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

"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