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

Hm. No. But you'll get this, where he didn't, at all.

[Miles directly in the bottle, oh dear. Well, he did just find out he has a clone-twin and the whole mess besides... Gregor takes a solid drink himself before continuing, inadvertently leaving Miles in suspense for a few moments.]

I old him that if he were a Barrayaran subject retroactively, he'd have been suffering in service that whole time. And I'd owe him. [Here comes the wry smile.] A rather large blank check, I believe I said.

[Which, of course, Gregor already owes everyone for serving just the same.]

[ It's a dangerous thing when Miles doesn't pour himself glasses. Mostly because it means he doesn't care how drunk he gets. (Because he doesn't, that was exhausting, and he is going to need something to sleep tonight. Sleep in the next morning, in fact.)

He frowns a bit, puzzling that out. Instantly catching onto that unspoken dimension to it. ]

You'd offer that to any Barrayaran. Vorkosigans especially.

Oh, yes. Vorkosigans especially. But it's all... fluff and nonsense to him, this liege thing. That I'd feel beholden to do anything but use him for my own ends. Which I can't blame him for, so--

[An oblique half-shrug.]

I tried to meet him at a place he could understand from. He'd have done something for me by flipping, neutralized the whole plot, so I'd owe him.

He really is Jacksonian, isn't he ...

[ It seems obvious, in retrospect, but it just feels baffling. What would Miles have been like, raised in that situation? Exactly like that? Surely so, given that they are basically twins ... what a concept.

He darkens again at the mention of the plot. Another long swig of wine. ]

You know we owe you for that. And him too.

Spare me. If we tried to tally up what we owe one another, we'd be here all night. It all comes out in a wash, you know that.

[Then a gentle further mental petting, like trying to smooth down the fur of a riled cat.]

And save some of that for me, would you? [Which really means, slow down.]

I do know that. But I'm going to be grateful, dammit, because I know you're grateful to us.

[ God he is weak to that. Mentally stretching a bit in fondness, tilting as if to let Gregor caress at a really sore spot ... It makes him set the bottle down for a moment, anyway, and nudge it towards Gregor wordlessly. ]

[Gregor takes it, pours a second glass for himself, and then sets it aside in silent declaration.

In recompense he obligingly keeps up the mental skritching, less metaphorically sending over his own warmth and gratitude and trust.]

I won't say no to that. It's a very dark place, his head. You are a relief.

[ A soft sigh. Point taken; he reluctantly examines the amount of wine left in the bottle and makes a mental note to stop when there's about a glass left.

Instead of drinking again, he leans against Gregor's warmth. Pleased at that comment too, trying not to be pleased at the expense of his brother... ]

No chance of being replaced after all?

[ Said lightly, but with a thin trembling thread of fear behind it. ]

[Isn't this much better than alcohol? Less miserable fuzziness, more unconditional fondness.

Laced with some teasing exasperation now.] No chance at all. He's not a replacement and you don't need replacing. Remember?

[Remember Gregor's impatience with him making himself taller? This comes from the same source.]

[ Ah, yes. He does remember that feeling. He recalls the ember that had resulted from that first disastrous experiment - finds the blazing brand at his chest instead. Either way, he's warmed by the protectiveness. ]

I know, I know. And I don't think he'd enjoy it in the end.

No kidding. You're the only person I can fathom handling all that you do.

[Quietly, an uncommon sense of neediness tentatively welling up now,] You're the only person I can fathom having in my head like this, all the time.

[ Oh. That's ... He immediately reaches out to meet it, to intertwine himself with that needy spot firmly and brightly. Like hell he's going anywhere as long as Gregor wants him. ]

It's ... become familiar very quickly, hasn't it. I feel deaf without it.

[Gregor receives him gratefully, like someone cold huddling around a fire.

That very reaction prompts him to ask, hesitant,] Should we be concerned about that?

Hell, I don't know. I'm not sure I care.

I must care. For the both of us. [Gregor sighs. He takes his responsibility in this very seriously.]

I... wish that I didn't. I'd like to sink into this forever, if I could.

[He has to clamp down on an immediate resulting curl of worry, that that statement is too revealing, for surely with the proper read-through it reveals itself as, I'd like to sink into you forever, if I could.]

Edited (what a Freudian slip. TWICE) 2016-01-26 15:11 (UTC)

[ Ah. Well, if Gregor takes it seriously ... Miles can hardly be flippant, can he. There's nothing but fondness in return though; he doesn't quite understand the statement in the way that Gregor feels it. (If he did, would his answer really be any different...?) ]

We'd be a sorry mess then, I suppose. Twined up together, not knowing where one ends and the other begins.

[ It doesn't seem like such a terrible thing to him ... But it makes him think of marrying someone someday, and not having this link. How is that ever going to compare? ]

[He shifts uncomfortably in his seat at the suggestion, and takes a healthy drink of his wine. It sounds too much like something he wants. And, yes, his own inevitable marriage-- even more inevitable than for Miles-- has occurred to him, too. Is it really fair to let Miles get so tied up in him?]

It's for the best that we won't remember this, at home. It would be too hard to... know, and not have.

[ A cold spike goes through him. God, don't even remind him... It makes him just want to burrow in even more. ]

Maybe we'll find a way.

[Gregor doesn't really have much warmth to offer on the subject, because he feels cold himself-- or faded, rather. Sad and accepting... resigned. Like he's been resigned to so much else in his life.]

To remember, or to have this?

Both. But the former, if not the latter.

[ Miles, meanwhile, feels a fierce desire to fight, as he alway does. He'll find a way, dammit. Reality will bend to his whims. ]

[Which is exactly why Gregor likes Miles so much, and never balks at all the intensity that comes from him over the link. He soaks it in now, parched for it.]

You think we could find wives that would understand it? [Gregor asks doubtfully, because one of the major factors preventing him from trying to push for anything with Miles is the knowledge that he would never, ever make him be his kept secret. God, what a thing to do to someone who already has to fight for social acceptance...]

[ That touches a little too close to a bit of sharpness; he rolls over it anyway, letting it bleed him without so much as a thought to staunch it - or notice it. ]

You would, absolutely. You wouldn't marry anyone who didn't understand. And I will never find a woman who is willing to marry me, so no worries on that front.

[That faith in him again. Gregor's surprised at this new take on it, not just that he's a good and loyal liege-lord and a trustworthy friend but also... someone Miles believes would defend their connection. He's true, of course, but he's surprised.

Yet that gets overtaken by feeling Miles silently accept his own internal bleeding, appearing to mutely accept his lot in life as being eternally undesirable for commitment. It sends an answering sharpness through Gregor, paining him deeply, making something in his chest flip over and want to reach out and--

He finds his hand has physically found Miles's, resting on top of it, warm and dry. He finds also that he can't quite blame it on the wine.]

You only need one in three hundred million to say yes, [he says, lowly. If he can't assuage this himself, (I would marry you if one of us were female,) he'll do his best elsewise.] And I wouldn't be surprised if there was only one worthy of being your wife. You just have to find her-- or she has to find you.

[ Oh. They're holding hands. Shame burns in Miles in return, that Gregor has to do this to assuage his stupid feelings. There's a bit of a struggle for a moment as he wavers between gratitude and protective reticence; after a moment, gratitude wins out after all, and he warms into that touch. Selfishly, so selfishly. ]

I suppose they would have to be unique. In order to endure me for that long.

[They're not quite holding hands, just resting one on top of the other. At least until Gregor realizes his next impulse is for his fingers to creep up and caress his wrist, feel his pulse...

He needs to stop this, here they are talking about how they have to get married and he still feels this way. Miles is going to feel that cold wash as Gregor tries to stamp out those heated impulses, hating himself for them, and to combat the message that sends he turns Miles's hand over on the table to let them lace fingers properly. Just digging himself in deeper, isn't he, but he feels torn in half by wanting to comfort Miles so very badly and yet... not able to let himself without spiking his self-loathing, and each one feeding the other...

What a terrible mess.]

Shall I deconstruct all of the flaws you see in yourself? [Now he sounds hoarse, all the events of tonight catching up with him, and this time he does blame it a bit on the wine.] Trot them out and I'll counter them, if you like. Remember-- we can't see ourselves from an exterior view. I needed you to see me.

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