maskormenacelogs | (no subject)

[ She half whispers as she holds her cupped hand out further for him to see into it, lowering her voice for the person he'll find there. ]

Special delivery. May I come in for a moment?

I-- what?

[ But he's hurriedly both lowering his voice and taking a step back, whispering at as soft a decibel as he can manage, staring at the two inch Miles. ]

Miles? What's this about?

He's a bit drunk at the moment. We had a good talk with some wine, but he wanted to come over. I thought this might be safer than a trek through the carpet.

[ She walks over to Gregor's bed, carefully setting her hand on the covers for Miles to climb off. ]

I also have been meaning to give something to you,and thought this would be the perfect time for it. [ She holds up her other hand to Gregor, holding a notebook, some crumpled papers and an envelope. ] Start with the top there and work your way down.

[ He eases down onto the pillow, finding it a throughly soft landing spot if not a fully dignified one. He's definitely, distinctly wobbly over the link, though given he hasn't had his limit yet he's just kind of vague.

But not so out of it he can't realize what else his mother brought with her. There's an indignant, betrayed noise over both their links. ]

What? You brought those? Mother!

[ A bit drunk? No kidding. Though it does seem to be only a bit, Gregor bites back the immediate, instinctive urge to chide him for shrinking while inebriated at all. Miles has to be allowed his freedoms to do small stupid things so he doesn't do large stupid things, he knows that very well.

Then he's distracted taking the sheaf of papers from Cordelia. Miles's handwriting? In deference to him, he widens the link to Cordelia, enough to converse through easily so they can forego verbal conversation entirely. His mother's name is on here, along with a lot of other scribbling-- no, wait. ]

... Prince-Consort Lord Admiral Miles Naismith Vorkosigan Vorbarra?

[ Gregor sounds bemused at first, until the implications hit him, and there's a ripple of shyness and uncertainty chased by undeniable warm pleasure. If he focuses on just the plainness of it, Miles's title should he marry him, he's not conflicted at all. It's just the rest that comes with marriage that gives him pause. ]

No, no, he corrected it to Captain. See? [ She cheerfully points out the scribbled fix. But after a brief grin to both of them she starts heading to the door. ]

But I'll leave Miles to explain the rest of it. Have a good night, you two.

[ Miles just groans physically and mentally, dropping a hand over his face as if that will save him. He's bright red - a fact that is likely more tangible via his embarrassment over the link than it is actually visible at his scale. And shy too, attuned to Gregor's response now that he's reading the damn thing. So far so good, but - a rejection at this point, even a gentle one, would be rather crushing. ]

I'm sorry, it's presumptive and silly. Please just throw them away, for the love of God...

[ And damn his mother for meddling. ]

[ Gregor waves belatedly to Cordelia as she leaves, already thoroughly distracted, and sits down carefully on the bed, far enough away so as not to disrupt Miles's footing and topple him.

He ignores the papers for a moment to set them on his lap, reaching out with one carefully extended finger offered to him as if for company. A curl of humor winds through him, soft in response to Miles's transparent mortification. ]

It's a little juvenile, but I wouldn't call it presumptive or silly. I thought you were all right with ignoring that topic for a while, though.

[ Because whether or not they intend on getting married is a huge, glaring elephant in the room and Gregor knows it. He doesn't feel particularly equipped to make a decisive statement on it yet, but he can at least talk about it if it's bothering Miles. He'd though that pushing that conversation off was a mutual agreement and is concerned he's been ignoring his feelings on it. ]

[ He eyes the finger for a moment. If he weren't still tipsy, that would be mortifying too. As it is ... eh. He has bigger things to feel shame about. So instead he sort of flops bodily against Gregor's fingertip, leaning his head back back against it. ]

I am. I really am, Gregor. [ He exhales, his tiny chest rising and falling in a huff. ] I was just daydreaming, that's all.

[ That's... cute. Mostly because it's Miles flopping against him, but at least a little because all tiny things are intrinsically cute.

Speaking of which, thank God. Gregor could talk about it if necessary, but he's still not quite ready and really would rather not. So instead, teasingly, with some relief, ] Think you're ready for all the Your Highness-ing, are you? There hasn't been anyone to Your Highness since my mother.

[ There's an echo of relief on Miles' end too - smaller, but distinctive. He was being honest when he'd said he wasn't ready either. That's a complicated subject even for marriage-mad Miles ... ]

There are certain counts I would take great joy in outranking, yes. [ An image of one of the arch-conservatives comes to mind. As well as the very satisfactory image of that same count having to swear fealty to Miles through gritted teeth. ]

[ Complicated indeed. Gregor of all people isn't afraid of commitment-- he's inclined to grab on hard with both hands once he finds something he wants to be permanent-- but in this case there's rather a lot to grapple with that has nothing to do with Miles and everything to do with Barrayar.

Talking about it obliquely helps, oddly. Maybe it's normalizing it. Gregor snorts softly, trying to keep his finger still. ] Someone should take some joy in it, I suppose. What're the rest of these? [ He glances back down at the top paper. ]

[ In a way, that was exactly what Miles had been doing. Perhaps to the exclusion of the negative side of those thoughts rather than an intentional avoidance thereof, but not so dissimilar.

He turns at that, leaning against Gregor's fingertip from the other way. Chin resting against him instead of the back of his head. And ... eying that paper with another spike of embarrassment. It's very difficult to see from this vantage point, but given the crumpled folds in the pages he can only assume those are ... ]

Baby names.

[ It's easier to face the negative side if you feel shored up by the positive, after all. Gregor can't argue with that tactic, even if he doesn't consciously know that's what they're doing.

All he's doing is cautiously trying to keep things lighter, especially with Miles a little drunk, and thus potentially prone to turning maudlin. It's a little ticklish having him against the pad of his fingertip, but he wouldn't shift him for the world.

He scans the names, ignores the cross-outs with long practice. He's sat through plenty of meetings about the Prince Serg without flinching. Certainly what he's naming his Crown Prince has come up and been firmly rebuffed as his father's name already. ] I've no objection to using your father's name, you know. As much as that'd make them squawk. He's more than earned the honor.

[ Slowly, very slowly, the embarrassment trickles away again. Gregor doesn't seem upset, or even put out ... That leaves Miles shyly wanting to approach the topic. It is, for Miles anyway, somehow easier to talk about than marriage. These hypothetical children that he wants so very badly to meet one day ... He can consider those outside the context of Gregor, if he must. Thus he settles again, soothed. ]

You know he'd come around to it. As much as we may have to convince him first.

[ Children are their own fraught topic for Gregor, but one he's extremely practiced in ignoring his own personal feelings about in order to discuss practically and hypothetically. This is even familiar. That they're Miles's hypothetical children makes it that much easier.

Plus, it seems to be working in getting him to relax, which Gregor wants him to do before sizing up again. ] What's to convince? We're just following tradition. It's the girls we'd have to discuss. Unless you wanted to pay respects to your grandmother, the last Vorbarra Vorkosigan. Olivia.

[ He is much more relaxed now, even comfortable. If there's one good thing to come out of his bad idea, it's that he's getting more comfortable with having his power on. Between this and the nightly visits, he might come out of this with a reasonable level of control yet.

Of course it helps having other things to focus on. He blinks for a moment, trying to remember if he'd written that name down or not. It's not ringing any immediate bells, so maybe not ... ]

Olivia Delia Vorkosigan Vorbarra?

[ He notices how much more relaxed he is now and wonders for a moment if he should prompt him to shift upward again, but decides against it, since he still has more to go through and is somehow enjoying having Miles tiny like this for the process.

With gentle affection, ] That has a nice ring to it. Now. Are you going to protest if I see what the next thing is?

[ Miles cranes his head around again, still not remembering what the hell it is his mother insisted he'd written. He can't even see from this spot ... Quite suddenly, he decides he needs to be closer for this one. So he clambers over Gregor's fingers to slide carefully down the pillow and close the gap. Just enough to see that yes, that definitely is his own handwriting on the envelope, heart mark and all.

God. What the hell did he put in there? ]

I don't know what it is. I don't remember writing it.

[ Gregor scans it, curious, but is very quickly overwhelmed with trying to suppress his laughter, which is likely to be thunderously loud to Miles. It results in a stifled sort of cough and his mindscape lighting up with a wash of fondness and humor like a swift, high wave. ]

Just how drunk were you when you wrote this, Milenkij?

[ Oh, god. He does remember this dimly. He'd just thought it was a dream brought on by having drunk too much ... clearly he was wrong. The only thing saving him from just about exploding from embarrassment is the fondness he feels radiating off of Gregor. Well - at least Gregor likes it. Miles still reads the letter with considerable dismay. (And a secret little flare of fondness at being called Milenkij, even in jest. ]

Extremely drunk. I don't remember most of the rest of the night.

[ His fondness ratchets upward into outright love and adoration, and he ignores the small whispered thought that Miles had dealt with his pining much more healthily than Gregor had, if this is what he'd written. Gregor's poems from that time period are things he never wants Miles to read. They wouldn't be embarrassing; they'd be all too telling.

Instead he gets to let his inner trickling laughter coalesce with his adoration as he sets the stack of papers aside, tucking them into his night stand drawer so he doesn't lose them, before turning back to Miles. Now is the right time, he thinks. And the right time, too, to test another theory, that having incentive lets Miles do this on his own easier. Although with him even the slightest bit tipsy, Gregor is going to mentally be there to stabilize him and ensure it goes well, no doubt about that. ]

I'm not surprised. Think you're ready to get up here? You said you'd kiss me in the future and I'm expecting you to make good on that promise.

[ It helps that Miles hadn't subconsciously realized he was pining for Gregor other than that last, painful segment of it. If he'd gone on any longer, he might very well have started writing terrible poetry.

Ah ... but Gregor is leaning in front of him now, and Miles finds himself very much wanting to kiss him. Not doable with him this small. That already starts up a stubborn flare of determination in him - it steadies his mental hand as he reaches back for the mental coil around his powers. If anything it sort of helps being tipsy, because he's just got no time for tying himself up in mental knots over this. ]

Back up, then. Unless you want me to kiss you by collision.

[ Gregor moves back obediently, settling himself against the bed pillows. He observes with amusement that stubbornness flaring up. ]

All right, go ahead, Prince-Consort.

[ He can't help but feel a little curl of glee at that title, even as teasing as it is. Tex calling him "little prince" had been nice; hearing it directly from Gregor's mouth warms him all the way down. It's that resolution that steadies him most out of anything else. Wobbling a bit mentally, he takes a deep breath and calls up that familiar coil in the back of his head. It's not entirely smooth - he sinks back down a few times - but over the course of about twenty seconds he pulls himself back up to full. Oof.

Which he immediately celebrates by leaning forewarn into Gregor's lap to kiss him. ]