Lianda (Miles/Elli):

He walked through the sliding doors into the hallway carrying a towel, some toiletries, and a tote bag. Head high, he walked, and waved cheerily as his crew saluted him as he passed. Another mission accomplished. Head swimming with glee and body twitching with near-hyper joy, Miles poked his head into the room at the end of the hallway.

“Miles?” A soft alto voice called out from within. “Is that you?”

Miles clicked his tongue. “It is I!” He cried, strutting inside and standing akimbo in front of the woman sitting on the bed.

The woman cocked her head, her lips smiling helplessly at the small figure before her. “What’s all this?”

Miles grinned like a manic. “Quinn! Love! Joy of my heart!” He brandished the tote bag. “I come bearing gifts!”

Quinn leaned forward. “Hmm?”

Miles opened the bag happily. “Sex toys!!” He began rummaging through the bag...and pulled out a plastic tube.

Quinn raised her eyebrow. “That’s a sex toy? It’s a...hollow plastic tube...”

Miles frowned. “I got it from the Orb...they were selling out like crazy, I swear.” “But what’s it for?”

Miles reddened, sheepish. “I honestly don’t know.”

“...maybe you stick it somewhere?”

Miles reddened even further, but before he had a chance to reply, the comconsole rang. Quinn looked over; it was Elena, breathless with excitement. “Bothari-Jesek reporting!” she said in a crisp voice.
Miles blinked. “Hey, Elena!” he cried.

Elena blinked. “Yes, Miles?”

Miles held up the tube. “D’you know what this is?”

Elena blinked. “Oh!! Baz got me one for my last birthday!”

“Really? That’s great. What is it?”

“...I used it to clear my drain.”

Riko (Ivan/Elena):

If he ever found out, Miles was going to kill him. And maybe, in no small way, Ivan deserved to die. After all, this was much, much worse than seducing a friend's girlfriend or, more accurately, a friend's kid sister. In his cousin's mind, he and Elena were all but married with twelve children and a little cottage in the backcountry.

Still, it was hard to argue with Elena Bothari when she had one hand on his chest and another pulling the white tee over her head. And it was even harder to argue with Elena Bothari's breasts because they were really just fantastic.

It had just been coy, token, silly flirtations at first, but now...? Ivan went through with it, following up on those tiny promises he and Elena had been trading for months, fully aware that this was a crappy thing to do to Miles and at the same time, aware that this would make life difficult in the future no matter which way things ended up.

It was only after she'd fixed her hair, pulled her underwear and shirt back on, and disappeared into the depths of Vorkosigan House that he realized that Miles was not the problem. Nor was the nearly incestuous reality of what had just happened. Not even the almost unavoidable scolding Mile's father would bestow. The problem was...Bothari was going to slaughter him. Slaughter him dead.

Lianda (Mark/Gregor):

Mark sat at the edge of his bed, aware. Aware of the gross fat deposits in every corner of his body. Aware of his ragged breathing as he tried to stuff yet another handful of hot Vorbarr Sultana air into his searing lungs. Aware of Kareen’s body lying on the bed beside him, and aware of the pain inside his head.

Carefully, oh, most carefully, he reached a bloated hand into his trouser pocket, and pulled out a blank card. He looked down at it with bleary eyes, fingering it, flipped it over and over, bending it back and forth to see if it would break. Finally, he sighed, and slowly, oh, so slowly, crept up to the comconsole at the desk on the other side of the dark room. He looked back at the dark form of Kareen on the bed, and watched as her chest rose and fell in the constant rhythm of sleep. Clearing his throat, Mark slid in the card. The nondescript man automatically transferred him to the receiver.

A few seconds of painful silence as Mark hunched uncertainly in his chair, and the vid screen blinked on.

Gregor, Emperor, blinked back at him, hair askew, shirt wrinkled, the buttons of it open half-way down revealing a remarkable about of chest. Gregor’s eyebrows drew down. “Mark? What-it’s the middle of the night...”

“Sire–” Mark managed to choke out. “I...” So this is what perfection looks like, in the middle of the night.

“Yes?” came the soft, patient–so patient–answer.

Mark stared at the screen. Stared at dark eyes which seemed to pierce into his very soul. Stared at the pale, lean face which controlled an empire. Stared, and, couldn’t speak. Not now. Not ever. NO. “Sorry...I...it’s nothing. Sorry.” he breathed. He shook his head. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so...

Gregor spread out his hand. “It’s all right. I’m...always here.”

“...yes. I know.”

“Goodnight then.”

“Sire.”

Gregor stared a moment, and then the screen went blank.

Mark hunched back into his seat once again, blowing out the breath he didn’t realize that he was holding. And closed his eyes.

Riko (Miles/Dono):

There was just enough sour in the wine to make it pleasant. Or was it better to say that there was just enough wine to make this wretched party pleasant? The Vorbrettens were anxious, and who could blame them, to cling to what little social standing was still left, but the entire evening had seemed more like some sort of communal last supper for a prisoner on death row.

Add to that the fact that some unenlightened partygoer had opened the large double doors wide, letting the scalding night air ripple through the gathering, and Miles was one very unhappy Imperial Auditor. /All the ale in Valhalla couldn't make this enjoyable,/ he thought glumly as stilted laughter caught his ear, the response, no doubt, to one of René's tired attempts at humour.

"Slow night," came the comment from behind, and Miles didn't have to turn to recognize Dono's voice.

"Excruciatingly."

"In my past life," Dono mused, drawing up to Miles's right elbow and rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "I don't remember René and Tatya being quite so...boring."

Miles swirled his wineglass and shrugged a little. "Things change."

A bright smile. "Oh, that I know."

"How are you...er...adapting, anyway?"

Dono's lips twitched on the edge of a laugh. "Not badly. I think my old beaus are having a harder time of it than I am, to tell the truth."

Miles thought of Ivan and had to grin. "I must confess, I'm glad to be missing out on that."

"You always were difficult to pin down." Dono's eyebrows raised just a bit as he brought a wineglass to his lips.

"Ah...never was one for older women."

"How 'bout older men?"

"Ah..." Miles said evasively and then, tossing the remaining wine down his throat, figured what the heck. The party really was that bad.

-and then guess what happened-