MFB28: Bathing Brothers in the Laundry Basin

WARNING: Smut ahead!


Whenever the royal children and Per went bathing in the sea, they took their “soap baths” (as Mr. Beaver called them) before dinner rather than after, and usually in the laundry room so as to not trail sand all through the castle. While the queens took their turn with Felicity, the boys strolled to the herb garden where the transplanted chamomile was thriving, with its tiny, daisy-like flowers blooming cheerfully.

“They seem to have ‘taken’ all right,” Edmund remarked with approval. “The Voles knew just what kind of soil they would like, and had it all ready. I think the Dryads have been coaxing them along, too.”

Peter nodded and was about to reply when they heard the sentries calling out in the courtyard. It was answered by Phillip’s Horsey bray, followed by a voice that they did not immediately recognize, so they traipsed out to see who it was. It turned out to be one of King Lune’s knights, a quiet, serious-looking fellow by the name of Faril. Phillip had met him on the way to the castle and escorted him.

“I know him, your Majesty,” Per whispered to Edmund. “He’s one of the best marksmen in Anvard.”

Peter had already stepped forward to greet the newcomer, who saluted and presented the High King with a scroll from King Lune.

“Ah! So he’s coming at last,” Peter said with genuine pleasure after he had unsealed and scanned the letter. “It has been too long since they last ventured North.”

“When?” Edmund asked, peering over his brother’s shoulder.

“As soon as his courier returns to them with news of our readiness,” Peter answered, handing him the scroll and turning to the knight. “My good sir, although I wish you the best of welcome and a most restful stay, I would not delay your return to Archenland by an hour more than necessary, for it would cause your lord and our beloved friend to be at our gates an hour later. But for now, I will give our people charge over you, to provide you with such comfort as we may offer. Mr. Festus, of your courtesy, please see to it that our guest has all that he needs.”

“Of course, Sire,” bowed the Faun (a distant cousin of Mr. Tumnus) whom Peter had addressed, and led Faril into the castle. Per had slipped over to the knight’s horse (which was not a Talking Horse, being from Archenland) to lead him to the stables, and Phillip went with him.

“Once you’ve given the lad some oats and water,” the Horse said, “and relieved him of that awful saddle, I’ll take him out to the West Meadow for a good roll in the grass. I daresay he’ll be more comfortable with our kind, out in the fields, rather than in a stuffy stall where the air hardly moves. I’ll be sure to bring him back in the morning, never fear.”

“Phillip,” Edmund called, “is it really stuffy in the royal stalls?”

“Ah, well… begging your Majesty’s pardon, but when it gets into the warmer months, yes,” the Horse admitted. “The walls are so well-made that there aren’t any drafts, which is perfect for the cold and wet seasons, of course, but rather stifling in the summer.”

“Maybe we can make some windows,” Edmund said, more to Peter. “If we make sure they shut properly, it shouldn’t be a problem in the winter.”

“That sounds good. We should ask the Dwarfs to see about it,” his brother agreed.

“If you make them low enough to the ground,” Phillip put in, “we’d be able to open and close them ourselves, without troubling the stable-hands.”

“Of course! With pegs or something easy for your hoofs to move,” Edmund added, getting caught up in the idea. He made to follow the others to the stables, but Elsa (the Panther) came to fetch the kings for their turn at the bath, since the girls had finished.

Normally Peter let the younger boys go first and bathed later alone, but as Per had disappeared to the stables, he had no choice but to join his enticingly beautiful brother this time.

“We don’t have rubber gaskets or anything, but don’t you think the Dwarfs could make them fit so they won’t let in any drafts?” Edmund asked him as they undressed, still excited about ventilating the stables.

“Uh… of course. I’m sure they could come up with something clever,” Peter replied with difficulty, for he was trying his best to not stare at his brother’s lithe form. This became even more difficult when they entered the tub, which was actually a rectangular pool carved from stone where Mrs. Dumplesugar and the other laundresses washed the linens most mornings. Some fresh buckets of hot water had just been poured in, and when the boys sat down it came up to their shoulders.

“I wonder what sort of handle would be easiest for the Horses to use…” Edmund continued, while Peter ducked his head under to get the sand out of his hair. “I suppose we should ask Phillip…”

“What’s that?” Peter asked as he came up and wiped the water from his face.

“Oh, just thinking out loud,” the younger boy laughed, reaching for his own towel. “Here, turn around so I can wash your back.”

Peter felt his heart skip a beat, remembering how unreserved his brother had been on another occasion, but turned as he was told. It’s just my back, he reminded himself, expelling his breath slowly to steady his nerves. It did not help to feel the warmth of Edmund’s hand through the cloth as he scrubbed Peter’s broad back with care. However, then it was Peter’s turn to reciprocate, and he swallowed hard as Edmund sat before him expectantly. The curves of his brother’s pale shoulders drove him to distraction, and it was all Peter could do to keep himself from grabbing Edmund and planting kisses all over his skin.

Of course Peter had no way of knowing that his younger brother — his baby brother, as he sternly reminded himself — was having just as much of a struggle keeping his own desires in check. Edmund had been anticipating the feel of Peter’s large hands from the moment he knew that they would be bathing together (thanks to Per, or rather, Faril), so when Peter hesitated before starting, the moment dragged out like an hour for Edmund. And the first reluctant touch for Peter was utter bliss for Edmund — warm and gentle, almost too gentle as the older boy whispered the cloth across his brother’s skin.

“I say, Pete,” Edmund couldn’t help remarking, “you don’t have to be so careful of me, you know. It’s not like I’m made out of bone china.”

You’re so pale, you look like you are, Peter thought to himself, but only said aloud, “Oh… right. I didn’t know if you mightn’t have gotten a bit sunburnt, even through the tunic, since you’re so fair to begin with.”

Edmund shook his head slightly. “No, I’m all right. Mrs. Dumplesugar gave me the one with the collar today, so I wouldn’t get burnt around the neck like last time.”

Peter continued stroking his back with the soapy cloth, applying more pressure now and moaning inwardly as he felt Edmund’s muscles shift beneath his fingers. Despite all of his self-chastisement, his male member began to grow and — like a lusty compass — point to the object of its sole desire. His hands threatened to tremble, so he concentrated on the last few passes over the lower part of Edmund’s back, which was deep enough under the water to be blurred. A clear view of the younger boy’s smooth, rounded arse might have driven him mad.

Edmund was biting his lip and almost unable to breathe as he luxuriated in the deliberate strokes, back and forth, over his skin. There was something about the slow yet steady movement, and the strong yet tender touch, that sent shivers of pleasure throughout his body. Perversely, the heat transferred from Peter’s warm hand seemed to be concentrating in his nether regions, and he knew what would inevitably happen. After all, that was the one part of his anatomy which pined for Peter’s touch the most, having been awoken to its true purpose by it.

The only problem, Edmund pondered, is what to do about it. I suppose I shall have to wait to get upstairs, but of course it will be impossible to leave without Peter’s noticing. Oh, bother! I hope he won’t lecture me on “controlling my urges like a man”… but if he does, I’ll point out that I’m only a boy, and can hardly be expected to rein in my natural instincts — especially with only a couple of years’ experience!

He need not have worried, for Peter was in no condition to point fingers; his wayward manhood was doing more than enough pointing as it was. They attended to washing themselves in a somewhat awkward silence, broken only when Mr. Griswold poked his head in to see if they wanted more hot water.

“We have all we need, thank you,” Peter replied, blushing in spite of the fact that the Otter could not see his state from where he was, but floating his cloth over the area just to be doubly certain.

“You can keep it for Per. He’ll need it, no doubt, after tending to our guest’s horse,” Edmund commented, rubbing the soap onto his cloth again.

Mr. Griswold bowed and withdrew, leaving fresh clothes for them. They both finished washing at about the same time, so then there was nothing for it but to stand up and leave the obscuring veil of the water. Edmund spotted his brother’s predicament at once, and let out a small gasp of surprise.

“Peter! Oh…” he trailed off, then began to giggle. Peter’s face turned red-hot and the crimson blush spread down his neck.

“All right, laugh if you wa—oh, Ed!

Seeing, at last, that his brother was in the same condition (for he had avoided looking, lest it make matters worse), Peter felt a strange mixture of relief and concern. He knew very well why he had become aroused, but was uncertain as to why Edmund had as well.

“We’ll just have to make a run for it,” Edmund said, recovering first, “and hope that the girls don’t catch us on our way upstairs.”

“I suppose,” Peter sighed, unsure how to handle the situation. Frustrated in more ways than one, he muttered, “Of course it always happens at the most inconvenient time…”

Edmund snickered again as he dried himself off with the towel, then asked, “Is there ever really a convenient time?”

“I don’t know,” was Peter’s weary answer. “I suppose, once you’re married, you’d be glad enough for it.”

“Or if you’re safe in your room, turned in for the night,” Edmund added. A sudden thought struck him and he turned to face Peter. “I say, what did you use to do when we were still at home, in Finchley? Or even at the Professor’s? We’ve always shared a room, but I’d never seen you, you know…”

Peter’s blush had receded from its worst, but began to intensify again. He deliberately kept his eyes on the clothes he was putting on as he admitted, “I waited until you were asleep; or really, until everyone else was asleep, and went to the bathroom. When I could, anyway…”

“Well, you needn’t have kept it such a great secret! I wouldn’t have minded. In fact, it would have been nice to know beforehand what to expect,” Edmund pointed out, pulling on his clean tunic. “I thought I had some horrid disease when it first happened! I was afraid they’d have to… well, amputate it or something!”

Peter finally looked at his brother, gaping in disbelief and dismay.

“Oh, Edmund! I… I’m so sorry!” he gasped, remembering the expression of dread on his brother’s face that morning. “I wish I’d thought about it sooner…”

“It’s all right, Peter,” Edmund hurried to assure him. “All’s well that ends well, and all that. It just gave me a turn at first. But if there’s anything else you need to tell me, I’d rather know sooner than later.”

“Well… I think I’ve told you all I know,” Peter replied. Now that they were both fully dressed, the bulges under the hems of their tunics were less noticeable. “Let’s get upstairs while we still have time before dinner.”

Edmund agreed wholeheartedly with that, and they were fortunate to not run into their sisters or, for that matter, any of the servants, since most of them were downstairs in the kitchens preparing dinner. However, as they neared their rooms they could hear the girls chatting with Mr. Tumnus in the den, which was adjacent to Peter’s bedroom.

“Pete, come on,” Edmund whispered, grabbing his brother’s hand and half-leading, half-dragging him into his own room. After closing the door behind them, he crossed over to close the glass-paned door to the balcony as well. “They probably have it open down there, and I don’t jolly well want them to hear anything!”

Peter swallowed hard, and could only nod. The prospect of relieving himself in front of his brother filled him with anxiety, for once the floodgates of his passion were opened, he was not sure that he could restrain himself. But like a thoughtful host, Edmund had pulled out his chamber pot and set it down in the middle of the floor where they could both make use of it, and was unabashedly exposing himself.

“Peter,” he began, then paused, afraid that he already knew the answer to his question. “I… I don’t suppose… you would ever consider…”

“What is it?” Peter asked in turn, unable to think clearly enough to guess what his brother was getting at.

“Well, I don’t suppose you could… show me again, how you do it?” Edmund finally managed, and held his breath as he waited, nervously stroking his rampant organ as though to keep its courage up.

“Show you again? Whatever for?” Peter responded, nonplussed. “There’s nothing more to it, really… and you seem to have gotten the hang of it all right.”

“I know, but… it’s… it’s so much better when you do it,” he blurted out, his fair skin turning pink. “Your hands are so much bigger, and… well, you’re so much more experienced.”

Peter felt his mouth go dry upon this pronouncement by his lovely brother. There was a still, small voice in the back of his mind saying that this was the perfect opportunity to teach his bawdy sibling the proper time and place for such behaviour; however, his entire body was throbbing with the pulse of his lust, which effectively drowned out any coherent thought. His own manhood was straining against the confines of his clothes, and he took it out without even considering what he was doing.

“So… you want me to… do it for you?” he heard himself ask, as from a long way away.

“Yeah… like the first time,” Edmund breathed, hoping against hope that his older brother would give in.

Peter swallowed, and made the mistake of glancing down at the little rod of flesh that his brother was fondling. It looked so needy and forlorn, so in need of guidance, of a firm hand to lead it to where it desperately wanted to go…

“All right. Sit down in front of me,” he said, and had hardly finished saying so before Edmund had positioned himself as directed. Peter realised that he had been fondling his own member unconsciously, but leaving it to weep and beg for a while, he slipped both hands around his brother’s slim waist and grasped his hot member in a secure embrace. Edmund’s groan of delight made him press closer to his back, his naked sword rubbing against the softness of his brother’s bottom, as he pulled and stroked the most sensitive part of the male anatomy.

“P—Peter! Pe~te~r!” Edmund whimpered, unable to resist the wonderful sensations assaulting him, and spilled his seed mere moments after his brother had begun. Peter supported his slender body with one arm as it trembled uncontrollably, and held his manhood with the other hand until he was sure that every last drop had been expelled.

“Oh… that was… great! Just… great…” Edmund panted, his eyes half-closed as he leant back against his brother’s sturdy chest. He felt Peter’s much larger organ pressing against his inner thighs like a hot brand, and forced himself to get up and turn around.

“Now it’s my turn,” he announced, grasping it and beginning his ministrations. Peter, already in physical pain from denying himself for so long, clutched his brother’s shoulders and arched his back, thrusting up into Edmund’s welcoming hands. The chamber pot was ignored as his seed shot out in great, ropy strands to cover his brother’s knees and the carpet between them.

“Ed… oh, Edmund! I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” he gasped, bowing his head in remorse as soon as the initial ecstasy had worn off. But Edmund met his bent forehead with his own.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got other trousers I can wear,” he replied, thinking that that was what was troubling his brother. Peter moaned, but could not come up with anything else to say before they heard the dinner bells chiming.


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