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There had been an awful lot going on the last few days, and Vimes suddenly found himself craving a quiet smoke in a dark alley, somewhere away from everything where he could have a proper think about things. While the men chatted in hushed conversations he slipped out the back of the station, and headed for the spot he used to hide in when the captain was on the warpath; he took a short walk down Catterwaul Street, then nipped into the narrow alley behind it and pulled back the corrugated tin board that hid a gap in the wall.
On the other side of the gap was a small yard that had clearly been forgotten about for some years; tall weeds peeked through the flagstones, and if you caught yourself on any of the rusted scrap metal piled in one corner you would probably lose an arm, but he’d never yet been bothered here.
It was a pleasantly cloudless night, and the moon illuminated the little courtyard well enough. He fished out a cigar, and struck a match.
“Good evening, Sergeant,” a voice murmured, from somewhere in the shadows.
Vimes froze, his match pausing in midair.
Shit.
But the mysterious figure had made itself known, which surely suggested it wasn’t here to kill him…
…didn’t it?
He shook out the flame before it burned his fingers, then took the cigar from his lips and slipped it back into his pocket.
“Evening,” he said, mildly, to the empty air.
The figure stepped forwards, and as the moonlight caught his profile Vimes found himself blinking in surprise.
He’d recognise that face anywhere, it seemed, even thirty years in his past. The hair was longer than the man wore it now and pulled back in a low ponytail, but the features were the same; cheekbones that could cut glass, an aquiline nose and a brow that seemed permanently slightly furrowed.
Vetinari.
Vimes caught himself staring, and closed his mouth with a snap. And then, because he wasn’t an idiot, he slipped his hand into the pocket containing his new brass knuckles.
He cleared his throat.
“You here on business, si — lad?”
“No.” Vetinari took another slow step towards him, and Vimes let his eyes travel down the youth’s lean frame. He still looked like he needed a damned good meal, beneath the grey and black silks, but he moved with the ease of someone who knew exactly how much space they occupied and was confident that they owned it.
“Then why are you creeping up on old men in back alleys?”
Vetinari smiled faintly. “I wanted to make your acquaintance, Sergeant Keel.”
“You know me?”
“Yes.”
“How? I’ve never met you.”
Not yet. Not for another decade, at least.
The youth came another step closer, and Vimes pressed himself against the wall behind him as he backed away. He didn’t want to end up in a fight with any assassin, let alone Vetinari; if he accidentally killed the man now, his future wouldn’t be worth returning to.
He shuddered at the thought, and turned his attention back to the boy in front of him.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on you,” Vetinari said.
Vimes narrowed his eyes. “You telling me you’ve been spying on me?”
The student assassin shrugged. “Yes. Rather luckily for you, I would say, given recent events.”
A suspicion formed in Vimes’ mind. “It was you who killed the man with the crossbow. Outside the station.”
“Yes.”
Vetinari had saved his life…?
“Why?”
“There are certain people in the city who prefer you alive, for the time being.” Vetinari raised an eyebrow, and Vimes was struck by an odd sense of déjà vu — odd because he was, of course, seeing his real, actual future.
“That’s nice,” he said vaguely. “Are you one of them?”
Vetinari was now less than a foot away from him, and when he spoke again his voice was low and decidedly more, well, sultry than Vimes would had ever believed the man capable of.
“Yes,” the youth murmured. “For all kinds of reasons, in fact.”
Vimes felt himself panic slightly at the tone, and instinctively slipped his fingers into the metal rings. “Yeah?” he said, hoarsely. “Like what?”
Any notion that he was misreading the situation left his head as the other man reached out and lightly pressed his fingertips against the side of Vimes’ throat. He tensed at the contact, and felt his pulse thrum beneath them.
“You are a fascinating man, Sergeant. I wondered if perhaps you might allow me to get to know you…better.”
“Oh, you will,” Vimes muttered, and then realised what he had said and cleared his throat. “I mean, there’s nothing interesting about me.”
“I’m afraid I have to disagree. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before.”
“That’s hardly a surprise, at your age. Doesn't mean anything, that.”
Vetinari was watching him serenely. “Not many men would have let me get this close without at least attempting to use those brass knuckles you are fingering in your pocket. That is interesting.”
He felt his cheeks flush. “Yeah, well, I don’t reckon you’re here to hurt me.”
“No. Very much the opposite, in fact.”
Vimes grimaced. “You’re half my bloody age, kid.”
And you’re Havelock Vetinari, his head added. My damned boss.
For some reason that information wasn’t doing anything to stop the tightening in his belly, though; in fact it seemed to be having quite the opposite effect. He shifted as his breeches began chafing uncomfortably, and the fingers on his throat slipped up and cupped his jaw.
“Not precisely,” the youth said. “Closer to a third of it, I suspect.”
Shit.
“How old are you?” Vimes muttered. He’d never noticed just how long Vetinari’s eyelashes were, until now.
“Old enough.”
“How old?”
Vetinari gave a small, shark-like smile. “Eighteen.”
Shit, he thought again. Vimes remembered being eighteen; his younger self was only a year off it now, in fact. And he remembered damned well how all-encompassing the whole business of sex had been, and just how intense those first painfully unrequited crushes had felt.
But would he ever have had the confidence to seduce a grizzled watchman nearly three times his age in an alley, in the middle of a revolution…?
Of course he bloody wouldn’t.
Apparently confidence was not a quality young Vetinari was lacking, however, and in his distracted state the youth had taken the opportunity to crowd in so close his assassin’s blacks were now brushing Vimes’ breastplate.
Ohh, this is a bad idea, Sam. Terrible idea. Give him a smack and send him on his way with a lesson on the importance of not hitting on strange men, even if you have been bloody spying on them for god knows how long. Fuck; especially if you’ve been spying on them.
He clutched the brass knuckles and opened his mouth to say as much, but the assassin appeared to take this as an invitation and before he could form a syllable, Vimes found himself being kissed by Vetinari.
Well, he thought, distractedly, there’s another difference: no goatee.
He pulled his hand out of his pocket, leaving the weapon behind, and grabbed at the lad’s waist with the intent of pushing him away. Except Vetinari — Havelock Vetinari, tyrant-in-waiting and future patrician of Ankh-Morpork — was sighing into his mouth and pressing himself so tightly against Vimes’ growing bulge that instead he simply found himself clinging on and kissing back.
Bloody hell, Sam!
With a grunt he pulled back, and the sudden movement sent his head cracking against the wall.
“Shit,” he said, out loud this time. “Look, lad —”
Vetinari’s eyes were huge and dark in the dim moonlight, but Vimes didn’t have time to appreciate them properly because a second later the youth was dropping to his knees before him and long, fastidious fingers were unlacing his breeches.
The stress and loneliness of the last few days suddenly caught up with him. Any remaining ability to object vanished as the questing hands brushed teasingly against him, and as his swollen member was carefully exposed he tipped his head back and stared up at the night sky.
Fuck it.
He wondered dimly how the hell was he meant to look the man in the eye again, if he got back, but then Vetinari had taken Vimes’ cock in his mouth and was sucking on the head of it and any theoretical future suddenly became far less of a concern.
And alright, it wasn’t the best blow job he’d ever had — it was a bit too rough and the lad seemed to have too many teeth — but at least he was actually sucking and not trying to blow, which was a lesson Vimes had learned the hard way at a far more embarrassing age.
He groaned, moving his hands to rest lightly in the younger man’s hair, and a moment later Vetinari slipped a palm between his legs and cupped his sack, squeezing gently.
Vimes huffed out a breath. “You done this before, kid?”
The young tyrant pulled back and looked up at him, replacing his mouth with his hand and working his slickened shaft for a moment instead.
“No. This is my first time. So if you have any notes…?”
Oh gods, Sam, what are you doing…
“Fuck,” he ground out as Vetinari added a bit more pressure to his stroke. “Look — ah. I’m far too old for you, son. You should be — mmh — you should be figuring this out with lads your own age.”
The youth scowled; it was an expression the older Vetinari had mostly learned to hide, Vimes realised.
“With my classmates?” Vetinari murmured scornfully. “I hardly think so.” He seemed to consider that the end of the conversation, because he wrapped his lips around Vimes’ swollen head again and moved his tongue against the tip, licking up the droplets that had beaded there while the pair had talked.
Vimes could feel the heat building in his belly, even as his head tried to persuade him that he really shouldn't be about to have an orgasm with someone who still had bloody classmates. His head seemed to be losing the battle by some not-insignificant margin, though, and now his hips were trying to get involved, wanting him to thrust deeper into the wet and apparently very willing heat.
“Si — lad,” he gasped, as his fingers started to curl in Vetinari's hair. “Gods. I’m bloody close, here, so unless you want a mouthful, you might want to back off —”
Vetinari merely looked up at him from below those long eyelashes, and then very pointedly pressed in even closer, taking Vimes almost to the root while meeting his gaze.
Cocky bastard, Vimes thought. And then, with some embarrassment, he conceded, but I’ll be damned if it isn’t doing the trick.
He groaned, both at the sight and the sensation, and then his balls tightened and he gripped the youth’s hair as he crashed over the edge of the abyss and spilled in Vetinari’s throat.
The lad made a slight gagging noise but nevertheless swallowed down what Vimes had given him, then pulled back, coughing.
Vimes snorted. “Warned you,” he said, mildly. The pleasure was washing over him, making his limbs tingle, and he slumped back against the wall as he slowly tucked himself away. The guilt had never really gone away so it would be inaccurate to say it was now returning, as such, but he decided there would be time for more self-recrimination later.
“Alright,” he muttered. “Come here.”
Vetinari had regained his composure, and now he climbed swiftly back to his feet and stood there, looking faintly flushed and pleasantly dishevelled. Vimes grabbed him and swapped their positions, pressing him back against the wall, and then dropped a hand to Vetinari's waist.
He took a moment to prepare himself, and then slid his palm over the bulge in the other man's trousers.
Whatever you do, don’t think of it as Vetinari’s cock, he thought. It’s already going to be difficult enough to meet his eye in the guild meetings. Just return the damned favour and forget it ever happened.
He rubbed him through the fabric, and almost immediately the youth was clutching at Vimes and breathing more heavily. Vimes watched him close his eyes and throw his head back, and wondered if he might get away with making the lad come like this.
That felt somewhat unfair, though, given that he had gotten an admittedly slightly inexpert blow job out of the deal, and so he sighed and quickly fumbled open Vetinari’s buttons before wrapping his hand around the hot, twitching length.
Vetinari made a strangled noise in response, and Vimes knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would be hearing that again every time he had to look at the man back in the present.
He pressed in closer, one hand bracing himself on the wall beside the youth, and stroked until the boy was panting and moaning, his hips moving as he tried to fuck Vimes’ fist.
He had to concede that watching the usually unrufflable Vetinari coming undone was quite the sight. He found himself thinking, Ha! Now who’s in charge? almost deliriously, and without even planning to he loosened his grip and slowed his hand.
Immediately Vetinari gave a frustrated cry that Vimes appreciated greatly.
“Enjoying yourself, lad?” he grunted. “Better than doing it yourself?”
“Yes, although it would be better still if you weren’t evidently attempting to torture me,” Vetinari gritted out.
Vimes grinned. “It’ll be worth it, trust me.” He swiped a thumb lightly over the sticky glans, spreading the boy’s arousal down his length until his hand was practically gliding on it, and then he added a twist on every slow stroke that hit the sensitive spot just below the head.
A minute later Vetinari was gasping and thrashing, and Vimes felt hot liquid splash against his bare forearm.
Not had that happen in a while, he mused. Sybil had told him she wouldn’t mind if he occasionally went elsewhere for — as she put it — that kind of thing, but until now he’d never felt the need.
He looked up at the young Vetinari, who had his eyes closed and his head tipped back against the wall as he caught his breath, and had the distinct feeling that may not be the case, anymore.
Shit, he thought, yet again.
He pulled back his hand, then fished a mostly-clean handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to wipe the man’s seed off his skin. When he looked back up, Vetinari had opened his eyes and was watching him with something akin to reverence.
“Don’t be getting any ideas, kid,” he muttered. “This isn’t happening again.”
Vetinari raised an eyebrow, and began to rearrange his clothing. “You seem rather confident of that.”
“I’m not hanging around. As soon as this whole mess is sorted I’m skipping town.”
“Why?”
Vimes frowned. “None of your damned business. In fact, you can stop bloody following me now, too.”
The younger man pushed himself away from the wall. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, frankly. You seem to be attracting rather a lot of attention, Sergeant Keel.”
Aren’t I just, he thought.
“I’ll manage,” he said.
“Like you managed outside the station…?”
Vimes scowled. “Don’t you have one of your murderous-bastards classes to get to, or something?”
“No.”
Vimes sighed. “Bugger off, will you, Vetinari?”
The look on the boy’s face was priceless, and Vimes gave him a broad grin as he fished the cigar back out of his pocket and held it between his teeth.
“I didn’t tell you my name,” the youth said, finally.
“Nope.” Vimes struck a match and touched the flame to the end of the cigar. He puffed on it until the end glowed red, and shook out the match. “I know. Now get out of here and let me enjoy my damned cigar.”
He would have sworn he didn’t so much as blink, but suddenly he was alone in the yard. He peered suspiciously into the shadows, then when he was fairly sure he was actually alone he leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
That’s bound to come back and bite you in the arse at some point, Sam, he thought. Damned idiot.
Still, he could worry about that later. After a few minutes he stubbed out the cigar, and headed back to the revolution.