Archive of Our Own ^beta

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“Laurence?” Temeraire asks, for Laurence’s recitation of the Principia Mathematica has once more paused. This time, he does not resume at Temeraire’s prompting.

Temeraire lowers his head to squint at Laurence and Tharkay where they are sitting upon his foreleg. They are too small for him to see whether their eyes have closed, but Laurence’s head has fallen back against Temeraire’s hide, and Tharkay has slumped down entirely, half in Laurence’s lap. Principia is resting open upon his hair.

“Tharkay?”

Nothing. 

Shortly, a snore emerges from Laurence. Ah. Temeraire holds himself very still, and resolves to let his humans rest.

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“Oh, please, sir!” Emily Roland exclaims, thrusting her arms out. The scruffy kitten she’s holding by the armpits sways, its belly dirty and unkempt.

She and the other runners are looking at Laurence with large, pleading eyes. The cat, too, is looking at him beseechingly, though what rescue it desires he could not say. Laurence is no stranger to ship’s cats, but dragon’s cats? He glances sidelong at Granby, but the lieutenant is watching with an amused smirk. No rescue there.

“You will have to ask Temeraire, you know,” he says finally.

Emily looks dubious. Shortly, the kitten is released.

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Tharkay's face was dark as the storming sky outside when he entered their bedroom, his clothes sodden and dripping.

Laurence was not surprised. He said nothing as Tharkay shifted his clothing for dry, as he poured himself a measure of whiskey and sat down hard upon the bed, shoulders bowed. The fire crackled and popped. Laurence turned the page of his book, deliberately.

It was only once Tharkay set down the glass that Laurence went to him. He took Tharkay's hands, gnarled with damp, and waited, until Tharkay slumped against his chest. And then finally, finally, he held Tharkay close.

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The door creaked open at Tharkay’s push. Protesting on iron hinges, Tharkay thought wryly, as if it did not want him here. Dust hung thick in the air; more clouded up as he walked through the hall and peered into the drawing room. 

Up the stairs, then, as fragments of arguments and torments long past echoed in his ears, and to the small bedroom in the far corner. A wooden globe lay broken before the empty bed-frame; all that had been left behind.

There were so many memories here, he was swimming in them. He would have to bear it.

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The shoulders of the coat reach several inches past his own; the cuffs do not quite touch his wrists. Even buttoned, it drapes over him awkwardly, shorter than it should be and yet too wide also. Granby stands there and feels himself a fool.

“Well, it will do under the circumstances, I suppose.” Laurence looks doubtful.

“You are only smug your clothing survived this time,” Granby says. “Augustine, tell me it is not so bad as all that?”

Little glances back at the smoldering pile of Granby’s begemmed coat. “Truly, John, I could not say which one suits you less.”

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St. Germain enters without ceremony, dropping the plate she is carrying on top of Jane's papers. The roast pork and potatoes slide dangerously a moment before resettling.

"There, now. I have managed to convince Mort and Excidium to share a cow, I daresay it's your turn for a little supper." 

Jane stares, uncomprehending, eyes bleary. St. Germain comes round the desk and places her hands on Jane's shoulders. "Jane," she says. "I will not watch you waste away also. Eat."

Despair threatens. Jane shakes herself and grimly picks up her fork. "You are right, of course. Thank you, old friend."

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Granby does not stow his things immediately.

He stands on the deck with his leather valise and watches until Laurence is hauled safely aboard in that precarious-looking plank the sailors call a chair, and then he still does not go below.

It is only when Evans comes up beside him that he realizes he has been staring after Laurence, imagining himself helping Laurence to walk across the deck, resting his hand on Laurence's forehead, bading him rest.

"Fetch some blankets for Laurence," he snaps, feeling shame and longing both color his cheeks.

Shipmates with William Laurence. Lord give him strength.

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Tharkay had not expected to like the British captain. He had expected him to be as all the rest: condescending, intolerant, and utterly dogmatic in his beliefs. Staring at Laurence’s proffered hand in the Sultan’s palace, he realizes he has been unfair to the man.

But it isn’t until he’s cajoling—corralling—cursing a horde of feral dragons toward Prussia that he realizes he is well and truly gone on Laurence.

Fuck. 

He is not sure he could name a worse prospect, just then, than loving William Laurence. His heart is lonely and fragile. It cannot end well for him.

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"But Laurence, what does it mean?" Temeraire is studying the matching glyphs that have appeared on skin and hide closely.

"That we are matched souls. One often has several, in one's lifetime."

"Oh!" Temeraire says. "And how many souls are you matched with?"

"You are the first, my dear." Laurence rests his hand along Temeraire's neck. He is larger already than he was this morning. Soon Laurence will not be able to reach this particular spot from Reliant's deck.

Pleased, Temeraire nuzzles Laurence, nearly knocking him over. There is a warmth in Laurence's chest like he has never felt before.

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The captains cheer as Harcourt and Chenery scramble up Maximus's side, neck-and-neck. As Laurence -- made spectator by virtue of searching for the source of the shouting -- watches, Harcourt begins to pull away. She reaches the top first, where, Laurence now sees, Warren is standing, holding two glasses of rum.

The cheering grows louder as she downs her glass and begins her descent. Shouting in triumph, she unclips her carabiners and drops the last few feet.

Chenery lowers himself more slowly, knowing himself beaten.

Berkley claps him loudly on the shoulder. "Should've known better, old chap. She hasn't lost one yet."

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"You're the one who told me I could do as I pleased, when I was in the shell," Iskierka said, looking entirely unconcerned as the burning tree in front of her sent up a shot of sparks with a loud crack.

Temeraire supposed he had said so, only- "Oh, but that is not what I meant! I only meant you have rights, and the Corps does not own you!"

"Well, you should have said so, then!"

Batting out the fire with his wings, he gave a great sigh. Surely his egg would not be so infuriating, when he had one.

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The sick bay is crowded, filled with the moans of men injured in the battle. Little has eyes only for one.

Granby lies limp in his cot, eyes glassy, skin hot with fever. He does not respond when Little says his name. Pressing a damp towel to Granby's face and chest, Little imagines his face in its place, longs to feel the steady beat of Granby's heart against his ear.

The formation leaves soon; he cannot stay. Daring, he rests his hand along Granby's cheek, leans close to whisper, "Be well, John. Please."

There will be no news for months.

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Waistcoat hanging open, Tharkay entered the room to find Laurence fighting with an old coat grown tight.

"Allow me," he said, making Laurence startle. "It is not often I am granted the opportunity to return the favor."

Laurence stood stock still as Tharkay drew near to pull the coat over his broad shoulders. The proximity near intoxicating, Tharkay could not help stepping closer; Laurence gasped, his breath ghosting against Tharkay's cheek. As he had done since China, Laurence did up Tharkay's buttons; this time, he paused at the top, question in his eyes.

Tharkay pressed their lips together in answer.

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Harcourt skims the letter: yet another missive from Tom's sister-in-law, proposing that young Tom move to the Riley estate to be properly educated. Through Laurence's pointed and insistent efforts, she has come to understand the responsibility Tom will hold; she has acquiesced to additional tutors, to occasional visits to the estate, even. But to send him away?

A peal of laughter calls her attention. Tom, climbing Lily's foreleg with no carabiner, lets himself fall; Lily catches him, and he rests comfortably between her claws, giggling.

No, it will not do. She will stand firm. Her son will be an aviator.

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It is easy to be attracted to William Laurence. Jane knows this, intimately; she also knows she cannot provide what he desires. But Tharkay, she thinks, could. She sees the same desire to come to rest she sees in Laurence, these days.

More important is the way they look at each other, when they think nobody is watching.

"You could have him, you know," she says, as they look out on Laurence planting roses.

"I am perfectly capable of managing my own affairs," Tharkay bites back.

But the next day, Laurence is particularly disheveled. Jane raises her eyebrows. Tharkay smirks.

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“My God,” Little says, laughing, from where he is sprawled on Granby’s cot. “Why, he has written you a novel.”

Granby looks down, despairing, at the thick sheaf of papers in his hand; longer somehow than Laurence’s previous letter, for all that Granby had merely dashed a few lines off in reply.

“You will have to match him, John, or else we will never get ourselves invited to that manor of Tharkay’s—or into their bed, for that matter.”

“I suppose I must try,” he agrees, dubiously inking his pen.

Will, he writes, i am verie Glad to reseev yore leter…

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Jane has been kissed before, of course. But this is new: soft, full lips against hers, the heady scent of perfume in the air, the soft lace of a dress catching on her calloused hands.

She had not been expecting such a kiss, though she is surprised to find it not at all unwelcome. Heat is beginning to build between her legs, intoxicating.

"There," says Edith Woolvey, drawing back. Her cheeks are pink. "I have been wanting to do that. Will you come upstairs with me?"

For once speechless, Jane can only nod as she is pulled toward the bedroom.

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Granby has never seen Tharkay truly drunk before. He would not have realized that Tharkay partakes only enough to avoid suspicion, normally, except that he certainly is drunk now, merry and smiling with uncharacteristic abandon.

The Allegiance rolls. Granby catches Tharkay when he stumbles.

At Granby's quirked brow, Tharkay merely shakes his head. "I am glad you found me; I fear I might have soon grown maudlin. Will you dance?"

The sailors are playing a lively jig, but Tharkay and Granby do not keep time. Instead, Tharkay rests his head on Granby's shoulder. They sway together, hidden behind Temeraire's bulk.

Granby has never seen Tharkay truly drunk before. He would not have realized that Tharkay partakes only enough to avoid suspicion, normally, except that he certainly is drunk now, and not merrily.

The Allegiance rolls. Granby catches the nearly-empty bottle before it can tip, dropping to sit beside Tharkay.

"It is nothing," Tharkay slurs quietly, "only I am reminded I am on a fool's mission, when it comes to him."

That feeling, Granby knows intimately; it is what brought them together. He wraps an arm around Tharkay. Tomorrow, they will redouble their attempts at mutual distraction. Tonight, they will mourn.

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Laurence lowered himself slowly to sit beside Tharkay on the stone wall, unsure of his welcome.

He had spoken with haste earlier; an offhand remark, that Tharkay looked tired, was perhaps overworking himself. Tharkay had gone stiff and snappish, shortly withdrawing entirely.

Now, Tharkay extended a hand. Laurence took it gladly. "Truly, Tenzing, I meant no ill; concern, only, bade me speak. I do apologize," he said.

"No, Will, you were within your rights; I fear I am not in the custom of companionship."

Laurence squeezed Tharkay's warm, dear hand. "We have all the time in the world to learn."

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Harcourt wakes early on the morning of her wedding; uncomfortable, as usual, for the child in her belly is so very large.

How strange: her wedding. Modern women in the Corps rarely marry, these days. But Laurence and Tom have made their point, and it serves her right for getting involved with a gentleman to begin with. Still, dread lies heavy upon her.

Her best shirt and trousers are laid out, expanded with painstakingly sewn panels. Now, she brushes her coat and feels as though she is heading to a battle.

Oh, but this child had better be a girl.

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Tharkay's dining room has gone oddly tense, for a reunion of four old friends. Granby, sliding his stockinged feet up Tharkay and Little's legs beneath the table, an old game of theirs, is late to catch on. He looks up to find he has been caught out: Laurence, wearing an expression of distaste.

Granby swallows, but it is Tharkay who opens his mouth. "Would you join us, Will?"

"It is hardly proper," he replies, standing. "Shall you not all come to the bedroom instead?"

The rest of them stare; they had expected more resistance. Then, as one, they follow Laurence.

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Laurence had grown so very weak. They had brought his bed out to Temeraire's pavilion, that they might be together; the doctors did not think he had much longer.

It did not feel long ago at all that Laurence's father had died in his own bed; Temeraire had found it so very alarming then. Now, it seemed a great comfort.

"My dear," Laurence's reedy voice shook as he reached out an arm.

"I am here, Laurence." Temeraire curled himself closely around Laurence, putting his muzzle beneath Laurence's hand. "I will not leave you."

But of course, Laurence would leave him.

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"No, that is not quite right," said Temeraire, when they had brought him the pot; quite an understatement, for the stew tasted at once watery and painfully hot, setting Laurence's mouth burning without offering anything in the way of flavor.

"You need not spare our feelings: it is quite horrible." Tharkay said cheerfully, feeding kindling to the fire. "We are dreadful cooks."

"Perhaps a surveying trip was not the place for trying our hand at the Chinese style, my dear," Laurence added.

"Gong Su would have managed it," Temeraire said gloomily. "Oh, but whyever must he have been a courtier!"

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When Laurence came down to breakfast, a ring box sat on his plate; Tharkay watched him expectantly as he opened it.

Inside was a signet ring, same as the one Tharkay wore when his finger was not too swollen. To his horror, Laurence's vision was blurring even before Tharkay spoke: "It is but a gesture, yet it is also a truth: what's mine is yours, always. Would you do me the honor of wearing it?"

"Tenzing..." Laurence smiled. Tharkay had come before him, was wiping his tears and sliding the ring onto his finger. "Yes, of course, many times over."

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Granby woke with a start in the dark hours of the morning. This was not his bed, not his room. There was a satisfying ache in his legs and a warm presence at his back.

He sprang to at once, scrambling for his clothing. Behind him, Laurence sat up.

"Didn't mean to fall asleep," Granby said as he pulled on his trousers. "Beg pardon."

"Will you not stay?"

"Anyone might come in—"

"We have wedged the door. John,"—Laurence drew back the bedclothes—"come, the night is cold."

The temptation was too great; he tucked himself under Laurence's arm gladly.

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From nearly her first day as a cadet, it had always been Roland-and-Dyer-and-Morgan. Then it had been Roland-and-Dyer, and they had clung to each other all the more closely for it.

Until now.

“Did you know?” Dyer demands after they are interrogated. He is furious: at Laurence, at the Admiralty, at her. It is clear he does not believe her denial, genuine though it may be. He rubs salt in the wound as he walks away: “You always were his favorite.”

Emily has never lost a fellow this way before. It is somehow more painful, that Dyer is not dead.

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Sailors know their way around rope, but aviators know rope and leather both, and Granby has put his skills to good use.

Laurence is trussed-up well and good; ropes keep his limbs eagle-spread, his torso held tight with a spare harness to which Granby has made some particular adjustments. A complicated bit of leatherwork frames Laurence's member, grown erect from Granby's work.

"John, please—" Laurence gasps, straining against the bonds. "I want— I need—"

"No," Granby says. Heat pools in his belly: satisfaction at making Laurence beg. "Not yet. For once, I think I'll be the one giving the orders."

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William Laurence's hair glinted gold across the table; his hands moved with easy precision as he ate. More enticing still was the stiffness with which he held himself, the displeasure radiating from him.

Napoleon wanted. Oh, how he wanted.

He was a man used to realizing the wildest of visions; that Laurence would not bend to his will vexed him—and attracted him all the more.

The conclave fast approached; there was much to do. Yet when the meal finished, he asked, "Captain, would you walk with me?”

He would never convince Laurence to stay; he would never give up trying.

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It had been a half-formed plan, no true expectation of its execution; as such, Granby had not known what to think when Laurence led them all to his bed-chamber. Four was a great number of bodies for such acts.

Now, thrown down upon the bed beside Tharkay, Laurence attending to them both from below and Little sprawled above, Granby finds he was mistaken.

Tharkay pulls him into a searing kiss; simultaneously, Little sucks on his fingers and Laurence takes his member whole into his mouth. Granby cries out, every part of him alight with sensation.

Four is a spectacular number.

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1. Falling Asleep Together: Laurence & Tharkay & Temeraire (Laurence/Tharkay gen or slash), fluff

2. Pet Adoption: Emily Roland & Laurence, fluff

3. Comfort After Bad Day: Laurence/Tharkay, fluff

4. Swimming: Tharkay, angst(ish)

5. Clothing Swap: Granby & Laurence & Little, fluff/humor

6. Dinner Date: Jane Roland & Captain St. Germain, angst

7. Moving in Together: one-sided Granby/Laurence

8. Enemies to Lovers: one-sided Laurence/Tharkay

9. Soulmate AU: Laurence & Temeraire (platonic), fluff

10. Lost Bet: Lily’s formation ensemble, fluff 

11. Raising Kids: Iskierka & Temeraire, fluff/humor

12: Wildcard (Fever): Granby/Little, angst

13. Bodyguard/Servant to Lovers: Laurence/Tharkay, fluff

14. Proposal: Harcourt with young Tom, contemplation

15. Mutually Oblivious to Lovers: Tharkay & Jane Roland, Laurence/Tharkay, fluff

16. Long Distance: Granby/Little, implied Granby/Little/Laurence/Tharkay, humor

17. First Kiss: Jane Roland/Edith Woolvey, fluff

18. One Partner is Drunk: Granby/Tharkay, double drabble: one fluff, one angst

19. First Fight and Making Up: Laurence/Tharkay

20. Wedding Planning: Harcourt, contemplation

21. Double Date: Granby/Laurence/Little/Tharkay, shenanigans

22. Last Moments Together: Laurence & Temeraire, angst (implied major character death warning)

23. Cooking Together: Laurence & Tharkay & Temeraire, humor

24. Wedding: Laurence/Tharkay, fluff

25. Morning After: Granby/Laurence, fluff

26. Childhood Friends: Emily Roland & Dyer, angst

27. Teasing: Granby/Laurence, PWP (M-rated)

28. Royalty x Peasantry: one-sided Laurence/Napoleon