Fic: Lie Back and Think of Barrayar
So here's the other forced-to-share-a-bed cliché fic I mentioned, though this one's actually really very gen. Also, it's all Avantika's fault, because she said she didn't see how I could write a non-AU fic in which Aral and Alys wound up in the same bed, and then promptly suggested this plot bunny.
Title: Lie Back and Think of Barrayar
Length: 850 words
Content: PG. More or less crack.
Summary: A political party. Quite a lot of brandy. And a moment of confusion.
Alys had barely managed to fall back asleep for the third time when she was jolted awake again, this time by raucous noises on the stairs. She muttered some words her grandmother would have been appalled by, and pulled a pillow over her head, but it didn't quite muffle the sounds enough. She should have gone back to town at the end of the evening, she thought, and joined Cordelia and the boys at her flat, even if it was a two-hour journey in the middle of the night. It would have been more peaceful than this.
The vote was going to be exceedingly close, and Aral had decided to follow his father's tried-and-tested approach of collecting all of his political enemies under his roof and pouring as much of the best wine down them as he could, in the hopes of either mollifying them or extracting useful information or simply leaving them too hungover to care about politics, whilst Alys worked the wives more sedately. The difficulties with the drains at Vorkosigan House had forced them to use Vorkosigan Surleau for the party, and that meant most of the guests were staying overnight. Alys had made her way up to what she believed had once been Aral's childhood bedroom after an exhausting evening dancing through political minefields with the ladies, and had hoped to get to sleep, but the men's party had grown increasingly noisy as the night wore on.
She heard Count Vorvayne's voice outside, sounding more friendly than she'd ever heard him before. "That your room? All right, in you go. G'night!"
Then she swallowed a squeak as the door to her room began to open. A man fell in, landing on his knees beside the bed. The door swung closed again, and Alys was left alone in darkness with a strange, evidently drunk man in her bedroom.
Then the man mumbled, "Serg'nt? Need a hand here..." and she realised it was Aral.
There were more voices in the corridor. Alys didn't move. She couldn't go out into a corridor full of drunk Vor lords in her nightgown, and she certainly couldn't tell them that Aral was in her bedroom by accident and his was further along. The last thing this vote needed was a delicious little sex scandal, and she knew all too well how even the most innocent mistake could turn into a juicy story. She'd made use of just such stories from time to time in her own politicking.
"Aral," she said quietly.
"Shit!" Aral responded, reaching out wildly. "What the--"
"Ssh," Alys said, sitting up. "It's all right. You've got the wrong room, Aral. Can you make it to your own room?"
"This is my room," Aral said blearily. "Always been my room."
Alys reached out and put the bedside lamp on, sweeping her hair back and making sure her nightgown covered her fully. "No, your housekeeper put me in here. You're in the master suite tonight."
Aral gradually focused on her. "Oh. Alys. Right. Sorry, m'lady." He tried to stand up, but didn't succeed.
Sending him back out to make his way to his own room was not, Alys could see, going to be a practical plan. There were more laughs and heavy footsteps from the corridor. She couldn't quietly escape either. They were stuck here.
"All right," Alys murmured. "All right. You'd better stay here."
Aral leaned sideways against the bed and looked up at her. "Sorry about this," he said again, a little more coherently. "Thought I'd be all right, but ... right at the end, I was just getting Vorvayne to come around, and he kept pouring the brandy... got him, though. Changed his mind."
"That's good," Alys said. She looked down at Aral. It was a large bed, she thought. If it had been any other woman's husband, she wouldn't have done it, but Cordelia would entirely understand the story. She'd probably even be amused by it. "Come on," she said. "You can't sleep down there. Get into bed."
Aral was fading fast now, his eyes drooping. "Yeah," he mumbled. "But... yeah. Bed."
Alys sighed. Padma had had a far stronger head for drink than Aral, but she'd had to help him to bed a time or two. She got up and helped Aral sit on the side of the bed, took off his shoes for him and his jacket, then with a grimace and with her eyes wary on his hands and face, parted him from the assorted deadly weapons he was carrying. She wasn't going to share a bed with a man who clanked when he turned over. He flopped down with a wordless groan, and Alys struggled to get the blankets over him. Within moments he was snoring.
Alys had forgotten that sharing a bed with someone, especially a large and drunk man, was sometimes extremely irritating. Aral stretched out gradually over the bed until he found her, then ... snuggled, Alys thought, was the only word, in alongside her, mumbling in his sleep. Resigning herself to the situation, Alys let herself relax against him. He was family, Vorkosigan Surleau was a drafty old place, and he was warm. Gradually, curled in Aral's arms, she fell asleep.
Her final thought was that after this, they had better win the damned vote.
***
Cordelia's response.
Crossposted at http://philomytha.dreamwidth.org/54271.html
Title: Lie Back and Think of Barrayar
Length: 850 words
Content: PG. More or less crack.
Summary: A political party. Quite a lot of brandy. And a moment of confusion.
Alys had barely managed to fall back asleep for the third time when she was jolted awake again, this time by raucous noises on the stairs. She muttered some words her grandmother would have been appalled by, and pulled a pillow over her head, but it didn't quite muffle the sounds enough. She should have gone back to town at the end of the evening, she thought, and joined Cordelia and the boys at her flat, even if it was a two-hour journey in the middle of the night. It would have been more peaceful than this.
The vote was going to be exceedingly close, and Aral had decided to follow his father's tried-and-tested approach of collecting all of his political enemies under his roof and pouring as much of the best wine down them as he could, in the hopes of either mollifying them or extracting useful information or simply leaving them too hungover to care about politics, whilst Alys worked the wives more sedately. The difficulties with the drains at Vorkosigan House had forced them to use Vorkosigan Surleau for the party, and that meant most of the guests were staying overnight. Alys had made her way up to what she believed had once been Aral's childhood bedroom after an exhausting evening dancing through political minefields with the ladies, and had hoped to get to sleep, but the men's party had grown increasingly noisy as the night wore on.
She heard Count Vorvayne's voice outside, sounding more friendly than she'd ever heard him before. "That your room? All right, in you go. G'night!"
Then she swallowed a squeak as the door to her room began to open. A man fell in, landing on his knees beside the bed. The door swung closed again, and Alys was left alone in darkness with a strange, evidently drunk man in her bedroom.
Then the man mumbled, "Serg'nt? Need a hand here..." and she realised it was Aral.
There were more voices in the corridor. Alys didn't move. She couldn't go out into a corridor full of drunk Vor lords in her nightgown, and she certainly couldn't tell them that Aral was in her bedroom by accident and his was further along. The last thing this vote needed was a delicious little sex scandal, and she knew all too well how even the most innocent mistake could turn into a juicy story. She'd made use of just such stories from time to time in her own politicking.
"Aral," she said quietly.
"Shit!" Aral responded, reaching out wildly. "What the--"
"Ssh," Alys said, sitting up. "It's all right. You've got the wrong room, Aral. Can you make it to your own room?"
"This is my room," Aral said blearily. "Always been my room."
Alys reached out and put the bedside lamp on, sweeping her hair back and making sure her nightgown covered her fully. "No, your housekeeper put me in here. You're in the master suite tonight."
Aral gradually focused on her. "Oh. Alys. Right. Sorry, m'lady." He tried to stand up, but didn't succeed.
Sending him back out to make his way to his own room was not, Alys could see, going to be a practical plan. There were more laughs and heavy footsteps from the corridor. She couldn't quietly escape either. They were stuck here.
"All right," Alys murmured. "All right. You'd better stay here."
Aral leaned sideways against the bed and looked up at her. "Sorry about this," he said again, a little more coherently. "Thought I'd be all right, but ... right at the end, I was just getting Vorvayne to come around, and he kept pouring the brandy... got him, though. Changed his mind."
"That's good," Alys said. She looked down at Aral. It was a large bed, she thought. If it had been any other woman's husband, she wouldn't have done it, but Cordelia would entirely understand the story. She'd probably even be amused by it. "Come on," she said. "You can't sleep down there. Get into bed."
Aral was fading fast now, his eyes drooping. "Yeah," he mumbled. "But... yeah. Bed."
Alys sighed. Padma had had a far stronger head for drink than Aral, but she'd had to help him to bed a time or two. She got up and helped Aral sit on the side of the bed, took off his shoes for him and his jacket, then with a grimace and with her eyes wary on his hands and face, parted him from the assorted deadly weapons he was carrying. She wasn't going to share a bed with a man who clanked when he turned over. He flopped down with a wordless groan, and Alys struggled to get the blankets over him. Within moments he was snoring.
Alys had forgotten that sharing a bed with someone, especially a large and drunk man, was sometimes extremely irritating. Aral stretched out gradually over the bed until he found her, then ... snuggled, Alys thought, was the only word, in alongside her, mumbling in his sleep. Resigning herself to the situation, Alys let herself relax against him. He was family, Vorkosigan Surleau was a drafty old place, and he was warm. Gradually, curled in Aral's arms, she fell asleep.
Her final thought was that after this, they had better win the damned vote.
***
Cordelia's response.
Crossposted at http://philomytha.dreamwidth.org/54271.html