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If I Would...	By : quietann Category: M through R > Miles Vorkosigan Saga Views: 1350 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Miles Vorkosigan Saga, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Into the flood again
Same old trip it was back then
So I made a big mistake
Try to see it once my way
Am I wrong?
Have I run too far to get home
Have I gone?
And left you here alone
If I would, could you? (1)

Chapter 1
Ges had always watched his sister, even when they were little. So pretty, so lively she was, he could watch her for hours. A few years before, he'd discovered the secret spot at the back of the large closet between their bedrooms. Pushing on a board revealed a tiny space, with a little bench to sit on, and a decorative grille facing his sister's room. It was only later that Ges realized the space had been quite deliberately designed; perhaps his ancestor, Pierre 'Le Sanguinaire' Vorrutyer, the architect of the Vorrutyer Residence in Vorbarr Sultana, shared Ges's vice. Watching her in secret had only become more interesting as they matured.
Now he stared through the grille, as she pulled off her dress and peeled her stockings from her legs, dropped her underthings into a pile on the floor and stood nude before her full length mirror. She had the full complement of Vorrutyer features -- dark curly hair that she kept short so the little ringlets curled about her neck and her face, full of life and unrivaled in its beauty, deep dark eyes, firm breasts, and the start of voluptuous hips. She turned back and forth, admiring herself, trying out poses, and finally cupping her breasts in her hands. Ges could see her breath quicken, just as his did. As she moved to the bed, he knew he was in for a treat.
He was not disappointed. She stroked her body, sighed, and adjusted her position as a lovely flush spread across her chest. Ges found it more and more difficult to stay silent and unrevealed as she moved her fingers down her body, eventually spreading them over herself, working their rhythms into her flesh. Everything glistened, and Ges imagined he could see sparks flying off her body as she arched her back.... and then collapsed inward, curling and gasping for breath.
Ges loved watching women, loved those chances he got to see a bit of flesh revealed, a dress pushed off a shoulder or the hint of a nipple at the edge of a low-cut neckline. A woman tilting her head forward so a man could kiss the back of her neck, a couple embraced in an alcove where they thought they had privacy... Ges remembered and cherished all these things. But no one outdid his sister, had more of an effect on him -- except for Aral Vorkosigan.
Watching her, it dawned on him. He knew how he could keep Aral. And he remembered....
It happened commonly enough in the Imperial Service Academy. Upon their admission at age seventeen, Ges and Aral had been assigned as bunkmates to a tiny private room, a small concession made to Counts' heirs such as Aral and Counts' second sons such as Ges, one of the few dividing lines in Imperial Service Academy protocol between High Vor, Low Vor, and non-Vor. The other young men typically roomed in groups of four or eight.
Ges and Aral knew each other from the school they attended after the end of Yuri Vorbarra's Civil War, and were somewhere between acquaintances and friends. But for the trauma haunting Aral's past, they would have probably been closer. Ges was sometimes intimidated by Aral's history -- witnessing the murders of his mother, older brother, and sister at age eleven, and then two years later, at the end of what had proven to be an incredibly bloody civil war, taking the first cut out of the man who had ordered those murders, Emperor Yuri Vorbarra. But Ges was also full of sympathy for Aral. As a second son of a Count, Ges knew the pains of being the "spare" in the "heir and the spare" passion play, but the civil war had essentially opened with Aral being promoted to "heir" status, and the scuttlebutt around Vorbarr Sultana was that Aral's father General Count Piotr Vorkosigan hadn't ever thought much of his second son.
As happens with people living in such close quarters, they learned each other's routines -- how they brushed their teeth, when they were likely to use the head and how long it would take and whether it was worth asking a little sister to smuggle in some air freshener in a care basket to use afterwards, what they liked to read in those few moments of pleasure their schedule allowed them, the sounds of their sleep, and -- because they were young men like young men everywhere -- their patterns of self-pleasure. Ges's older brother had told him that occasionally the last of these developed into covert attachments or worse; his brother had meant to share this knowledge as a warning against vice, but Ges had found it an enticement. He had therefore been disappointed to find he would be bunking with the rule-bound, honor-driven Aral Vorkosigan.
But he discovered that Aral Vorkosigan in private was not really any different from other boys. He learned when and how to witness Aral in his most intimate moments. Pretend to fall asleep, facing the other narrow bed, listen for the customary noises of blankets being pushed down, the soft strokes and the little hums. When the strokes take on a sharp, slippery sound, and the hums turn to gasps, open eyes and style="font-style: italic; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;">watch , with no fear of being discovered. After the gasps become grunts, and then a "Ha!" of rushing breath, close eyes again. And, with difficulty, shelve one's own arousal to be recalled on one's next trip to the head; for all that Ges loved to observe, he loathed the idea of anyone watching him.
Aral at this point was outgrowing his adolescent stringiness. He would not be considered conventionally handsome by anyone, but had a compelling intensity about him. He had the mind of a brilliant strategist, and there were already whispers of the glory that would be coming to him in his military career. Ges, for his part, was slightly-built, more attractive yet drawing less attention. He was inclined to treat the challenges of the Academy as a series of games, nothing important. He had curly hair that did not submit well to a military cut, but he also had, he knew, the legendary Vorrutyer eyes, the gorgeous dark pools that had seduced the other Vor -- most notably the Vorkosigans -- for generations.
It was those eyes that saved Ges's skin, the night that Aral finally caught him. For some reason, Ges had been swept into Aral's spent satisfaction, the few moments he allowed himself before cleaning up. Ges's eyes were still open when Aral turned to face him and growled lowly, "How long have you been watching?"
"Months," Ges replied bluntly. He then had the pleasure of watching Aral, who took so much pride in maintaining his emotions appropriately, drop his jaw in shock.
So caught out, Ges wasn't surprised when Aral sat up and said, "Get over here, you!" There was an edge of threat in Aral's voice. Ges had expected a row between them eventually, when Aral discovered Ges's secret habit, and now felt doomed to a beating. He wouldn't be spared; Aral was the best of his classmates at hand-to-hand combat.
And then it was Ges's turn for shock when Aral, rather than thrashing him to within an inch of his life, used his skills to pin him to the bed and kiss him, drawing Ges in with the most compelling hunger, so that Ges could do nothing but moan and run his fingers through Aral's close-cropped hair when eventually the kisses moved down his body.
When it was all done, Aral asked, with a slight, shy smile, "You like?" Ges was still breathless, and could only nod style="font-style: italic; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;">Yes as he basked in Aral's approval. style="font-style: italic; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;">He never smiles , Ges realized. "You're a good soldier," Aral continued. His voice softened. "And a lovely one, too."
"Lovely?" Ges asked, stung at the implied femininity of the word.
"It's your eyes. You are so handsome, but you have eyes like a woman's. I've been sneaking glances at your face... I just can't help myself." Aral shrugged his shoulders, and Ges wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace.
And so it started. In the rough, demanding world they inhabited, they leaned on each other, Ges because he wasn't sure he was up to it, and Aral because he was worried someone might think he wasn't. They agreed to keep things as quiet as possible, especially while at the Academy, because young men who bunked together and grew obviously fond of one another were often separated. But on leave, they would spend the night at each other's homes and sneak into each other's beds, go out drinking in lowlife bars in the heart of the Caravanserai, and wrestle each other into dark corners and let all their pent-up passion take over. On a couple of occasions, they even managed this secretive grappling during the Emperor's parties, in the gardens of the Imperial Residence.
The dynamic between them changed over time. Aral had started as the one with the greater hunger, but Ges developed a deep attachment to him in return. At times, it seemed to Ges that they competed over who was more in love with the other. They continued to be well-matched as Watcher and Watched; Ges encouraged Aral to learn the joys of voyeurism as a hobby, but Aral always turned him down, usually with a polite but eager reminder that he, Aral, was available to Ges as a subject, whenever and wherever they could arrange it.

During their last year at the Imperial Service Academy, an unspoken tension grew between them. Aral, burdened by the historical weight of his family's military prowess, was distracted plotting his future career in the Service, while Ges clung to him with increasing desperation.
Midway through the year, Ges's mother died in rather unseemly circumstances. The Countess was found dead in her lover's arms, down in the Vorrutyer District, and her lover was found dead with her. From what was written on the man's note, apparently he had taken an overdose of poison after his beloved expired while they were making love. Ges was granted the standard three days' leave for the death of a parent, and was pulled out of class, and within an hour of being notified, was on his way home. He left Aral a hastily scribbled note: style="font-style: italic; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;">"My mother has died, gone to the funeral, back in 3 days."
The manner of his mother's death mattered not a bit to Ges. She had always been a steady presence for him, and her unconventional personal life hadn't changed that at all. In addition to his private grief, Ges was pained by the social embarrassment, but he supposed that his mother had died the sort of death expected of Vorrutyers, and certainly it was a pleasant way to go. It was the sort of death Ges would like to have for himself, eventually.
It was evening when he returned to the Academy, and found Aral engaged in one of the impromptu social discussions that broke out when there was not too much studying to do. Aral raised an eyebrow and gave Ges one of his rare public smiles. Ges took the seat next to Aral, after greeting the other cadets.
After a few minutes of general chatting -- mostly about possible upcoming space-based wars, because most of the cadets in the group were about to graduate and eager to see "real" duty -- Jeroen Vorkalloner, a second-year student Ges had never liked much, turned to Ges and said, "So, Ges, back from the funeral. Too bad your mother was too busy whoring around to attend to her health."
style="font-style: italic; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;">How did he find out so quickly? Ges started to rise, his fists clenching. As a sign of disrespect, insulting a man's mother -- even with something close to the truth -- was second only to accusing a family of being overrun with mutations. Aral stood and put a firm hand on Ges's shoulder to stop him. They faced Jeroen, who was smirking at them, together. Ges felt a subtle shift in Aral's mood, something like what would happen to a man if a rude stranger insulted a man's wife. It was odd but comforting to Ges to have someone so protective of him.
"Well, Aral. You're the best man among us. What do you think, was Ges's mother a whore or not?" Jeroen's tone was mocking. It was clearly a challenge -- agree, and hope for redemption later, or disagree, and leave oneself open to insults on one's own character for how one chose one's friends.
Aral shook his head, and pulled Ges back. "Let's go," he said. When Ges resisted, he became more forceful. "Leave it, Ges. It's more honorable to give some comments no response."
Something snapped in Ges's already strained self-control. Suddenly furious, he whirled around to face Aral. "It's all honor with you, isn't it? 'Do the honorable thing.' 'Guard your honor.' 'Your honor is your greatest possession.'" His tone was mocking and bitter as he spat out Aral's favorite aphorisms.
Most of the other cadets were backing away, not wanting to get involved in an altercation that, if it drew them in, could land them all on disciplinary charges, or worse. But Jeroen wasn't budging. "Ah, lover's spat. I guess your mother-in-law won't be around to cool you down this time, eh, Aral?"
Aral moved so quickly that the fight was over almost before it started. Ges didn't know how, but Jeroen was bloody-faced and flat on his back, mashed into the floor, with Aral on top of him and pinning Jeroen's arms in what Ges knew was an intensely painful hold. "Enough out of you, Jeroen," Aral snarled. Ges had seen Aral enraged before, and that was frightening enough, but the gray tone of Aral's face, his set lips, and the way he was shaking as he held Jeroen seemed downright murderous. And there was no doubt that Aral style="font-style: italic; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;">could murder Jeroen with two or three quick moves. Instead, Aral rose, pulled Jeroen halfway up, and sent him crashing into a stack of chairs on the other side of the room. The other cadets rushed towards Jeroen, and from their sideways glances it was obvious that Aral had terrified them. style="font-style: italic; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;"> Ges followed Aral as he ran down the hall. When they got to their room, and had locked themselves in, Aral sat heavily on his bed, his head in his hands. Ges sat opposite him. "That wasn't a good idea, you know," Ges said after a few moments.
"I couldn't help it, Jeroen is an idiot," Aral said.
"But you'd just been appealing to my honor --"
"Stop." Aral looked miserable, and Ges could only imagine the mental beating he was giving himself for his hypocrisy. This was not the time for them to hash out that particular issue, so Ges let it go.
"Do you think he... knows? After that scene, he could make a lot of trouble for us with the CO's." Ges already had a lot of black marks on his record, most the result of what one frustrated officer had labeled his "imperturbable insolence." Aral, on the other hand, had an unblemished record that he was very proud of. Ges would not want to see Aral's father's reaction if Aral's first black mark was for some form of "improper fraternization."
"It doesn't matter. That was a despicable insult he offered you, and no, I don't care if it's true or not."
They sat in silence until Ges finally spoke again. "You know, Aral, Jeroen forced you to choose -- his side, or mine. I'm... grateful you chose mine, whatever the costs."
Aral winced. "This time, Ges. I can't guarantee that I'll always choose your side; the conflict is becoming more and more inevitable. I have you, on one side, and ... everything else on the other. You see my dilemma."
Ges did. And Aral would have to choose. But not yet. Ges spoke in a soft, slightly pleading voice. "For now, you have me. Can we just ... put aside the other?"
"For now, yes." Aral smiled at him, at first tentatively and then with conviction, and reached out his hands to catch Ges's. "Get over here, you." The familiar words made Ges's heart sing. He went down on one knee and bowed his head before Aral in a pose that was frankly submissive. Aral drew him in, and through their actions they forgave each other all things. style="font-style: italic; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;">For now, yes.
The COs never said a word to either of them about the fight with Jeroen Vorkalloner, even though his injuries were severe enough to land him in the infirmary for three days. They had to know what was behind it; there were too many witnesses, and the COs had ways of getting the most reluctant cadet to cough up whatever answers they sought. Ges finally decided that they were being given some sort of pass on account of his grief over his mother's death.
style="width: 60%; height: 2px; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;"> As graduation approached, the silent rift between Aral and Ges grew wider when they discovered that they would be separated for their first Service assignments; Aral got a plum position on one of the Emperor's new warships, while Ges would remain in Vorbarr Sultana working for Operations. To be truthful, Ges didn't want ship duty just yet, but the implicit comparison -- style="font-style: italic; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;"> "You are not worthy, but he is." -- was impossible to ignore. After the commissioning ceremony, during the ball thrown by the Emperor to honor the new officers -- and to introduce them to suitable young women they might consider marrying -- it all finally fell apart.
Ges, filled with melancholy, got drunk, while Aral partook only slightly. Ges knew this was because Aral wanted to impress the older men who would judge his career as a moderate, trustworthy junior, just as Aral's father Piotr had once judged many of them. Not to mention Emperor Ezar, who watched over the crowd with a keen eye, occasionally pausing, when he took note of a particular man, to whisper something into the ear of Captain Negri, the chief of Imperial Security. Ges found himself becoming moderately paranoid over not being able to tell whether any of the glances the Emperor and Negri made in his general direction were meant to target him.
For form's sake, if nothing else, Ges had a few desultory dances with the sweet young Vor maidens. They seemed silly to him, fluttery little girls he could never imagine being intimate with, not as he and Aral were. He wished his sister had reached her eighteenth birthday, old enough to attend the Residence balls; they were close, and she was a fine dancer as well as a fine companion for the evening.
Finally, as the party dwindled to only the serious drinkers, Ges grabbed Aral by the arm. "The gardens. Now," he hissed. "Don't even think about refusing me."
"OK, OK," Aral interrupted. "Let's walk." In the warmth of the late spring night, they took a well-remembered path towards a hidden gazebo. When they arrived, Aral's eagerness surprised Ges, and in the back of his mind, he hoped there was a chance to recover what they were losing. But just as things were reaching a critical point, when their jackets were off and just a few more shrugs and undone fastenings would have left them standing ready for one another, Aral pulled away and stepped back.
He bowed his head and spoke, obviously trying to be forceful, though his cracking voice was full of pain. "This has to end. I can't do it anymore; I have a career to build, and my father's on me to get married." And then he turned to leave.
Ges grabbed him from behind, surprising himself with a strength arising from desperation, striking so quickly that Aral was blindsided. They wrestled and tangled until finally Ges had Aral pinned, face down in the mud. "You bastard," he hissed. "I saw your lackluster response to all those girls they dangled before us up there. How can you think you'd be happy with some Vor bud your father fixed you up with? Or screwing some enlisted guy out on your precious warship? Do you think you can just make me disappear, just because it's the right thing to do?"
Aral spat out a mouthful of mud. "I have to. You think you're such a special fuck, Ges..."
Ges released him, fully expecting him to jump up, shake off the mud, and stalk off. But Aral just lay there, and it took Ges a few moments to realize that the rough breaths tearing through Aral's body were sobs. He sat back, stunned, until Aral rolled over and sat up, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and whispered. "To me, Ges, you are a special fuck, and more. If I could, I'd grab you and run with you, all the way to Beta if that's what it took."
Ges grinned at the idea of staid, honor-bound Aral setting up housekeeping with him on degenerate Beta. And Aral drank in that grin like a man dying of thirst.
It was a special fuck indeed, that night. In the morning, Ges woke up alone in the gazebo, with his head pillowed on Aral's jacket. He realized that his hold on Aral was as strong as ever. Different than it had been, but just as precious, perhaps moreso in the patient anticipation it now required.
style="width: 100%; height: 2px; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;"> A few weeks after Ezar's ball, Ges found his inspiration while watching his sister. style="font-style: italic; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;">He said his father is pushing him to get married. And I have a sister, ready to be matched with the finest man... She would turn eighteen in two months. Their father was friendly with Aral's father, Vorrutyer-Vorkosigan matches were a long and storied tradition, and Ges couldn't think of anyone who would object. And every time Aral would make love to his new wife, he would see Ges looking back at him...
But would it be too obvious? Would Aral guess that Ges was playing the baba here, trying to maintain some connection to him, if only by using his sister as bait? Then Ges remembered Aral's desperation, that last night they had together. style="font-style: italic; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;">Even if he figures it out, if he knows I'll be there for him, he probably won't care.
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1. "Would" by Alice in Chains, lyrics by Jerry Cantrell
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