Art + Story (or the other way round)
Gods, I've done it now. I've been working on this for a week or two, three. Finally, it is finished. [INSERT HEROIC MUSIC] Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my very first Discworld fanfiction, with its very own illustration.
Fandom: Discworld
Title: Shock & Surprise
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 8,367
WARNING: SLASH, Graphic sex
Summary: When Sam Vimes finds out it's Lord Vetinari's birthday soon, he thinks something must be done. When Lord Vetinari finds he is drunk on his own birthday party, he thinks he must exploit the situation. A game of shocks commences.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters. Terry Pratchett invented the inhabitants of the Discworld and Coleridge invented The Ancient Mariner...
Notes: So. There it is. This is Vimes/Vetinari slash, but there's also a definite hint of Sam/Sybil, though not as graphic as the slashy bits. Hope the more mature readers of my LJ will appreciate this.
Usually, people didn’t think much of the weather in Ankh-Morpork, it was only background noise in a city like that. But it was quite putting a stopper on most people’s tempers that the lovely soft and sunny weather that had lasted for a few weeks had now been replaced by dark clouds, fog and soft drizzles of rain.
A bulky figure moved through the darkened streets and alleys. An eerily human-shaped parcel was slung over its shoulder. The figure slunk into shadows, avoiding the lights that spilled from some of the houses.
It was only early evening, but it was particularly dark. And the darkness around the sneaking figure seemed most intense.
It reached a corner and snuck into Scoone Avenue.
++++
Sam Vimes (Sir Samuel, Duke of Ankh and Commander of the City Watch) walked into his office, put his helmet on its usual rack and walked round his desk. He wiped some sweat off his brow and opened a window to let a soft breeze play into the room, cooling it somewhat. This was the third day in a row of very nice yet warm days. He looked around at his desk.
He groaned at the sight of so much new paperwork crowding his in-tray. He slumped into the chair and stared at the pile of paper.
The envelope on the top had been sealed with the Patrician’s seal. He eyed it wearily, then picked it up and broke the seal. It contained a small note in the Patrician’s personal writing. ‘Required in Oblong Office as soon as possible. Signed, Lord Vetinari,’ it said. Vimes sighed.
There was a knock on his door. “Come,” he said heavily. This didn’t turn out to be a good beginning of the day.
Captain Carrot entered and saluted. “Good morning, sir,” he said, taking a step forward. “I see you have already received the Patrician’s notice?”
“Yes,” growled Vimes, tossing the note aside. “Any idea what he might want?”
Carrot shrugged. “It might have something to do with the congregation of new beggars in front of the palace, sir.”
“The what?” said Vimes, looking incredulous. “Yet more beggars?” He chuckled. “I bet old Vetinari wasn’t pleased at all to wake up and find them milling beneath his bedroom window.” He got up and recovered his helmet. “Oh well, let’s go, then.”
“Sorry, sir, but I was about to go off duty, sir,” said Carrot, his face a miserable display of apology. Vimes hesitated a moment.
“We-ell,” he said, “I’ll be taking someone else along, then.”
They walked into the hall. Only a few officers were present, as it was between shifts. Sergeant Colon sat behind the reception desk, nodding a greeting at Vimes, Sergeant Detritus had marched the new recruits in for breakfast and Corporal Nobby Nobbs sat in a chair, apparently in a state between waking and sleeping. Vimes growled softly.
“Alright, Nobby, you come with me to the Patrician’s,” he said. It was not as if he had much of a choice, he added mentally.
Nobby sprang to attention and followed him out.
“Quite an honour, sir,” he said, grinning widely and lighting one of his dog-ends. Vimes smiled sourly. “See,” Nobby continued, “it’s always Captain Carrot what goes with you, and I thought, y’know, ‘s more ‘n fair if it was someone else’s turn sometimes.”
“Just as long as you keep your mouth shut, Nobby, I might consider taking you there again, when I’m left with no other options,” growled Vimes, his temper going downhill. Nobby beamed.
“’s Alright, sir, you can count me in!” he said. Vimes silently rolled his eyes.
The Patrician sat waiting for them behind his desk when they came in. He eyed Nobby with a strange glint in his eyes, but didn’t ask where Captain Carrot had gone.
“Your grace,” he said, looking at Vimes. He shuffled some papers on his desk and picked up a small pile. “You may have noticed the crowd of beggars outside?”
“Had to particularly push through them, sir,” said Vimes. “Terrible bugg-types, sir.”
“Hmm, yes,” said Vetinari, staring at a sheet of paper. “The Beggars Guild say they won’t be having them, and the other Guilds have pointed out that there is no use for them, there, either. But as unlicensed beggars, they will not be tolerated.”
“Of course, sir,” said Vimes, staring at the paperwork under Vetinari’s bony hand. There was a brightly coloured piece of paper among it. Somehow, it guided his stare towards it. It seemed extremely out of place on Vetinari’s orderly desk, which only contained a journal and some off-white correspondence.
“I suggest you take them back to your watch house, your grace,” said Vetinari. “They may be interested in joining the Watch.”
Vimes nearly choked. “What? I mean, excuse me, sir? You want those beggars to join the Watch?” he spluttered.
Vetinari looked at him sharply. “It may be the only choice they have,” he said. He got up from his chair and moved to the window behind his desk. His gaze swept over the crowd below on the square. “If these people wish to survive in this city, they will need a place of their own. They need an income, a job, something to do. I do hope you understand, your grace.”
While Vetinari was looking out of the window and talking, Vimes signalled to Nobby. A grin spread over Nobby’s face. His job was clear.
A moment later, Vetinari turned back to face them. “Still, your grace, I don’t think these people will be at all eager to join the Watch once they see Sergeant Detritus,” he said, drawing his little speech to a close. “And if they do not join the Watch, they will have to leave the city, I’m afraid. I hope you’ll tell them it will only be for their own safety, Sir Samuel.”
Vimes nodded. “Indeed, sir.” The unlicensed beggars would be too easy targets for any Guild’s target practise. “I will.”
“Very well,” said Vetinari, sitting down again. “I have no wish to detain you any further, Sir Samuel. Good luck.”
“Thank you, sir,” Vimes said, his heart not in it. He gave a weak salute and marched out of the room.
Out on the steps in front of the palace, he stopped and turned to Nobby.
“Did you get it?”
“Did I get it? Did I get it?” echoed Nobby. “’Course I got it! ‘t Was easy peasy, sir!” He handed Vimes the colourful paper, which had already managed to become slightly grubby while on Nobby’s person.
Vimes looked at it. ‘Ephesias Snoob, Party Supplies,’ it read in big letters on the top. Below was a smaller message. ‘Do You Wish To Throw A Party? Do You Have No Clue What To Do? Hire Ephesias Snoob And His Team Of Expert Party Goers And Party Throwers! Only 6 Dollars Per Person Per Hour! Contact Mr Snoob In The Three Pooches In Quirm!’ The rest of the paper was decorated with party hats, birthday cakes, balloons and happy faces.
Vimes stared at the message. He turned the paper over. There was a small, handwritten message on the back, which went, ‘Something for your birthday, my lord? Downey.’ Somehow it didn’t seem like a friendly suggestion.
Hold on, Vimes thought. Birthday?
He pondered over it for some time, until Nobby tried to catch his attention.
“Yes?” said Vimes sharply.
“Sir?” said Nobby, still tugging Vimes’s sleeve. “Sir, I think, sir, I think it may be best to, er, address the crowd, sir.”
Vimes looked up. Over fifty pairs of eyes and some loose ones stared back. He blinked. The eyes blinked back at him.
“Right,” he said, straightening his breastplate. “Right. You, beggars, you go to the Pseudopolis Yard Watch House directly. Means now, daft bugger,” he added when an old man at the front of the crowd kept staring at him.
There was something particularly peculiar about that man. While all the new beggars had formed small groups among themselves, this man was nearly systematically avoided. A small empty circle surrounded him. And he kept staring at Vimes, who felt he became uneasy under the stare. But that’s madness, he told himself. This guy looks like a loon, what with all the grey hair and beard standing on end, and those greyish clothes more torn than any beggar’s clothes…
The man suddenly stepped forward. “There was a ship,” he said.
“Where?” said Nobby, looking wildly about him.
“He must be talking about the river patrol boat,” Vimes muttered. “Did it sink?” he asked the old man.
The man seemed momentarily puzzled. “The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,” he then said.
“Which ship? Which harbour?” said Vimes.
“Merrily did we drop below the kirk,” the man went on, frowning slightly.
“Hold on, hold on,” said Nobby. “That was no proper answer to the Commander’s question!”
“…below the hill, below the light house top…” the man said.
“Neither was that,” said Vimes, now frowning, too. “Tell me mister, who are you?”
“The sun came up upon the left, out of the sea he came!” the old man said, but Vimes could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He looked up and saw the Patrician silhouetted in an upstairs window of the palace.
Another beggar shuffled forward. “He calls him the Ancient Mariner, he does,” he croaked. “See, mifter, he only tells orf ships and fings like that…”
“Ancient Mariner, eh?” said Vimes, squinting at the old man.
“Why’s you calling yourself Ancient, mister?” said Nobbs.
“Or a Mariner?” chimed up a person from the crowd. “He don’t look like a mariner to me. Ain’t they supposed to work with butchers?”
The Ancient Mariner blinked in confusion. People didn’t usually ask so many questions!
“Do you have proof you are a Mariner, sir?” said Vimes. “Do you have a ship, or a certificate, or a tattoo, or even a birthmark to show?”
“Could you please inquire whether or not the man is member of the Guild of Mariners, your grace?” Vetinari called down.
The crowd suddenly parted and Sergeant Colon and Corporal Angua arrived.
“Ah, just in time,” said Vimes. “Nobby, Fred, could you please lead all these people to the Yard? Angua, could you please take care of this Mariner here?”
Angua nodded and gently led the old man away. Nobby and Colon ushered the group of beggars into the direction of the Watch House. The mob that had turned up to watch the spectacle slowly dissolved.
Vimes looked at the colourful paper again. He needed to talk to Sybil.
He found Sybil in the garden behind the house, setting some of the dragons loose in a small pen. Little Sammy sat in a special chair for babies, as Vimes liked to call it (he didn’t know its real name), and was watching his mother as she shooed the confused dragons out of their cages and onto the lawn.
Vimes stopped by little Sammy and nuzzled his hair. The baby boy looked up at his father and made small, happy sounds. It was a perfect picture.
Until a dragon sneezed a little too loudly, exploded, and sprayed Sybil, Sammy and Vimes with bits of dragon. Little Sammy immediately opened his mouth and started to scream. Vimes had to fight age old instincts to clasp his hand over the baby’s mouth, looked panicky at Sybil, but, seeing as she was too busy trying to subdue the other dragons, knew it was all up to him.
Awkwardly, he heaved the bawling baby out of his chair and snuggled it close to his chest. He thought Sammy probably wasn’t going to like the breastplate, but he was mistaken. The sun had warmed the armour up, and the baby found it quite comfortable, slowly quieting his cry as Vimes clumsily rocked it about.
Sybil only looked up when Sammy was entirely quiet and only then saw Vimes. “Sam!” she cried, and Vimes could make out the pride in her voice. He’d proven to be a true father to her, in any case.
“Sybil,” he said weakly and quietly, afraid of setting the baby off again.
“Why are you here?” Sybil asked, coming over to him. She kissed him on his cheek. “I thought you were supposed to be at the Yard?”
“Er, yes, er, that is to say, I was, until I found this,” Vimes said. He moved the baby onto his left arm and wriggled the colourful advertisement from his pocket with the other. “Apparently some of the Patrician’s correspondence.” Sybil stared at it, took it from him, turned it over, read the message and frowned.
“I don’t think that’s at all nice from Lord Downey,” she said at last. She looked at him sharply. “Where did you find this, you said?”
Vimes realised she had just used a trick on him any copper would use on a suspect. Asking to repeat something he hadn’t actually said before.
“Er, Nobby, that is to say, we, er, we were at the Patrician’s office,” Vimes tried, but Sybil couldn’t be fooled. “Nobby pinched it off his desk,” he said, giving in to Sybil’s expert steely stare.
She pouted. “I bet he didn’t do that because it’s shiny and valuable,” she said wisely. Vimes stared at the ground. What was there to say? In some matters, she knew him too well.
“I just thought, y’know, it looked a bit suspicious,” he said weakly, still examining the grass pollen.
“And you were just curious, weren’t you?” said Sybil. Vimes nodded quietly. It was as if he was being subjected to the questioning of a school mistress who had caught him in the act of sneaking some pencils home.
“I’m only glad you let Nobby pinch this,” said Sybil seriously. Vimes’s head snapped up.
“Whaaa’?” he managed, ogling her.
Sybil waved a hand. “It shows what I should have written on the calendar a long time ago,” she said. “Havelock’s birthday is due soon.”
“And how is this important?” said Vimes, still feigning incredulousness.
She glared at him, though mildly so. “It’s Havelock’s birthday, that’s what’s important about it,” she said.
“Right,” Vimes said. “And?”
Sybil stared at him, then a light flickered in her eyes. “Oh, Sam,” she said, smiling slightly, “you were thinking the same thing, weren’t you?”
Vimes grinned slyly. “I think so, Sybil, I think so.”
++++
The wonderful weather lasted some two more weeks before it changed to what could be called the complete opposite.
Lord Havelock Vetinari stared out of his office’s window, down onto the deserted streets of the city. It was nearly dinner time. He was alone and no one would be bothering him for some time.
He turned around with a sigh and lowered himself into his chair. He leaned his elbows on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed.
For some time he sat like that, listening to the sounds the rain made against his window. He didn’t even look up when Drumknott, his secretary, ushered in with a tray with food.
“Sir, will you be working late?” Drumknott asked, leaving the word ‘again’ unspoken.
“Yes, Drumknott,” said Vetinari, taking the tray from the secretary and setting it down on his desk. “I should like it very much if I wasn’t disturbed tonight, unless in case of an emergency.”
“Very well, my lord,” said Drumknott, bowing himself out of the office and closing the door.
Vetinari looked at the tray. It was a regular sort of dinner, a dinner that would turn up almost weekly on his menu. No one had even bothered to add something like cake, or a small card.
It wasn’t as if he had been expecting anything, it was just a little disappointing to find that no one could surprise him anymore these days. Everyone seemed to have forgotten…
He was halfway through his soup when there was an urgent knocking on the door. He looked up and put down the spoon he had been bringing to his mouth. “Come in,” he said irritably.
Captain Carrot shuffled into the room. Vetinari frowned. Hadn’t he told Drumknott..?
“What can I do for you, Captain?” he said.
Captain Carrot bit his lower lip. “It… it is a… a… matter of utmost importance, sir.”
Vetinari put the tips of his fingers together and stared at Carrot over the small bridge his blue veined hands made. He raised an eyebrow. “Importance, Captain?”
Carrot gulped. “Yes, sir. Importance, sir,” he said. “And Secrecy.”
“Secrecy, Captain?” The other eyebrow was raised.
“Yes, sir,” Carrot said, shuffling his feet uneasily. Something was wrong, Vetinari told himself. He kept staring at Carrot, willing him to say more.
“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” said Carrot, stepping forward and raising one of his large fists.
“Wha-” Vetinari managed, before Carrot knocked him out.
“I’m really terribly sorry, sir,” said Carrot, taking a sheet of bed linen and wrapping the Patrician in it. “Terribly, terribly sorry.”
++++
Carrot moved through the slow drizzle, trying to hide in the shadows but failing miserably. He was moving up the drive towards the ducal house, as it was, and he could see lights behind some of the larger windows on the ground floor.
He reached the door and knocked. It was opened nearly immediately.
Vimes’s head popped around the corner. “Gods, Carrot,” he said, “what took you so bloody long?”
Carrot gulped. “It was… difficult, sir,” he said.
Vimes eyed the parcel over Carrot’s shoulder. “Oh, very well, get inside.”
Carrot was ushered through the hall and up a small flight of stairs. Vimes pushed a door open and motioned Carrot to go inside. The room beyond the door was a small bedroom, decorated in several shades of grey. Vimes had had the feeling it would put the Patrician at ease.
Carrot softly put the parcel down on the bed and unwrapped it. The Patrician stirred slightly, groaning.
“Thank you, Carrot,” said Vimes, with a hint of finality in his voice.
Carrot saluted and marched out quietly, closing the door behind him.
Vimes sat down on the bed beside Vetinari, trying to feel with his hands where Carrot had hit the Patrician, in order to find out how badly.
Vetinari groaned again and opened his eyes. Vimes moved back with a start. For a few seconds the Patrician stared at the ceiling, then slowly turned his head and focused on Vimes. Something of his sharpness came back to him.
“Sir Samuel, what in the world-” Vetinari started, propping himself up on an elbow, but Vimes silenced him with a wave of his hand.
“I’m really terribly sorry, sir,” he said, “but I don’t think you would have come voluntarily.”
Vetinari blinked. “Voluntarily?” he said. “Wherever to?”
Vimes grinned an unsettlingly predatory grin. “Here,” he said.
He slipped off the bed and helped Vetinari up. The Patrician had to pause for a moment to stop his head from spinning, then nodded, and Vimes led him out of the room, down the stairs, through the hall and into a dimly lit room.
Vetinari was aware of a sense of expectancy. He waited to ask Vimes what it was all about because he had a feeling it would be revealed soon enough. He looked around the room. It was merely lit by two candles which created space for a lot of shadows. Shadows that somehow moved, even though the flames weren’t flickering…
Suddenly, covers were torn off lanterns, and the room was brightly illuminated. The shadows turned into pools of light, and - Vetinari blinked and recomposed himself - a lot of people clutching gift-wrapped parcels of several shapes and sizes.
“Happy birthday, my lord,” said Vimes emphatically, from somewhere closely behind Vetinari. The Patrician turned, and Vimes grinned broadly at him, this time not predatorily but nearly pleasantly. Vetinari opened his mouth to say something, but there were loud cheers and people started to queue up to shake his hands and pile him with presents.
It was not until an hour later that quite a few of the party comers had either subdued or left, and Vetinari had a chance at having a decent word with Vimes. He sat down beside the Commander, who instantly refilled the Patrician’s glass with some fruit juice. Vetinari frowned and shrugged inwardly. There was something very strange going on, indeed. He took a sip.
“Your grace,” he said, taking care his head stopped spinning - damn Captain Carrot and his blows, Vetinari thought - as he tried to look Vimes in the eye. “This is most surprising. I believe you are the, ah, perpetrator of this party?”
Vimes grinned. “Oh, I wasn’t alone in the idea,” he said. “Sybil had quite a hand in it.”
“Lady Sybil…?” said Vetinari, feigning mild surprise. It wouldn’t do to show Vimes exactly what he was thinking. “Truly, Sir Samuel, you never cease to surprise me.”
“Neither do you,” said Vimes, still grinning.
Vetinari blinked a moment, taking this in. “That wasn’t entirely correct, Sir Samuel,” he said.
“Alright, sir,” said Vimes, his grin broadening a fraction. “Let me rephrase that: you never cease to surprise me, either.”
“And why is that, may I ask?”
Vimes’s grin disappeared for a moment, as he cocked his head and smiled amusedly. “You haven’t noticed a thing, have you, sir?”
“What should I have noticed?” Vetinari said, getting a little impatient. What was the man after?
Vimes shrugged. “Perhaps the drink, sir,” he said innocently.
Vetinari froze. Slowly, lethally slowly, his eyes moved to the docile looking drink in his hand. Fruit juice. He had been drinking fruit juice for the duration of the entire evening. He felt the little colour he had in his face drain away.
“Surely you haven’t added -”
Vimes’s grin was back, and it seemed as if it had increased in positive pleasantness, but Vetinari knew something was immensely wrong. Vimes never grinned at him like that. Vetinari looked at the Commander’s eyes, and found he wasn’t even greatly surprised to see a wicked gleam there. He sighed.
“Sir Samuel,” he said, “you have wilfully drugged your Patrician with an alcoholic concoction. Why?”
Vimes’s teeth gleamed ominously. Vetinari was vaguely aware that the room around them was nearly empty. Oh dear, he thought, he was alone in a room with a maniacally cheerful Sir Samuel and he was suddenly feeling the influence of quite too many fruit cocktails.
“Sir,” Vimes said at length, and Vetinari was happy that he spoke, it hid his teeth a little, “I just wanted to make certain you’d enjoy the evening.”
“I can enjoy evenings quite well without so much alcohol, Sir Samuel,” said Vetinari, holding his head with one hand and his glass with the other. He now realised that the spinning wasn’t the result of earlier injuries. He opened his eyes. The room had acquired a gentle sway, and the Patrician tried to focus on Vimes. “Sit still!”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Vimes, and Vetinrari was sober enough to hear the amusement in his voice, “but you’re the one who’s swaying.”
Vetinari closed his eyes tightly, willing the world outside to stop and give him a breath. This was probably what you got when you promoted a man like Sir Samuel once too often… It enabled him to do things he wouldn’t otherwise have been able to do…
He took another gulp from his drink, and looked at Vimes. Through the blurs he could see Vimes’s grin had cracked just a bit.
“Excellent cocktail,” the Patrician said, trying to raise the glass. Vimes instantly grabbed his hand.
“We wouldn’t want you to spill that over your robes, now would we, sir?”
“Not if I had to - keep them on,” said Vetinari, smiling a devious little smile.
“I think you’d have to keep them on, sir,” said Vimes, and it was his turn to become a little uncomfortable. What was the Patrician up to?
Vetinari sniggered inwardly. Perhaps it was a good idea to go on along these lines. Such suggestive remarks obviously seemed to unsettle Vimes.
“Did you know, Sir Samuel, that it is quite comfortable to wear nothing under these robes?” he said, smiling still, but keeping it as much under control as possible. “Do you ever wear nothing under those breeches of yours?” Vetinari curiously eyed Vimes’s crotch and took another gulp from his drink.
Vimes went brick red. “Sir, I don’t think that is at all -”
“Would I be allowed to check?” Vetinari said.
Vimes’s mouth dropped open. “Sir!” he said indignantly.
Vetinari’s spidery right hand was already crawling over Vimes’s upper leg. Vimes grabbed it, perhaps a little too violently and pushed it away.
“Sir, I really think you’ve had enough to drink,” he said, taking the glass away from the Patrician.
Vetinari growled. This wasn’t at all how he liked it. Actually, on the moment he wasn’t too certain how he liked what exactly, but it was his birthday party, and he was entitled to get what he wanted.
“I would very much like to go home,” said the Patrician, slowly losing his temper with the now two Vimeses. Vetinari tried to stand up. His head started to spin violently, and even closing his eyes didn’t work.
Vimes was suddenly by the Patrician’s side, grabbing one of his elbows and gently directing him to a door.
“You can’t go home in this state, sir,” he said. “I’ve had the Dull Grey Room readied for you.”
Vetinari really couldn’t complain; he knew he wasn’t in a state to travel back to the palace with whatever vehicle. He groaned. He clutched at his head and kept his eyes tightly shut. He had hardly ever felt this ill before.
Vimes had led him down the hall, up a small flight of stairs and into the Dull Grey Room. The Patrician felt that Vimes tugged at his clothes and let him take his heavy outer robes off. He was sat down on the edge of the bed and felt how Vimes carefully removed his shoes. Two guiding hands told the Patrician how to lie down and he obeyed since he had no other option.
Even though he was drunk, he was suddenly very much aware of the hands now tucking him in. He reached out and managed to grab one.
“Sir Samuel,” he said, opening one bleary eye. “If I ever hear any of this has been passed on to I don’t care who, you will know.”
“Yes, sir,” said Vimes.
There was a moment’s silence.
“You’re still holding my hand, sir.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Sir Samuel,” said Vetinari. His one eye tried to focus on Vimes’s face, which wasn’t very far away from his own. He could see, through hazes of alcohol, that Vimes was trying to formulate a question.
“Sir,” Vimes finally said, “do you really wear nothing under those robes?”
Vetinari blinked both his eyes. “Did you really want to find our, your grace?”
Vimes hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “Why not?” His grin was nearly back, but Vetinari could still sense a hint of distress. He smiled a small smile. He might still be getting what he wanted.
Vimes had pulled the sheet and blankets away again, and even though Vetinari would usually have felt quite exposed, his alcohol-addled brain seemed happy enough, and even his body lazily reacted to the embarrassed warmth, which radiated off Vimes and enveloped him. Vimes’s hands ran down Vetinari’s clothed sides, hips, legs, and then up under the fabric of his undergarment over bare skin. Vetinari sighed and curled his hands into the sheets.
A voice, his own sober voice, Vetinari realised, screamed at him from the back of his brain, telling him to stop this at once, that Vimes had no business touching him like this and that he himself had no business enjoying it that much. He chose to ignore the voice.
Vimes’s mind was in turmoil. ‘What on earth are you doing?! This is the Patrician, remember? Patrician? As in: Ruler of Ankh-Morpork?!’ a part of himself screamed at him. Another part of him went, ‘What? Traitor to your own beliefs! You enjoy this? You like this? Making the Patrician squirm?’ And the last of the voices answered and growled, ‘Yes, I like this. It gives me a certain power… Vetinari doesn’t like wanting this, doesn’t want himself liking this, but he obviously is too drunk to stop himself… And it’s me who makes him do it…’
Vimes crawled over the Patrician and sat on top of him. He realised, a shudder running down his entire body, that their crotches were touching, and when Vetinari moved a little just like that, they were rubbing together…
Suddenly, Vetinari grabbed the front of Vimes’s shirt, and, as soon as he was close enough, the back of his neck, where he fondled Vimes’s slightly too long hair. He pulled Vimes’s head closer, so that their faces were only an inch or so apart. “Sir Samuel,” he said, in a voice that, even to himself, sounded a bit too much like a growl.
Vimes looked down in astonishment. Vetinari was covered in feverish sweat, his face shining, his hair untidy, his nose only half an inch away from his own. Vimes gulped, right on the moment Vetinari pulled his head closer to his own and their lips touched.
For a moment, Vimes seemed frozen. Then, with a start, his senses came back to him in a minor explosion. Vetinari tried to shove his tongue between Vimes’s lips, and Vimes limply let him do, momentarily at a loss. He vaguely mused to himself that he could’ve been worse off; the kiss was pretty good.
As soon as Vetinari broke the kiss, Vimes shook himself. Vetinari seemed particularly gleeful, for some reason. “Shocked, Sir Samuel?” he whispered, licking his lips.
Right, thought Vimes, is that what it’s all about? Trying to get old Sir Samuel as shocked as possible, eh? Well, Vimes decided, his grin creeping back onto his face, Vetinari didn’t yet know what shocking was…
The game was on. Staring at each other for some seconds, both men tried to figure out what to do to out-shock the other. It had to be good, better then anything they had done before. Vimes broke the moment.
He leaned forward, resting heavily on his arms, moved his face closer to Vetinari’s again, and very gently, perhaps teasingly so, caressed the Patrician’s lips with his own. Vetinari moaned slightly, and the soft breath that escaped from his lips played over Vimes’s and made Vimes shiver with - what was it, desire?
Vimes caught himself. Was it? How far would he himself be willing to go in this game? He tried to shove these thoughts to the back of his brain, tried to leave them untouched as he let his elbows give gradually way and lowered himself onto Vetinari, deepening the kiss.
Vetinari’s long fingers were suddenly everywhere; they were tugging at the collar of his shirt, caressing his back, fumbling with the fastenings of his breeches… Vimes let his hands glide under Vetinari’s under robes again, fingertips softly flitting over the Patrician’s bare skin.
There was a gasp from Vetinari. Momentarily, the fingers stopped prying between Vimes’s now exposed buttocks, hovering ever so slightly over them as Vetinari relished the touch of the hands on his bare skin.
Vimes was very pleased with the immense reaction his actions seemed to draw from Vetinari, even though part of him felt sorry for the loss of finger movement in his lower regions. Perhaps something would remind Vetinari…?
Vimes boldly applied his lips to Vetinari’s neck.
Vetinari moaned. It was a moan full of meaning, Vimes thought, a moan telling him to go on, because, gods, gods, yes, he liked it very much. It made him growl a little triumphant growl, which set gooseflesh all over Vetinari’s skin.
The Patrician chose that moment to pry Vimes’s breeches off entirely and cup the rediscovered buttocks with his spidery hands. He squeezed ever so slightly.
Vimes had thought, right up till then, that he was slightly too old already for the sort of erection Watchmen liked to boast about. He had been so very, very wrong, he realised as he bit hard into the pillow right next to Vetinari’s head. His very own, straining erection was currently prodding the Patrician’s inner thigh with a very tentative and wet prod, indeed. It was terribly embarrassing, Vimes thought, until he found…
…a very hard object poking his stomach.
He relieved the pillow he had been biting down on and tried to look Vetinari in the face. He realised only now how heavy both their breathing had become. Vetinari looked slightly wild, his eyes bright and alive, and - Vimes realised with sudden shock - quite sobered again. The game was now between two more or less equal minds.
With a start, Vimes realised Vetinari was staring at him and grinding his hips into him at the same time. The Patrician seemed quite pleased with Vimes’s facial expression, but he would be in for a surprise.
“You - you,” breathed Vimes, crawling a little higher up Vetinari’s body, so as to look straight into his eyes again. “Havelock, you - beast!”
Vetinari was completely surprised at the use of his first name, and Vimes caught the small hint of shock just before he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the Patrician’s again. Inwardly, he grinned exceedingly broadly.
Suddenly, Vetinari’s hands were on his shoulders and tore the two men away from each other. Vetinari stared intently at Vimes, eyes wide, eyebrows arched into a frown. He took some time to catch his breath, then said, “Sir Samuel, truly… Where do we want this to end?”
Vimes considered this question for a moment, studying Vetinari’s face again. It was blank, as was usual, and suddenly the Patrician seemed cold and distant. But there was something, thought Vimes, squinting a little, there was something hidden just behind his eyes… It was fireworks waiting to happen.
“Does it have to end, sir?” he said at last, cocking an eyebrow. Vetinari now frowned thoughtfully, and it dawned on Vimes that it was to calculate how far he would let the Commander under his guard, this time. Vimes decided it was time to help the Patrician a little with making his mind up.
“Does it have to end,” he repeated, “Havelock?” He held his breath. The emphasis on his first name made Vetinari’s face change again. It was as if a great many emotions were trying to crawl from under the grasp of the Patrician’s guard all at once; anger, consternation, a hint of fear, a shade of dull warmth and fondness and - Vimes released his breath with a hiss - undiluted desire.
“Why?” Vetinari whispered at long last, stroking a strand of hair away from Vimes’s forehead.
“Does there need to be a why?” Vimes said, tracing a finger over Vetinari’s lips. “Let’s not think of the why. Let’s focus on the fact that there’s a what, which we need to define a bit more.”
Just as sudden as Vetinari had had his guard up, it was down again entirely, and he was entangled in the bewildered Commander, who fought for breath as arms clung around his neck, lips were crushed onto his own, hips were grinding, one throbbing erection rubbing another…
Somehow, everything went wahooni shaped. The world collapsed, thunder rolled, lightning flashed, there were magic sparkles and… Vetinari was holding both their erections in one hand, while the other clung onto Vimes’s behind for dear life.
In all honesty, Vimes was exhausted. He had made long days for a week or two previous to Vetinari’s surprise abduction, and all the impressions his senses were leaving on his brain were exhausting him even further. Things were getting blurry around the edges and he wasn’t too certain what Vetinari was doing, but gods, he was very good at it. Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, oh gods yes.
Vetinari was feeling very, very sober again. His blood was pumping wildly through his veins, and he was moving his hand between their bodies, faster and faster and faster, and Vimes was making a sound which seemed like a mix between a grunt and a sigh, and gods, oh, gods, gods, gods, oh…
“S-samuel,” hissed Vetinari, letting the word slip out slurred, his hips jerking, hot liquid squirting over his hand and belly.
“Hhhaaavvvelock,” Vimes breathed, before his most intimate body fluids mixed with the Patrician’s. As soon as the spasms had died away, he collapsed over Vetinari.
For a minute or so, Vetinari lie staring at the ceiling, catching his breath, absentmindedly stroking the hair on the back of Vimes’s head.
“Si - Samuel?” he whispered after a while. There was no answer. He frowned and prodded Vimes in the shoulder. The Commander grunted, then snored.
Vetinari sighed deeply. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable with having to sleep with Vimes on top of him, and he didn’t even mind that much that the man had dozed off, but he did mind the sticky, lukewarm - stuff that was cooling and hardening between him and Vimes.
+++++
Sun filtered into the room through the thin grey curtains. It crept over Vimes’s face, and he couldn’t deny it any longer; it was time to get up. But before he did so…
He let his hand float over the side of the bed next to him. He touched something warm, something that was skin, that was body. He managed to drag the body closer to his, and snuggled his nose into the crook of what he knew to be a neck. And sniffed.
“Hrm,” he murmured, a little amused, “you smell funnily, Sybil. You smell of Patrician.”
“That would be because I am the Patrician,” said Vetinari’s voice next to his ear.
Data seeped into Vimes’s groggy brain; skinny frame - not at all like Sybil; hairy cheek - certainly not like Sybil; deep voice - absolutely not like Sybil…
His eyes snapped open and instantly locked with Vetinari’s steady gaze.
“Good morning, Sir Samuel,” the Patrician continued. “I believe we are quite stuck together.”
Literally, Vimes thought, the memories of last night coming back to him. He groaned. “I’m dead, aren’t I?” he said.
Vetinari chuckled a little. Vimes couldn’t remember hearing him do that before. “I don’t know, Sir Samuel,” he said. “I hadn’t yet checked your… vital functions.” His hands had somehow found their way to Vimes’s behind again, and gripped it quite tightly. Vimes gasped. “Ah,” breathed the Patrician, “I do think you are quite alive, Sir Samuel.”
Vimes was red with embarrassment. I’m damn well aware I’m alive, he thought, a bit angry with himself. He sat up abruptly. “Would you care for a bath, my lord?”
Vetinari blinked momentarily. “Oh yes, that would be very nice.”
“We’ll have to share it, though,” said Vimes, a menacing hint in his voice.
“I am not afraid,” said Vetinari quietly, eyeing Vimes with a covert look.
The bathtub in the room adjacent to the Dull Grey Room was large and metal coloured. It took quite some time before it was filled entirely, and all the while, Vimes tried to keep out of the Patrician’s way. He wasn’t certain, himself, why. Perhaps it was to be on the safe side. Perhaps he couldn’t trust Vetinari. Perhaps he couldn’t trust himself with Vetinari…
Soft foam reached to the very rim of the bathtub. Slight hazes of steam came off it, and that, combined with the semi-darkness, made Vimes’s heart beat just a little too fast for comfort. It was simply too romantic.
Vetinari leaned on the rim of the bathtub and let his body graciously slide into the water. He breathed out a sigh of bliss as the warm water enclosed him.
Vimes was a bit less gracious and nearly fell off the rim when trying to get into the tub. Vetinari had to help him, and he plunged into the water, splashing a generous amount over the rim.
A few moments, they sat in silence, studiously ignoring each other while stealing glances from the corners of their eyes. At last, Vimes was the first to move, and flung himself onto Vetinari.
Slippery kisses, slippery bodies, slippery fingers, combing through slippery hair… Long, slippery digit, suddenly prodding where no one had dared prod before…
Vimes yelped. “That’s my -!”
“I’m well aware of what that is,” said Vetinari, quite levelly. “Now relax, stop protesting, this will only hurt a little…”
The prodding index finger found its way in, nearly as graciously, Vimes realised with a shudder, as Vetinari had found his way into the water. He tried to relax and concentrate on the sensations as the finger slowly moved in deeply, then equally slowly out again almost entirely, was joined by another, went in, out, was joined by a third…
Vimes realised it didn’t hurt anymore. He had relaxed completely, leaned back against the rim of the tub, his eyes closed.
Suddenly, the fingers moved out entirely, and Vimes was about to protest when something larger and harder replaced them. His eyes snapped open again, his chin dropped onto his chest and he stared at Vetinari, who had a worked up and concentrated look in his face.
Then, the Patrician started to move his hips. He thrust them forward, and Vimes yelped again, because, quite a bit unexpectedly, Vetinari had hit a sensitive spot that send a few strong magical sparkles through his body.
Vetinari started to build up a rhythm of thrusts and pulls, Vimes shrieked, his head thrown back. Water splashed over the rim on all sides, and the quantity which remained in the tub was wild and stormy.
Vimes was convinced that every thrust was carefully calculated in Vetinari’s brain, making certain the both of them got measured out strokes of magic sparkles, but he didn’t much care; never before in his life had he done something like this, and he knew very well that when the nausea at the back of his throat would take over, he would be a dead man bathing. A dead man fucking. Fucking the Patrician. Gods.
He was a dead man in any case.
Just as he realised this in the depths of his feverish brain, he did die. Or at least, it felt as if he did, it felt as if he died of passion, of an explosion deep down, erupting, engulfing him, taking him over the edge.
A moment later, Vetinari slumped over him. It took a few minutes before they had caught their breath and the water had subsided in the bath.
Vetinari looked Vimes in the eye.
“This remains between us, Sir Samuel,” he said, preparing himself to get out of the bath.
“I’d rather not that anyone joined in,” said Vimes, shuddering slightly. He was thoroughly puzzled and suddenly even a little disgusted with himself. Last night, all this had been a game, but he wasn’t too sure now.
Vetinari had slipped out of the tub and wadded over to a chair, where a few towels lie. He didn’t look up when Vimes attempted to scrabble out of the bath, failed, fell back into the water and cursed. He managed to finally get out at his third attempt.
“Gods, that does hurt,” he growled, drying himself as much as possible with the towel.
“I hadn’t said it wouldn’t,” the Patrician said. Vimes growled some more, all the while trying to formulate a question, pieces of which he had been turning over in his mind.
“Were you ever genuine?”
Vetinari looked up sharply. “Were you?”
Vimes frowned. “I - I’m not certain,” he said. “I think I must’ve been genuine in fulfilling my duty…”
Vetinari snorted. It was an awkward sound. “Your duty,” he said. “Yes, such a good job you did at doing your duty, Sir Samuel.”
“I never wanted to disappoint you, sir,” Vimes said, a little uncertain. “I do have to admit that this… sort of thing is not really my sort of thing…”
“Pah, Sir Samuel,” said the Patrician. “No more about it.”
Vimes felt rage bubbling up inside him. “You can’t just dismiss it like that!” he said. “It’s not something impersonal! I’d like to know why! You never answered that question yourself!”
Vetinari was already straightening his robes around him. “No,” he said. “I never did, and I certainly do not feel obliged to do so now. I would like to remind you, Sir Samuel, that you were ever first to make a move.”
Vimes stared at him, his mouth open. “Gods damn you,” he raged. “You provoked me into doing that every step of the way!”
“Even so,” said Vetinari smoothly, “I’d think it advisable not to linger on this… business. Let’s move on, shall we?”
Vimes nearly choked with rage. “Move - move on?”
“Indeed,” said Vetinari, closing the space between them in one fluid pace. “Let’s see this as a once in a lifetime experience, and one of the best birthday presents I ever managed to lay my hands on.” He swiftly kissed Vimes on the lips. “Don’t trouble yourself with questions, Sir Samuel. It was a confusing night. You will get over it.”
“And how am I supposed to face you again in your office, when Carrot’s there constantly?”
The Patrician eyed him with a darkly amused look in his light eyes. “Whichever way you please, Sir Samuel. I doubt I could stop you, in any case.”
Vimes’s rage subsided a little. Things started to make just a little more sense. “What about Sybil?” he said.
Vetinari apparently absentmindedly let his finger flit across one of Vimes’s scars. “She understands,” he said shortly.
“She - what? How would you know?” said Vimes incredulously, quickly adding, “Sir?”
“Don’t you think she would have rushed into that Dull Grey room yesterday night, as soon as she heard to make such noise, Sir Samuel, has she not known?”
Vimes pondered this for a moment, a little alarmed. “But - would she be angry?”
“She understands,” Vetinari repeated, moving into the direction of the door. “After all, it was I who made you do it, and she understands you have to do your duty… thoroughly.” He opened the door and moved into the corridor. “Good day, Sir Samuel. In all certainty, I will see you again soon enough.”
Too soon, Vimes thought miserably when the door closed behind the Patrician. He stared at the door for several minutes.
“Sam,” a voice suddenly said behind him. He spun on his heels, and felt the colour drain from his face. Sybil!
“Sam, Sam!” she said consolingly, when he tremblingly hugged her close to him.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered. She stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head.
“Silly Sam,” she said. “It’s not your fault. Havelock has had sharper men - er, people than you do what he made you do last night. It’s not your fault.”
Vimes looked at her uncertainly. “It isn’t?”
She smiled, warmly but only ever so slightly pained. “It isn’t,” she said. Vimes kissed her.
“Wherever would I be without you?” he said softly.
“Drunk in a gutter, I’d think,” she said, nudging him a little.
He grinned wearily. “Oh, yes.”
“There’s one thing you need to know, though,” Lady Sybil said. There was a small hint of concerned urgency in her voice which didn’t escape Vimes.
“What’s that?”
She bit her lip. “Havelock might try it again,” she said.
“What?!”
“Oh yes,” she said, a little smugly. “He likes the way you’re able to surprise him. He looked very pleased when I passed him in the hall this morning. Even hummed a little, I say!”
“Gods, Sybil,” Vimes said. “What am I supposed to do?”
She took his cheeks into her hands and looked him straight into his eyes. “Try to enjoy it,” she said.
Somehow, Vimes thought, the world has become a different place. A madhouse. And I’m lost in it. He simply stared at Lady Sybil, and he was certain an immense question-mark was floating a few inches above his head.
“Trust me,” Lady Sybil said, looking him into his eyes and shaking his head a little with her hands. “It’ll be better if you try to enjoy it. He’ll be terribly surprised. No one ever does enjoy it.”
“And he never wonders why?” Vimes muttered. Lady Sybil looked at him warningly. He sighed.
“Don’t you mind?” he asked. “Don’t you mind having to share me with someone?”
“It is Havelock we’re talking about,” she reminded him, as if that was the right sort of answer to Vimes. She saw the uncertainty and discomfort still displayed on his face. “Look,” she said, “Havelock and I, we’re old friends of sorts, okay? I somehow feel he deserves a bit of, you know.”
“Gods, Sybil, listen to yourself, you’re trying to justify what I’m doing,” Vimes said wearily.
“So?” she said. “It needs justification in your eyes.”
Damn. She’s always right in the end, Vimes thought.
“Very well,” said Lady Sybil, seeing how she had made her point. “Now off you go to get dressed.”
Vimes kissed her again. “Thank you, Sybil, thank you for everything.” She blushed fiercely and pushed him into the direction of his dressing room.
+++++
It was only two days later that, one morning, Vimes and Captain Carrot were expected in the Patrician’s office.
As they proceeded down Filigree Street, a grin started to creep over Vimes’s face again. Lady Sybil had told him he could always surprise people, even the Patrician. He had the power to surprise, he realised. A very powerful thing, indeed.
His grin grew more pronounced and he started to hum. Carrot glanced at him sideways, non-plussed.
The square in front of the palace was emptier than last time Vimes had seen it. He paused a moment to light a cigar. He puffed thoughtfully, grinning still, and squinting against the sun to look at the windows of the upper floors of the palace.
The power of surprise. Vetinari didn’t yet know what surprise was.
Life was good.
THE END
Do review ^^
And now...
Fandom:Discworld
Title: Shock & Surprise, The Art
Rating: NC-17
WARNING: SLASH, nudity, not worksafe!
Medium: Pencil, background in Photoshop
Notes: Well, when all's said and done... This is the art to the story.
Well, that's it for now. Do leave a note telling me how you liked/disliked everything and why. Thank you.
Fandom: Discworld
Title: Shock & Surprise
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 8,367
WARNING: SLASH, Graphic sex
Summary: When Sam Vimes finds out it's Lord Vetinari's birthday soon, he thinks something must be done. When Lord Vetinari finds he is drunk on his own birthday party, he thinks he must exploit the situation. A game of shocks commences.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters. Terry Pratchett invented the inhabitants of the Discworld and Coleridge invented The Ancient Mariner...
Notes: So. There it is. This is Vimes/Vetinari slash, but there's also a definite hint of Sam/Sybil, though not as graphic as the slashy bits. Hope the more mature readers of my LJ will appreciate this.
Usually, people didn’t think much of the weather in Ankh-Morpork, it was only background noise in a city like that. But it was quite putting a stopper on most people’s tempers that the lovely soft and sunny weather that had lasted for a few weeks had now been replaced by dark clouds, fog and soft drizzles of rain.
A bulky figure moved through the darkened streets and alleys. An eerily human-shaped parcel was slung over its shoulder. The figure slunk into shadows, avoiding the lights that spilled from some of the houses.
It was only early evening, but it was particularly dark. And the darkness around the sneaking figure seemed most intense.
It reached a corner and snuck into Scoone Avenue.
++++
Sam Vimes (Sir Samuel, Duke of Ankh and Commander of the City Watch) walked into his office, put his helmet on its usual rack and walked round his desk. He wiped some sweat off his brow and opened a window to let a soft breeze play into the room, cooling it somewhat. This was the third day in a row of very nice yet warm days. He looked around at his desk.
He groaned at the sight of so much new paperwork crowding his in-tray. He slumped into the chair and stared at the pile of paper.
The envelope on the top had been sealed with the Patrician’s seal. He eyed it wearily, then picked it up and broke the seal. It contained a small note in the Patrician’s personal writing. ‘Required in Oblong Office as soon as possible. Signed, Lord Vetinari,’ it said. Vimes sighed.
There was a knock on his door. “Come,” he said heavily. This didn’t turn out to be a good beginning of the day.
Captain Carrot entered and saluted. “Good morning, sir,” he said, taking a step forward. “I see you have already received the Patrician’s notice?”
“Yes,” growled Vimes, tossing the note aside. “Any idea what he might want?”
Carrot shrugged. “It might have something to do with the congregation of new beggars in front of the palace, sir.”
“The what?” said Vimes, looking incredulous. “Yet more beggars?” He chuckled. “I bet old Vetinari wasn’t pleased at all to wake up and find them milling beneath his bedroom window.” He got up and recovered his helmet. “Oh well, let’s go, then.”
“Sorry, sir, but I was about to go off duty, sir,” said Carrot, his face a miserable display of apology. Vimes hesitated a moment.
“We-ell,” he said, “I’ll be taking someone else along, then.”
They walked into the hall. Only a few officers were present, as it was between shifts. Sergeant Colon sat behind the reception desk, nodding a greeting at Vimes, Sergeant Detritus had marched the new recruits in for breakfast and Corporal Nobby Nobbs sat in a chair, apparently in a state between waking and sleeping. Vimes growled softly.
“Alright, Nobby, you come with me to the Patrician’s,” he said. It was not as if he had much of a choice, he added mentally.
Nobby sprang to attention and followed him out.
“Quite an honour, sir,” he said, grinning widely and lighting one of his dog-ends. Vimes smiled sourly. “See,” Nobby continued, “it’s always Captain Carrot what goes with you, and I thought, y’know, ‘s more ‘n fair if it was someone else’s turn sometimes.”
“Just as long as you keep your mouth shut, Nobby, I might consider taking you there again, when I’m left with no other options,” growled Vimes, his temper going downhill. Nobby beamed.
“’s Alright, sir, you can count me in!” he said. Vimes silently rolled his eyes.
The Patrician sat waiting for them behind his desk when they came in. He eyed Nobby with a strange glint in his eyes, but didn’t ask where Captain Carrot had gone.
“Your grace,” he said, looking at Vimes. He shuffled some papers on his desk and picked up a small pile. “You may have noticed the crowd of beggars outside?”
“Had to particularly push through them, sir,” said Vimes. “Terrible bugg-types, sir.”
“Hmm, yes,” said Vetinari, staring at a sheet of paper. “The Beggars Guild say they won’t be having them, and the other Guilds have pointed out that there is no use for them, there, either. But as unlicensed beggars, they will not be tolerated.”
“Of course, sir,” said Vimes, staring at the paperwork under Vetinari’s bony hand. There was a brightly coloured piece of paper among it. Somehow, it guided his stare towards it. It seemed extremely out of place on Vetinari’s orderly desk, which only contained a journal and some off-white correspondence.
“I suggest you take them back to your watch house, your grace,” said Vetinari. “They may be interested in joining the Watch.”
Vimes nearly choked. “What? I mean, excuse me, sir? You want those beggars to join the Watch?” he spluttered.
Vetinari looked at him sharply. “It may be the only choice they have,” he said. He got up from his chair and moved to the window behind his desk. His gaze swept over the crowd below on the square. “If these people wish to survive in this city, they will need a place of their own. They need an income, a job, something to do. I do hope you understand, your grace.”
While Vetinari was looking out of the window and talking, Vimes signalled to Nobby. A grin spread over Nobby’s face. His job was clear.
A moment later, Vetinari turned back to face them. “Still, your grace, I don’t think these people will be at all eager to join the Watch once they see Sergeant Detritus,” he said, drawing his little speech to a close. “And if they do not join the Watch, they will have to leave the city, I’m afraid. I hope you’ll tell them it will only be for their own safety, Sir Samuel.”
Vimes nodded. “Indeed, sir.” The unlicensed beggars would be too easy targets for any Guild’s target practise. “I will.”
“Very well,” said Vetinari, sitting down again. “I have no wish to detain you any further, Sir Samuel. Good luck.”
“Thank you, sir,” Vimes said, his heart not in it. He gave a weak salute and marched out of the room.
Out on the steps in front of the palace, he stopped and turned to Nobby.
“Did you get it?”
“Did I get it? Did I get it?” echoed Nobby. “’Course I got it! ‘t Was easy peasy, sir!” He handed Vimes the colourful paper, which had already managed to become slightly grubby while on Nobby’s person.
Vimes looked at it. ‘Ephesias Snoob, Party Supplies,’ it read in big letters on the top. Below was a smaller message. ‘Do You Wish To Throw A Party? Do You Have No Clue What To Do? Hire Ephesias Snoob And His Team Of Expert Party Goers And Party Throwers! Only 6 Dollars Per Person Per Hour! Contact Mr Snoob In The Three Pooches In Quirm!’ The rest of the paper was decorated with party hats, birthday cakes, balloons and happy faces.
Vimes stared at the message. He turned the paper over. There was a small, handwritten message on the back, which went, ‘Something for your birthday, my lord? Downey.’ Somehow it didn’t seem like a friendly suggestion.
Hold on, Vimes thought. Birthday?
He pondered over it for some time, until Nobby tried to catch his attention.
“Yes?” said Vimes sharply.
“Sir?” said Nobby, still tugging Vimes’s sleeve. “Sir, I think, sir, I think it may be best to, er, address the crowd, sir.”
Vimes looked up. Over fifty pairs of eyes and some loose ones stared back. He blinked. The eyes blinked back at him.
“Right,” he said, straightening his breastplate. “Right. You, beggars, you go to the Pseudopolis Yard Watch House directly. Means now, daft bugger,” he added when an old man at the front of the crowd kept staring at him.
There was something particularly peculiar about that man. While all the new beggars had formed small groups among themselves, this man was nearly systematically avoided. A small empty circle surrounded him. And he kept staring at Vimes, who felt he became uneasy under the stare. But that’s madness, he told himself. This guy looks like a loon, what with all the grey hair and beard standing on end, and those greyish clothes more torn than any beggar’s clothes…
The man suddenly stepped forward. “There was a ship,” he said.
“Where?” said Nobby, looking wildly about him.
“He must be talking about the river patrol boat,” Vimes muttered. “Did it sink?” he asked the old man.
The man seemed momentarily puzzled. “The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,” he then said.
“Which ship? Which harbour?” said Vimes.
“Merrily did we drop below the kirk,” the man went on, frowning slightly.
“Hold on, hold on,” said Nobby. “That was no proper answer to the Commander’s question!”
“…below the hill, below the light house top…” the man said.
“Neither was that,” said Vimes, now frowning, too. “Tell me mister, who are you?”
“The sun came up upon the left, out of the sea he came!” the old man said, but Vimes could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He looked up and saw the Patrician silhouetted in an upstairs window of the palace.
Another beggar shuffled forward. “He calls him the Ancient Mariner, he does,” he croaked. “See, mifter, he only tells orf ships and fings like that…”
“Ancient Mariner, eh?” said Vimes, squinting at the old man.
“Why’s you calling yourself Ancient, mister?” said Nobbs.
“Or a Mariner?” chimed up a person from the crowd. “He don’t look like a mariner to me. Ain’t they supposed to work with butchers?”
The Ancient Mariner blinked in confusion. People didn’t usually ask so many questions!
“Do you have proof you are a Mariner, sir?” said Vimes. “Do you have a ship, or a certificate, or a tattoo, or even a birthmark to show?”
“Could you please inquire whether or not the man is member of the Guild of Mariners, your grace?” Vetinari called down.
The crowd suddenly parted and Sergeant Colon and Corporal Angua arrived.
“Ah, just in time,” said Vimes. “Nobby, Fred, could you please lead all these people to the Yard? Angua, could you please take care of this Mariner here?”
Angua nodded and gently led the old man away. Nobby and Colon ushered the group of beggars into the direction of the Watch House. The mob that had turned up to watch the spectacle slowly dissolved.
Vimes looked at the colourful paper again. He needed to talk to Sybil.
He found Sybil in the garden behind the house, setting some of the dragons loose in a small pen. Little Sammy sat in a special chair for babies, as Vimes liked to call it (he didn’t know its real name), and was watching his mother as she shooed the confused dragons out of their cages and onto the lawn.
Vimes stopped by little Sammy and nuzzled his hair. The baby boy looked up at his father and made small, happy sounds. It was a perfect picture.
Until a dragon sneezed a little too loudly, exploded, and sprayed Sybil, Sammy and Vimes with bits of dragon. Little Sammy immediately opened his mouth and started to scream. Vimes had to fight age old instincts to clasp his hand over the baby’s mouth, looked panicky at Sybil, but, seeing as she was too busy trying to subdue the other dragons, knew it was all up to him.
Awkwardly, he heaved the bawling baby out of his chair and snuggled it close to his chest. He thought Sammy probably wasn’t going to like the breastplate, but he was mistaken. The sun had warmed the armour up, and the baby found it quite comfortable, slowly quieting his cry as Vimes clumsily rocked it about.
Sybil only looked up when Sammy was entirely quiet and only then saw Vimes. “Sam!” she cried, and Vimes could make out the pride in her voice. He’d proven to be a true father to her, in any case.
“Sybil,” he said weakly and quietly, afraid of setting the baby off again.
“Why are you here?” Sybil asked, coming over to him. She kissed him on his cheek. “I thought you were supposed to be at the Yard?”
“Er, yes, er, that is to say, I was, until I found this,” Vimes said. He moved the baby onto his left arm and wriggled the colourful advertisement from his pocket with the other. “Apparently some of the Patrician’s correspondence.” Sybil stared at it, took it from him, turned it over, read the message and frowned.
“I don’t think that’s at all nice from Lord Downey,” she said at last. She looked at him sharply. “Where did you find this, you said?”
Vimes realised she had just used a trick on him any copper would use on a suspect. Asking to repeat something he hadn’t actually said before.
“Er, Nobby, that is to say, we, er, we were at the Patrician’s office,” Vimes tried, but Sybil couldn’t be fooled. “Nobby pinched it off his desk,” he said, giving in to Sybil’s expert steely stare.
She pouted. “I bet he didn’t do that because it’s shiny and valuable,” she said wisely. Vimes stared at the ground. What was there to say? In some matters, she knew him too well.
“I just thought, y’know, it looked a bit suspicious,” he said weakly, still examining the grass pollen.
“And you were just curious, weren’t you?” said Sybil. Vimes nodded quietly. It was as if he was being subjected to the questioning of a school mistress who had caught him in the act of sneaking some pencils home.
“I’m only glad you let Nobby pinch this,” said Sybil seriously. Vimes’s head snapped up.
“Whaaa’?” he managed, ogling her.
Sybil waved a hand. “It shows what I should have written on the calendar a long time ago,” she said. “Havelock’s birthday is due soon.”
“And how is this important?” said Vimes, still feigning incredulousness.
She glared at him, though mildly so. “It’s Havelock’s birthday, that’s what’s important about it,” she said.
“Right,” Vimes said. “And?”
Sybil stared at him, then a light flickered in her eyes. “Oh, Sam,” she said, smiling slightly, “you were thinking the same thing, weren’t you?”
Vimes grinned slyly. “I think so, Sybil, I think so.”
++++
The wonderful weather lasted some two more weeks before it changed to what could be called the complete opposite.
Lord Havelock Vetinari stared out of his office’s window, down onto the deserted streets of the city. It was nearly dinner time. He was alone and no one would be bothering him for some time.
He turned around with a sigh and lowered himself into his chair. He leaned his elbows on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed.
For some time he sat like that, listening to the sounds the rain made against his window. He didn’t even look up when Drumknott, his secretary, ushered in with a tray with food.
“Sir, will you be working late?” Drumknott asked, leaving the word ‘again’ unspoken.
“Yes, Drumknott,” said Vetinari, taking the tray from the secretary and setting it down on his desk. “I should like it very much if I wasn’t disturbed tonight, unless in case of an emergency.”
“Very well, my lord,” said Drumknott, bowing himself out of the office and closing the door.
Vetinari looked at the tray. It was a regular sort of dinner, a dinner that would turn up almost weekly on his menu. No one had even bothered to add something like cake, or a small card.
It wasn’t as if he had been expecting anything, it was just a little disappointing to find that no one could surprise him anymore these days. Everyone seemed to have forgotten…
He was halfway through his soup when there was an urgent knocking on the door. He looked up and put down the spoon he had been bringing to his mouth. “Come in,” he said irritably.
Captain Carrot shuffled into the room. Vetinari frowned. Hadn’t he told Drumknott..?
“What can I do for you, Captain?” he said.
Captain Carrot bit his lower lip. “It… it is a… a… matter of utmost importance, sir.”
Vetinari put the tips of his fingers together and stared at Carrot over the small bridge his blue veined hands made. He raised an eyebrow. “Importance, Captain?”
Carrot gulped. “Yes, sir. Importance, sir,” he said. “And Secrecy.”
“Secrecy, Captain?” The other eyebrow was raised.
“Yes, sir,” Carrot said, shuffling his feet uneasily. Something was wrong, Vetinari told himself. He kept staring at Carrot, willing him to say more.
“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” said Carrot, stepping forward and raising one of his large fists.
“Wha-” Vetinari managed, before Carrot knocked him out.
“I’m really terribly sorry, sir,” said Carrot, taking a sheet of bed linen and wrapping the Patrician in it. “Terribly, terribly sorry.”
++++
Carrot moved through the slow drizzle, trying to hide in the shadows but failing miserably. He was moving up the drive towards the ducal house, as it was, and he could see lights behind some of the larger windows on the ground floor.
He reached the door and knocked. It was opened nearly immediately.
Vimes’s head popped around the corner. “Gods, Carrot,” he said, “what took you so bloody long?”
Carrot gulped. “It was… difficult, sir,” he said.
Vimes eyed the parcel over Carrot’s shoulder. “Oh, very well, get inside.”
Carrot was ushered through the hall and up a small flight of stairs. Vimes pushed a door open and motioned Carrot to go inside. The room beyond the door was a small bedroom, decorated in several shades of grey. Vimes had had the feeling it would put the Patrician at ease.
Carrot softly put the parcel down on the bed and unwrapped it. The Patrician stirred slightly, groaning.
“Thank you, Carrot,” said Vimes, with a hint of finality in his voice.
Carrot saluted and marched out quietly, closing the door behind him.
Vimes sat down on the bed beside Vetinari, trying to feel with his hands where Carrot had hit the Patrician, in order to find out how badly.
Vetinari groaned again and opened his eyes. Vimes moved back with a start. For a few seconds the Patrician stared at the ceiling, then slowly turned his head and focused on Vimes. Something of his sharpness came back to him.
“Sir Samuel, what in the world-” Vetinari started, propping himself up on an elbow, but Vimes silenced him with a wave of his hand.
“I’m really terribly sorry, sir,” he said, “but I don’t think you would have come voluntarily.”
Vetinari blinked. “Voluntarily?” he said. “Wherever to?”
Vimes grinned an unsettlingly predatory grin. “Here,” he said.
He slipped off the bed and helped Vetinari up. The Patrician had to pause for a moment to stop his head from spinning, then nodded, and Vimes led him out of the room, down the stairs, through the hall and into a dimly lit room.
Vetinari was aware of a sense of expectancy. He waited to ask Vimes what it was all about because he had a feeling it would be revealed soon enough. He looked around the room. It was merely lit by two candles which created space for a lot of shadows. Shadows that somehow moved, even though the flames weren’t flickering…
Suddenly, covers were torn off lanterns, and the room was brightly illuminated. The shadows turned into pools of light, and - Vetinari blinked and recomposed himself - a lot of people clutching gift-wrapped parcels of several shapes and sizes.
“Happy birthday, my lord,” said Vimes emphatically, from somewhere closely behind Vetinari. The Patrician turned, and Vimes grinned broadly at him, this time not predatorily but nearly pleasantly. Vetinari opened his mouth to say something, but there were loud cheers and people started to queue up to shake his hands and pile him with presents.
It was not until an hour later that quite a few of the party comers had either subdued or left, and Vetinari had a chance at having a decent word with Vimes. He sat down beside the Commander, who instantly refilled the Patrician’s glass with some fruit juice. Vetinari frowned and shrugged inwardly. There was something very strange going on, indeed. He took a sip.
“Your grace,” he said, taking care his head stopped spinning - damn Captain Carrot and his blows, Vetinari thought - as he tried to look Vimes in the eye. “This is most surprising. I believe you are the, ah, perpetrator of this party?”
Vimes grinned. “Oh, I wasn’t alone in the idea,” he said. “Sybil had quite a hand in it.”
“Lady Sybil…?” said Vetinari, feigning mild surprise. It wouldn’t do to show Vimes exactly what he was thinking. “Truly, Sir Samuel, you never cease to surprise me.”
“Neither do you,” said Vimes, still grinning.
Vetinari blinked a moment, taking this in. “That wasn’t entirely correct, Sir Samuel,” he said.
“Alright, sir,” said Vimes, his grin broadening a fraction. “Let me rephrase that: you never cease to surprise me, either.”
“And why is that, may I ask?”
Vimes’s grin disappeared for a moment, as he cocked his head and smiled amusedly. “You haven’t noticed a thing, have you, sir?”
“What should I have noticed?” Vetinari said, getting a little impatient. What was the man after?
Vimes shrugged. “Perhaps the drink, sir,” he said innocently.
Vetinari froze. Slowly, lethally slowly, his eyes moved to the docile looking drink in his hand. Fruit juice. He had been drinking fruit juice for the duration of the entire evening. He felt the little colour he had in his face drain away.
“Surely you haven’t added -”
Vimes’s grin was back, and it seemed as if it had increased in positive pleasantness, but Vetinari knew something was immensely wrong. Vimes never grinned at him like that. Vetinari looked at the Commander’s eyes, and found he wasn’t even greatly surprised to see a wicked gleam there. He sighed.
“Sir Samuel,” he said, “you have wilfully drugged your Patrician with an alcoholic concoction. Why?”
Vimes’s teeth gleamed ominously. Vetinari was vaguely aware that the room around them was nearly empty. Oh dear, he thought, he was alone in a room with a maniacally cheerful Sir Samuel and he was suddenly feeling the influence of quite too many fruit cocktails.
“Sir,” Vimes said at length, and Vetinari was happy that he spoke, it hid his teeth a little, “I just wanted to make certain you’d enjoy the evening.”
“I can enjoy evenings quite well without so much alcohol, Sir Samuel,” said Vetinari, holding his head with one hand and his glass with the other. He now realised that the spinning wasn’t the result of earlier injuries. He opened his eyes. The room had acquired a gentle sway, and the Patrician tried to focus on Vimes. “Sit still!”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Vimes, and Vetinrari was sober enough to hear the amusement in his voice, “but you’re the one who’s swaying.”
Vetinari closed his eyes tightly, willing the world outside to stop and give him a breath. This was probably what you got when you promoted a man like Sir Samuel once too often… It enabled him to do things he wouldn’t otherwise have been able to do…
He took another gulp from his drink, and looked at Vimes. Through the blurs he could see Vimes’s grin had cracked just a bit.
“Excellent cocktail,” the Patrician said, trying to raise the glass. Vimes instantly grabbed his hand.
“We wouldn’t want you to spill that over your robes, now would we, sir?”
“Not if I had to - keep them on,” said Vetinari, smiling a devious little smile.
“I think you’d have to keep them on, sir,” said Vimes, and it was his turn to become a little uncomfortable. What was the Patrician up to?
Vetinari sniggered inwardly. Perhaps it was a good idea to go on along these lines. Such suggestive remarks obviously seemed to unsettle Vimes.
“Did you know, Sir Samuel, that it is quite comfortable to wear nothing under these robes?” he said, smiling still, but keeping it as much under control as possible. “Do you ever wear nothing under those breeches of yours?” Vetinari curiously eyed Vimes’s crotch and took another gulp from his drink.
Vimes went brick red. “Sir, I don’t think that is at all -”
“Would I be allowed to check?” Vetinari said.
Vimes’s mouth dropped open. “Sir!” he said indignantly.
Vetinari’s spidery right hand was already crawling over Vimes’s upper leg. Vimes grabbed it, perhaps a little too violently and pushed it away.
“Sir, I really think you’ve had enough to drink,” he said, taking the glass away from the Patrician.
Vetinari growled. This wasn’t at all how he liked it. Actually, on the moment he wasn’t too certain how he liked what exactly, but it was his birthday party, and he was entitled to get what he wanted.
“I would very much like to go home,” said the Patrician, slowly losing his temper with the now two Vimeses. Vetinari tried to stand up. His head started to spin violently, and even closing his eyes didn’t work.
Vimes was suddenly by the Patrician’s side, grabbing one of his elbows and gently directing him to a door.
“You can’t go home in this state, sir,” he said. “I’ve had the Dull Grey Room readied for you.”
Vetinari really couldn’t complain; he knew he wasn’t in a state to travel back to the palace with whatever vehicle. He groaned. He clutched at his head and kept his eyes tightly shut. He had hardly ever felt this ill before.
Vimes had led him down the hall, up a small flight of stairs and into the Dull Grey Room. The Patrician felt that Vimes tugged at his clothes and let him take his heavy outer robes off. He was sat down on the edge of the bed and felt how Vimes carefully removed his shoes. Two guiding hands told the Patrician how to lie down and he obeyed since he had no other option.
Even though he was drunk, he was suddenly very much aware of the hands now tucking him in. He reached out and managed to grab one.
“Sir Samuel,” he said, opening one bleary eye. “If I ever hear any of this has been passed on to I don’t care who, you will know.”
“Yes, sir,” said Vimes.
There was a moment’s silence.
“You’re still holding my hand, sir.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Sir Samuel,” said Vetinari. His one eye tried to focus on Vimes’s face, which wasn’t very far away from his own. He could see, through hazes of alcohol, that Vimes was trying to formulate a question.
“Sir,” Vimes finally said, “do you really wear nothing under those robes?”
Vetinari blinked both his eyes. “Did you really want to find our, your grace?”
Vimes hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “Why not?” His grin was nearly back, but Vetinari could still sense a hint of distress. He smiled a small smile. He might still be getting what he wanted.
Vimes had pulled the sheet and blankets away again, and even though Vetinari would usually have felt quite exposed, his alcohol-addled brain seemed happy enough, and even his body lazily reacted to the embarrassed warmth, which radiated off Vimes and enveloped him. Vimes’s hands ran down Vetinari’s clothed sides, hips, legs, and then up under the fabric of his undergarment over bare skin. Vetinari sighed and curled his hands into the sheets.
A voice, his own sober voice, Vetinari realised, screamed at him from the back of his brain, telling him to stop this at once, that Vimes had no business touching him like this and that he himself had no business enjoying it that much. He chose to ignore the voice.
Vimes’s mind was in turmoil. ‘What on earth are you doing?! This is the Patrician, remember? Patrician? As in: Ruler of Ankh-Morpork?!’ a part of himself screamed at him. Another part of him went, ‘What? Traitor to your own beliefs! You enjoy this? You like this? Making the Patrician squirm?’ And the last of the voices answered and growled, ‘Yes, I like this. It gives me a certain power… Vetinari doesn’t like wanting this, doesn’t want himself liking this, but he obviously is too drunk to stop himself… And it’s me who makes him do it…’
Vimes crawled over the Patrician and sat on top of him. He realised, a shudder running down his entire body, that their crotches were touching, and when Vetinari moved a little just like that, they were rubbing together…
Suddenly, Vetinari grabbed the front of Vimes’s shirt, and, as soon as he was close enough, the back of his neck, where he fondled Vimes’s slightly too long hair. He pulled Vimes’s head closer, so that their faces were only an inch or so apart. “Sir Samuel,” he said, in a voice that, even to himself, sounded a bit too much like a growl.
Vimes looked down in astonishment. Vetinari was covered in feverish sweat, his face shining, his hair untidy, his nose only half an inch away from his own. Vimes gulped, right on the moment Vetinari pulled his head closer to his own and their lips touched.
For a moment, Vimes seemed frozen. Then, with a start, his senses came back to him in a minor explosion. Vetinari tried to shove his tongue between Vimes’s lips, and Vimes limply let him do, momentarily at a loss. He vaguely mused to himself that he could’ve been worse off; the kiss was pretty good.
As soon as Vetinari broke the kiss, Vimes shook himself. Vetinari seemed particularly gleeful, for some reason. “Shocked, Sir Samuel?” he whispered, licking his lips.
Right, thought Vimes, is that what it’s all about? Trying to get old Sir Samuel as shocked as possible, eh? Well, Vimes decided, his grin creeping back onto his face, Vetinari didn’t yet know what shocking was…
The game was on. Staring at each other for some seconds, both men tried to figure out what to do to out-shock the other. It had to be good, better then anything they had done before. Vimes broke the moment.
He leaned forward, resting heavily on his arms, moved his face closer to Vetinari’s again, and very gently, perhaps teasingly so, caressed the Patrician’s lips with his own. Vetinari moaned slightly, and the soft breath that escaped from his lips played over Vimes’s and made Vimes shiver with - what was it, desire?
Vimes caught himself. Was it? How far would he himself be willing to go in this game? He tried to shove these thoughts to the back of his brain, tried to leave them untouched as he let his elbows give gradually way and lowered himself onto Vetinari, deepening the kiss.
Vetinari’s long fingers were suddenly everywhere; they were tugging at the collar of his shirt, caressing his back, fumbling with the fastenings of his breeches… Vimes let his hands glide under Vetinari’s under robes again, fingertips softly flitting over the Patrician’s bare skin.
There was a gasp from Vetinari. Momentarily, the fingers stopped prying between Vimes’s now exposed buttocks, hovering ever so slightly over them as Vetinari relished the touch of the hands on his bare skin.
Vimes was very pleased with the immense reaction his actions seemed to draw from Vetinari, even though part of him felt sorry for the loss of finger movement in his lower regions. Perhaps something would remind Vetinari…?
Vimes boldly applied his lips to Vetinari’s neck.
Vetinari moaned. It was a moan full of meaning, Vimes thought, a moan telling him to go on, because, gods, gods, yes, he liked it very much. It made him growl a little triumphant growl, which set gooseflesh all over Vetinari’s skin.
The Patrician chose that moment to pry Vimes’s breeches off entirely and cup the rediscovered buttocks with his spidery hands. He squeezed ever so slightly.
Vimes had thought, right up till then, that he was slightly too old already for the sort of erection Watchmen liked to boast about. He had been so very, very wrong, he realised as he bit hard into the pillow right next to Vetinari’s head. His very own, straining erection was currently prodding the Patrician’s inner thigh with a very tentative and wet prod, indeed. It was terribly embarrassing, Vimes thought, until he found…
…a very hard object poking his stomach.
He relieved the pillow he had been biting down on and tried to look Vetinari in the face. He realised only now how heavy both their breathing had become. Vetinari looked slightly wild, his eyes bright and alive, and - Vimes realised with sudden shock - quite sobered again. The game was now between two more or less equal minds.
With a start, Vimes realised Vetinari was staring at him and grinding his hips into him at the same time. The Patrician seemed quite pleased with Vimes’s facial expression, but he would be in for a surprise.
“You - you,” breathed Vimes, crawling a little higher up Vetinari’s body, so as to look straight into his eyes again. “Havelock, you - beast!”
Vetinari was completely surprised at the use of his first name, and Vimes caught the small hint of shock just before he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the Patrician’s again. Inwardly, he grinned exceedingly broadly.
Suddenly, Vetinari’s hands were on his shoulders and tore the two men away from each other. Vetinari stared intently at Vimes, eyes wide, eyebrows arched into a frown. He took some time to catch his breath, then said, “Sir Samuel, truly… Where do we want this to end?”
Vimes considered this question for a moment, studying Vetinari’s face again. It was blank, as was usual, and suddenly the Patrician seemed cold and distant. But there was something, thought Vimes, squinting a little, there was something hidden just behind his eyes… It was fireworks waiting to happen.
“Does it have to end, sir?” he said at last, cocking an eyebrow. Vetinari now frowned thoughtfully, and it dawned on Vimes that it was to calculate how far he would let the Commander under his guard, this time. Vimes decided it was time to help the Patrician a little with making his mind up.
“Does it have to end,” he repeated, “Havelock?” He held his breath. The emphasis on his first name made Vetinari’s face change again. It was as if a great many emotions were trying to crawl from under the grasp of the Patrician’s guard all at once; anger, consternation, a hint of fear, a shade of dull warmth and fondness and - Vimes released his breath with a hiss - undiluted desire.
“Why?” Vetinari whispered at long last, stroking a strand of hair away from Vimes’s forehead.
“Does there need to be a why?” Vimes said, tracing a finger over Vetinari’s lips. “Let’s not think of the why. Let’s focus on the fact that there’s a what, which we need to define a bit more.”
Just as sudden as Vetinari had had his guard up, it was down again entirely, and he was entangled in the bewildered Commander, who fought for breath as arms clung around his neck, lips were crushed onto his own, hips were grinding, one throbbing erection rubbing another…
Somehow, everything went wahooni shaped. The world collapsed, thunder rolled, lightning flashed, there were magic sparkles and… Vetinari was holding both their erections in one hand, while the other clung onto Vimes’s behind for dear life.
In all honesty, Vimes was exhausted. He had made long days for a week or two previous to Vetinari’s surprise abduction, and all the impressions his senses were leaving on his brain were exhausting him even further. Things were getting blurry around the edges and he wasn’t too certain what Vetinari was doing, but gods, he was very good at it. Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, oh gods yes.
Vetinari was feeling very, very sober again. His blood was pumping wildly through his veins, and he was moving his hand between their bodies, faster and faster and faster, and Vimes was making a sound which seemed like a mix between a grunt and a sigh, and gods, oh, gods, gods, gods, oh…
“S-samuel,” hissed Vetinari, letting the word slip out slurred, his hips jerking, hot liquid squirting over his hand and belly.
“Hhhaaavvvelock,” Vimes breathed, before his most intimate body fluids mixed with the Patrician’s. As soon as the spasms had died away, he collapsed over Vetinari.
For a minute or so, Vetinari lie staring at the ceiling, catching his breath, absentmindedly stroking the hair on the back of Vimes’s head.
“Si - Samuel?” he whispered after a while. There was no answer. He frowned and prodded Vimes in the shoulder. The Commander grunted, then snored.
Vetinari sighed deeply. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable with having to sleep with Vimes on top of him, and he didn’t even mind that much that the man had dozed off, but he did mind the sticky, lukewarm - stuff that was cooling and hardening between him and Vimes.
+++++
Sun filtered into the room through the thin grey curtains. It crept over Vimes’s face, and he couldn’t deny it any longer; it was time to get up. But before he did so…
He let his hand float over the side of the bed next to him. He touched something warm, something that was skin, that was body. He managed to drag the body closer to his, and snuggled his nose into the crook of what he knew to be a neck. And sniffed.
“Hrm,” he murmured, a little amused, “you smell funnily, Sybil. You smell of Patrician.”
“That would be because I am the Patrician,” said Vetinari’s voice next to his ear.
Data seeped into Vimes’s groggy brain; skinny frame - not at all like Sybil; hairy cheek - certainly not like Sybil; deep voice - absolutely not like Sybil…
His eyes snapped open and instantly locked with Vetinari’s steady gaze.
“Good morning, Sir Samuel,” the Patrician continued. “I believe we are quite stuck together.”
Literally, Vimes thought, the memories of last night coming back to him. He groaned. “I’m dead, aren’t I?” he said.
Vetinari chuckled a little. Vimes couldn’t remember hearing him do that before. “I don’t know, Sir Samuel,” he said. “I hadn’t yet checked your… vital functions.” His hands had somehow found their way to Vimes’s behind again, and gripped it quite tightly. Vimes gasped. “Ah,” breathed the Patrician, “I do think you are quite alive, Sir Samuel.”
Vimes was red with embarrassment. I’m damn well aware I’m alive, he thought, a bit angry with himself. He sat up abruptly. “Would you care for a bath, my lord?”
Vetinari blinked momentarily. “Oh yes, that would be very nice.”
“We’ll have to share it, though,” said Vimes, a menacing hint in his voice.
“I am not afraid,” said Vetinari quietly, eyeing Vimes with a covert look.
The bathtub in the room adjacent to the Dull Grey Room was large and metal coloured. It took quite some time before it was filled entirely, and all the while, Vimes tried to keep out of the Patrician’s way. He wasn’t certain, himself, why. Perhaps it was to be on the safe side. Perhaps he couldn’t trust Vetinari. Perhaps he couldn’t trust himself with Vetinari…
Soft foam reached to the very rim of the bathtub. Slight hazes of steam came off it, and that, combined with the semi-darkness, made Vimes’s heart beat just a little too fast for comfort. It was simply too romantic.
Vetinari leaned on the rim of the bathtub and let his body graciously slide into the water. He breathed out a sigh of bliss as the warm water enclosed him.
Vimes was a bit less gracious and nearly fell off the rim when trying to get into the tub. Vetinari had to help him, and he plunged into the water, splashing a generous amount over the rim.
A few moments, they sat in silence, studiously ignoring each other while stealing glances from the corners of their eyes. At last, Vimes was the first to move, and flung himself onto Vetinari.
Slippery kisses, slippery bodies, slippery fingers, combing through slippery hair… Long, slippery digit, suddenly prodding where no one had dared prod before…
Vimes yelped. “That’s my -!”
“I’m well aware of what that is,” said Vetinari, quite levelly. “Now relax, stop protesting, this will only hurt a little…”
The prodding index finger found its way in, nearly as graciously, Vimes realised with a shudder, as Vetinari had found his way into the water. He tried to relax and concentrate on the sensations as the finger slowly moved in deeply, then equally slowly out again almost entirely, was joined by another, went in, out, was joined by a third…
Vimes realised it didn’t hurt anymore. He had relaxed completely, leaned back against the rim of the tub, his eyes closed.
Suddenly, the fingers moved out entirely, and Vimes was about to protest when something larger and harder replaced them. His eyes snapped open again, his chin dropped onto his chest and he stared at Vetinari, who had a worked up and concentrated look in his face.
Then, the Patrician started to move his hips. He thrust them forward, and Vimes yelped again, because, quite a bit unexpectedly, Vetinari had hit a sensitive spot that send a few strong magical sparkles through his body.
Vetinari started to build up a rhythm of thrusts and pulls, Vimes shrieked, his head thrown back. Water splashed over the rim on all sides, and the quantity which remained in the tub was wild and stormy.
Vimes was convinced that every thrust was carefully calculated in Vetinari’s brain, making certain the both of them got measured out strokes of magic sparkles, but he didn’t much care; never before in his life had he done something like this, and he knew very well that when the nausea at the back of his throat would take over, he would be a dead man bathing. A dead man fucking. Fucking the Patrician. Gods.
He was a dead man in any case.
Just as he realised this in the depths of his feverish brain, he did die. Or at least, it felt as if he did, it felt as if he died of passion, of an explosion deep down, erupting, engulfing him, taking him over the edge.
A moment later, Vetinari slumped over him. It took a few minutes before they had caught their breath and the water had subsided in the bath.
Vetinari looked Vimes in the eye.
“This remains between us, Sir Samuel,” he said, preparing himself to get out of the bath.
“I’d rather not that anyone joined in,” said Vimes, shuddering slightly. He was thoroughly puzzled and suddenly even a little disgusted with himself. Last night, all this had been a game, but he wasn’t too sure now.
Vetinari had slipped out of the tub and wadded over to a chair, where a few towels lie. He didn’t look up when Vimes attempted to scrabble out of the bath, failed, fell back into the water and cursed. He managed to finally get out at his third attempt.
“Gods, that does hurt,” he growled, drying himself as much as possible with the towel.
“I hadn’t said it wouldn’t,” the Patrician said. Vimes growled some more, all the while trying to formulate a question, pieces of which he had been turning over in his mind.
“Were you ever genuine?”
Vetinari looked up sharply. “Were you?”
Vimes frowned. “I - I’m not certain,” he said. “I think I must’ve been genuine in fulfilling my duty…”
Vetinari snorted. It was an awkward sound. “Your duty,” he said. “Yes, such a good job you did at doing your duty, Sir Samuel.”
“I never wanted to disappoint you, sir,” Vimes said, a little uncertain. “I do have to admit that this… sort of thing is not really my sort of thing…”
“Pah, Sir Samuel,” said the Patrician. “No more about it.”
Vimes felt rage bubbling up inside him. “You can’t just dismiss it like that!” he said. “It’s not something impersonal! I’d like to know why! You never answered that question yourself!”
Vetinari was already straightening his robes around him. “No,” he said. “I never did, and I certainly do not feel obliged to do so now. I would like to remind you, Sir Samuel, that you were ever first to make a move.”
Vimes stared at him, his mouth open. “Gods damn you,” he raged. “You provoked me into doing that every step of the way!”
“Even so,” said Vetinari smoothly, “I’d think it advisable not to linger on this… business. Let’s move on, shall we?”
Vimes nearly choked with rage. “Move - move on?”
“Indeed,” said Vetinari, closing the space between them in one fluid pace. “Let’s see this as a once in a lifetime experience, and one of the best birthday presents I ever managed to lay my hands on.” He swiftly kissed Vimes on the lips. “Don’t trouble yourself with questions, Sir Samuel. It was a confusing night. You will get over it.”
“And how am I supposed to face you again in your office, when Carrot’s there constantly?”
The Patrician eyed him with a darkly amused look in his light eyes. “Whichever way you please, Sir Samuel. I doubt I could stop you, in any case.”
Vimes’s rage subsided a little. Things started to make just a little more sense. “What about Sybil?” he said.
Vetinari apparently absentmindedly let his finger flit across one of Vimes’s scars. “She understands,” he said shortly.
“She - what? How would you know?” said Vimes incredulously, quickly adding, “Sir?”
“Don’t you think she would have rushed into that Dull Grey room yesterday night, as soon as she heard to make such noise, Sir Samuel, has she not known?”
Vimes pondered this for a moment, a little alarmed. “But - would she be angry?”
“She understands,” Vetinari repeated, moving into the direction of the door. “After all, it was I who made you do it, and she understands you have to do your duty… thoroughly.” He opened the door and moved into the corridor. “Good day, Sir Samuel. In all certainty, I will see you again soon enough.”
Too soon, Vimes thought miserably when the door closed behind the Patrician. He stared at the door for several minutes.
“Sam,” a voice suddenly said behind him. He spun on his heels, and felt the colour drain from his face. Sybil!
“Sam, Sam!” she said consolingly, when he tremblingly hugged her close to him.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered. She stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head.
“Silly Sam,” she said. “It’s not your fault. Havelock has had sharper men - er, people than you do what he made you do last night. It’s not your fault.”
Vimes looked at her uncertainly. “It isn’t?”
She smiled, warmly but only ever so slightly pained. “It isn’t,” she said. Vimes kissed her.
“Wherever would I be without you?” he said softly.
“Drunk in a gutter, I’d think,” she said, nudging him a little.
He grinned wearily. “Oh, yes.”
“There’s one thing you need to know, though,” Lady Sybil said. There was a small hint of concerned urgency in her voice which didn’t escape Vimes.
“What’s that?”
She bit her lip. “Havelock might try it again,” she said.
“What?!”
“Oh yes,” she said, a little smugly. “He likes the way you’re able to surprise him. He looked very pleased when I passed him in the hall this morning. Even hummed a little, I say!”
“Gods, Sybil,” Vimes said. “What am I supposed to do?”
She took his cheeks into her hands and looked him straight into his eyes. “Try to enjoy it,” she said.
Somehow, Vimes thought, the world has become a different place. A madhouse. And I’m lost in it. He simply stared at Lady Sybil, and he was certain an immense question-mark was floating a few inches above his head.
“Trust me,” Lady Sybil said, looking him into his eyes and shaking his head a little with her hands. “It’ll be better if you try to enjoy it. He’ll be terribly surprised. No one ever does enjoy it.”
“And he never wonders why?” Vimes muttered. Lady Sybil looked at him warningly. He sighed.
“Don’t you mind?” he asked. “Don’t you mind having to share me with someone?”
“It is Havelock we’re talking about,” she reminded him, as if that was the right sort of answer to Vimes. She saw the uncertainty and discomfort still displayed on his face. “Look,” she said, “Havelock and I, we’re old friends of sorts, okay? I somehow feel he deserves a bit of, you know.”
“Gods, Sybil, listen to yourself, you’re trying to justify what I’m doing,” Vimes said wearily.
“So?” she said. “It needs justification in your eyes.”
Damn. She’s always right in the end, Vimes thought.
“Very well,” said Lady Sybil, seeing how she had made her point. “Now off you go to get dressed.”
Vimes kissed her again. “Thank you, Sybil, thank you for everything.” She blushed fiercely and pushed him into the direction of his dressing room.
+++++
It was only two days later that, one morning, Vimes and Captain Carrot were expected in the Patrician’s office.
As they proceeded down Filigree Street, a grin started to creep over Vimes’s face again. Lady Sybil had told him he could always surprise people, even the Patrician. He had the power to surprise, he realised. A very powerful thing, indeed.
His grin grew more pronounced and he started to hum. Carrot glanced at him sideways, non-plussed.
The square in front of the palace was emptier than last time Vimes had seen it. He paused a moment to light a cigar. He puffed thoughtfully, grinning still, and squinting against the sun to look at the windows of the upper floors of the palace.
The power of surprise. Vetinari didn’t yet know what surprise was.
Life was good.
THE END
Do review ^^
And now...
Fandom:Discworld
Title: Shock & Surprise, The Art
Rating: NC-17
WARNING: SLASH, nudity, not worksafe!
Medium: Pencil, background in Photoshop
Notes: Well, when all's said and done... This is the art to the story.
Well, that's it for now. Do leave a note telling me how you liked/disliked everything and why. Thank you.