Title: Bright College Days
Fandom: Bujold's Vorkosiverse
Pairing: Bel Thorne / Miles Vorkosigan
Summary: Bel reminisces about college coursework.
Warnings/Spoilers: For crack, maybe.
Disclaimer: None of these characters or their settings belong to me.
Title from the Tom Lehrer song of the same name.
"Barrayarans!" swore Bel Thorne. Rather like my mother, Miles thought, although Bel added a certain flourish by brandishing its fist overhead. "Backwards, inbred, uncivilized, mudsucking Barrayarans!"
"Right here, Thorne," Miles drawled, propping his feet on the table and trying not to give Bel the satisfaction of his laughter. "Also, bankrolling your pay chit."
"Don't remind me." Bel swung its hand down to grab the bottle off the low table, stroking Miles' foot familiarly on the way. Miles noted, with a dispassion as clear and alcoholic as the bottle's now-scant contents, that he didn't flinch from Bel's touch when he was drunk. Luckily, Bel, being Betan through and through, got more ethical as it got drunker, saving Miles from having to make himself mind if it made an attempt on his virtue.
Tipping its head back as it tilted the bottle ceilingwards, Bel's hair looked that much longer streaming back, hardly any masculine bulge to its long throat. Bonelessly warm with liquor and a job well done, Miles sprawled a little more and watched Bel drink, swing the bottle down liquid-smoothly, and wipe its mouth with the back of one long hand.
"You're staring," Bel said, looking sideways at Miles, who blinked, made a command decision to ignore his flaring cheeks, and tilted his chin up. Bel grinned, bright and wide as something sleekly predatory, and plunked the bottle down on the table. "You don't even look Barrayaran like that."
"On the contrary," Miles murmured, "getting drunk is a time-honored Barrayaran tradition."
"On nasty sludge fermented by wild germs, no less," parried Bel. "And what kind of sex do Barrayarans have afterwards? Do you even have more than two sexual positions? I bet down there female on top is considered dangerously deviant." Bel dropped its silky head besides Miles' on the couch, gesturing as it gazed off into its memories. "Back when I was in University I took a couple of courses on the LPST track."
"LPST...oh." It took Miles a moment to remember that the acronym stood for 'Licensed Practical Sexual Therapist', whereupon he really blushed.
Fortunately, Bel didn't visibly notice. Blessed alcohol. "I never had any plans to become one -- I'm not nearly diplomatic enough." They both chuckled at that. "But it was such a pleasant field of study. Surprisingly complex, but with lots of incentive to show up to class."
"No doubt," Miles murmured encouragingly. This was shaping up to be one fascinating reminisce.
"My favorite was the course covering sexual positions -- an entire term! The number of different assortments would make a factorial problem. Herm/herm, herm/male, herm/female, male/female, male/male, female/female, and that was even before we got to the basic threesomes..." By now Bel was drawing shapes in the air that looked positively obscene. "Advanced threesomes, foursomes, and orgies -- the technical term was 'further multiples' -- those were mentioned briefly, since they were covered in another course for subject majors only. The professors probably thought the rest of us didn't have the stamina." Bel waggled its eyebrows, and Miles realized he'd been listening raptly.
Bel paused, then said too casually, "Oh, and you should have seen the lab segment of the course."
Miles gave Bel the satisfaction of a shocked choking noise. It was one thing to envision a classroom of bright young faces taking notes off a pornographic chalkboard, but thoughts of the lab practicals made his head spin and heat curl in his vitals. "Just imagine it. College kids getting naked for schoolwork, three times a week. The instructors made us switch lab partners every two weeks; we herms were always very popular because we're so... versatile." Bel leaned closer, breath softly warm on Miles' cheek, settling its hand ever so lightly on his chest. Miles breathed, feeling Bel's hand over his heart, and didn't melt towards it, and didn't shift away. Possibly, he'd misestimated Bel's ethics while drunk. Quite probably, he really didn't mind if he had. "What do you think, Miles Naismith?" Bel purred in his ear. "Would you have liked to do your lab work with me?"