Tyrian, Dorian, Klaus, his father and butler and all other Eroica-related things are sole property of Yasuko Aoike. What I have done to them is no fault of hers. The other characters don't exist, either, and while the town of Eberbach does, I have felt free to rearrange it and dabble in its history.

My thanks go to my beta readers, Theresa, Ruth S., Masae and Lisa, who encouraged me, helped me with Eroica details, and made this story much better than it was.

Peripeteia: sudden change of fortunes; in drama, the climax and turning point of a tragedy, leading into the catastrophe; also used for other narrative forms

Peripeteia

by Sylvia

The dark silhouette of the Eberbach family seat rose majestically against the muted fire of sundown reflected on clouds. The castle was relatively young; the original Eberbach seat, built in the 11^th century, had been razed to the ground in the 16^th century when the infamous Tyrian Persimmon had shouldered his way into the bloodline. Reportedly, Tyrian's new relations had not been at all sorry to see the last of him when he'd been simultaneously stabbed and blown up with his ship before construction of the new castle had even begun.

Since Tyrian had had the bad taste to let his treasure sink together with what remained of his person and ship, the Eberbachs had fallen back on tried and true methods, doing their best to extort, rob, confiscate and otherwise acquire the funds to restore them to their former influence and glory. This process had taken well over two centuries; in the end, it had been the courtier and fop Walter von dem Eberbach, regarded as an unfortunate embarrassment by most of his contemporary relatives, who'd succeeded both in this and in building a suitably ostentatious castle. He believed in living in style, and that he had been forced to wed the daughter of a merchant to achieve his goal hadn't bothered him; he solved the problem of social embarrassment by not letting his wife into public at all, and the line had - by such glorious means - been carried on in fitting pomp.

Before and since, the line had produced many illustrious offshoots that had been known variously as plunderers and pillagers, ruthless criminals, brutal tyrants, violently unprincipled hedonists, and even daring heroes… sometimes as all of these things at once. Today, having weathered the victories and defeats of several more centuries, the family was once again expanding - growing, and presumably strengthening.

The youngest offshoot of the main branch of the exceedingly tenacious line sat in his car in the driveway and stared at the invitingly illuminated windows of the castle's main wing, built by the unusually sedate, if hedonistic and unprincipled Walter and financed by Elisabetha "Lisel" von dem Eberbach's father, successful spice merchant Jupp Mueller.

This particular Eberbach was not a criminal, but he had lied, betrayed, stolen and killed and would likely do so again with equal lack of remorse. He was not unprincipled, but ruthlessness and brutality were traits he could not in good conscience disown; he kept them well-shackled and serving his sense of duty and justice, but there were times when he imagined he felt them straining at the stern bonds his will imposed on them, recalling the ages past when they had raged unchecked through blood of his blood, though flowing in other veins.

He'd lost track of how long he'd been sitting there, disconnected family facts flitting aimlessly through his mind. The sun had dipped behind the eastern tower some time before. Klaus was fairly certain it had been dusk when he arrived on the castle grounds.

He had a splitting headache. A triple agent of uncertain provenance who'd been working for no one but himself at the time had smashed his head hard against a very solid brick wall a couple of days ago, but Klaus didn't attempt to make himself believe that this was the reason.

Weddings. Klaus loathed weddings.

A car was coming up the driveway behind him. He'd heard the gate open a minute ago, but hadn't really paid attention. The realisation that he was neglecting to pay an appropriate amount of attention to his surroundings shook him from his unproductive brooding, and he quickly stubbed out his latest cigarette, got out of the car and was already striding towards the entrance with his suitcase in hand by the time the latest arrival pulled up behind him.

Klaus didn't turn around. He didn't care who it was and he didn't want to acknowledge their presence. If he did, he would have to greet them.

The butler opened the door just as Klaus set foot on the last step up to the portal, looking as staid and impassive as always. Klaus wondered how long the old man had been watching him from the pantry window.

"Sir," the butler intoned sombrely. "It is good to have both you and the Baron here again. Your father will be pleased to see you."

Klaus chose not to respond to the obvious lie. It was better to start this ordeal out on some kind of good foot.

"Hmm," he said instead in an only vaguely grumpy tone.

A young girl he didn't recognise edged past the butler respectfully and took the suitcase from Klaus. After a brief tug at his briefcase and a muted growl on his part, she retreated hastily. Klaus automatically noted that she was approximately sixteen or seventeen years old, one point six seven meters in height, a bit on the plump side but not remarkably so, her hair dyed dark red but mousy brown by nature. Her eyes were grey and she wore untinted contact lenses. Her nose was small and extremely tip-tilted and would be very hard to disguise.

The unidentified girl - presumably a schoolgirl hired as temporary help - quailed beneath the butler's rebuking stare, though she was evidently still uncertain what her error had been. Apparently she didn't distinguish between luggage in general and briefcases in particular.

Klaus relented and tossed his briefcase into her arms, causing her to all but drop the suitcase and squeal a little in surprise. Klaus pushed past her and the astonished-looking butler, shrugging out of his coat and handing it to the latter as he passed.

There was nothing in his briefcase except empty paper, several pencils sharpened to the point where they could be used as offensive weapons, and a supply of cigarettes. Klaus wasn't about to bring secret documents into a castle filled with relatives, servants and assorted other rabble. There would be plenty of other things to worry about.

Such as the person waiting for him inside.

"I see you are still wearing your hair in that slovenly and unaesthetic manner," Baron Theodor Walter von dem Eberbach said from across the hall. His voice was quiet, but cut through the distance between the door and the foot of the stairs effortlessly. It was the same tone he used with everyone except his closest friends - an unmistakably commanding tone, precise and cool, resonant with the steely certainty that he would be obeyed.

Klaus could feel his nostrils flaring and his upper lip beginning to curl into a snarl. The strength of his instinctive reaction took him by surprise and he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, clamping down on the unreasonable surge of defiant anger. *He has the right to command you,* he recited to himself. *He is your father and the head of the house, and you will not defy him. Not more than is absolutely necessary.*

"That is because I still see no reason to change it," he said once he had his temper back under control.

The present Baron and head of the Eberbach family slowly walked across the crest inlaid in the parquet floor, every movement suffused with dignity and breeding. His hair was completely white, the colour of frost in the first ray of morning light; as always, he was impeccably groomed and looked both distinguished and at ease in one of his tastefully expensive designer tuxedos. Klaus hadn't seen him wearing anything else in quite a while, and somehow, it had always seemed to be the most natural attire for his father outside of a uniform.

For a brief, incredulous moment after the Baron stopped in front of him, Klaus thought his father would hold out a hand or maybe even give him a clap on the shoulder. To discourage such an action, however unlikely, Klaus stood up straight and clasped his hands together behind his back in a stance just short of being at parade-rest.

His father took a long moment to inspect him from head to toe, lips compressed in vague disapproval. Klaus didn't know what had prompted the disapproval this time, but he had decided a very long time ago that he would stop being unsettled by the uncertainty. He supposed that there had been too many definite reasons that had at some point melded into a perpetual, if subtle state; inappropriate behaviour, the occasional less than excellent grade, another boy or his parents complaining of an attack - an attack that had, in the official version, inevitably been completely without provocation - a broken window or even, that one time, a kitten not hidden from discovery quite as well as Klaus had hoped... Yes, there had been more than enough definite reasons.

By now, the point at which he'd stopped trying to explain or change his father's habitual censure lay so far back that he hardly remembered what cringing beneath the cold stare of Eberbach senior had felt like. It was not in Klaus' nature to cringe, and he had never done it well. It had probably been the one redeeming quality his father had found in him back then.

"Most of the guests arrived yesterday or this morning," his father said at last. "I have received numerous inquiries as to your whereabouts."

"I am certain everyone understood that international politics seldom wait for the convenience of family festivities," Klaus replied just as coolly and evenly.

"Anton is younger than you, you know."

The command tone had now hardened into open rebuke and Klaus stood ramrod-straight, trying not to lift his chin too high for the stance. No more defiance than absolutely necessary.

"I am aware of that," he said icily. Perhaps he should have kept completely silent, but that could have been interpreted as a statement, as well.

"I have assured the Countess von Thurnis that you will be happy to show her daughters around Eberbach tomorrow."

Klaus tried not to grimace. He'd intimidated the Thurnis girls out of what little wits they possessed the first time he'd been thrown together with them, but they were even more frightened of their mother and dared not resist her relentless matchmaking attempts. Klaus had tried to intimidate the mother, but had failed dismally. Equipped with a bullet-proof designer suit and reduplicated several hundred times, the woman would have made an unstoppable secret weapon. The Soviets would have been married off and cowed or fleeing to hide away in Siberia within a year.

"Yes, sir," Klaus gritted.

"Now for heaven's sake go change into something appropriate. You are late enough as it is."

Klaus nodded smartly and waited for his father to step aside before proceeding straight to the stairs, marching up the curving staircase and down the corridor to his room with the same steady, measured tread he had always used in these halls. Slower than a run - because running was not appropriate - and quicker than a regular walk - because dawdling was not allowed.

He desperately wished for a pressing international crisis to arise and call him away.

*Courage,* the old, familiar inner voice whispered to him, calling up walls of ice and iron to hide behind, conjuring forth strength from the bitter joy of defiance. *When the battle is upon you, fight to the death and admit no defeat.*

***

Weddings! Dorian loved weddings. Everyone got out their very showiest jewels and didn't worry about the emeralds clashing with the rubies, because for an occasion like this one, cousin Ethel would be turning up in her diamond tiara, and they really couldn't let her think she had somehow managed to put one over on them, now could they?

Such determined cheer and ostentation! Such delightful indulgence in champagne… And such large and only partially familiar crowds of relatives close and remote, friends old and new, colleagues, neighbours, acquaintances, thieves…

Lovely. Perfectly lovely.

Especially when the marriage in question was that of one Anna Juliane zu Herforthsweiler and one Anton Waldkirch von dem Eberbach, a cousin to the mouth-wateringly lovely and frustratingly elusive Major of similar name. *Especially* when the marriage in question was being celebrated in the family seat of the Eberbachs, which also held "The Man in Purple", the quite valuable portrait of Tyrian, ancestor of the Eberbachs, who incidentally happened to bear an astounding likeness to his choleric but delectable descendant.

And most especially when, in order to be able to entertain such an impressive number of guests in style, an almost as impressive number of additional servants had been engaged for the occasion.

Really, when presented with such an opportunity, it would practically be a crime not to take it up. It had been child's play for Dorian to secure a temporary job as waiter and general factotum, in spite of the minor impediment that his command of German was still somewhat less than complete. What did that matter, however, when he was not only amazingly handsome but also equipped with a multitude of talents, something which even the crusty old Eberbach butler - though happily unaware of be-wigged and disguised Dorian's true identity - had been able to see at first glance?

Though the butler very likely hadn't counted upon the particularly honed set of talents which had allowed Dorian to pass through a number of locked doors on his way to the gallery displaying the pictures of the Eberbach ancestors…

And there he was. "The Man in Purple", larger than life and almost as beautiful as the Major in the flesh.

Dorian took a careful look at the grain of the painting to ensure himself he wasn't about to go to this much trouble for a cheap copy. No, it was the real thing - apparently the Eberbachs didn't hold with hanging fakes on the walls while keeping the originals in bank safes, which was a practice Dorian himself deplored deeply for obvious reasons.

The frame was hooked up to an alarm system which was, in its turn, connected to the main unit down in the cellar. Dorian had already had a look at this while he was on an errand to fetch a selection of wines - the cellars were a labyrinth of narrow corridors, claustrophobic cubicles and echoing caverns, and no one had been surprised it had taken him a bit longer than it might have to find his way back with the Riesling and Burgundy he'd been sent for.

The alarm system wouldn't give him too much trouble, and he'd already arranged for a catering truck manned with his staff to arrive at an appropriate time to spirit the successfully filched painting off the estate. He had several hours left… The perfect opportunity to wander around Klaus' ancestral home, imagine what it had been like to grow up here, and maybe catch a glimpse or two of the man himself as he scowled at the guests and did his best to make certain no one forgot themselves so far as to actually enjoy the party.

Really, the man was a terrible grouch… If only he hadn't been so absolutely irresistible at the same time.

Dorian hadn't chosen to fall in love with Major Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach of NATO, and if he had had even an idea of the amount of longing and pain the man would cause him over the years, he might have chosen to simply concede victory to the other man and run when he'd first clashed swords with him. On the other hand - to be entirely truthful, he probably wouldn't have been able to resist taking a closer look at someone so alluring that somehow, the sheer power of attraction completely eclipsed every other consideration.

The man was obnoxious, rude, brutal, and in every way impossible. His subordinates were scared to death of him. He insulted and even physically assaulted Dorian at every turn, repulsed his advances, called him names and expressed his contempt and disgust. And Dorian kept coming back for more.

Why? Well… For one thing, the Major was the embodiment of perfect male beauty. His every move was at once a joy and torture to watch… such smooth, muscular grace and unconscious, natural elegance... But that wasn't all - there was still something more. What was it?

As he made his way back down to the kitchen to fulfil his waiter duties for another two hours or so, Dorian pondered this question at length. He'd done so often before, but had never come to an entirely satisfactory conclusion.

For one thing, he was capable and efficient, but not dry and boring as such men usually were. Fearless, daring, brave - so focussed, so intense, so utterly determined… Once you had won someone like the Major, they would be yours forever, body and soul. It was strange, but the Major was the first and only man with whom Dorian could imagine entering a relationship with any level of commitment. There was no choice in the Major's case - this kind of man knew no compromises. Besides, Dorian could not imagine ever having enough of him, or even wanting to stray while he had this man in his bed.

Dorian was not so shallow as to attach undue importance to the merely sexual aspect of a relationship with his reluctant love, of course. It went without saying.

With that fact clearly established, Dorian allowed himself to expand on the topic a bit in the privacy of his own mind. His mouth went dry just contemplating what someone like the Major would be like in bed. All that determination and perfectionism, all the explosive energy, the unswerving focus - all of that turned to the purpose of driving Dorian insane with desire… He'd be hesitant at first, perhaps even a bit awkward, embarrassed at his own inexperience, shy… But Dorian would be only too glad to teach him how to touch and taste and -

"Hey, you, Faulpelz! Where the hell have you been? Here, take that to the reception in the front parlour, and come straight back here when those are gone! Don't forget the empty glasses, either."

A gigantic tray of filled champagne flutes was thrust into his arms, rudely dispersing his fantasy of his beautiful love's steep learning curve. What did *Faulpelz* mean? His German lessons had managed to skirt all of the truly useful terms. Most frustrating. On second thought, maybe it was just as well.

After a moment of panicked balancing and a dirty look at the back of the Eberbach employee now hurrying off to hassle other hapless waiters, Dorian sniffed and took himself and the horribly unwieldy and heavy tray off to the front parlour. Unlike most of the other temporary help, Dorian had no trouble at all in orienting himself in the castle. He'd memorised a floor plan of the place beforehand.

No, he said to himself again, he was not shallow enough to desire Klaus von dem Eberbach merely for his body, as lovely as that was. Even though it was one of the most desirable bodies he'd ever set eyes on… He sometimes had trouble preventing himself from simply jumping the man and dragging his clothes off in order to look at him, touch him, lick him all over… He'd tried a couple of times, but with complete and lamentable lack of success so far, especially as regarded the licking part. The man defended his virtue more priggishly than any girl, and with far more radical methods. It was awfully frustrating.

It was undeniable that Dorian was badly in lust, but it was more than that. Sometimes, most often when the Major thought no one was paying attention, when he wasn't paying attention himself, there was a spark of something in those usually so steely green eyes that tore at Dorian and made him hope and long with renewed fervour… Dorian knew how ridiculous it would seem to most people to think of Klaus, the human tank, in those terms, but he knew his man. His Major was lonely, unhappy, helpless and in dire need of love.

Dorian knew that he could soothe his Major's loneliness. He could make him happy and content - he could supply everything the other man lacked in his life. All that he wanted in return was to be able to partake of the man's beauty in every way imaginable, a far more than reasonable exchange considering that he meant to make quite sure that the Major would enjoy every second. If only that stubborn SOB would open his amazingly lovely eyes and really *look* at Dorian and see what he had to offer!

In the beginning, Dorian had been confident that it would not be long before the Major gave in to his advances. After all, nobody resisted Dorian - he'd set his sights on men proclaiming they were straight before, and he hadn't paid their assertions the slightest mind. They'd ended up in his bed in short order, and they'd been quite happy to be there, too.

That had been before he'd truly gotten to know Iron Klaus, who had shown appalling stalwartness in continuing not to fall into Dorian's eager arms. He seemed to possess no sex drive of any kind.

The shocking notion made Dorian shudder inwardly. What a terrible thought. What a horrible waste!

He kept an eye out for his love as he made his way through the large room, filled with formally and expensively dressed people glittering with jewels. Several pieces caught his professional interest as he passed in his task to offer champagne to the wedding guests, but none was so spectacular that it distracted him from his primary goal. "The Man in Purple" was too important to risk over that portly dowager's diamond-and-pearl choker or the bride's rather pretty set of emeralds.

Although… Dorian took a surreptitious closer look at the emerald earrings and was impressed. Very large and clear stones in an unusually intensive grass-green colour. Well-cut, too. Maybe some other time.

"Klaus!" the bride said loudly, directly into Dorian's ear. Dorian almost dropped his tray; he'd only just recovered when the man who had just entered the room turned, his chin coming up and setting into granite hardness.

The Major made his way through the milling people, ploughing ahead with an only passing attempt to pretend to social graces. He was wearing a tuxedo and looked…

Dear heavens.

The champagne almost slipped from Dorian's grasp again as he turned away hastily to stare at someone - anyone - else. If he looked at the Major for just one moment longer, he would be forced to ravish him in front of everyone, and then the love of his life would no doubt be very angry with him. Oh *God*. Who'd have thought that it was possible for the man to turn up the sex appeal to this degree - and without even undressing?

"Anna," his love's smooth dark voice acknowledged the happy bride rather stiffly. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, Klaus. I am sure to be very happy with Anton - he is a wonderful man. I don't think we would have suited very well, do you?"

What!

"You are too good for me," Klaus said, spoiling the amazingly gallant phrase by the flat tone in which he delivered it. "Anton is a lucky man. I wish you well."

Goodness. He was really making a major effort here, wasn't he?

"That is a lovely dress. You look very pretty."

Dorian hardly knew what to think. He recollected himself far enough to lift his tray a bit higher, offering it to several guests, and gathered up a number of empty glasses before shooting a glance at Anna out of the corners of his eyes. She was smiling and didn't look particularly stunned at the Major's unprecedented effort at polite gallantries.

"Excuse me."

Ah.

Dorian couldn't suppress a smirk at the hardly noticeable shadow of a taken-aback look that appeared in Anna's face briefly before it was smoothed over with the easy practice of the well-brought up. His love had turned on his heel and was stalking away without a second glance. The Major had only been trying to pack all of the necessary small talk into as little time as possible.

"Oh, rrrrr," a low female voice commented behind him.

"Yes, I agree," Anna responded in a normal speaking tone. "But that fact won't do anyone any good, I'm afraid. I should have been quicker to introduce you - still, you should steer clear, anyway. You'll only catch frostbite."

The completely irrational impulse to throttle the bitch who dared to lust after *his* Major caught Dorian by surprise and he hurried to distance himself from the newly married woman and her friend. That he found himself slowly, but surely drifting in the direction the Major had taken was pure coincidence. Truly.

His tray was almost entirely filled with empty glasses by the time he finally caught up with his chain-smoking love where he had been cornered by an elderly man with a shock of grey hair and a monotonous laugh that reminded Dorian strangely of camels, even though he was certain he had never heard a camel make any sound even remotely similar.

Without looking in his direction, the Major reached out and snagged one of the remaining full glasses, draining it in one gulp and exchanging it for a fresh one immediately. Dorian hovered a little - just in case another new glass would be required. And because from where he stood, he could see the soft fuzz at the back of his love's neck where he'd swept back his long hair a moment ago.

He fled then, before he could succumb to the all but overwhelming need to bite Major Klaus von dem Eberbach in the side of the neck and bury his nose in the enchanting fuzz.

***

Mercifully, the soup, salad and dessert options were arranged along the side of the dining hall on long buffets, but that still left the main courses and, of course, the drinks to be attended to - and refilling the buffet. And clearing away the used dishes and glasses, and bringing fresh ones…

By the time the last members of the wedding party had eaten their fill, the ones that had finished first had begun to drift back for one more little bowl of the soup, one more slice of this cake or that pie, or maybe just a spoon full of that chocolate mousse - waiter! Are you telling me there are no cocktail tomatoes left? And where is the wine I ordered ten minutes ago!

If the thieving line should ever become unfeasible for one reason or another, one profession that Dorian would not be tempted to adopt was that of waiter.

When the rushing back and forth had finally abated to the point where he would not immediately be missed, Dorian sneaked off to the gallery to take another long and covetous look at the painting that would soon be hanging in his bedchamber back in London. He was still undecided whether it would look better above the open fireplace or between the windows on the east wall, and he surely deserved a little indulgence after the ordeal he'd just gone through.

Dorian almost wished he'd lived when Tyrian had, despite the deplorable state of plumbing and the lack of other essential comforts. There were so many legends about the man - he'd been a rogue, a tyrant - wild, vindictive, power- and pleasure-seeking, impulse-driven, charismatic and completely without scruples or limits. Utterly fascinating. Not a pleasant character to know, perhaps, but irresistible when regarded from the safety of later centuries. And really, Dorian couldn't help but think he'd have gotten along famously with the man.

*Stupid,* he chided himself laughingly. *Always playing with fire, never learning from getting burned.* And Tyrian would surely have burned him, as he'd burned everyone who'd come too close or even just drawn his attention in his time… But Dorian had never been able to resist that kind of ruthless, reckless, devil-may-care gleam in someone's eyes - provided, of course, that they were set in an attractive face. And the painter had captured that look perfectly, the look Dorian had also seen on the face of -

Oh, blast it.

He'd been too absorbed in his thoughts to take a careful look at the room he was entering before slipping inside. Basic caution, a voice inside his head mocked - a voice bearing an irritating similarity to that of the Major when he was being his most coldly disdainful.

For a long, frozen moment, Dorian thought he'd blown his cover. Then, the sharp suspicion in Klaus' expression faded, leaving him looking almost indifferent, and his head and shoulders disappeared back behind the column from which they'd so suddenly sprung forth. A small cloud of cigarette smoke emerged in his stead, marking his presence.

This was not a fitting moment to stare covetously at "The Man in Purple". Neither was this a fitting moment to stare covetously at the man in purple's descendant. Still… what painting was he looking at? If it was a particularly valuable work - or even if it was just a particular favourite of the Major's - then Dorian might as well pack that one up, as well, while he was at it.

Hmm… a fairly recent work, if Dorian was any judge - which, of course, he was. A woman in a scarlet riding outfit with silver trimming, a small pillbox hat with a perky scarlet feather attached perching on an artistically coiled crown of mahogany braids. The horse occupying most of the background to the right was a gigantic, coal-black brute with wild eyes and blood-red nostrils. To the left, a stretch of countryside could be seen, complete with castle Eberbach in the distance.

The quality of the painting itself was average to moderately good. The woman was lovely in an austere kind of way, but wore a strange and somewhat unpleasant expression that seemed to be composed in equal parts of boredom, hauteur, frustration and sadness. Unless the painter had been worse than Dorian thought, the woman must have been rather difficult.

Dorian risked a peek at the Major and was relieved to find that the man wasn't looking at him. He had resumed his strangely disinterested gazing at the painting and leaned back against the pillar he'd been lurking behind, legs crossed at the ankles and looking as indolent as he ever did with his cigarette held loosely in one hand.

"Who is the lady?" he asked in his most careful German, more because he was truly curious than because he thought he'd actually get an answer.

The Major surprised him yet again. "Claudia Henriette von dem Eberbach."

"Your mother?" It slipped out before he could stop himself and he winced a little, certain that now the expected fiery rebuke would come.

"Yes," Dorian's one true love said calmly, not looking at him. "My mother."

They stared at the painting together for a while. The only thing Dorian knew about the Major's mother was that she had died when Klaus had been very young. Seeing this picture, though, he couldn't imagine that she had been an easy woman to live with. None of the Eberbachs seemed to be simple and uncomplicated. None of them seemed to know how to enjoy themselves, either.

Well, some of them would just have to learn.

Dorian tried to find some resemblance to her son in Claudia Henriette's features, but found none. Not entirely surprising, really, since he was such a ringer for his ancestor in the paternal line.

"So," the Major said after an indefinite amount of time had passed in silence. "Are you after the family silver or do you have a more ambitious target?"

Definitely a more ambitious target. *You, naked, in my bed, in my arms, screaming my name… mine at last.*

"What!" Dorian burst out in heated indignation. "I came up here because a lady asked me to see if you were feeling ill and you accuse me of being a thief! All I'm trying to do is my job!"

The Major straightened away from the pillar at last, turning to glare at Dorian in pale imitation of his usual glower. "Oh? What did this lady look like?"

Dorian described the bride's friend, but that did not seem to ease the suspicion in his love's emerald eyes. Evidently he was not being believed, in spite of his skill at fabricating from whole cloth.

Still, there was also that almost worrying passivity that amounted almost to lack of interest. Under normal circumstances, Dorian would already have found himself tossed into a dark cellar somewhere with only a couple of king-sized bruises to keep him company.

"Come with me," the Major said at last, stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray perching on the window sill next to him before brushing past Dorian to head for the door. Apparently, there was no doubt in his mind that his order would be obeyed. For some reason, Dorian had been classed so firmly in the "bothersome but harmless petty criminal" department that he didn't even hesitate to turn his back on him.

"Gladly," Dorian murmured a bit too emphatically, his gaze automatically gravitating to the lovely long legs. *Give me half a chance!*

Tuxedos were all well and good, and it was beyond doubt that Klaus attired in one was the stuff of wet dreams and would haunt Dorian's nights for countless months to come, but the things did have one very important drawback - they concealed a very appealing part of male anatomy that Dorian knew for a fact was well worth looking at in the case of this particular specimen.

They reached the door and Dorian looked up from his regretful partial inspection of his Major's legs and well-covered buttocks to meet cold, narrowed eyes that were suddenly staring at him with an all-too-familiar expression of appalled disbelief.

*Don't even think it, you blasted pervert,* Dorian recited to himself.

The Major drew in a deep breath and expelled it again slowly, creating a vaguely threatening sound halfway between a hiss and a huff, but he said nothing. He made Dorian go first when they went down the stairs, though.

***

When they reached the bottom of the servants' stairwell, Klaus was still debating the question of whether to simply kick the foiled thief out with a warning not to show his face around here in the future or whether to go to the hassle of calling the police. With a small shove at the shoulder of the felon, he directed him to the right, towards the kitchen.

He really should call the police, he told himself. There was every possibility that the man had already squirreled some things away - jewellery he'd stolen off the guests or assorted knickknacks he'd found lying around… who knew. Searching him would do no good. He would have stashed them somewhere on the premises, somewhere he or an accomplice would be able to retrieve them later.

Damn irritating thieves - always popping up to make an already bad situation worse, always complicating everything, always staring at him as though he were on the menu and they were starving…

Why did this always happen to him? What the hell was it about him that attracted this kind of twisted desire from men like -

Wait a minute.

This thief had crept into the gallery where, among many other valuable pictures, that useless and bothersome "The Man in Purple" hung. He had asked prying personal questions and had tried to brazen it out when confronted with his larcenous intentions. He had been unabashedly staring at Klaus' ass.

The face seemed broader, the features heavier, but that could be padding and skillful makeup. The short dark hair was obviously a very superior wig. The dark eyes must be tinted by contact lenses while the skin had been darkened several shades by make-up, or perhaps through careful tanning. The figure was correct - tall, slim, lithe and moderately muscular. He hadn't even attempted to pad his waist. Vanity, Klaus supposed. And the accent, although it might conceivably have passed as an Italian one, really sounded more like an English one attempting to pass as an Italian one…

"Eroica," Klaus said flatly. In front of him, the step of the Earl in disguise faltered briefly before he half turned, raising his false dark eyebrows in feigned innocence.

"What did you say?"

"I said Eroica, you bloody nuisance," Klaus snarled in English. A strange feeling unfurled in his chest and he realised that he was actually glad at this chance of clean anger. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," the infamous thief tried hopefully, a flirtatious smile appearing as if conjured forth.

"Riight. And you wanted to see some of my movable possessions, too, you damned -"

And then he lost his train of thought in mid-rant, just as he was gearing up to come out with some truly virulent insults that would wipe that artificial simper right off the thieving, conniving little pervert's face. Every one of the already assembling curses fell right out of his head, blanked out by the icy wash of shock that slammed into him at the sight of the man walking out of the library across the hall.

Lord Gloria was saying something, but Klaus shoved him aside roughly and set out across the hall, the expanse of polished wood suddenly blurring and looming strangely. There was a rushing in his ears that almost obscured his voice when he spoke again, making his own words sound impossibly distant and unfamiliar.

"You. Get out."

He'd become an old man since Klaus had seen him last. He was sturdier, though nowhere near fat, and his posture had lost part of the athletic vigour he'd always been so proud of. The lines in his face had been there before, but had buried far more deeply into his skin; the hairline had retreated. Klaus, who hadn't seen him for over ten years, found himself stupidly surprised at the fact he'd been touched and changed by something as banal as time.

He was smaller than Klaus, and somehow, this was by far the most surprising thing about the encounter.

"Get the hell out of this house. Get the hell off this property. Don't *ever* come back."

His godfather looked dismayed and held out a conciliatory hand. Klaus knocked it aside and realised that he was shaking with rage, or shock, or something else.

"Klaus, please. I came because I had hoped that now that we were both rational adults, we could finally bury this ridiculous ill feeling you have been nursing -"

"*GET OUT!*" He was shouting. Hadn't he been determined not to shout?

Robert Tobias retreated a quick, nervous step and turned hastily, addressing Klaus' father, who now stepped out of the room behind him, a thunderous expression drawing his brows together. "I told you he wouldn't want to listen to reason, Theo. He hasn't changed at all."

"Klaus!"

He saw his own hand shoot out and connect with the older man's jaw. He even felt the impact. It did not feel as though cause or effect were directly connected to him, though.

That bastard Tobias fell back hard against the wall, stumbled and almost sagged to the floor. Klaus' father hurried to catch him and pull him to his feet, his face a mask of shock and rage. "Klaus. You will *immediately* apologise and -"

"I will do *no such thing.*"

And then he was stalking across the hall and both that bastard and his father were retreating before him, and he was still shaking and shocked and too numb to truly be aware of what the hell he was doing. He didn't care, he didn't give a damn what his father was trying to say or why his face was flushing that dangerous shade of blood-red, he didn't care. All he cared about was getting that bastard out of here, out of his sight, out of his life.

The door was open. Had he opened it or had it been the butler? It didn't matter and he didn't waste time thinking about it. Tobias was stumbling down the stairs, falling to his knees at the bottom. Where was his father? But that didn't matter either, because now Tobias was hurrying across the drive, limping a little as though he'd twisted his ankle. Klaus hoped he had, Klaus hoped he'd broken it, broken his jaw too, should have done that so long ago, should have killed the bastard - killed him. For some reason he hadn't been able to do it, even though he'd wanted to, wanted it with a deep and terrible yearning that had never truly died, that still burned in him even now.

Tobias was shouting something, but Klaus couldn't hear. The man had stopped moving. He was backed up against a car and not moving and Klaus wondered why he lived still when all those years ago, Klaus had wanted to kill him. Why hadn't he? Why didn't he?

And that was the moment that Klaus realised, with an exhilarating sense of sudden, dizzying freedom, that there was still time. He hadn't been able to do it then, but things had changed and there was still time. He could do it now.

"Keys! I don't have the keys! I don't have my keys -"

*I can kill you. I hate you, and I can kill you because there is nothing, nothing, absolutely *nothing* to hold me back.*

He never felt the sting of the dart in his back, and even the blood-edged darkness reaching up to swallow him seemed strangely expected, fusing without a break into the churning rage and hate and the triumph of his own power and unconditional will to end this particular life.

"If I ever see you again, I will kill you."

And he knew he'd spoken the words out loud before the blackness dragged him down. He could tell by the expression in the bastard's eye. He was telling the truth, and Tobias knew it.

As surely as if he had locked his hands around the man's head and broken his neck, as surely as if he had choked out his life with his breath or put a bullet between his eyes or driven his nasal bone into his brain - Klaus had won.

***

Oh dear. This was not going at all according to plan. He should have been out of the castle hours ago, proud possessor of "The Man in Purple", poor substitute for the living, breathing version perhaps, but nevertheless a possession Dorian had quite looked forward to. By this time, he should have been out of the country, heading for home… leaving his Major, though not for too long.

Instead, the catering van bearing his people had come and gone, leaving Dorian still at the castle with both the picture and the Major. He'd refused to listen to anything his men had said to him on the subject of his decision to stay. He'd claimed he was only waiting for a better opportunity to snatch the picture, but he didn't think Bonham had believed him.

The truth was that he couldn't leave the Major now, not even having witnessed that appalling outburst. The Major needed him. Dorian had known this for some time, and this occurrence might conceivably be turned into an opportunity to make that stubborn German realise it, as well.

Dorian had never seen anyone go berserk before, and he'd found that it was not at all a pleasant sight - not even in the wonderful Major, whose outbursts of temper Dorian quite often enjoyed. His acquaintance with the love of his life had taught Dorian appreciation of the brand of aesthetic appeal held by the sheen of bright steel… The same appeal held by the exhilarating mixture of danger, streamlined violence and sheer physical beauty of the Major's blazing anger. He was at his most superbly, ravishingly beddable when he was in a towering rage, and usually Dorian never wanted to rip the man's clothes off more than when he was shouting at the top of his voice.

So far, of course, Dorian had not actually revealed this to his excitable love. He rather thought it would be wise to postpone that revelation until he'd actually bedded the man several times and mellowed him just a tad. Not too much. He didn't want him to change - much. Just enough to get him to stop fighting Dorian - to get him into Dorian's bed. No more.

This new and immoderate brand of rage the Major had flown into at the sight of his father's friend had not been aesthetic or attractive at all. Dorian had thought he'd seen the Major lose his temper before, but quite evidently, he'd been wrong. The Major had been about to kill that man with his bare hands. No one had come right out and said it, but only the timely intervention of the elder Eberbach and the rifle his gamekeeper used to sedate wildlife for veterinary treatment had saved Mr. Tobias's life.

There would be hell to pay once the Major woke up. The elder Eberbach seemed more than ready to commit murder himself, even if it did leave him without an heir. Saying that Dorian's one true love had disrupted the nuptial celebrations was like saying that a hand-grenade lobbed into a hotel lobby had gotten the receptionist's attention.

It was fortunate that Dorian was here to take care of Klaus. He'd quickly turned himself into a Venetian student of medicine about to graduate and jobbing as a waiter to freshen up his finances before embarking upon the last leg of his European tour. Everyone had been thankful to get the Major off their hands at least for an hour or two. They'd all gathered around the deathly pale and gasping Tobias and been perfectly happy to leave the Major to Dorian once he'd been carried up to his room and dropped on the bed.

If Dorian hadn't been so insistent, Eberbach senior would probably have left his son to sleep it off right there in the driveway.

No one seemed quite certain when the anaesthetic would wear off; the only certainty on the matter had been provided by the gamekeeper, who, when rung from his sleep at Dorian's insistence, had divulged the information that on a healthy young stag of average weight, one dart would guarantee around a half hour of sleep.

The Major had been out like a light for almost three hours. Dorian was beginning to worry. If he didn't show signs of beginning to wake up soon, Dorian would insist that a real doctor be called in to take some blood tests, or whatever it was doctors did under these circumstances. The poor Major couldn't be over six times lighter than an average stag, could he? He *had* turned out to be pretty heavy, after all…

Dorian had finally had the opportunity to undress his insensate love, and he hadn't even been in the proper mood to take full advantage. He'd pulled off his shoes, bow-tie and jacket and of course loosened his shirt - he could hardly not do so in his role as nurse - but he'd been too worried to enjoy it properly. It was not at all like his fantasy of getting the man drunk and undressing him… This was simply too serious. And of course the Major could wake up at any moment, and depending on what exactly Dorian was doing at that moment, might go straight into another one *those*rages.

All the same, Dorian hadn't been able to stop himself from stroking the smooth chest revealed beneath the unbuttoned shirt. In truth, he hadn't tried very hard. He had to calm himself down somehow, after all. And he couldn't help being interested in the fact that Klaus truly did have the most lovely legs - swimmer's legs, matching his slim hips and broad shoulders. No one could blame Dorian for running a more or less casual hand over his true love's legs. The Major was still wearing his tuxedo pants, after all. And it seemed as though he were wearing very thick flannel underwear besides. About six layers, by the feel of it. It was most frustrating.

"This would be more fun if you were awake and co-operating," Dorian sighed, combing a slow hand through his love's sleek dark hair. It was softer than he'd thought it would be - as fine as silk, naturally glossy. Just as beautiful as the rest of him.

Why did he have to have such a violent streak? It was quite daunting, really… The thought of someday provoking the Major once too often and making him fly into such a maniacal, mindlessly murderous frenzy…

Dorian shuddered and clenched his hand in his love's long hair. Damn the man. Couldn't he at least have the decency to be ugly?

"What did that geezer do to make you so angry?" he wondered, his roving hand gliding down to the exposed collarbone, stroking lightly. Not that it was all that difficult to make the Major throw a tantrum, but this had been something considerably beyond anything in the annals of written history.

He checked his berserker's heartbeat, which seemed strong and regular as far as he could tell. No chest hair, as he'd found… Perfectly formed pectorals though, muscular but not too bulky. Washboard stomach, too, just as he'd known... and oh, he felt so good, solid and warm and real beneath Dorian's touch, at last, after so long…

*I refuse to molest a sedated man,* Dorian told himself. He'd been trying to convince himself of this for the last three hours, and his power of self-persuasion was waning fast. *I will not sink to molesting a sedated man. No, not even if he won't notice. I'll be ethical and heroically refuse… For the most part… Damn…*

There was nothing in the room to distract himself with - he'd hardly ever been in even a hotel room with so little personal character. There was not a single picture on the wall, and the only furnishings were the bed, a closet, an empty desk and a chair, all seemingly chosen for their utilitarian and impersonally boring qualities. If it hadn't been for the interesting medieval-style window nooks, complete with built-in benches, it would have been quite the most horrible room Dorian had ever voluntarily spent time in. It ranked only slightly ahead of that unmentionable bed-and-breakfast near Dover where he'd once been forced to lie low for three days. Ever since those torture-filled days, Dorian had had a pathological dislike of pink-and-orange flowered wallpaper in combination with green upholstery.

The Major made a strange sound in his sleep - at least Dorian hoped it was in his sleep - and the thief hastily removed his hand from his one true love's belt buckle. Talk about bad timing! Was he going to wake up just when Dorian had finally defeated his conscience?

"Major?"

The regular breathing of the unconscious man hitched and became ragged; the still body lost its relaxed sprawl as consciousness returned, somehow exchanging loose-limbed relaxation for tension even before co-ordinated movement became possible again.

Dorian suppressed a sigh. His poor love… Look at that, even asleep he was all uptight and on edge. No wonder he went crazy from time to time. They would have to find some more pleasant outlet for all of that accumulated tension…

"Klaus," he whispered next to the Major's ear, his breath stirring the silky short hairs at the hairline. "Wake up, darling."

Awareness hit the Major's body with the impact of a bullet. Every muscle tensed at the same time, still tension turning into barely restrained violence screaming to be unleashed. Klaus twisted out from beneath Dorian's hands and was suddenly crouching on the other side of the bed.

Wild and dazed green eyes met Dorian's and with considerable disbelief, Dorian read an emotion there that he had never thought he would ever see in the Major. Panic.

It took almost the space of two breaths for recognition to rise in his love's eyes. The panic seeped out of his expression to be replaced by the more familiar piercing alertness, but he did not straighten from his defensive crouch.

"Dorian."

Dorian's breath caught. The Major had never called him by his first name before - he'd called him Eroica or Lord Gloria, but never Dorian. He didn't seem aware of what he'd said, and Dorian didn't want to react too overtly in case he'd say it again.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Is he still here?"

"I don't know," Dorian whispered, pausing to clear his throat and speak on in a more normal voice. "I think he wanted to leave, but he was - very shaken. Your father sat him down to get some brandy into him and calm him down."

The Major's mouth thinned into a harsh line, nostrils flaring. After a moment, he straightened and stood next to the bed in indecision, looking towards the door. The look in his narrowed eyes was nowhere near the wildness of several hours before, but even so Dorian found this level of hate disturbing.

"He had better not be there when I go downstairs," the Major said quietly. Dorian didn't think he was talking to him.

"Is he a spy?" Dorian ventured, putting forward the only theory he had been able to come up with.

Klaus laughed harshly. "Not to my knowledge. Not that I'd put anything past him." As an afterthought, he added, "Like some other people I could mention." He wasn't even looking at Dorian when he said it, though, and his voice was completely empty of the customary anger and disgust.

"Then what did he do?"

Completely ignoring the question, the Major stretched and winced, putting a hand to his back where the dart had gone in to feel the small spot of dried blood. "Don't tell me. My father shot me with the gamekeeper's rifle."

Dorian nodded slowly. He wondered whether this had happened before, but wasn't really sure he wanted to know the answer. Earlier, he'd wondered whether Eberbach senior would have shot his son with a regular rifle if he hadn't had this one at hand, and he'd decided that he wanted that answer even less.

"How long was I out?"

"Just about three hours."

The Major nodded and looked back towards the door. After a long moment, he turned away and walked to the window instead, leaning heavily on the sill with both hands. The elaborate formal gardens behind the castle had been illuminated with artfully placed torches, and Klaus looked out at the nocturnal landscape in silence, unmoving.

No one had ever accused Dorian of being overly patient. Curiosity, now… That he had in spades.

"What happens now?"

The answer was a long time coming. Dorian had already given up on receiving an answer when his love turned a little and leaned the side of his head against the windowpane. He probably had a headache. "I don't know," he said. "Why are you still here? Go away. I don't need the hassle of locking up a thief, as well."

"I'll have you know that I am a law-abiding student of medicine from Venice."

The Major snorted half-heartedly. "Medicine?"

"And it was a good thing that I was here and could be put in charge of you until you woke up again."

Klaus whipped around, catching Dorian entirely by surprise with the sudden violence of the motion. A touch of the wild panic was back in his eyes and Dorian could only stare in astonishment. It faded away almost immediately, but it had been there; Dorian had seen it, an entirely new expression that he had now seen twice in quick succession without being able to explain it in either case.

The two stared at each other for a while.

"Tell me something," the Major requested brusquely. "I want you to take time and think the question over seriously, and I want a truthful answer for once. Do you think that would be possible?"

Dorian blinked. "I - of course, Major, for you, anything."

The expected disgusted snort lacked spirit. "Just tell me why. What is it that you think you see in me that makes you act like this? What the hell have I ever done to encourage you or give you reason to believe I - what is it! Tell me what the hell it is!"

"I just love you, Major. There doesn't always have to be a reason that can be expressed in simple concepts and mere words. One day you'll realise -"

"What the hell kind of answer is that? Of course there is a reason! I asked you to think it over, you idiot, so think it over, damn you! I want a real answer!"

Stunned at the sudden vehemence, Dorian retreated half a step. "I - well, the obvious answer is that you're very beautiful, Major."

He calmed down at once, apparently acknowledging this as an acceptable response. His eyes narrowed and Dorian could almost see the wheels whirring away in his head. "So how do I become less *beautiful* to men like you? Cut off the hair? Grow a beard? Wear thick-lensed glasses and speak in dialect? *What?*"

There was something in the disgust in his Major's voice that made Dorian very uneasy. He spat out *beautiful* as though the word tasted bad in his mouth.

"I don't think it's possible for you to stop being beautiful," Dorian said simply. "It's not a bad thing. You should be -"

"Oh yes - I should be so thankful to be molested by perverts! What great good fortune to be born with a face that attracts warped degenerates like - you. I think I'll get an operation and be rid of this problem once and for all."

Dorian didn't know what to say to that, so he remained silent. His love was clearly agitated and paced back and forth through the room, stopping at last directly in front of Dorian, so close that he imagined he could smell him… feel the heat of his anger and frustration coming off him, the ineffable quality of Klaus that made him so mysteriously irresistible.

Amazing. Even frustration was sexy on the man.

"Do you never stop to think at all? This is so futile! You waste a ridiculous amount of energy and effort on an endeavour that is doomed to failure. *Why?* I don't understand you! Even assuming that you'd chosen someone - like you - someone who might eventually give in, it wouldn't be worth all of the trouble. Why are you behaving like an idiot? Why the hell don't you think it through and accept the undeniable facts of the -"

"Don't be silly. Having you in my bed will be well worth all of the trouble," Dorian said, not thinking at all. An instant later, he almost bit his tongue as he snapped his mouth shut too quickly, wishing he could bite the words back before they reached the Major's ear.

Dorian never could seem to remember that it was not a good idea to be too direct around his irascible love - talking of his love for the other man was bad, but talking of lust inevitably led to a major blow-up. Klaus was so volatile and, as Dorian had discovered early on in his campaign to win him, such a terrible prude.

Klaus was looking at him, eyes cold, but seeming almost distracted, lips compressed into a harsh line that completely obscured the sensually swung line of his mouth. Dorian couldn't quite decide whether his darling seemed more likely to hit him first and start shouting later or the other way around.

But, now that he thought about it, it was taking him unusually long to start with whatever it was he was going to do first…

Someone else might not have considered this an opening, but Dorian had been chasing his Major for years, subsisting on barely existing, perhaps mostly imagined hints of encouragement and a hope of success that was essentially based on pure self-confidence. Seen in this light, the uncharacteristic lack of violent denial was almost an encouragement.

Dorian launched himself at the Major without further contemplation, wrapping both arms around his neck and plastering himself to his front. Klaus started back violently, but only succeeded in hitting the side of the bed with the backs of his knees, neatly felling himself and ending up pinned to his bed by Dorian's body.

The Major's mouth was open, sucking in air in preparation for a deafening bellow. Dorian clung tighter and covered the other man's mouth with his own, not wasting any time. He knew he wouldn't have long, and he had to make the most of every instant.

Klaus' lips were soft and warm beneath Dorian's; delving as deeply into his love's mouth as he could, Dorian was almost dizzy with the joy of this unprecedented, stolen intimacy. The Major tasted very faintly of cigarettes, but mostly of himself, and unlike what Dorian would have expected if he'd stopped to think, he didn't bite. He didn't bite even when Dorian risked a split-second separation of their mouths only to dive back in at a better angle, stroking and teasing with every particle of his considerable skill. Klaus didn't respond, either, but that didn't perturb Dorian in the slightest. One day he would - one day soon, very soon now…

"I love you," he whispered fervently when he drew back at last, nuzzling his face into his true love's neck and the silky hair spread out beside it on the pillow like a raven's wing. "You're so wonderful."

The body beneath him shuddered and tensed, every muscle going rock-hard. Dorian could feel the chest expand against his, hands coming up in a bruising grip at his shoulders. His time was short. Klaus was trying to shift, evidently attempting to brace himself against the mattress and throw Dorian off, but he moved awkwardly, almost hesitantly… completely without his usual prowling, predatory grace.

The way he moved was one of the first things Dorian had noticed about him, even before he'd realised how magnificent a creature the man was as a whole. He could be terribly stiff, prudish and uptight, but he moved as though he had no bones at all. He flowed. He *stalked*. Like a panther, green-eyed and sleek - lovely, lethal, all controlled grace and contained violence… the beauty of razor-sharp fangs and honed steel.

Dorian didn't know quite when he'd become erect, but now he was achingly hard and throbbing and couldn't think past the raging desire for the incredible creature beneath him. His Major was shifting position and Dorian took advantage of the slightly opened thighs, wriggling forcefully and wedging himself between his love's legs.

The skin beneath his lips and teeth smelled and tasted of Klaus. Dorian bit down hard, grinding his erection against the other man's groin. If he hadn't been completely beyond rational thought, he would very probably have chosen to proceed somewhat less aggressively, but how could he hold back now that he finally tasted and touched and felt his love like this, now that his love's body was spread below him like a feast, very tense and again very still and not resisting, not fighting Dorian's touch…

Hands were still locked on his shoulders with painful force, but they didn't push him away. It was left to Dorian himself to pull back in order to tear at the Major's dress shirt frantically, ripping the front open all the way to the waistband of the pants.

Klaus made a small sound, a strange sound - not anger, not desire, not quite distress. Entirely captivating.

"It's all right love, it's all right, I'll show you - oh God, just let me show you -"

He'd closed his eyes and turned his face sideways into the pillow. His jaw was now clenched tightly shut, the perfectly sculpted mouth set into a thin line. He looked almost as though he were in pain.

It would have been a lie to say Dorian understood what was happening here, but he could not possibly have cared less. He understood enough - he saw that his elusive Major was at last within his grasp, and that was the only thing that mattered. Somehow, he had finally found the right moment, the right method, the right everything.

*Oh yes, yes, don't let him change his mind now, let this last just ten more minutes, half an hour, a lifetime…*

The cotton undershirt was warm with his Major's body heat and suffused with the subtle scent of his skin. Dorian licked and bit at the fabric covering one nipple while his hands tugged the shirt out of the pants and dove beneath, pushing it upwards. So warm, so solid, silken skin over sculpted muscle. Intoxicating. Irresistible.

And then the belt-buckle finally succumbed to his shaking, but deft fingers, and his hand slid beneath another layer of cotton into greater warmth, finding surprisingly soft curls and an only very slightly filled penis.

"Love you," he whispered again, unable and unwilling to hold back the words when the emotion was surging so wildly within him, tangled up with awe at the man's perfection and the fire-bright and still-rising rage of lust.

He curled his fingers gently around the Major and assayed an experimental caress. Klaus' body was so tense that Dorian fleetingly worried he'd develop a muscle cramp, but his cock was responding to Dorian's skilled caresses, slowly perhaps, but undeniably. Some part of Dorian wished he could undress his love fully and do this properly - slowly and exhaustively explore every delectable inch of Klaus' body - but that would have to wait because he wasn't about to let go now, not on any account, not for the entire contents of the Louvre.

The Major gasped in a desperate lungful of breath and let out a very quiet sound halfway between a growl and a sob.

Oh this was all so sudden and strange and it did not really feel like the surrender he'd envisioned, but Dorian wasn't about to waste precious time on thinking. Stubborn prudish pig-headed Klaus, making everything that should have been simple and natural so terribly difficult, always trying to turn everything into a joyless chore… But he'd teach him to let go and simply enjoy eventually, it would just take a little time. This was still Iron Klaus after all, he was still resisting his own sexuality and human needs but Dorian would teach him that there was more to life than cold duty and hard, joyless discipline…

*I have wanted you, wanted this, ever since I first looked at you properly, my love -* and he would have said it aloud but he couldn't speak with his lips and tongue caressing what was now a sizeable erection. He'd done this so often, but it had never been quite like this, it had never been as though the pleasure of the man beneath him was all one with his own pleasure, just as though there were no difference between the two at all.

Klaus made no sound at all as he came, and of everything that had happened, this surprised Dorian the least. There would be a time when he would scream Dorian's name, Dorian promised himself, even though he couldn't really imagine it. Still, he didn't doubt that he'd get him there eventually. Didn't he always get what he wanted?

He smiled and gently bit the inside of his lover's thigh before looking up again.

"You are so incredibly beautiful." Dorian's voice was dark and rough with lust and a muscle in the Major's jaw jumped visibly at the sound. He did not move as Dorian licked and nipped and bit his way up the lovely body, up to the collarbone and neck and ear.

Orgasm had relaxed Klaus fractionally, but the sound of Dorian's zipper made him tense right up again.

"Please," Dorian whispered into his love's ear. "Touch me."

The response was a long time in coming and he reflected fleetingly that he should probably have left this demand for some other time. It was a moot point, though - rational considerations had played no part in any of his actions since the moment his body had hit the bed on top of Klaus.

The case could also have been made that the moment in question lay much farther back, at some point during the second time he'd seen the man, the first time he'd felt the stunning allure of his particular, unique brand of loveliness, all those bleak, yearning months and years ago…

"Can't," his love bit out, immediately clenching his jaw again afterwards.

"Of course you can." Dorian was glad this would be the last time he'd have to seduce a nervous and uptight virgin to his bed. All he wanted was to pounce on the Major, who was more than any man could be expected to resist - priggish and incongruously dissipated all at once with the rucked-up undershirt tucked just above his nipples and the tuxedo pants and no-nonsense white boxers tangled about his thighs…

It took a long moment, but at last Klaus took a deep breath, finally unclenched his hands from Dorian's shoulders, and managed to square his own shoulders in sombre determination even though he was lying down in the tattered remains of formal wardrobe. His head turned smartly to the front and his eyes snapped open, focusing on Dorian, bright silver-green and unreadable as ever.

Aristocratic nostrils flared. "Very well." He sounded like someone about to jump out of the trenches for a desperate dash to reach enemy territory without being gunned down.

He kept his eyes open now, fixed on Dorian's face with peculiar and unswerving concentration. Dorian moved back a little, straddling his love's waist and bending down to brush a light kiss onto the set mouth. The hand at the back of his head caught him by surprise and he almost lost his balance as Klaus pulled him in for a deeper kiss, his mouth opening to welcome Dorian's in active co-operation this time. He kissed somewhat hesitantly - still not certain that he really wanted to be doing this.

Neither the hesitation nor the determined, almost cool competence of the kiss bothered Dorian. It was more initiative than he'd expected after Klaus' earlier imitation of a stone, and more than enough to make him gasp and tremble in sheer animal lust. Klaus had been able to burn him with a derisive glance; *this*… this was almost pain.

The Major didn't attempt to undress Dorian further. He slid one hand around his side to his still-clad buttocks, where it rested lightly. The other one started at his face, touching his cheek shyly, brushing over his lips and tugging off the wig to comb through Dorian's hair when it tumbled free, tugging at the long curls.

Dorian leaned into the caress mindlessly, trying not to forget to breathe. The unexpected gentleness was turning him on terribly and he would probably explode the moment Klaus touched him.

Klaus stroked down the side of his neck and Dorian heard himself making the most extraordinary moaning and gasping sounds. The touch firmed over his shirt-clad chest and did not hesitate at all when it slid onto bare skin again, closing around Dorian's erection lightly, but firmly. Dorian whimpered and bucked as fingertips pressed just beneath the head, cried out softly at the first strong stroke, and came with a strangled moan before Klaus could ever establish any kind of rhythm.

"Klaus," he whispered, crawling up the still body to snuggle against his chest. "Hmm… You most certainly can. That was wonderful. *You* are wonderful."

The Major closed his eyes again and swallowed, his deep breaths coming in calculated evenness. Almost immediately, he extricated himself from Dorian's clinging embrace and rolled to his feet smoothly, pulling up his trousers and straightening up the rest of his attire as well as he could. He didn't look at Dorian.

"This did not happen."

"Whatever you say, darling," Dorian purred. The stab of disappointed anger that flashed through him at his love's coldness was a bigger surprise than the coldness itself - he automatically fell back on one of his more overt 'screaming queen' voices and felt a certain amount of satisfaction at Klaus' instant and predictable reaction. "You know, I happen to have stumbled across a rather charming little gourmet restaurant not very far from here - Zur Alten Muehle, I believe. Let's have dinner tomorrow and see what else won't happen."

"GET OUT!"

It was a good imitation of his Major's usual rage, but not good enough to fool Dorian, who considered himself the greatest living expert on his love's tempestuous outbreaks of temper. There was something lacking in the tone - the volume was there, but the emotion was wrong somehow, and Klaus still wasn't looking at him. Dorian couldn't understand it, but he was beginning to grow slightly uneasy.

"Major, is anything wrong?" When you got right down to it, none of this made any sense… Not even his almost detached behaviour when he'd caught Dorian in the gallery had been characteristic, and it had gone farther and farther off track with his unprovoked attack on the old man in the hall, his strange passive willingness to be seduced, then even his active participation - and now this lacklustre temper…

Klaus whirled and glared at Dorian, tangled black hair falling into his eyes. "IS ANYTHING WRONG??? Now what could possibly be WRONG? You're here and he's here and my father is going to kill me and I've just let you - I - and - even though I've finally won, even though he KNOWS I have, it means NOTHING! And you haven't even told me *why*, you blasted queer! There are plenty of men around who are more *beautiful* than me and I know damned well that that isn't the real problem!"

Dorian had a hard time concentrating on the words. He'd always thought that Klaus in one of his rages was the hottest thing since flame throwers, but *now*, with the taste of him still in his mouth, the feel of his skin still tingling on his fingers… God, *now*…

Perhaps the reason for Dorian's preoccupation showed in his face; whatever the reason, something twisted in his Major's expression and he went into full melt down. As always, he was sexy as hell with his green eyes blazing like that… Still, maybe it would be not entirely unwise for Dorian to remove himself from his one true love's immediate proximity until the man had calmed down a bit.

Accordingly, he jumped up and sprinted for the door, successfully eluding Klaus' grip with a quick twist and slamming the door behind himself. He paused to zip up and then darted around the nearest bend in the grey stone hall, pressing back into a window nook in case the Major decided to brave the corridors in his dishevelled condition.

He did not, although a series of crashes announced that he was not yet entirely back in control over himself. Someone pounded down the corridor and stopped in front of his door. There was a noticeable pause before the unidentified someone knocked, somewhat timidly.

"Was! WAS!! Kann man denn in diesem verfluchten Irrenhaus keine Sekunde Ruhe haben, Herrgott verdammt nochmal!!!"

Even muffled by ancient stone and thick wood, his love's bellow was quite impressive. The answer of the timid knocker was not audible from where Dorian hid, but even the slightly damped response of the Major was still clear.

Really, Dorian reflected smugly, his command of the German language had benefited greatly from his love for the Major - he did want to know what his darling was saying when he was screaming at him, after all. So far, his understanding of curses and insults had been exercised most frequently, but he made a mental note to brush up on endearments and love-talk. Couldn't be all that long anymore now, he reasoned.

"Incompetent idiot! Half an hour I said!" Mumbling from the shy one. "Blast it!! Are you deaf? I said half an hour, so tell him half an hour, you spineless excuse for a man!" More mumbling, desperation clear in the tone. "Oh bloody damned well! Tell him to come up then. Miserable coward!"

Oh, now Dorian couldn't possibly miss this… The Major was going to have an interview with his father, who was probably the genetic source of that fierce temper and who would want to cast light on his son's peculiar outburst as much as Dorian did.

The muffled footsteps of the timid servant retreated and Dorian peeked around the corner to make certain the coast was clear before creeping back to his love's door. Low growling could be heard in the room beyond; then, an inner door slammed.

Dorian cracked open the door, assured himself Klaus was really in the bathroom, and slipped inside. After brief deliberation, he opted for the clichéd, but nevertheless best place of concealment under the circumstances - behind one of the very thick, dark red velvet curtains. If he pulled it up in front of the window nook just a bit, he'd even have a comfortable place to sit. Thank God for medieval window seats.

His love emerged from the bathroom wrapped head to toe in a bathrobe, of course. Dorian suppressed a disappointed sigh as Klaus lit up a cigarette, straightened up the bed with two efficient tugs and threw a day cover over it, pausing and bending to look underneath after a slight hesitation.

Dorian had briefly considered that hiding space and was beginning to feel smug for his foresight in choosing a better one when his love turned to face the window. Damn! Why hadn't Dorian thought of this? Of course he'd want to air the room to make sure no tell-tale scent of sex remained.

The door slammed open with enough force to rebound from the wall shuddering and the elder Eberbach stormed in. Dorian retreated behind the curtain as far as he could. Two of them in a small contained space… they were lucky if this didn't result in the destruction of the castle.

"Explain yourself." Very cold, but with the threat of explosion lurking just beneath the surface.

"I can't, sir."

Dorian winced. Oh, Major, not wise, not wise at all.

"You have no explanation or you will not give it?"

"I cannot give it."

"You have disrupted the festivities - cast a shadow over the marriage of your cousin - attacked, injured and nearly frightened to death my oldest friend and your own godfather - and you actually have the nerve to STAND HERE AND TELL ME YOU WON'T CONDESCEND SO FAR AS TO GIVE ME EVEN THE WEAKEST EXCUSE FOR YOUR INEXCUSABLE CONDUCT!"

There was no reaction at all and Dorian, who'd shrunk as far back against the cool stone as he could, risked tugging the fabric shielding him from sight back slightly to catch a glimpse of what was happening. The Major had sunk to sit on the edge of the bed, face closed, staring up at his father with no expression whatsoever on his face.

The elder Eberbach shuddered and stepped back, turning to pace back and forth several times in exactly the same way his son did when he was trying very hard not to hit someone. Klaus used the interval to inhale the rest of his cigarette and half of a new one.

"Robert has always been a good friend to you, and he still is even now, despite your unspeakable actions - he has not even attempted to put blame on you, although he has no more of a clue where this ridiculous grudge you have been holding for well-nigh fifteen years now originated than I do. He told me that he was certain you thought you had good reason. I can only say that this is a testament to his great high-mindedness and inexplicable good will to you as the son of a good friend!"

"I am sorry, sir, but I cannot discuss it with you," Klaus said in a low, almost dead voice that Dorian didn't like at all. "However, my - grudge - is not ridiculous. It is well-founded, and although I am aware it may be difficult for you to believe this when I cannot elaborate further, I am asking you to accept that I do have good reasons for my actions. Sir, I regret putting you into such a position and apologise for the disruption of the wedding celebration, but I am forced to ask you to trust -"

"After the way you have behaved today? How can I ever trust you to behave like a reasonable adult again after this! You were about to kill my oldest friend, you refuse even to tell me why, not that any explanation would be able to excuse such criminal conduct, and then you ask me to trust you? You have certainly never lacked for bloody nerve! I should have known to expect something like this after the way you used to be as a boy - it's incomprehensible to me that I should have such a son! All your life you have been -"

Klaus flung himself off the bed and stood nose to nose with his red-faced father. "I *can't* tell you! I would if I could, but - sir, just trust me for once - please!"

The last word sounded painful, as though it had not only been torn from him, but had injured him on the way. Dorian felt a sharp burn of resentment towards the older Eberbach. Couldn't he see what it had cost his son to bend this far? For Klaus, this kind of behaviour amounted to abject grovelling. What the hell did the old bastard expect, anyway - didn't he know his son at all?

"Klaus. I am ordering you as your father and the head of the house. Clear this up."

What dirty tactics! Dorian noticed that in his indignation at this underhanded blackmailing strategy, he had clutched the heavy curtain so tightly that he was about to bring it down. Hastily, he forced himself to let go.

The pause was long and painful, but Dorian had no doubt of who the victor of this bout would be. The elder Eberbach had played an unbeatable trump card - grab Klaus by his sense of honour and duty and you had him right where it hurt.

"I can't," the Major whispered at last. Dorian realised that he had never before heard him sound defeated.

For a terrible moment of stunned shock, Dorian thought the incredulous gasp had come from him; only when Eberbach senior added an inarticulate sputtering did he realise who the true originator of the sound had been.

It seemed that this particular underhanded tactic had never before been known to fail and now, Eberbach senior had no powder left to shoot with.

The silence that followed was now no longer painful, but terrible; the air was charged with tension and anger and Dorian imagined he could feel the building storm crackle in the room like electricity building up for lightning. He wouldn't have been surprised to see his hair stand on end from the charge.

The door slammed and heavy steps stomped off down the corridor. Inside the room, the silence was complete.

Dorian held his breath for as long as he could for fear the sound of his lungs working would give him away. When he could no longer manage, he was certain the sound that was so loud in his ears would have Klaus tearing aside the concealing curtain and beating him to kingdom come.

Nothing. The silence remained unbroken. There was not even the flick of a lighter or the deep inhalation of someone taking a drag at a cigarette.

Now he was beginning to worry, strange and improbable scenarios flickering through his mind. What if Eberbach senior had had a knife with him - what if Klaus was at this very moment bleeding out his life not three meters away from Dorian? Of course it was ridiculous, the old man wouldn't do that and no one died this silently, not even his stoic Klaus, at least Dorian was *sure* that there would have to be some kind of rasping or gasping or -

"Great high-mindedness!" Dorian was so relieved at this sign of life from his Major that the terrible bitterness in the low growl didn't register until the second fragment of conversation was replayed. "Inexplicable good will!"

In any good movie, this would have been the moment that Klaus, believing himself alone, would have relieved his heavy heart of the mystery weighing on him by entrusting it to the walls of his childhood domicile, thereby unintentionally filling in the good friend who watched and listened in hiding, concerned for the handsome hero and eager to earn his undying gratitude by taking care of whatever the problem was.

Unfortunately, Klaus did not have the part of the handsome hero down very well. After another endless moment of utter motionlessness, the bed creaked and the robe rustled as he stood up. The Major himself made no sound, but the closet creaked as well, and there was more rustling as clothes were selected and pulled out. Dorian tried to resist for only a second or two before risking discovery once again by twisting a fold of fabric and peeking out.

Klaus, still swathed in over-sized bathrobe and carrying an armful of formal tuxedo and starched white shirt, disappeared in the bathroom and closed the door. Amazing. The man went to the bathroom to change even in his own room.

Dorian waited around until his love emerged just to be certain he wouldn't be missing out on anything if he left early. Yes, indeed... The Major was buttoned up to the chin and only stopped to put on his shoes and light another of his ever-present cigarettes before following his father.

Well, he'd gotten the man into bed. It was only a matter of time before he managed to do it again at more leisure, enabling him to look his fill. And touch his fill, of course. Not to mention lick, bite, taste and smell and any other conceivable method of experiencing Klaus…

Thoughtfully, Dorian sat on his love's bed. After a moment, he pulled back the day cover and tugged the pillow into his lap, burying his face in it and breathing in his Major's subtle, unique scent.

Now. How could he find out just what the hell had happened here this evening?

What facts did he have to go on? Well, start with the obvious - there was bad blood between the Major and this Tobias, bad blood of a magnitude that had sent the Major into a rage the likes of which Dorian had never seen before, and he had seen quite a number of volcanic outbursts. But this - this had been new and frightening, just like the glimpses of a panic alien to the man Dorian knew and loved.

And he'd been behaving strangely in other ways, as well. He'd even started talking about why Dorian was attracted to him when he never talked about such things - he'd come right out and asked what he could do to become unattractive to Dorian and men like Dorian, demanded to know what it would take to rid himself of "the problem". What a typically contrary and skewed attitude to take on the matter of his own beauty that was. Anyone else would have been glad, but no, not Klaus. Nothing was ever that simple with Klaus. *What great good fortune to be born with a face that attracts warped degenerates like - you.*

At the time, Dorian hadn't paid attention to the way his love had spoken that sentence, but in retrospect it hit him that Klaus probably hadn't been thinking of Dorian at all when he'd started that sentence… He'd substituted the reference just in time.

Bloody hell! Who had been chasing his Major when Dorian's back was turned? And how could he have missed this?

Dorian punched the pillow in his lap in frustration and jumped up to pace around the bleak and depressing room his love called home. How dare some brazen stranger hit on his Klaus - was it that ridiculous English agent? Was it that simpering little transvestite in Klaus' own office? Or was it someone else entirely, someone he'd just met - But no, Dorian was certain he'd have heard of that. He had his sources, after all, sources who knew how much it would interest him to hear of someone else daring to cast a covetous eye at his Major. It must have been before Dorian had found Klaus and staked his as of yet not quite confirmed claim to the man. Some years back, some brassy lecher must have -

And just like that, it all clicked into place.

There was bad blood between the Major and this Tobias *because of something that had happened many years back*, when Klaus had still been a child - something that both Tobias and the Major refused to elaborate on. Something that the Major would not, *could* not talk about even now, not even when his father invoked his overdeveloped sense of duty and family loyalty.

Something that had evoked a frightening, berserk rage in Klaus.

Oh no. Oh no, *no* -

This entire strange and frightening episode suddenly made a terrible kind of sense. So many other things did, as well - the Major's violently negative reaction to Dorian's advances, his dogged refusal to accept that there was anything but twisted perversion in Dorian's affection, even his lack of interest in sex in general… His ridiculously exaggerated prudishness… And of course his reaction to the sight of an old friend of his father's, whom he'd almost killed with his bare hands in front of his father, Dorian, everyone…

Who had brought stark panic into Iron Klaus' eyes. Who had had to do nothing but open a door and step into his fierce, fearless Major's line of sight in order to do so.

"Oh *no*, oh my God no," Dorian whispered, appalled. He didn't want to believe this - it seemed hardly possible that such an appalling thing could happen to Klaus, not to *Klaus* - he would have killed the man first, torn him limb from limb and spat on the corpse… But then he hadn't always been a six-foot two fully trained NATO agent, had he, and he *had* tried to kill the bastard, a little late, but the attempt had unmistakably been in complete earnest…

*Oh God, my love… What has that bastard done to you?*

And what had *Dorian* done?

But it wasn't the same, Dorian loved him, Dorian would never hurt him or - or force him to do something he didn't want to do...

Dorian realised with a surge of nausea that he couldn't really be sure that that wasn't exactly what he'd done. He'd jumped on Klaus, pushed him down, kissed him and groped him and almost forced a reaction - and how could he be sure that the reaction he'd gotten at last was due to an attraction on Klaus' part that he just didn't want to admit? That was what he'd thought at the time, what he'd wanted to think, but… How could he be sure it wasn't something else entirely, that Klaus hadn't been lying so tense and still because he'd been reliving memories of something so terrible that he couldn't even move to escape from Dorian's touch, that his physical reaction hadn't been mere reflex forced from his body against his will, that he hadn't just been suffering through a replay of something he'd thought he'd put behind him forever long ago…

But it *couldn't* be the same! Dorian loved him. Dorian loved him! He hadn't wanted to hurt him -

The desperate thought seemed even weaker now than it had a moment before, the hope drowning in despair. Because really, how likely was it that Tobias had deliberately set out to hurt his best friend's son, his own godson - wasn't it far more probable that he'd thought he felt some - some kind of - affection -

*I came because I had hoped that now that we were both rational adults, we could finally bury this ridiculous ill feeling you have been nursing.* Ridiculous ill feeling. Great high-mindedness.

Dorian made a dash for the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet in time. He hadn't eaten much today, but even after he'd regurgitated every scrap of food he'd ingested in what seemed like the last two weeks, his stomach refused to settle down and he retched miserably, bringing up nothing but a thin dribble of bile that burned his throat and made his eyes tear.

It was also possible that he was crying. At this point he couldn't distinguish between the nausea and the horror anymore.

Was there really a difference between Dorian and Tobias? How could Dorian have failed to notice something so fundamental - how could he have forced his attentions on his love so vehemently and been so oblivious to Klaus that he had never realised - had never even considered the possibility -

Nothing had truly changed, but now Dorian suddenly saw how far from his grasp everything he had hoped for, everything he had thought would soon be his, truly was. He'd been making a bloody fool of himself - he'd been expecting the Major to fall into his arms and bed at any moment, never realising how far from success he had truly been in his hopeless campaign.

Not even in those occasional and brief moments of self-pity when he'd despaired of ever carrying his point with his stubborn love had Dorian considered giving up before. But now… How could he not? Knowing what he knew now, how could he force his love on Klaus any longer, knowing what it must mean to his one true love to be pursued like this - knowing that he was causing pain and torment where he wanted only to heal, to soothe and comfort and love…

But he knew he would be fooling himself with a decision to stay away from the Major. Klaus might never let Dorian close, but somehow or other his image had insinuated itself so deep into Dorian's previously all but impervious heart that he could not let go of the last sliver of hope without losing himself.

And somehow, this was almost the most terrible part of this evening's revelations. For the first time in his life, Dorian was literally sickened by his own egotism. It didn't help that he suspected even his self-disgust was nothing more than a method to ease his conscience.

It was too late. He couldn't let go now. Not even to prevent more pain to his beloved could he stay away. Not even when he'd already raped the only man he had ever loved could he stop yearning after his body.

There was nothing left in his stomach, not even bile. It didn't seem to make a difference. He threw up anyway.