Chapter Text
By the time Sam had stumbled through the walls and hidden cabinets to Vetinari’s bedroom, he was rethinking his bold plan to reciprocate what Vetinari had given him. The lovely dirty things he'd done with that exquisite mouth. He had come to the Palace in an angry mood, and still might be angry again. At the doorway Vetinari put his hand on a random series of small panels, and pushed the door open. He turned to a dresser and lit a bright candle. Despite his churning thoughts, Vimes scrutinized the chamber, which was a small sitting room. A dark red couch and side chair shared an end table piled with books. Two other bookcases filled one wall, with a drinks cabinet between them. The cabinet was clear of iconographs but held glasses on a black lacquer tray.
The room did not have carpet, but a large red and white old-fashioned rag rug sat in front of the couch. Vetinari noticed Vimes’s expression and said mildly, “It throws people off.”
They stole quietly through a small dining nook, which would have a dramatic view over the city when the curtains were opened, and into the bedroom. Vimes had seen it before, when Vetinari was ill, but it had been modified. The bed was brass, and larger than he remembered. The sheets were shining white, and the coverlet black, but they weren’t silk. Vimes rubbed the top sheet with two fingers.
“It’s 300-thread Klatchian cotton. An indulgence.”
The black coverlet was also lightweight, perhaps twice as thick as the sheets. A small wardrobe stood on one wall, next to yet another bookcase. The area rug seemed new, another black and red pattern.
“You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you,” said Vetinari, just as Vimes realized he’d been investigating the room and not the occupant beside him. “Look,” he spoke awkwardly, “about what just happened—” and Vetinari turned to him with the cold icy blue stare he saw so often.
“I understand. You got what you wanted from me. I’ll reschedule our meetings; perhaps you would like to send Captain Ironfoundersson instead.”
Vimes squeezed his eyes closed for a second.
“No, you’re not listening. I’m not any good talking about—things like this.”
“Sex, you mean.” Vetinari leaned against a bureau and crossed his arms. Even stark naked he radiated a chilly aura than Vimes felt impossible to cross. But he longed to cross that barrier. Vetinari held his gaze, which had turned opaque; his lips were tight. Vimes was on the wrong foot again, as he always was with Vetinari. This was going very badly. Vetinari stepped forward, moving toward the door.
“Your offer did seem a bit precipitous. Please don’t let me detain you.”
Vimes could not let that pass. “Shut up,” he hissed. He was between Vetinari and the door, which suddenly seemed a bad idea. How to explain himself? Vetinari’s hand twitched toward a candle on the bedside table, and Vimes knew it was a blunt object to hand, and probably had weapons inside as well. He started to sweat, not from the heat.
Lighting struck close by, in a blue-white bolt, with thunder instantaneously behind it. Vimes jumped, and then let the momentum carry him to Vetinari’s side. He stretched out his shaky hand to Vetinari's and pushed it down.
“Don’t pick it up. Listen to me. I was in a rage when I came back tonight. I didn’t know you had been staring at me until you—I saw you drag your eyes up and down.”
“I regret my behavior. It will not reoccur.”
Now Sam took Vetinari by both shoulders. He didn’t shake the man, but pressed his fingers into the firm muscles. Until tonight he thought Vetinari was soft—he always wore those long robes, and that pale skin advertised someone who never worked outside. When he’d grabbed the Patrician, he was surprised by the wiry strength. Does he fence? Or climb? He told me he ran across rooftops across the city to save me—save John Keel—but that was a lifetime ago.
“I didn’t know what I was going to do until I got to your office. Then I wanted to shake you and pound you into the wall, pay you back for all your digs at me.”
“I assumed so.”
“Just shut up for once! I thought you might kill me. I know you’ve got knives and weapons stashed everywhere. But when I had you pushed against the wall, I—wanted something different. I wanted you to—yield to me, and yes, I wanted to punish you.” He thought back to that long-ago time, two hours, maybe. “I wanted to—if I’d thought I could get away with fucking you, I would have.” Vetinari tightened himself, vein pulsing faster in his neck.
“You couldn’t have.”
“I—that was then. But not now.” Vimes embraced Vetinari, putting both arms around him and letting his hand slide up the neck to cradle the base of Vetinari's head. The black hair was still sweaty from the heat. Then he kissed Vetinari, gently, not wanting to use his tongue yet.
“I saw you hesitate. I knew you had that club in your bookcase—not a very good hiding place, if you ask me. Then—you went down on your knees when I told you to. I couldn’t believe you did what I—never mind,” he said, because Vetinari’s eyes were hard. “That was a thrill, but I was scared, too. You could have bitten me. It was—I could tell you didn’t want to, and then—I felt it when you changed. You used your mouth— (and your tongue and hands, dear gods ) in a way that—you seemed to—you wanted to be on your knees for me. I forced you as, as—payback, I guess—sorry, sir, but that’s what I did—but by the end you wanted it—wanted me. Isn’t that right?"
Vetinari held a hard gaze for another two seconds, then blinked and took a slow breath. He slipped his arms around Vimes. “Yes. I’ve desired you for—a long time. I hoped, however, that we'd go to bed after eating a quiet meal, and kissing each other breathless."
“Sorry sir.”
“Don’t say sir to me, not here. Use my name.”
“I’m—Havelock—sounds odd.”
"I order you to use my name."
Vimes laughed. “Then you should use mine too. And no ‘Sir Samuel,’ either.” He dared to rock Vetinari—Havelock—gently. “Sit down on the bed. I need to talk to you.”
When Vimes sat on the bed, he discovered that the sheets were cool, and that his sweat was making him chilly. He shivered a second, then readied himself. “Look, sir—Havelock—I was serious about what I said—I did offer - to - use my mouth. I meant it. But I’m not nearly as talented as you are—your tongue is amazing, how did you learn—never mind. I’m—it’s been a long, long time, since—I had just joined the Watch—and only a couple—well, only one, really, the other decided I was, he said I was, ah, that I was - awful - at. . . sucking him." Was he going to tell Vet - Havelock - what happened? He didn't want to. But he needed to explain himself. "He said that since I was so bad at it, he wanted to fuck me instead. So he did.”
Havelock had been leaning against him, his long arm around Sam’s waist, and he squeezed gently. Then he turned his face to Sam’s shoulder and kissed it, then his neck up to his jaw, gentle small kisses. Caresses.
“I wasn’t lying, but—I don’t think I can make you happy that way. But—I know I can—here,” he carefully pushed Vetinari down onto the mattress, and more roughly shoved the top sheet and coverlet away. “Let me—” and he decided not to use words. He leaned down and kissed Havelock on the mouth, using tongue this time, and stroked his neck. He carefully slid half-way over, leaving his thigh between Havelock’s and kissed him on the notch of the collarbones. Then he moved down the chest to the brown nipples.
“You liked this, didn’t you?” He whispered. “I thought you wouldn’t like it, that’s why I did it, sorry, sir. But—you enjoy having your nipples licked and sucked. That much I know how to do. It’s not different from—” he choked.
Havelock meanwhile had been massaging Sam’s back. “You’re too tight. You’re so tense you’re about to break.” He rubbed a bit longer, then opened his bedside drawer and pulled out a stoppered bottle.
“Aha!” Sam snorted. “I wondered whether you had anything. Let me—" his hand slipped between their bodies to grasp Havelock’s cock. The Patrician—gods he was having sex with the Patrician! Again! smiled up at him. “In a bit. You really are too tense.” He suddenly flipped their bodies so Sam scrabbled at air, and then was face down.
“If I relax I’m going to fall asleep.”
"Then go to sleep.” He did, but only for a short time. It still stormed when he woke up. The refuse of the city—from the houses on high streets, like his, from stinking gutters, from the cattle markets, and everywhere in between was being pushed down streets to the Ankh; it might even flood if the rain didn’t stop soon. The Night Watch was out in the storm even now.
“Stop thinking. It’s making you tense again.”
His back did feel much better, and he stretched it, felt his muscles warm and loose.
“Okay, enough now. Get over here.” Sam caught Vet--Havelock in his arms, then rolled them over. Havelock's blue eyes were rich and deep in the candlelight. He started again—nibbled at the neck, slid his tongue down the chest, to the navel, hesitated. He kissed the rising cock, not yet fully hard, and licked around the head.
“That’s all I know how to do, for now.” For now? Was this going to continue? What if the man decided all he wanted was this singular expression of passion before they went back to their semi-antagonistic roles? He couldn’t guess, but tonight he would return pleasure for pleasure. He reached for the bottle of oil and slicked his palm.
"Now let me have you,” and he took the warm prick in hand. This wasn’t much different from what a man could do for himself, but he varied it. Quick up and down, slow squeezes, a thumb around the slit—and here he paused to give a lick as well. How long could he stretch this out?
Havelock lifted his arms above his head and fastened his hands on the middle brass rail. “Hold me.”
“Hold—how? Alright.” And he raised his own arm and pressed Havelock’s wiry ones into the mattress. I still need to find out how he keeps in shape—stop thinking! After that he had no doubts - he could tell how much pleasure he was giving. The man with iron control wanted to be under someone else’s for a time. Samuel started kissing again; this time he plunged his tongue down as far and hard as he could, and Havelock—groaned, he could never have imagined the man could groan. He thrust his tongue in again, again, and pulled back only to let his partner breathe. He would never have imagined when he slammed out of Vetinari’s office at noon today that he’d be making love to the man twelve hours later. Or that what Havelock needed was to let go of his impenetrable façade, to gasp, moan, writhe, to be held down by another man. His head tossed from side to side, the smooth dark hair flying, and he kept making delicious noises.
If he likes letting go, I’ll bet he likes to be fucked, too. Wonder if he’ll let me— but that would have to be another night. Havelock had reached his peak and was cursing as he came under Vimes’s hand. Sam waited till he had stopped shuddering, then brought up a cleaning cloth Havelock had set out. He carefully wiped the flat belly clear, wiped his own hand, then bent down and kissed the softened cock.
“Teach me,” he murmured. “If you want me again, teach me.”
“You’ll come back?” Havelock’s arms wrapped him quickly, then let go a bit, as if he hadn’t meant to move fast. Then he tugged Sam onto his back and they lay side by side.
“If you think—” and now the chains of his duty pulled at Sam. He started over. “I want you, yes. Do you think it would work? I’m still Commander of the Watch, and we’re going to piss each other off just as much. Well, you’re going to piss me off, and I’ll put more dents in the walls. When the gossip columns get hold—”
“They won’t.”
“They will. I know DeWorde sends that damn vampire out at night when the other reporters don’t go. He can see things—and you can’t make them stop watching, you’re the one who allowed a free press anyway.”
“We’ll be as discreet as we can. If—when—it comes out, I’ll face it.” Havelock’s hand tightened on his.
“We’ll face it together, sir. Damn, I’ve got to call you sir again in public, this is awkward.” It was impossible. He’d known it would be a unique night when he came to the palace. He hadn’t even been sure he’d walk out alive, unmaimed, but he’d been moved by intense fury.
“Just say Vetinari. Or Patrician. I say we try it, and if I have to retire to have a private life, I will.”
“Si—Havelock! You can’t retire—who?”
“I have plans.”
Sam fell asleep again quickly, and realized when he woke again that it was early morning, warm rather than scorching, and the smoke was gone from the air. The smoke hadn’t cleared yet from what they had done, what would happen, how they could continue. But he found he agreed with his boss. It was worth it to have a chance at—would it be sex only? Very good sex. Or more. He knew he’d blow up again, in public. In private—friendship at least. On that happy note he got out of bed. His clothes were cleanly laid out, his boots and armor brushed.
“Oh gods. I didn’t think about the servants! They’ll talk!” He glanced up in panic at Havelock, who was now completely dressed in his long black robe, and held out a teacup with a blue and white design.
“If they talk, I’ll sic the dark clerks on them.”
“Sir—damn it, anyway, sir, you—if you hurt them I'd have to stop you."
A small grim smile. “I find terrifying insinuation works well. When you’re dressed I’ll show you another way out.”
He pushed away the sheets, crossed the room, and eased the delicate teacup onto the bureau. “I always knew you had a wicked tongue—didn’t know how wicked.” He kissed Havelock. “I’m glad we found another way out.”