badass_tiger: Charles Dance as Lord Vetinari (Default)
rufus ([personal profile] badass_tiger) wrote2015-01-14 06:11 am
Entry tags:

Mentor: Vetinari/Drumknott fanfiction

Title: Mentor
Author:
Summary: Mentor: noun; from Greek MentOr. 1 capitalized: a friend of Odysseus entrusted with the education of Odysseus' son Telemachus. 2: a trusted counselor or guide; TUTOR, COACH

Disclaimer: This isn't mine. This was originally posted in a Yahoo! group, but since you have to sign in to access it - who even remembers their Yahoo! account these days? Also, because I can't find it right now. Presented entirely in its original state. I'm really sorry about the weird word wrapping, it was posted as a .txt file.

I keep trying to write an intro to this and it's just...

Just read it...

*hands over eyes*

Soundtrack: "You Shouldn't Kiss Me Like This" (yah, tell me about it) by Toby Keith; "Unwell" by Matchbox Twenty; and the sound of my beta-readers blushing.

Explicit slash between two consenting and probably very handsome adults. Mildly literary themes. Much poking of fun. Much poking.

Mentor: noun; from Greek MentOr. 1 capitalized: a friend of Odysseus entrusted with the education of Odysseus' son Telemachus. 2: a trusted counselor or guide; TUTOR, COACH

*peers out, puts hands back over eyes*

MENTOR

Drumknott knew, as soon as he came in, that the Patrician was in one of Those Moods. He adjusted the rest of the evening's work in his mind, suitably.

Lupine Wonse had told him about this, once, back when he'd been the Patrician's
secretary and Drumknott was just an under-clerk. Wonse had taken a liking to
him, for whatever reason; on reflection, this did worry Drumknott just
slightly.

"He'll have a mood," Wonse said, one night over dinner, as the pair of them
were sorting papers alone in the clerks' anteroom. "It's nothing much really.
It's just that he's so damned sane. He's got to let all the insanity out
sometime, you see?"

Drumknott's mind filled with visions of flung crockery, shredded papers, and a
Patrician foaming at the mouth. Wonse saw it, and shook his head with a grin.

"No, it's not like that," he said. "He just gets...poetic."

"You mean like..." Drumknott had a confused mental image of the Patrician
trying to write bad poetry.

"Well, he'll sigh a little, and go to that window of his -- " Drumknott was
well familiar with The Window, every clerk knew to be cautious when Lord
Vetinari was standing at The Window, " -- and he'll...say funny things. Things
you might not always understand. Metaphors and that." Wonse nodded to himself,
as if in confirmation. "He gets very touchy about human nature and such."

Drumknott, who was disqualified from Lupine Wonse's secret society on account
of being too bloody clever by half, had come to know better than Wonse, when
his master's moods shifted. Wonse could only tell by body language, and
Vetinari was practically mute when it came to that. Drumknott could tell by the
tone of his voice, the movement of his eyes. Sometimes just by the way the air
moved in the room. He just knew.

Of course, sometimes it was far more obvious.

The Patrician sighed, and rose, and walked to his Window. Drumknott very
carefully shifted a few of the papers in his hands to the bottom of the stack.

"Do you know, Drumknott, sometimes I rather think..." The Patrician trailed
off, and clasped his hands behind his back. "The city's a bit like..."

"...a clock, sir?" Drumknott asked, before he could help himself.

It had, in his defence, been a rather long day. There had been five flustered
guild leaders in three hours, two clackses signalling the end of the Disc, one
of which was actually half-true; a handful of secret societies had come within
throwing distance of the palace before slinking away; the monthly Palace
newsletter needed copyediting, and lunch had been cold.

And then there had been /Vimes/*.

---
* Drumknott rather liked him, as a person, but he always made trouble. When
Drumknott said the word "Vimes", other servants spat.
---

"I was going to say that it was rather like a dragon, but a clock will do as
well," Vetinari said smoothly. He turned to regard Drumknott, thoughtfully.
"The map, please, Drumknott."

Drumknott nodded, aware that he'd barely escaped a terrible fate, and pressed a
panel in the wall. A section slid away, revealing a shallow bookshelf, in which
rested several bound volumes, a few piles of paper, and one large map.

It was a map of the Disc, and was like no other on the Disc; kings would have
paid ransoms for it. Seriphs would hock their harems. It was a map, annotated
by Havelock Vetinari. And always changing, just as Disc politics did. Several
dozen of Leonard da Quirm's Sticks-To-Things-When-You-Want-Them-To notepapers
were attached in various places.

They began the nightly task of updating the notes, changing some, scratching
others out, adding more. Drumknott was aware that his master was watching him,
gauging him for some reason.

He loved this part of the day more than anything, when it was the two of them,
finishing things, tying off loose ends, beginning new strands, making things
/tidy/. They never remained tidy, of course. But for that short hour,
everything seemed possible. He saw the full brilliance of the man he worked
for, in the way the Patrician rearranged things, deft thin hands moving slips
of paper this way and that, as if working on a puzzle only he could see.

He saw a note on Genua that needed to be moved to Klatchistan, and reached for
it, leaning across the map just as Vetinari moved forward to add a new note
where the old one had been. It brought him within inches of Vetinari's face,
and his breath caught in his throat. A short sharp burst of lust ran through
his normally controlled body.

Vetinari smelled of sealing wax, and old papers, and something else it was
impossible to define.

And he wasn't moving.

Drumknott often thought that he and the Patrician were opposites in nearly
every way possible; Lord Vetinari was tall and pale, blue-eyed, dark-haired,
conservative in his movements; while he, Drumknott, was rather shorter, with a
certain barrel-chested solidity that betrayed his Ramtops ancestry, bright
blond hair and eyes so dark they were disconcerting. He was a busy man, and was
rarely still, except when he was with His Lordship. Vetinari did not like
fidgeters.

As different as the moon and the sun, although it occurred to Drumknott that
the moon and the sun were not, strictly speaking, all that different -- both
went their rounds in the sky, served their purpose to light the Disc below.
They did as they had to, amongst the millions of uncaring stars around them.

He became aware that his last thought was something the Patrician would
probably say.

Vetinari's eyes were the same cool, steady blue as always. Hinting at great
depth, if you could just break down the wall that stood directly behind them.
But if you did, you ought to be careful, because his mind was like a machine,
and machines do not stop grinding because someone is caught in the gears. If
you risk it, and fail, he will have no pity for you.

Drumknott, wretchedly, and because at this point he really had no choice, took
the risk. He fell the last inch into purgatory, and kissed the Patrician's
lips, gently.

There was no movement on Vetinari's part. Not a twitch, not a wince, not a
sigh. Just the feeling of his still lips, under Drumknott's, and a sense of
coiling to fight or flee --

Then his head tilted, slightly. Drumknott thought he was pulling away (and well
he should, you daft idiot) but he realised after a second's pause that he was
moving, adjusting to give him...Rufus Drumknott!...better access to his mouth.

Oh, oh gods, oh gods...

A tongue slid along Rufus' lips, sparking hot desire down his veins, curling
warmth into his belly. There was a small, almost inaudible sound of pleasure,
and Rufus realised it wasn't him making it. When he leaned back, just slightly,
a smile curved across his Lordship's face.

"How long have you wanted to do that?" Vetinari asked quietly. Rufus licked his
lips, which reminded him of the other thing, which sent a whole new shudder of
confusion through his body.

"I...don't know," he stammered. He'd never seen the Patrician smile quite like
that before, and it was disconcerting.

"It is, of course, more appropriate to dislike the man you serve, than to
have...affection for him," Vetinari continued, in a tightly controlled voice.
"If you feel the need to please your employer, often you will tell him lies
rather than risk his displeasure."

"You have never given me a reason to fear your anger," Rufus said slowly.

"You have never given me reason to show true displeasure," Vetinari replied.
Rufus preened just a little at this. "So perhaps the point is, as they say,
moot. And you are not a liar."

He rolled up the map, quite deliberately. Rufus noticed that it was perfectly
even. He sealed it with a piece of wax, set it carefully in the bookshelf, and
turned.

"Come to the window, please," he said. Rufus obeyed with no little amount of
fear, standing well back, in the shadows. The Patrician stood behind him,
looking out over his shoulder.

"What do you see?" he asked.

"Ankh-Morpork," Drumknott replied.

"I see my children," the Patrician said. "I see my wife. I have no family;
Ankh-Morpork is to me what a man's wife and offspring are to him. You also have
no family."

"I am...not interested in marrying," Rufus said. "I serve the city. I serve
you, my -- god..."

Vetinari had bent to nuzzle the sensitive skin below his ear, but he stopped
when Rufus gasped.

"Neither was I," Vetinari murmured, against his neck. "But we are human, are we
not?"

"Are we?" Rufus asked. He didn't dare turn; but he put his hand out to the
window-frame for support. The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork was sliding one arm
around his waist, was nibbling gently on his ear --

This isn't happening.

It is happening.

Oh...

/Oh/...

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Vetinari said, in answer to his nearly-forgotten
question. "Even you, Rufus Drumknott. Even I."

He had long since forgotten the point that Vetinari was trying to make. All
that he could think about was the strong arm that pinned him back against the
other man, his employer, his master...

"Don't turn," said the Patrician, when he tried, gently, to shift position.
"Look, Rufus. Look out at Ankh-Morpork."

"But I..." Rufus tried to speak, but it was difficult; Havelock Vetinari was
unbuttoning his waistcoat, slowly.

"I rule this city," he continued, against Rufus' collarbone, as if nothing
unusual was happening. "I. One man, isn't that right?"

"Yes..."

"A man with that much power cannot...no, be still...let his emotions rule him.
Do you understand?"

Rufus understood, in part; but he sensed there was something more which escaped
him.

"A whim of the moment is not good enough," Vetinari continued. He released
Rufus long enough to slide his waistcoat and shirt off his shoulders. The
shorter man turned, swiftly, pulled his head down and kissed him. Vetinari made
another soft, pleased noise in the back of his throat. When Rufus drew back, he
saw his eyes. Bright, incandescent blue. And fathoms deep.

"Aren't you going to ask me why?" the Patrician said.

Why? Why, if you can't be ruled by your emotions, why are you doing this, why
me, why did you let me, why -- why are you touching me...

"No," Rufus decided. An amused smile on his master's lips.

"Good," Vetinari said, and Rufus Drumknott drowned in his eyes.

He was aware of deft hands, skilled lips, and his own fumbling graceless
attempts to -- well, to do anything, really...he came to the quick realisation
that, as with politics, Havelock Vetinari was not a man to take backseat to
anyone.

Backseat...ahaha...

He found himself pressed against the door of the Patrician's bedroom, naked,
laughing; it was enough to stop the pale man before him, make him pause.

"Is something funny?" he inquired, a half-smile on his face.

"No...it's just..." he waved a hand, helplessly. The Patrician caught it
deftly, and moved close. Surprisingly warm flesh.

"I laughed," Vetinari said softly. "The first time I...realised that someone I
respected, served, loved..."

Rufus looked up sharply. An eyebrow tilted, daring him to contradict. Vetinari
was studying his fingers, their intertwined hands.

"The first time I realised they were human. That they...wanted to be loved. It
is a good time, for laughter," he added. He pressed the fingertips gently to
his unmoving mouth.

Rufus knew it was a test. You dared once. Do you dare again? Can you move
before I do?

He leaned forward, and touched his lips to Vetinari's fingers, where they held
his hand.

"Good man," said Havelock Vetinari, and guided the hand to the top button of
his robe.

Do you dare?

To the flat, hard stomach, tense and taut.

Do you dare mingled with /I dare you/ as Rufus fell to his knees, slowly, and
pressed his face against Havelock's thigh. He heard the other man's breath
catch as he took him in his mouth, in the middle of the doorway to the
Patrician's bedchamber.

This ruler, this man's cock, thick and heavy in his mouth. Shivers of warmth
across his skin, the light sharp touch in the pit of the stomach for doing
something unallowed, something /forbidden/...

The untouchable, unteasable, undeniable Patrician of Ankh-Morpork was moaning,
softly, inarticulate. His hips bucked, gently, as his fingers stroked Rufus'
cheeks, twined in his hair. Rufus, touching his own erection almost hesitantly,
felt as though he must be in a dream.

Surely...

Nimble hands touched his jaw, stilling him; and Havelock stepped back, chest
heaving. Rufus stood and moved forward sharply, forcing his tongue into the
Patrician's mouth. Their cocks rubbed together, making both men groan.

I dare you...

"Do not ask," Havelock murmured into his mouth, as they pressed against each
other, hands touching, stroking, exploring. "Do not ask if it is because you
are young and handsome -- "

"So powerful..." Rufus muttered.

"Do not ask...oh...if it is because you are intelligent..."

"Never could catch you out."

"Ummm. Do /not/ ask if it is because you may be the most perfect -- "

"/Fuck/ -- "

"Well, not the word I would have chosen," said lips against his cheekbone, "But
it will suffice."

He swayed as Havelock guided him gently through the doorway, backing into the
bed suddenly. Havelock laughed, a low chuckle, as he tumbled onto the bed. In a
split second the other man had also fallen forward, and Rufus Drumknott found
himself pinned -- very tenderly -- against the counterpane. He could feel
Havelock's throbbing erection against his hip. He shifted, slightly, and the
Patrician grunted.

"Are you sure?" Havelock asked.

"I think so," Rufus said, managing a pretty good dry tone for a man who was
asking to be buggered thoroughly.

"What I mean to say is -- "

"I'm sure," Rufus repeated, and shifted his weight again. The Patrician
clenched his teeth. "Please."

"Very well," he sighed, and shifted his own weight. Rufus found himself rolled
onto his side, a sudden pressure against his anus. A thumb, gently probing,
then fingers, coming so close...spreading something warm and slick on his
skin...

Rufus moaned as the Patrician removed his hands, and the tip of his cock
pressed in their place. He could feel the other man tremble, and then thrust,
sharply. A mixture of pain and pleasure flooded through him.

The Patrician. Buried inside him. Moaning, murmuring endearments and curses as
he moved...so...slowly...

Rufus jerked, wanting more, please, don't stop --

With one final, nearly silent gasp of pleasure, Havelock Vetinari came inside
of Rufus Drumknott.

Who very vocally cried his own orgasm as the Patrician gently pulled back
slightly, and nibbled his neck.

"Rufus," said Havelock, after a few moments.

"Mm?"

"Just making sure," Havelock answered. Drumknott, pulling a corner of the
counterpane over them, curled up in his master's -- his lover's -- arms.
Havelock's fingers, stroking his chest gently, caressed his nipples, almost
idly. He writhed in the man's arms, his breath coming in sharp gasps.

"Shh. Gently, Rufus," Havelock murmured.

"Then don't...oh, touch me..."

"Does that feel good?"

"/Yes/!"

"Hmm. Yes, it does..." moaned the Patrician, and Rufus felt him rubbing
languidly against his thighs. Already hard again...

And, Rufus realised, so was he.

Havelock's hand trailed down his belly, touching almost ticklishly on the skin.
He grasped Rufus' erection, hand moving over the tip, teasing, then stroking,
masterfully...

Rufus, delirious with pleasure, didn't realise the Patrician was thrusting
between his clenched thighs, deft and quick, until Havelock moaned and came,
again, whispering roughly in his ear how good it was, it felt...

Rufus cried out, and came under his master's hand, and sank into dark oblivion.

***

Rufus had never seen the Patrician sleep. It wasn't the earthshattering event
it might have been. He simply...slept. Just like anyone else. His chest rose
and fell, gently, and his eyes sometimes moved under their lids.

Rufus touched his face. Even the Patrician dreams? How wonderfully ordinary.

What would the ruler of Ankh-Morpork dream of?

A hand touched his wrist, and he jerked back, slightly. Under his fingers, the
Patrician's head turned, eyes opened sleepily.

"Morning?" he asked, his grip on Rufus' wrist softening, sliding up his arm.

"I think so," Rufus replied. The hand continued on to his shoulder, pulling him
over and on top of his...

Master?

Lover?

"Come here," Havelock said, softly, in a voice that brooked no disobedience.
"And now this morning...how do you find things?"

Rufus considered, lying on his side, his head cradled on Havelock's chest.

"Confusing?" he ventured. "Sir?"

"You are familiar with the Ephebian 'mentor'?" Havelock asked, fingers sliding
down his side, curving into his waist. He turned his hand over and trailed his
knuckles slowly across Rufus' navel.

"Of course," Rufus said, sleepy, moving to nuzzle his master's cheek. He wanted
those hands, deft hands, touching him...spreading warm laziness where they
moved.

"A teacher who was also afforded...privilege with his pupil."

"Yes..."

Light fingertips spread over his belly, and he felt his nipples tingle.

"I have always thought I should be a mentor to the man who would replace
me -- "

Rufus tensed, and Havelock felt it; he laughed, lightly.

"Not you, Rufus. We both know -- "

"I wouldn't make a very good Patrician."

"No. But an excellent...shh, you must learn to be still, Rufus. An excellent
right hand."

Rufus snickered, then gasped as Havelock's fingers traced their way over his
cock, stroking his balls before resting on his thigh, possessively.

"I had not thought that I might take you. I never thought you would act."

"So you knew..."

The Patrician's mouth found his, and for a long moment neither spoke. When he
finally pulled back slightly, Havelock's cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright.
"I always know," he whispered. "Of course I knew."

Drumknott tried to think, but he wasn't sure what to ask.

"I do not take lovers who are afraid of me," he continued.

"You don't take lovers at -- " Rufus stopped, horrified at what he'd been about
to say.

"Keeping tabs on me?" the Patrician yawned. Rufus was almost sure that he
wouldn't be yawning if he intended to have him killed.

"With all due respect..."

"Respect!" Havelock's hand gripped his thigh, pulling him against the lean,
pale body firmly. "I do not want your respect, Rufus."

He stared into the man's blue eyes, still half-waking.

"What do you want?" Rufus asked hoarsely.

Havelock's eyes slid away from his, into a sort of distracted concentration. He
raised his hand to Rufus' neck, drawing his fingers along the younger man's
pulse. Down to his breastbone, thumb sliding over his chest. He brought it up
and over his shoulder, down the skin of his arm. As if Rufus' body was a
foreign object he was intent on understanding.

Rufus drew in a soft breath as the fingers stroked his thigh, and a tongue
flicked its way across his lips.

"What do I want," Havelock said against his mouth. "What do I want..."

Rufus let out a sharp, sudden cry of pleasure; he couldn't seem to catch his
breath.

"It's quite simple," Havelock continued.

"Oh...h?"

"I want you."

***

END