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bronze_ribbonsNineveh-uk, a rustle in the branches mentioned it being your birthday. I fear that St. George/Charles remains beyond me, but hope Ivan/Jerry will do as a token offering.
Title: Running, They Never Run From It Away (pace Donne)
Pairing: Ivan Vorpatril/the 17th Duke of Denver (Viscount St. George in Wimsey canon)
Rating: G
Words: 178
Premise: I don't subscribe to the apocrypha that St. George bought it in WWII. At any rate, imagine both lads in their late 30s, a friendship developing over periodic hops in space/time by Lord Vorpatril...
Ivan Vorpatril allowed himself to shiver once the door closed behind his companion's visitors. When Jerry raised an eyebrow at him, he said, "Your uncle's manservant. He reminds me a little too much of my cousin Gregor."
"Oh? Does this Gregor mercilessly drench you in a cold, silent shower of you can do better than thises every time he sets eyes on you?" The words were as light as spun sugar, and as brittle as candy glass.
"He doesn't bother with the you can do betters," Ivan said, his shoulders still hunched up. "These days, he just sends me onto the next 'little job' he needs done before I even get out a 'hello.'"
Jerry sidled over to Ivan's chair, casually seating himself on one of the antique armrests. "Saying 'no' isn't an option?"
Ivan said, helplessly, "It was what I was born to do."
Jerry glanced at the coat of arms on the firescreen, the familiar cat and three mice courant forever mocking him. He placed his hands on Ivan's shoulders as he murmured, "I really do understand."
Title: Running, They Never Run From It Away (pace Donne)
Pairing: Ivan Vorpatril/the 17th Duke of Denver (Viscount St. George in Wimsey canon)
Rating: G
Words: 178
Premise: I don't subscribe to the apocrypha that St. George bought it in WWII. At any rate, imagine both lads in their late 30s, a friendship developing over periodic hops in space/time by Lord Vorpatril...
Ivan Vorpatril allowed himself to shiver once the door closed behind his companion's visitors. When Jerry raised an eyebrow at him, he said, "Your uncle's manservant. He reminds me a little too much of my cousin Gregor."
"Oh? Does this Gregor mercilessly drench you in a cold, silent shower of you can do better than thises every time he sets eyes on you?" The words were as light as spun sugar, and as brittle as candy glass.
"He doesn't bother with the you can do betters," Ivan said, his shoulders still hunched up. "These days, he just sends me onto the next 'little job' he needs done before I even get out a 'hello.'"
Jerry sidled over to Ivan's chair, casually seating himself on one of the antique armrests. "Saying 'no' isn't an option?"
Ivan said, helplessly, "It was what I was born to do."
Jerry glanced at the coat of arms on the firescreen, the familiar cat and three mice courant forever mocking him. He placed his hands on Ivan's shoulders as he murmured, "I really do understand."
