"Yeah, I guess we shall."

Reluctantly, Edmund pulls his hand away and gets up.

He's ADORABLE. Pete doesn't remember enough of The Chronicles of Narnia to have formed much of an impression of who Edmund Pevensie would be and anyway he was, what, ten? in the books, and maybe a bit older in the movies, but somehow Pete didn't think he'd be this cute.

Anyway, back to the locker room, humming tunefully under his breath with a tiny smile on his face, and then—oh, does he technically not need to shower, actually? He's not sure, he thinks maybe if he just Decides that he doesn't have chlorine on his skin anymore then he won't. But nah, that'd be kinda sus and he's trying to be lowkey.

Also, it's a communal shower room. Was he really going to pass that up?

...no, not when you put it like that.

Edmund, like most of his fellow students, is unselfconscious about contextually appropriate nudity, which means both that he doesn't cover himself more than incidentally, and that he doesn't look downwards more than incidentally. Unless something prompts him to do so, which can happen; a dropped bar of soap or bottle of shampoo can draw reflexive looks from a fair radius.

Oh he's not going to fabricate an opportunity, here. If invited jiggles and comfortable bounces are not enough to catch a boy's attention, well, Pete supposes he'll surprise Edmund later, won't he?

...well, they'll draw his eye, at least once.

And maybe again.

"Are you doing that on purpose," he asks despairingly.

"Doing what?" he asks, managing to actually not realize what the subject of the inquiry is for long enough to come off as genuinely uncertain.

Edmund will just blush even harder then!

"Nothing, apparently."

"—oh. I make no claims about what the laws of physics were or were not doing there but I assure you I was not, myself, doing anything on purpose." Mostly because he doesn't need to, and the laws of physics are in fact doing things they oughtn't.

"...but if you'd like to look I'm not going to claim I particularly mind," he adds with a half smirk.

"Congratulations on the, ah, physics. I don't want to violate the sacred institutions of the shower room... I suppose consent freely given changes the calculus... but..."

He takes a proper look, about three seconds, then takes his eyes back above the invisible line, his ears reddening. "There. I'm in direct contravention of international shower law, but I did get a look, and now I can stop contravening international shower law."

"I reserve the right to civilly disobey any laws I consider unjust. Or which prohibit harmless actions between consenting participants."

"It's about the perception of security! If people see me staring at your crotch, how do they know we've got an arrangement, and I'm not just opportunistically taking in the views all around? It burns the commons."

"...though, um, you can look at mine if you like. For an appropriate interval. Seems only fair."

"I recognize the sense in obeying such a rule when there are other people around. However." He conspicuously looks around at the conveniently empty looker room before his eyes go directly where instructed.

Edmund also looks around.

"Oh. ...there were another couple of lads in here when we started showering. I. Guess they left."

His eyes travel inexorably downward.

(For his own part, Edmund is much more comfortably within the bell curve than Pete, but then he doesn't have shapeshifting magic, does he. His prick is small-to-average, pale as the rest of him, uncircumcised, and hardening pretty rapidly.)

Excuse you, narration, having a huge, beautiful dick is its own superpower entirely separate from the shapeshifting, thank you very much. And his isn't hardening, mostly because he doesn't want it to, yet, and that'd be an uninvited jiggle. "You know, kissing isn't the only thing that's on the table," he says, conversationally.

"What, before we've even had coffee?" Edmund asks, sounding unaccountably like he might be masking nerves with humor.

"Oh, we're definitely still having coffee, you're paying your forfeit. This would just be a bonus."

"But - before we've had coffee, you know. And on the day we've just met. And in the shower room... which will probably stay empty since everyone's going to be at supper, but -"

He inhales shakily. "But. Maybe we could just. Touch. And nothing too serious. I'm making excuses and I know I'm making excuses but God I want to touch it."

"I consent," he says, primly.

Edmund touches it.

He moves closer, so he can touch both at once.

"God," he says again. "I feel like a Liliputian."

"Like a what?" And, okay, now getting an erection would not be an uninvited jiggle, he can get on that. "And may I touch you?" he asks, hovering a hand in the general vicinity of Edmund's butt.

"Yyyyyes but, um, stick to parts that I could sunbathe. If I were very bold. Liliputian, a denizen of Liliput, it was the island of the tiny men who tied Gulliver down in Gulliver's Travels - I've had occasional, uh, thoughts. How in the fuck does it get bigger."

"Literal magic." He is not going to touch Edmund's ass, then, just the small of his back, running his fingernails lightly against Edmund's skin. But he is not, at all, preventing Edmund himself from touching anything no matter how little the sun has seen it. "And I know this is kind of cliché to say but God you're hot."