Birthdays for Eroica were usually joyous, occasions for lavish parties and showers of gifts, non-stop carousing from noon until dawn. (One's birthday was the perfect excuse to sleep late, the one day of the year James allowed it with no protest.) Eroica's gang enjoyed birthdays, with the exception for obvious reasons of one sullen account. All were invited to participate in the (exceedingly expensive) merrymaking, and at the point that they found themselves bedecked in ribbons and the glitter of confetti, stumbling to dip another flute from the court-yard fountain that ran with champagne, it was the general consensus that Life was Good.

THIS year, however, it looked to be anything but. Eroica's birthday was not a fortnight away, and no preparations had been made, no caterers called nor musicians booked. The gang was confused but silent, after someone had made an inquiry of the Earl, only to have his head nearly bitten off at the shoulders in a display of very un-Earl-like temper. With Eroica so peckish and the cause unknown, whispered complaints and postulations were confined to shadowed corners. It was nearly as bad as living under the same roof as Uncle NATO, it was agreed, and new sympathy was discovered for his long-suffering Alphabet.

Even James, flabbergasted at the economy that was being exhibited this year, finally descended from his glee to wonder and fret with the others. In an act of unselfish sacrifice he even went to Dorian with the offer of splurging on a *fresh* birthday cake. He was lucky to have found the Earl in the solar that morning, because it was on the manor's first floor, and his forced flight out a window ended in a cushy, shrubbery-padded landing.

No one had dared to speak to Eroica since the day James took flight. It was a marvel that the Earl still had meals prepared for him at all; those and a frightened knocking were delivered to his door, and by the time he opened it only the food remained. The tension in the manor only wound higher through another week. The less-than hale of courage were actually considering turning in their resignation when the tide finally turned. It wasn't that Eroica's mood improved. As the approaching birthday was the obvious catalyst, it was also obvious that no relief would be had until the date had passed. But the *cause* of Eroica's foul-temper was discovered, and knowing the cause the gang had at last the hope of being able to combat it.

Dorian, the Earl of Red Gloria, was approaching his thirtieth birthday.

It was Bonham who suggested a 'vacation' for Lord Gloria, and with a bit of prodding, James had agreed. Reluctantly. Painfully reluctantly; but the offer of fresh cake had been made *and* turned down. Now it was obvious that the situation was dire indeed. So, with a little niggling and haggling on James' part, a vacation had been arranged. But beyond that, James wanted someone *else* to introduce the idea to Dorian!

They'd tried drawing straws for the thankless task, but thieves being thieves there was a good deal of cheating involved, and at the end no one was left holding the short marker. A heated argument was well underway -- comparing the benefits of choosing by the 'rock-paper-scissors' method against the 'flipping-a-coin' method -- when Bonham finally grew disgusted enough with the proceedings to volunteer outright.

It was whispered later in reverent tones that the stolid man had always had a way with words and a flair for handling prickly blondes. Neither he nor Dorian ever divulged exactly what had transpired between them in the locked library, but Bonham had exited first, his head still firmly on his shoulders and a grim smile on his lips. Eroica left a few minutes later, to go to his room and pack.

So it was that the Earl found himself on a chartered flight bound for France, his destination some sort of health-spa painstakingly chosen by James for its optimum combination of amenities and price.

It would blanket the day before and the day after his birthday, a three day extravagance to receive from James -- hoped by the little band of thieves that it would soothe Dorian before during and after the even of his birthday.

And it really would have been a nice enough place, if it hadn't been that most of the patrons were women. Rich French ladies, though thankfully none of them were his mother and sisters.

What they were was gossipy biddies, and a group of them clustered, blatant with curiosity, around the guest book after he'd signed in. Some of their surprised chatter as they read the name sounded like recognition, and prompted him to wish he'd used Eroica's persona instead of his own. Just because none of his estranged female relations weren't immediately present did not mean they hadn't ever visited the spa.

It would seem that Dorian's reputation had preceded him yet again.

Sure enough, he'd just gotten settled in his lush and very *pink* room when there was a twittery though determined knocking at his door.

When he opened it what faced him was a petite young woman who smiled at him for a moment. "Lord... Gloria? I'm a friend of your sister's -- and I've heard so much about you!" Most of it said that he certainly *belonged* in a place like that!

"My... sister?" Dorian's complexion turned sallow, and he clutched discretely at the door frame.

Bad enough that he was turning thirty the next day. Worse was that he'd allowed Bonham to bully him into going to the spa in the first place, and that James hadn't been entirely clear on what sort of clientele it attracted. Walking through the tastelessly extravagant front entrance, he'd even managed to shove aside all his misgivings about the place by thinking about all the lovely pampering he could look forward to over the next three days.

But this... Overly cheerful acquaintances of un-liked siblings had NOT been part of the bargain when he'd convinced himself to stay!

"Yes, your sister," she smiled. "We've all heard a lot about you -- some of the other guests are anxious to meet you, Lord Gloria -- you have quite a reputation!"

One thing he couldn't force himself to do was be less than honest in his reaction to the invitation. It was simply impossible to be civil while speaking French. A forming headache, the other possible cause of his irritation and lack of manners, had already been questioned and exonerated. The blonde sighed, deeply, and uttered, "Must I? I'd really prefer to sulk in private."

"Oh, no, this is not a place to sulk -- you are here to enjoy yourself, Lord Gloria, aren't you? Come out of your room and down to the sauna," the very *awake* young woman smiled.

Sharing a sauna with a flock of half-clothed women was miles from Dorian's idea of a good time. He almost protested on propriety's sake, until he remembered that he was in France and France was unfortunately progressive...

"I really have nothing to take enjoyment from at present." He sighed again, this time sounding more morose than snappish. /Almost thirty years old, and what do I have to show for it? Still no Major, and I could have sworn that I saw a grey hair the other day.../

Then again, in such a brilliant colour of blonde, perhaps it was a natural highlight?

Maybe not.

"Then you should come and relax with us -- that is why you are at this spa!" And he wasn't a threat in the least -- womanly in hair and dress, a flagrant homosexual.

"It would not be relaxing for me to be among a bunch of women." Any plainer a way of saying so Dorian didn't think existed. "The topics of conversation are always husband, children and home. None of those things interest me."

"Actually, the topic of today has been mostly men," she smiled. "I think you could enjoy that, yes?"

"NO -- thank you," Dorian asserted, then seemed to have a moment's reconsideration. More gently, "No. My love life is pathetic enough as it is. The only thing that would make it worse would be for it to become fuel for the gossip rings."

"Oh, *do* come down, Lord Gloria," the young woman pressed, still smiling at him. "We won't bite!"

"I might."

"O~oh -- oh!" She took a step back, and then laughed softly, the facade of being scared barely put up at all before she let it fall again. "Please -- you must have come here to relax!"

Despite himself Dorian smiled, a pathetic little thing that he chased away as soon as he realised it had alighted on his lips. So put-on, the playfulness very like the facade he sometimes wore around the Major... "I... It was not my idea to come here, but now that I am, I suppose I am looking forward a little to relaxing."

She grabbed one hand in both of hers and smiled as she took a backwards step. "My name is Lily -- it's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Gloria, and to pry you out of your room!"

Clearly defeated, Dorian allowed himself to be pulled into the hall. "I can't say it's a pleasure to meet you or not, Lily. Allow me to hold off judgement until I've survived the day."

"If you're so down on being here, Lord Gloria, *why* are you here?" she asked curiously, leading him down one neat hallway, and then turned a corner where the pale carpeting gave way to tile.

"It's my birthday tomorrow," he answered easily as he followed, as if that should have been ample explanation.

"Ohhh... so, this was a gift from friends?" Lily said as a guess.

"More like a forced vacation. Apparently I'd been a little moody, and the gang thought some pampering might solve the problem." He snorted, thinking that just *maybe* if it were the Major doing the pampering, he might recover his spirits.

Maybe if it were the Major doing it and he had a beautiful and rare statue standing behind him as a gift. *That* would have recovered him.

That was about as likely as Satan taking up cricket and joining the national team.

"You'll feel better once you've been" -- god help him, she giggled then -- "steamed!"

"Oh, no..." Unconsciously the Earl raised a hand to his head. "Humidity makes my hair turn to fuzz. I'm sure this is not such a good idea."

"You're going to be *pampered*," Lily told him. "Put a towel around your head." And with that, she took him through the swinging door and into the changing area that was loaded high with towels and neat little lockers.

Dorian took one look around and decided to balk again. "I can't change here!" It seemed that the amenities were communal, and though he hadn't seen any signs declaring it a women's only spa, he had yet to see another male guest!

"Oh, whyever not? It isn't a woman's only spa!"

"If it isn't, then why are there only women?" This was ridiculous! He could feel his cheeks going red with the prospect. It seemed that turning thirty automatically imparted a sense of priggish modesty, whether one wanted it or not!

"It's just... gotten this way," she shrugged with a smile, moving to a little locker. "It shouldn't bother you -- you're gay, aren't you?"

"Yes, but... Fine -- I'll change. But no looking!"

"No looking," Lily agreed with a smile, pulling off her own shirt and then bra to replace that and her little skirt with a fluffy towel.

Klaus would have just died if he had've been there. He'd nearly had a fit about Dorian watching him bind the wound on his shoulder when they were in Alaska.

Then again, Klaus might have laughed, too. He could occasionally find humor in such situations, provided it wasn't him in them!

Dorian, feeling downright prudish, turned his back and quickly changed into a robe of the same fluffy terrycloth. A towel was snatched up and bound around his head, and, having thus girded himself, he felt as ready as he was ever likely to be. "The ah... others... They know, right?"

"That you're lord Gloria? Of course!" she smiled -- apparently that also blanketly covered his sexuality and apparently harmlessness.

"Well then..." He'd run out of stalling tactics, as evidenced by an elegant shrug. "Lead the way."

She did, tugging her robe firmly closed before she led him through another set of swinging doors and into a tiled room filled with steamy heat.

And women. A lot of middle-aged women. Dorian was amused to find himself allowed room to join their circle of chatter, and easily admitted to their camaraderie.

And Lily had been right -- the topic of the hour seemed to be griping about men that they had dated. Some rather interesting stories were told, about cheating, rebukes, general jerkyness...

And then an old-ish matron asked him if *he'd* had any such horrible experiences.

The Earl was startled to find the question directed at him. For perhaps half an hour he'd lazed in the heat and increasingly-tolerable company, listening with amusement but contributing nothing of his own.

It would seem that his period of immunity was over.

"You, ah, really wouldn't want to hear about my problems. They're dull." And strangely embarrassing. He didn't like the thought of his siblings finding out that he'd unsuccessfully pursued the same man for a half-dozen years. They would laugh, he was sure.

"Dull -- oh, but you're a dashing young man -- I'm sure your love life isn't dull at all!"

"Dull," Dorian insisted, shifting a little on the wooden bench he sat. "And pathetic. If it were better, I probably wouldn't be here."

"Oh, but that must be the fault of the men you've run into," Lily consoled from his side. "You're not a dull person."

Unthinking, Dorian opened his mouth to protest. "Neither is the Ma-"

"Ohh, so you *do* have someone -- oh, who is he?" another woman pressed. "If it's dull, it's probably his fault."

Which, in a way it was -- if he'd just stop resisting, Dorian would HAVE a love life again!

The Earl slowly turned his gaze around the circle of expectant faces, deciding that it wouldn't hurt to tell them a *little* It would be nice to have someone listen to him bitch for a while, actually. His own men simply rolled their eyes and shut there ears whenever Klaus' name left his lips.

"There... is someone, sort of. Oh, but it's hopeless!"

"Why's that, dear?" the matron who'd started it all asked.

"Because... He's horrible! He'd rather punch me than kiss me; he calls me all sort of unpleasant names, and insults my wardrobe and my taste in cars. Sometimes he makes me so furious that I want to- I just want to..."

"There's sometimes nothing so satisfying as kneeing a man in the crotch -- no offense, Lord Gloria," another young woman said across from him.

"None taken." Dorian nodded his head politely. "In my case though, however satisfying that might be, it is impossible. My Major is a prude and a brute. I can barely get close to him as it is, and if I ever tried that on him, he would certainly return worse to me."

"Ohhh, military," a one sighed in Parisian accents. "My Louis is military -- and he had such a stick against his back when I married him. Dashing, but so... infuriatingly proper. It was romantic... at first. Surely yours is the same way, Lord Gloria?"

Romantic? Dorian might have agreed, right up until the time he'd admitted his love for Klaus, and been slugged for his effort. "I am afraid not, Madame," the Earl replied mock-solemnly. "The stick in his case is very firmly lodged somewhere else."

That got him a round of giggles that lasted until a spa attendant told them all it was time to move from the spa to the facials section before they all became steamed prunes.

But that didn't stop the conversation.

"The stick is lodged far up his ass, Lord Gloria?" one woman asked him daringly.

Nothing, it would seem, shocked these French ladies. Though a blush spread round the room, eager faces still leaned forward to catch his reply. And Dorian was not about to let them down! "It is," he confirmed with a wink. "I suspect he was born with it already in place. Either that, or it was his father who put it there."

"Where is he from, Lord Gloria, to be so stern?"

"Germany."

"Ohhh... If his father was military, I wouldn't be surprised," Lily nodded, sighing. "Is he worth the trouble he puts you through? Some men are such asses, but so beautiful."

Absolutely the perfect thing to have said, if Lily was trying to induce a round of gushing praise. "Oh, he IS!" Dorian leaned excitedly in his chair, disrupting the attendant who was trying to apply a mud-pack to his face. He shooed away further attempts impatiently. "He has very fine, aristocratic features -- he's from a grand old family, you know. Piercing eyes, bright like cut glass, and silky black hair. And his body! A few inches taller than I, but much broader through the shoulders. Our waists are nearly the same, though; I wore his belt for a time."

"Ohhh, men with bodies like that are so *vain*," a woman nearby bemoaned.

Lily, though, seemed excited about the belt. "Really? However did you get his *belt*?"

Well, if she knew his sister, she was probably already aware of his habits. "I stole it." Said with such pride! "Right from around his waist."

"Ohhh!" Another chorus of delighted giggles. "Ohh, Lord Gloria, your life is anything but dull -- didn't he notice you took it?!"

He did. He squealed like a school-girl who'd just caught someone peeping under her skirt." Well, not *really*. Klaus had objected, loudly, but it was more of a bellow than a squeal. But this made for so much better a story!

And delighted the women thoroughly to imagine this strapping man reacting like that.

"That must have been a delight! -- some men deserve to have their true nature shown," the matron uttered decisively.

"Mmm, I'd love to even *touch* a man like that -- what does he do in the military? Probably some puffed up paper-pusher," Lily sighed.

"Good luck getting close," Dorian advised sadly. "He's nearly as un-fond of women as he is of homosexual men. I suspect he plans to take his chastity to the grave with him." Which in a way was a small consolation. At least if Dorian couldn't have him, neither could anyone else! "He's not a desk-sitter. Let's just say that he exercises hard to keep in top shape for his job, and leave it at that."

"Sounds like a closet case," the woman to Dorian's left, getting her nails buffed, sighed. "My first husband was one."

That got Dorian's attention. He turned sharply inquiring eyes on the speaker. "He was? That's awful! How long were you married before you found out?" /What signs did you see? Can't you give me any hope?/

"Ten years, though I should have suspected all along. He was always loudly heterosexual -- played soccer, ran, a very manly man. A man's man, too. But *I* could barely ever touch him; he was always off being busy. I found photographs one day that he'd taken of the office boy nude, and that was that. Now, my second husband is meek and I have him wrapped around my fingers, but I know he doesn't want any men," the middle-aged woman told him firmly.

To that the Earl nodded slowly, thoughtfully. His pursuit of Klaus was partly based on the long-standing suspicion that the man was a hard-core closet-case. His Major *did* run a lot, and had played soccer in school... But the thought of him sneaking nude photographs of the Alphabets made Dorian's stomach roil unpleasantly! "I'm... glad to hear your second marriage is a happy one," he told the woman.

"Mmm. I just wish he *looked* like the first one," she sighed ruefully.

Dorian snorted softly. "I've long since discovered that the perfect man does not exist."

"Sorry Lord Gloria, but *I* think the perfect man is out there someone. Only, he's probably gay," Lily half sighed, and half smiled.

"At your service, Madame." It wasn't until after he'd taken his feet and executed an elegant, courtly bow amid peals of feminine laughter that Dorian realised he *was* feeling a great deal better. He would have to thank the gang profusely upon his return for insisting he go.

It wasn't such a terrible thing after all.

~~~~~~~

After facials, they'd all gotten manicures and pedicures, and then herbal wraps. Dinner had been delightful, high quality food that was completely decadent; the next morning, after a dip in the pool, breakfast had proved the same. Now it was time to get a soothing massage, something he was looking very forward to.

A massage was, after all, the pinnacle of being pampered, and that was precisely the reason Dorian had come to the spa! The private massage room he'd been shown to was trimmed also in pink -- after a day and a half of being surrounded by cotton-candy decor it no longer pained his eyes -- and, stretched on the comfortable massage table with only a towel around his hips, he napped on and off until the masseur arrived.

"Allo," the man greeted in English, a nasally French accent. "What would yew like done today?"

"Oh, the full works, of course." His cheek tucked comfortably into the crook of his elbow as he was stretched on his stomach, Dorian didn't have to trouble himself with looking at the man to know what he would see. The man who had that voice had to be slender, probably nervous, and hopefully with soft, graceful hands.

The hands that settled on his shoulders to start the massage weren't soft or thin -- they were warmed and slicked with a small amount of smoothing heated oil, but callused beneath that, strong things that started by kneading out the top-most knots of his shoulders and neck.

So he'd been wrong. It happened sometimes. By now he was far too comfortable, and relaxing dangerously by the second, to put forth the effort of turning to see how greatly he'd erred. Callused was just as good as smooth, provided the hands were as masterful at easing tension as his masseur's were. It wasn't long before the man had wrung from him a soft, contented groan.

"Ees that all right?" the voice asked again, thumbs pressing along the narrow line of his spine.

"Ohh... just lovely," the Earl husked, melting further into the table. "Keep that up, and you're going to have to carry me back to my room in a bucket."

"Have yew ben enjoying your stay here?" the man asked, thumbs pressing just a tiny bit farther than Dorian would have expected -- the towel must have shifted a little.

"Very much. I didn't think I would -- it wasn't my idea to come here in the first place." So what if the masseur's hands slipped a little low? They hadn't yet strayed into impropriety, and if they threatened to, THEN Dorian would bother with a look at the man. If he were handsome, he wouldn't mind at all.

They moved up for the moment, though, back to work along his ribs, from the spine out. "Was eet a gift, sir?"

A pity, that. Perhaps they would stray again? "It was more of an... order. Some acquaintances of mine had thought that I was a little tense and surly, and needed to unwind."

"Weel, eet is the thought that counts," the masseur told him. "Yew have been chatting all day weeth the ladies here; that is very nice."

"Oh, they're sweet things. And they seem amused by my stories." Perhaps the masseur had been listening and wanted to get in a few questions of his own? It was a little odd -- usually the staff was observant and quick to serve, but quiet.

"Yew are pursuing a meelitay man, no?" The hands didn't stop with the questions' beginning, though -- now, they kept up the neat, even pace, digging out knots he didn't know he had.

"Yes, hopelessly." So relaxed was Dorian now that his tongue was loose and unruly, slurring his words. " 's pathetic. I mean, 'm an attractive man, aren't I? I may be getting older, but my looks haven't suffered for it! But I can't get the stupid sot t' so much as look at me without disgust."

"Why dew yew think that ees?" And the touch got better, massaging the muscles around his slender waist.

"Because he is an unappreciative ass," Dorian pronounced slowly, forcing himself to enunciate. Ah, God was it good! The masseur was kneading though years of tension, his touch sure and truthfully a good deal more than pleasant.

That made the fingers still for a moment, but then they picked up again -- with a tiny bit more pressure than before. "Perhaps he ess not an ass -- but a man who does not know what to dew."

Dorian must not have noticed, or have cared enough to comment on the change if he had. He was too wrapped up in another round of griping -- relaxing his unhappy heart even as his body was being attended to. "Oh no, not my Major. Even an idiot can know what to do when a beautiful man throws himself repeatedly at their feet. He is an ass, plain and simple."

The fingers tensed again, and once more forged onward. "Eef he ees an 'ass', why dew yew want heem?" The accent of his masseur, somehow, was thickening.

If Dorian were a tenth so paranoid as Klaus, he would suspect the man of being a Soviet spy. As it was, his curiosity was slowly being roused, though he hid it well. "I want him because he is handsome and wonderful, and he has a good heart, though he doesn't think anyone can see it. For that, I could tolerate that he is also an ass."

"Have yew ever thought that yew were intolerably frustrating? What sort of fop thinks someone could be an ass with a good heart?!"

That was definitely a seeringly familiar voice and *tone*, the nasally accent dropped after those first few words and falling into the deep rough cadences that he was too familiar with.

As recognition hit, there was squeal very like the one Dorian had accused Klaus of making when he'd stolen the ox-hide belt. The Earl crawled right off the table in his panic to escape, unfortunately loosing his towel in the process.

"D-Darling! What in the FUCK are you doing here?!?" From where he was pressed into a corner, Dorian warily watched his Major, trying to determine if he'd fallen asleep on the massage table. Surely this was some hideous nightmare!

His towel was tossed quickly at him, hitting him in his stomach. "Put that back on! Don't walk around nude!" Klaus snapped, still, as of yet, not explaining himself. He was wearing his sunglasses and was decked out in the tan trousers and polo-shirt of a staff member.

"It's your fault I'm nude in the first place," the Earl groused, a little fearfully, as he slung the towel back around his waist. "You made me fall! All that wonderful work you'd done, completely ruined! I- Why *did* you do that, anyway?" That question was far more pressing than why Klaus was there, or how he'd found Dorian. Neither of those involved Klaus putting his hands on the thief, touch sure and more than a little intimate at times.

"I wanted to give you something for your birthday that you couldn't flaunt at me," Klaus said roughly. "Now get back up here."

"Flaunt?" Confusion warred with outright refusal in widened sapphire eyes. "I'm not coming near you. You just want to hit me for calling you an ass."

"Get back on this table right *now*, you god-damned faggot!" Klaus snapped, tapping a hand down on it to emphasize that even more. "So I can finish what I was doing."

"No!" This was where Dorian turned and repeatedly slammed his head against the wall, wasn't it, for refusing a *massage* from *Klaus*! "'s too late now, anyway. Why ever you did what you did, it's all completely undone now. I'm so tense, I think piano wire's slack in comparison."

"Then get back here and let me start over," the German man gritted out, fixing him with a frustrated expression. The *one* time he tried to give Dorian a birthday gift, and the man refuses! And *he* was supposedly the ass?

"Why?" Dorian demanded. Not that it would be *possible* for him to relax again, even if he did eventually allow Klaus to coax him back to the table. "You complain when I get within three feet of you, and then you decide to give me a bloody massage?!?"

"It's a gift! It's a fucking gift -- like what you got me this year!" Klaus snarled at him, arms folding over his chest to aid, somehow, in glaring at Dorian.

"It's an awful gift!" Slowly, Dorian was edging for the door. "I hate it, and I hate you, you... you fucking closet case!"

"Fine; forget I tried." Klaus' voice was still a firm bellow but it fell flat somehow, as he took off his sunglasses, slid them into the pocket of the shirt, and tromped swiftly out of the room. So much for trying to give Dorian a gift, perhaps tease him a little, to lift his mood some. He'd contacted Dorian -- tried to at least -- for a mission coming down the line, but Bonham had been easy to wring the whereabouts of Dorian out of.

So much for *that* fucking stupid idea.

~~~~~~~

That night at dinner, *everyone* had wanted to sit at the Earl of Gloria's table. In the hallway Lily had nearly been run over by a fast-walking, furious man who fit exactly the description of Dorian's Major. There was no doubt in her mind after she'd been rescued from falling by a hand steadying her elbow -- and then been pushed almost roughly away. Dark sunglasses obscured the man's eyes, but she was positive that if she'd seen them, they would have glittered like hard glass.

On second thought, touching a man like that was not the pleasant experience she'd imagined it would be!

The news had quickly spread; Dorian was nowhere to be found when a group of ladies tried to locate him for questioning. That had confirmed suspicions, and when the Earl appeared for the meal neatly-turned out but tired looking, everyone wanted to know the why.

Which was to say they wanted details, sordid ones.

"I saw *him*, Lord Gloria," Lily said, starting it all off as she settled beside him, smiling and shaking her head. "He's so rude -- he nearly ran me over! Lord Gloria, a man with that temper is *not* worth the trouble!"

"What does he look like again? There *is* another man in the spa," the matron of before piped up. "Black hair; very.... crisply polite when he walked past me. Like a wind-up doll with a key in its back."

"That is him," Dorian groaned, lowering his face into his hands. "You must have seen him after he'd found someplace quiet to chain-smoke half a pack. That's his usual method for cooling his temper. When he left the massage room he was in rare furious form. I'm sorry, Lily, that he was so rude to you."

"Massage room?" Lily asked with an arched eyebrow. "What would a man like that be would in there?"

Dorian glanced up pathetically from his hunched-shoulder slouch. "Would you believe trying to give me a massage?"

"Oh, you're *kidding*!" the woman who was working on her second husband declared. "That's such a cruel thing to do."

That was the general conjecture that went around the table, strengthened as Dorian furthered weakly, "Not kidding. At first I didn't realise it was him..."

"Sounds like a heartless man; the only reason someone should do such a thing is if they'd changed their mind," Lily said with a little frown. "And he seemed too stiff to ever do such a thing."

"He hasn't changed his mind. 's probably in retaliation for the kiss I gave him on *his* birthday. When I saw it was him I jumped off the table and refused to come back." Dorian was in full sympathy-seeking pout now, his bottom lip extended just the slightest bit past his top. "He got angry and called me a faggot."

"Oh, you poor thing..." That was the matron again, shaking her head.

"Someone should knee out his crotch," the divorcee sighed a bit bitterly.

It was that moment that Klaus entered the dining hall. He looked unhappy, and had changed out of his disguise into one more familiar-looking for him. A simple neat suit, and a tie that looked... well, like one of Iron Klaus' ties.

"Oh hell." Instinctively Dorian shrugged his shoulders up higher, as if that would help him to be less noticeable. "If he's still here, there must be a mission. He doesn't even care enough to harass me on his own time."

Klaus didn't approach him, though -- just gave him a look from the corner of his eyes and sat down at a small table, completely by himself. Which seemed to be all right with him, as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one from the candle in the middle of the table.

"What a brute!"

Since Klaus was safely on the other side of the room and looking as if he'd settled in, Dorian bravely sat up a little. "He is. But isn't he also the most stunningly handsome thing you've ever seen?"

"He probably knows it, too," one woman sighed, darting a look over at him, and then turning back around. "He looks so smug!"

"You think he does...?" Stealing a quick, appraising glance, Dorian was horrified to find himself catching Klaus' eye.

Which meant that Klaus was watching him -- watching the entire gaggling, giggling table, probably fully aware that he was the subject of conversation. He stood up slowly, holding Dorian's eyes as he tucked his cigarettes into his coat, and then approached the table.

Silence fell over the group of diners, immediate and perfect. Only Dorian dared look at the man, but that was because Klaus had held his gaze the entire time, and Dorian couldn't seem to pull away from it. Trapped, he stiffly took his feet. "Good evening, Major. I hadn't expected you to remain at the spa past this afternoon's farce."

Military green eyes narrowed at him for a moment, but then Klaus put up a front of congeniality. "I am here on vacation, Herr Gloria. I would not leave, even though you did not want your birthday gift."

"Birthday gift!" Dorian was appalled, while some of the braver women cast dirty looks at Klaus. "Some gift! 'Get on the table, faggot?' " he quoted back dryly, mimicking Klaus' patting gesture of before. "Was the kiss really so awful that you've been holding a grudge for it for months? Well, consider us even!"

"Will you let me join you for dinner, Herr Graf Gloria?" Klaus went on, as if Dorian's antics hadn't even occurred; but a few of the women got sharp, darting glares for their trouble.

Having decided to play along with the game if not the actual request, Dorian sat back down, primly tucking his napkin back onto his lap. In a crowd, polite society at that, there wasn't a lot Klaus could do if he refused. "As you can see, Major, I already have dinner companions."

Even given the circumstances, Klaus hadn't *expected* Dorian to turn down his request; that much was clear by the look that settled on his face, half contrite, half seriously confused. "My apologies, then, Herr Graf Gloria," Klaus uttered, turning to move back to his table.

"And stay over there, you brute!" the divorcee said, quite clearly in the silence of their little area.

"Have I met you, Madam?"

"You have me," Lily interjected, her lips pulled into a tight little frown. "You nearly flattened me in the hall, and didn't even so much as excuse yourself!"

"We don't have to know you to know all about you, your type..." the matron added with a snort.

And someone, under their breath, could be heard to utter, "Someone *should* knee him in the crotch -- teach him a lesson!"

With slightly widened eyes, Klaus looked at Dorian as if asking for an explanation. "Are you enjoying spreading rumours, Herr Gloria? Ladies, I have never even met you, and you are showing such anger."

"I've only told them the truth, Darling. These ladies have more experience with men than I could collect in a dozen lifetimes. They've simply drawn their own conclusions about you." Admittedly those conclusions were a little harsh; Dorian hadn't lied, but he'd had trouble convincing them of some of Klaus' better points.

He gave them all a faint smile, before looking at Dorian again. "Then I will talk to you later."

The Earl answered by nodding. "Have a pleasant dinner, Major."

"Ugh! He's handsome, but..."

"That tone of voice..."

"I want to knee him in the crotch for being just like my first husband."

/Happy fucking birthday, Lord Gloria,/ Klaus thought sourly, as he moved back to his table.

Dorian watched him go, expression bemused, feeling an appalling lack of pleasure for the victory.

~~~~~

The rest of dinner, though, had been fairly uneventful, with the conversation strong. Klaus had disappeared from his table at the other side of the room when Dorian's table was only half-way finished. Klaus had either eaten with his usual efficiency, or simply left.

Either way, it didn't explain the man's odd behavior.

It hadn't bothered Dorian nearly so much when he'd had company, the dinner extending into a pleasant evening of drinks and talk. Alone in his room -- finally given the time to brood after good-nights had been said plans set for the next day -- he found that the strangeness bothered him a great deal.

Klaus had been touching him, and rather intimately at that; had planned, even when the charade was revealed, to *continue* with it; had asked to eat dinner with him.

Very un-Major-like things to do.

Even holding a grudge, it was unthinkable that Klaus would go to such lengths for revenge. A fist to the jaw was much more his style, immediate and direct.

And a lot less trouble than what he'd obviously gone to. Taking a *vacation*?

"Lord Gloria." That growl was accompanied by a heavy hand rapping on his door.

" 's unlocked." After all, Klaus *had* threatened to seek him out later.

Entering, the Major found Dorian curled comfortably in one of the room's mauve, very overstuffed chairs.

"Your birthday was pleasant?" Klaus asked, turning to lock the door firmly before moving further into the room.

That he'd locked them in was unexpected, even for paranoid Klaus. Dorian's expression fell slightly as the bolt slid home with an ominous sound. "It was, right until you showed up."

From Klaus' pocket came the familiar pack of cigarettes. He tapped one out, lit it, and inquired irritably, "How did I ruin your birthday? You seem to feel that I did." Long-legged strides carried him briskly across to Dorian.

"You were cruel. It's a man's right to gripe when he's been hurt." Dorian still *looked* relaxed, but Klaus had known him long enough, seen him in action more than enough times to know that he was actually tensed and prepared for just about anything.

"I want to know right now how I was being cruel," Klaus demanded, taking a slow, calm draw from his cigarette, the tip glowing orange for a moment.

Despite his efforts to keep a straight face, Dorian's jaw fell agape. "You really need to be told? I'd thought certain you were being cruel intentionally!"

"I told you -- the chief made me take a vacation. Your Bonham told me you were here. I guessed it was as good a place as any to vacation; the massage was supposed to be your birthday gift," Klaus shrugged, moving to sit down in a wooden chair that didn't look as frilly as the one Dorian sat in.

"I don't want a gift you didn't mean." Logically, Dorian knew he couldn't possibly have. But logic had absolutely nothing to do with what he remembered of the way Klaus' hands hand lingered, soothing and wonderful, hitting all the right places...

The German leaned forward then, elbows on his knees, cigarette held a bit tiredly between the fingers of his right hand. "Have I ever even tried to give you a gift before this year, Lord Gloria?"

Sullenly, "No. Which makes it all the more suspicious."

The edges of Klaus' mouth drew downwards as he continued to look at Dorian. "T shouldn't have bothered, then."

"I don't understand why you did." Nerves, and the drifting smoke from Klaus' cigarette was suddenly making him crave one. "You hate to let me close to you. Why then would you want to give me a massage? There are a lot of other gifts that don't involve putting your hands all over me."

"Why do you pursue me? Why did you kiss me on my birthday?" Klaus questioned in turn.

"Oh no... If I say again that I love you, you'll just use it as an excuse to hit me," Dorian shot back, his expression uneasy.

"That's never stopped you before," Klaus told him, taking a draw from his cigarette, almost contemplative. "I could have beaten you senseless earlier, if i wanted to hit you."

"All right..." Two could play that game, and Dorian was undoubtedly the better player. "I pursue you because I love you. Why did you touch me like that?"

"I wanted to see what it felt like."

"You wanted to..." That answer was flippant, careless, unsuited in Dorian's opinion the gravity of his question. "I'll tell you how it felt! It was glorious, soothing and arousing all at once. I haven't been touched like that in a long time, and you didn't *mean* it you... you hurtful ASS!"

"I meant it," Klaus said, after contemplating Dorian's outburst for a moment, smoking lazily. Second pack of the day, and he was nearly done with it. "Otherwise I would have hit you for calling me an 'ass' so many times."

"It's only the truth! You can't hit me for that. I-" Dorian's jaw clamped shut, and he swallowed. Hard. "What do you mean, you meant it?"

Somehow, trying to get a coherent explanation of it from Klaus only frustrated the man -- illustrated by the line between his eyebrows as he looked at Dorian, one of them cocked upwards. "Just what I said. I didn't do it to be an 'ass'."

Dorian was studying him closely, surprised to find those little marks of unease. Klaus rarely exhibited anything but stern control. On a hunch, he pressed, "If you did it out of curiosity, what did you find?"

"That I was upset when you jumped off the table," Klaus said, very obviously playing his cards close. "I wanted to... not stop."

Now that his Major was squirming, Dorian was looking a good deal happier -- and just a little predatory. "You liked it then?"

"Of course I did," Klaus growled, as if it should have been obvious to Dorian -- he knew just what Dorian was goading for.

"God, you are *such* a closet case." Dorian couldn't put any true displeasure into the words, grinning broadly as he was. He uncurled from his sprawl and left his chair, approaching Klaus' with stalking intent. "If I ask nicely, can you be convinced to finish with my gift?"

"If you asked nicely, ja." The prey didn't flinch back, though -- he was watching Dorian as intently as Dorian was watching him. "Happy birthday, Eroica."

The thief leaned, lightly touching Klaus' cheek, and bolstered when he wasn't growled at and didn't have his hand swatted away. "Thank you very much, Major." He placed a kiss at the edge of Klaus' mouth, far enough off center that it had to be acceptable to even the prickly German. "I... have another massage session scheduled for tomorrow morning. I hope you can be there."

"I can't see a reason why I wouldn't be," Klaus said, voice a bit uneven because of that carefully placed kiss. "We could... complete it now, though."

"I..." Of all the damned times to be chivalrous! "I am not certain that is a good idea. Alone in my room, with the door locked... If you touch me even half so nicely as you did this afternoon, I will have a very difficult time behaving myself."

Klaus' lips curled into that chilling half smile -- Dorian could be *sure* that Klaus would either make sure he behaved, *or* didn't care at all if he didn't behave. Not a very clear message to be given, as Klaus drew in a breath from his cigarette and then transferred it to his hands again. "I think your behaviour will be acceptable."

Either Klaus didn't know Dorian very well, or was very brave, or... Perhaps he really was serious about this? Another soft kiss, unprotested, decided the Earl on the matter. His birthday had just taken a definite, surprise swing for the better! "Wait here, Darling, while I go change."

It was probably in the interest of both their sanity that he go change out of Klaus' sight. While Dorian disappeared, Klaus lit another cigarette and dropped the last one into a flower-pot that was nearby.