking it, more than a bit ashamed of himself and his bitterness. How readily he was about to betray secrets to a boy he still barely knew. That he'd courted for a little camaradie on a passing whim. This was happening so quickly, so fast, his adolescent miseries bubbling up to the surface.

"I hardly sleep, barely eat..." Indeed, what was good supper from a bad one anymore, when you weren't hurrying it down and shoving extra breadrolls in your pockets and excusing yourself to join the upper years at their projects? What was real satiation, if not a picnic in Master Ansem's attic in the summer rain, feasting on a spread of biscuits, cheese, and apples nicked from the parlour fruit bowl, shaved so carefully to crisp slices with a pocket knife and pressed imploringly against his lips.

What was a good shower anymore, for that matter, under the dormitory's squeaky, lukewarm taps, when the fagging masters ducked in past the curtain, backed you against the tile and siezed your prick while laughing and called you a wasted little Tart, instead of sidling up against you smoothly from behind with a washcloth already lathered in french-milled lavender soap? There were reasons he sometimes let himself go filthy until the smell was almost noticeable, and rinsed out his bangs over the sink, fully clothed, spinning toward the doorway with the ends sopping and spraying outward whenever someone else ducked into the washroom.

"What makes you think I've been kind to my body?" Ienzo sneered, despite every movement right now, which seemed a self-indulgence for the sake of being touched. He thought nothing less of Edmund, for his nightmares, but hated when it meant he couldn't creep off somewhere else in the middle of the night, to pace out his insomnia down the halls after lights out.

But how could he resent a boy who pulled him gently in between his thighs without any malice meant by it, with something like tender sympathy, well-meaning, and probably misplaced? He found he couldn't lean up on Edmund's chest and feel wholly supported, nor give himself entirely to straddling a lap he was a little too well-matched in size for, to feel small and slight and cherished in.

His face reddened. He did miss this. He missed it too much to move away, but it smelled wrong, and it felt wrong, but the wrongness was all in the lack of their familiarity... not in the idea of having another boy hold him, itself. It made him feel knotted in the stomach, and traitorous.

"It's not the same." Ienzo said in a shrinking tone, curling his limbs toward the center of his body, and if to make himself physically smaller in Edmund's lap, equally apologetic. "You're not the same. I don't need a fraternity, I need... I miss-"

The evidence is in his trembling thighs and tangled tongue, having trouble with the inevitable confession.

"There's a very depraved sort of hunger in me, Edmund Pevensie." He finally whispers in exhasperation. "My body belongs to someone who's already left it behind, and I've neglected it to spite myself, for giving it away. Swear to me you won't breathe a word of this?" He looks back at Edmund with a one-eyed stare that begs to be permitted, despite pouring out the shameful truth. "The rumors are true- we were bedfellows here at school, he and I, and under our benefactor's roof. And I do miss it, I do. This place is hardly tolerable anymore."

[just_edmund]

For a moment, he was afraid Ienzo was going to be sick. No more cordial for him... And then he saw that the problem went farther than a few too many sips of fermented apples. Something was fundamentally, deeply wrong with him. Unhappiness was seeped into him like some wasting disease. Edmund wondered that he had covered it so well til then. Now that he saw it, it seemed strange to him that he hadn't noticed it before. Ienzo's efforts to hide had been effective.

Not this afternoon, though. The awkwardness was palpable, more than a little uncomfortable at the raw display of a malady he clearly had no part in. It was like - like seeing a family member naked, in pain; the mixture of wrongness and compassion twisted in his gut, and he had no outlet for it here. He frowned at the accusations, the hunching frame situated in his lap. He ran tongue and teeth over his bottom lip, waiting for the full confession of it all while tamping down on any retorts that might spring to the surface. His misguided attempts to console left him with a sour taste in his mouth. Of course he wasn't the same. He wasn't trying to be. He'd been offering the comfort of intimacy, and instead found a boy on withdrawals from the drug-like effect of his Blood.

He met the pleading stare head-on, and some of what he thought was written across his face. How did he, the one who rarely sought out the gossip and yet seemed to end up on the receiving end of it all too often, become the unwitting confidante for this boy's sordid affairs? If he'd given any credence at all to the rumours, it was to the idea that Ienzo might have been puppy-struck with certain ones of the older fellows in his group, might have offered certain liberties in exchange for their favour or protection or - or secrets from their research or what-have-you.

But the way Ienzo spoke of it, it was as if he belonged body and soul to his departed leader. Edmund tried to imagine being in love with that sort of person, someone who played fast and loose with the laws of humanity, ethics, and memory itself. It boggled him. "I swear," he said, without thinking, for he was never the type to go about spilling secrets. That was the easy part. Harder, much harder, was any sort of other reply to the bewildering succession of emotions Ienzo had lashed out with. Some of that struggle flashed across his features as well.

"You can't have what you think you need, while you are here," he said plainly, at last. "You do yourself no favours by self-flagellation. Sooner or later, it must all catch up with you." It already had, on the inside; Edmund suspected it would not be very long before the outside cracked too. "If you think things are bad now, imagine how it would be if your benefactor received news that you had fainted from malnutrition, or went raving mad one day in the lecture hall." Not just Ansem, either, for such news would no doubt be of interest to the close-knit circle, graduated or no.

He sighed a little. This was all very much more serious than he'd ever imagined when he'd cozied up to Ienzo. Just what sort of Pandora's box had he cracked open with his own dogged curiosity?

[illicitresearch]

He was losing his classmate, that much seemed clear from Edmund looking at him like he was rubbernecking a roadside wreck, or like his hands were suddenly much fuller than he'd expected. Then came his pragmatic cautioning, well meant and gentle with lack of condemnation as it was, chiding him only a little for the rusty parts of his self-maintenence that weren't accidental.

"I know all that." He groans tiredly, folding his butterflied knees over Edmund's parted thighs and bowing forward, his hands coming up to rub at his face. "They would all think it was from the pressures of placing me early. Or changing my house." There were perfectly rational things to excuse a breakdown. He'd penned plenty of pages about how people cracked under stress, to set formulaic answers in their hands in the headmaster's office, or even with his dreaded nemesis the school chaplain.

"I'm not a fool. I know what to say." Ienzo insisted, his voice bottoming out dryly in the gravelly basement of his still-undeveloped lower register. He taught me exactly how to lie, if suspicions ever arose. What he hadn't been instructed directly, he'd learned from watching how smoothly his charismatic senior slid on polite charm and easy ignorance when he'd overstepped boundaries, how he'd tactfully weave elegant alibis that Ienzo only needed to nod his head silently and go along with. But he never told me what to do, if I suddenly confessed it to a new friend. Ienzo realized, sitting here in Pevensie's lap. How could I, when he said that no one else would ever be clever enough, to be on the level with us?

There was certainly some quality of exclusivity in their deep companionship, in the way he'd been herded away from socializing with schoolmates closer to his own age. He'd never had peers that weren't his elder 'brother's' boys. They had been an impenetrable set, and what he and their ringleader had was even more intimate. Only Braig had even given the annoying impression of being privy to more secrets, but he had the honor of being Xeha's first chum, if not his favorite, and the biggest eavesdropper.

"My marks are fine," The scholarship boy smiled wanely, and reasoned so tamely, self-assured that his academic skill would always be beyond what his lessons would be able to challenge him with. "So apart from poor attendance at clubs, no one ever notices a thing around here, about me... (Only you've ever noticed, that I was watching you.)" He added, raising his head bashfully.

"I just wish they'd write." He wagged his head with a harsh sigh, exhasperated, and ashamed that they'd left him without means of keeping abreast. "Or that I even knew where to post letters, these days." He'd never felt so cut off, even in his younger years of isolated home tutelage, when he wrote beautifully, but Lord Ansem feared that he'd never use his tongue to express a thing unless the library doors were kept locked, and all the fountain pens were taken from him. That was probably when he'd first learned to privately hate his master.

"It's like he never even existed." Ienzo moped, angry at the inteligence agencies for their no-contact protocols, but even more betrayed still that his fellows could not bend a few rules for his sake, just as they always had. "(Like we never existed.)"

"I must sound so droll and stupid, right now." He scoffed in embarassment, fidgeting with his own fingertips. "Whatever Secret Society business you thought you were weaseling your way into, I bet you couldn't imagine it was so pathetic?"

[just_edmund]

Gods. Edmund wasn't sober enough to handle an emotionally-compromised, too-clever-by-half lad with a self-destructive penchant. Nor was he drunk enough to laugh it all off as a lark or overlook the pitiable rawness with a few handy gestures. He wanted to tuck the plaintive youth into bed, then rub at his temples and drink the rest of that bottle of cordial. That plan was still an option, right?
,
(At least he needn't worry about anything, er, popping up on his end at the moment. A Bulgy Bear taking a mudbath would be more erotic than this cataclysm of uncomfortable feelings.)

"I'm glad you have your alibis all worked out," Edmund said dryly. "I've noticed you watching. I didn't notice all the rest. You've hidden it well. Perhaps too well."

Awkwardly, he patted Ienzo's shoulder, unsure what one did to soothe a cast-off puppy-love. He still had not the faintest idea how to reply to each new outburst, and so he merely nodded at the right intervals and quietly sipped at the flask so that he was spared any further need for words. Fortunately, Ienzo seemed in no short supply of them. Maybe he just needed someone to listen for a while?

Oh. Damn. Called out on his faces. Edmund could have groaned. Susan would have killed him for letting all that chagrin show so plainly. They'd practiced their poker faces so many times...

The hand he laid on Ienzo's shoulder was much more sure this time. "Friendship and affection are never pathetic," he said, with a shake of his head. "It isn't wrong to feel as you do. It must make things very difficult for you here." Of all the fellows Ienzo could have told this tale to, Edmund's was surely the most sympathetic ear. Nevermind that Lucy would be much more qualified to comfort the broken-hearted young man, or Susan to take him in hand and make sure he took proper care of himself.

"How do you plan to make it through the next terms?" he added gently. "Graduation is a long way off yet. Would your sponsor let you have a private tutor, if the stress of boarding school got to you?" Privately, he thought to himself that it sounded as if Ienzo's beau had cut off communication on purpose, ending the schoolboy affair either for the good of both parties or perhaps more self-serving reasons. It was an observation that seemed unkind to point out to Ienzo just then, especially since he was no doubt clever enough to have considered it himself.

[illicitresearch]

Edmund didn't have to sound so scathing, that he had all his bases covered, or that his misery had been presenting too covertly for company, up until now. It left him feeling a little disdainful pressure in his schoolmate's tone, and almost left him wanting to slink out of Edmund's lap and go sit up in the professor's chair, tinker with his collection of desk fidgets. He didn't, but only because the boy reached out to steady his shoulder comfortingly, and he'd feel guilty pulling away from that consolation.

It isn't wrong. Maybe Edmund was pretending to be deaf, or he really was more liberally classical, to overlook all the confessions of partaking in his Senior friend's penchant for vaguely incestuous pederasty. But then again, would he have ever dared to coax him into his lap, if he hadn't suspected that Ienzo had already been the recipient of some friendly fondling?

"I used to enjoy school so much." He sighed out in earnest exhasperation, the sort of wistfulness that could only be attributed to one who had genuine passions for learning, dulled a little by the lack of illicit research in the basements of derilict campus buildings, peppered by erotic interludes. "I... Now I'm just going through motions. Like everyone else, but... it's difficult, yes, to connect with."

He sobers himself quickly, for someone so young and suffering infatuations that could leave a bullheaded youth rather fixated and unable to reel himself back, even under the guidance of someone trying to gently steer him toward another line of thought.

But Ienzo recognizes it at once, Edmund's careful redirection toward strategizing, and instead of resenting it fully, tries latching on, because he hasn't had a real conversation that hasn't gone circular or trite in months.

"What would that fix?" He laughs a little, brokenly, shaking his head because he doesn't really think that retreating to Lord Ansem's study would be any more useful for him, in the long run. "I can get through it, it's just..." Is painfully boring and lonesome even a good excuse, right here in the middle of his first proper tiny 'escapade' with a new conspirator? "Well, apart from you, all the other lads are boorish and juvenile."

And about that- It's something else that's perplexing and curious about Edmund, the mystery he still hadn't been able to sort and now while he's trying to brush off the embarassment of coming clean about his intimacies is as good a time as any.

"You try to act like you're not a few years ahead of yourself." Ienzo observes shrewdly, leaning forward and draping his forarms over Edmund's shoulders, letting his hands hand limp-wristed, as he surveys Edmund at half-arms length with cooler, appraising eyes. "Which is awfully interesting, you'll have to share your methods, sometime, but I haven't got the patience to do the same."

[just_edmund]

"Consider yourself lucky to have had a time when you enjoyed school." This time the dryness was all for himself. Edmund envied him those years of having close companionship, trust, protection, stimulation, all at his fingertips. A Blood for a brother, and a popular one at that, had not been the same thing at all. He was given begrudging berth because of that reputation, once they were at the same school, but it did not invite any further kindness or camaraderie than that. And that wasn't even taking into account those years of relentless bullying and pressure to bully in return. Thank the gods those days were behind him.

At least it was a feeling he could easily understand in Ienzo. Edmund wondered absently if he would have taken that bargain, a year of feverish learning and exchanged attentions, for two years of hollow loneliness. When it came down to it, how much different was it from his own predicament? He'd gotten far more than a year - fifteen years, a month, six months - and now came the time to pay the piper, with people who could not possibly begin to understand him, and lessons finished in minutes, leaving him hours of unfilled time to reflect, remember, want. Painfully bored and lonesome was not such a bad descriptor.

One corner of his mouth lifted in acknowledgement of the compliment. "My goal in life, to not be boorish and juvenile." The scrutiny turning back to himself, now...Edmund blinked, caught off guard. "Do I? I suppose I'm lucky not everybody has your sharp eyes, then. I'd rather not be...noticed...in a place like this. Which is why I suppose I found you so disconcerting."

He was sensible of the diversion, deliberate on Ienzo's part, although he wasn't sure what to make of the arms slung about his shoulders. "I'm afraid my methods consist mostly of not having been part of a high-profile society of scientific geniuses and misfits," Edmund commented, with a wryness that kept his tone light. "Camouflage by omission. But I shouldn't mind forming a private club, very exclusive you know...something for the Preservation and Mutual Well-Being of Precocious Young Minds." Absently, he let his fingers curl around a hip on each side, fingertips a few inches apart across the breadth of Ienzo's pelvis bone. He had turned a consciously blind eye to any of the more questionable aspects of the young man's affairs, content to accept it as something more star-crossed than sordid. He couldn't find it in him to judge him for it.

"I'd welcome the chance to do more than merely survive, here. It is a shameful waste of talent, just getting by." Edmund peeped thoughtfully at the would-be wunderkind. "Even if the others don't know. Especially if they don't know."

[illicitresearch]

"I suppose." The boy agreed half-heartedly, uncomfortable with the thought that he'd had a golden year of feeling so alive while his schoolmates had experienced nothing of its kind. It made them so difficult to talk to, made him feel foreign and alien as Xeha must have been when he first came to school, nothing but raw, immediate experience and wild visionary dreams to guide him. But Ienzo had none of his Senior's natural magnetism to gather other intellectual misfits to him, or so he'd thought- until he'd had Pevensive here, scrubbing away at the lock.

Should he feel guilty now, for having enjoyed himself for that too-brief window of time? Hadn't Edmund just finished telling him not to punish himself over it? Should he try, perhaps, to throw himself fully into the present and see what happened?

"I've started learning that, watching you?" Ienzo agreed sheepishly, when Edmund admits his deliberateness in trying to coast beneath anyone's radar. "It's better to try to blend in and be a Nobody." It was a little to late for him, who had made a name for himself tailing around with that set of older boys, youngest accepted scholarship kid? Showing up the professors with a quick tongue, assignments done, and then some? Slinking back into the shadows might make his benefactor believe he'd backed the wrong horse, prancing out of the gate and then losing wind less than halfway through, with the departure of his mentors.

But maybe there's something new to fill his sails, named Edmund Pevensie, secretively matured and quietly heretical, making casually indecent proposals while flirting with the shape of his pelvic bone. The warmth of his hands, seeping through the wool of Ienzo's winter trousers, was inviting enough that it left him churning his hips a little in Edmund's hold, muscles in his bottom leading the motion. It wasn't meant to chase that touch away so much as encourage some extra kneading from his fingers, a stir of movement to suggest he still could be stirred.

Especially if no one ever knew.

"I.. think I rather like the sound of that?" He spoke tenatively, his voice a smoothed sort of practiced nimble tiptoe, eyes careful but much surer-footed than the sort of innocent youth who wasn't contemplating a second go at sharing bunkspace. "And tell me," Ienzo swallowed, hands coming together in consideration behind Edmund's head, fingertips scrunching together at the back of his hair. "What would this private club do more of, exactly, aside from taking tipples off our dear History prof's stash?"

"That is..." And here he goes digging in deeper, a shift of his curiousity that blooms with the kind of strange, spiraling intensity that shrinks the rest of the world down to insignificance. A question that probes and hones right in on his schoolfellow's passions, particularly whatever falls outside of cirricular guidance. "What sort of things interest you most, strike your secret fancy, outside of lessons?"

[just_edmund]

Watching Ienzo, Edmund found himself pondering if standing out a bit more might not have been worth it. The hungry brilliance that burned beneath the calm reserve was something he envied. Ienzo hadn't hidden himself behind a cowardly facade of ordinariness. His thirst for knowledge was more important than his own self-preservation. That seemed the height of assurance to Edmund.

He felt the rise and fall of hips beneath his hands with a roused sense of Ienzo's...practicum in physical affairs. He'd never wanted his own reputation to get around - part and parcel of going unnoticed and unmolested - and chasteness was more convenient all around for that. (Broken with one or two more-or-less successful encounters, and one unpleasant incident his first week back when he'd proven Peter wasn't the only Pevensie who knew how to fight.)

Breaking that streak now wasn't even his intention, not after hearing Ienzo's confessions and finding himself in a comforting stand-in role (which he wasn't even doing a bang-up job of at that). But he liked the scrunch of fingers in his hair, the interest Ienzo showed in him. It didn't feel like a dangerous interest.

"I...guess you could say I'm a reformer type. Not very splashy, but now that the war's over, it's something more practical than, say, code-breaking or espionage." Edmund shrugged off his pursuits as though they were not very important to him, although they were something he certainly planned to study at Oxford and go into law for. "Health services, re-establishment of local business and farming, agencies for soldiers and widows. I'd like to do something decent in the world. Make up for my unsavory hobbies."

He chuckled and threw a glance at the desk that was supposedly full of secrets. "Secret societies are a rarer indulgence for me than sniping restricted books. Or for that matter, tippling a fine cordial." He arched a brow at Ienzo, fingers plying at the strips of flesh girding his coccyx. "As for what our own society should address...the nature of memories sounds like a fine place to start. Since that seems to be one of your areas of expertise."

[illicitresearch]

"You have hobbies more unsavory than this?" He questions keenly, scrutinizing Edmund with lively, gently teasing eyes. Small hands roam the back of his scalp with lazy curiousity, mapping out the cranium and the top of his spine, those tiny but critical muscles supporting the brainstem, as if Ienzo fancied himself an amateur phrenologist, or was simply as dedicated to giving a little head stimulation physically as he was intellectually. Drunkenness could be blamed, perhaps, for his funny whims. Or perhaps he'd been his way with his beloved senior schoolfellow, attentively rubbing temples or massaging shoulders in the breaks between long writing sessions.

Edmund's goals sounded almost disappointingly grounded and practical and terribly nobleminded, cementing in his mind that this was someone a little too altrustic at heart, for him. All the same, it could be a carefully patent answer, feeling out how Ienzo felt about surface values. He tried to seem enthusiastically curious.

"So you'll what- join up with local committees, eventually, wherever home is for you?" The boy prompted. "Join a party and try to politick?"

Damn tough work he has cut out for him, if his school popularity had anything to show for it.

Memories, though, memories were a subject he could carry on at length about, if nudged in the right direction. Ienzo inhaled through his nose, trying not to get carried away by the rub of Edmund's fingers over his trousers. "There's plenty to be said about them, yes.But where shall we begin? How about you tell me an old memory, something perfectly clear and seeingly insignificant, in the larger sea of things "

[just_edmund]

"You forgot boozing it up and dangerous philosophies," Edmund pointed out, tipping back his head minutely. Ienzo was awfully clever with those fingers of his. The subtle investigations seemed to find the long-neglected nooks of his scalp where tension had built during long days bent over books. Very softly, Edmund voiced an appreciative whine. "While you seem to have a natural talent for rubdowns."

There'd seemed little point to him, politicking in a place like this. Maybe if he'd been more like Peter, able to influence the system for the better, and Edmund had done what he'd could, discreetly, for the youngest and most vulnerable of the fellows who came through, but somehow Parliament seemed less daunting than putting himself in the line of fire by openly defying the Bloods. He could make more difference out of this place than in it.

He shrugged at the questions, feeling a little self-conscious about his altruistic goals, which sounded suddenly naive when he put them into words in front of Ienzo. "I intend to go to Oxford and join clubs there, yes. Maybe it's terribly idealistic of me to think I can accomplish any change, but I'd like to try before giving up on the dream." Idly, Edmund wormed his fingers towards the hem of Ienzo's shirt and plucked it free from the trousers, used his new free rein to dive beneath and scritch his fingers along the expanse of belly he found there. "You don't ask for much, do you? Hmm..."

Perfectly clear, seemingly insignificant. Dark eyes grew distant with memory. "The sun had already set in the west," Edmund murmured, deciding. "I stood on the shore of the eastern sea and watched the ship draw into harbor. She was a proud thing, not large, but all good clean lines and trim sails. She rode low in the water from her trading routes, and I was proud to be of her blood."

He did not speak the name that danced on his tongue, but it was there in his heart, Narnia, as proud as the Lion's flag that flapped in the breeze of his memories.

[illicitresearch]

A natural talent for rubdowns, hmnh? Ienzo's brow contorted itself into wry twist of a shape, both arch and shrewd and insufferably pleased.

"Oh, do I?" he tittered mildly, the soft pads of his fingers pulling away as tautness curled his knuckles, edge of his nails pressing ever-so-slightly to scalp and scritching at the roots of Edmund's dark hair. The fuller press of his thumbs met against the tendons of his neck, petting one long, deliberate stroke upon another until it was near-impossible to roll his shoulders back or wobble the head on its fulcrum without hearing a few satisfying, crunchy echoes of shifting, tiny bones. Ienzo encouraged this loosening with palms that threatened to cradle the ears and skull and offer a little support, where release ventured in.

"Well," the young scholar exhaled, dipping his chin and intimating easy flattery in a coy manner, "it's good to know I haven't lost a gentle touch among all these sodding bullies in-house? (Even the prefect's a bit wary, I think, to test my handling on more than his boots.)" He confided with all the smugness of cat too aloof to be snared.

"But I'm glad you might observe it as a compliment," Ienzo added, softening sobered, letting his eyes skirt away under heavy lidded and poorly-feigned indifference, "rather than a stain upon my character."

Edmund's hands, after all, were getting to him, along with the potency of those few pilfered swigs. Was it the alcohol warming his gullet and sinking quickly through his veins, that made his skin feel strangely tingled and fuzzed wherever fingers slid against it? A pleasantness, both familiar and not, immediately falling back on old habits and craving some deeper breed of satiation?

Or was it his new companion's words, too elegantly measured and matured for schoolage, too full with nostalgia, a secretive element of loss and longing? Ienzo sensed it, and his lungs swelled over into a sigh. The folds of his clothes, where they'd been tucked-into, tickled against his sides. His ribs stretched upwards in response, navel retreating, as if he were the slightest bit shy about hands encountering too much belly fat... particularly among boys his age who remembered the rationing years too well.

As Edmund spoke of ships docking in the dark, Ienzo's breath was becoming just a little uneven, with weight in its addled awe.

"I must confess, Pevensie," A slight pause to swallow, tongue feeling unusually thickened in his mouth. Maybe it was the drink drying out his gums, or the awareness of his lower body, the urge to rearrange his limbs until their tangle better suited his restlessness. "I much prefer your private prose-poems to that Iambic sledgehammer Branburn's been drilling into your recitations all term."

The schoolboy bit at his lower lip and then bravely bowed his head closer, nose near enough to Edmund's neck and the lead of his jawline to catch proper whiff of him, all skin-scent and breath and more intimacy than he'd anticipated stealing, so soon. He shut his eyes and knew that the slightest flinch or leaning might bump their faces together- but some instinct assured him this wasn't an altogether bad risk to take- no sounds of footfalls down the hallways and their office hideaway was secured, for now, unlikely to be intruded upon.

So that just left the question of Edmund's welcome reception... how far would that extend? How lonely was he, truly? And what sensational shift in the air could rousing up memories elicit?

"So.... pride, you felt keenly in your breast, upon seeing her sails? And what else, what more, that the moment fixes so easily to your heart? Wonder, in witnessing the ends of a voyage and a homecoming, perhaps? What foreign riches, do you think, filled her hull?"