Fic: It's a long way to Escobar (15/20)
It's a long way to Escobar
by jetta_e_rus aka Georgette
Vorkosiverse. Slash, PG-13. Drama, action, a detective story.
Translated from Russian.
The table of contents is here
Chapter Fifteen,
where Illyan escapes the boredom owing to his chip's facilities.
***
It wasn't true that an officer personally commissioned by the Emperor and equipped with top secret electronics had any advantages; the red lieutenant's rectangles overpowered all special statuses. Lieutenant Illyan sat in the crowd of the same junior officers in the ship's briefing room and listened to instruction on the emergency evacuation procedures.
The executive officer of the General Vorhartung, Commander Fouchet, gave the lecture; he was a solid, if pedantic, man, fully appropriate for the monotonous task of reading out all coded plans, training groups and emergency exits. The lieutenants and ensigns had known this tiresome procedure before; they didn't dare to grumble but managed to find ways to ignore the boredom, each within the limits of his ingenuity. The most daring ones stared devotedly at the senior officer but at the same time pushed a written sheet of paper toward their neighbor; during their Academy years they had learned well the skill of written conversations. Yes, almost all the young people in this room had had the honor to graduate from the most prestigious Barrayaran military educational institution. Illyan, when he had been of the proper age, had been short of money, syllables in front of his name, and (it must be owned) talents for the Imperial Service Academy.
On the other hand, he had now, during the dreariest briefing, at least one valuable advantage over the bored lieutenants; it was his eidetic chip. He didn't have to look over the rivets on the nearest wall and count the minutes until the next shift, or dare to anger the commanding officer by exchanging remarks with his friends. He had a private, personal cinema hall at his service. Who knew the pictures that ingenious Illyan scanned mentally, his eyes half-closed? His only problem was not to forget to look like he was paying attention, to make false notes 'for future remembrance' and keep his face serious and concentrated, rather than breaking into a blissful, happy smile.
Illyan was now utterly happy in his recent remembrances.
Aral's first, almost fleeting reaction to the kiss was astonishment; he breathed out briefly and carefully, and narrowed his eyes. Then astonishment was replaced with the wary curiosity that people feel towards an expensive gift with a surprise inside; but his face still kept the shadow of suspicion, nearly imperceptible to anybody but Illyan, who knew this unruffled face to the smallest detail.
This expression finally vanished later, when two officer's uniforms laid together on one station chair, regardless of different badges of rank; the lieutenant's tunic was neatly hung on the chair's back and the commodore's one was jauntily thrown over its armrest and dusted the floor with its sleeve. When two men rolled on the bed and kissed so intently that they didn't even have time to swear at the too narrow bunk. When Simon toppled Aral over himself, pulling off his t-shirt; he clawed tightly to Aral's shoulders, palpating his strained muscles, scratching him down the backbone, provoking a contented groan. When Aral, in his turn, examined closely his body, formed by many hours of physical training, and gave an approving whistle.
And when Aral asked, after pausing at a split second, "May I take you?"
Illyan didn't think that certain positions are incompatible with an officer's honor, so the direct question was following by the equally direct and perfectly frank answer, "Moreover, you ought." He felt an unexpected brief triumph at the sight of Aral's face, overwhelmed for a moment.
Aral who proved himself to be an excellent lover.
Only later, catching his breath, Illyan found himself behaving like a good analyst: he automatically compared and drew a parallel from what had happened to him. Yes, there was a parallel between Aral and Ezar. Of course, Aral was much younger and stronger, but that wasn't the point. The Emperor had often showed anger demonstratively, but in fact he had kept his mind utterly cool. But Aral's character was passionate and aggressive by its nature; that was apparent on both the captain's bridge and in bed. Illyan even wondered if Aral's notorious stony restraint was the reverse side of his natural, expressive harshness, firmly controlled.
This time they both gave up the usual conventionalities, Aral's the tactful restraint of the strong man or Simon's the pliability of the inevitable subordinate. Their relations were plain as a battle order, and inescapable as the necessity of biting, at one moment, the edge of a pillow. Regardless of the fact that the cabin was, as Illyan had checked before, completely soundproofed.
The next pictures were too private to look through during the briefing; even his perfect self-control could show him up. He shouldn't go too far in his attempt to escape from boredom; the Executive Officer would be surprised if the description of locking procedures should make the attentive lieutenant blush and pant.
By the way, have they reached already the part about locking or not? Illyan listened.
"... So," Commander Fouchet went on, striding along the ship outline that was highlighted on the wall, "the cruiser's life-saving emergency equipment includes, in order: a) drop shuttles off the flight desk b) the combat armors and space-suits and c) bod-pods loaded in the board ejection devices. They are placed by quarter-bill in the C and D compartments of the lower deck; the reserve bod-pods are in the built-in closets. The procedure of locking... "
Yes, he had guessed right. Evidently he had managed to hook the keywords from Fouchet's lecture, in spite of the fact that they had been blurry due to his clear remembrances. Aral's voice in his head now sounded louder than the lecturer's speech, and the matters he talked about were more important than emergency life-saving.
It was in the small hours, but they both weren't drowsy; this was strange, since one usually fell asleep like a log after intimacy. Simon and Aral laid on the bunk side by side, naked, and couldn't manage to share the rumpled thin upper cover, since the blanket was spread on the floor over their scattered undergarments. They talked. Pillow talks were converted to business ones and back, and nothing in either of them found this strange...
"I would never consider you... You are too proper, Simon, stiff and buttoned-up, so to speak."
"Do you see any buttons on me now?"
"Quite so."
Aral yawned, deeply and earnestly. Illyan who lay with his head on Aral's chest caught this yawn too, stretched himself, shook his head. Vorkosigan rubbed his neck absently as the lieutenant's short ruffled hair tickled him.
"Aren't your higher-ups in on it?"
Illyan paused, chewed his lower lip. At last he found the most acceptable answer, "The highest higher-up knows all and always."
Aral hummed, flicked his brow. From this angle, from below, it looked very unusual. "Ezar knew, and he appointed you to me, didn't he?"
Illyan wondered what implication Aral had concealed in this question. 'Did he suppose we would sin?', 'Did he want to attach to me a fellow without prejudices?', 'What private life did he care about?' or even 'Was he jealous about this case?'
"I'll not answer you," Illyan smiled, as his finger traced the relief of the pectoral muscles; Aral shifted, satisfied. "That's a bit too much, to make an analyst work his job at night."
"You're wriggling."
"Hm-m. Negri once said, 'Our job is to collect information but not to spread it'. Most excellent wording that I'm able to quote even in the middle of the night."
"It is clear now; you decided to interrogate me to the third degree," Aral joked idly and demonstratively sighed.
"Sort of. But you saw through my craft and made a counter-attack, so I missed the strategic moment; half an hour ago you would have told me all, for sure."
"Like you. Then, if necessary, you'd have confessed to an affair with the statue of Dorca the Just and his bronze horse, bit by bit."
Illyan laughed, rolled on his side and turned Aral toward him to look at his face instead of down his chest and below. That was a fascinating view too, but now Illyan wanted to see his eyes, since the next question required it. "Aral, did you have sex before with anybody from the ship's crew, excluding Ges?"
"Are you jealous?" Aral's low, rumbled voice almost wasn't surprised.
The question was trivial, the counter-question was natural. Illyan thought over the right answer to break off this chain of ambiguities before saying, "No, I'm not. But Vorrutyer's jealousy already promises us serious troubles. I have to be aware of this kind of problem beforehand."
"You'll have to do without an answer to this." This was blunt, but Aral immediately tried to make up for it; he put his palm on the back of Illyan's head, rubbed his hands through his hair, and decidedly drew towards him up to kiss. Illyan thought that this kiss could easily make him forgive Aral for his attempt to get out of replying.
"Nobody is jealous of me," Aral said when they came up for air, "including Ges. He just feels angered by the fact that he isn't able to hit me, that's all."
"Then what are we doing here, in your cabin, already three days on end?"
"We make Vorrutyer believe that I'm a defenseless, feeble and delicious prey that will go right into his hands".
Such an interesting selection of words. It would be difficult to imagine Aral as somebody feeble or defenseless... of course, a naked man is vulnerable in a way; Illyan pulled up the cover, half-accidentally. But the term 'delicious' was quite appropriate for the current atmosphere, and suggested another kind of idea.
Illyan said this aloud, "Or we make him believe that we are a good, er, couple, don't we?"
"It is an inevitable risk," Aral agreed, 'but you know that Ges is mad on this subject. He would suspect this version even if in fact you were just keeping watch silently at my door. Do you feel uncomfortable now, Simon, that this assumption is true?"
"I don't care; I'm able to lie to him perfectly without batting an eyelid," Illyan reassured him.
The ability not to show emotions on his serene face proved useful to Illyan exactly now. He stared fixedly at Commander Fouchet, his eyes expressed a full interest in evacuation plans, but his thoughts were far away from here.
What were the relations between him and Aral? There were the interesting ones, including concern, sympathy and unreserved lust, but without any sentimentality, so jealousy would be out of place. But the resulting 'love polygon' was fraught with consequences, because it had many corners in addition to the evident ones. Vorkosigan was still in love with his Betan fugitive; Vorrutyer remained possessed by the relationship that had ended twenty years ago. Illyan would have to report to Ezar about every detail after their return...
No. He didn't have to fix upon a few months ahead instead of focusing on the tasks of the next day or two.
What was Commander Fouchet setting out now? ''The fleet will be shifted to six-hour alert status, preflight checks, marching state..." Their departure from orbit was planned in three days at the latest, therefore, they should expect the alarm for instruction tomorrow, when Illyan would want to stick to his ward like glue and not move a step from him.
He would have the time to think about intimate matters later. Many long briefings could be expected.
by jetta_e_rus aka Georgette
Vorkosiverse. Slash, PG-13. Drama, action, a detective story.
Translated from Russian.
The table of contents is here
Chapter Fifteen,
where Illyan escapes the boredom owing to his chip's facilities.
***
It wasn't true that an officer personally commissioned by the Emperor and equipped with top secret electronics had any advantages; the red lieutenant's rectangles overpowered all special statuses. Lieutenant Illyan sat in the crowd of the same junior officers in the ship's briefing room and listened to instruction on the emergency evacuation procedures.
The executive officer of the General Vorhartung, Commander Fouchet, gave the lecture; he was a solid, if pedantic, man, fully appropriate for the monotonous task of reading out all coded plans, training groups and emergency exits. The lieutenants and ensigns had known this tiresome procedure before; they didn't dare to grumble but managed to find ways to ignore the boredom, each within the limits of his ingenuity. The most daring ones stared devotedly at the senior officer but at the same time pushed a written sheet of paper toward their neighbor; during their Academy years they had learned well the skill of written conversations. Yes, almost all the young people in this room had had the honor to graduate from the most prestigious Barrayaran military educational institution. Illyan, when he had been of the proper age, had been short of money, syllables in front of his name, and (it must be owned) talents for the Imperial Service Academy.
On the other hand, he had now, during the dreariest briefing, at least one valuable advantage over the bored lieutenants; it was his eidetic chip. He didn't have to look over the rivets on the nearest wall and count the minutes until the next shift, or dare to anger the commanding officer by exchanging remarks with his friends. He had a private, personal cinema hall at his service. Who knew the pictures that ingenious Illyan scanned mentally, his eyes half-closed? His only problem was not to forget to look like he was paying attention, to make false notes 'for future remembrance' and keep his face serious and concentrated, rather than breaking into a blissful, happy smile.
Illyan was now utterly happy in his recent remembrances.
Aral's first, almost fleeting reaction to the kiss was astonishment; he breathed out briefly and carefully, and narrowed his eyes. Then astonishment was replaced with the wary curiosity that people feel towards an expensive gift with a surprise inside; but his face still kept the shadow of suspicion, nearly imperceptible to anybody but Illyan, who knew this unruffled face to the smallest detail.
This expression finally vanished later, when two officer's uniforms laid together on one station chair, regardless of different badges of rank; the lieutenant's tunic was neatly hung on the chair's back and the commodore's one was jauntily thrown over its armrest and dusted the floor with its sleeve. When two men rolled on the bed and kissed so intently that they didn't even have time to swear at the too narrow bunk. When Simon toppled Aral over himself, pulling off his t-shirt; he clawed tightly to Aral's shoulders, palpating his strained muscles, scratching him down the backbone, provoking a contented groan. When Aral, in his turn, examined closely his body, formed by many hours of physical training, and gave an approving whistle.
And when Aral asked, after pausing at a split second, "May I take you?"
Illyan didn't think that certain positions are incompatible with an officer's honor, so the direct question was following by the equally direct and perfectly frank answer, "Moreover, you ought." He felt an unexpected brief triumph at the sight of Aral's face, overwhelmed for a moment.
Aral who proved himself to be an excellent lover.
Only later, catching his breath, Illyan found himself behaving like a good analyst: he automatically compared and drew a parallel from what had happened to him. Yes, there was a parallel between Aral and Ezar. Of course, Aral was much younger and stronger, but that wasn't the point. The Emperor had often showed anger demonstratively, but in fact he had kept his mind utterly cool. But Aral's character was passionate and aggressive by its nature; that was apparent on both the captain's bridge and in bed. Illyan even wondered if Aral's notorious stony restraint was the reverse side of his natural, expressive harshness, firmly controlled.
This time they both gave up the usual conventionalities, Aral's the tactful restraint of the strong man or Simon's the pliability of the inevitable subordinate. Their relations were plain as a battle order, and inescapable as the necessity of biting, at one moment, the edge of a pillow. Regardless of the fact that the cabin was, as Illyan had checked before, completely soundproofed.
The next pictures were too private to look through during the briefing; even his perfect self-control could show him up. He shouldn't go too far in his attempt to escape from boredom; the Executive Officer would be surprised if the description of locking procedures should make the attentive lieutenant blush and pant.
By the way, have they reached already the part about locking or not? Illyan listened.
"... So," Commander Fouchet went on, striding along the ship outline that was highlighted on the wall, "the cruiser's life-saving emergency equipment includes, in order: a) drop shuttles off the flight desk b) the combat armors and space-suits and c) bod-pods loaded in the board ejection devices. They are placed by quarter-bill in the C and D compartments of the lower deck; the reserve bod-pods are in the built-in closets. The procedure of locking... "
Yes, he had guessed right. Evidently he had managed to hook the keywords from Fouchet's lecture, in spite of the fact that they had been blurry due to his clear remembrances. Aral's voice in his head now sounded louder than the lecturer's speech, and the matters he talked about were more important than emergency life-saving.
It was in the small hours, but they both weren't drowsy; this was strange, since one usually fell asleep like a log after intimacy. Simon and Aral laid on the bunk side by side, naked, and couldn't manage to share the rumpled thin upper cover, since the blanket was spread on the floor over their scattered undergarments. They talked. Pillow talks were converted to business ones and back, and nothing in either of them found this strange...
"I would never consider you... You are too proper, Simon, stiff and buttoned-up, so to speak."
"Do you see any buttons on me now?"
"Quite so."
Aral yawned, deeply and earnestly. Illyan who lay with his head on Aral's chest caught this yawn too, stretched himself, shook his head. Vorkosigan rubbed his neck absently as the lieutenant's short ruffled hair tickled him.
"Aren't your higher-ups in on it?"
Illyan paused, chewed his lower lip. At last he found the most acceptable answer, "The highest higher-up knows all and always."
Aral hummed, flicked his brow. From this angle, from below, it looked very unusual. "Ezar knew, and he appointed you to me, didn't he?"
Illyan wondered what implication Aral had concealed in this question. 'Did he suppose we would sin?', 'Did he want to attach to me a fellow without prejudices?', 'What private life did he care about?' or even 'Was he jealous about this case?'
"I'll not answer you," Illyan smiled, as his finger traced the relief of the pectoral muscles; Aral shifted, satisfied. "That's a bit too much, to make an analyst work his job at night."
"You're wriggling."
"Hm-m. Negri once said, 'Our job is to collect information but not to spread it'. Most excellent wording that I'm able to quote even in the middle of the night."
"It is clear now; you decided to interrogate me to the third degree," Aral joked idly and demonstratively sighed.
"Sort of. But you saw through my craft and made a counter-attack, so I missed the strategic moment; half an hour ago you would have told me all, for sure."
"Like you. Then, if necessary, you'd have confessed to an affair with the statue of Dorca the Just and his bronze horse, bit by bit."
Illyan laughed, rolled on his side and turned Aral toward him to look at his face instead of down his chest and below. That was a fascinating view too, but now Illyan wanted to see his eyes, since the next question required it. "Aral, did you have sex before with anybody from the ship's crew, excluding Ges?"
"Are you jealous?" Aral's low, rumbled voice almost wasn't surprised.
The question was trivial, the counter-question was natural. Illyan thought over the right answer to break off this chain of ambiguities before saying, "No, I'm not. But Vorrutyer's jealousy already promises us serious troubles. I have to be aware of this kind of problem beforehand."
"You'll have to do without an answer to this." This was blunt, but Aral immediately tried to make up for it; he put his palm on the back of Illyan's head, rubbed his hands through his hair, and decidedly drew towards him up to kiss. Illyan thought that this kiss could easily make him forgive Aral for his attempt to get out of replying.
"Nobody is jealous of me," Aral said when they came up for air, "including Ges. He just feels angered by the fact that he isn't able to hit me, that's all."
"Then what are we doing here, in your cabin, already three days on end?"
"We make Vorrutyer believe that I'm a defenseless, feeble and delicious prey that will go right into his hands".
Such an interesting selection of words. It would be difficult to imagine Aral as somebody feeble or defenseless... of course, a naked man is vulnerable in a way; Illyan pulled up the cover, half-accidentally. But the term 'delicious' was quite appropriate for the current atmosphere, and suggested another kind of idea.
Illyan said this aloud, "Or we make him believe that we are a good, er, couple, don't we?"
"It is an inevitable risk," Aral agreed, 'but you know that Ges is mad on this subject. He would suspect this version even if in fact you were just keeping watch silently at my door. Do you feel uncomfortable now, Simon, that this assumption is true?"
"I don't care; I'm able to lie to him perfectly without batting an eyelid," Illyan reassured him.
The ability not to show emotions on his serene face proved useful to Illyan exactly now. He stared fixedly at Commander Fouchet, his eyes expressed a full interest in evacuation plans, but his thoughts were far away from here.
What were the relations between him and Aral? There were the interesting ones, including concern, sympathy and unreserved lust, but without any sentimentality, so jealousy would be out of place. But the resulting 'love polygon' was fraught with consequences, because it had many corners in addition to the evident ones. Vorkosigan was still in love with his Betan fugitive; Vorrutyer remained possessed by the relationship that had ended twenty years ago. Illyan would have to report to Ezar about every detail after their return...
No. He didn't have to fix upon a few months ahead instead of focusing on the tasks of the next day or two.
What was Commander Fouchet setting out now? ''The fleet will be shifted to six-hour alert status, preflight checks, marching state..." Their departure from orbit was planned in three days at the latest, therefore, they should expect the alarm for instruction tomorrow, when Illyan would want to stick to his ward like glue and not move a step from him.
He would have the time to think about intimate matters later. Many long briefings could be expected.