"On The Internet, Nobody Knows You're An Emperor." (Vorkosigan Saga) R
Title: On The Internet, Nobody Knows You're An Emperor. (On Archive Of Our Own)
Author:
lannamichaels
Fandom: Vorkosigan Saga
Pairing: Ivan Vorpatril/Gregor Vorbarra
Rating: R
A/N: Okay so it's a month+ late to the bingo deadline, but here we go: Bingo! For my free space square for 2019 Season Of Kink, filling as Anonymity.
Summary: Gregor tries internet dating. Or, Ivan is enjoying being catfished by someone blatantly using pictures of the Emperor.
1.
The profile picture shows a torso and upper legs, but it's immediately recognizable as Gregor's. The background is one of the rooms in Gregor's private wing. Ivan briefly admires the guts on anyone who would use the Emperor's pictures in a dating profile, but then again, Ivan's using a picture of a cat he doesn't own, so fair's fair.
The profile -- Bleakman? What kind of name is Bleakman? -- is otherwise generic. Bleakman enjoys reading. Uh-huh. He rides horses. Yeah, so does everyone Ivan's ever met. There's really nothing in particular that catches Ivan's interest other than the admiration for anyone who would take a picture from some Imperial archive somewhere and splatter it on a site that is filled with Vor who only want to get off in as an anonymous a way as possible. It shows more effort than most of the profiles, including Ivan's.
So Ivan sends him a message and moves on. His philosophy has always been to throw out as many nets as possible and to not care when most of them come back empty. It hasn't failed him yet.
2.
The message back takes him by surprise. It's a full three weeks after Ivan sent his, after all, and most people on that forum are either quick off the block or never show up. Ivan's a little busy at the moment, though, because Gregor just got back from Komarr and that means a flurry of activity and Ivan has to go strategically drinking with Vorbohn and loudly repeat everything some nameless people had whispered to him the night before, because it's always so funny that Ivan Vorpatril never knows when he's being suborned for treason and always thinks it's a great drinking story to repeat to all his friends.
Ivan's a bit sick of the whole thing. Maybe he'll start asking Gregor even more pointedly to send him on embassy duty somewhere else. There's got to be fewer assassination plots on other planets. Got to be. There certainly can't be more.
So it's gratifying, but really not the best time, when Bleakman sends him a dick pic and wants to chat.
But it's very direct and to the point, so maybe Bleakman also doesn't have that much time right now. Ivan emphasizes with that, so he accepts the chat and settles in for a five minute jerk-off session before he has to go meet his uncle.
3.
Bleakman isn't the most regular of Ivan's virtual hook-ups, but he's the most creative. Ivan hadn't even thought you could do some of this stuff without seeing the other person, let alone touching them. Bleakman's probably got a lot more experience with this than Ivan does. Either that, or this is Bleakman's only experience. Ivan at least gets real dates sometimes. Bleakman's schedule is so varied, he must be in one of those jobs where you only rarely get to come up for air. Internet dating was invented for those people, Ivan thinks. And it makes sense. Gotta get the most efficiency out of your hook-ups if they're rare and time is precious.
It's fantastic for leaving Ivan feeling like he's been trampled by a horse, but in a good way. All hail busy jobs. They've got unexpected side benefits.
4.
Ivan's mother is sorting through photos of Gregor and for unknown reasons, Ivan has to sit here and help. Okay, okay, he was told the reasons, but he doesn't feel like he's representative of anything, let alone an expert on what inspires the young people of today. Ivan's inspirations never have anything to do with Gregor, except in the obvious way.
"These are all so stuffy," Ivan complains. "What's wrong with something more casual?"
Ivan's mother pins him with a stare. "This is for official release, Ivan. Don't be absurd."
"Yeah, but," Ivan says. "He's got more casual portraits. I've seen one." He can't say where he's seen it, of course, but just because he can't specify, doesn't mean he can't be specific enough. His mother should be able to place the photo from a few details. She knows everything. "It's in that sitting room off his bedroom and he's not wearing his formal uniform. It's something like, oh, like what he wore to Kou and Drou's anniversary party."
"I don't care what Gregor showed you from his private collection or what he told you to try to convince me to do," Ivan's mother dismisses. "I've already told that boy it's over my dead body. Focus, Ivan."
"Uh. Okay," Ivan says and mentally tries to rewind. Huh? What? Gregor's never shown him anything from his private collection! Gregor didn't tell him to do anything! Ivan hasn't talked to Gregor in three months! His mother should know that, she sees Gregor's schedule.
But Ivan's seen that picture and he knows what Gregor looks like, and he knows that's Gregor. But if the Residence never released the photo, how did it get into Bleakman's dating profile? It's not like anyone can just rummage through these things. Bleakman would have to be ImpSec or in Residence Security or work in the upper levels like Ivan's mother does.
...Or be the Emperor?
Could Bleakman actually be Gregor?
That can't be right.
...Can it?
Ivan gets the sinking sensation that it just might be. But it's not. It's really, really not. Nope. His life isn't that kind of soap opera. It's not.
5.
Ivan scrutinizes Gregor the next time he sees him, trying to squint and see if Gregor seems the type to have kinky sex over the internet. He really doesn't. But also a little like he does. The problem is, there's enough of a possibility wiggled into his mind now and he can't stop seeing it. But he might just be seeing things. He probably is. He hopes he is.
So Ivan waits until a night when he knows that Gregor's schedule is completely clear and then he goes to the dating site.
'I know who you are,' Ivan sends. 'Should I pretend that I don't?'
The reply is immediate. 'Yes'.
Oh, good, Ivan thinks. 'OK. Now about those nipple clamps...'
And, hey, maybe he's wrong! Maybe Bleakman lives one floor up and thinks Ivan's figured it out! It might not be the Emperor at all! On that cheerful thought, Ivan takes his trousers off.
This entry was originally posted at https://lannamichaels.dreamwidth.org/1076066.html.