barrayar | I am junking up this beautiful community with this junk

[ Miles' wrist is very small in comparison to Gregor's long fingers; Gregor could easily encircle the narrowest point with his thumb and forefinger. It's strangely vulnerable, having Gregor touching a part of him that would normally not be an intimate on, and making it into an intimate gesture. He shivers lightly with pleasure. Especially when Gregor lifts Miles' hand to his mouth. Miles finds himself tracking Gregor with his eyes the whole way, his pulse quickening.

There's a flash of mental pain too - it's not all surgery scars there, and he remembers Bothari coming in the door to patch him up with alarming speed and steadiness. He has to swallow, hotly, as Gregor's ministrations fight with that memory, putting it to rest for now. He doesn't have to imagine Gregor as a healing force. He is one in truth, balming Miles' issues a bit at a time. Despite the reminders of unhappier moment, Miles is desperately glad to have it overwritten. By Gregor who wants him, Gregor who would never reject him ... quiet joy bubbles up from deep inside him, made sweeter by the pain it had to get through to surface. ]

Keep doing that, please. [ He says, feeling the need to verbalize. To reassure Gregor that this really is all right. ]

I have no doubt any options I offer will be rejected out of hand.

[He, of all people, knew that choice was as much raw terror as it was a saintly boon. It all depending on the question it was framed by.

The thought crossed his mind, suddenly, to completely funk out. It was a dire temptation. Easily done, easily justified. He could offer to see himself and Cordelia rehoused for a time, to allow adjustment and to let the boy pick his own pace. He knew damn well this ... new child of his would likely never call himself ready.

Nor was he. Not to see some mirror of his son's face clouded with.. what would it be? Horror? Hatred? Fear? God. What an exquisitely designed plot. Full of madness, without question, but if it ached this badly knowing Miles this short, how would it be with 20 years of memories?

At last, his gaze fell to the dagger, sheathed on Miles hip. He took a breath, and released it.]

Allow me half an hour.

[ Gregor thinks that at him with clear amusement. Like this is something warm and funny and charming. All that answer serves to do is fill Mark with a vague and horrible sense of dread.

That's not good enough. I can't use that. ]

Edited 2016-01-29 14:05 (UTC)

[It's funny in the way that all of your past mistakes are funny once you gain a sense of perspective. It's self-mocking, really. But the humor fades at this response, and Gregor finds himself drawn in.

Use it for what? ]

[ To - figure it out.

A bubble of frustration rises, threatens to pop. Mark forces it down.

I need to figure this out. ]

[It's not actually all that obvious what it is he's attempting to decode, here.

Which is what? You have so many choices for things that could be bothering you. ]

[ That bubble - well. It doesn't explode. Pop is also a little bit too grandiose a term for what happens. But it's given some vent, as he turns his attention to the Emperor and replies, with some heat:

You! All of you. What else could be bothering me? You're all the most damned - insane, bizarre - What am I supposed to do with you? With myself? ]

[He feels the complicated ugliness roil through Miles, arising from some deep store that Gregor only ever glimpses in him and has never plumbed the depths of, and from the first he doesn't really believe it was about him, or a sign to stop. It's proven true when it subsides into wonder and happiness, when Miles verbalizes, which he does appreciate-- having any ambiguity taken away.

He's reminded of his own flash of revulsion when he'd gone to do this, now similarly gone and replaced with better things.] Putting ghosts to rest, [he murmurs against his skin. Maybe some day it can be only the two of them, and no ghosts.] I want you, Miles. Just you. [A plain, unweighed declaration, as much verbal reassurance as what Miles had given him.

Gregor does keep going then, places another lingering kiss on the center of his palm. And another, an inch further down, and another on the tip of his forefinger, which he takes wholly into his mouth to suckle on. Turning this from a romantic gesture into an equally sexual one and he means every angle of it.]

[Ah. Gregor withstands this easily, sympathy rising up again, curiosity on its heels. He refrains from giving him the full list of other potential worries, so as not to make a suggestion out of it.

One thing at a time, I should think. I wouldn't force your indoctrination to flip itself over too fast. I've been attempting not to overwhelm you.]

[ Another vent of frustration.

I'm not delicate. I just don't like being handled.

Two assertions, both of which are, simultaneously, very very true and very very untrue. ]

[Gregor can see both sides of that, and attempts reframing.

It's not about delicacy, it's about not putting yourself through more than necessary. Just because your wristcom can handle being thrown to the floor doesn't mean you go about doing it, hm? There's no urgency. We're stuck here indefinitely.]

[ That's...logical. It's true. This isn't some crisis. It's not the mad scramble to track down Miles Vorkosigan, where every second lost was another second he could elude their grasp again. It's not the intensity of the lessons to become his progenitor, either, every moment spent trying to cram in another piece of knowledge. There's no...deadline to face. No goal to reach.

What a strange and uneasy thought.

Mark sits back, frustration ebbing away. I still want to figure it out. Soon. I hate feeling like this. ]

[He's only been feeling that way for, what, a day, and he's fed up with it? Gregor has a moment of pure sarcasm that he keeps firmly in another area of his brain, away from Mark. Back where he's been making his comparisons to Miles, because however natural it is to make comparisons between clone and progenitor, this is not one he wants to do that with.

Even though this is a very Milesian reaction.

Very well. You're talking about what kind of relationship you're going to settle on with the Vorkosigans, aren't you? Would you like me to lay out your options?

Maybe he's undergoing a kind of decision fatigue. Too many choices.]

[ He's...independent, right? He tries to push back just a little bit. To clear some ground for being...his own man. Perhaps.

You can - lay out my options as you see them. There. That reserves a little bit of space for him to assert something else. Or - plausibility. If he wants to make it clear that he could have come up with one of his own. ]

[Gregor really hadn't even been thinking of it that way, to tell the truth. Of course he could still come up with his own.

It's just a mental exercise, he assures him. Feel free to tell me to screw off at any time. I like that. The short burst of humor reappearing makes it pretty clear Gregor really does like being told off, in the few contexts in which he's allowed to be told off in.

Anyway. I'll go through each one and you tell me your opinion. Half to get him thinking, but half because Gregor wants to get a better sense of him, gauge him.]

[ There's a little paradoxical bit of nervousness, spurred by Gregor encouraging him to be smart-mouthed. It just feels like...Like the Emperor is going to push him to do something he shouldn't, just to have a chance to demonstrate just how bad an idea it is to do that thing...

Anyway.

Sure. ]

[He's riding a fine line here and he knows it. But Gregor thinks he's also getting a handle on him now, with less fumbling-- no more mistakes like flooding him with compassion too soon. Offer choices, but don't push. Assure him that you aren't weak. Assure him that he isn't weak. Retain integrity.

That's what's in Gregor's guidebook to dealing with Miles's brother so far.

You could detach from them completely. I was entirely serious with my weasel-wording about your name when I swore you in. You could pick anything you wanted and deny the relationship. I'd prefer you did that quickly, if so, because it will be torturous to them to have you waffling and then land on that decision, but that's just me. And I'd suggest in that case you got used to them thinking of you as family because I strongly suspect that Miles will not budge on you as his brother, nor Lady Vorkosigan on you as her son.

But I do think they could learn to leave you alone about it and respect your choice if so. You would be just another Barrayaran subject in that case-- not Vor-- sworn to me. I would be the only obligation you had... the only point of attachment.]

[ There's a long moment of...silence isn't exactly the name for it. There's noise, general psychic noise and tremors and uncertainty. Nothing distinct, just...nerves. He responds, finally, with a rather strained:

Maybe. Allies are useful. But I don't like the possibility of them thinking they have some hold on me.

In truth, there's a dread of them, of everything. He hates the thought of them coming near to him and smothering him with kisses and generally being horrifically affectionate and false. He hates the thought of them treating him coldly, though, too, because...Because to have a family, but to be second-best, to have them always looking at Miles with approval and him as just the-one-who-isn't-Miles, the shadow, stronger bones but weaker everything else...That fills him with an ache deeper than any other. He couldn't deal with that. It's the safest option.

And yet. Family...Someone looking out for him - There was a time when he'd hungered for that. He doesn't know whether he still does, or whether he managed to kill that stupid, pointless desire... ]

Edited 2016-01-29 15:25 (UTC)

[It's so natural for him to think that way, Gregor knows; he's lived and breathed powerlessness. But he has the wrong end of the stick entirely.

Gentle warmth accompanies the thought: It's not that. You have a hold on them. A significant one, no matter what decision you make.]

[ He fights that warmth again, just a bit.

Genetics aren't as important as that. ]

[Gregor doesn't try to push harder with it, just keeps it there, his honest feelings a quiet susurration of warmth.

Even though they've defined your whole life already? It's no less for anyone else.]

[ He pushes back a little harder.

Have they defined your life?

And then, abruptly, the heat drops away to be replaced by shame. He hadn't been thinking of Serg when he'd thrown that thought at Gregor, but Serg comes to mind now. The tales of insanity and depravity...Though maybe those were like tales of the Butcher. Maybe those were exaggerated by Galen for effect. It's not impossible. ]

[There's still humor here, but it's dark, morbid, black enough to lose yourself in. Mark has his darkness and Gregor has his own, a pit that's swallowed him before but he's recently crawled out of. He has enough self-control to only show the bare tip of that.

He doesn't need to mention Serg to make his point here. He already feels his shame, doesn't need to grind that in.

I'm an Emperor whose succession is so weak, a clone could threaten it. When I said my life is not my own, I was speaking literally. My death or abdication would mean the death of thousands. I've never had a chance to be anyone else-- I took immense pleasure in offering one to you.]

[ He relaxes a little bit when there's no explosion of...of rage or of grief. He doesn't know which would have been worse.

It wouldn't make things any better for you. If I found something. You'd still be just as stuck. ]

[Rage and grief are both things Gregor keeps very tightly to himself. All of what he's shown here has been honest, but deliberate, each a step that he judges would further his goals. Honesty, but measured.

Yes, but things are already better for you, aren't they?

A real question.]

I am junking up this beautiful community with this junk

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