Breathe, breathe in the air
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at

Archive Warning:
No Archive Warnings Apply
F/M, M/M, Multi
Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Beverley Brook/Peter Grant, Peter Grant/Previous Incarnation of Beverley Brook
Peter Grant (Rivers of London), Beverley Brook, Previous Incarnation of Beverley Brook (Rivers of London)
Additional Tags:
Sexual Content, Worldbuilding, Metaphysical Sex, Under-negotiated Kink, Aftercare, Beverley-centric, implied metaphysical breathplay, Somnophilia, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Yuletide
Yuletide 2023
Published: 2023-12-16 Words: 2,593 Chapters: 1/1

Breathe, breathe in the air


In which Bev sends Peter into the ghost world of dead river gods to have sex with Old Beverley Brook, and deals with unexpected feelings.


You said you liked smutty worldbuilding, so I hope you enjoy this one. Happy Yuletide!

A big thank you to Sage for beta-reading this story!

Breathe, breathe in the air


I had my head buried between Beverley’s legs and was licking her in a lazy, relaxed sort of way, the kind of Sunday morning sex when you know you don’t have to get up for quite a while and can spend some time just idling around. Bev let out a series of small gasps and moans and I knew her well enough to hear that she was building up to a nice and cosy orgasm.

I ran my tongue along the length of her pussy and ended by circling her clit. The moan she let out surprised me – it was more intense than what I expected, but I didn’t think about it any more. My dick was hard and I was eager to finish part one, so that we could more on to part two, featuring that particular part of my anatomy.

It came as a surprise, then, when Bev motioned me to stop. I looked up to see her watching me.

“We have company,” she said. She sounded a bit breathless – no wonder, considering what we’d been doing just a moment before.

I looked around, but there were no foxes, and I hadn’t heard the sound of the doorbell either. “I’m not seeing any ghosts,” I said, just to be cheeky.

Bev huffed a short laugh. “That’s because he’s not that much here yet. Even though he wants to,  because he knows what a fantastic kisser you are.”

It took a moment for the realisation to drop.

I’d been so embarrassed to tell her, back then, but of course, she’d found it hilarious. I’d since dealt with my bit of questioning my sexual orientation – did it count as a same-sex experience if you did it with your girlfriend’s previous incarnation’s ghost? The answer, if I was honest, was yes. I’d enjoyed kissing him, and as Bev had told me, he was not her. They shared a connection to their river and that was it. Which led me to the question:

“How is he here? How does that work, can you see him? Talk to him? What does he say?”

Would he be able to manifest in the physical world and kiss me again, just like Old Sir Tyburn had killed the assassin with his sword?

Bev gave me a flat stare and brought my hand back to her clit. Apparently she was ready to continue; that, or she wanted to keep me from asking too many questions. Fortunately for her I loved touching her whenever I could, so it worked. Kind of. I still wanted to know–

“He’s here. Now,” she said meaningfully. “I’d say he’s not too interested in the metaphysical theory.” She stretched in that way that made her tits stand out.

I let myself be distracted, but I made a mental note to get back to her for my questions. “Yeah?” I said and pushed into her with my fingers. “What does he want?”

Her moan went straight into my cock.

“He – ah – wants to kiss you again.”

That was tempting, but I had my perfectly naked girlfriend in front of me already.

“Keep doing that. He wants to suck your dick.”

I still didn’t know how that was supposed to work, but damn if it didn’t turn me on.

“And what do you want?” I asked, because, well, naked girlfriend.

Bev groaned and put her hand on my shoulder, just a bit of pressure. “Peter.” 

“If you want it, too, then bring him here,” I said, a bit breathless, and circled Bev’s clit. She gets bossy when she’s close to coming and I didn’t want to piss her off. She was moaning in the way that showed that she was really, really close.

“Can’t,” she gasped.

My mind was racing through all the implications for the metaphysicality of the ghosts of dead gods, but it was really hard to concentrate. “Why not?” Old Tyburn had been in this world at least once. I figured it was possible. There was nothing in the literature about Tyburn as god of crossing boundaries, other than, well, the hanging tree, so it must be possible for Beverley as well.

“Peter, if you don’t finish me off right now, I’m going to take care of myself and then take a swim to cool down the other guy and you won’t get your dick sucked.”

I hadn’t noticed I’d stopped and Bev sounded impatient, so I didn’t bother answering and climbed back down to put my mouth between her legs. There’s not much to say about it – as eating someone out goes, I’ve done worse, but also so much better. But I was distracted, and Bev didn’t seem to mind as long as I licked and fingered her. While she gasped and moaned under me, my brain wandered through the implications of our conversation. Old Beverley Brook wanted to have sex with me, and I with him. Bev couldn’t bring him here. That meant–

Bev’s legs twitched, then she relaxed.

“You’d have to send me to him,” I said. 


I laid my head on her thigh and let my hand trail over her other leg, her pubic mound, her belly, while I thought it through. Exhaustively.

She let me take my time. Bev’s amazing like that.

“Do you want this too?” I climbed back up to her and lay down beside her. 

She let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, Peter. I do. This is not just for your benefit, you know.”

“Okay. Let’s do it then.”

She turned to me and put her arms around me. The gesture felt weirdly protective. Her face came closer until her forehead touched mine. “Ready?”

I nodded.

She kissed me, and for a short moment, it felt like I was underwater. 

Then, bright sunlight greeted me.


Bev hadn’t expected it would be so easy to send Peter over to Old Bev’s world of memories and ghosts. From what she’d learned from asking her sister, it was a feat of considerable concentration and focus that cost more than it was worth. But then, perhaps Ty wasn’t the best judge. Sending Peter over cost her little more than surmounting her hesitance about letting him go. Old Bev loved Peter enough that Bev trusted him to take good care of him. After all, he had already done so when he caught Peter’s fall, even if right now, they were thinking of a different meaning of ‘taking care’ than back then.

Old Bev was still lingering on the edge of her consciousness, with his arousal, his curiosity, his anticipation. She’d felt similarly, that first time she’d slept with Peter. Beverley smiled, and with a gentle push of her mind, Peter’s consciousness left this world.

He went slack in her arms, as if he’d fallen asleep. For a few loud heartbeats, panic swept through Beverley. 

Then she focused on Peter’s deep and calm breathing. He was here. He was alive. Behind the lids, his eyes were moving as if he was dreaming. He would find it fascinating to hear about it, would probably want to repeat it as an experiment while hooked up to some medical equipment that Beverley had never bothered to learn to recognise. She didn’t care about that. She was simply beyond relieved that she hadn’t accidentally sent him to his death.

Not that she’d expected that to happen, or she would have never agreed, no matter how aroused she was or how hot the idea of Peter kissing her, whatever shape she wore. Not that she was Old Bev, they were very much their own person each, thanks, but it was still something she felt sometimes comfortable claiming. 

Peter showed her his love often enough, and there was no doubt that he wanted her. The sex was always good, and sometimes soul-consumingly perfect, but there was still a small part of her that wondered if Peter would love her if she wasn’t objectively hot. He’d told her, a while ago, that he’d felt something that was uniquely hers through Old Beverley’s kiss. She thought it must be the impression her life left on her  predecessor’s ghost, because she hadn’t known about the kiss until Peter told her. Knowing that Peter was attracted to that part of her, even when it was in a different body, was more validating than any of Peter’s praises for how perfect she was when they fucked.

The idea that he could leave his own impression on Old Beverley’s ghost, as he had on her, was a turn on Bev hadn’t expected. Peter was hers, she was his, and Old Bev’s attraction to him was an extension of that. She felt a twinge of heat and a new gush of wetness in her cunt.

Peter’s breathing was still deep, although a bit faster, and his cock pressed against Bev’s hip and belly. She let her hand trail over his chest. 

When she closed her eyes, an image appeared in front of her, far away and blurry at first, the warm colours of a linen tent’s interior, of blankets and furs, and two tangled naked male bodies, one white and wiry, the other the athletic shape and rich brown skin she knew so well. As she concentrated on it, the image came closer and gained detail: a ray of sunlight drew her eye to Peter’s throat, and she let her eyes trail down Peter’s body.

Sloppy wet sounds and moaning joined the imagery. Old Beverley was blowing Peter, and as Bev watched, she felt a hint of Peter’s cock on her tongue. She was drawn into the scene, felt herself get closer, until she was ready to slip into Old Beverley’s body and take Peter’s cock in her mouth for real. She wanted it. Her cock throbbed and she reached down to – that was weird, she didn’t have a cock. 

Bev took a deep breath and drew away from the scene, the memory of Peter’s cock still in her mouth. Her heart beat fast in her chest. The scene faded, and when she opened her eyes, she was in her bed. Peter was still lying in her arms, still breathing. In the back of her mind, she could feel Old Bev’s arousal and wonder; faintly she heard her Peter’s praise. “Fuck yes, Bev, you’re taking me so well, you’re so good.” He didn’t say how much he loved Bev though, and a weird sense of pride swept through Bev when she realised that he reserved these words for her, and Old Bev didn’t get to hear them from Peter.

As she looked at him and held him close, the enormity of what she was doing overcame her. She was all too aware of how much he trusted her. While it felt easy to send Peter to Old Bev for a few elongated moments of passion, it wasn’t trivial. Peter had realised it, of course. He’d taken his time to think it through and decided it was worth it. Now here she was, in bed with Peter, letting him slowly suffocate so he could give the ghost of the previous orisa of her river the railing of his existence.

She let out a shaky breath. Then, she put her fingers to his lips. They parted, and she let her thumb trail over his lip, then along his jawbone and down his neck. She let her hand rest there. Her cunt was still wet, and again, she felt her labia glide against each other whenever she moved her legs.

Peter’s pulse was still steady. A strange feeling was swelling up within Bev. Peter was letting her do this to him. Peter was enjoying this, and when she tuned into Old Beverley’s world, she could hear how much exactly. Peter was always chatty, and likely as not fell into the occasional bit of dirty talk when they had sex. But when he was really aroused, he didn’t talk. Bev loved reducing him to a mess of moans and cries and, apparently, Old Bev did too.

She felt something push at her asshole, and then it felt like Peter’s cock was sliding in, even though in her world, it was still hard against her belly. She wanted to fuck him, wanted him to fuck her, she wanted – above all, she wanted to keep him safe. Bev put her fingers on his pulse, felt his warm breath on her face.

Peter was fucking Old Bev in the ass now, she could feel the whisper of a sensation. Time passed differently in the ghost world, she’d noticed that, although she didn’t know how much. How long had they been fucking there? How much time had passed here?

The sensation of Peter’s cock in her ass left Bev out of breath. She moved her hips in rhythm with his thrusts and pressed her legs together. Peter’s cock poked against her hips with her movement, and she adjusted her position.

She sighed in relief when his real cock slid against her clit and between her labia, solid in the way the one in her ass wasn’t. She pressed her legs closer together, and she was so worked up already that she didn’t even need her fingers to come.

The orgasm crashed over her like the tide on a full moon, all-encompassing and overwhelming, and wow, this was one of the hottest things she’d ever done and she wanted Peter with her; Peter, whose breath was now coming in shallow little gasps, Peter, who had been in the world of dead ghosts for who knew how long, who was under her care and Bev needed to get him back right now.

She grasped at his consciousness and pulled.



When the sensation of being submerged in water subsided once more, I found myself back in Beverley’s arms. Her whole body was pressed against mine. My dick was soft between her thighs. 

“Babes,” she said, relief evident in her voice.

I smiled and opened my eyes. “Hey Bev.”

‘So did you know what ancient Romano-Britons used as lube?’ I pointedly didn’t ask. I felt sticky all over, wet with all sorts of fluids that are an unavoidable but honestly pretty fun part of sex, but also it was going to be uncomfortable soon.

Bev was watching me with a complicated expression.

“You alright?” I asked.

“I don’t know, are you?”

That was one of those important conversations my shrink said I needed to have now and then, wasn’t it?

I put my hand around Bev’s shoulder, down her back, and kissed her. I let my lips linger for a moment. “Yeah,” I said. “Bev. That was –” I shook my head and tried to look her into the eyes without drawing back. I felt the grin split my cheek.

“It was, wasn’t it?” she said, and then we both burst out laughing before dissolving into giggles. I didn’t know where that came from, but apparently neither did Beverley, so we just let it happen.

When we were lying still again, I searched her eyes. “Are you though? Alright?”

She nodded. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

There was no talking around the sudden lump in my throat, so just I nodded and kissed her again.

“Still,” she said with a teasing tone that had me wonder if she really meant it. “Best sex of my life. And you weren’t even really there for it.”

“Best sex of your life so far,” I said because I’m never one to back down from that particular kind of challenge.

The following pillow fight was definitely not my fault.


End Notes

title from the Pink Floyd song

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