[ closed ] let me pour you the drink of my people

[forwardmomentum]

Who: Miles Vorkosigan & Bel Thorne
When: late...December...ish. 12/30 or 12/31??
Where: the bar
What: Miles gets Bel drunk on maple mead just to see what happens, gets a little more than he bargained for
Warnings: idk drunk shenanigans

Miles feels it's only fair that he take a couple of extra shifts at the bar, considering Jacky had to man it single-handedly while he was trapped in the morgue. Not to mention the week last month he'd been dead. Rather discourteous of him to not give notice, he finally agrees. He'll have to make sure he doesn't do it next time -- well, having given his word to Gregor, that's a pretty safe guarantee.

The extreme cold had indeed damaged some of the beer beyond repair, but Miles was delighted to find the maple mead intact. Well, with that alcohol content, it could probably survive anything. He'd had to run some hot water over the tap to get it to unfreeze, though. By the time people start trickling in, Miles has wiped the bar free of any lingering frost and polished a good number if glasses in prepration. Ah, to be busy again.

Comments

[hellsbel]

Bel's just about done in, and that hum of quiet understanding, comforting and caring and nonjudgmental, is almost too much. Flopping over into the thoughtfully provided pillow, the mercenary stretches from spine to fingertips, wishing -- and then there's a hand right there, warm-cool-warm over the scarred skin--

Betan to the bone, Bel lays still and peaceful for a moment, no flinch or twitch in evidence: just a long sigh into the pillow. It would be so nice just to let the touch remain; only the knowledge that it's Miles's hand gets them to move at all. That the hand stays brings the heat back to Bel's cheeks as they hitch up on one elbow, hair mussed, a hand moving automatically to rest gently over his smaller one.

The look on his face almost prods them out of the sleepy alcoholic haze. There's something there that will have to be dealt with later, when they're both awake and sober. Bel's only coherent enough to motion vaguely in the direction of the corridor. Miles knew what had been out there; he'd helped lock it up. "Thing? Got me early on. Din' even see it." They'd seen it later, of course, stalking the halls in vain with other monster-hunters. Ugly beast. And to think it had once been someone like them.... But Miles looks so worried, and he needn't be -- Bel hadn't been the only victim; plenty of people bore the mark. They'd all woken up in the infirmary. Aside from the scar, there was no harm done.

Shifting, hoping irrationally that Miles's hand would just stay where it was for a while, Bel reached up to curl reassuring fingers around Miles's jaw. "'s okay. 's gone now. Miles...?" The association was muddled, but the question itself was simple enough, something Bel had wondered for a while but had never found the right time to ask. "You'n Elli, 'd you get together back 'n Earth?"

[forwardmomentum]

Maybe it'd be easier if Bel were embarrassed at that touch, if they'd react the way Miles would expect himself to. But that long sigh, some twist of want and resignation, sinks into him, and his gaze shifts back to his hand on Bel's hip. Suddenly their skin seems to burn into his fingers. But Bel's laconic answer draws a frown from him.

"So why didn't you tell -- " That sentence ends on a sharp inward breath as Bel's fingers curl around his jaw, that warm, sleepy look still on their face, and color rises in his face again, unbidden. Miles' hand hovers.

The question comes so out of left field that Miles is nearly coldcocked, tensing as his expression shifts into a look of utter bewilderment before the question really catches up to him. "What?" He blinks in slightly sluggish noncomprehension at Bel. "Why do you ask?"

[hellsbel]

....oh, Miles wants to be told things like this? After the whole thing with the morgue?

Drunk or not, Bel recognizes irony when it's standing right there with its hand on their hip, looking so very, very shellshocked. What happened to all that maple mead you had, Miles? No, Bel's not embarrassed at all.

Smiling sweetly, Bel asks, "'s it a secret?"

[forwardmomentum]

Miles blinks again, flushes a little darker, looking something like some odd chimera of sheepish and deer in the headlights. It's the maple mead that's slowing him down, making him act without thinking, on -- not instinct. Something else. He can't seem to shake it. He hovers there still, mouth open, throat working, but still on a second's delay.

"I -- yes. Sort of. In theory," Miles finally admits lamely. There's a difference between keeping the professional and personal separate -- which they have, dammit -- and keeping a very good secret. Naismith had to get sloppy somewhere along the line eventually, he thinks glumly. After a beat of hesitation, he starts to pull his hand away, wincing. "How obvious?"

[hellsbel]

...good God, Admiral, stop being adorable.

And there it was. Elli'd finally made it -- honestly, after watching the two of them on the Triumph, Bel had been expecting this.

"Sorta~" Bel grins. "Good f'r you."

It's another thing to talk about after the hangover wears off. The Admiral's Betan, but Miles is not, but Elli's dating Naismith, unless they've decided otherwise....? Too many questions to answer tonight. But Bel's always Betan, so maybe it isn't a total surprise when they lean in against the other side of Miles's neck, lips at the edge of his jaw. Not quite a nuzzle, not quite a kiss.

"G'night, Miles." It's a husky murmur against his skin, and Bel's sinking back to the couch almost at once, sleepily reaching for the blanket; it's that or fall asleep on Miles's neck, which would be lovely but impractical. "Thanks.... f' all. This."

[forwardmomentum]

Bel's lips graze over his skin, their breath warm, and Miles goes entirely red, flinching only slightly and largely out of surprise, this time. He watches Bel fall back against the couch and exhales slowly. Maple mead, right. That's what's responsible for the odd warmth in his chest and the strange prickling of his skin. Certainly it's responsible for the relatively calm response to all of it. Miles gently tugs the blanket along with Bel's grip to drape it a little more neatly over them.

"Don't mention it," Miles says softly, tucking the bottle of water next to them. "Just try to get some liquids in you and get yourself some sleep." He smiles crookedly. "Promise I won't com you too early."

He's inflicted enough friendly cruelty on Bel for a while. Pausing to make sure Bel's tucked warmly enough in, Miles hits the lights and escapes silently into the corridor.