"Gentleman Jole And The Barrayaran Emperor." (Vorkosigan Saga) R
Title: Gentleman Jole And The Barrayaran Emperor. (On Archive Of Our Own)
Author:
lannamichaels
Fandom: Vorkosigan Saga
Pairing: Gregor Vorbarra/Oliver Jole
Rating: R
A/N: Thanks to
southern-continent-skies for reminding me about this fic languishing mostly-done in Scrivener. Whilst reading Gentleman Jole, I decided to take Oliver Jole's authority kink and throw it somewhere else. Because, hey, when you're already dealing with consent problems, why not double down? Note that Jole is totally up for this, but there are inherent consent issues due to rank, and potential coercion; he is saying 'yes' but he also doesn't really have the ability to say 'no' and make it stick. Proceed accordingly!
Summary: A lieutenant did not throw himself at an Emperor. But a lieutenant could be thrown...
The Emperor's hands were warm and firm on Jole's thighs. Jole tightened his grip on the bedsheets and did his best not to move. He'd been ordered not to move, and he was, as always, obedient to his superior officers. Especially this superior officer.
Jole could feel the hum of the engines of the Prince Serg beneath him. Somewhere outside, the machinery of the ship continued on as normal, but inside, Jole was in a whirlwind of his own mind. He would never have dared imagine himself here when he'd joined the Service, which, of course, had not stopped him at all from imagining it. He had overlapped one year at the Academy with the Emperor, but had never had the honor of meeting him. That had come later, during the parade where Jole was merely one of the unending number receiving commendations from the Emperor's own hands. Jole had never had the opportunity to make an impression.
But then the Emperor had found his way onto the Prince Serg through a method that will never be declassified in Jole's lifetime. Jole had kept his mouth shut and his eyes open and was rewarded when the Emperor requested and required his own aide. The Prime Minister had glanced at Jole and had easily seconded him over, as easily as the Prime Minister had ceded the Emperor the best stateroom aboard. Jole was, after all, the only aide aboard who was certified in the ImpSec advanced course. The Prime Minister could requisition another aide. The Emperor deserved the best.
And Jole was using every ounce of that advanced course. He knew how to stare an assassin in the face and accept the knife meant for his superior. He knew how to use his death to buy time. Those were the risks he accepted in service and gladly. He could certainly keep himself quiet and still as the Emperor took his pleasure. The Emperor's breath was hot against Jole's skin, and Jole fought against every instinct to show the Emperor his appreciation. But he knew better. He knew how to live to serve. Jole had grown up in an unimportant city in an unimportant district and he was not going behave improperly and thereby waste his only opportunity to personally serve the Emperor.
All oaths went to the Emperor eventually, but Jole's hands were directly between the Prime Minister's, not the Emperor's. But now Jole's body was between the Emperor's hands. The Emperor was long and lean and strong. Jole could never have imagined it would be like this. He never could have imagined he would feel like he could finally settle, like everything would be fine, and all he had to do was obey.
The Emperor finished inside of him with a long, low groan and then pulled out. To Jole's surprise, he felt a firm hand wrap around his cock and give a few pulls. This had never happened in any of Jole's few fumbling encounters with those of his own rank, but the Emperor was gracious. Jole flushed with gratitude. Performing for his Emperor would never be a hardship, but the Emperor was giving him this gift nonetheless.
"Dismissed, Lieutenant," the Emperor said, the first thing he'd said since he'd ordered Jole to the bed. Jole bowed with a mix of emotions. He knew what the pinnacle was like now and he knew he'd never reach it again. But he was grateful and glad to have been given the chance. He would remember this for the rest of his life.
This entry was originally posted at https://lannamichaels.dreamwidth.org/1076814.html.