Part One

He wasn’t given to sitting in bars, alone or in company. But this establishment was reasonably quiet, with only a few regulars minding their own business at their own tables. And Klaus badly needed a beer. Or five. The décor – painted wooden signs and dark wainscoting -- reminded him of a London pub. He winced, wishing he could wipe away all mental references to things English. Come to think of it, what idiot would try to recreate an English pub in the Turkish capital city?

“Because you’re not in Ankara anymore, sugar,” said an American voice. Klaus looked up to see a plain-looking, red-haired Caucasian woman sitting near him at the bar. She laughed, companionably, pushing a pair of mirrored sunglasses more securely onto her nose. “You’re not even in Kansas. You’re dreaming, Major von dem Eberbach.” She pointed at the other patrons. “They’re dreaming. If you believe the Hindu philosophies, we’re all dreaming. Even me.”

Klaus glared at her, wondering what she’d been drinking. And if she was willing to share it. Then he blinked. The woman’s black wool coat seemed to glitter deep in its shadows, as if –

The barstool rattled against the floor. Klaus felt a deep vibration tickle his bones. Dizziness struck next, as he saw the void of space and uncounted stars whirling slowly through the shadows of her coat. The sunglasses slid down again, exposing almond-shaped eyes like windows into a shimmering white-hot inferno. He thought he’d seen her strange half-smile on a da Vinci painting, and once or twice on the Earl of Gloria’s lips.

“Who are you?” Klaus whispered.

“Doesn’t matter who I am, Major. Only what I can do. Most sentient creatures spend their lives asking questions of the universe. Sometimes the universe answers back.” She shrugged. “You’re the one who called me here, into your dreams.” A slightly-darker smile. “How can I help you?” She slid her drink over in front of him. Disarmed by the stars still drifting across her coat, Klaus sipped something a little like very fine wine, and more like the blackcurrant elixir Cook used to make for him when he was a child –

“I want,” he slurred a few minutes later, “For that goddamned thief to get out of my life and leave me the hell alone. Ja. That would be acceptable, Miss Universe. Can you do that?”

“Easy. Shall I give him amnesia, or simply kill him?”

Klaus spat out the comforting, intoxicating drink. “Nein! Don’t hurt him. Just make him go.” He gave an unsteady shove-off motion with one hand. “Away.”

The sunglasses were all the way down at the tip of her nose now, lending her the skeptical look of a schoolmarm or a librarian – except for those supernova eyes. “Are you absolutely certain you want him to leave you alone? For the rest of your life? If you’re lying to me, you’ll only hurt yourself.”

“Ja!”

“Well, here’s the fastest way I know,” she said cheerfully, and thunked his Magnum down on the bar in front of him. “Go on, Major. Time’s wasting, even in dreamland. Kiss the gun and pull the trigger. You’ll have a coronary in your sleep. The thief won’t bother you afterward, I promise.”

To his shame, Klaus looked at the gun a moment longer than he should have. “I can’t.” He took refuge in rituals he no longer believed. “Even thoughts of suicide are a sin.”

“Bullshit. Any worse than playing Russian roulette with the possibility of throat and lung cancer from those awful cigarettes? Daring enemy agents to make each mission your last? And how could that be worse than turning your back on true love?”

“I don’t have time for love,” snapped Klaus. “And certainly not from that queer!”

The sun-eyed woman stood up, shaking out her coat. Dust motes flew – or were they stray stars? “You know what, Major? You are both so insane you deserve each other. I’m outta here – “

“Wait!” Klaus called after her. “Is there no other method to end this – my death, or his?”

She grinned back at him from the doorway. “Very well, Major. Short of your death, or his -- what are you willing to endure, to make him go away?”

“Anything,” Klaus said fervently, then stopped, the enormity of his words dawning slowly. “Wait!” he yelped again, but by then, the whole pub had dissolved into stars and spinning blackness.

Part Two

Klaus woke with the certain and comforting knowledge that he was still asleep. He must be. The alternative was too grim to consider: kidnapping, drugs, hallucinations designed to weaken his hold on reality, followed soon by interrogation –

At the moment, he was blindfolded and strapped down to some kind of padded openwork frame that left his body spreadeagled and tilted forward a few degrees. Worst of all, he was naked – much of his front exposed, and all of his back. Ancient panic threatened briefly to overwhelm him, but he was older now, and stronger. More furious than afraid. Immobilized, but unharmed.

His body felt strange. Not drug-slack, but tingling and very sensitive to the warm air drafts around him. Puzzled, Klaus relaxed in the frame, trying to catalogue his current intelligence operations. Even the Ankara caper was hardly worth kidnapping and torture. Then, through the remaining sleep fogging his brain and nose, he caught the scent of roses.

“Oh, hell!” he snarled, and fought the restraints like a madman.

“Don’t tire yourself yet, Major,” said an elegant English drawl, from behind Klaus. “You’ll need your strength, tonight.”

“Goddammit, Eroica! Release me at once!”

“Not a chance, darling.” That voice sounded closer. Klaus could feel the other man’s body heat radiating against his own back. “Not until I get what I want.”

“Which would be what, you disgusting pervert? All your teeth knocked out?”

“None of that. You will find your skull and neck are locked down, too, Klaus.” This was regrettably true. The lovely, mocking whisper continued: “I’m tired of waiting for the real you to come around, darling. This is my dream. My night. So, I’ll do whatever I want with this illusion of you.”

Klaus threw himself back against the restraints, to no effect. He was less furious now than – aroused. That terrified him more than being tied up. “Hah! This – this is a tired cliché, Eroica. One of your idiotic fantasies. I don’t want this. I certainly don’t need it!”

A hot hand slid down Klaus’ back from his neck to the base of his spine, making him shiver. “No, you don’t,” murmured the thief. “Personally, I think you need to be carefully and seriously fucked.” Tender fingers played across the Major’s buttocks, reached under and around to gently grip his scrotum and straining penis. “Oh, yes. A second opinion definitely confirms it.”

Klaus froze, too shocked to reply for a moment. The intimate crease between his legs seemed more slippery than it should. Muscles clamped yet again, straining around something slender, warm, hard – and already buried deep within him.

“Nein!” he gasped. “Ach, Gott, get it out. Get it out!” There should have been agony and humiliation – not a heavy full sensation that fanned slow fires in his belly and legs. The Major tried another tactic, and squeezed himself tight around the intruder, to the point of pain. If it hurt him, it ought to hurt the other –

Eroica laughed, and did something to that hard shaft that sent a jolt of vibration deep into Klaus. Pleasure struck at him like a viper, and he cried out again.

“That’s a plug, my darling dream. Just something to keep your – options – open. Or did you really think I was that small?” The plug pulsed with lesser impacts, striking one particular spot inside the Major. It was appalling, and wonderful. He was grateful for the frame, because his knees had melted into gelatine. And still Eroica whispered sweetly, warm breath fanning Klaus’ ear: “I dreamed that you were so easy to open. No fighting, no cursing. I caressed you, just like now. And then, my beautiful Major -- you moaned in your sleep and spread your legs for my fingers. Your passage felt like silk and hot oil,” Eroica gloated.

“Bastard! Let me go!”

“No, Klaus.” The excruciating pleasure throttled down, teasingly. Eroica licked the back of Klaus’ neck, right at a spot the Major had so far managed to keep secret from the world.

Trembling, Klaus tried to think in spite of the onslaught. “You wouldn’t dare. You couldn’t. Not even in a dream. Rape is not in your character, Lord Gloria.”

“And cringing and begging aren’t in yours, darling. News flash: tonight, all bets are off. And you’re not the only one being kidnapped, here.”

Klaus grasped at the admission. “You have been forced into this, Earl? By whom?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. I went to sleep in that Turkish flophouse you were making us stay in. And I woke up in the castle at North Downs.” The thief’s voice smoothed into a drowsy sing-song. His hands matched that cadence, lightly massaging Klaus’ back. “Only, there was a woman sitting at my desk, bold as brass, reading all the love-letters I’ve ever written to you. And she said: ‘These won’t do you any good, lad.’ “

“She wore a black coat with stars on it,” Klaus whispered, “and she asked how she could help. Ja?”

“Oh, yes,” said the thief, still caressing rebellious parts of the Major’s body. “I wanted your heart.” Another kiss to the neck. “But since I’m not likely to ever get that,” he murmured, “I’ll have to settle for dreaming about your lovely body. She warned me I’d have to restrain you, even now, even in dream.” That devastating tongue began to trace its own warm path down Klaus’ spine. “She also told me why.”

“The bitch!” Klaus thrashed against the restraints, then slumped, then controlled his tone with difficulty “This is a personal matter, Eroica. Please. Just – leave it. It does not concern you.”

“It concerns me when I find out the love of my life was raped first in boarding-school, and again on his second mission in NATO. The first time, you learned to fight back, then set him up to be expelled. The second time – you escaped and killed all five of your tormentors. None of my contacts knew a hint of it. Your Chief in Bonn – he doesn’t know, either?”

“No one living knows. You don’t know. This is just a dream,” Klaus began stubbornly, and yelped when Dorian bit him just over the kidneys.

“Then it’s a true dream, Major. Have you ever made love, since?”

Klaus shuddered. “No.”

The voice took on a tone of wonder and pity. “So all you know is pain and shame, and brutes squandering your beauty. Poor love. Well, let’s give you something else to remember, when you wake up – “

Klaus had thought the plug was horrible. He learned better when Dorian eased it out of him, and replaced the rubber with strong, clever fingers. They sank deep, massaging him from the inside. Seeking out all the places where unknown pleasure lay dormant, until Dorian’s skill released it in voluptuous involuntary shudders. Teasing with the promise of release. Softening the assault at the last possible second. Klaus knew he was grunting and sobbing, his hips pushing rhythmically against the frame and the pressure of Dorian’s hands. Forward – into that tight grip on his penis. Back – into those masterful fingers. There was no escape but one, and he was still too proud, still too afraid–

The fingers withdrew. Klaus whined in frustration.

“Easy, darling,” Dorian soothed. “You’re ready at last. This is what it’s supposed to feel like.”

Klaus gasped as his buttocks were spread wider. He felt a blunt, slick pressure against his sphincter. No, God, no! Not again. It would burn and scrape him raw, like rivers of acid eating through his belly. He could not fight it off, could not forget it, could not forgive the hurt, the degradation when they’d made him come in spite of it –

The pressure slid easily into Klaus, buried deep in one smooth stroke. His passage clenched painfully at first, then possessively; it was Dorian’s turn now to sob out with surprise and joy. Klaus took some revenge from that. Then Dorian began to move inside him, so gently, so mindful of the residual cramps of entry. Those little thrusts teased Klaus more viciously than the plug, or the fingers.

“Unh!”

“Hmm?” Dorian asked, writhing around so he could kiss Klaus’ cheekbone.

“Damn you – “ Words came back. Klaus almost wished they had deserted him entirely. But the slick fluttering movement was driving him mad, he had to make it stop, or – “Stop playing,” he growled. “Get it over with.”

“What?” Dorian whispered. No one who could glide his hips like that, had any business sounding so innocent. “Get what over with?”

“This,” said Klaus, and bucked backward against Dorian’s thrusts. Then, because he couldn’t bear waiting any longer – he gritted his teeth and begged: “Fuck me. Hard.”

Dorian’s gentleness vanished. “Yes, darling,” he hissed. He ground into Klaus hot and fast and hard, until the tides of pleasure were so high, so inexorable, that the two men could do nothing but spasm together, voices lifted on the same note.

And fall together, back into dream and out of it.

Part Three

Heart racing, the Major woke with his usual speed. He could still hear that wild double scream -- in his mind, if not in the tiny hotel room. He flexed his arms and legs. They were free. He lay tangled in sweat-sticky sheets and nightclothes. Alone. No one was hammering on the door, so his noises must have been confined to dream.

He consoled himself that it was a nightmare, nothing more. Another fragment of his sick mind, playing out evil that must never be admitted in the light of day. So, he’d dreamed Eroica had restrained and forced him. And that they’d both enjoyed it –

Klaus could not deny the truth of that.

His boxers were soaked with his seed.

He made a disgusted noise, shucked them off, and gingerly dropped them on the floor. Found a fresh pair. Eyed the evidence sourly. That was not going into the laundry bag! He’d take care of it, right now. He put on a robe, rolled up the soiled clothing into a packet he could bear to touch, and slipped out barefoot into the dim-lit hallway.

A pity this particular NATO hideaway was nothing more than a block of flats with a shared bathroom and kitchenette, on the second floor of a modest little Ankara hostel. Klaus could have killed for a private bathroom, just now. Still, A and Z were off on stakeout, the other six were exhausted from that cross-country chase the day before, and Eroica – Klaus snorted. The thief was undoubtedly asleep, and dreaming his own incomprehensible depravities. Whatever they were, Klaus thought, feeling wryly indulgent for once, they paled in comparision to the previous nightmare. That had not been Eroica, in the dream. Only one of the Major’s old demons, with a stolen face and voice. And body.

Klaus tried, with little success, to forget that body.

He slipped inside the bathroom, still pleasantly surprised by its size, cleanliness, and conveniences. As quietly as he could, he mixed soap and cool water in the sink, and began cleaning his boxers. The slimy feel of them made him recoil, but he set his jaw and worked harder.

Klaus did not hear the door open. The little gasp behind him was enough to make him look up into the mirror, startled. Eroica stood two feet inside the door, all huge azure eyes and unruly gold curls, wrapped in a fluffy powder-blue robe. He held a wadded-up lacy handkerchief to his mouth. From the greenish tone of his face, he’d been violently ill. It seemed that Eroica’s dreams had not been kind to him, either. He looked ready to bolt.

“Do you mind?” the Major said in his calmest, most dangerous voice. “Have you ever heard of privacy?”

The mirrored face went stark white, and Eroica fled.

Part Four

Late the next afternoon, the Major met Eroica in a public garden called Genclik Parki, to collect what the thief had stolen for NATO. Klaus had chosen the table at an outdoor restaurant, judging the environment automatically for privacy and ease-of-escape. But a lingering aura of relaxation let him enjoy it, too – a sparkling lake, an awning shielding patrons from the sun, a vista of trees and flower beds distinctly European in style. Not like Istanbul. There was very little of the Ottoman Empire, he thought, in the modern parts of this city. It reminded Klaus of the post-war buildings in Bonn. Serious. Earnest. Forward-looking. Down-to-business. Nothing ancient or frivolous, nothing unnecessary.

A man who was normally the very soul of frivolity sat down opposite Klaus.

The Major stared back. Eroica wore a crisp slate-blue business suit, and titanium-rimmed spectacles that almost overshadowed his eyes. That indecent gold hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail. He looked older, more ascetic. Almost – respectable.

“Well?” Klaus asked, after Eroica ordered coffee, and the waiter left. Even here, the Major was mindful of surveillance. “How did business go?”

“I left the contracts at the hostel with A,” said the thief, just as innocuously. “They’ll take care of it for you. I’m leaving.”

“Ja,” said the Major. “Our plane takes off tonight, for Berlin.”

“I’m leaving now,” said Eroica. “I’ve a taxi waiting outside the park. There’s a five-thirty flight to London.”

Alarm bells rang inside the Major’s head. “Why? Are you bailing on us? Did you screw up?”

Again, that fine-boned face turned pale. “Not with the mission, no. But – I need to be home.”

More concerned than he liked to show, Klaus asked, “Did you run into one of your old – business --acquaintances? Were you threatened?”

“No. Nothing like that.” Eroica stood up, eyes still not quite meeting the Major’s. “Listen, I don’t think this arrangement is working anymore. When I get home, I’ll email your chief, with a short list of other contractors your department might use.” A familiar impish vanity flickered momentarily across the quelled face. “They’re nearly as good as I am.”

“I don’t want ‘nearly as good’,” said Klaus. “I want the best.” Because Eroica looked as ready to flee as he had last night, Klaus reached out and grabbed the thief’s sleeve. “Sit down. You are clearly unnerved by something. I am responsible for you, as much on this venture as any other. It is my right and duty to know what troubles you.”

“I can’t tell you, Major,” Eroica whispered. “It’s private.”

Klaus stomped on his urge to yell at the thief. The man was clearly distraught. That bothered Klaus. It mocked his everyday perceptions of the universe-as-it-should-be. The Alphabets were to be efficient, loyal, and terrified of their leader. Klaus was to be stern and duty-driven. Eroica was to be the stray sunbeam that made all their lives more chaotic. And more interesting.

“Will you please let go of my coat?” Eroica whispered.

“No,” said Klaus quietly, glancing over at the lake water rippling not three meters away. “I believe I shall have to throw you in the water, if you do not talk.”

Vast blue eyes stared back, unblinking. “Go ahead. James packs at least one cheap suit, for business trips.”

Klaus shifted, settling himself to drag the thief bodily across the walkway.

In a very small voice, Eroica said: “I would never hurt you, Major.”

Understanding came all at once, as Klaus watched his thief try to avoid all flesh-to-flesh contact. “You dreamed, of a woman in a black coat?” the Major asked.

“Yes.”

“And what did she offer you?”

“The only way to achieve my heart’s desire – if I could stomach it.”

“And did you like it?” Klaus snapped.

How dare those eyes drip with tears? Were they for himself, or for Klaus? Eroica shook his head. “When I woke, I threw up. Klaus, please believe me. I would never do – what I dreamed -- not willingly. To anyone. Least of all, to you.” No prevarications to conceal the shame in the thief’s eyes, the misery, the pity. Klaus would not take pity – a useless thing, after all these years. He hadn’t allowed it then, why luxuriate in it now? “I couldn’t hurt you,” Eroica murmured again.

“And that,” said Klaus, gritting his teeth through the admission, “is why I cannot love you.”

“You can’t believe that!” Eroica looked so betrayed, the showman. As if his lush tears would make a difference, to either of them.

“Three separate incidents make an adequate empirical test, ja? You are certainly familiar with the latest incident. Did the lady in question acquaint you with the details of the first two occasions?”

Limp in the Major’s grip, Eroica nodded.

People were beginning to stare at them. “Sit,” Klaus hissed.

Eroica sat.

Conveying what he hoped was merely the attitude of a business traveler rattled by some bad market news, Klaus settled himself once again at the table. “Have you ever wondered why I get into so many fights?”

“Bad temper, I’d assumed,” Eroica said, close to his usual cheekiness.

“Apparently, I respond to pain and force,” Klaus said simply, allowing the thief to draw the right conclusion.

Eroica looked distinctly ill. “No. You’re wrong. You’ve been hurt, there’s no way you could know-- “

Something broke, within Klaus. He couldn’t tell if it was for good or evil, only that he must react, this very moment. Eroica must have legendary skills. If anyone could break the cycle of misery and self-loathing that had trapped Klaus for over two decades – it would be the thief of hearts. “Prove it.”

“Eh?”

“You have one night, to convince me otherwise.” As Eroica began to look incandescently hopeful, Klaus went on. “If you are right, then it will not be for one night. If you are wrong, you will leave me in peace for the rest of my life.”

Eroica, mercifully, did not make Klaus repeat himself. The thief stared at him, elation alloyed into a calm assessing look much different than his usual fluttering-of-eyelashes. “I accept. You will contact me, when you are ready?” He stood up again, nodded farewell, excessively formal. “I still have a cab waiting, you know.”

Part Five

Eroica had left him alone, after the Ankara mission. Klaus knew better than to think the Earl’s long pursuit was over. The thief was giving the Major time to think, and decide.

The star-eyed bitch was still watching him, several months later. Klaus knew that by the dreams. Nothing so vivid as his shared nightmare with Eroica. Nothing to wreck his days and nights. These were merely reminders. A pair of images that flashed across his thoughts in the moments just before waking. They lingered only long enough for him to acknowledge, then deny them:

His Magnum, cold and sleek and so-familiar. A long-stemmed red rose, guarded by thorns and jeweled with dewdrops. Both of them resting over their reflections on a glossy black table. All he had to do, in the dream, was to pick up one or the other – or turn away from both.

The gun was certain death. But Klaus wondered if touching the rose would grant him the waking courage to claim help from Eroica, damn all wagers – or merely a last rough fantasy of Eroica’s lovemaking, before the Major’s heart stopped in his sleep. It was that uncertainty that woke him each time.

But what was he afraid of? Death, which he faced every day as a matter of course? The admission that brave Iron Klaus was too cowardly to live?

One morning, he realized his dread was not for himself at all. What if the Earl had the same dreams of gun and rose? The same choices, the same ambiguity of outcome? Klaus could imagine slender, shaking fingers caressing the gun. Or worse – the rose. Choosing a final delusion, because the real Klaus was unreachable. Or unwanted; damaged goods not worth the effort of reclamation.

The morning after that dream, Klaus called London.

“You understand my terms?” Klaus asked, two evenings later.

“I do,” said the Earl calmly, shutting the bedroom door behind them. “I have between six p.m and six a.m. to bring you to climax just once – without the use of pain, force, or restraints. If I can, then you agree to be my lover on other occasions. As long as we are discreet, and it does not interfere with our business arrangements. If I cannot pleasure you, I will not force my attentions on you again, in word or deed. Is that correct, Major?”

So formal. So unlike the giddy gloating hedonist Klaus had expected. “Ja,” he said, taking refuge in the details of stripping out of his clothes.

“Wait,” said the Earl. “I have a few conditions of my own. You must call me ‘Dorian’. I want to hear that from your lips, at least. And let me do this – “

Klaus submitted to the neat, careful hands that slid his jacket from his shoulders. They didn’t caress him overtly, or tremble from any apparent haste or nervousness. Being naked in front of a clothed Dorian was frightening, and arousing. Too close to certain other events in Klaus’ memory. Then he watched the thief strip; a graceful, intospective show that didn’t seem in the least bit staged.

He could tell Dorian was thinking intensely about something. He hoped it wasn’t second thoughts.

“Er – Dorian. I need – “ Klaus began.

“Sshh,” said Dorian, brushing two fingers over the Major’s lips. “Don’t speak, if you don’t want to.”

“I need you to know,” Klaus started again, finding his awkward way through the words. “This is not against my will. I want your help. I want to be – normal,” his words trailed off as he saw the laughter in Dorian’s eyes.

“No, no, love. It’s all right. Just -- it’s been years since anyone accused me of normality,” sputtered the thief finally, leaning against Klaus.

“I suppose not,” said Klaus, obeying the urge to wrap his arms around the other man. Holding Dorian was pleasant enough. The slim body was warm, pliant, sweet-smelling from the inevitable rose oil and a musky scent that made Klaus briefly dizzy. Between them, the proof of his own hunger swelled and pressed into Dorian’s flat belly.

Then Dorian kissed him, tongue easing deep into his mouth, and Klaus gave over control.

Part Six

“Please – “ Klaus gasped, long past caring what he said, or that he was begging like – like he’d expected his golden-haired tormentor to beg. Shameless. Mindless. An animal, trapped in frustrated rut. It felt so good, being brought so low. Almost good enough. “Ah, Gott – Dorian! End this!”

Dorian writhed on top of him, laughing softly in his ear. “You end it, Klaus. You’re so close, so ready for it, my iron darling. Come for me, this time. Come in me.” Those slim, strong hips raised, lowered, raised again. Milking him. A hot slick kiss brushed along Klaus’ throat, when what he wanted and needed most was –

One of Dorian’s teeth glided across the pulse point, and Klaus bucked upward. Instantly, Dorian soothed the spot with another tame kiss.

“Please – “ Klaus couldn’t bear any more. Something must break soon – his sanity, or his heart. Arms over his head, he tangled his hands into the bedcovers, hoping that the sensation of entrapment would push him over the edge.

Dorian saw, damn him. Ground his body down around Klaus, triggering another wave of helpless lust. Reached forward, freeing Klaus’s hands and clasping them tenderly in his own. “No pain, force, or restraints,” the thief chanted, in time to his rocking hips. “Only pleasure. Only love. Only me – “

You are not enough, Klaus wanted to scream. But even in extremis, he knew that would be too cruel. Bitter unfulfilled morning would come soon enough, even if he didn’t. At least one of them should find release this night.

He thrust upward again, finding the cadence that several previous bouts had taught him. He watched Dorian’s resolve fade into furious disbelief. Grabbed Dorian’s waist, when the thief would have slowed the pace. “Nein,” Klaus growled. “Maybe this time – “

But the passion that lifted a keening, sobbing Dorian onto his knees bypassed Klaus. Again. From the very edge of climax, he felt himself soften. Dorian collapsed on top of him. “Oh, Klaus,” mourned his lover.

“Sshh,” he soothed, fingers stroking through the golden curls to the skull beneath. “It’s all right. I was a lot closer, that time. Maybe, if you did it to me, again -- ?”

He bore the next half-hour stoically, all the interim nonsense of kisses, caresses, and contortions, as exhausted bodies were coaxed back into molten heat. When Dorian plunged into him once more, Klaus thought he might come just from that moment. Watching the pleasure of it strain the beautiful face above him, Klaus felt an answering surge begin in himself. The thief was trying to be gentle. Again. Didn’t he learn?

“Harder,” Klaus commanded. “I’m closer, now. Don’t hold back.”

And – oh, God! – his bewitching thief finally obeyed, driving into him with all the intensity of their shared dream. Klaus loved the feel of it, the concentrated power and sensation. The knowledge that the body pounding into his belonged to Dorian, and no one else. No one but Dorian could do this for him. His own golden angel, who could purify both body and soul in a single white-hot moment –

Dorian’s thrusts became faster, more erratic. Klaus watched the blankness begin to show on Dorian’s face. Felt imminent release shiver along his own nerves. So close.

Perhaps the last chance of a lifetime. He could not let it pass, without a fight.

“Damn you, for loving me!” he hissed, as hatefully as he could. “Damn you, for making me love you.” The blank blue eyes barely registered the curses, or the admission. Klaus guessed that Dorian was at the perfect moment of weakness. “How does it feel, you faggot, to know you can’t have me? Nothing you do is right. So much for the great, the irresistible Eroica! How does it feel, to know you’ve failed?”

Once or twice in their professional life, Klaus had seen steel glitter in those azure eyes. Seen Eroica pushed past his limits, and his foppish guises. Those moments had impressed the Major. There was vast strength behind all the play-acting. The shadow of a lithe and hungry dinosaur, behind the song-bird’s sweet voice and pretty plumage.

“Go fuck yourself,” growled Klaus, desperately.

Now he had Dorian’s full attention. Fury and loss almost eclipsed the lust in his thief’s eyes.

“I wish I’d never met you,” said Dorian simply, and buried his teeth in Klaus’ shoulder.

The pain was startlingly intense. Klaus cried out, straining to get away from it – then straining forward, as the most glorious orgasm of his life shattered all control. He wrapped his legs around Dorian’s hips, grinding against the hard cock buried inside him. Felt his own pulsing abandon drag Dorian down with him, into an abyss filled with screams and lightening and pleasures that endured long past the limits of flesh and blood.

They lay tangled silently together, Dorian still inside him, for a long, drowsy time. Klaus felt absolutely filthy. Exhausted to the point of collapse. Legs, arms, neck strained. His left shoulder on fire from Dorian’s bite. Beyond all that, making discomfort a minor annoyance, was a bone-deep relaxation he’d never experienced before. A warmth that was the sum of far more than the dim embers in the fireplace, or the weight draped across him.

Gradually, Klaus became aware that Dorian was crying into his undamaged shoulder.

“Dorian – “

“I hurt you,” said a voice thick with grief and self-disgust. “The man I love more than anyone on earth – and I had to hurt you.” The body moved carefully off him. Dorian sat up, hands trying to shred the bedsheet. “I wish I could go back, and destroy those beasts who did this to you.”

“Why?” Klaus pulled him down again, cuddling the shaking blond against his chest. “I ruined one, and killed the others. They didn’t make me this way – they merely showed me what I am.”

“But you can’t – “

“I never could.” Klaus smoothed wild curls away from the face that looked doubtfully into his. “Even as a child, pain was not much of a – deterrent – for me. We are all fortunate that I have a low libido.” He gave in to the need for a careful, searching kiss. “Except when you are near.”

Out in the deserted hallway, a clock began to chime.

At five chimes, Dorian leaned deeper into the kiss. At six chimes, he pulled away entirely. “You won,” he said quietly. “I lost. You’re free of me, Klaus. I can’t give you what you need.”

“You did.”

“It’s wrong! I hurt you.”

“I’ll heal.”

“How can you be so – have you ever seen a doctor, about this?”

Klaus shrugged. “Why? The NATO doctors know. As far as they care, it gives me an edge in a fight.”

“It’s sick!”

“It’s a part of me,” said Klaus, losing patience. “If you love me as you say you do, you will understand this. I have heard you prattle often enough, that all good long-term relationships require compromises.”

Dorian stared at him, blue eyes gone smoky in the faint light from the curtained windows. “What do you mean? What about our bargain?”

Klaus swallowed, not entirely certain if he was permanently insane or just giddy. “I see. This is my cue to stalk away, and pretend this never happened. Fuck it, Dorian. If I go now, it will kill both of us. You are the only person I would trust and welcome to my bed. But you must accept me, as I am.”

“What you want – it’s not really my thing.” Dorian, stubborn, looked so adorable that Klaus had to kiss him again.

“It does not require much, I think. Not from you,” said Klaus. “And maybe, at some point, nothing at all. After all -- I love you, Dorian.”

Hope dazzled back at him from Dorian’s face. As Klaus had thought – the irrepressible thief had a new quest!

“Besides – “ Klaus held up his own trembling hand. “I don’t think I can safely leave you, at the moment. I am too tired to drive back to my hotel. I need a shower, and food. And this needs attending,” he peered at his right shoulder, impressed at the thin trickle of blood. “You have sharp teeth.”

“You have a filthy vicious tongue,” Dorian retorted, grinning.

They supported each other into the shower, a sinfully-vast glass enclosure with benches built into the walls. Klaus mentally earmarked that feature for later comment, and exploration. He decided that soap and hot water were nearly as good as sex, as long as Dorian’s hands were involved. He felt cleansed in more ways than the merely physical.

A few minutes later, when he saw the mercurochrome bottle Dorian brandished, Klaus actually laughed. “Do you remember Greece? That goddamned cliff?”

“I remember you hurling a bottle of this stuff at me, and driving off.”

“I had to leave,” said Klaus. “When I turned from the sea, and saw you were still alive – you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. That was when I knew I loved you.”

“All those years ago? Holdout,” Dorian sneered, trying unsuccessfully to smother his grin, as he treated and bandaged the wound. “I hope this doesn’t scar.”

“I hope it does,” said Klaus. “I would cherish it.”

“Oh, Major – “ said Dorian, and neither of them spoke for a while.

Eventually, they settled the question of the ruined sheets by pulling them off the bed, and bundling Klaus into a spare blanket. “Shall I bring you breakfast in bed?” Dorian asked throatily.

“I need more than seven calories,” Klaus said, enjoying the shocked delight on Dorian’s face. All those years listening to Eroica-style innuendo had not been wasted, it seemed. “It depends. Did you shop for this weekend, or did the stingy-bug?”

“I did, darling. I can bring you fresh bread, coffee, and orange juice. Will that do?”

Klaus thought he might have mumbled an assent, because Dorian blew him a kiss and walked – still beautifully naked – out of the room. How that damned thief could still stand defied belief. He had to be exhausted, too. Klaus was aware of relaxing on his left side, snuggled into the blanket. He did not want to think, at the moment, so he slept.

The bar was nearly empty – only the anonymous bartender, Klaus, and the sun-eyed woman remained. Klaus drank off the last of the blackcurrant elixir, and put down his glass. The counter was dark glossy lineoleum, showing reflections like a rainy sidewalk at night. On it, just within reach, lay his Magnum and a scarlet rose.

“Well, Major,” said the woman. “Do you still want to be rid of your thief?”

“Nein. I am sorry I lied to you. Why are these still here? I do not want to die, now.”

“Good.” The gun vanished, and she toyed with the rose. “Funny thing about internal cryptographies – symbols can mean so many different things. When you climaxed this morning, what did it feel like?”

“Like Heaven,” he said promptly. “Like – dying?”

”I wouldn’t know,” she replied. “Entropy is my death: black dust, dull silences, dead stars, the cold that eventually freezes everything. There are only a few medicines against it. Life is one. Love is another. Whenever one living thing can so connect with another, that is one tiny skirmish against the inevitable.” She tossed the rose in front of Klaus. “Silly boy, you have been mistaking one finality for another. Choose this and know pleasure without pain, in your pretty thief’s arms. But – “ she warned, as Klaus reached for the rose. “You will also learn why you need to set such a price on joy, in the first place. Why you punish yourself, with the very life you have chosen to lead.”

“I don’t understand.” Klaus’ hand wavered over the blossom.

“The knowledge might set you free. It might also drive you mad,” she said, smiling into her own drink. “Everyone has a price, Major. When you’re ready to pay yours, you will see this in your dreams. Have a good life -- for once,” she finished and stood up.

“Wait, damn you!” he called, trying to untangle his long legs from the barstool. Somehow, the metal contraption turned softer and softer, until he realized he was battling his way out of a fuzzy blanket.

Dorian stood a few feet away, holding a tray in both hands and grinning. In an uncomfortably familiar way. “Good Lord, Klaus, I thought you were going to fall out of bed. What on earth were you dreaming?”

The easy, affectionate voice soothed Klaus, a little. “Dorian, I have a question -- “

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Dorian half-sang as he placed the breakfast-laden tray on the bedside table. “There, does that answer the question?”

“I never doubted you,” said Klaus, snagging a slice of buttered bread. “I want to know – what have you been dreaming, lately?”