Work Text:
Viceroy's Palace, Sergyar
1201 Kareenburg Standard Time (KST)
“I've seen that look before,” Aral says, giving his wife a narrow-eyed glare. “You’re plotting something!” He turns to Oliver, standing a few feet away in his slightly disheveled undress greens, hands clasped behind his back, all innocence. “Are you in on this?”
Oliver smiles his most charming smile. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Aral dear.”
Aral’s eyes crinkle again, in amusement. “You think I am fooled, Rabbit? I can spot a conspiracy at a thousand klicks, even at my age.”
“Don’t give us that dotage bullshit, Aral,” Cordelia quips. “You capsized and righted that damned sailboat no less than six times today.”
“Yes, well, I did have a little help.” Aral smiles indulgently at Oliver, who returns him a winsome expression.
“Better him than me,” Cordelia mutters under her breath.
“So, do I get to know your scheme now? Or do I have to ask Oliver here to leave again so you and I can be alone?”
Cordelia opens a hand to Oliver, who stares helplessly at her for a moment.
“Well, it is officially your birthday…” Oliver trails off at Aral’s churlish huff. He glances at Cordelia once more, gives her a pleading look, blushing pink. This was your idea! he thinks at her. Why do I have to be the one to propose it? She just smiles and motions him to go on. Argh!
“So, we thought… well, Cordelia asked… I mean, we agreed…”
Aral frowns at him, puzzled but amused. “Spit it out, Rabbit!”
Oliver is turning red now. He opens his mouth to speak. Can’t say it. Closes it again. It really shouldn't be this hard to offer Aral something he will certainly enjoy.
“Oh, good god, man!” Cordelia turns to her husband. “Oliver and I wanted to know if you’d like to break rule #6 with us for your birthday.”
And it’s Aral’s turn to blush much to Oliver's astonishment. The range of things that man is willing to try and he blushes about this?! Cordelia just grins, evilly. Sadist! he thinks, fondly.
In fairness, Cordelia’s idea of a birthday present for Aral genuinely surprised Oliver, too. Number Six on the Vorkosigan’s Unofficial List of Barrayaran Sexual Taboos is ménage à trois. In all the years Oliver has been with Aral, the idea has never occurred to him until she asks. Not that one of them hasn’t been in the room while Aral makes love to the other, from time to time. Somewhere along the line, Aral developed a mild exhibitionist streak, which Cordelia indulges happily, and Oliver under certain conditions; just watching, no touching.
All three of them together, it is a new step. It is one he is prepared to take, with only a little trepidation. Clearly it is something Cordelia’s put a lot of thought into; it has required an unholy amount of schedule coordination to create this window of opportunity for the three of them. Even so, Oliver must be at work the next day. He feels it’s worth it for the day of sailing alone. The rest… well, who knows just yet?
“Well, well,” Aral says at last, clearly pleased. “I don’t have to ask either one of you to leave. Happy birthday to me!” He pulls Cordelia close to kiss her, deep and long.
“See Oliver,” Cordelia says when she and Aral momentarily break apart. “I told you he likes surprises!”
Oliver rolls his eyes and shakes his head at her. He crosses to Aral and claims the next kiss. After a moment, Aral disengages from him, turns him gently but firmly toward Cordelia. She raises her chin, a challenge in her eyes. Oliver leans in to kiss her with passion for the first time.
It is thoroughly pleasant. So very, very different from Aral, and not just because of the soft lips and lack of facial hair. She smiles when she kisses, and he wants to drink her in. Yes, he could learn to enjoy kissing Cordelia. What’s that phrase she uses? Ah, yes. Positive conditioning.
He is reminded of the joke Aral made, that long ago evening when Oliver’s control had finally broken and he’d made an unmistakable pass at the Great Man. “First taste is free, Oliver.” And Aral is an addiction for Oliver, just as much as the other way around. Could Cordelia be so as well?
Oliver hears Aral’s sharp, lustful intake of breath. “I’m not sure if my heart can take this,” he growls, grabbing for either of them - he's spoiled for choice after all - and, coming up with Oliver, pulls him down onto his lap for another firm kiss. Aral’s hand finds its way under Oliver’s collar and begins to undo the regulation clasps.
With a tinkling laugh, Cordelia moves in to run hands through both men's hair. “Ha, if you’re new heart isn’t up to vigorous sex that’s news to me,” she sighs in their ears.
Both Aral and Oliver blush at that.
“Excuse me, Oliver,” Aral says, setting him on his feet again. Aral rises from his chair, and in one smooth motion, throws Cordelia over his shoulder. He makes for the Viceregal bedroom suite.
“Coming, Commodore?” he says over his shoulder. Laughing, Oliver follows.
1215 KST
Oliver hesitates at the inner door that leads to the bedroom in the suite shared by the Count and Countess Vorkosigan, Viceroy and Vicereine of all Sergyar. This, too, is a step he's never taken. It had been Oliver's only hard and fast boundary, firmly asserted, explicitly part of their agreement: he never goes into their bedroom, and she never comes into the room set aside for him, where he and Aral make love alone. Cordelia's never even been to his quarters on base, a bit of an imbalance now that Oliver notices. Whenever the three of them are alone together – and those times are vanishingly rare – it is always a place that is still private but less personal and sacred to each couple.
From the bed, Cordelia smiles a knowing smile at him. “Just for tonight, Oliver. There’s no place else large enough.”
How does she always know what I'm thinking?
Then Aral tilts his head at Oliver, inquiringly, and that has him crossing the threshold, taking them both into his arms. They sink down onto the bed together. And it is all new and familiar and breathtaking and devastating all at once for very long, long hours.
0125 KST
Cordelia starts to sing - quietly and very off key but still recognizably singing - as Aral kneels between her thighs, clearly doing something pleasing with his tongue. Oliver, busily putting to good use on Aral one of the lessons he'd learned from a very different Betan Captain, momentarily halts to give his lover an amused-appalled expression. Aral also pauses, shrugs. "She does that from time to time," is all he says.
Oliver grins. “Now, where was I?” He moves a finger. Aral gasps and then so does Cordelia. “Oh, yes, here,” he chuckles. And gets on with it.
0245 KST
“You'll have some explaining to do, back at base."
This from Cordelia, who is sitting on the bed next to them, idly running her hands over their bodies as Oliver makes slow love to Aral.
Oliver says nothing, trying not to allow Cordelia to distract him. Aral smirks at him and Cordelia laughs, because of course she is distracting him. She runs a single nail down his back. His traitorous body shivers. And he is blushing. All the way down.
"Only… if someone sees me… sneaking back in," Oliver pants after a few moments, then tries to kiss the smile off Aral’s face.
Cordelia turns her attentions back to Aral, helping Oliver in his endeavor not one bit. “Can I reopen the discussion around earrings now?” she asks, mischievously.
“No!” From both men, loudly.
0317 KST
"Let me see your eyes," Aral gasps out. Oliver isn't sure to whom he's speaking. He and Cordelia both turn their faces up to his. He somehow meets both their gazes. "Come for me," he commands.
They both obey.
0423 KST
“Arrêt!" Oliver pants, pushing away from them. "I can't anymore!"
"Yes, you can," Aral replies huskily, guiding Cordelia back to him.
“Oh, god!” And he reaches to bring her in closer. "How do you have more stamina than I do?”
In answer, Aral strokes a hand down Oliver's side, making him shiver against Cordelia’s body. She giggles a trifle manically. She is also flagging, but she’s not about to admit it to either one of them.
"Allons-y!" Aral says.
Oliver wills himself into a third wind. Or is it fourth. He’s lost count.
They are so much younger than Aral, she by virtue of being both 10 years his junior and Betan, Oliver by being 39. It shouldn't be possible for this man to be screwing rings around them.
Much, much later he realizes Aral's secret is he kept them so busily focused on each other, reveling in their pleasure as he allows himself a break. Ah, ever the Master Strategist, choosing his timing and his ground. Oliver didn’t think it was possible to love the man more, but his cleverness does it every time.
0636 KST
The black of night is melting into grey when Oliver snaps awake, prompted by his inner alarm clock. Fuck! He has to be at work, somewhat functional, by 0800.
Aral and Cordelia are asleep, curled around each other. Oliver had been spooning them when his damned brain had told him it was time to wake up. Five more minutes, he thinks wistfully, but knows he can't possibly. If he goes back to sleep now it will be for hours and even a Commodore can't just bunk off whenever he feels a wee bit exhausted from hours of mind-blowing sex.
He kisses Cordelia on the back of her neck, whispers "Joyeux anniversaire, mon coeur!" to the gently snoring Aral. He retrieves his uniform from the various places it’s been scattered and slips into the bathroom. He probably has time to sneak back to his quarters on base but choses to expend a little more time and effort here instead. He wishes he'd thought to set his uniform outside the door last night - this morning? - for some Armsman to have cleaned, pressed, folded, and waiting for him by this time. He'll have to make do with a hot iron and a steaming shower.
Commodore Jole is nearly spit and polish by the time he needs to leave. Almost can't see the bags under his eyes, he laughs.
Armsman Rykov hands him a go-cup of coffee doctored just the way he likes it as he emerges from the suite. "Thank you, Armsman," Jole says lightly, refraining from adding you're a lifesaver! He gets only a brief nod of acknowledgement.
His car is waiting by the back entrance to the palace, a bit of very much appreciated privacy for his leave taking. He makes his way back to the base, whistling a little.
The Commodore is waved through at the base’s main gates by a pair of very young guards who give him identical admiring grins. Oliver feels a blush come over him, knowing what they're probably thinking. He shakes off the embarrassment. Let them make assumptions about where Commodore Jole spent his night. What those boys don't know won't hurt me, or them. Although he knows he’d better get back into the habit of being more discreet.
His aide brings him more coffee at his desk. He knows he needs to find time to catch a nap at some point during the day, however. Tonight, Commodore Oliver Jole is expected to give a speech in honor of his mentor, Viceroy Count Aral Vorkosigan at the Official Birthday Bash. If he doesn’t manage at least a couple hours of down time, he’s simply not going to make it. Just like the mischievous Vorkosigans, to arrange things so he still must work a full day and then attend Official Business after a night like that. He entertains himself for most of his shift thinking up ways to get back at Cordelia for it. He knows none of them are ever going to happen, but at least he can focus on something besides flash backs to the previous night or how utterly exhausted he is.
Then in a flash of inspiration, he opens his calendar, blocks off two full days around Aral’s next birthday and sends a meeting request to Aral and Cordelia. Even at a year out it may take some juggling, but much easier than starting with just a bare eight weeks’ notice. He closes the program with a satisfied grin. It’s all kinds of hubris, and not a little bit risky, planning for next year. But what the hell? It’s tradition now, right?
Your move, Cordelia!