She sat back, crossed her arms, pursed her lips, and studied him. His chin came up in unconscious response to the challenge, and what a fine chin it had always been. “You know, it occurs to me—belatedly—have you actually had any practice at seducing people?”
His eyes widened, then narrowed back down. “Certainly! I’m hardly asexual, Cordelia!”
“I didn’t suggest that! You have to be one of the least asexual people I’ve ever met. Much to the puzzlement, I have no doubt, of those who have flung themselves so futilely at you over the years, poor sods. And odds.” Definitely both odds and sods. “But I was thinking, rather—as opposed to just triaging people trying to seduce you?”
His mouth opened indignantly. Then closed. Then pressed closed. Then opened a cautious mite to murmur, “That’s…an alternate view. I suppose it might, ah—did it look like that to you?”
“I saw one success, many misfires, and for the rest of the time, you were out of range on your trade-fleet convoy tours. Where I gather you were not needlessly monogamous?”
“Uh, no, but…I don’t think I’m picky, but there were also many work considerations. Especially after I acquired my captaincy.”
He would have been very conscientious about those, likely. And the shifting fleet duty did not lend itself to anything long term. “So—what is it that you’d like to have?”
He sat back and crossed his own arms. And rather bit out: “Vorkosigans. Apparently. Although it seems too narrow a taste to be evolutionarily likely.”
She sighed. I miss Aral bitterly, too. “Can’t fault you for that one. But what is it you would like that you can have? Or can you say?”
“I seem surprisingly unable to articulate it, today.”
She waved a hand. “Well, then, let’s try tackling the problem from the other end for a bit. Try imagining your ideal partner. Or fling, even. A fellow, I presume? Age, physical type, emotional style, anything? Name, rank, serial number…? I mean—this could be mission-critical information, you know.”
He was beginning to be balefully amused by her, judging by the expression on his face, but he just shook his head as if in disbelief. Although he added, “You know…after Aral, I did think it was men, but I’d had girlfriends before that. Not many, but there were one or two I’d imagined might be my end-game. Other things happened instead. And then there was that herm. Remarkable person in its own right, Captain Thorne, but do you know—the best thing about that fling was that for one whole week, I could stop worrying about my damned categories.” He blinked and frowned, as if this were a sudden new realization.
“Do you think you’re really bi, then? Like Aral?”
“I…it would make more sense than a kink for herms. It’s not as if I went out looking for more, after that.”
She tried another tack. “So…who was your first crush?”
This surprised a bark of laughter from him. “My what?”
“You mentioned kinks. Most people who have them, I mean really have them hardwired into their psyches, not just mild preferences, can identify their roots way back before puberty.”
He made a hair-clutching gesture, though he was still laughing. “Oh, God. This is turning into another one of those Betan conversations, isn’t it? Although I have to say, the herm was not so bad, as Betans went. Had the most endless fund of bizarre questions about Barrayar and Barrayarans, though.”
“But I want to help you, Oliver! If I can,” she amended. She couldn’t help adding aside, “Although I really want to hear more about that herm, sometime.”
“You just like salacious gossip.”
She smiled sunnily at being so profoundly understood. “Yes, but there are so very few people I can have it with.”
“I see.” He swallowed his tilted grin, and more tea.
“First crush,” she reminded him firmly.
“Aren’t there dogs with grips on a subject like this? Terriers, wasn’t it? What makes you think a man can even remember back that”—a slight hitch in his breath, a sudden weird look crossing his face—“far…”
“Do tell,” she prodded, settling back and preparing to be entertained.
“Mugged in Memory Lane. How did you know? Yes. Back in my district primary school, when all the other boys in my classes were giggling in excruciating puppy love over the pretty girl in the third row, I always suffered—and I use that word with some precision—the most devastating crushes on my teachers.” And added under his breath, “God, Oliver—who knew…?”
“Ah!” said Cordelia, feeling pleased. “I think I know about that one! An authority kink, Oliver. Or possibly a power kink.” Good grief, no wonder he went for Aral. “That…makes all kinds of sense, in retrospect.”
“To you, maybe.”
“Male or female teachers?”
“Uh…both. Actually. Now I think on it. Which I haven’t done. For years.” He gave her an accusing look, as if it were her fault.
“Well, many kinks are orthogonal to gender. You do realize there are more than three categories, all on one axis, for human sexual preferences, don’t you? I think you may just be suffering from a shortage of categories.”
“And here I thought I was plagued with too damned many. More than one axis? How do your Betans chart that—with imaginary numbers?”
“Probably. I mean, I don’t know that much about the professional sexuality therapists, but I do know they use some pretty complicated math. Anyway, I quite see that it gives you a built-in structural problem, as you rise in age and rank. At least with the kind of social and age pyramids Barrayar is running at present. You have fewer and fewer potentials in the shrinking pool of authorities above you. And if you aren’t moved by subordinates…?”
He shook his head quite firmly, though whether in agreement or disbelief she wasn’t just sure.
“Then that pretty much leaves you with the uninteresting, the unavailable, and the unappetizing. I mean, just passing the current General Staff, Council of Counts, and Council of Ministers under mental review, for example. Not to mention their dowager dragons.” She made a face, thinking of some of the more repellent derelicts of time in that opinionated crew.
His eyes crinkled in amused horror, evidently envisioning some of the same strong personalities. “Nightmarish! I agree with you there.”
She waved a didactic finger, growing firmer in her hypothesis and pleased with her own insight. She hadn’t lost her touch, eh? “There is nothing whatsoever wrong with you, Oliver. You just happen to find yourself in a target-poor environment at the moment, is all.”
“And yet the range is so short.”
“What?”
He set down his cup firmly on the plank tabletop. He then stood up, walked around the table to her side, grasped her chin, turned her face up, and bent to kiss her.
“Blurf…?” said Cordelia, her eyes springing wide. At this distance, he was blurred and double, and anyway, as he deepened the kiss his blue eyes closed. She felt her own lids squeezing shut in response, as her lips parted. He tasted like sun and rain and tea and Oliver. He tasted really good…
When they broke for breath after a minute…or two…or three, he murmured, “Ah, so this is how Aral diverted all those Betan data-spates.”