fake married. dear god.

[middling]

( This isn't funny. He knows the Lady thinks it is, because she'd laughed a tinkling laugh after telling Ivan about the new task she had for him. He doesn't know if By thinks it's funny because he hasn't looked at the other man long enough to figure it out, and partly because the last thing he needs is hearing whatever barbed comment Byerly can throw at him. I need you to do something with the Dilettante's new Chamipion, Lord Vorpatril. You don't mind, do you? And no, of course he hadn't, because there was a chance that said Champion was female and who is Ivan to turn down that chance?

Now he wishes he had, because it turns out they're supposed to be spying on someone. Which is Byerly's field of expertise, so at least his presence makes sense. But not Ivan's, no. And not only are they spying -- has he mentioned how much he dislikes that? Because he does. But not only are they spying, they're having to pretend they're married or partnered or whatever they call it here. He'd made an attempt to turn and walk the other way, and when that had been brought up short by a polite cough from the Lady, had flat out said no.

It hadn't worked. He hadn't even known the other man was here! But of course he would be, smirk in place. Ivan can already feel the headache building and can't believe his rotten luck. Out of all the people in the Nexus to show up, it's Byerly Vorrutyer. And, oh, did he mention that she'd introduced them with and don't you know each other, Ivan?

Good God. )

Right. ( Ivan says, faced with transportation, luggage, and Byerly Vorrutyer. ) Let's get this over with.

Comments

[bysexual]

[His mouth curves upwards in delight. It's always so much more fun when they play. Under most normal circumstances Byerly would use that as an impetus to absolutely lacerate his partner in discourse.

But that next comment reaches for some small, lingering creature steeped in sympathy buried deep beneath his myriad veneers and that smile becomes a flickering frown.

He knows why. Of course he does.]

Scared, darling? Should I hold your hand?

[He purrs it. Sympathetic thought does not mean sympathetic action.]

[middling]

( Ivan's expression turns decidedly unamused; sending the attempt at fake flirtation into the recesses of his mind. )

I'm not-- ( He starts, the usual defenses springing easily to mind. He's not scared, he's not claustrophobic, he just has a healthy appreciation for places that aren't small and damp. ) Forget it, dearest. ( That came out far more threatening than Ivan is sure most partners are with each other, and pulls it back with a drawn-out sigh. He still can't believe he's doing this, and with Byerly Vorrutyer of all people, but he doesn't really have a choice in the matter. If staying alive is dependent on how well he can convince everyone around him that he and By are married, the other man is right. He'd better start now. )

You know you don't have find an excuse to hold my hand.

( It still sounds pained to his ears, but the fact he is no longer contemplating how quickly he can throw himself out of a moving vehicle is surely progress. )

[bysexual]

[This is fast becoming one of his favourite missions ever. Of all time. And that's including the one with the dancing girls.

Byerly pats his thigh.]

Nor anything else, if the whim strikes. Alas, I know your propensity for failing to perform in public spaces so I'll have to restrain myself until we're properly alone.

[middling]

( No, he is right back to contemplating how he can escape as quickly as possible. Ivan chokes and feels his cheeks flush a pink that he can just hear the other man call fetching in his most obnoxious voice. )

By.

( Does that sound strangled? Surely not. He's better than this, dammit. Also no one's said that before in his life, but apparently the part of his brain that applies itself to his self preservation reminds him that bringing it up right now would be a bad idea. )

Please continue to do so.

( For his own sanity, if nothing else. )