In Truth, Beauty

© Salome Wilde, 2008

Author's Note: I wrote this story after having read the first four books of Eroica. At that time, Dorian was still referenced in the manga as incredibly desirable and not yet the cartoonish fool he often is later in the series. Klaus was not yet constantly talked about as someone who couldn't earn promotion. I found the tension between them irresistable, and I began to ponder what would happen if they truly DID get together. What did Klaus hide within that repressed rigid professionalism? How far would Dorian go to have him, to please him. These questions do not hold up well as the books progress, and so this story is best read as a very serious, dark "what if" story. Please don't read it unless angst and the darker side of the series is of interest, but know it still ends on a relatively positive note. Thanks. (Also note that I didn't know about breaking things up into small chapters when I wrote this ... I may break it up and repost soon.)


In Truth, Beauty

Dorian stood in the doorway: spellbound, horrified. Iron Klaus was preparing to sodomize his subordinate.

The Earl had come to the room at the Drake Hotel gladly when summoned by the Major—his nemesis and his love—for it had been so long that he could not remember the last time dear Klaus had actually initiated contact with him. A superior or a subordinate was always assigned the distasteful task of calling the “Pervert” Earl to shore up N.A.T.O.’s pathetic infiltration forces. Whether it was opening a safe or snatching a piece of art with hidden microfilm inside, they needed Dorian Red, Earl of Gloria, and Lord Gloria always came when called because he knew it would bring him in contact, once again, with the green-eyed devil of his dreams, Major Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach. True, there were times when the Major was not part of the mission, times when he could not finagle a way to somehow lure Klaus into the situation; but even then Dorian could use his willingness to assist N.A.T.O. as a means of leveraging kinder behavior from the Major—or at least avoid a beating or a bullet when he needed to steal some delicious artwork from right under Klaus’s nose.

Dorian did already know that Klaus was in Chicago. Though they’d neither met yet nor planned to, Jones had found opportunity to bug the Major’s car at their last encounter, over the British crown in Cologne, and overheard him tell Agent Z that a trip to Chicago was to be necessary, to pursue reports that Red Army terrorist leader Brigitte Mohnhaupt was hiding in the city since she had fled Germany after her organization’s most recent failed bombing attempt. The Earl rejoiced that Klaus would neither know of nor have time to spend discovering Dorian’s plans, even as he knew he would have enjoyed the opportunity to see and taunt his adored adversary.

The typed note had said only “Room 620. Midnight. Eberbach.” Nothing was written on the envelope, but there was a key inside with “Drake Hotel” stamped onto the diamond-shaped fob. Dorian found the note when reaching into the pocket of his red velour blazer to retrieve the map of the Art Institute he’d gotten at the door. He’d found his way to the gallery housing the work of the modernists, not a wing he often visited. Classic works were his style, but there was a special work he’d wanted to visit this trip: Ivan Albright’s Picture of Dorian Gray. He knew the garish, over-ornate horror would not please his eye or his delicate taste, but he had of late been pondering his Wildean namesake, the man who indulged himself in immoral pleasures and the sins of the flesh but never showed it in his eternally youthful and innocent complexion. Morbid it was to contemplate whether his life of thievery and decadence (when James would let him get away with it economically) was truly as deserving of censure as his dear Major Klaus would have it, but he was contemplating it, and the horror of Albright’s terrible masterpiece brought it home.

Would the Major’s heart turn from ice to blazing fire if Dorian were as stiff and morally righteous as he? The Earl laughed to himself at the foolish thought as he thrust a hand into his pocket for the map, so that he might quickly return to the Italian Renaissance wing and bask once more in the delight of Donatello’s effeminate nude sculpture of David, on loan from the Bargello Palace, in these last few moments before the museum closed. He paused as he touched the heavy little envelope, and shook out both note and key. Before he got to the delight of being summoned to the Major’s hotel room, he burned with the outrage of having failed to notice when someone, somehow, planted the item on his person. It could not have been those bumbling lettered agents, A or B. Nor precious little G, who would certainly have been awash in giggles before he’d gotten close enough to touch the Earl’s lace-edged pocket. Soon, however, he found he could not sustain the curiosity over who had had the skill to trick him this way: once he read the note, his thoughts were all of Klaus.

After gathering up James and Bonham, he quickly headed for the exit. James was whining about not getting their money’s worth until they’d seen every last item on display and grumbling about the right to see everything in storage, too. Dorian ignored his miserly accountant easily, as he so often did, as he produced the flood of tears he had become infamous for. Bonham comforted him with thoughts about how much they could get for that bronze statue the Earl so fancied. Though both Dorian and Bonham knew that the Earl would not sell it if he did, indeed, decide to take it, he appreciated Bonham’s efforts to calm the hysterical James and give him time to think. What to wear quickly won out over wondering why he was being summoned in Dorian’s aroused mind. Midnight was no time for business dealings, surely. And it was already almost nine.

He’d not had time to bathe upon arrival in Chicago. The plane had come in late and he wanted as much time at the Art Institute as possible. He had already obtained and studied the security plans for the museum during the days before travel, but he needed time to see as much of the place in person as possible, not to mention some hours to visit all those artworks he would not, this time, purloin. So, he’d simply dropped his luggage at the hotel and headed out in a rented Jaguar that he’d only afforded by making promises to the lovely young male sales agent that he did not plan to keep. (James could not even rejoice in the money saved for his anguish over the Earl’s lascivious promises to a total stranger.)

For his invited meeting with the Major—whatever its purpose or plan—a long, scented bath was most definitely in order. He led his men to believe he was getting a good night’s sleep before finalizing plans in the morning, then basked in oils and rose-petaled water (for he never traveled without such amenities in his bags) and fantasized about softly entering a room filled with candlelight and Klaus. He shook his head at the improbability of the image. It was far more likely he’d walk into a cloud of rancid cigarette smoke and a threat to “stay out of my way, Pervert.” Contemplating how best to seduce the Major with his ensemble, Dorian chose a pair of tight pale blue slacks and equally tight tank of precisely the same hue, then covered the outfit with a sheer, flowered wrap. The outfit brought out the blue of his sparkling eyes and illuminated the highlights in his intimidatingly thick mane of curly blonde hair. He checked the clock (11:18), called down to the desk clerk to have his car brought around, and headed out.

The directions he got to the Drake were easy to follow, a valet parked his car in the underground hotel lot, and he was free to make his way to the Major’s room. In the elevator, he smiled at himself in the mirror, feeling the butterflies of anticipation dance inside him. Klaus was right, he was an “idiot” to pursue such unwilling prey. Well then let him be an idiot. He would use his determined adoration to bend that iron will someday, and if it took not only the soft rose but its pricking thorn to move him, so be it.

Listening at the door, Dorian could hear nothing. So, he fitted key into lock, turned the knob, and pushed. He posed in the entryway, determined to make an impression before the inevitable harangue began. And then his eyes fixed on the scene before him. He could not move, not speak. Beautiful and slender Agent Z was on his belly, face pressed into a pillow, sweet little buttocks hiked in the air and trousers at his ankles, while no other than Major Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach, thick black hair shining across his fully clothed shoulders, was hastily unzipping his fly with one hand and keeping Z pinned to the bed at the small of his back with the other.

This could not be happening, thought the Earl. It simply could not be happening.

Little shocked Dorian any more, heaven knew. There was little in the doings of the underworld, the military world, or the private world of hedonism that he had not seen or participated in. But this he could never have predicted. He struggled for what seemed endless moments in fight-or-flight mode, desperate not to see what he was seeing, incapable of not watching. But as Klaus bent forward, his cock obviously unleashed for its purpose but not visible to Dorian in the doorway, the Earl could remain still no longer. He slammed the door shut behind him, pressed back into it, and shouted out the name of a man who would never seem the same in his eyes again. “Klaus!”

Klaus froze. Then his head dropped slightly, and he rose from the bed. He did not turn to meet Dorian’s eyes. Instead, in a low, hollow voice, he commanded, “You may go, Z.”

Z did as he was told, pausing to raise his trousers and grab his shirt. Stepping before Dorian, he looked into his eyes and murmured, “Thank you, Lord Gloria,” then, urging Dorian out of his way with his eyes, he let himself out.

Klaus remained where he was, standing beside the bed, zipping his fly, fastening his belt, and, it seemed to Dorian, shaking from head to foot. With rage? With shame? With unquenched need? Dorian could not fathom, though he shook, too, and also did not know why.

After a few more torturous moments of stunned silence, with the Earl’s burning eyes boring a hole in the Major’s back, Dorian turned to go. A voice halted him. “Will you have a drink?” Klaus asked.

Surprising himself, Dorian replied with a soft “yes.”

Klaus walked to the bureau in the corner of the suite and picked up a bottle of expensive German brandy. He carefully half-filled two small glasses and held one out at arm’s length to Dorian. He managed to avoid eye contact without seeming to do so. He walked to an armchair and sat down heavily, drained his glass in a gulp, and set it down on an end table, where he reached for his cigarettes and lighter.

Dorian walked over and sat down across from Klaus on the small sofa, an ironic loveseat. He sipped the strong, sweet brandy. He did not know Klaus drank brandy. He apparently did not know a lot of things about the Major’s tastes. Without intending to speak, he suddenly blurted out, “So, you do fancy men, after all,” his usual melodic, carefree voice emerging as a hysterical squeak in the dark mood of the dimly lit room.

“No!” barked Klaus, furrowing his brow. He tossed his cigarette into the ashtray.

“No?” Dorian snapped back. “Then, why were you about to fuck one—and a subordinate at that?”

“Don’t use that degenerate language with me. It’s not what you think. I’m not…” His voice trailed off. He rose with his glass, clearly intending to refill it rather than finish his thought.

Dorian rose, too, and reached his long arms out to push the Major back down. Klaus reacted quickly, shoving up against Dorian, then reaching a fist up to strike him. Dorian flinched but held his ground. “Sadist,” he ground out between his teeth. Klaus narrowed his eyes and at last met Dorian’s gaze, then dropped his hand and let himself fall back into the chair. Dorian remained standing, looking down at a man he neither knew nor understood—and never had.

“I’ve taken Z that way many times,” Klaus spat out. “He has never demanded that I stop.”

“And the fact that he is an inferior who worships you and knows he would be sent to Alaska if he refused does not occur to you, Major?” Dorian downed his brandy, feeling the burning in his throat as Klaus’s silence stretched between them.

Klaus opened his mouth to reply, then shut it. He lifted and relit his cigarette. In a swirl of smoke, he muttered, “You don’t understand.”

“You’re bloody right I don’t!” Dorian shouted, and began to pace the room. “I don’t understand what the hell you’re doing or why the hell you’re doing it! I don’t understand who you are or who you think you are! I don’t understand why you refuse and abuse me and then take another who is not your equal in rank or maturity! And I don’t understand why the bloody hell you gave me the key to the room so I could walk in on your depravity!”

“Depravity?” Klaus snapped, rising again. “You accuse me of depravity? Du unverantwortlicher, moralisch verdorbener Pervert!”

“At least I obtain consent first!”

“Wanker!” Klaus stammered, then, “Wait—what key?”

“The key you sent me, along with your little typed note to meet you here at midnight.”

“I? I never sent you a key to this room. And I don’t type. A does my typing, or sometimes Z. And why would I possibly invite you here? I want you as far away from me as I can get!”

Dorian raised a slender finger. “Klaus, are you honestly telling me you did not orchestrate this nightmare?”

“Of course not,” Klaus replied, straightening in his chair. Why would I?”

Dorian sat. His head was swimming. If not Klaus, who did want him in this room, at midnight, witnessing…well, what he had witnessed, or almost witnessed? Someone with access to a room key, or willing to lift one. Someone who typed… “Z,” Dorian said. “It’s Z who made this happen,” and his mind shot to the gentle “Thank you, Lord Gloria” the man had murmured, a statement of gratitude to a rescuer. “Because you were raping him.”

Klaus stubbed out the end of his cigarette with a groan. “Nein. You are wrong. It was never that.” He looked directly into Dorian’s eyes. “Do you hear me? Never.”

“Then why did he lure me here to catch you in the act?”

Klaus shook his head. Clearly, he was confused, but unyielding on this point. “He wanted it. What we did. We both wanted it…for the same reasons. I swear this.” He leaned back again and sighed. “But you are right. I believe he is the one who gave you the note and the key and told you to come at midnight, the time he and I set aside for…for our…for what we do.”

Dorian quirked an eyebrow. There was no question that he did not understand this man, but he knew him well enough to trust him when he gave his word. And he gave it now so earnestly, with obvious pain in his voice. But what is it he and Z were sharing, and why? Z adored his Major, of that there was no question. So perhaps it was simply sex, the dominant and repressed Iron Klaus relieving some tension with the willing and attractive Z. Or perhaps the reason Klaus had so long resisted and rejected Dorian was because he had found what he desired in Z. Dorian could not reach further than this, and he writhed inside at the thought that his Klaus had chosen Z instead of him to unleash that powerfully restrained libido. He rose and filled their glasses again. Let me get drunk, thought Dorian. Whatever the truth and however Klaus finally came out with it, he knew it would not be pleasant—or easy—to hear.

Both men sipped in silence, and Dorian let his mind wander through his chance encounters with Z. Such an attractive young man, and so eager to please. Of the Major’s underlings, he was by far the Earl’s favorite, in looks and personality. How he wanted to have Z working for him. He would look so delicious around the castle. Ah, but wouldn’t he then be in the same situation as the Major, tempted to take advantage, at least now and then? His mind flickered for a moment to poor James. Though he argued with himself that the situations were more different than alike, and though his relationship with James did not extend to what Klaus was clearly doing with Z, there were commonalities. He reflected on James’ open pleas for affection and the sporadic embraces he offered. Had Z come to Klaus in similar fashion? If so, did he not deserve more affection than what Dorian had witnessed? No, Z was not helping Iron Klaus bring down his walls. He was helping hold them up. That must be why he had slipped Dorian the key and the note. He needed Dorian’s assistance. Dorian smiled. Of course, he could not refuse to help sweet, hero-worshiping Z. Yet, how he wished he could act on his own behalf.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Klaus said, interrupting the Earl’s reverie. “Considering how best to announce my ‘depravity’ to my superiors? Or perhaps you plan to tell my father?” Klaus sneered and put his glass down on the table with a bang.

“Must you always assume the worst, Major? Perhaps I am simply delighted to know that under that Iron coating you are as vulnerable to desire as the rest of us. As I,” he added, feelingly.

Klaus laughed. “You? Don’t compare us, you idiot. You slake your thirst before you even know you are thirsty. You toy with others’ feelings; you make everything a foolish game…”

“I do what?” Dorian gasped. “My dear Major, the ideas you have about me! Just because I display myself and my desires openly, because I choose to live life fully rather than constrain my every need…” Dorian leapt up from the loveseat and planted himself in Klaus’s lap. He took the Major’s face in his hands and looked deeply into his eyes. “I am no idiot…and I am dying of thirst.” As he felt Klaus begin to tense and raise his hands—no doubt to throw him off—he crushed his lips to Klaus’s, to the source of his need, the wellspring of his deepest desires. Klaus did not move, did not kiss back but did not continue his movement to push Dorian away either. Dorian softened and deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding between the Major’s slack lips, lips so much softer than he had thought possible in that hardened jaw. He broke away for a moment and begged in a whisper, wondering if Z had begged this way, too, “Kiss me, please; don’t make me suffer anymore…” and smelled the musk of brandy and cigarettes on Klaus’s breath as the two men sat, face to face, Dorian’s long legs straddling the chair and Klaus’s rigid posture unyielding yet unresisting. They breathed together for long moments. Dorian was unwilling to reinitiate the kiss; he needed more than passive reception and it would come now or never.

Klaus took Dorian by the shoulders and raised him from his lap. Dorian felt the strength in those lean muscles, deceptively lean, which he had felt before in less intimate circumstances. He held his breath, expecting Klaus to do as he had done so many other times and simply walk away. What he did next was exactly the opposite, and perhaps equally predictable. Moving more swiftly than Dorian could match—more swiftly than rational thought could penetrate—Klaus pushed Dorian back by his shoulders until he fell, with a gasp, onto the bed. With equal speed, he flipped the tall man onto his belly and pinned him, a hand in the small of his back, over the edge of the bed. “Klaus,” Dorian blurted in a rush, “Is this truly what you want?”

Klaus stopped fumbling with his pants for a moment and rose. “Remove your clothes, Lord Gloria.”

Dorian sat back on his heels a moment and watched over his shoulder as Klaus stalked over to grab another cigarette and lit it. “As you wish,” Dorian said, shrugging. He stood and removed his clothing, piece by piece, as the Major watched his every move. Neither spoke, and the Major did not stir beyond taking long drags off his cigarette. Dorian soon finished his swift, unembellished stripping and stood naked before the man he adored. He hoped Iron Klaus would soften enough to find his looks and his vulnerability a gift to appreciate, and cherish.

The answer he received confirmed his fears. “Unfasten my trousers,” the Major demanded, the cigarette dangling at the edge of his cynical mouth. Dorian did as ordered, as elegantly as such a basic command allowed. There was no need to tell him what position to assume next. Dorian obediently draped his lithe, slender frame over the edge of the tall bed, spread his legs, and waited. He was grateful to turn his head and see Klaus reach for a small vial of oil sitting on the bedside table and coat his thick, erect cock. Dorian wanted to admire and worship that beautiful example of manhood—which he now found as worthy of worship as he had always known it must be—but Klaus was not offering that. Instead, he had merely unleashed it from the pants he still wore and poised himself for entry. He paused. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You already have, thought Dorian. I’m interchangeable with Z. “It won’t hurt me, Klaus.” He readied himself for the pain and pleasure he was about to receive, physically and emotionally. This is what Klaus wanted. And it was as close to what Dorian had long wanted as he was apparently going to get. He winced, though Klaus had not moved, as he thought how quickly he had gone from wanting to help Z to needing Klaus for himself, at any cost. “Take what you need, my love,” Dorian whispered. “I’m entirely yours, as I’ve always been.”

Instead of entering him, however, Klaus pulled back. “Ich kann nicht,” he said, defeat in his voice. He stepped away from Dorian and the bed. He did not encourage the Earl to rise, nor did he attempt to stop him from doing so. Dorian moved quickly and quietly, wrapping himself in the comforter on the bed and sitting, head cocked, wondering what would happen next. He did not dare speak, keenly aware of the startlingly vulnerable intimacy hovering between them.

When Klaus finally spoke, after lighting yet another cigarette, his voice was ghostly and unfamiliar. He stood at the window, parted the curtain, and looked out at the lights of the city street, still glittering even at this late hour. A quiet rush of words seemed to pour from somewhere deep within him as he faced purposefully away from Dorian. “Gloria…Dorian…I can’t. I thought I could, but it’s impossible. I should have known. You see, Z allows me to…do this …because he wishes to please me, because it gives him pleasure to be taken so, and because he knows that he is safe to me, a desire I can limit and control. Z is a good agent, a good man. Like me, he wishes to be the best N.A.T.O. man he can be, and he understands, as I do, that a ‘personal life’ is beyond the needs of a N.A.T.O. officer.”

Dorian wanted to object, to point to the many married officers, the ones with children, and the ones, like him, who matched beauty and the pleasures of the flesh well with their challenging vocations. He wanted to argue that the tougher the job and the greater the sacrifices, the more important pleasure, beauty, and love were. But he knew Iron Klaus would reject anything he might say: Dorian was a hedonist, a degenerate, a thief. Klaus would laugh at any attempt at comparison or any words of advice Dorian might offer. The Earl sighed deeply.

Klaus continued. “No, I take that back. Z does not understand. But you are right: he looks up to me—clearly more than I deserve—and I’ve been weak enough to allow him to do so.” He fell silent and took a drag on his cigarette.

Dorian began to understand. The two men had found the only form of intimacy they could allow in their lives, at the only level they could tolerate it. Or at least that was so until today, when Z—that talented little operative—had somehow placed the note and the key in Dorian’s pocket. So, why had he done it? What was Z thanking him for, then? Rescue not from unwanted sexual advances but from limited, unsatisfying ones? Or was this more about Klaus than Z? Z was young; he radiated far more warmth than his repressed commanding officer. Iron Klaus, his heart tightly wrapped in the barbed wire of a lifetime of self-control and self-denial, could not see that Z was able and willing to have much more. It seemed far likelier that Z had told his beloved Major what he wanted to hear. Or, most probable of all: the two had not spoken but had simply lived out their icy affair without words, each assuming the other was getting all he desired in the way he most desired it. In particular, Klaus was ignoring any evidence that Z wanted more. Dorian nodded to himself, hoping his presence here tonight might enable Z to attain what he desired, even if it meant giving up his own efforts to gain what he wanted from this impossible man.

“You aren’t weak, Klaus,” he began slowly. “You’re strong enough to admit these things to me, and I’m honored that you are able to share them with me.” A knot was forming in his throat. “If you’ll let me,” he went on, fighting back tears, “I’d like to help you share more, open yourself up…to give Z what he deserves and to find yourself more contented in the process.”

“Z?” Klaus stammered. “Z? I always knew you were a wanker, Eroica, but I never thought you were this big a fool. Z betrayed our secret to you, my enemy.”

Dorian began to protest.

“All right, then, idiot, not ‘enemy’ but certainly not someone I ever wanted to know of this. He wanted what we were doing to end, and he made it happen, in a most humiliating…and threatening way. Alaska is too good for him!”

Dorian felt sick to his stomach. He had to change the Major’s perspective, and quickly. He had to defend the brave Agent Z, who had taken the risk of involving Lord Gloria, knowing the Major might turn against him but not knowing how else to reach through that tangled wire to the suffocating heart within.

“I’ve told you this secret is safe with me, Klaus, and I mean it. Z was obviously desperate. He wants more for himself and, generous soul that he is, more for you. And I want you both to have that chance. Let me…”

Again Klaus burst out, “Noch einmal Z! Forget Z, dummkopf! It’s you that this is all about. You that Z brought here tonight! You that I almost unleashed myself upon only a few minutes ago! You who are sitting in my hotel room wearing nothing but a comforter! Don’t you understand, you saboteur!”

“Saboteur?” Dorian erupted. “I came because Z lured me here! What the hell are you talking about, Klaus?”

“Agent Z kept me safe from you, thief! You! Don’t you understand? It is you that I hunger for, you who threaten my concentration, you who weaken my resolve, and you who create needs in me that I never wanted there at all!” The Major had backed himself into the corner of the room as he spoke, into a tight ball of anguish and shame. “I loathe you, Lord bloody Gloria, I loathe you…and what you’ve done to me.”

Dorian’s mouth dropped open: there were no words. In his twisted, messed-up way, Klaus had just made a desperate, monumental confession of love. Iron Klaus Eberbach had admitted to the passion that had been driving both men, and driving them both crazy, for years. Dorian was ecstatic, and terrified: what now?

Well, first, of course, get him out of that corner.

Dorian walked slowly over, hand outstretched, silent. Klaus watched his approach warily, looking like hunted prey that might bolt at any moment. That he was fully clothed and Dorian was entirely and unselfconsciously naked certainly added to the tension. Yet Dorian needed to get that look of apprehension off his face. He wanted neither dangerous predator nor frightened prey now. He wanted an equal, a self-aware adult, a consenting lover. He stopped when he was at arm’s length, and waited.

“Damn you, Eroica,” Klaus grumbled, ineffectually, eyes drifting down to Dorian’s semi-erect cock.

“My friends call me Dorian,” the Earl replied with a smile, hoping to ease the tension.

“I’m not your friend.”

“My lovers call me Dorian, too,” he cooed.

“I’m not your—” Dorian ended the unnecessary reply by reaching forward and gently placing his hands on each side of the stubborn man’s face.

“Call me Dorian, Klaus.”

“…Dorian…” Klaus whispered.

“Now kiss me.”

Klaus exhaled sharply and looked deeply, searchingly, into Dorian’s rich blue eyes. Dorian could not read what was there, and it maddened him. Fear? Resentment? Guilt? Desire? All of these? What permission did Klaus need, and how?

“Please?” Dorian asked of those perplexed and perplexing green eyes.

Klaus reached his hands up and covered Dorian’s with them. He closed his eyes and squeezed the warm fingers. Dorian just breathed, waited, felt his heart pound in his chest. There was nothing but this moment: ripe with potential, thick with longing. Klaus leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Dorian’s, inhaling deeply. Yes, thought Dorian. Drink me in. Fill yourself with the sweet perfume of our desire and let yourself open and bloom with me.

Slowly, Klaus released Dorian’s hands, and reached up to thread his fingers through his hair. Gently winding, massaging, and tugging their way through the thick spiraled tresses, Klaus’s strong slender fingers wove a path of heat and sensitivity wherever they touched. Dorian’s heart beat faster; Klaus’ breathing grew heavier, almost ragged. Dorian moaned.

Suddenly, Klaus raised his head as he took a fistful of hair and snapped Dorian’s head back roughly, laying his throat bare. Dorian gasped, then held his breath. He winced, tensing in preparation for being thrown to the carpet, bitten savagely, or whatever else the pent-up Iron Klaus might choose to do next. The combination of having admitted to his desires while still obviously fighting them made him even wildly unpredictable. Still, Klaus merely held Dorian, his willing prey, in that uncomfortable and vulnerable position. Dorian wondered: were his eyes open or closed? Was he fighting demons? Sizing up his prey before devouring it?

Without question, Dorian did not object to this use; he did not resist or even try to move. Uncomfortable and apprehensive, he was also deeply aroused and in a state of anticipation he had not felt in as long as he could remember. His intimacies always had him in control, the leader, the gentle dominating force in every romantic encounter. Here, by contrast, was someone he could neither coerce nor control, a man truly volatile and so tightly wound that it made Dorian shudder, visibly. Yet he trusted Klaus, absolutely.

As his rigid grip held Dorian’s head back, Klaus reached his other hand around to finger the bared throat before him. His touch was another surprise: an exquisite silken caress, astonishingly gentle. Dorian felt like an antelope being pawed by a lion considering when to consume him. The thought, of course, was delicious to the hedonist in Dorian, and he whimpered softly under that tender-sweet predator’s caress. Soon, Klaus deepened the embrace, pressing his face to Dorian’s exposed throat, rubbing his elegant nose from shoulder blade to beneath his left ear. Though he did not kiss that soft flesh, he held close, audibly inhaling Dorian’s roseate aroma and moaning low. The gesture and the sound, the warmth and passion of it, moved Dorian powerfully. He was fully erect now, and surely Klaus could feel it (as surely has he had felt the revolver in his waistband that thrilling night in the Russian sub when Klaus had thrown him over his shoulder and carried him off after the intentionally provoked fight to enable their escape). Dorian’s pleasure deepened as Klaus at last withdrew his grip on Dorian’s hair and gave himself over to nuzzling and dragging his teeth over and across Dorian’s neck.

Eagerly, Dorian wrapped his arms around Klaus and drew him in tightly. There was something touching, almost desperate about the way Klaus so needed to immerse himself in Dorian but could not bring himself to the open vulnerability of a kiss. From predatory to virginal, Dorian marveled at the swiftness with which his perceptions of the man shifted. Dorian thrust his fingers into Klaus’ hair now, relishing the first non-surreptitious handling of that thick, shining black mass. How long had he wanted to finger it, stroke it, enjoy its length and weight and texture. There was such a remarkable contrast between that hard shell of a personality and his long, silken, well-kept hair. And that hard shell was intervening now, directly evident in the starched crispness of Klaus’ cool shirt and the woolen nap of his trousers against Dorian’s smooth, pampered skin and straining erection.

Klaus moved into the touch, and Dorian rejoiced in this new receptiveness. More: he found that the lack of mouth-to-mouth contact—so overwhelming an experience, especially on the first time—encouraged far greater attention to the pleasures of touch, to a slower exploration of a man usually so forbidding and distant. Dorian longed to indulge in more, though, in particular to find a way to get Klaus’ clothes off. Urgent images of soft skin, soft sighs, and soft moments of mutual bodily recognition and adoration washed over Dorian and pushed him on, until he could not stop himself from beginning to undo the buttons on Klaus’ shirt.

Klaus countered instantly, displaying that lightning reaction time the Major was so rightly admired for and that was making Dorian despair of ever truly getting through to the unleashed lover in him. The thought was whipped from his mind as Klaus grabbed his wrist hard and bent his arm up and back. “Don’t,” Klaus said, unnecessarily, and twisted Dorian’s arm behind him. Dorian whimpered as Klaus neatly maneuvered him back to the bed. Dorian would not have predicted they would be back to this, but he was a fool for attempting to predict anything with Klaus anymore. The man was returning to his comfort zone, and taking Dorian there with him was as much as he seemed to have to give. The push onto the bed came quickly, and Dorian was once again on his belly, naked, awaiting the onslaught of a lover who simply could not deal with intimacy for more than a few precious, mindless moments at a time.

So be it. Unlike the first time he’d assumed this position this evening, Klaus was now feeling more free to let his hands claim the body in his control. He released Dorian’s arm, then quickly began to knead the flesh of his back, hips, and ass. Dorian moaned and surrendered himself to the powerful, controlled touch. There was much more he wanted, but he continued to adapt and to enjoy what was offered, as it was offered. And it was good.

“Your body…” Klaus murmured. Dorian relaxed into the massage and the hesitant and softly spoken words. He waited for more. Klaus cleared his throat gently and began again: “I didn’t realize your body would be so firm…or so soft.” Dorian smiled, repressed a giggle. Just because he was decadent, did not mean he did not keep in shape! But he opted to keep his peace, plied by those inexperienced but capable hands. Yes, let Klaus’ exploration of his body continue uninterrupted. Let him bask in the touch of those hands, as he had reveled in every peaceful moment they had shared thus far.

“I want to take you now,” Klaus said, quietly, formally, pressing forward so that Dorian felt his hard cock, still sheathed in his pants, nudging his ass.

Without missing a beat, Dorian said, simply, “Then do,” adding “my one and only love” in his mind. The massage had kept his senses aroused, his desire fervent, but he was still unprepared for Klaus’ awkward declaration of intention. Nonetheless, he had no intention of giving up what they would have for what they could have.

He listened as Klaus’ belt was once again opened, zipper undone. But then there was a pause. Dorian turned his head and gratefully realized there was a mirror over the dresser into which he could look sideways and just see Klaus without making actual eye contact. Through the glass, he watched, adoringly, as his nemesis-turned-lover let his pants drop to the floor and stepped out of them. Next, he unbuttoned his shirt deftly and swiftly, and tossed it beside Dorian on the bed. So, he will bare himself for me, thought Dorian. The pleasure of that knowledge was only slightly less exquisite than the feel of his warm, nearly hairless body as Klaus moved forward and laid his full weight on top of Dorian. Dorian could no longer peer into the mirror, but he did not mind. That beautiful lithe frame on his overwhelmed any need for sight. Klaus’ hands reached out and pushed Dorian’s arms smoothly and firmly overhead, then kneaded down his shoulders and sides as he ground his pelvis up against Dorian’s ass and pressed his face into Dorian’s back, inhaling deeply once more. Klaus’ lips traced across Dorian’s shoulders and his long hair trailed down and tickled his armpits. Dorian swooned in this all-encompassing embrace. May it never end, thought Dorian.

Rather than ending, the clench became more urgent. Klaus firmly pushed Dorian’s legs apart, and reached across his body toward the vial of oil again. This time it would happen, Dorian told himself, and there would be no going back. Though unlike the wild, open intimacy Dorian had shared with others, he and Klaus had shared a kind of intimacy, the kind which they were, as a pair, able. Yes, they would fuck before they would kiss, a perhaps predictable fate for a man as repressed as Iron Klaus. But they had embraced, had deeply and lovingly touched, and now the desire that Dorian had urged on and Klaus had fought for so long would be released. Slowly, carefully, Klaus breached the barrier. His claim on Dorian’s body now matched his claim on Dorian’s heart.

More experienced in giving than receiving this particular form of pleasure, Dorian strove to keep his muscles relaxed while Klaus gave evidence of maintaining patience to avoid hurting his prone and vulnerable partner. Pain quickly gave way to pleasure, however, and Dorian let Klaus know this by pressing his hips back to meet the increasingly deep and urgent thrusts. Ever a vocal man, Dorian impressed even himself by his ability to keep quiet enough to hear Klaus’ hushed groans. Hunger there was in each throaty growl and low moan; there was need and abandonment of shame, too. And Dorian was desperate to hear and enjoy it all. But soon even that level of awareness was lost to Dorian, as he joined Klaus in the surrender to the relentless use of his body, to the pleasure on which the ever-more aggressive ride took them.

Klaus grew relentless, this onslaught no different than his single-minded dedication to everything he did in life. He held Dorian’s hips and drove deep and hard inside him, now and then slowing to wordlessly ascertain Dorian’s level of arousal or perhaps to keep himself from reaching climax too soon. Dorian drove back against the hard length of his lover, each stroke giving him the rush of prostate stimulation, then hitting a place deeper inside him that made him want to beg, want to scream, want to cry. Sweat ran from Klaus’ body onto Dorian’s, trickled between their hips and legs, adding soft wet sounds to their mutual moans. When Dorian began to flex his muscles as he arched and bucked into the inexorable drive, feeling his cock stroked by the soft sheets against which he was roughly pressed, Klaus responded by taking more control, pinning Dorian hard so that their bodies were glued together with their sweat. The thrusts felt as if Klaus wished to submerge himself wholly within Dorian’s warm, supple body. Each neared his own peak in that whirlwind of mind that drives lovers onto entirely separate tracks that meet in the space of matched energies and shared wishes for that all too-brief glimpse into eternity.

Dorian climaxed first, the sensations overwhelming him with a suddenness that made him cry out Klaus’ name in adoration and gratitude. This seemed to drive Klaus into even greater urgency. He rose onto his hands and accelerated his pace and varied the depths of his thrusts. Yet, the grunts he made now gave evidence, Dorian thought, in the haze of post-climactic bliss as well as exhaustion, of dissatisfaction. Klaus was not losing his erection, but he was not going to cum. Dorian was suddenly certain of it. And this made him wonder if the Major ever did cum. Though it was hard to maintain coherent thought, much less to plan, as the glorious assault on his body became impending soreness, Dorian knew without a doubt that it was intimacy that was missing for Klaus, and knew just as certainly that only he could provide it.

Clearing his mind, Dorian brought his arms down from the overhead grasp on the mattress they’d held since Dorian had placed them there. Ignoring the tightness in his shoulders, he pushed back until his arms were extended and his chest rose from the bed. Klaus now bore into him from a new angle. He seemed to misunderstand the gesture as one intended for variety’s sake or perhaps to stretch limbs. He might even be thinking that Dorian was greedily working for a second orgasm. Klaus grip on Dorian’s hips was painful now, but Dorian hated to risk breaking the embrace. He knew he must, however. He couldn’t take much more without additional lubrication, and he knew the signs of an overwrought man when he felt them. Dorian pushed back until Klaus withdrew, and then turned to face him.

The vision before him took his breath away. Klaus’ hair clung to his face in damp hanks. His breathing was fast and labored, and his eyes blazed. Dorian was sure now, this was a man who had never climaxed with a partner. By his own hand, perhaps. But with a lover? Never. And Z may have been the only individual with whom he had ever tried. Klaus raised his eyes and met Dorian’s sympathetic, loving gaze.

“Let us try this anew, my noble warrior,” Dorian said. He slid back onto the middle of the bed, spreading his legs wide, taking Klaus by the hand to sit between them. He grasped the oil and coated Klaus’ cock with it, stroking the still erect member with nimble and eager hands. “Come to me, Klaus, and I shall take you somewhere you have longed to go.” Klaus leaned in, apparently lulled by the beautiful softness in Dorian’s voice and the fingers around his cock. The sincerity of the promise and the delights of the touch seemed to reach him, overcoming the final shreds of his resistance.

Dorian rocked his hips back and raised his long legs, then released Klaus’ cock and grasped each of his own thighs, just above the knee. Klaus caught on immediately, and guided himself to enter Dorian again. He watched himself penetrate that taut darkness and pressed forward, his eyes lifting up to meet Dorian’s. When he began to thrust in earnest, he turned his eyes away, and Dorian called out his name. “Stay here with me,” he urged between ragged breaths. Taking hold of Dorian’s legs and pressing him back further, Klaus groaned at the sweet tightness that gripped him. And he kept his eyes on Dorian’s as they clouded with pleasure.

All at once—and both unexpectedly and exactly as Dorian had longed for—Klaus’ lips were crushed to his. The kiss was rough, invading, overwhelming. Klaus feasted on him hungrily, as hungrily as he drove into his body. Dorian welcomed that forceful tongue, reveled in being devoured by the heat and lusciousness of that incomparable mouth. The kiss ravished him as that swelling cock undid him. And then Klaus shattered, his body shaking uncontrollably, so Dorian felt it as if it were his own, in every inch of his body. Klaus broke the kiss suddenly, to raise his head and roar his release with a power Dorian had never before witnessed in a man. But then, this was Iron Klaus, and there was extraordinary power in everything he did.

The climax was not only incredibly powerful but impossibly long. Dorian rode it out, rejoicing in the splendor of it. He simply held Klaus: limbs entwined, rigid cock hilted within his pliant body, masks of ecstasy on enraptured faces. And as Klaus began to come down from that incomparable high, Dorian looked into his eyes and saw artwork more beautiful than any painter could paint, than any sculptor could sculpt, than any thief could lay claim to.

Dorian helped them disentangle themselves, gently and slowly. Klaus lay back on the bed, heart still racing. He covered his eyes with one hand and worked to catch his breath. Dorian wanted to curl up in his arms and stay there forever. Instead, he sat up, grabbed Klaus a cigarette, lit it, and slipped it between the prone man’s reddened lips. After he took a grateful drag and released it with a sigh, Dorian removed it again. Klaus lifted the hand from his eyes and looked up in confusion.

“Major, you are magnificent,” Dorian said, then took a drag on the cigarette himself.

“Of course,” replied Klaus. “Now give me that cig.”

Instead, Dorian bent forward and kissed Klaus with all the adoration that filled his heart. Klaus reacted instantly, grabbing Dorian’s arms and pushing him back. “There are cloths in the bathroom to clean up with” Klaus said plainly, then released the captive limbs.

Dorian sat back on his heels. He sighed deeply as the Major returned to a supine position. Another transformation, one he fully expected—but oh! he had hoped the magic would last just a little longer.

“On your way out, tell the desk clerk to give me a wake-up call in thirty minutes.”

Very well, then, thought Dorian as he quickly showered, then found his clothes and dressed himself. He noted that the sheets were damp in several places and sticky near the foot of the bed where he had released. A glorious scene of hedonistic aftermath, the Earl mused, and that fool is fast asleep. Such a pity. He shook out his heavy, wet locks and headed for the door with a sigh. Then he turned back to gaze one last time at the beautiful, prone body of Klaus, deceptively vulnerable-looking on the bed. We’ll play it your way because we must, he thought. And at least Agent Z will no longer have to be a surrogate for me. The Major has faced at least that demon. He laughed to himself. Ah, Klaus, there will be other times in other places for us, and I will woo you and win you, again and again, until you are truly and fully mine. Until then, sweet dreams—from Eroica with love!