barrayar | More power dynamics AU

Entry tags:

More power dynamics AU

Simon was standing in the Emperor’s sitting room, at casual parade rest—inasmuch as as that wasn’t an oxymoron. He felt rather calm, as he always did when he had fixed on the solution to a problem.

Simon had been turning the problem over in his mind for the past couple of months, firming his resolve as the rumor mill continue to turn, until it became obvious that this issue was not going to conveniently disappear. Frankly, Simon admitted that they’d simply been lucky that it was only now coming up in force. There had been a vague rustle about it when Gregor initially came into his majority, but people’s thirst for scandal had mostly been slaked on placing bets on when, not if, the Regent would usurp the young Emperor. At the time, it had been a relief to Simon, who still saw a child when he looked at his Emperor.

Now, the impromptu ‘vacation’ the Emperor had decided to take had fired the imaginations of the Vors, both politically active and not. Simon was impressed at the variety of forms the rumors took, but they all boiled down to the same thing: the Emperor’s lack of participation in a system held dear with the glue of tradition was going to be an issue. It was variably seen as a sign of impotency, a dangerous disregard for the honor of the Vor and the military, and an exploitable hint of friction between the Emperor and his Chief of security.

There was another impetus to get this out of the way too. Though Simon had been grateful enough to put it off while Gregor was still essentially a teenager, it sat uncomfortably with Simon to be… well, he couldn’t help but think of it as shirking his duty. This current spate of rumors reinforced that feeling. He knew it was irrational, just like he knew his refusal to be promoted past Captain was irrational, but Negri had… left his mark on Simon. Him and Ezar both. He’d been their creature for over a decade, loyal to them as he was now loyal to Vorkosigan, though that loyalty had had a very, very different basis.

So. He had identified what needs must be done. Only the execution remained. Ideal location was easy to determine—It would have to be Gregor’s private chambers, to facilitate consummation. Simon could request a meeting there specifically, make sure to be seen on the way there, and that should do wonders for the rumor mill. Gregor was generally intensely private, but he would acquiesce to a strong request, if only out of curiosity. Perhaps he might even deduce the agenda for the meeting, though it was anyone's guess if that would make things more or less difficult. Method was a trickier problem. As was now… quite apparent, Gregor was no longer a child and he wouldn’t fold out of habit. Not to mention his very, very Betan sex education. Enthusiastic, uncoerced consent... Simon snorted to himself. The thought of seeing his Emperor naked didn’t repulse him, and that would have to do. He didn’t examine his feelings on it any further than that. All the best covers needed a grain of truth but it could be a very, very small grain.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

For his part, Gregor is so used to ignoring the ongoing low speculation about his romantic and sex lives (often not the same thing by rumor) that he barely gives credence to one over the other. He has more important things to focus on, quite simply; he's never been ruled by his dick and he doesn't understand people who are, fundamentally. It all seems a distraction to him right now, when he's still trying to recover from his disappearance, not only catching up on the incredible backlog of decisions that had been waiting for his input but also cementing and shoring up the alternate stories Simon and Aral had spun about his time away.

It was exhausting, suffice to say, and left him little time to emotionally process what he'd been through beyond Cordelia insisting on regular meetings with her. Gregor spent some of them sitting largely in silence, staring down at his hands or his tea cup, his foster-mother waiting patiently for him to speak or not to speak. Some might think that a waste of time; but the truth was that Gregor was rarely allowed the chance to simply be silent without expectations on him, to just be as he was and not be on display. Sometimes this did coax words out of him in the end, halting and unsure. In private, with his one sole trusted confidante with matters of deep vulnerability, even Cordelia seemed to realize he was too delicate at the moment for her usual blunt, unforgiving scalpel. Part of it was simply that their time together was a narrow window, and Gregor often had none to recover afterward. He had to be able to plunge right back into the morass of Imperial duties without delay.

Good thing he had so much experience with acting under duress. Though he often didn't feel under duress... Curiously numb, if anything, when he diverted himself examining his own mental state at all. He didn't often; there was too much to do. Coming into his power in truth gave him fresh eyes and a sharper, keener drive to have his hands personally in things, as he'd never felt necessary before. His aides and advisers and ministers were all adjusting to this, as much as Gregor was. His head was a whirl with new concerns, motivation kicked into high gear with the sudden, stunning realization he'd had just a few months ago: that he really was Emperor. And that people would get out of his way if he told them to, and let him do his damn job. Him.

This was more than enough to make Gregor not just immune to but flagrantly uncaring of the rumor mill. It's the last thing on his mind when Simon requests an audience. If anything, he's wondering if he shouldn't insist that Simon take a day off-- just one, he's not crazy about what is feasible in convincing him of-- because he's looked rather strained lately...

It's true that he doesn't often (read: hardly ever) entertain anyone in his private quarters, but for Simon, who he trusts implicitly and has an odd unspoken personal understanding with now, he merely acquiesces when requested. Not without some concern. What on Earth could Simon want to talk to him about that couldn't be covered in the context of their morning security briefings? Usually a second meeting in one day heralded some crisis. But this wasn't marked urgent. Important but not urgent? And given the setting, something personal? With Simon Illyan, who Gregor was fairly sure had no existence outside of ImpSec?

He's in his shirt-sleeves and trousers, jacket and shoes abandoned, when his Armsman silently opens the door for Simon from out in the hall. He doesn't announce him; there's no need to. Gregor glances over and nods him in, then lets out a breath once the door is closed.

"Well. Whatever this is about, I'm sufficiently scared already." It's a bit too grim to be entirely successful as humor.

Simon offers him a bland smile, unbothered by the grim humor, which was usually all he got, but impatient to get on with things. "There is no need, sire," he assures. "Nothing catastrophic."

He had turned the best way to introduce this several times over in his mind. He hadn't really come to a satisfactory conclusion, but so far jumping right into things was the best option he had. It would doubtless surprise Gregor, keep him off balance—provide an exploitable opening for Simon's advantage. Simon was not anticipating enthusiasm. His looks were unremarkable, (which had been rather the point when he was doing covert work) and the context of his and Gregor's relationship to date didn't exactly lend itself to the erotic. Quite the opposite. But perhaps the prospect of convenient, socially acceptable sex would have some draw on him. Gregor, too, had only to not be repulsed by the prospect. Surely he was not as sexless as he generally appeared, but perhaps Simon was the last person who could say anything about that. He didn't consider his own lack of sex life to be a particularly noteworthy sacrifice. The prospect of renewing it remained ambivalent.

Not wasting any time, Simon smoothly drops into a full, proper kneel. He had not had his chip yet when he first recited this formulation to Negri, but he still remembered the words perfectly. I offer... As Barrayaran oaths went, it was straightforward and succint enough.

Nothing catastrophic, he says, and then goes into a full kneel, something Gregor has only seen him do when he was re-sworn at his majority. It instantly ramps him up into straight out alarmed, which does not quieten when Simon recites an oath Gregor has only seen the text of, and never heard out loud.

He actually starts in shock, a subtle twitch of his features and leaning backward before he draws up straight, trying to recover from a wave of vertigo. This isn't right. This isn't-- it's not right. Gregor has never had any interest in this type of arrangement, and if anything he has even less of a one now.

"Please stand," he says, as calmly as he can, corners of his mouth pulled tight, rather than any of the formal words that would indicate acceptance or refusal. He can't have this conversation with Illyan on his knees, good God. "Explain to me why you are offering this." It's Simon; he has some reason that is not personal desire. That as a motive would be beyond comprehension in Gregor's view of the man.

Illyan pushes himself to his feet as smoothly as he'd gone down. His face is utterly unreadable, void of any particular expression, but his eyes don't quite meet Gregor's, lowered slightly. It's a calculated gesture—submissive, as though this had been a difficult thing to ask. It had been, but not enough to really rate, on the scale of things. It was a ploy. The more in control Gregor felt, the less likely he'd be to balk on instinct. Vulnerability would engage his consideration, and Simon needed every single advantage, because the only arguments he had were the truth.

"It is tradition for the Chief of Imperail Security to swear himself to the Emperer thusly," Simon states, but he knows he needs to engage Gregor's imagination here. If he even the vaguest hint of a sex drive. "A tradition not without some logical basis. The post of Emperor.... nor the position of Chief of ImpSec lend easily to personal assignations. It is also, of course, symbolic of a few different things, making it a particularly potent symbol. One the Counts are feeling the lack of."

Simon is often unreadable, even moreso than Gregor manages to be, who tends to have a humanistic attentive listening expression as his default, however little that gives away. But being unreadable has never been quite so aggravating as at this moment, especially when combined with that submissive little quirk, which is not lost on Gregor after years upon years of being the one feeling cowed in his presence. It's such a subtle reversal that it makes his skin prickle. He doesn't know how to interpret that reaction, doesn't have a chance to before he's confronted with this.

He folds his arms defensively, despite himself. He knows it's a tell-- but since when has he been adversarial enough with Simon that he cares if he reads through his tells?

"I am not in the habit of letting the Counts determine my sex life, no matter where they feel they have the right," he says coolly. Tradition. Tradition. Meaning-- "By tradition do you mean that my grandfather engaged in this with Captain Negri?"

There's a distant sort of horror unfolding over him. Gregor knows well enough that these sorts of arrangements are not coercive or dishonorable, or they aren't normally, at least. Indeed, they tend to be positive, beneficial to both parties and accepted as consensual in every way. But tradition implies something else. Tradition implies, once more, succumbing to acts upon his person (and more importantly, Simon's person) for the sake of giving in to what the old bastards want, regardless of personal opinion or willingness. Already he starts to feel sick as his mind unfolds what must be the mental context of this for Simon: coming here to submit himself, to fulfill his duty as he always does, faultlessly and unfailingly. Simon Illyan didn't get his reputation by doing anything by half-measures, or get his position by having even the slightest accusation of ill behavior. He's practically untouchable at this point.

Is he trying to maintain that? Could castigation regarding this really effect him, even now, well into his career? Or is this how he got here-- has he been resigning himself to whatever needs done, no matter how distasteful, to retain this untouchable reputation? The whole concept of it disgusts him, is horrifying, for what it might imply. A whole depth of things Gregor had never guessed at. He's been learning recently just how ignorant he's really been, how much he'd deluded himself on a wide range of topics. This might be just one more.

Edited (done now!!) 2016-07-12 17:33 (UTC)

Simon raises his eyes to track Gregor's expression. In many ways, despite having served him since he was a child, the Emperor is opaque to Simon. He has no idea if that look—horror, definitely horror—is just knee-jerk distaste for imagining anyone over the age of forty having sex, or disgust with the concept itself. Damn Betan sensibilities.

Awaiting more information he says simply, "That is correct." But he can't help but add: "So you can thank them both for determining your sex life, not the Counts."

This provokes a more familiar disgruntlement and active rebellion, even, against the concept.

"Don't divert me." Gregor did get taught conversational maneuvering by the best, namely the man in front of him and Cordelia. That's one skill he'd needed little extra help on. "You already know I am not compelled by tradition except in those cases where it serves me. Something that perhaps motivated you to wait this long to approach me about this. What's changed?"

Simon bites back a sigh. "As I said, it is becoming... salient. The rumor that you ended up in Hegen Hub due to a Cetagandan kidnapping has at least as much weight as the one where you were actually ill. I am getting indirect accusations that I was purposefully derelict." A pause to emphasize this next bit. He meets Gregor's eyes, dead-level serious. "Which is leading to rumors that I'm trying to manufacture on 'accident' to put Lord Vorkosigan back on the throne. Rumors that are not spoken of wholly unfavorably."

Gregor does not say What? in a faint tone as he does mentally. He is too well-trained against showing reaction to do that. But his fingers do tighten their grip on his arms, and he has to shore himself up before replying. He knows, of course, that the delay between him taking the throne in truth and then coming into his own power, and being able to exert his authority independent of his mentors, could instill a lack of faith in his strength of rulership. That is a political reality due to his own failings that he will have to accept and contend with. He'd been weak early on and Miles's trial is all he needs to know that. It's no surprise someone else would've noticed, and might prefer their Regent, steady and iron-willed for all his faults.

But political realities do not dictate his sexual practices and even more importantly, Gregor will not allow them to dictate those of his subordinates. He's clear, finally, in his capacity as protector and what he can do regarding that. He'd saved real lives negotiating with the Polians.

In a more immediate sense... he just doesn't think he can. He's not even sure he could manage to initiate a sexual encounter with someone he did want, whom he did desire whole heartedly. Knowing Simon was pushed into this would be bad enough, sufficiently bad to dissuade him, but Gregor being pushed into it himself makes him think that however possible physical arousal might be, he'd be liable to shut down part way through. Or throw up. Or have a fit. He really is not sure. He doesn't trust himself or his own reactions, and that is not something he wants to expose Simon to, who doesn't know the details of his time captive. Not those details.

This is all apart from the sheer incredulity at being forced to consider Simon Illyan as a sexual object to start with. It's not computing very well. Finally, he finds his voice.

"I can see how you would arrive at this solution as the most expedient for disproving all insinuations, and for requiring no other sacrifice than our own." He manages to sound level. "But I am not going to have intimate relations that were coerced in any way, for either party. At most I could be persuaded into pretending that we have."

Edited 2016-07-12 18:20 (UTC)

"It is the only way. Unless I have your leave to enact a couple of disappearances." Simon tries for patience, but it comes out just a little edged with frustration. A cheap shot, but he needed Gregor to understand the seriousness of the situation. Of course this hadn't been the first solution Simon had jumped to, not even the first he had tried. Had this been Ezar... But Gregor not being Ezar had been Aral's passionate, unspoken wish. To leave Ezar's methods behind, obsolete brutalities out of place in a peaceful, progressive Barrayar... Simon was loyal to the man, and therefore to his vision, but those brutalities had certainly made the job of Chief of ImpSec easier.

"I am not being coerced," he tried, with more patience. "You need not think of it coercion for yourself, either. Simply convenience." A pause, giving Gregor time to process this. Pretending would be... adequate, though still involving some uncomfortable pageantry. Just doing the damn thing would be less awkward.

Contrarily enough, seeing evidence of his frustration puts Gregor on more stable footing. He's starting to become comfortable with exerting his authority and he knows he puts them all in a difficult position, but he doesn't care. He's had enough of sacrifices made for the Imperium's sake, because people can't be browbeat into being sensible and seeing the truth.

"We are not going to pass judgement on intention, Captain," he reminds him, with a hint of dryness. They can't disappear someone who hasn't done anything yet. He's similarly unimpressed at Simon's insistence that he isn't being coerced. There's no point arguing that Gregor is-- that is something, he knows from Cordelia's patient, unflagging repetition, he can only determine for himself. He tries to apply that here. He feels coerced; surely that is enough.

As for Simon: "Are you suggesting you would have proposed this in the sense it's meant to be proposed, without this impetus? If that is the case, you have done an admirable job concealing your interest from me, and if it isn't, yes, you are being coerced."

Speak for yourself, Simon pointedly does not say. Simon made judgments on intentions all the time, that's how his ImpSec budget got divvied up. Nonetheless, the vague hint of the imperial 'We' makes him stand a little straighter, and smooth away the half-pained look that crosses his face as Gregor springs his neat little verbal trap. "... It's is not that simple. I would have offered at some point, I was simply... waiting. Until you were older."

Edited 2016-07-12 19:26 (UTC)

Gregor is willing to use some more brutal methods where necessity dictates-- he is not a pacifist or naive-- but there are hard limits he wants to set for his reign, now that he feels truly capable of setting them, and taking someone's life because of political discontent without treasonous action is one of them.

Simon admitting he had waited until he was older smacks of avoidance to Gregor, perhaps unconscious. It does nothing to convince him this is something Simon actually wants, and although Gregor not wanting it is reason enough to find a workaround, he wants the point made that Simon's wishes are sufficient for him, too. Whether or not Simon agrees.

"You've waited too long," he informs him. "I would have gone along with this before, but not anymore. I will not allow anyone to bully you into sexual practices you do not desire. I will acquiesce to giving them the illusion of victory, but nothing more. You are worth more than as my plaything."

I am not my father. I am not my father.

Simon's mouth compresses unhappily and then opens to speak acknowledgement but Gregor keeps talking and Simon's mouth closes again. He is utterly still and blank-faced as Gregor moves through the rest of this mini-speech. Equal parts irritation and satisfaction war in him. So he's the Emperor after all. Simon would have to accustom himself to the full implications of that, but there was some relief along with the pain of losing the compliance that had made his job so much easier. This was as it should be.

Buried deep, there's the spark of a more personal irritation which Simon does not examine closely. Those comments were not to address Simon's own role in Negri and Ezar's relationship, because Gregor did not, Simon was fairly sure, know about it. And even if he did, he was thinking about it like a Betan. There was a reason Simon had never confessed any of it to Cordelia. For all that they valued their own free thinking, some of their categories were too narrow. Simon shoved all that aside.

There is a long pause, the only hint that he had been processing at all, but Simon ducks into his usually half-bob bow. "As you wish, Sire."

It has given him a strange clarity, actually, that he doesn't know how he'll discuss with Cordelia himself, to see this from the other angle. Of someone in a position where he could take advantage of someone else, and then to back away from it. It seems so obvious and clean to Gregor; how could someone be confronted with this and not see it this way? It would be as damaging to kill dissidents without cause as it would be to allow coercive sexual practices to become tacitly accepted. Even thinking of this more broadly than the two of them, it is obvious there is only one possible answer.

Yet Simon seems not to see that. And Gregor well knows just how much as you wish can conceal. He relaxes slowly from his defensive cross-armed posture, and is left evaluating him, immensely relieved that this question of whether or not they are having sex is fully closed.

"Thank you. I know this makes things more complicated for you," he allows with only a very faint note of apology, "but we'll just have to deal with it. Are you settled on pretending, then? I presume there is not another non-violent solution or you would have attempted it already."

The fact that he had needed to be pressed into offering himself makes Gregor more convinced than ever that this is one duty Simon had been attempting to dodge whether he knew it or not. To have someone sleep with him because it was their duty-- the whole thought makes him nauseous. Too much like his mother, and him the villain in that scenario. Too much like him with Cavilo. And far, far too much ignoring Gregor as a person, as an individual other than Emperor. He can't take any more of that than he already has to put up with.

"You presume correctly," Simon offers. Blandly. "As I said, this is the only viable option. We will have to put some effort into it so that it stays propped up. Among other things, it will mean I will have to stay here for a few hours. Tonight, and every few days, to start. It can be spaced out more later."

He could fill the time easily enough, given that he practically carried his desk with him in his head.

So he is irritated with him, he assumes from that blandness. Gregor finds it hard to credit that Simon was really just going to cavalierly throw himself on his sword-- oh, God, forbidden from using that expression ever again, what a horrendous pun-- for the efficiency of the good of the Imperium. He'd had no idea he took that attitude. He's going to need to think about this, when he's not right in the middle of a conversation.

He flicks his fingers. "Whatever you advise. You'd know better than anyone how little experience I have with these arrangements." Since Simon would've had to coordinate security for whoever Gregor picked up. "At least the alterations should be subtle in public. Neither of us are known for being demonstrative."

Conveniently it takes both of them off the market for this sort of thing, too, which Gregor does not mind at all and he can well guess Simon doesn't care about either.

"Quite." Simon starts undoing his collar. Slowly. Uncharitably, he hopes it alarms the Emperor. "Fortunately, for the reasons you've just cited, we can forgo providing audio evidence. But I would advise," There a just the mildest point on that word. Simon would not, of course, point out that he advised Gregor rather differently. "Visual evidence."

It does alarm the Emperor. But probably more than he intended; he goes still, does not make a single move toward him. Tries to imagine forcing himself to do this again on someone who doesn't even want him, and... can't. He has to. Doesn't he? This is such a simple thing, there's no reason it should upset him. Neither of them are undergoing a pretense here, they're not lying to each other.

And it's Simon, who Gregor has trusted unconditionally for so long... That helps, a little. Yet he still can't bring himself to move forward.

He manages, "Forgive me if I have difficulty bestirring myself to do this. This is absurdly awkward." That's the best he can do, addressing the elephant in the room instead of his own uneasy freeze. It is awkward, unbelievably so.

Yes, that is... rather more alarm than Simon was betting on. His eyes narrow thoughtfully. He knows that look, he's seen it on enough of his men. But in this context, at the prospect of of giving his Chief of Security a hickey, it makes little sense. A problem to table for later, since Gregor seemed to have recovered.

"Thirty seconds should be sufficient. It would take me about that long to review you schedule." A very small peace offering, so at least they didn't have to suffer through it in awkward silence.

He doesn't want to. But that's never mattered much in Gregor's life, has it? He's done plenty of things he never wanted to do, and feeling he has any power or control whatsoever about any of this is all so recent, so raw, that it's easy to slip back into his passive acceptance of what he must do, no matter how much it squashes him flat. He doesn't know how Simon, who surely has done no fewer things he didn't want to in his time serving-- and probably many more-- seems so resilient. It's hard to believe, on him, that it's an illusion.

This extremely Illyan-esque offer is surreal and humorous enough that it helps bolster him. What helps more is remembering how very unlikely either of them are to be a victim of the other. Gregor's expression cracks into the edge of a grimly amused smile. He finds his feet take a step forward without him really realizing what they're doing. Perhaps he's just too conditioned to doing things without consulting how he feels about it.

"Do me a favor, Simon," he says, deliberately using his first name, "and allow me the pretense of this being something more than another day at the office for you." Making it more clinical seems unlikely to help him, although he appreciates the suggestion.

"Anything besides another day at the office would probably entail a national crises. You'll have to forgive my lack of imaginative resources." Meaning, since we wasn't supposed to be acting the lover either, he was fresh out of ready-to-hand roles. At least he closes his eyes. Mostly because he does not need to immortalize the visual of Gregor steeling himself to kiss him, but he imagines the decreased scrutiny will put him further back at ease. It is certainly not every day the Chief of Imperial Security closes his eyes and bares his neck.

Even that is reassuringly Simon, blandly sarcastic and shutting him down. That more than anything else makes him feel like possibly he could handle this; learning how to stretch his own authority can be a delicate, scary process, never sure where he's overstepping, but he's reminded Simon himself plays that game and knows it better than him.

There is, too, something undeniably appealing in having before him someone Gregor sees as an indomitable force, in his life and in the Nexus, with his eyes closed and tilting his chin back to present his neck. Damn. He suddenly understands the attraction to this sort of thing. Simultaneously, he is disgusted with himself for that, and ruthlessly suppresses it. It snaps him into the detached ability to drag himself through anything he needs to without falter that Gregor often has to call on as Emperor.

Even so, he selects the positioning with care, and he really does have to steel himself. He ends up awkwardly hunched over to reach. The first press of lips to skin, several centimeters beneath Simon's jawline on his left side, is profoundly disorienting and reads entirely wrong to Gregor. This isn't right-- or maybe... He's not sure. What sex Gregor had had before Cavilo had never been all that enjoyable either. Maybe it's him that's wrong. Maybe there's just something fundamentally weak, or fragile, or not put together right about him. It wouldn't surprise him. Finding faith in himself as Emperor sometimes masquerades as finding faith in himself, full stop, but it's really not the same thing at all.

He has laid his share of hickeys before so at least there is nothing stilted or hesitating about it: he sucks, applies pressure, refrains from nipping with his teeth to finish as was his instinct, and in the end it's so clinical (as he hadn't wanted it to be, but it is survivable that way) that it's nothing more than the taste of sweat on his lips and a bruise left behind. Simon had probably counted all thirty seconds. Gregor is obscurely hurt that it is fake, somehow. Not because he wants Simon to be his in particular but just because no one ever is. It's all fake, all a lie, maybe always will be. He'll never find someone for him without Imperial obligation playing into it. It casts a depressed pallor over the whole scenario that makes him accordingly reckless, that and his newfound ability to tweak Simon, to defy what he wants of him. An ability to rebel found later in life than normal.

Gregor straightens, something darker in his eyes at having his sense of worth flattened once again, and pulls at his own collar. "You should return the favor, don't you think?" There's a note of challenge, words almost crisp, but absent of any of his private feelings. "I would take no shame in anyone thinking I would allow you to mark me." He wouldn't, really, if this were real. And it would certainly keep the rumor mill preoccupied in another direction.

Edited 2016-07-13 13:03 (UTC)

Ah, Simon thinks when Gregor bends to him. Should have done this sitting down, perhaps. Well, they wouldn't have had to risk putting a crink in Gregor's neck had they done this horizontally. That disturbing little freeze took all the joy out inflicting any inconvenience on his Emperor, but Simon couldn't quite dredge up any sympathy. A thirty-second hickey was not a weighty burden. Though, SImon would have to investigate that hesitation; it looked like trauma but if it was, it was trauma Simon didn't know about, which was unacceptable. He makes a note to himself to talk to Cordelia sometime soon, and spends the rest of the thirty seconds organizing which reports he wants to go over first, barely noticing the pressure of his Emperor's mouth.

Simon doesn't bother re-doing his collar when Gregor's done, since he'll probably be sleeping in his shirtsleeves. His eyes narrow a little at this proposition. Gregor wasn't above a little revenge himself? "If you feel the sudden need to over-achieve," he replies blandly.

It's only partly revenge. Gregor does not give into the impulse to get his own in without another purpose. It's also a declaration.

"I want a point made that this goes both ways," he corrects. "If you find a way to subtly imply this, feel free. We are not blindly playing out tradition. You are loyal to me but you are not servile." Gregor is not a tyrant making use of what is his. Which surely he can't argue with, as it should be better for his reputation. There are several possible flavors of this arrangement and if picking this one with the Emperor is slightly scandalous, well, that suits him. Gregor has never done what anyone wanted of him romantically or sexually anyway.

Edited 2016-07-13 13:23 (UTC)

So that's his game. It's harmless enough that Simon doesn't protest, though he can feel some of his earlier irritation welling up. He quashes it ruthlessly. If this is what Gregor needs to find this task less distasteful, so be it. It doesn't particularly matter to Simon.

He gestures for Gregor to sit on the couch in that particular, servantish wave that makes it a polite request. He's not going to stand on his toes to give the Emperor a hickey. "I'll look for opportunities to do so."

Edited 2016-07-14 00:33 (UTC)

It does, weirdly, help it be less distasteful to have proof for himself that it goes both ways. That it's mutual. Although Gregor is starting to second guess that with how it feels to follow direction and seat himself, suddenly confronted with the reality that he's boxed himself into a corner in which Simon Illyan is going to give him a hickey. He habitually quashes the urge to fiddle with his cuffs.

God. No more talking about the political realities or their goals with this. With mild sarcasm to distract himself, "I don't know why we can't just neck while we have all of our security briefings. Our priorities have been totally askew."

"We can," Simon offers mildly. "That would certainly be helpful." Simon is feeling vengeful enough to straddle Gregor's while he does this, but he regretfully pushes the notion aside in light of his earlier reaction. Gregor's clearly trying to get through a distasteful situation as best he can, which Simon can sympathize with And Gregor could, really be making this a lot more unpleasant. "I'd probably have to conduct the briefings form your lap, though, to avoid having you put a crink in your neck."

He says it mostly in hopes of amusing Gregor, distracting him, while Simon efficiently undoes his collar and puts his mouth on his skin. Contrary to some opinions, Simon Illyan is a warm-blooded mammal, and his mouth is corresponding warm as he sucks in firm pulls.

It does in fact distract him, mostly by bringing to mind a suggestive image of what other positions could avoid putting a crick in his neck, like pressing Simon down onto the couch and hovering above him. It's a shockingly powerful image, in the sense that Gregor still does not often think of himself as having power over his chief of security except in a very literal sense. Personal power is something else altogether. Simon on his lap should have a similar tone, but definitely, absolutely does not.

"I have no doubt you could conduct a whole briefing that way, unflappably," he answers, with no such confidence in himself; even now his voice has a subtle hitch to it, and Gregor's hands twist into tight knots at his sides. They want to touch instinctively, but that is ridiculously inappropriate. This is essentially a professional transaction. And he really can't figure out why this set up doesn't bother him at all, when he'd had to submit to Cavilo's desire for possessive marking on a regular basis. He hadn't actually minded that at the time-- in retrospect it's more muddled, confusing, yet there seems to be nothing confusing about this.

He has no idea what the difference is.

Simon breaks off after a nice, regulation thirty seconds, and politely wipes his spit of Gregor's neck with his sleeve before straightening and taking a step back. He levels his Emperor with a sardonic look, brow quirked. There are a few rejoinders he could make—I have, would likely invite the sort of questions that would turn Gregor in on himself, which should be avoided. Never mind that Simon had hardly been stoic during that.

He could also say something flirtatious. We could give it a try. Gregor's reaction hadn't gone unnoticed; frankly he had expected it, given how rarely he engaged in any intimacy. He could press his point, subtle, inexorable, until he got his way. No. Maybe in the past, but now, his Emperor had spoken. It wasn't—wasn't any longer?—Simon's place to try and turn his hand. This solution was perfectly workable, anyway; there was no need to make truth of the lie.

"But then I'd miss your expression during the Miles portion of my report. Always a treat," he says instead. Miles was usually a safe, neutral topic.

Edited 2016-07-20 21:14 (UTC)

Kvetching about Miles was practically the family past time.

"No one else ever makes you go that particular kind of bland," says Gregor mildly, recovering his breathing. They are left sitting side by side on the same couch, which... is not a typical arrangement for them. A little too familiar; they tend to be across from one another. Funny how such a subtle shift makes Gregor extremely aware of his personal space, or lack thereof. He's had his lips on his neck. Hell, he's put his lips on his neck; it's gone both ways.

This is all so surreal. He takes a silent breath in through his nose.

"You said you should stay here for a while? I presume you intend to do work."

"Correct," Simon says. Time to put this awkward little moment behind them both. Until the next time. "I was planning to review some reports, unless you had anything you wanted to go over. And then a couple of hours sleep, I think, before I find my own bed."

And as he says all this, he starts casually pulling off his jacket and boots, neatly folding the former and pushing the latter unobtrusively over.

Edited 2016-07-21 17:34 (UTC)

It's the first time Gregor's seen Simon in such a state of casual undress, for all they're both still fully clothed, and it strikes him oddly. Leaves him confused and muddled about this whole state of affairs, and still abstractly displeased about being forced into this. Because he had been, for all Simon's rationalizing. But Gregor makes a habit of not shooting the messenger, so he doesn't blame Simon for it; it just takes him a while to accustom himself to this.

It turns out to be far from the last time Gregor sees him in casual undress, either. Eventually, with enough time, he slowly grows more comfortable. Perhaps it's just that they never go farther than giving each other hickeys. Gregor had known Simon wouldn't try to go farther than that after he'd put his foot down, has a thousand reasons to trust that, but some part of him hadn't gotten that memo until he had physical, experiential proof to counter it with. That Simon had respected his stated boundaries. It changes his demeanor with him entirely, if very subtly-- breathing easier, holding himself less aback, couching his words less.

In public it's true that they don't have to be very different. Sometimes Gregor even takes some amusement out of giving his chief of security meaningful looks in front of others, who invariably interpret them as they're meant to, but wrongly. They settle into a covert act, and it occurs to Gregor that it works in his favor that the people who are genuinely close to him as a person are not often around him anymore. He has no one to explain himself to unless Ivan or Miles comes back from being off-planet-- Aral has probably already noticed but is Vor enough not to say anything regardless-- and Cordelia... well. Gregor still speaks with her regularly, but she doesn't come to court if she can help it, and he's fallen back on his old habits of sharing as little as possible with as few people as possible.

This somehow feels delicate to him. Or maybe it's just that he feels delicate-- not a flattering thought.

Nonetheless, with time, he does adjust. He does grow more comfortable. And though they never shift to making good on their joke and holding security briefings with Simon in his lap, usually reserving the necking necessary to keep up their act until the evening, one morning Simon reports on the conclusion to a fraught, ugly situation, one Gregor had inherited as a problem from his grandfather, and states that he'd refrained from using memory-altering drug therapy on the culprit, although it leaves them with a loose end.

Gregor lets out a slow breath of relief. "Thank you, Simon." He's grown more relaxed with using his first name, a certain easy, covert fondness to it that hadn't been evident before. "I know that wasn't your first instinct, and you curbed it for me. You do a lot for me, personally." Perhaps it's just because he'd been pretending the role for months now, but Gregor follows his instincts, sets his fingers lightly at Simon's jaw to steady him in a traditional courtship gesture of senior-to-junior-male, and leans in to carefully, deliberately, place a kiss on his lips, warm and dry.

The situation had been ugly, ugly enough that Simon had personally been elbow-deep in the problem, leaving nothing to chance. Except, it seems, for the conclusion. It was more than lack of sleep making him tense and unhappy; Loose ends had a way of finding loose soltoxin grenades and launching them through windows, a consequence burned into Simon's mind, frame by frame. This—peace, this progress that he and Aral and Gregor, now an active rather than passive participant, were buiding was so damn fragile. It's own mercy could topple it to the ground. Or maybe that was just his own paranoia. It was hard to see strength when he was trained to hunt out weakness. Wasn't there some old saying, missing the forest for the trees...? Yes. Time and date stamped

Simon felt like he'd had a headache for three days straight.

But it was surprisingly cathartic to lay the problem at Gregor's feet. The onus of finding a peaceful solution to a violent problem was not his job. Gregor had been raised to do this, not Simon, not by a long shot. His headache doesn't fade but some of the tightness in his chest eases by the time he's finished. He accepts Gregor's thanks with a nod, ready to move on—and blinking almost owlishly as Gregor smoothly continues into a bewilderingly personal and sincere commendation. Simon's first thought is to protest, but Gregor's neatly trapped him—he can't argue against that wording, for me, because it's true.

The kiss stops him from having to reply regardless, throwing Simon's thoughts into further disarray and covering his mouth, lightly parted with his unvoiced demur. There's no reaction but stillness at first as Simon scrambles to divine meaning from the gesture before realizing there is no meaning besides the sentiment he'd just expressed. Gregor didn't play mind games; he wasn't try to knock Simon off balance for some arcane manipulation. He wasn't Ezar, though Ezar had touched him like this decades ago.

Simon kisses him back. Soft, accepting without demanding more.

Finding peaceful solutions to violent problems no matter how difficult was rather Gregor's specialty. He had been raised to do this, it was true, and more than that it was something he felt passionately about as an individual. It was the place where his duty and his personal feelings coincided: guiding Barrayar to peaceful resolutions rather than bloody ones. It had just taken him a while, years, to realize it was something he was capable of, rather than wishful thinking. Slowly he is building his confidence in that capability.

Just as he's building confidence in Simon not overriding him, overtly or covertly in a thousand ways that would be more than simple for the head of ImpSec to commit and get away with. With this sense of trust comes Gregor finally feeling more and more at ease with being himself around him-- and part of that is being demonstrative, an action that absolutely does require trust for him.

And Simon kisses him back. Gregor worries for a moment over taking advantage. Simon of all people has enough strength of character to resist anything he doesn't want to do, but... His attitude about this whole scenario that he'd expressed when it'd first arose still worries him. So for his own peace of mind, he does this slowly, tentatively feeling his way into his first steps of what is a sincere version of this power exchange.

"You did very well," he whispers when their lips part, from only inches away, fingertips still keeping his chin quirked up for him, mouth available. "I want you to know how much I appreciate it. You." Gregor feels supremely awkward saying that, though he tries to veil it; it seems the height of conceit, of hubris, to presume that Simon Illyan might need his approval. But the fact of the matter is that he does need his approval in a practical sense, and Gregor has learned just how important the Emperor's assessment of a loyal subject's fulfillment of his duty can be to them. He's never thought of Simon as one of those before, but...

It's merely the truth. Simon does do very well, and Gregor does appreciate it. He's also fairly sure that if he feels out of place daring to say this to him, everyone else must balk completely. And everyone needs affirmation sometimes.

The first time Ezar had caught his chin had been before the chip, so Simon had only his subjective, organic memories to reflect on, just impressions of intensity and fear and dreadful arousal, his heart racing, his hands shaking. The chip had recorded later incidents, precise frames that Simon had analyzed a thousand times in futile hope it would dispel some of the gesture's potency, but in this case it was the organic memory that felt like it revealed the most truth. Ezar had wanted him pliant with terror. He'd wanted to leave an impression that would last decades. How much had been for his machinations, and how much for his amusement? Simon still couldn't guess.

Simon felt—irritated. Not at Gregor, but at the ghost of Ezar's hand on his chin. The fact that he'd succeeded in leaving the impression he'd wanted. But when, exactly, had that become a bad thing? Simon had valued that reminder, that edge. It had made him cannier, more careful...

For a different era. In this new one, it just made him stupid and blind and stubborn.

It's less the approval itself that strikes Simon so rawly, because he doesn't need to be told that he'd good at his job. The proof of that lives and breathes and causes him no end of headaches in the form of a herd of willful Vor. What the approval represents strikes him much more deeply. A change in the Imperium, gone from seeing people as means to an end. That wasn't he and Aral's doing. They might have provided the frame work, but it was Gregor's own passion that made it real.

Simon had changed, too. So slowly he himself hadn't noticed, but Gregor had. Because he'd had a hand in it himself? Simon had always thought that he was changing Barrayar for someone else, for Gregor, for Miles, for Elena. It was stunning to realize that they had all been changing him in turn, refusing to leave him behind.

Simon's mouth feels dry. Words don't come immediately, leaving Simon's expression wide open for a rare moment as his mouth works. "Thank you. Sire," he finally manages, his voice quiet but heavy.

Slowly, he releases his chin and withdraws his hand, but his eyes are still weighted with the development of something new.

Equally quietly, "I think when we're like this, you might use my name." Not demanding, but stating his preference. And he trusts Simon to know what qualifies as 'like this'. Before he quite knows what he's saying, he asks, "Will I be seeing you tonight?" Exactly as if they were lovers in truth and not just playing pretend.

Simon raises his eyes enough to look at Gregor through his lashes, his thoughts too heavy already to look him full in the face. "Yes, Gregor."

That's such a coy look, and it's completely unexpected. His two-fold acquiescence seems to pierce through him and arrest his breath.

It's eight o'clock in the morning; he needs to get a hold of himself. "Then I will look forward to it," he says softly. "I dare say I'll need something to get through my meeting on national infrastructure." The humor doesn't quite carry off, Gregor too fixated and off-balance.

Simon doesn't think he can remember the last time he was so caught off guard. This weight between them had appeared out of nowhere, but had all the signs of having been built up slowly. A strangley Ezar-like gesture, to keep his own counsel so well that he could make such a spontaneous moment seem like a calculated cut. Very un-Ezar like to flirt with him. Simon's mouth quirks, a partially smothered smile. "Lie back and think of Barrayar?"

That look makes him want to provoke a smile that is unsmothered. Gregor has not the first idea how he would go about doing that-- he's never even wanted to try before. He wonders if getting wine together for tonight would be... too much, too fast. He wishes this more straight-forward and not predicated on a falsehood; Simon himself is intimidating enough to make this difficult on its own.

He gives his own half-formed look of sincere amusement, some of the lingering tension fading with it. It's almost a loss to see it go, but it's a relief, too. "That joke is almost too apt," he tells him, dry. "But I shouldn't hold you up forever."

He wonders if they could have a more personal debriefing later, a much more friendly how was your day sort of exchange, all the internal, emotional details left vacant from their official exchanges. That seems a reasonable step, but monumental enough on its own.

Simon excuses him with a neat analyst's salute, and a parting murmur of "Sire" as he takes himself away to his duty.

And he determinedly doesn't think about Gregor for the rest of the day, at least not in a personal context. The impulse to replay a scene frame by frame in his head had trapped him too many times in the past; he recognized it as an unproductive habit. In most cases, over-analysis tended to obscure more than it revealed. And there was no hidden agenda, at least, not a particularly deep one. What Gregor wanted for this evening was something that would become apparent in approximately twelve hours.

One of the benefits (and one of its drawbacks, in other circumstances) of the chip was always being able to fill his head with something. He set the memory of that morning aside and replaced it with an endless array of reports, relentlessly dictating his own focus over the next twelve hours. Having run on ahead of his normal daily workload, he pulled all the newly submitted reports—just before end of the work day; doubtlessly try to push of their debriefing as far as possible to avoid some idiot thing they had done—and was still reviewing them and composing his remarks as he waited in Gregor's sitting room, jacket and boots removed as had become customary.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

More power dynamics AU

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject