
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/51067.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Chronicles_of_Narnia_-_C._S._Lewis
  Relationship:
      Tumnus/Lucy
  Character:
      Lucy_Pevensie, Tumnus
  Additional Tags:
      devirginization
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-01-14 Words: 3659
****** Sixteen Candles ******
by Atra_Materia_(TheDarkMaterial)
Summary
     Lucy's never forgotten a thing. Neither has Mr Tumnus. (All
     characters in this story have reached the age of consent and no
     children are featured in sexual situations. The archive warning is
     solely for Lucy's lack of legal majority.)
They don't talk often about their reign in Narnia. It's not that they don't
want to - though it would be hard to find the privacy, these days. It's that
when they'd first come home, they hadn't known how. It had been one thing for
Peter and Susan, who'd been nearly grown when they'd gone through the wardrobe.
It was quite another for Edmund and Lucy, who'd been children, grown up, and
suddenly become children again. How do you handle possesing the knowledge and
experience of an adult, yet the body of a child? How do you broach subjects
that, by all rights, the young ones should be innocent of, not knowing if they
retain those memories or if the mind has regressed to protect itself?
And so Peter and Susan had kept their mouths shut, not wanting to confuse
Edmund and Lucy. Not wanting to reawaken feelings that were better off lying
dormant. Not wanting to shake that Tree and bring down a rain of apples and
snakes, when they'd already been cast from the Garden. Now that they're older,
it's different - but it's been so long they just don't know how to change.
Sometimes - most of the time - Lucy wishes they'd just gone on and brought it
up. She'd kept her silence for much the same reason - she couldn't begin to
imagine how to ask some of the questions she'd had, or how the older Pevensies
might react if she did - and now she suffers in it. There's no one else she can
take it to - the girls at school have only had their birthdays one time apiece,
and there's only Abigail Thropp who's so much as snogged a fellow. What would
they do if they knew Lucy had enough experience for the lot of them - if they
knew how long ago it had happened? There'd be hushed whispers. Accusations.
Investigations. They'd never understand, and the only people who might have
avoided it for so long she wonders if they've forgotten altogether.
Lucy's never forgotten a thing.
                                      ***
When Tumnus met Lucy, she'd been but a child - and for years afterward, the
affection he'd shown her had been that of a father - a brother. He'd never
thought of anything else. He might have been, in the eyes of some, a very bad
faun, but he wasn't warped. She'd been innocent, pure, a genuine Daughter of
Eve, and he'd wanted nothing more than to see that she never had to wipe her
eyes as she'd once wiped his.
He'd been her playmate and protector, the guardian who guided her through
growing up in a foreign world, and though birthdays weren't so big a deal in
Narnia, after she'd told him of the traditions in that far-off, mythical land
of Spare Oom, every year, he'd had Missus Beaver bake her a cake.
                                      ***
This is the second time Lucy's turned sixteen. Only three of the guests at her
party know that, of course, and none of them mention it. The rest jabber on
about how grown-up she is now and what a lovely woman she's becoming, and not a
one of them realize that she's done this all before.
"You know what's all the rage in the States?" someone says to her left, and
she's glad she has cake in her mouth because she doesn't know, and she doesn't
really care, either. "They're having these great lunatic parties with long
dresses and crowns - I wish you'd had one, Lucy; I think I'm going to. Every
girl should get to be a princess once in her life."
- and the cake in her mouth is suddenly so dry she's afraid she's going to
choke on it, and it's all she can do to grab a cup and wash it down so she can
excuse herself.
                                      ***
He wasn't sure exactly when she'd become a woman. He'd never given it all that
much thought. Maybe that was how, though he'd been there every day, he'd
managed to miss it. The creature across the table was very much a woman,
though; all flushed cheeks and plush lips closing over a bite of cake, and
breasts that rose and came together when she laughed. She laughed when he
reached over to brush a crumb from the corner of her mouth.
"Susan would have a fit if she saw me. 'All grown up and still making a mess,
Lucy? For shame!'"
"Maybe I ought to feed it to you instead?" he countered before he could think
better of it. "I mean, I can see your mouth better than you can."
She didn't say no.
                                      ***
After the guests have gone - and not soon enough, though she doesn't say that
aloud - she drags herself up to her room. Mum follows her halfway up - and
Susan right to the door - wanting to know what's wrong. This ought to be a
happy occasion - is she not feeling well? Was the party not what she'd wanted?
Did one of the girls say something?
"It's nothing, Mum. Too much cake."
Susan, she waves off entirely. She doesn't want to discuss it with her sister
anymore. The time for that has passed. She gets the feeling that Susan wouldn't
understand.
Lucy hasn't used a nightlight in years - not since going through the wardrobe,
in fact. She likes the room dark. It reminds her of -
Home.
It doesn't last long - or not as long as she'd like, anyway. Even with the
curtains drawn, there's ambient light from the street - just enough for Lucy to
make out the difference between shadows cast and the outline of a dresser along
the far wall. Now-and-then, a car passes by and its headlights cause the
darkness to leap and distort. That, too, brings a memory unbidden, of ghostly
shapes dancing in a hearth to the tune of a Narnian lullaby. The imagined
flames contort and writhe, engaged in a union that would make a dryad blush.
Had they really been so salacious at the time, or is it only her mind that puts
the thought in itself? She groans, closing her eyes, and the figures taunt her
from the inside of her lids.
                                      ***
The creatures of Narnia had little use for shame. Shame was a product of the
Fall - an emotion for Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve, not for beings that
walked the line between man and beast. Scarves, belts, even a vest or shirt -
those were all things having to do with weather and convenience, not a need to
be concealed. When badgers or wolves or horses - Talking or not - had the urge
to mate, they did so - and so did centaurs, and so did merpeople, and so did
fauns.
And so when Tumnus found himself aroused in the presence of Lucy's sudden
womanhood, it didn't occur to him to be embarassed - or even concerned; not to
reach for a blanket or shift his position, or do anything else to hide himself
from her virginal and all-too-curious eyes.
                                      ***
The first time Lucy laid eyes on a naked man, she didn't realize right away
what she was looking at. Tumnus, after all, had always gone without pants. Had
the ruddy fur that served in their stead really obscured his nethers so well,
or had she not seen because she'd never wanted to see?
She wasn't entirely innocent, even then. She knew, as her parents had put it,
'how babies were made'; she'd seen male dogs riding legs and hogs rutting on
the farm. Hell, she'd probably even seen goats going at it. It only made sense
that fauns, with their caprine lower halves, would be similarly endowed. So why
did it come as such a surprise?
They were in his cave, as they always were on her birthdays. It was easier for
Mrs Beaver to get the cake there, and who would even dream of denying the
Valiant Queen of Narnia the right to spend a day with her oldest and dearest
friend? After she'd gotten cake on her face, Tumnus had wiped it off, and then
he'd picked the rest up with his fingers and fed it to her from the same. She'd
taken the plates to the sink to wash, and when she'd come back, he'd been
sprawled in the overstuffed chair in his parlour, his eyes half-closed and
something stiff and swollen jutting from his lap.
The way the fire cast its shadows over Tumnus made him look almost sinister,
and Lucy was reminded of what he'd said to her the day they'd met - I'm a very
bad faun. She'd never been inclined to believe it before. In the close-walled
darkness, though, it became all too easy. Abruptly, every lecture she'd ever
been given came flooding back - every warning about walking off with strangers,
every cautionary tale about young women snatched from the street never to be
seen again. Every faery-story, with their lurid descriptions of princesses
falling prey to witches and curses and temptation; every myth of satyrs, too-
virile gods, and the humans caught within their webs.
Her reverie shattered when Tumnus chuckled. "As if I'd ever do such a thing to
you, Lucy."
She hadn't spoken aloud. It must have been the look on her face. Shame reddened
her cheeks. How could she have suspected him of such ill intent? She'd known
him for years, and he'd had a thousand chances or more to see her ruined. He'd
risked his life rather than turn her over to the White Witch, and she'd been
nothing to him then. Why would he risk their friendship now just to turn her
over his knee?
Lucy stammered an apology, and Tumnus chuckled again before she could finish.
"Come here, Lucy," he said gently, extending his hand, "and I'll show you. If
that's what you want." He didn't mention that she certainly seemed to, the way
she was staring.
With all the grace befitting a Queen of Narnia, Lucy stepped forward and caught
a foot in her skirt. She didn't fall, at least, but the damage was done, and
her face flooded again with red. As she fumbled with the layered gowns, working
to untangle herself for longer than was really necessary, she could hear Tumnus
laughing softly in the background. Oh, for the days when the iced earth might
have split beneath her feet and swallowed her up.
A hand closed over hers and squeezed her fingers warmly. Gallantly, his other
arm wrapping her waist, Tumnus escorted her to the chair. Reseated, the faun
drew her down in turn - settling her between his leg and the side of the chair
rather than putting her straightaway in his lap. Cautiously, ready to release
her should she resist, he guided her hand to the stiffened member. Only her
fingertips brushed it at first, and nearly as soon as they did, she pulled
back. Even so, the touch was a tease and he inhaled sharply.
Startled, Lucy hesitated before reaching again for Tumnus' cock. The faun
nodded, a gesture short and sharp. More curious than she wanted to admit, she
began to explore the rod - the shaft, jutting from and partially covered in
that ruddy fur; the sac at its base, gelatinous and all but hidden entirely;
the head, spongy and dark with blood. Tumnus' hand came to her thigh, cupping
it through the shroud of linen and wool that kept her still from his sight.
Gradually, he tugged up the gowns, though even once their hems rose enough to
bare her flesh, he did no more than stroke the skin above her knee. She
trembled, and he wound his arm once more about her waist and pulled her close.
His mouth found hers, at first but a touch of corner to corner. Encouraged,
Lucy nuzzled into the kiss, and when Tumnus' tongue traced the shape of her
lips, the rosy curves parted. His free hand came to her chin, tipping up her
face. For a time, what lay below his waist was - not forgotten, but not of such
immediate importance. The fingers that had caressed her thigh travelled upward;
brushing back her hair, gliding along her side, finding their way to the laces
that ran down her spine and held shut her gown. He toyed with the bow, and when
it loosed, drew the cord through its eyelets with all the reverence given to
unwrapping holy relics. Beneath the cloth, her shoulders were pale; untouched
by the sun that lent a hint of gold to her face. As the fabric fell, she
shivered.
"Should I stop, my Queen?" Tumnus murmured, and wasn't sure if the title was a
joke between friends who'd never needed such, or if he meant it.
"No," Lucy replied, shaking her head, and was surprised to find that she did
mean that. "No."
The faun responded with neither word nor nod, only resumed the kiss that had
been barely broken to begin with. Slowly still, lest she recant her permission
in sudden fright, he slid the dress further away. His fingers danced the swell
of her breast - a gentle slope, appropriately girlish in comparison to the
abundant, even pendulous mounds possessed by nymphs. Her nipples, he guessed,
would have been pink had they not been coloured by shadow and firelight, and
they grew swiftly taut as both cold air and heated hands swept over them.
Beneath the left, her heart pounded heavily enough to be felt with ease. His
mouth drifted to the hollow of her throat and found the pulse there as well, a
hummingbird flutter trapped below her skin.
She gasped when his lips closed over her nipple and his tongue swirled around
it. Tight enough that her skin pulled into tiny bumps at its base, the bud
ached with the sudden rush of sensation. Not knowing what to do with her own
hands, she laid them to his shoulders and latched fiercely on. The faun grunted
as her nails pricked him and shifted in the chair. One arm yet embracing her,
the other drifted down, his fingers roaming the span of thigh he hadn't
explored before. At the apex of her legs, he found moisture; a ghostly sheen
that, where it happened to spread to the thigh on which she was seated, matted
down his fur. A shudder, blending want and fear, raced through her, and she
lifted her hips a bit.
"Lucy," he breathed, and it was at once a question and a statement and a
promise. His cock jabbed her leg, insistant on making its presence known once
more. She had no answer either for him or for it and only traced her lips
nervously with her tongue.
Tumnus' arm tightened around her, pulling her over his thigh. On her own leg,
his other hand pushed outward, so that by the time he had her fully in his lap,
she straddled it. A breath caught in her throat, and he murmured something
meaningless and reassuring in her ear as he positioned her.
The head of his cock nudged those virgin folds, angry with the delay. Still, he
held her in place above him, giving her a last few moments to reconcile with
what was to come - to tease her, arouse her further; ease the first thrust that
would bring her fully into womanhood. His hands flattened against her back,
comfort in the touch of a friend as much as a lover.
At last, his hips rolled up. Flesh parted around his cock and turned in on
itself, so that he was forced to take a hand from the embrace and use it
instead to spread the petals and guide his way into her. Again, her breath
became a tiny gasp. He met resistance and held still for a time as he had
before, allowing the as-yet-undiscovered passage to grow accustomed to his
presence there. His lips touched her forehead, her cheek, sealed her mouth with
his before he resumed the slow push forward.
On Tumnus' lap, Lucy's hips rose and squirmed. Within, the veil of her
virginity stretched, panged, and finally broke. She cried out sharply as the
shaft was driven fully inside, her back arching and her eyes flinching tightly
shut. Against her lips, the faun uttered the same gentle reassurances, his
hands roaming her legs and back. Slowly, he began to draw through her; the head
of his cock stretching the velvet walls so that where they clamped most tightly
around it, their ridges caught at its own.
She groaned, fingers clenching again on his shoulders. Not yet accustomed to
moving in time with a partner, not educated enough to know really what to do to
find her own pleasure, her hips shifted with a rhythm of their own, unsteady
and uncertain. Her teeth gritted only to release as her tongue crawled out to
stroke her lip. Met by Tumnus', the two wound in a sinuous dance. That, at
least, was fairly easy to figure out.
As Tumnus' breathing grew shallower, raspier, the pace of his thrusts
increased. Intoxicated by the musk of rutting, it was all he could do to keep
the more bestial side of his nature at bay. Faun and satyr may have been
different types of creature, but the same basic makeup lay at their cores. His
hands clamped down over Lucy's hips, holding them in place above his lap.
Rendered slick both by the girl's arousal and the blood that flowed from her
broken hymen, his cock slid through the tunnel with a speed he would later
curse - and still she was tight around him, her body struggling to push him out
even as lust fought to keep him in. He would never have sought to hurt her, but
the cries and husky moans that spilled from her lips urged him on in a way that
suggested he was losing the battle. The gentle roll became a frenzied buck,
bouncing her on the end of his cock. With the kiss broken, he leaned back,
watching through slitted eyes the rise and fall of those rosy-tipped breasts.
A third fluid flooded her nethers, something thick and hot. Each time a gout
erupted from Tumnus' cock, the shaft twitched and throbbed within her. He held
her down, using her own weight to keep the head wedged into the utter limits of
her sex. Only when his seed was spent, filling her entirely and trickling
slowly down to smear her thighs and his alike, did he release her; exhaling
heavily and pulling her in to rest against him. His lips lay against her
temple, and his fingers rose to peel sweat-plastered hair from her cheek.
                                      ***
Afterwards, when Lucy, flushed and exhausted, had fallen asleep, Tumnus laid a
long while with her in his arms. While one hand toyed with her hair, the other
drifted to her abdomen, and his thoughts strayed to what it might be like to
have it be rounded beneath his palm instead of flat - to see the joyous swell
of belly and breasts that marked the coming of a child, the completion of a
family. Could his kind even breed successfully with hers? Fauns produced
offspring often enough with nymphs, but there hadn't been a human in Narnia in
so long that even the myths didn't know.
Later on, he was just as glad that nothing had ever come of it. The scandal
would have been horrendous - a queen of Narnia coupling with a common faun?
He'd been careful, after that - taught her to catch his seed in her mouth or
withdrawn from her before it erupted - but even so, he had to wonder, in the
end, if their secret hadn't been so secret after all. If someone, anyone, might
have known - or worse yet, if Aslan might have known, and that was why he'd
sent her home.
                                      ***
Time passes differently in Narnia. No one knows that better than Lucy. She lies
in bed, a woman of sixteen for the second time, and wonders how many years have
gone by there - a decade, a century, an eon? They say time heals all wounds -
and Lucy, Lucy is still hurting, but could enough have spanned beyond the
wardrobe to ease Tumnus' ache? Does he think of her still, or has she faded
from his mind as he seems to have faded from all but hers?
She doesn't think she can bear the thought.
                                      ***
Tumnus climbs the ladder and opens the door. Inside the glass box is a burnt-
out candle, a sad lump of wax that's done its duty and far more - as if it had
hung on as long as it could, knowing its replacement would be coming soon and
not wanting to leave the post dark before it got there. He pulls it out and
tucks it in a coat-pocket, and from the same, draws the fresh taper that will
take its place. The wax is white, as pure as virgin snow, and when he strikes
its wick with flint and steel, the flame that leaps forth is eager and bright.
It's been sixteen years since the Kings and Queens of Narnia vanished into the
night, and when each passes to the next, he comes to the lamppost to see that
it remains alight, just in case. He marks their passage not by the turn of a
calendar-page or the anniversary of the day the Sons and Daughters had
disappeared, but by the date on which they'd always celebrated Lucy's birthday.
There's no cake, anymore, but the candle - the candle is always there.
It's been sixteen years. He's not sure about humans, but fauns live a long
time, and Tumnus has it in him yet. He hefts the ladder in his arm and heads
back to his cave, and tries not to notice that the light in the lamp is already
growing dim.
===============================================================================
Author's Notes: Inspired by Zoi no Miko's prompt of Chronicles of Narnia, Lucy/
Tumnus, Sixteenth Birthday in Porn Battle Round Ten @ IJ. Not entered in the
battle due to length.
  Works inspired by this one
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their work!
