Chapter Text
Vetinari didn’t drink, not really; he certainly didn’t make a habit of it. He was not the sort of man who enjoyed having the sharp edges of his mind blunted, but in theory, he understood the appeal. He'd always understood why Vimes used to pickle himself with Bearhugger’s on a regular basis. People find their ways to cope.
Some occasions called for him to partake in the odd glass of local spirits, purely for diplomatic purposes. He’d found people tended to be more amiable if he shared a drink with them. It had certainly aided him in building a few political relations over the years and had the additional bonus of making small talk reasonably less dull.
On this particular evening, the palace was playing host to guests from the Chalk region of the Ramtops - where numerous insignificant villages littered the hillsides. In Vetinari's experience, most of them seemed relatively peaceful places that required little of his usual careful manipulation, but it was always good to keep up appearances and stay friendly with your neighbours.
Since most people from the Chalk didn’t prioritise reading and writing, preferring more practical pursuits involving sheep, they had little desire to climb the political ladder - that’s if they even knew the ladder existed. However, as with all communities, there was always the self-important few with ideas above their station.
The diplomat Vetinari was currently speaking to had obviously worked hard to brush up his accent, although Vetinari’s keen ear could still pick up the strange country twang beneath. He found rural folk quite comical, even if the endless talk of butter prices and land squabbles was beginning to grate on him.
“Do remind me what this interesting beverage consists of,” Vetinari asked, smoothly steering the subject away from the art of sheep shearing.
“Oh, apples, Your Lordship. Well, mostly apples.”
Vetinari raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Mostly?”
“You know, I’ve never seen it brewed myself, but I hear the process is quite magical.”
“Well, it was generous of you to bring some all this way.”
Vetinari smiled politely, taking another delicate sip from his glass. The amber liquid sent a wave of warmth through his chest as he swallowed. It definitely had a distinct apple flavour, extremely fermented apples certainly, but it was not unpleasant judging by the fact Vetinari was on his third helping.
“I’m sure my guests will appreciate your kind gift,” he concluded.
The diplomat tapped him jovially on the arm before remembering himself and quickly withdrawing his hand as if he’d been burnt. Vetinari watched with mild amusement as the man began looking around wildly, then pretended to see someone he knew who required his immediate attention and started shuffling away mumbling, “I must- yes, thank you, my lord. My apologies. Excellent hospitality.”
Standing alone at the refreshment table, Vetinari scanned the room, searching for his favourite sight at any party and smiling to himself when he eventually spotted a disgruntled Vimes backed into a corner. The poor man was surrounded by a gaggle of Ramtop women in wide, bustling dresses, obviously looking to further their own positions by seducing a Duke.
Vetinari snorted, downing a few more gulps from his glass. The drink had seemed innocent enough, if a little on the powerful side. He could usually hold his alcohol well, knowing his limitations and never surpassing them, but that “brewing magic” seemed to be taking a swift hold.
He momentarily panicked at the thought of becoming more inebriated than intended and not having full control over his faculties. He needed an anchor, and right now, Vimes looked like the most likely candidate.
To any onlookers, Vetinari would’ve appeared his usual, graceful yet rather intimidating self as he crossed the polished floor, keeping his pace steady as his mind began to feel fuzzy.
“Good evening, ladies. Please excuse my interruption.” He nodded courteously to the group. “While I’m sure His Grace is enjoying your attention.” He ignored the way Vimes seethed beside him. “I’m afraid I must extract him from your delightful company to discuss an important matter. ”
The women nodded and giggled, making variably successful attempts to curtsy; one even turning to shoot Vimes a gregarious parting wink.
Vimes crossed his arms and huffed, clearly relieved that someone had rescued him, though he doubted Vetinari’s company was much better. Especially at one of his stupid parties, where the Patrician was likely to be even more insufferable than usual.
Vetinari tipped his head down closer to Vimes’ ear. “I wonder if you would join me in my office, Sir Samuel.”
“Everything okay, sir?”
Vimes caught sight of the flush building on Vetinari’s cheeks and the soft, hazy look creeping into his eyes. His attention flicked down to the glass in Vetinari’s hand.
“Gods, don’t tell me you’ve been poisoned again,” he asked frantically, eyes widening.
“Not quite.”
Vetinari was grinning now, teeth and all, which Vimes found extremely disconcerting. He studied the taller man more closely, squinting suspiciously.
“Are you drunk?” Vimes hissed.
“I’m still functional…”
“Oh, so definitely drunk then.”
“Hmm?” Vetinari continued to grin, closing his eyes and feigning ignorance.
“You been drinking the Scumble, sir?” Vimes asked.
Vetinari nodded, eyes remaining closed as he subtly leaned his weight against Vimes’ shoulder. Vimes took the half-empty glass from the Patrician’s hand, scrutinizing it before discreetly placing it on a nearby table.
“Lethal stuff that. How much have you had?”
Vetinari shot him a pointed look. “Enough.”
“Right. Come on.” Vimes set off towards the Oblong Office, Vetinari trailing after him.
Vimes shut the door behind them, hoping their departure had gone unnoticed as he ushered Vetinari toward the disgustingly ornate sofa. He watched in horror as the man slumped down against the velvet upholstery. He’d never seen the Patrician move so inelegantly.
“You really are as pissed as a bloody fart, aren’t you?!””
“It was…stronger than expected.” Vetinari’s words were beginning to slur slightly.
“That stuff could strip paint off a wall. In fact, it might even dissolve the entire wall if you’re lucky. I don’t know what those mad bastards put in it, but it makes me glad I don’t drink anymore.”
“Apples-” Vetinari muttered, half to himself.
“Apples my arse.” Vimes grumbled under his breath, throwing his hands in the air exasperatedly and pacing up and down the room, weighing up the odds of getting stabbed if he attempted to haul the inebriated Patrician to his bedroom.
It would certainly be better if Vetinari woke up in a bed tomorrow morning. One too many nights sleeping at awkward angles on uncomfortable furniture - or more often than not, on cold cobbles - had taught Vimes that beds were preferable.
Vimes pulled off his ridiculous feathered helmet, slamming it on the desk before marching up to Vetinari, hands clasped behind his back. He peered down to assess him gingerly, trying to figure out if the man was already asleep.
Vetinari’s eyes shot open so fast Vimes almost stumbled backward.
“Fuc- bastard! Don’t do that.”
“You do amuse me Commander, did you know that?”
“Yeah, well, currently that amusement is very one-sided.”
Vetinari’s face took on a serious expression, his eyes looking a little more alert.
“I apologise, I didn’t intend for this to happen-…you should go.”
Vimes was taken aback. Vetinari had asked Vimes to come here, and now suddenly he was being asked to leave?
“I’ve put you in an…undesirable position.” Vetinari continued.
And then it clicked. Either Vetinari was concerned about his current state upsetting Vimes, or Vetinari was feeling vulnerable and regretting letting anyone see him like this.
“Fuck that, whatever you’re thinking. Just trust me, yeah?”
“I always have, Vimes.”
That comment was going to have to be examined another time, when Vimes didn’t feel so royally out of his depth.
“Let’s get you to bed.” Vimes’ tone came out softer than he’d intended. He fidgeted with his hands before holding them out toward Vetinari, offering to help pull him to his feet.
Vetinari hesitated, meeting Vimes’ gaze and staring intently, checking for any signs of discomfort. Forcing a recovering alcoholic to take care of a drunk man seemed wrong somehow, but who else could he rely on?
Vetinari placed one hand in the outstretched palm, determined to stand relatively independently but then Vimes hauled a little too hard and Vetinari’s body swayed forward.
“Shit.” Vimes caught him around the waist with his free hand as Vetinari fell against his chest, head dropping forward to rest in the crook of Vimes’ neck.
I’m actually going to kill him. Vimes sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and trying desperately to ignore the feeling of the slender hips beneath his fingers.
“You good?” Vimes asked, moving his hand from Vetinari’s waist to his forehead, gently nudging the man’s head up.
The Patrician hummed contentedly, leaning into the contact. “Quite so,” he slurred, eyes glassy.
Vimes should’ve removed his hand from Vetinari’s face. When he thought about it later, over and over, he knew that had been the catalyst. The small gesture that had caused Vetinari to lean forward and press his lips softly to Sam’s.
Shock held Vimes in place for a few heartbeats. He’d have expected Vetinari to be rough and demanding. Not that Vimes had thought about how the Patrician’s lips would feel against his. Nope, definitely not.
The gentleness floored him, making his stomach swoop. It took everything to fight the urge to kiss back, to not grip Vetinari by his hips and pull him closer.
Instead, Vimes pulled back. It was better this way. It allowed Vetinari to play it off as a drunken mistake, or even pretend to forget it completely by the morning.
The hurt in Vetinari eyes almost made Vimes reconsider, he wasn’t about to take advantage of him but-
“Excuse me…I was mistaken.” For the first time Vetinari looked away, struggling to maintain eye contact. He wanted to cry, not because Sam hadn’t returned the kiss, although that fact certainly stung, but because he felt frustrated with himself for acting on the impulse at all.
“Won’t happen again,” he whispered, taking an unsteady step back to put some distance between them.
Vimes didn’t let go of his hand though, and maybe that meant he didn’t entirely hate Vetinari, which was something.
“It’s okay.” Vimes tried to soothe him, but his reassurance only seemed to make Vetinari retreat further into himself. He added the last few minutes to his rapidly growing mental list of things to deal with at a later date.
They made it to Vetinari’s bedroom, with a lot of huffing and puffing from Vimes. He practically shoved the Patrician onto the bed, the man letting out an “Oof” as he landed, flopping backwards, feet still planted on the floor.
“Have you eaten anything?” Vimes asked.
Vetinari just shook his head, regretting the action when his vision started spinning.
Vimes pinched the bridge of his nose. “No wonder you’re sozzled.”
Vimes was used to being on the other side of this particular coin, although in his case he’d rarely had anyone to look out for him. When you’re drowning your sorrows, you don’t bring company, and frankly, who would’ve wanted to drag him home and tuck him into bed.
He stood, hands planted on his hips and stared down at Vetinari, considering his next steps.
“Will you kick me if I take your shoes off?” he said finally.
Another head shake followed by another wince. Vetinari’s previously half-lidded eyes were fully closed now.
Vimes crouched down, his knees creaking in protest, and unlaced the polished black shoes, grabbing Vetinari by the ankle and slipping them off. He had the urge to throw them across the room out of spite, to make himself feel better, but he still wanted a job in the morning, so he chose to place them neatly next to the bed.
Then he started on the buttons of the long coat, working his way up from the bottom hem. He knew he should’ve asked first, but he didn’t want to give his brain time to reconsider and bail out. It was a tedious process, the buttons were fiddly and seemed to go on for miles.
When Vimes reached the last button at the collar, he slipped his hands inside, dragging the fabric down Vetinari’s shoulders and wrestling his arms free.
Vetinari did his best to assist, lifting his arms weakly and turning to the side to allow Vimes to pull the coat out from underneath him.
“Can you get your legs on the bed?”
Somehow he managed it, with only a little support from Vimes’ arm cradling the back of his knees. He turned onto his side, his cheek pressed into the mattress, one arm dangling over the edge of the bed.
Vetinari flexed his hand and caught the side of Vimes’ thigh with the tips of his fingers. Vimes jolted, his sharp intake of breath sounding louder than it should’ve as it echoed around the otherwise silent room.
“Sorry,” Vetinari murmured into the sheets.
Vimes had no idea which part of the evening's events he was apologising for, but it didn’t matter, Vimes’ frustration had deflated by now.
He placed a pillow under Vetinari’s dark hair, gently brushing back a strand that had fallen out of place. Somehow the Patrician had ended up with his head at the foot of the bed but Vimes concluded it was better than nothing.
Vetinari was dozing in and out of consciousness, occasionally snoring softly before seemingly waking himself up, trying to feign some semblance of composure.
Vimes sat on the floor with his back against the side of the bed, forearms resting on his knees. He couldn’t just up and leave the man, who was clearly having enough issues with feelings of vulnerability. For someone usually so in control, Vimes could only imagine how exposed Vetinari currently felt.
He’d trusted Sam, of all the people in that room, Vetinari had come to him. The thought brought his mind unwillingly back to the kiss and the pained expression Vetinari had made after. Replaying the image made Vimes’ chest ache.
Lost in thought, he brought his hand up and began absentmindedly tracing his finger in circles on Vetinari’s palm.
After a few minutes, Vimes felt the hand move, shifting until their fingers interlocked.
Vimes turned his head to look at Vetinari, whose eyes were open again, but still heavy. Vimes squeezed the hand that was clasped tightly against his own, making sure he had the man’s attention for now, even though he was sure he’d have to repeat himself tomorrow.
“I’ll kiss you again when you’re sober,” he whispered, watching as Vetinari’s eyes widened, a small smile tugging at his lips before dark lashes fluttered closed over watery blue eyes and his face relaxed completely as he fell deeply asleep.