...no, I dont even have the excuse of filling someone else's prompt for this. But I just got my hand on Backup, and this showed up. (Also, I have no idea how long White Court vampires can live in canon; for purposes of this ficlet, it's 'as long as they feel like it.') Should probably warn for White Court sex without fully informed consent.
Byerly Vorrutyer glared discreetly across the crowded Imperial ballroom at the two men who were lounging against a table, sipping glasses of wine. They were both dark-haired, fit and moderately tall, handsome in a bland yet strangely captivating way, and they both had the air of people who were quite happy to be dismissed as useless. It was entirely unfair for there to be two Ivan Vorpatrils in the world.
One of them actually was Ivan; the other was a man named Thomas Raith whom Ivan had been introducing as an old friend of his from one of his offworld postings, which explained exactly nothing. The man was, unmistakably, galactic, which he made no effort to hide, and yet he had insinuated his way into Barrayaran high society as if he had been born there; or as if he had a great deal of practice at blending in to other cultures. He wore local civilian dress, just restrained enough that Ivan needn't worry about being seen with him, but carefully tuned to give the impression that he was entirely harmless and concerned with very little beyond the most shallow. It was an effective camouflage against the fact that he moved like someone who had been trained to fight, and his reflexes were just a little bit too fast and a little bit too good.
By was quite certain he was up to something.
"That man is up to something," said a voice from somewhere around By's left shoulder. He glanced over, and ah, Lord Vorkosigan. Looking, as usual at these events, extremely determined and only slightly the worse for drink.
By carefully schooled his face into neutrality. "I understand he's been on planet for about ten days, and he's pulled a different girl every night. I suspect, my lord, that he's up to no more than the usual."
Vorkosigan shook his head. "That only makes it worse, d'you see? Because I happen to know that everyone allowed in to this event was personally and carefully vetted by Aunt Alys."
By was, in fact, able to fill in the rest of that thought: even if Lady Alys might have chosen to invite a random galactic visitor, she would not have invited one who would simultaneously give her son someone to hide behind and distract potential Vor brides from him. Which meant that something of greater significance was going on.
"A friend of mine at the University mentioned he's technically here to do research in the historical archives," By told him instead, feigning disinterest. "Maybe the Lord Auditor's Profesora got him in."
Vorkosigan's eyes lit up at that and he smirked at By. "You were asking around about him, were you?"
By clammed up. Shit. He did not need to be teaming up with Vorkosigan on this. On anything. But before he could say anything, Vorkosigan made a follow-me gesture and said, "C'mon, we're going to go talk to them."
"We?" By asked him incredulously. "Since when do you need my help?"
Vorkosigan rolled his eyes. "You can distract Ivan while I corner Raith. I've never met anyone who's as effective at distracting Ivan as you are."
...and somehow, By found himself carried along in the little Lord's wake.
Before Vorkosigan could say a word, however, Ivan straightened up and took initiative. "Miles!" he said brightly. "There you are! Gregor was looking for you earlier, he wanted to talk to you about something." He waved at someone across the room. "And oh look, I think he's free."
By followed the direction of Ivan's wave, and sure enough, there was the Emperor of Barrayar, somehow alone in the crowd, watching them with a rather grim expression. By tried even harder than usual to make himself invisible as Miles said, suspiciously, "Talk to me about what?"
"Something about a letter from your mother and reallocating District funds and that new hospital building. C'mon, Miles, you know how he gets," Ivan said, and took off through the dance floor. Miles followed, muttering something about how not everybody had to snap to their mother's every whim, but not before giving By a slit-eyed glance so eloquent that it was practically marching orders to do something about Raith.
Luckily, By had never been particularly susceptible to military conditioning, and he just turned his back, to find Raith staring after them with an oddly abstracted expression. By raised an eyebrow.
"That man always reminds me of someone I used to know," Raith offered.
By snorted indelicately. "Lord Vorkosigan? Yes, you'd be surprised at the number of 4'10" insane tactical geniuses with hero complexes wandering around this part of the galaxy."
"Actually, the man I was thinking of was more like 6'10"," Raith told him. "And I wouldn't say 'insane tactical genius' so much as 'incapable of coming up with any plan that wasn't desperately suicidal, insanely ambitious, and involving at least three large explosions and a substantial amount of property damage.' No, I think it's actually the expression on Ivan's face whenever he turns up, as if he's wondering exactly how he's going to get nearly killed trying to save the idiot's ass this time. Brings back memories." He blinked, and then a lascivious smile curled over his face. "Now, as for you, Byerly Vorrutyer, you're just plain... interesting."
Something subtle shifted in Raith's stance and face, and he suddenly changed from simply idly attractive to openly, irresistibly sexual. And blatantly inviting. "Not here," Bylerly hissed at him. "Are you mad? I don't know where you come from, but this is still Barrayar, and we're in public."
"Oh?" Raith asked, dark purring amusement in his voice. "Are you suggesting we take this somewhere more... private?" And something in his voice curled right down around By's spine, and places lower, and made itself at home there.
"Are you making a... serious offer?" By asked in a low voice, viciously restraining himself from the old nervous gesture of playing with his hair.
"Vorrutyer, I never make an offer that isn't serious," he said. "You wanna?" He grinned.
"That would be incredibly foolhardy," By told him. On the other hand, he wasn't on an official assignment. And Raith was really exceptionally attractive, and galactics were usually a great deal of fun with a lot less hassle, and it had been awhile for him with a man. And as a bonus, if he slipped off with Raith for a little frivolity it would seriously annoy both Vorpatril and Vorkosigan. "Did you have someplace private in mind?"
"Ivan told me the back way in to a place he sometimes uses," he said. "Promised me it would suit the purpose admirably."
"It would be the stupidest thing I've done at one of these parties since the thing with the mountain mead and the pastry cook," By told him, but they both knew he'd agreed, even before he followed Raith to one of the dim, slightly quieter hallways that led off the ballroom, through a sitting-room that held a group of rather drunk Vor men playing cards, to the adjoining powder room, and into a door that looked as if it led to a utility closet but instead opened up into a small, dim room that looked like a man's study.
By cased the surroundings quickly; it had the heavy, dark, late Time-of-Isolation look of most of the disused parts of the palace; open shelves full of dusty, old-fashioned volumes lined the walls, and pride of place was given to a large, sturdy desk. Suggestive smudges in thick coat of dust on the desk backed up the idea that Ivan had used it before, but that was about all he had time to observe before Raith had one hand on his waist and the other investigating the buttons on his tunic.
"Do you have any hard limits I should know ahead of time?" Raith asked. "I know Barrayarans are sometimes--" he fluttered a hand expressively.
"Only that 'no' means 'no,'" By said. "But if you can handle that, I'm up for nearly anything."
"Excellent," Raith told him, and abandoned the buttons to press him up against the nearest bookshelf and kiss the living daylights out of him. Raith's kiss alone would probably have made it on the list of his top ten most memorable sexual encounters, and he found himself moaning in pleasure before he decided to turn the tables and show Raith that not all Barrayarans were repressed and unskilled.
Raith let him reverse their positions with a glint in one eye, but was soon moaning in turn as By found that one spot on his neck and the access to his trousers at the same time. By knelt down and took him in his mouth, relishing the feel of the already-aroused cock and the sound of the little whimpering noises the other man was making, something he didn't get to do nearly often enough.
"Oh god," the Raith said. "Okay, I'd heard stories, but you're actually good at this--" he moaned again, and reached back, scrabbling at the shelves behind him for something to grab hold of. Instead, he somehow managed to knock nearly an entire shelf of books onto the floor.
They both jumped away, startled by the sudden noise of the falling books. By pulled off and rolled into a defensive crouch as Raith's hands went to places that By would have made large bets held concealed weapons. And then they both glanced down at the pile of books and chuckled.
Raith shook his head ruefully. "Maybe not the most well-considered position to start with," he said.
By glanced around. "Previous occupants would suggest the desk is suitable," he suggested. It was at almost exactly the right height, too.
Raith's eyes darkened. "Top or bottom?" he asked, without any of the freighted implications a Barrayaran man would have put into the question, and By shivered in anticipation.
"Do you have lube?" he asked.
"What kind of man do you take me for, Vorrutyer?" he asked, and then rummaged in a pocket, only a few inches from one of the concealed weapons. He held up a small bottle triumphantly. "Of course I have lube."
And they did make use of the desk. And, eventually, the floor as well, including an accidental tumble across the still-scattered books, which made By wince for a second at the possible damage to historical artifacts before Raith, very effectively, distracted him.
He woke up, afterward, flat on the floor, in a state of major déshabille, alone and feeling slightly off. By the sound of the party still filtering in through the walls, he hadn't been out for long, and he starting putting himself back in order while he tried to figure out what was wrong with him. Usually, a quick romp left him feeling sated and relaxed and recharged, and while the sated was certainly true - Raith had been amazing, By was tempted to keep trying to trace the accent just to find out of if there were more like him back home - he was feeling oddly drained rather than recharged. He felt stretched, and empty, and not entirely in the good way. And some of the details of the end of the encounter were indistinctly blurred, buried in his memory under an almost suffocating haze of pleasure. Passing out after sex wasn't exactly typical of him, either, even sex that spectacular; it was too dangerous a habit. He shook his head, sharply, trying to rattle his brains back in to place as he finished re-tying his neckcloth.
Raith had clearly left already, which was probably wise; he had to know that various people had been keeping an eye out for him, and a prolonged absence would be noted in a way that Byerly being typically irresponsible wouldn't be. And the two of them leaving together and returning together would have been a bit too blatant. Still, it wasn't exactly considerate, and By thought uncharitably that he was starting to understand why the man got on so well with Ivan.
He took a last turn about the room, making sure there was no evidence of the visit, and took the opportunity to wipe all the remaining incriminating dust off the desktop with his second spare handkerchief. The first one he found crumpled and soiled behind the desk, so he wrapped them both up carefully together and tucked them away with a note to toss them both into the nearest lit fireplace. Beyond that, there was no sign that anything untoward had ever happened to disturb the room's serenity, and he gave one last yank to shake the wrinkles out of his tunic before he rejoined the party.
He'd barely managed to acquire another glass of wine to rinse out his mouth before Vorkosigan appeared beside him with the kind of preternatural stealth that made him jealous at the same time he nearly jumped out of his skin. "Did you find anything out?" the little Lord asked.
"Find out? About what?" By asked him coolly over his wine.
"About Raith," Vorkosigan said impatiently.
"Oh, him," By said, lingering sensually over the word. "Oh yes. I think I was right the first time about why he's here."
By watched that tick over in Vorkosigan's scary brain, added up with the small but unmistakable signs of ravishment By had left on his person, and watched his lips curl in disgust. "I can't believe you'd do that," he said.
"I've no idea what you're talking about," By said superciliously, flicking a completely not imaginary bit of dust off of one of his sleeves. "Besides, I thought you were supposed to be all enlightened and Betan."
"I-- what-- I don't--" Vorkosigan sputtered. "The man could be dangerous, Vorrutyer. We don't know what his motives or loyalties are. And you just--" He threw up his hands. "Have you no sense of responsibility at all?"
"I've no idea whatever gave you the idea I did, my Lord," By told him, and faked an acquaintance calling his name.
All the same, it bothered him. The man was a god of sex, and apparently completely uninhibited in the best possible way, but that didn't erase everything that had made him suspicious in the first place, starting with the way he had insinuated himself with Ivan. And his foggy memories of the encounter itself bothered him; he hadn't been that drunk, reckless disregard of good judgment notwithstanding, and it wasn't typical of him. Something else didn't add up from that night, either, something that was niggling at his trained observer's mind, and he sat down the next morning (well, afternoon, but it was over breakfast, so it counted) to think it out.
He worked through everything he did remember, in chronological and then, when that yielded nothing, in spacial order, which is when it struck him. There had been no sign that Raith had done any tidying before he left, but the books that Raith had knocked on to the floor had not been on the floor when By woke up. And-- he pulled the images up as best he could in his memory, and no, he was fairly sure that the shelf had still been empty when he left the room. The books had disappeared along with Raith. Well, shit.
He tried to remember everything he could about them. They'd almost certainly been rare antiques, like everything else in that forgotten room, probably an old Emperor's most private lair. They'd been mostly slender, hard-bound volumes, with the careful sturdy craftsmanship that meant pre-Cetagandan Invasion. The design on the covers had led him to assume classic fiction, probably some of the high-status stuff that had been remembered from old Earth since the days of the first colonization, and he winced. He knew there were long-standing rumors that some of the forgotten libraries in the old houses of Vorbarr Sultana held old Earth literature that was preserved nowhere else in the galaxy, and if Raith had managed to get his hands on some of that without By even considering the possibility - well, it would be embarrassing.
He needed to remember as much as he could about what the books actually were before it was worth bringing the suspicions to the notice of anyone of importance (which, he would like it to be noted, did not include Lord Vorkosigan.) He'd, understandably, not been at his most observant at the time, but he did have a vague recollection of thinking that the books were strangely appropriate for what they were doing. Some kind of pornography or sex manuals? Given some of the old Emperors, he wouldn't have been entirely surprised, but that didn't fit with the general look of the books. It was the author's name, he recalled suddenly. They'd nearly all been by the same author, and the name had been something like Sexwork or Art Love or something.
With that much, a few good hours at the University's computerized reference indices got him narrowed down to only a few dozen possible authors, and only one of them fit the rest of the criteria. 'Lovecraft', it turned out, had been a legendary writer of horror fiction early in Earth's Age of Information, widely referenced in contemporary and near-contemporary literature but almost none of his works known to survive to the present day. And there was a rumor, printed in the letters column of a recent Betan literary journal, that some of them were still extant in a few copies on Barrayar, and had been favorites of Mad Emperor Yuri in his last years.
A quick check of public palace inventories listed nothing of the sort, but that meant approximately zero in terms of what was actually there, and he didn't have the clearance to check any of the more private files without special authorization. He found himself nervously chewing on a knuckle before he gave in to the inevitable, compiled together everything he had (even the dreadfully embarrassing bits) and requested a meeting with his Impsec handler about reporting a possible theft from the Imperial Residence.
The next morning - and this time it was actually morning, and far too early after a night spent at yet another Vor party, drinking rather too much and spending a lot of time hiding in corners with the excuse that he was surreptitiously observing Raith, who By was fairly sure had spent the evening silently laughing at him - the next morning, he found himself standing at something resembling attention across a desk from Lady Alys Vorpatril, and telling her the whole story.
She nodded grimly at him when he mentioned Thomas Raith, and said, "Yes, I've unfortunately been well aware of his activities on planet," and rolled her eyes and said "I see my son has been acting out again," when he described the hidden room, but she kindly let him gloss over exactly why they had thought it appropriate to adjourn there together in the first place, and precisely how he had been rendered insensate. When he came to the part about the missing books, however, she straightened at every joint with the intensity of a hunting dog on a scent, and said, "Did you happened to recall which books they were?"
"Not in detail, but I got enough to do some research, and I'm fairly certain that they were--"
She cut him off. "I am also aware of what books they were, Byerly. While I commend your, ah, dedication to the Empire, I am afraid that this affair is well above your security rating, and it is extremely dangerous for you to know even as much as you do now."
He stared at her blankly, trying to figure out how the theft of some minor works of fiction could be that vital to Imperial Security. Sure, they were probably valuable - possibly priceless - but they hadn't sounded exactly dangerous, Mad Yuri aside.
"Ma'am?" he asked.
"And I would suggest, for you own good, that you do your best to forget that you ever heard of them," she added. "Otherwise, there's a possibility that certain people might decide they need to ensure that you've forgotten. Now, did you have anything else to report?"
Far be it from Byerly Vorrutyer not too heed good advice from his elders.