The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian, Caspian/Edmund, dueling partners
Over an hour of dueling practice, with sweat blinding his eyes and arms holding the sword by willpower alone, Caspian looked over their crossed blades to see that Edmund was grinning madly. That was the only warning he got before his sword went spinning off in one direction, and he was rolling in the other. Without any pretense at grace or decorum, Caspian scrambled across the room and grabbed his sword just in time to block Edmund's lazy swing.
"I've not seen that move before," Caspian panted, rising to his feet.
"It's a dwarven technique," Edmund said, and Caspian noted with irritation that he was not even out of breath. "Keep fighting and you will see it again. Beat me, and I'll teach it to you."
Caspian proved that neither princes nor kings were above rolling their eyes. "At the moment, I would say you were equal to High King Peter's legend."
"Most would say 'better,'" Edmund said, not modest at all. "Though to be fair, I expect the history books don't contain many stories of my beating opponents in honorable duels, and that is because I didn't participate in honorable duels. That was always Peter's job."
"Why is that?" Caspian asked, and twisted his sword to break yet another clash. He struck once, twice, three times, the empty chamber ringing loud with the sound of metal on metal. Edmund nodded his approval, and Caspian determinedly didn't think about how that little gesture made the heat in his stomach far stronger than that of his exhausted arms. "Was it to do with your..."
"Betrayal?" Edmund finished for him. "No." He paused to think for a moment. "Well, perhaps, in an indirect way."
Caspian took that moment of introspection to press his attack again, pushing Edmund back several steps until his foot met an unstable rock and he was falling to the ground, reaching out and pulling Caspian down with him. By luck more than skill, Caspian found his sword pressed near Edmund's chest, and Edmund's sword hand trapped neatly beneath Caspian's left elbow.
"Do you yield?" Caspian asked, and Edmund laughed, his breath ghosting across Caspian's lips, and Caspian triumphed that, at last, Edmund was a bit out of breath. Edmund's knee rose between Caspian's legs, and Caspian braced himself for an attempted flip. He gasped as the knee rubbed against him, insistent and deliberate, and Edmund took advantage of Caspian's gasp, capturing his mouth and swallowing any protest.
Caspian groaned and pushed down onto Edmund, savoring the hardness of his legs, the tensing muscles in his thighs. Edmund's hips rose up to meet his, matching his rhythm, and when Edmund drew back to break the kiss, Caspian fisted both hands in Edmund's shirt and drew him closer still.
Caspian froze at the touch of cold metal to his throat. He opened his eyes and, through the haze of lust and exhaustion, he noticed that Edmund's--currently free--hands were holding both swords.
"Yield?" Edmund suggested.
Caspian stared down at him. "King Edmund the Just...cheats?" he asked, and his voice did not squeak a little on the last word.
Edmund shrugged, and the slight movement reminded Caspian of what they had been doing. "Only under the right circumstances. Yield?" he suggested again.
Caspian leaned forward, blades pressing into his neck, and met Edmund's lips again. He slipped his hand down between their bodies, and as Edmund bucked and his eyes fluttered closed, Caspian wondered if yet another turn around was possible, or if it was worth the interruption.