What more is there to say? I surrender. I am unable to fight, am unable to defend myself any longer. I stand unarmed, more vulnerable to attack than I have ever been.
And yet my adversary pauses. Why? Why does he sit in that overstuffed chair and just stare? He's reached his goal, he's shaken me to the point of destruction, he has the power to crush me with a word.
With a look.
With a touch.
I can do no more than tremble.
Eroica, otherwise known as Lord Dorian, Earl of Gloria, found himself, for possibly the first time in a very long time, rendered completely speechless. And not only speechless, but utterly unable to determine how to act next, when confronted with what he'd imagined for years to be his greatest desire. The very man standing helplessly unhinged in front of him.
He cleared his throat. "Major, would you mind repeating that, please?" He wasn't certain, truly, whether or not he'd misheard the previous statement. Maybe he *had* heard incorrectly, and the Major had really said, "Dorian, I want you to make loaves with me."
Funny, he'd never envisioned the austere Klaus a baking man.
The dark-haired man standing before him turned on his heel, trademark black trenchcoat billowing, and slowly walked to the large window, peering out at the beautiful view of the Central California coastline. Their latest assignment had involved an investigation of a threat against a world leader vacationing in the Big Sur coastal area. While the threat had been snuffed, by way of a wily infiltration and the Major's considerable marksmanship skills, the unlikely pair of NATO officer and world renowned thief had been asked to stay on to ensure the continued safety of the Prime Minister during his trip. Not that it was hard work, the location was lovely and the weather mild, but perhaps that was what had brought Klaus to this - whatever it was. Baked goods or sex, Dorian honestly wasn't sure.
He watched the other man lift a hand to the draperies, touching the fabric gingerly. His face was in partial profile, so making out his current expression was near impossible. Dorian could only use his imagination, having been subjected to the many moods of Klaus von Eberbach for many years; unfortunately, most of them were varying shades of pissed off.
How can I do this? It was difficult enough to say it. Can I go through with it? Can I cast away all of my shields and allow this man to enter my life like no one has before? Can I bring myself to bare everything to this *person* who I've fought so steadfastly for so long? Can I trust him with my body, with my heart, with my soul?
I suppose I've trusted him before. For all of his feckless attitude, his flamboyancy, his annoying habit of pursuing me despite my protests, he's always accomplished his missions with a seriousness that surprises me.
But can I trust him with all that is me?
Moments stretched into minutes and still Klaus silently stood by the open window, a cool salty breeze lifting errant strands of his chocolate hair. Dorian waited patiently, still confused, still doubting his ears.
Klaus moved away from the window, not meeting Dorian's perplexed gaze, and strode over to the small settee opposite Dorian's plush chair. Perplexity grew to surprise as Klaus let the trench drop from his shoulders and carefully folded it, setting the coat on the back of the seat. It wasn't until his silent companion began to remove his blazer, that he allowed a wild bit of hope to flutter freely. And as each button of the other man's shirt was released from its eyelet, the fluttering grew frantic. It, too, joined its predecessors on the settee, neatly folded. Everything about the man was precise and orderly; thus it came as no great shock that undressing should be as well.
Undressing. Klaus was actually taking his clothes off! In front of Dorian. When Klaus turned to face Dorian, bare-chested, it took nearly all the will power he had (which, with regard to the Major, required a tremendous amount) to not pounce. Instead, he sat, trying to maintain an air of calm, even while his heart pounded in his ears and his body reacted in ways not chaste to the sight of his dearest love, standing before him, willingly half-naked.
Such beauty. A green-eyed demigod come to reside in mere human flesh.
His Major cleared his throat and began to speak.
"Dorian. I-I cannot go on like this. At every turn you provoke me, taunt me, flirt with me. I'm only human, I can't keep this up, this defense of my character, of my position...I-"
He paused, searing Dorian's wide blue eyes with his own. "I want you to go to bed with me."
If one happened to be in the room with a feather, one might have been able to knock the Earl over with it.
Determination became exasperation as Iron Klaus set his hands on his hips. "Bed. Remember? That's where you've been wanting me. Then take me there."
The thief sprang from his chair, long golden curls springing behind him. "Klaus, are you serious? You aren't just springing a trap for me, are you? I mean, I *am* a pervert, after all. Eroica - the *Invert*, the *Homo-Sex-ual*?"
He was appalled to find himself wringing his hands.
There they stood, not two feet apart - Klaus ready and willing to jump into the sack to make mad crazy love, and Dorian protesting. Indeed the world had turned topsy-turvy.
Klaus didn't speak, but seemed to communicate his seriousness by grabbing the meddlesome Brit by his velvet clad shoulders and proceeding to kiss the very breath out of him.
It's said. It's done.
It was more than I would have ever imagined. Even now, my body looks forward to a repeat performance of the passion and release I've just experienced. Naturally, I cannot tell Dorian this. I must keep up appearances, after all.
The sun is rising from the east, painting the western horizon a wash of differing hues of blue. Much like his eyes. This I cannot tell him either.
I do wonder though what he meant when, after we lay spent in each other's arms, he sighed and muttered, "Delicious, my love, more delicious than a good warm San Francisco sourdough..."
~ finis ~