Iron Hand, Velvet Glove

by Vesta Eirii

 

 

            “This never happened,” Klaus stated flatly.

            His languor gone, Dorian opened his eyes reluctantly. He didn’t want to, not just yet; he wanted to lie still and savor the warmth of the muscled body next to his, the heady masculine scent of aftershave and tobacco, the taste in his mouth.

            Still, he stretched, careful to let his half-unbuttoned shirt fall further open. They hadn’t even undressed all the way, it had been so heated, so urgent. Dorian could feel dull aches here and there that would be bruises by tomorrow. He couldn’t say he minded.

            “Oh, my love,” he sighed, sounding as sensual and assured as possible. “Do you really think there’s still any point in pretending?”

            Klaus rose abruptly and turned away, fumbling in his haste to put his clothes in order. He did not look at Dorian. “Pervert.”

            Dorian flinched inwardly, but made himself chuckle. “The kettle’s calling the pot black.”

            Now decently covered, Klaus turned to Dorian and punched him before Dorian could get any further. Not all that hard a punch, compared to some of the others he’d gotten over the years.

            Before Dorian’s head stopped ringing, Klaus had seized him by his upper arms and was shaking him, snarling. “I said, this did not happen. Do you understand me?”

            “I understand,” Dorian replied glumly, and was rewarded by being dropped back onto the bed. Klaus was out the door two seconds later.

            Well, Dorian thought. Round One.

            Dorian expected, or rather hoped, that Klaus would come around on his own. That Klaus’s own body, starved of its basic needs for so long, would break down his resistance and he would return to Dorian on his own.

            But it didn’t happen. The days stretched into weeks, and when they became a month, Dorian lost patience. Oh, it would have been a triumph of sorts to hold out longer than Klaus, but who had said this was a contest? So he called the Chief.

            He was in luck. It seemed the dear Major had gone and told the Chief what he really thought again, just a few days before, which had put him in a sour mood. Which meant he was more than ready to bait his most troublesome – and most able – subordinate. He couldn’t exactly tell Dorian where the Major’s current mission was, of course, but he could hint heavily. And did. An hour after hanging up, Dorian was on a plane to Madrid.

            It was seven the next evening when Dorian at last heard the long-awaited hammering at his door. Too bad he had had to scheme to get the Major here, but at least it had worked.

            He smiled, looking in the mirror to fuss with his hair a bit. The delay, of course, only made the Major angrier. “Lord Gloria!” he shouted. “I know you’re in there! Open this door before I shoot out the lock!”

            Dorian sauntered over to the door and opened it. “Take some deep breaths, Major. You’re going to give yourself a stroke. At your age, a man should—“

            As Dorian had expected, the implication of advancing age made Klaus blow his top again. “Shut up, you damned no-good idiot thief! Just give me that microfilm back right now before I throttle you!”

            “Before, after, what’s the difference?” Dorian asked airily. He moved to the dresser, rotating his hips sensually, though he suspected Klaus was too furious to appreciate it. “Have a drink, Major,” he said calmly, pouring gin for both of them. “You’ll get your microfilm back. I assure you, it is in the safest place imaginable.”

            “How many times do I have to tell you not to interfere in my missions, you damned thief?”

            “If I didn’t, when would I ever see you? Now, Major, drink your gin and I’ll tell you where your microfilm is.”

            Klaus looked surprised. “You will?”

            “Of course. But I can’t talk to you when you’re shouting and swearing.”

            The Major looked Dorian up and down suspiciously. Dorian noticed and laughed.

            “No, Major, I’m not forcing you to frisk me. It isn’t on my person. Though come to think of it, that’s a good idea. I’ll have to remember it.”

            “Idiot.” The Major knocked back the gin at last and set the glass down. He was still irate, but controlled now. “Well? Where is it?”

            Dorian sipped his own gin. He smiled. “In your suitcase, Major.”

            “What!”

            “I tucked it between your long-sleeved undershirts.”

            The Major didn’t even try to hide his shock. “You broke into my room?”

            “Of course. I had to return the microfilm I stole from you, didn’t I?”

            The Major stared at him. Dorian fell silent and returned his gaze. Moments like this, when he somehow managed to slip past the Major’s defenses, were delicate and precious. He was always afraid to spoil them by saying more.

            The moment lengthened. A little nervous, Dorian looked away for one second, setting his glass down. Then he looked back at his love – and caught his breath.

            Klaus was looking right into his eyes. Surely a look like that could have only one meaning. He held still, afraid of making a wrong move. Uncertainly, Klaus lifted a hand and gently placed it against the side of Dorian's face. Dorian's eyes half-closed, and his lips parted, and almost involuntarily he swayed closer. Klaus looked nervous, but he did not move away. Dorian let his hands stroke across Klaus's chest, up toward his shoulders, but before he could embrace him, Klaus had clamped his hands on both Dorian's wrists in a bruising grip. Dorian waited, his breath heavy. Klaus was holding him at arms' length.

            Then Klaus released his wrists and seized his arm just above the elbow instead, and strode into the bedroom. They paused only long enough for Klaus to seize the bottle of hand lotion from the dresser. Dorian smiled and cooperated when Klaus pushed him face down onto the bed. Klaus didn't seem certain of Dorian's cooperation, however. He promptly settled on top of him, pinning him down. Dorian closed his eyes, feeling the other man's warm, solid presence weighting him down. He could not suppress a small moan.


Illustration by Nina

            Still leaning on Dorian as if afraid he would try to escape, Klaus wordlessly pulled off Dorian's clothes. Dorian shivered at the feeling of the other man's power over him, enjoying it. He lay still, allowing Klaus to prepare him. He knew this wasn't easy for his love. He would cooperate, let Klaus keep control for the time being, submit to whatever Klaus needed to feel comfortable for now. Later, when the sensations began to take over... who knew?

            It didn't hurt, this time. Klaus wasn't so frenzied, though he was urgent. Klaus did not undress, only unfastened his fly enough for his purpose. Dorian could feel the cloth of Klaus's shirt against his back, Klaus's slacks against his legs. There were no kisses, no words, no caresses unless one counted the unthinking tenderness of Klaus’s touch when he wasn’t simply manhandling Dorian into position. Had Klaus realized how much his touch was revealing, in between bruising grips and brutal thrusts….

            Dorian could not have escaped from the grip on him if he had tried. He surrendered to the rhythm pounding into him, gasping for breath, letting the rough sensations submerge him and carry him along.

            He loved it. With everyone else, ever since Lord Price, Dorian had insisted upon taking the lead. He had chosen lovers who were weaker in body and spirit than himself, to make certain that he would be the one to control their relations.

            Now, he loved a strong man. A brutal man. How could he do other than revel in feeling that strength, a touch of that brutality? Strength was part of Klaus. Dorian wanted to feel it. And after graciously bestowing his favors on so many awed, pretty young men who seemed afraid to touch him, it was both frightening and exciting to be simply taken, without so much as a word to ask his consent. He shuddered, and the movement made both him and Klaus groan.

            Almost as an afterthought, Klaus worked a hand in front of him and Dorian was more trapped than ever, possessed no matter which way he struggled, overloaded with sensation. He heard his own moans and cries become louder, and a moment later, he nearly passed out as he screamed, then collapsed in that iron embrace.

            Dorian lay only half-conscious. After a bit, still feeling Klaus's possessive thrusts, he thought blurrily, with a bit of bemusement, Funny, I never was a screamer before...

            Klaus didn't take much longer. He didn't collapse, just supported himself on his arms while he caught his breath. Then Dorian felt the cool air on his naked skin and heard Klaus's feet hitting the floor and his zipper being pulled up. The Major hadn't even taken off his shoes.

            Dorian's eyes blinked open in time to see Klaus's back as he walked out the door, and the door closing behind him. Galvanized by the affront, Dorian sat up abruptly straight. He seized the vase of roses on the bedside table and hurled it against the door. Before the pieces hit the floor, he was weeping angrily, furiously. He only allowed himself to cry for a minute before dashing the hot tears away and yanking the lamp's plug out of the wall so that he could throw that, too.


Illustration by Nina

            "I hate him!" he informed the empty room before surrendering to tears again.

            How could Klaus just use him like that?

            Unwelcome memories of Lord Price returned for an instant, but Dorian pushed them away impatiently. The cases weren’t the same. He hadn't spent years flinging himself at Lord Price, had he? And he'd known, while it was happening with Lord Price, that if he had protested, all pretense would have been dropped and the man would have turned vicious. This... Dorian could have protested. He could have made some move to resist. Klaus wasn't a monster. He wouldn't have forced him.

            So there it was. Dorian had allowed himself to be used this way, hoping it would lead to better things. Stop acting like a wronged woman in a bad novel, Dorian ordered himself. Slowly he forced himself to rise, to straighten the rumpled bedclothes, to put the lotion back on the dresser, and to get into the shower.

            Where he couldn't help crying some more. It seemed that clichés were clichés for a reason.


Illustration by Esther Wolf

            “I see no need to hire Eroica again,” the Major told his superior in measured tones.

            The Chief shook his head. For the moment, it was clear that his mind was on business, not tormenting the Major. “I listened to you six months ago when you had to get through a similar security system in Lisbon and insisted you could do it without Eroica. Must I remind you of the result of that, Major?”

            “No, sir.” It had been a disaster. Despite careful preparation, they had set off the alarm and had to abort the mission. In order to complete it a few days later, they had had to give two of the local policemen and a security guard bribes which had made the Accounting Department have kittens. The experiment had been costly in both time and money. The Chief had hassled Klaus about it for weeks afterwards.

            “We could hire another thief,” Klaus suggested bleakly.

            “I don’t care what you think, Major. Eroica is reliable. He’s always delivered the goods, never offered them to other powers to drive up the price, and never violated secrecy. How many thieves of his caliber can be relied upon to do all that?”

            Klaus scowled. The Chief was right. No wonder his superiors hadn’t seen the earl’s fixation on him as a problem. To them, it was only a matter of what was useful.

            Which was supposed to be his own attitude as well.

            “I’ll have A make the call,” the Major said. For him, it amounted to admitting he was wrong.

            Dorian had thought about it a thousand times. A hundred thousand. But despite Klaus's accusations, he did have some scruples. So he hadn’t done it, no matter how much he had wanted to do it, and no matter how certain he was that Klaus wanted him.

            After five days of working on a mission with a certain NATO major who was treating him as if he were just another contractor and not the bane of his existence, however, he rather thought a bit of revenge was in order.

            He ensured that Klaus would not awaken prematurely with a whiff of sleeping gas under the door before breaking in. Only midnight and the Major was already sound asleep.

            When Dorian held the salts to the Major's nose, the man's whole body jerked and tensed. Green eyes snapped open, and his fists were ready to strike. Or they would be, if they could escape the straps that held them to the headboard.

            "Ero-" He broke off, too furious to speak.

            "I suggest you not call out," Dorian said in a velvet tone. "Your brave alphabets might come to your aid, and wouldn't that be embarrassing?"

            Klaus glared, furious, helpless. He strained at the straps. Dorian smiled.

            "Don't worry, darling. I'm not going to hurt you. Or even embarrass you." Dorian waited long enough to be certain that Klaus was not going to ask before purring, "What I'm going to do, you undeserving bastard, is give you the greatest pleasure of your life."

            At that, Klaus looked as close to frightened as Dorian had ever seen him. Before he slammed his eyes shut and set his jaw to endure.

            That suited Dorian just fine. He leaned over, letting his hair sweep over Klaus’s chest, and nibbled a line along that rigid jaw.

            He lavished attention on every inch of Klaus’s skin, removing his pajamas by inches, applying tongue and fingers with loving care, rewarded by the trembling Klaus soon could not restrain, by the little noises he could not always muffle, by the urgent hardness that was the one thing Klaus couldn’t conceal. Klaus kept his eyes resolutely shut, his fists clenched, making the only resistance he could.

            Dorian teased Klaus’s nipples with brief, feather-light touches, smiling as Klaus strained not to move into the touch. Klaus was beginning to lose the battle when Dorian abruptly dipped his head and fastened his mouth onto one nipple, and won the victory of a very small but unmistakable whimper. He assaulted Klaus’s nipples, first one, then the other, with his lips and tongue, devouring and caressing as Klaus’s wrists pulled unwillingly at the straps. If Klaus weren’t bound, Dorian knew he would already have been seized and pressed to the mattress and claimed just as roughly as the last two times, but tonight, he had other plans.

            He took his time to work his way down Klaus’s torso, smiling to himself at the way Klaus became more tense the closer Dorian got to his waistline. When he got there, he paused for a moment, caressing, drawing out the unbearable suspense for his darling.

            Then he very lightly stroked Klaus’s erection through the fabric of his pajamas. He could see the leap of Klaus’s Adam’s apple, and Klaus was now trembling all over. It was absolutely beautiful. Even though his voice was stubbornly mute, his whole body was pleading.

            He mouthed Klaus’s straining erection through the cloth, hearing the hissing intake of Klaus’s breath. At last he pulled the pajama pants down, and smiled. The previous times, he hadn’t had the chance to examine his love properly, but now he knew for sure: Klaus was everything he had expected, and more. With a practiced delicate touch, Dorian slid Klaus’s foreskin gently back and forth over his shaft a few times, then bent his head to softly tongue the tender, moist skin exposed by its retraction.


Illustration by Esther Wolf

            He continued his pattern of light, tantalizing touches followed by a lavish assault, but didn’t spend too much time here; he didn’t want Klaus to come in his mouth. Not this time. Instead Dorian moved his fingers smoothly into the cleft between those strong thighs, behind the scrotum, to caress softly. Klaus’s eyes snapped open, alarmed and aroused.

            Dorian let him worry for a minute, smiling, before whispering, “Not this time. Next time, love. It’s a promise.” He moved forward and planted a passionate kiss on his mouth. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you; I’ll make it so wonderful that for weeks afterwards, all you’ll be able to think of is having it again.”

            If the sudden leap of Klaus’s organ was any indication, Klaus was going to go ahead and think about it. Dorian’s smile widened and he moved his hand to Klaus’s shaft, squeezing just a little harder than could be comfortable. Klaus groaned before he could stop himself.

            Dorian reached for the bottle of oil he had brought and heated a little of it in his hands before slathering it over Klaus’s erection. Klaus bucked into his hands involuntarily. It was a delicious feeling. Dorian slicked him generously before mounting him and lowering himself onto Klaus’s erection, closing his eyes at the feel of the solid hardness filling him.

            “Ohhhhhh,” he moaned. “You are going to love it when I do this to you.”

            Klaus’s hips bucked at that, and the ride began. They moved together furiously, Klaus no longer able to even attempt to pretend, his tightly closed eyes his only sign of protest.

            Dorian paused, raising himself up on his knees, depriving Klaus of his angle, just to hear the little frustrated whimper that escaped from Klaus’s clenched teeth. Klaus’s eyelids flickered, but with an obviously conscious effort he kept them closed.

            “My love,” Dorian whispered, his voice still velvety. “Open your eyes.”

            Klaus was only able to hold out for one full second. Reluctantly he opened his eyes and raised them to meet Dorian’s.

            Dorian revelled in the unadorned hunger gleaming in those green eyes. Hunger, surrender, and a distant spark of wrath that Dorian knew would later become a consuming fire.

            He smiled, and lowered himself back onto Klaus, pressing him with his inner muscles, riding him fiercely. Klaus arched his back and joined him in his rhythm, until less than a minute later, the explosion of sensation shattered them both.

            When Dorian caught his breath, he claimed another kiss. Klaus didn’t really kiss back, but cooperated. That was all right with Dorian. When he was through, he took another bottle from the nightstand. He had intended to let Klaus see what he was about to do, but Klaus was still keeping his eyes resolutely shut. Dorian poured a little of the chloroform onto his handkerchief and held it over Klaus’s nose and mouth. Klaus struggled, of course, but Dorian wasn’t suicidal enough to untie Klaus while the man was conscious. When the Major was out, Dorian untied him, cleaned him with a warm washcloth, and righted his pajamas and bedsheets. It appealed to his sense of humor to imagine Klaus waking up to find everything as it had been, the pleasant soreness of his body the only sign of what had occurred during the night.

            Two weeks later Klaus was on a solo unauthorized stakeout. He had bribed the stingy-bug with some grocery coupons for the details of Eroica’s next planned theft. The location – a second-rate antique store that didn’t know the value of a certain item that had fallen into its possession – was a promising one. Klaus had studied the layout and discovered that it had a workroom in the back that would suit his purposes. It also had plenty of excellent places to hide in the darkness of night.

            He had to wait a long time, but eventually he heard the very soft sounds of the back door opening. He smiled and silently drew his Magnum. A moment later a familiar mane of golden hair, luminescent in the darkness, appeared in front of the display in question.

            “Halt!” Klaus’s baritone rang out. Dorian jumped.

            “Major!” The thief composed himself quickly and smiled flirtatiously. “Whatever are you doing here?”

            Klaus stepped out of the shadows, letting Dorian see his gun. “Quiet.” He gestured with the gun. “That way.”

            Dorian looked at him, wide-eyed. “Am I under arrest?”

            “Go!”

            Dorian evidently thought it best not to argue further. He walked in the direction Klaus had indicated, Klaus right behind him, pressing the barrel into the thief’s back.

            “Through that door,” Klaus ordered. Dorian obediently led him into the workroom. “Stop there.” With that Klaus locked the door behind them, then walked around to stand in front of Dorian, studying him coolly.

            “Would you really shoot me, Major?” The thief sounded more curious than afraid.

            “Would you like to find out?” the Major invited.

            The thief only looked at him, obviously considering it best not to speak just now.

            Klaus held his Magnum pointed at Dorian for a full minute before holstering it. Dorian’s eyes followed the movement. He was about to say something, but Klaus moved with lightning quickness: he seized Dorian, shoved him against the wall, and cuffed his wrists behind his back with dizzying speed. Before the thief had time to do more than yelp, he had grasped Dorian by the roots of his curly hair and dragged him to the long, empty worktable, where he roughly stretched him out on his back.

            Dorian had to be uncomfortable, with his wrists cuffed under him and his hair knotted around Klaus’s left fist, but he made no resistance, only gazed up at him with lust and trepidation.

            Klaus let his eyes wander away from Dorian’s face and over his body, every line revealed by the tight-fitting black catsuit. Eroica was beautiful. All over. Lean muscles, flat stomach, long legs.

            Klaus had learned a thing or two from their previous encounter. This time, he wasn’t going to be content with taking what he wanted and getting it over with.

            This time, it was the thief’s turn to squirm.


Illustration by Nina

            Not releasing Dorian’s hair, Klaus ran his free hand over the other man’s chest. For a moment he observed with almost clinical detachment how Dorian arched his back when his nipples were touched. Somehow, Klaus had never really believed that it would have that effect, but it did. He continued caressing through the fabric, slowly, watching Dorian’s reaction smugly. Dorian was trembling, twisting to alternately evade or press into Klaus’s touch, and gasping for breath. And Klaus’s own reaction to the display throbbed between his legs. But not yet, not just yet.

            He let his hand stroke all around Dorian’s cock for a long time, smiling at the thief’s whimpers, before actually touching it. When his hand closed around it, Dorian groaned and closed his eyes.

            “Klaus, please… please….”

            Klaus removed his hand and dragged Dorian off the table to his feet, then pushed him down to a kneeling position.

            Dorian seemed to grasp at once what was expected of him; he nuzzled Klaus’s groin without hesitation. Klaus released Dorian’s hair to unfasten his trousers. Seeing Dorian like this, kneeling in front of him in that tight suit, with his cheeks flushed crimson, his eyes dark with lust, his golden hair tousled, drove Klaus’s own urgency to new heights.

            Dorian bent to his task at once, but this time it was a little different. He tried to tease and tantalize as he had before, but Klaus’s hands were holding his head in place. He looked up at Klaus, his mouth still working. Klaus swallowed.

            A minute later, so did Dorian.

            Klaus drew a shuddering breath and stepped away. He fastened his trousers and looked at Dorian, who was panting, his lips parted and moist from the work they’d been doing. The thief raised his eyes to meet his, and their expression was one of languishing, of surrender. It was the sort of look for which men wrecked their lives.

            Klaus took a step back and didn’t realize he had until Dorian whispered, “Please.”

            Klaus looked at him. He knew what the thief was asking for, and suddenly felt immensely powerful. It was a frighteningly heady sensation.

            So this is what the big deal’s always been about, Klaus realized.

            He hauled Dorian to his feet by gripping his upper arms, then held him at arms’ length, studying him. Dorian’s knees were actually shaking.

            “Klaus, please! Don’t leave me like this!” Dorian groaned, closing his eyes. “Please….

            Klaus smiled slowly, and then scooped Dorian up in his arms. He deposited him on the worktable again and stood looking down at him.

            Dorian’s eyes were begging as eloquently as his voice. “Please, Klaus. What do you want me to do? Please….”

            Klaus smiled, and he knew from Dorian’s shiver that it was the smile he wore when he was about to hurt someone. A lot.

            “What you’re doing right now.”

            Dorian shivered again, but before he could say anything, Klaus’s hand had closed over his erection again. Klaus began to stroke firmly, through the fabric.

            Dorian moaned. “Oh, yes… please, please don’t stop… yes….”

            For a moment, Klaus thought of returning the favor he had just demanded from Dorian, but then another thought, far darker and more delicious, filled his mind. On some other occasion, when they had a bed and a locked door and time, he would do that, but his way. He would strip the thief naked, bind him hand and foot… yes, and blindfold him too. Dorian would love it, and would be a little afraid too, that Klaus might hurt him, and maybe he would, just a little. Just enough to make it exciting. He would tease his thief for far longer than he had teased tonight, far longer than the thief had teased him when he had been the one bound. And then he would taste his thief for the first time.

            The nagging thought, that this meant that at some point he had accepted that his affair with Eroica would continue, was thankfully distracted by Dorian’s climax. He cried out under Klaus’s hand, and opened hazy blue eyes that still had that intoxicating look of surrender.

            Klaus waited silently until Dorian had caught his breath. Then he pulled him to his feet once more. Dorian didn’t ask questions or try to resist.

            They faced each other. Dorian was just… waiting. On a sudden impulse, Klaus seized his shoulders and kissed him. Odd he hadn’t thought of doing that before. It was different, being the one in control of the kiss. He liked it.

            When the kiss was over, he uncuffed Dorian, turned on his heel, and walked out the back door without a word.

            He walked the two blocks to where his Benz was parked, but had to drive past the antique store to get back to his hotel. He thought he glimpsed someone carrying a bundle emerging as he passed.

            Well, he never had told Eroica not to steal the thing.

            He didn’t see Eroica for the next couple of months. He tried not to think about him. The memories and sensations that thoughts of the earl triggered were frightening in their intensity. Speculation about future encounters, such as he had indulged in for that one moment while he was bringing Dorian to climax, he barred from his mind entirely. There was no telling what might happen if he allowed himself to think about these things.

            Eventually, of course, the Chief hired Eroica again, and Klaus found that he didn’t know how to act. He had never had a lover before, unless one counted a couple of short-lived and unsatisfying entanglements with women when he had been younger, and he had no idea how to act around one.

            So he acted the way he always had, snarling insults and barking orders and trying not to stare at the earl’s tight pants. And judging by the way his alphabets acted, none of them had noticed anything different.

            Klaus didn’t consider approaching Dorian. There was too much to do, what with the mission and all, and too much risk that they’d be seen. With these excuses he satisfied himself, and did not consider that he might actually be afraid. And since Dorian’s behavior was also the same as it always had been, soon Klaus stopped worrying so much.

            Until the last night of the mission, when his sleep was disturbed.

            Klaus awoke to find that he was lying face down, his wrists and ankles strapped to the bedposts. The cool air on his skin told him that he was naked. The scent of roses told him what was happening before the lilting English voice crooned, “You didn’t think I’d forgotten, did you, darling?”

            He pulled against the straps, hard. As he had expected, they were secure. He buried his face in the pillow. The one that was still under his head, that was. The other two were beneath his pelvis, elevating his hips.

            “Relax, love,” Dorian murmured. “This is going to take a long time.”

            Klaus’s cock didn’t seem to want to wait; already it was hardening, lengthening pressed against the pillow. He tried to think of other things, of engines or… or something…. This was outrage enough without letting the thief know right away about the effect he was having. Bad enough he had been warned and taken no steps to guard against this.

            Dorian didn’t tease, this time. He got to the point with a minimum of delay. Klaus had resolved that he would not deign to let his muscles make any resistance to the preparation, or any response at all if he could help it. And he had secretly worried that it would be… uncomfortable. But now, his body was opening itself up of its own volition, blithely ignoring any messages his brain might have attempted to send.

            After a couple of minutes of the gentle stretching of Dorian’s slick fingers, Klaus was just beginning to think that this actually felt quite pleasant. That was when Dorian’s fingers pushed just a little deeper, coming into contact with a spot within him Klaus hadn’t known existed. And instantly, Klaus lost all control, his self-consciousness dissolved in sensation. He hadn’t known anything could feel this good.

            Dorian’s fingers withdrew eventually, and Klaus tensed unconsciously, feeling more afraid than he would have expected. He involuntarily jerked on the straps again. For just one second he almost told Dorian to stop, but he clamped his jaw on the words and waited.

            “Relax, darling,” Dorian instructed, moving into position. “Or it’ll hurt.”

            It certainly did. Klaus gasped and quickly tried to relax the muscles that were instinctively tightening. He wondered if this hurt Dorian this much. Little noises escaped him before he could stop them.

            Once Dorian was all the way in, it was better, even though Klaus felt as if his entire body were filled. He was impaled, helpless. He shuddered, and Dorian, who had paused to allow him to get accustomed to the sensation, groaned and quivered against him.

            Dorian then moved, just slightly, but enough to stroke against that place and send new ripples of sensation through Klaus. Klaus could not help his moan of pleasure or the traitorous answering movement of his own hips, and Dorian accepted the unwitting invitation.

            It still hurt, but somehow that didn’t matter, or it was only the sharp sauce of a frighteningly heady pleasure.

            His climax, and Dorian’s, came entirely too soon. It was surprising how heavy Dorian suddenly was, as they both labored for breath. A minute later, Dorian carefully withdrew and the mattress shifted as he sat up. Something on the nightstand clinked.

            Klaus opened his eyes and saw the folded white handkerchief in Dorian’s hand. He quickly averted his face. “Not yet,” he said. Dorian did not speak, only waited. Klaus closed his eyes, grateful for the dark room. In a low voice, he said, “Let’s… do it again.”

            He could feel Dorian’s surprise in the sudden tautness of the body on top of his, and then, with a triumphant little sound, Dorian took him again.

            Dorian had been right. A week later, all Klaus had been able to think about was having it again. It was better than he had imagined it could be, far better even than taking the lead. Or at least, more addictive.

            However, he was now back in Bonn, and Dorian, so far as he knew, was back in England. And he wasn’t – quite – to the point where he could make an international call to ask Dorian to fly to Germany to go to bed with him.

            Maybe in another couple of weeks.

            But it turned out he didn’t have to wait that long, or even contrive a use for Eroica’s services in a mission. Both of them were taken by their work to Paris the same week. Klaus didn’t think Dorian knew he was going to be there.

            Well, he would find out.

            Dorian had intended to give Klaus some time alone. The Major had clearly enjoyed the hell out of their most recent night, but still, it had to have been a shock for him.

            So he was completely unprepared to enter his Paris flat and find Klaus waiting in his bedroom.

            “Klaus! What are you….” His voice trailed off. Stupid question. He smiled, looking his lover up and down. “Where’s your gun, darling? And the handcuffs?”

            “Maybe next time.”

            Dorian just looked at him, his silence underscoring Klaus’s acknowledgement that there was going to be a next time.

            Klaus stood and unknotted his tie. He undid the top button of his shirt, then paused and looked at Dorian. Dorian smiled and started to remove his own clothes. They undressed in concert, looking at each other, not speaking. And this time, there were no ropes, no handcuffs, no chloroform, no guns. Maybe this time, it would be sort of… normal.

            Which might be nice as a change of pace, Dorian thought as he stepped close. He waited to see if Klaus was going to manhandle him face down on the bed again, but Klaus only pulled him closer and started kissing him. Unpracticed caresses followed. Dorian relaxed into the German’s arms with a sigh of contentment.

            They necked like that for a while, till Dorian stepped back, taking Klaus’s hands and tugging him in the direction of the bed.

            “What do you want?” Dorian whispered.

            “You know what I want.”

            “I want you to say it.”

            Klaus stepped back and looked at him for a minute.

            “No,” he said at last, and pulled Dorian down onto the bed with him.

            Dorian didn’t press the point. There were other points to press. When he reached into the nightstand drawer for a bottle of oil, Klaus simply laid back and obligingly spread his thighs when Dorian reached between them. He closed his eyes while Dorian prepared him, breathing deeply, letting the muscles relax around Dorian’s fingers.

            The beast, it seemed, had been tamed.

            Dorian gently tugged Klaus’s shoulder, urging him to roll over, but Klaus shook his head firmly. “Let’s do this face to face.” He sounded almost like he was challenging Dorian to a fistfight.

            Dorian felt a rush of hot pleasure at these words. The idea of seeing his love’s beautiful face in the moments of ecstasy…. And how much progress had he made with his love? Not only was the man sleeping with him, even seeking him out, but now he was willingly surrendering control of the act, offering himself face up so that Dorian could see any emotions which his expression revealed. Dorian had won at last.

            He positioned himself and penetrated his love with care, rejoicing at how easily he slid inside. He paused to give Klaus’s body a moment to adjust – he was still a beginner, after all. Then he began to pull out, ready to tantalize Klaus until he was mad for the sensations Dorian could bestow….

            But before he withdrew more than an inch, Klaus had wrapped his very strong, muscled legs around Dorian’s hips. In that grip, there was no way Dorian could pull out. No, he was buried as deep inside Klaus as Klaus wanted him to be, for as long as Klaus wanted him to be, and he had exactly as much latitude to move as Klaus wanted to give him.

            Dorian struggled in the iron clasp of those powerful legs. And as he did so, he met emerald eyes that were glowing with triumph.

            “This round to you, Major,” he gasped, before surrendering to the will of the man impaled beneath him.

            You had better watch your back next time, darling.

 

Eroica