Me and My Plus-One at the Afterlife
Disclaimer: Not mine, sadly. Title from "Thriller" by Fall Out Boy (and I feel so dirty for admitting that I still listen to them…)
Rating: M (for later chapters and my filthy mouth)
When writers die, they go to Hell and become editors.
When boys like Peter Pevensie die, they go to Narnia and get to do unspeakable things to a certain Telmarine.
He woke up falling. The last thing Peter remembered was the edge of the bridge, the way the water looked. He remembered thinking, If this is it, then I don't see what the big deal is…it's only about three stories, and even then, six feet's not so far down, either…
He wasn't going to go through with it, you know. He thought of Lucy, and Ed and Susan, and how devastated they'd be…they'd get over it. What he couldn't get over was how, for the last few weeks since they'd gotten back from Narnia, he'd wake up sweating and shaking every night, feeling the ghost of slender fingers against his skin and full lips on his face.
Peter let himself fall. The last thing he heard was a woman's terrified shriek, followed by the muffled sounds of police sirens after he'd hit the water. Then he heard nothing at all.
The funny thing was…he didn't stay that way for long. When he woke up, he was lying flat on his back in the middle of a forest nursing what felt like the hangover from Hell, clothes and hair curiously dry.
The air was crisp and cool; when he opened his mouth, it tasted of autumn, with the faintest hint of dirt. Shaking his head, he spat once, twice; having cleared his mouth to what he considered a satisfactory degree, he stood, bracing himself against a tree.
The tree moved.
Peter blinked, swaying drunkenly just in time to notice an arrow penetrate said tree directly where his left eye had been moments before. Wide-eyed, he reached out to touch it when he heard a familiar voice cry out, its rich timbre resonating in the woods, sending shivers down his spine.
As he drew his hand back, he noticed a slim, dark figure loping gracefully toward him. Suddenly, Peter found his voice and spoke first.
"C-Caspian?" God, he hated himself in that moment. He sounded like a blushing schoolgirl; to make matters worse, his legs were shaking slightly. He hoped it wasn't noticeable, watching the young Telmarine eye him up cautiously.
"Peter? What are you doing here? I thought you were never to return again." Something in Caspian's eyes made Peter's breath hitch, and he stepped toward the other man.
"Er, well, you see…that's the thing. I'm not really a part of that world anymore, I guess you could say…" Best to break it to him quickly, like a Band-aid… "Caspian, I'm dead. Or, I suppose I'm supposed to be, but I ended up here. Funny, isn't it?" Peter laughed self-consciously, though his awkward smile faded as soon as his eyes met the ground.
How the fuck was he supposed to explain that he, Caspian, was the reason he'd chosen to off himself? He couldn't just come out and say, "Oh, Caspian, I've always had a secret man-crush on you, and when we got back to England, it was just too much to bear"…could he?
Before he had a chance to collect his thoughts, Caspian stepped closer, narrowing the gap between them to rest his hand gently on Peter's shoulder. "Come on…it is so nice to see an old friend. We must get you to the castle and freshen you up…you look exhausted, King Peter."
"Er…right. Thanks. Um…what's with the bow?" Peter gestured, flushing slightly again and hating himself for it.
Caspian laughed softly, linking his arm through Peter's as they walked. Peter gulped, averting his eyes from the full lips of the darker male.
"Well, I was thinking that perhaps a King ought to be proficient with many types of weapons, so…I've been practicing. Also, it reminds me of…"
Susan. Right. As if anything could erase the painful memory of that kiss from Peter's mind. He looked up, down, anywhere but at his companion's face, hoping that his emotions weren't showing. He always was rather dreadful at concealing such things…
A broad smile lit up the new King's handsome face as he gazed fondly at Peter. "Perhaps such things are better left in the past, yes?"
"Right. Yes." Peter nodded curtly, forcing a pained smile on his face. Weapons proficiency…obviously, the naïve Telmarine hadn't meant for his words to carry such a strong innuendo, but Peter…he flushed just thinking about what exactly that might entail.
It was going to be a long afterlife, that much was for sure.
A/N: Yeah, so I'm definitely an insomniac, and felt like writing something in a different style than my usual; let me know what you think! This will definitely be a long fic, so any and all comments would be greatly appreciated!