[fic - Temeraire] With False Compare

Title: With False Compare
Paring: Jane/Tharkay(/Laurence)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Spoilers for Victory of Eagles, slightly cracky.
AN: For pitselly! This is totally stolen based and inspired by #9 of her meme responses—which everyone should read because it is both fascinating and hilarious. And kind of horrifying, in the best possible way, of course. I also have to give buckets of love and thanks to meretricula for the beta and title, and for setting me straight when I was totally stuck. <3



Jane was surprised. She was not one to judge a person straight off, but Tharkay she had assumed to be more sensible than most people, if not awfully cynical. In that respect, she was not incorrect with her assumption, but she had thought that his sensibilities would outweigh his cynicism. So, she was a little more than annoyed when he gave her an odd little look, and immediately refused.

“I would not ask if there was any other way,” she said, allowing weariness to hide what would have been a sarcastic drawl; “I cannot spare Granby, or risk sending any other captain for the same reasons, though even if I could, I fear the general consensus among the Corps is that they should like to be rid of Laurence, rather than free him. I had hoped your friendship with him would ensure his safety in returning, at the very least.”

And here, she carefully looked down at the maps on the table and pretended not to see Tharkay so obviously struggle with himself not to say yes too quickly, or—god forbid—offer himself up for service, because—goodness—Jane could not possibly have him run a multitude of errands and manage the ferals. Had her supply of sympathy not run dry, she would have found it completely disheartening. She had not known Tharkay for very long, but within the first few minutes of their argument, she found him guilty of one painfully major fault; he was so used to being denied and distrusted, when given the opportunity to be otherwise, Tharkay simply did not know how to respond, and thus would fall back on his deeply rooted habits of being aloof and churlish and, above all, a proverbial thorn in Jane’s side.

“My deepest apologies, Admiral, but I cannot,” Tharkay said. He could have left her office then, but Jane had the profound suspicion that he wanted to be convinced not to.

“Well, I should like to know why,” she threw out, busily writing her missives while Tharkay fell predictably silent (or more silent, as the case may be with him), but she could already guess his thoughts. “Forgive me for my impertinence, but if the reports were true and you did cross the entirety of Turkestan with twenty dragons in tow, I do not see how you can refuse fetching a traitor from Dover.”

“That is easier than you might think, sir: I refuse,” Tharkay replied, and there was no hiding the irony in his slight smile.

Jane was very close to throwing something heavy and sharp in his direction. As much as she enjoyed a duel of verbal wit, she was currently arms deep in managing a war with a group of stubborn, thick-headed gentlemen, more commonly known as England’s Admiralty—and she had enough of needless arguing besides. “I sit corrected, but if you are through with this roundabout way of taking a commission, I would very much like to give you your orders now,” Jane said, and ruthlessly continued with, “—I am very sorry for any qualms you harbor against England, but if I may suggest, you can think of it this way; you are doing it for Laurence and only him alone.”

She realized a little too late that deliberately prodding not one but two weak spots, and making it clear that she was not above exploiting one of them, was perhaps not the best way to ask for his assistance. But in her defense, the whole dilemma was ridiculous and frustrating, when it was clear to her that Tharkay would like nothing better than to be near Laurence, and here she was, waving around a commission that would grant just that, yet by some perverse chain of thought, he was declining it.

And while she was irritably contemplating the vices of bitter men, Tharkay’s expression was a picture of perfect blankness.

“No,” he said flatly, and turned to leave.

Jane was not proud of what she did next, but if she was perfectly honest with herself, there would have been no other way to make Tharkay trip completely over his own chair. She started writing a letter to Wellington.

“Do you know,” she began offhandedly, “the sound Laurence makes when you have him by one hand with your mouth on his neck?”

One moment Tharkay was standing, the next he was on the floor; Jane had guessed it was the chair, though it could have been the rug. She stood up and peered curiously over her desk.

“No, not quite like that, but I daresay you already know the position he favors,” she added when Tharkay groaned and got up, looking furious—which is to say, precisely expressionless, save for the way his eyes were narrowed and how his jaw clenched—though the heat of his gaze may not have been due to anger alone.  Jane held out her hand, and said impatiently, "Well? Shall I show you?"

And, as ungracious as he was about it, Tharkay took her hand, the barest hint of embarrassment only showing through the way his eyes darted away while demanding roughly, "Show me--" and Jane pulled him so that they sitting on the very letters she would have him deliver later.

"Should I begin with how he kisses?" she asked, and when Tharkay drew in a quick breath, she laughed and leaned in closer so that she whispered over his lips, "It is the most pleasant thing, very much like you would imagine Laurence would have done it--all politeness and caution--" Just as Tharkay's mouth parted for more, she drew away, "--and I'm afraid he will need to be prompted, ah, at first," she stuttered while Tharkay's hand fell at her hip and his head tilted to lick and nip at her left ear, the heat of his mouth cutting short her narration.

"Will that do?" he asked, suddenly cordial, but the glower he gave her made his tone sickly sweet.

"He prefers having it done at the neck, actually," Jane murmured, and delighted in having Tharkay scowl and flounder his way along until she finally took pity and pushed him down on his back, nearly toppling the ink well over his coat.  She quickly undid the buttons of his shirt, feeling his chest rise and fall and shiver beneath her hand.  "Mind, he is not so uncouth as to start it over a table, though you will certainly do no harm in trying."

It was, perhaps, wrong of her to dawdle and tease for so long, and she had no one to blame but herself when Tharkay made an impatient noise from his throat and abruptly sat up. With a darkening look, he placed one hand around her neck and pulled her in for a kiss full of tongue and careless teeth. Jane momentarily relented and, for the second time within the hour, Tharkay had surprised her again; he dragged her down to the floor, loose papers falling everywhere, with no more than a light grip around her waist and his lips sucking wetly against the base of her neck. From there, Jane was embarrassed to admit that she made an easy sport of herself when he firmly held her down and she found him smirking above her.

“And now, tell me,” Tharkay said with a filthy little purr in her ear, “What would Laurence do now?”


-------


Jane was sorry to think that she had not done a very good job at playing Laurence, not that he was a horrible partner--far from it--but she knew Laurence would have wanted to take his time, and not have it end so quickly.

"Alright," Tharkay said breathlessly, completely disheveled and sweaty under the dim lamplight, "I'll go. I'll fetch you your traitor."

Jane smiled, and handed him his new coat and missives.