MFB13: Helping Each Other

WARNING: Smut ahead!

Mr. Tumnus slipped into the young kings’ room quietly, and saw that they were sleeping in their separate beds today. He approached King Edmund and shook his shoulder.

“Wake up, your Majesty!” he whispered. Edmund moaned and rubbed his eyes. “It’s time to be getting up, King Edmund. But shall we leave King Peter to sleep a while longer?”

Edmund had to let out a prodigious yawn before he could answer. Then he sat up and contemplated his brother.

“No… I think he’d be too embarrassed if we let him sleep in again,” he decided.

Mr. Tumnus nodded and went over to the other bed.

“King Peter! The morning is upon us, Sire, and a beautiful day it promises to be — a fine day to go riding with King Lune, to be sure!”

Peter also yawned and rubbed his eyes, although a half-smile was already forming on his lips.

“Marvelous! Thank you, Mr. Tumnus.”

The High King stretched luxuriously after the Faun had left the room, feeling the usual need in his loins but determined to ignore it. He could not imagine dealing with it in his brother’s presence, especially after what had happened the night before, and was also worried that he might let slip the name that was so often in his thoughts and upon his lips when he relieved his male desires. That would be a disastrous mistake, he knew, and so he prepared to get up and deal as best he could with his other physical requirements.

What he had not expected to see, upon sitting up on the edge of his bed, was his lovely younger brother kneeling on the floor before a chamber pot and indulging in the very activity which he had just denied himself. Peter’s breath caught in his throat as he watched, eyes wide in consternation, while Edmund stroked and fondled his burgeoning manhood, panting as his movements grew more frantic. Peter scolded himself that he should look away, but found that his ignoble fascination would not permit him to do so.

His brother looked exquisite with his pale nether area exposed from under his nightshirt, his brow furrowed in intense concentration as his hands worked rhythmically to bring about his climax. The healthy blush of his rose-coloured cheeks was accentuated by the deeper hue of his moistened lips, and the shapely length of his twin thighs nearly drove his brother to distraction. To see his love in the throes of passion was almost enough to make him cast off all propriety and clasp his brother in his arms, for Peter’s own member had arisen with rampant lust, straining to feel the smooth silk of Edmund’s porcelain skin. Finally, as his brother’s seed was released in a series of spurts, Peter’s seed began to seep out as well.

Edmund sighed in satisfaction, but as he stood up to wash his hands, he caught sight of his brother staring at him. His face and neck bloomed with heat and he stammered with his mouth gone dry, “Hullo, P—P—Peter,” wondering why he should suddenly feel so warm.

Peter swallowed as well, realising that it was too late to avert his eyes, and replied, “Good morning, Ed.” His own cheeks were as crimson as his brother’s. “I—I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to watch,” he managed.

“That’s all right,” Edmund answered, still confused as to why he felt so flustered — after all, his brother had first taught him how to perform this manly function. “D—D’you… Did you sleep well last night?”

“Rather,” was all Peter could say, for he had lain awake for a long while, wondering about his brother’s lack of inhibitions. Perhaps this was another expression of it, he thought, and debated again as to whether or not he should address it.

“Oh,” Edmund mumbled as he stepped into his trousers. Then suddenly he cried out, “Oh!” as he remembered something.

“What?” Peter asked, startled by his tone.

“I’m sorry, Peter! I should’ve realised sooner,” Edmund began, coming over while hastily pulling on a shirt.

“Uh… realised what?” Peter responded, perplexed.

Edmund knelt to pull out the other chamber pot from under Peter’s bed.

“Your hand!” he explained, setting the pot directly in front of his brother’s feet. “You can’t use it, as it’s bandaged. Don’t worry, though,” he continued, pushing the covers off from Peter’s lap. “My hands are smaller so I’ll have to use both of them, but I think I can do well enough.”

Before his befuddled brother could comprehend what he meant, Edmund had pulled up Peter’s nightshirt with one hand and pulled down his undergarment with the other.

HI! HEY! EDMUND!” Peter cried in alarm, but his brother’s nimble fingers had already slipped around his swollen member. His own hands (one bandaged) waved in confusion above, not knowing how to proceed nor even what they meant to do.

“Don’t worry, Pete,” he assured him, thinking his older brother had fears about his skill. “I’ve gotten quite good at it — I’ve had a lot of practise, you know! And it sure looks like you need it… Great Scott! It’s twice as large as it was last night…”

Peter’s mouth was opened in a wordless, silent howl as he felt Edmund heft his weighty organ in his hands and then start to rub the loose skin up and down along the shaft. However, as Edmund had only ever done this to himself, it did not sit right (so to speak) to do this facing his brother; so with his hands still grasping the large member, he turned around to sit next to Peter, moving each hand to face the right way before resuming his ministrations with renewed vigor.

“E—E—Ed…” Peter finally managed to gasp out.

“I can feel your pulse throbbing,” Edmund commented with interest. “I’m not being too rough, am I?”

Peter shook his head, for that was not the point of his objection at all. But in a moment he could not remember what his objection might have been to start with, for his brother pulled all along his length — from base to tip — with both hands wrapped securely around it. Peter’s back arched involuntarily, and he braced himself by throwing his hands behind him on the bed.

“How’s that?” Edmund asked, continuing to stroke the shaft with one hand while his other moved lower to fondle the twin organs hanging below. “I always feel better when I work with both hands, like this… It gets more out, somehow. Does it feel good for you, too?”

Peter’s lips were still opened as the delicious sensations assaulted him, but his eyes were closed as they rolled, unseeing, into the dark recesses of his mind. He panted, unable to resist or even to care any longer, and made helpless noises at every delectable stroke.

“Ah… Ah! Ahhh… Mmm! Mm! Ah!”

Taking this to be a good sign, Edmund redoubled his efforts, pleased to see that his brother was now leaking freely. Some of the viscous fluid was spattering on to the floor, but he would clean it later. Right now, the most important thing was to ensure Peter’s unparalleled pleasure, which he thought was close from the heightened tension in his brother’s organ.

“AHHH! AHHH! AHHH! E… ED…MUND!” Peter cried out, as every last drop of his seed was expelled into the air. His whole body trembled with the intensity of the liberation and he collapsed, spent and almost insensible, on to the bed.

Edmund fondly held his brother’s manhood in his hands, amazed at the amount of fluid he had milked out of it. Whereas his own seed usually remained jelly-like, he noticed that Peter’s was more liquid, and also coloured a solid shade of white rather than opaque. I wonder if mine will be like this in a few years, he mused, then gently shook Peter’s organ (which was fast becoming flaccid) to rid the last drops from it. One drop flew up to land on the back of his hand, and he observed it closely.

“Eh… Edmund,” Peter gasped in a weak voice, still overwhelmed and undone. “H—How… How could you…” he began, then gave up and pressed his palms to his eyes, as though that would blot out what had just occurred.

“What? What do you mean?” Edmund asked, not comprehending. “I figured it wouldn’t be much different than doing it to myself. It was good, right? I must’ve done all right, since you let out so much…”

Peter swallowed hard, confronted with the fact that he needed to face this problem head-on. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself up to sit beside his brother and hastily tucked his exposed member into his undergarment before attempting the necessary speech.

“Edmund… you shouldn’t… you really mustn’t… It—It’s simply not proper to… to touch someone else’s privates, so freely. That’s the whole reason they’re called ‘privates,’ you know…”

“Oh, Peter!” Edmund quickly protested, “I wouldn’t touch anyone else’s, even if they begged me to! I only did it because you’re my brother!

Although this might have afforded him some comfort, Peter’s beleaguered mind found another cause for concern.

“Has anybody else… ‘begged you,’ to touch them?” he asked in alarm.

“No! I just meant, even if they did, I wouldn’t,” Edmund explained, then turned a frown on his brother. “Why would anyone want me to— Oh! Unless they were injured, like you, and couldn’t do it for themselves. Well, I suppose in that case I’d have to consider it, but… I’m not sure I could bring myself to do it…”

Having laid that worry to rest (at least for the moment), Peter tried to steer the conversation back to the matter at hand.

“What I wanted to say, Ed, is that… well, take last night for instance. You didn’t even hesitate to wash my privates — not that I don’t appreciate your help, of course, but… that really wasn’t necessary. I would have said something, only I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of Per.”

“Oh, I know you could’ve washed yourself with your left hand,” Edmund assured him, “but I was glad to help! And besides, if I were the one who’d been hurt, and you were in my shoes, wouldn’t you have done the same?”

Peter regarded his brother with something akin to dismay, as though sensing his imminent defeat.

“Well, yes, but… but you’re my little brother, Ed — I’m supposed to take care of you!”

“And I’m supposed to take care of you,” was Edmund’s calm assessment. “It’s not like we have parents here, even if King Lune is as good as an uncle or some such. And since there’s nobody older than you, well, the rest of us should look out for you, Peter — like Queen Primela was saying.”

For a long moment, Peter could not form a reply. Edmund looked up at him with undisguised affection in his beautiful brown eyes, which would have been sufficient cause for the older boy’s brain to cease thinking, in and of itself.

“Look, Peter, I know you’re not used to being taken care of —being the oldest and all — and I can see that you’re a bit embarrassed, but you really needn’t make such a big fuss about it. Besides, remember when you helped me with my first time?”

Peter mutely nodded his assent. How well he remembered!

“Well, I just finally got to pay you back for that. All right?”

Seen in that light, somehow it all began to make sense. His brother had merely been repaying a debt of gratitude and (obviously) thought nothing of the awkwardness which the act entailed.

“So… you wouldn’t go grabbing at another chap’s privates, even to wash them for him?” Peter asked, just to be sure.

“Of course not! Well… if he really, really needed the help, that’s one thing… but I’d rather not, to be honest. But you’re different, Peter! You’re my brother. You’re… special.”

Edmund blushed at his own words and, glancing down at his hands, noticed the drop of Peter’s issue still on one of them. He pulled out his handkerchief (which Mrs. Dumplesugar had already washed, pressed, and left for him on the table) to blot it.

“Well… all right, then,” Peter said slowly. “I just wanted to make sure that… well, that you wouldn’t go making yourself so free with… anybody else.”

“Oh, Peter!” Edmund protested. “Of course not! That would be… I don’t know, just… wrong, somehow!”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief to hear his brother’s sincere reaction.

“All right. As long as you know…”

“By Jove, Peter! Think of the time we’ve wasted, jawing here over nothing!” Edmund jumped up and ran to Peter’s trunk to pull out an outfit. “You still have to get dressed!”

They both had yet to finish their toilet as well, and while Peter was painstakingly shaving himself with his bandaged hand (since Edmund didn’t trust himself to do that), their sisters knocked on the door to see if anything were amiss.

“No, we’re all right,” Edmund told them. “We’re just running a bit late on account of Peter’s hand. We’ll be out as soon as I help him get dressed.”

So the rest of their party went on ahead of them, and Edmund pulled on and buttoned Peter’s clothes for him, thinking all the while that his brother seemed somewhat distracted again. With a pang in his heart, the younger boy wondered if his elder brother might be thinking of the Mermaid; then, with an even deeper and more pervasive pain, he wondered if Peter had been dreaming of her when he had achieved his release. But then he remembered the name that had spilled from Peter’s lips in the very moment that his seed had spilled from his manhood, and — although he realised that it might have been in decorous protest of his mode of attaining that climax — Edmund was satisfied that he himself had been foremost in his beloved brother’s mind, at least on this occasion.

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Peter had been rather shaken by what his brother had done to him, in more ways than one, and he had also been disconcerted to have Edmund clothe him (his delicate fingers tugging not so much at the buttons and fabric, it seemed, as at Peter’s very heart-strings), but he managed to calm himself before they joined their host and hostess at the breakfast table. The whole court was abuzz with excitement, for they were to go riding in the forests of Archenland today. Indeed it was the perfect day for it, and the courtiers’ saddlebags were already laden with the necessary accouterments for their midday picnic.

Everyone enjoyed themselves immensely, and if the High King seemed at times, perhaps, a little withdrawn, he was excused for having sustained an injury and no doubt being in pain; and if some of the young ladies wished that King Edmund were not quite so aloof and would join them in playing Blind Man’s Bluff, just as many ladies thought it was more seemly for a young king to show reserve than to behave like a gadabout. They had enough of antics already with their own little Prince, although today he was held in check by the watchful eye of a certain matronly Raccoon, as well as a young page who was more attentive than ever before.

Of course since it was a picnic, it brought to the Narnians’ minds their last picnic in the Great Forest, and the young queens told their friends of Edmund’s prank with the berry juice, which amused King Lune to no end. Edmund brought out the oft-stained handkerchief as proof (though only for a brief second, realising that its newest stain could not bear the light of company) and even Queen Primela smiled with delight.

“Perhaps Corin shall grow into as prudent a king as thee,” she pronounced with hope.

“Aye,” her husband agreed. “For a truly wise man does not eschew mirth altogether, but recognises when it is appropriate.”

“I shall never pull such a prank on my brother again, though,” Edmund said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t compromise his dignity — which is the pride of Narnia, embodied — for the sake of any amount of laughter, for fear that it should turn to scorn.”

“Oh, Ed!” was all that the High King said in reply, but the tender smile which accompanied it was enough to put his brother’s heart and mind at ease.

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