DonnaIvan

Title: Pup Training
Classification: Lady Donna/Young Ivan, Humor
Rating: PG-13, mostly for language and sexual references
Length: 2500 words
Summary: "I'm doing you a favor. Now be a nice boy and hand me the wine."

With thanks to Sahiya, who let me borrow the following plot bunny from her story Fluidity:

He'd first slept with Donna Vorrutyer after a wedding, he recalled. Not one of hers - the daughter of one of Ivan's mother's friends, he thought. The details of the event itself were rather vague, especially since he'd been an even bigger fan back then of the whole "open bar" concept, but he remembered how she'd looked in a blue dress with no back and a neckline that had made his mother frown in disapproval. Ivan was used to pretty girls, but Donna . . . Donna wasn't a girl. She wasn't pretty either, exactly. She'd taken him home at the end of the evening - and Ivan realized now that any say he may have had in the matter had been purely for show - and made him completely forget every blushing Vor damsel he'd ever sweet-talked out of her knickers.

It was so good to be free again.

The first time Donna Vorrutyer had married, it was for all the "right" reasons: to have the opportunity to become a Countess, to please her father, to help her family's status, because she was eighteen and therefore needed to be married off before she had a chance to become a "fallen woman." It had been an unmitigated disaster, which she'd escaped via divorce, with her ex-husband deemed firmly at fault for "mental cruelty," a.k.a. "being a drunken, abusive lout most of the time." A few years of freedom had followed, and then a minor Vor lord had swept her off her feet and into another marriage. Four years in, she'd been getting ready to divorce him, too, and for much the same reasons. But then he'd beenkilled by being thrown from a horse while on a hunting trip, and someone who'd been there had told her he'd been so drunk that he hadn't been able to mount the horse without help.

Conveniently widowed, she'd spent the requisite year in formal mourning, trying very hard to not make it too obvious that she was happy about her new status. The expected withdrawal of early widowhood worked well for her; she'd found a couple of understanding friends amongst the High Vor, married men who'd been drawn to her not just for her looks, but her forthrightness. Not having a husband waiting at home made it easier for her to get about to see them, and when she slipped out of her black mourning garb and into their beds, none of them made any objections about propriety.

Tonight was the wedding of Lady Vorlightly to Count Vorbataille. This High Vor occasion marked her re-entry into society, and she was coming to suspect that she was the sort of person who'd always enjoy weddings, as long as she wasn't the bride. Especially because, contrary to what one might expect, weddings were a good place to start affairs.

She called her maid in to help her with her hair. The maid hadn't seen this dress on Donna before, and the girl's reaction was priceless -- she blinked, and blinked again, and then lowered her eyes as if she would burn up if she looked once more. And this was the reaction from a simple young woman who'd seen Donna in every state of dress and undress. Donna licked her lips in anticipation of knocking a few High Vor off their feet.

The dress was her favorite midnight blue, with shimmers of silver woven through it. Fancy fabrics were a specialty industry in Vorrutyer District, so Donna often had an inside scoop on samples. In a few weeks, every High Vor woman would have a dress made of a fabric like this, in one of the many colors the manufacturer was putting up. But Donna would be the first.

As for the cut... It made Donna smile. She'd chosen it to be daring enough that it would not be copied by every woman wealthy enough to have it. Backless to the waist, except for a rhinestone-bedecked gossamer thread from one shoulder to the other. Long flowing sleeves to match the long flowing skirt. And cleavage down to there. This was one of Donna's best features, and she refused to hide it. In her early thirties, she was no blushing maiden and had no reason to pretend to be one.

When the maid finished with her hair, Donna stared at the face staring back from the mirror. It was neither girlishly pretty nor classically beautiful, but she'd inherited the Vorrutyer eyes, deep brown pools with extravagant eyelashes and perfect brows. She'd even heard that the reason Prime Minister Aral Vorkosigan avoided her is that her eyes reminded him too much of his long-ago lover, her ill-fated Uncle Ges. Or of Ges's sister, Vorkosigan's first, also ill-fated, wife. With her hair pulled back from her face and cascading down her back, it would be her eyes that people noticed... once they stopped focusing on her chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the wedding reception, the talk of the hour was the foiled assassination plot against Emperor Gregor Vorbarra. The whole thing didn't quite add up to Donna. First he'd become ill while on Komarr and had been shipped to Vorbarr Sultana. Then, a few weeks later, the plot had surfaced, and he'd been packed off... somewhere. Or so the official tale went; no one Donna knew had actually seen the Emperor since before his departure for Komarr. Donna thought that much of the gossip concealed real worry. Barrayar had not gone without its Emperor for this long since Vordarian's Pretendership, when the boy Gregor had been spirited away until the rebellion was subdued.

Gregor Vorbarra was now twenty-five or so, handsome, cerebral -- and, to Donna's dismay, completely off limits to anyone other than some pedigree-vetted High Vor virgin (who would be required to keep her virginity until marrying him.) Now there were Emperors in Barrayar's past who'd had legendary strings of lovers, but poor Gregor, it appeared, would not be one of them. It frustrated her; on the few occasions Donna had had opportunity to speak with him, this man needs a good fuck was all she could think.

Yet again, Donna turned away from a passel of High Vor women who had fake-complimented her on her dress. Of all the women present, only Countess Vorkosigan had given her a genuine smile, and possibly understood the humor in Donna's approach. Donna was starting to think that maybe it had been a mistake to be quite this daring. Or maybe she just needed to ignore the women and see what men were about. Go on the prowl, in other words.

This goal moved forward almost immediately, when she looked over her shoulder and saw Lady Alys's son Ivan Vorpatril staring at her with his mouth hanging open. So maybe he was a bit of a pup, but that didn't mean she couldn't use him to entertain herself.

She turned and walked up to Ivan. Apparently he was as impressed with the front of the dress as he'd been with the back, because his expression didn't change. "Close your mouth, Ivan, you're likely to catch flies," she said lightly.

Ivan startled a bit, blushed, and was staring at his feet when he said, "Lady Donna... You, you... that dress."

Donna chuckled at him. "Don't tell me there's anything here you haven't seen before. From what I've heard, you've discovered the greatest advantage of not getting that vaunted ship-duty -- there are women around Vorbarr Sultana."

This produced an even deeper blush. Ivan cleared his throat a few times. "SowouldyouliketodanceLadyDonna?" he croaked out, in a clear attempt at deflection.

"Not especially. But grab me a nice glass of white wine and let's go talk, shall we?"

"Oh, of course, pardon me, I didn't even notice you didn't have a drink."

It was only as Ivan walked away, slightly unsteady on his feet, that Donna noticed that he was, not surprisingly, trying to put a dent in the stock of the Vorbatilles' open bar. OK, Ivan was a slightly drunk pup. But a cute one, tall and dark-haired, and Donna suspected not quite such a lummox as everyone from the Emperor to his mother thought.

Ivan grinned at her as he placed the wineglass in her hands and said, "Yes ma'am." Donna took a sip, and as she settled her arm in his, she felt she'd kindled the warmth between them.

It was winter, so their strolling venues were limited to the interior public areas of the newlyweds' large and comfortable mansion. Vorbatille House was one of the newer counts' residences in Vorbarr Sultana, so it lacked the odd layout of a house that had been improved from an unheated, unlit castle to have all the modern conveniences of lift tubes, central heating, and no need to carry torches or candles to see one's way. Vorrutyer House -- Donna's regular residence, to which she hoped to convey Ivan -- was of the older style. Thanks to the paranoia and bitter temper of its designer, her great-great-grandfather Count Pierre 'LeSanguinaire' Vorrutyer, it was more fortress-like than home-like. But Donna was fond of the old pile, which was a good thing since she was now the only Vorrutyer family member in permanent residence. Her brother Count Pierre was growing strangely reclusive and in fact rarely appeared in Vorbarr Sultana; he'd started sending Donna as his representative to all the High Vor social occasions because he had no named heir and no closer relative than her. If he could have had a woman as his proxy in the Council of Counts, he would have named her. Instead, he'd show up the night before each of the Council's sessions and follow Donna's recommendations on how to vote.

Donna and Ivan were in one of the longer corridors when Donna noticed a familiar figure slumped on a tapestried bench. The man appeared unconscious, and by her considerable previous experience, she guessed he probably was. But she guessed wrong; as they passed, he mumbled, "Donna, you're the biggest slut in Vorbarr Sultana."

Donna tried to direct Ivan away from the man, but he seemed bent on defending her honor. Ivan pushed the fellow's head out of his chest and up against the wall. Once upright, the man reeked of drink, repulsively enough that Donna took a few steps back. "What's this? You insult a lady!" Ivan puffed.

"'m only tellin the truth. She's a sort who'll spread her legs for anyone, Ensign Vorpatril. You c'do better, 'less you're just lookin for a good piece a' ass."

Ivan's face darkened, and he drew back a hand as if to punch the man, but Donna, who was nearly as tall and, to her surprise, just as strong, caught it and pulled Ivan back. "Lord Vorpatril, allow me to introduce Count Vorlakial. My first ex-husband," she said with as much contempt as she could muster. She paused before turning away, and made a side comment to Ivan, loud enough for the Count to hear. "Drunk and crude as always... hence the ex. I feel for his wife, though I doubt she's smart enough to notice what she married besides a Count's fortune."

As they moved out of earshot, Ivan said, "I had no idea you'd been married to that idiot. My sympathies."

"Well, you were all of nine years old when I married him, and all of eleven when I divorced him, so it's no surprise. My Da wanted a good match for me, Vorlakial came calling, and I was stupid enough to say yes because I thought I wanted to be a Countess."

"I know his new wife," Ivan said. "My mother pushed me towards the former Lady Gloria Vorbohn, but god, the girl is 'dumb as a hillman with his rocks' as my cousin Miles would say. Pretty enough, but she bored me to death as soon as my brain took back over from my hormones."

Donna nodded in agreement. "In one of our worse fights, I accused him of wanting for a wife one of those blow-up dolls you can find in certain shops. Like his new Countess, but she has the advantage of being able to give him a family of half-wit heirs." She gave a silent blessing that she'd divorced the creep.

"Ouch," Ivan sniggered.

"Well, so I made a mistake. But I got out relatively unscathed." Donna shrugged. "I'm starting to think marriage doesn't suit me; I was on the verge of a second divorce when husband number two passed away. But I'll be married off again, sooner or later."

"Really? But you don't seem to be what a typical High Vor male wants in a wife. You're far too bold."

Donna sighed. Then, figuring that by reputation, the last thing Ivan would be thinking of was marrying her, she explained, "If my brother doesn't marry and produce a Count's heir in the usual way, his brother-in-law would be an obvious choice to succeed him. I suppose it's a good thing I am so bold, as you say, because otherwise there'd be a line of clueless gits outside my door, panting over the chance to become a Count. These days, my value is in my name."

"That's... that's just wrong."

"Ivan, I find your idealism touching, though it makes it obvious you've never thought much about what makes the social status of the High Vor woman. But let's get back down to reality, shall we?" She carefully steered Ivan into a little alcove, turned to face him, and pinned him against the wall and kissed him until he was breathless.

This got her treated to an even more flustered Ivan, and worried for a moment that he might be one of those Vor men who couldn't stand not taking the lead. Probably not; he's only 21, and he wants to get laid. It was sweet to see Ivan, who had a such a suave reputation, so undone. "Milady, ma'am, Donna..." he stammered.