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

[ 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.

[ Close enough, or so he had felt until Gregor had turned his hand and actually laced their fingers together. The combination of that with that cold wash triggers another quiet little spark of guilt, this time held well away from his friend. Gregor can't even touch him like this without revulsion, eh? Whether a direct comment on Miles - which he gladly doubts, his free hand drifting towards the spot on his chest where still feels the brand - or a reflection of Prince Serg, which seems more likely. He doesn't want to cause that kind of reaction in Gregor. He wants ... he wants ...

For all that they can pull each other out of their slumps, they sure can slide in together too. He feels a sense of freefall now, lost between guilt and gratitude once again. Charge forward anyway. Maybe they'll come out the other side unharmed.

(Stubbornly, though, he picks the topic he thinks Gregor will have the worst time defending.) ]

I am a physical curiosity at best. Really, Gregor, there are few enough women on Barrayar that they can have their pick of any face they like, and have a sparkling personality to match.

[The contact alone wouldn't bother him-- touching, say, Ivan this way, if for some inexplicable reason Ivan felt beset by woes over failed attempts at finding a wife, would not bother Gregor at all. He's not that besieged by his own nightmares. But when he touches Miles, he always wants more. Always feels the urge to increase, to go further, and it scares him because he doesn't know where or if that would stop.

Sometimes his desires scare him. Turned on Miles, on a real person instead of just an abstract, awful fantasy, scares him twice as much. It makes his stomach twist, but he doesn't pull away.

That Miles thinks this is the most indefensible topic is laughable to Gregor, in the most horrible of ways, because he knows why Miles think that and he also knows just how easily his own brain is preoccupied with him physically these days. Such as three seconds ago, point of fact. Gregor has to struggle with himself on what to say and how to say it without stepping over a line he doesn't dare to cross.]

There's nothing wrong with you, [he ends up saying, again as he has before, in curbed frustration. You're driving me crazy with how much I want you, and you think no one else is going to see what I do? Thankfully, he manages to keep that in the corner of his mind that he now keeps from Miles.] You wouldn't want to be with someone who bought into rot like that, anyway. You're not a curiosity.

[ Miles doesn't get all of that - any of that, really - but senses that there's something churning, and something frustrating Gregor just below the surface of Miles' vision. He has to bite back the urge to go looking, to just peel layer by layer back and see for himself. (The urge sours anyway when he pictures it in any level of detail; it feels too much like harm, like an absolute betrayal of Gregor's privacy. Which it would be. No, he must not harm Gregor under any circumstances.)

The result, though, is more moodiness, and no particular comfort being drawn from Gregor's words. His mind skips back over that sharp spot and digs in, hard, as it catches on the painful memory. ]

I thought I did. It didn't work out well. [ Quickly, past it -- ] And "nothing wrong" is a very long way from anything positive. I might manage unique.

Edited (whoa bad html fuckup) 2016-01-27 04:27 (UTC)

[It would break something inviolate and very difficult to repair for Miles to do that; Gregor already only teeters over into luxuriating acceptance of this mental link because he trusts Miles absolutely, unconditionally, to not only accept with equanimity anything he feels or hears from Gregor but also not to harm him. He has so very little that he gets to keep for himself, and it is precious to him, even the festering parts. He shows them only deliberately.

There's no possible way to respond to this without exposing himself somehow. Yet he can't not respond to it, can't deflect when he feels how deeply this runs in Miles as a wound. That he'd wanted someone who 'bought into that rot' and it 'didn't work out well'-- The implications there make him quietly, deeply angry at this unknown woman. How long has this bled, unnoticed? The feeling of being torn in two worsens until he imagines he can feel himself break in half.

His hand retracts, again without totally conscious thought, and both of his land in his lap in a tight, composed grip.] I'm finding it very hard right now not to say something I'm going to dearly regret later. [His churning frustration bubbles up into a peak.]

Edited 2016-01-27 04:29 (UTC)

[ He would never, in the end; the temptation, however it may have spiked, can only be temporary.

A small starburst of despair seems to go off in his head at that. Gregor retracting, Gregor frustrated, Gregor not wanting to say something he'd regret - where is that ultimate acceptance that Miles had felt during that first disastrous power test? Is it gone? Does it not apply here, on this alternate level? He'd fed Gregor the worst first not really to make him stumble, but rather to selfishly pursue comfort. He can only blame himself if he finds Gregor's reaction to be only a reasonable one, after all.

(The sharp spot catches and bleeds again; he finds himself ruthlessly dragging his mind back over it, picturing himself on Beta Colony and feeling very desperate indeed.)

Without a word, he reaches for the bottle again. Takes a drink. Forces it to puncture something of this painful feeling bubbling up inside of him, before it obscures everything. This isn't Gregor's fault. His, all his, and this is a stupid conversation to be having. What was he expecting anyway? For Gregor to tell him he was pretty or something? ]

It's all right. Let's trot out something you can defend, then, and we'll both feel better.

[The trouble is, Gregor wants to tell him he's pretty in a thousand articulate, well-chosen words. Pretty is the least of it, pretty is juvenile and shallow and stupid and most of all effeminate, and there is nothing remotely feminine about Miles and that is the problem. Because Gregor is hopelessly, head over arse obsessed with him, anyway.

There's huge swathes of pain Miles is ruthlessly subjecting himself to as if it's his due course, and the worst of it is how little he shows outwardly, so much like Gregor himself with that coping mechanism that seeing it scrapes along his nerves. Because with that one bare hint Gregor can see the whole, abhorrent scope of it: he's trained in understanding people on an intuitive level and the whole mess unfolds before his eyes, practically, though of course he doesn't know what lengths it'd driven Miles to, that he can still see the reverberations is telling enough. That he thinks Gregor can't say anything here because he'll confirm that damn woman who raked him over the coals and didn't come close to appreciating him--

The whole dam breaks at once.]

You are so absurdly blind, [bursts out of him roughly, and his hand shoots out and snatches the wine bottle away from him, eyes blazing.] I can barely think for how bloody attractive you are sometimes and you think I agree with whoever did that to you?

[ What?

He can't have heard that right. He fights back, rather abruptly, the urge to laugh like a goddamn maniac. The surprise does at least knock both sharpness and despair out of him in an instant, but he can't seem to find the right emotion to fill in the empty space. Gregor feels sincere. He can't possibly be -- Miles reaches ineffectively for the bottle as it's pulled away from him. ]

Gregor, no. You don't have to do this.

[ Because even now, all Miles sees is that Gregor must be drumming this up to soothe Miles' stupid, poisoned ego. That's a more logical explanation than Gregor having actual romantic feelings for him. ]

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