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It was gray and rainy when Dorian stepped out of the museum and into the chilly London air, though the weather’s efforts to dampen the man’s mood were in vain. He hardly noticed it.

“… eight and fifteen… twenty-three, carry the two, tack on a few zeroes…” he mumbled to himself, as he walked, avoiding puddles as a matter of habit more than concern. The rain was light but did its best to flatten his hair and spoil his great coat. It only half succeeded in either. “… a lovely sum, I should think.”

The money didn’t really concern him. It never did. But James’s insistent nagging concerned him utterly, and this trip out was more like a shopping errand than his usual quest for worthwhile beauty, only the Earl would hardly be making any purchases.

Dorian found the car a block from the museum, precisely where Bonham promised it would be. His next heist was mapped perfectly in his head, and the thought of a placated James pleased him. He smiled a little smile. It was only when he slipped inside the warm interior of the back of the car that he realized how chilled he had been. He closed the door. Three things happened at once.

One was that he looked to the front seat and caught Bonham’s gaze in the rearview mirror where Bonham’s usually reassuring features twisted uncertainly as he spoke one word.

“Er,” he said.

Another was that Dorian saw a figure in his peripheral vision, and as he turned to look full on the familiar face of his Major who, to his great surprise, was sitting next to him, the third thing happened: he felt the not unfamiliar prodding of a .44 magnum in his side.

“Oh!” Dorian said.

“Sorry, mi’lord,” stammered Bonham. “I thought you’d be pleased to see him, is all, so I let ‘im in! Then he goes pulling out the cannon and…”

Dorian had, by this time, regained his composure, and smirked in the Major’s general direction. “Do not trouble yourself, Bonham, the Major’s only playing Cowboys again, aren’t you Major?” He gave his sweetest grin. “Though I’ve forgotten my tomahawk! So you’ll have to shoot me some other time, dear.”

The Major scowled, though little could be gleaned from this as Klaus seemed to consider a scowl suitable for weddings, funerals, and well, every other occasion.

“Where is it, Eroica?”

“My tomahawk? Oh, I think James probably has it. Scraping pennies and-- ow!” His cheek earned him a firmer nudge in the ribs. “Oh, very well you belligerent man! Tell me what you’re talking about and I’ll see what’s to be done. But do get that annoying weapon away from my delicate person."

The Major’s answer was only to scowl deeper, then the gun was removed from Dorian’s side but not put away. Dorian noticed Klaus’s dark suit, his pale face. The Major’s hair was damp, too, only serving to make it darker. It stuck to his forehead in places and, though the Major would deny it vehemently, sparkled a little.

Klaus quietly held up his left arm and Dorian was confused. Then a pale patch of skin on the Major’s wrist made his own wrist feel suddenly very heavy, and he was not confused anymore.

“Oh,” he said.

A prod in the ribs and the Major asked him again where “it” was.

Dorian looked guilty, then innocent, then quickly sat on his hand.

“You degenerate!” The Major bellowed, triply loud in the small car. “Give me back my watch!”

A pout settled on Dorian’s face. “Oh, why should I? It’s only a watch, darling, you have dozens, I’m sure!”

Klaus scowled. He was an Olympic class scowler. “It’s worth nothing to you, you perverted pixie. And I haven’t got dozens, I have one. And you’re wearing it you bloody British, timepiece thieving prick. Now hand it over.”

Klaus held out his free hand. Dorian took it in his own. Klaus slapped it away.

“Flies with honey, darling.,” Dorian insisted, his feathers now both wet and ruffled, his pout still in place. “Why can’t I keep it? Get yourself another. I like this one.” He wriggled where he sat, the bulky watch poking him in the ass with satisfying assurance.

“I don’t want another,” Klaus began, exasperated, obviously unwilling (as the Earl well knew) to reach around and beneath Dorian’s posterior to claim his property. “I want that one, and I want it now.”

Dorian thought. Oh, he had wanted to keep the watch! It reminded him so of Klaus. So precise, persistent, rather larger than necessary, and diversely useful (it told time in six different countries). Not to mention the man had been wearing the thing for as long as Dorian had known him. Or one like it. When Dorian purloined the hefty time-keeper he had no notion it had been the very same one all those years. Perhaps, then…

“Give me good reason,” he said finally, smiling again.

“It belongs to me.”

Damp curls shook as Dorian laughed. “No, no. A good reason. Not a reasonable reason. Tell me why it’s so important to you. Why can you not simply buy another?”

Klaus looked indignant, then suddenly Klaus looked away. He seemed thoughtful, and the scowl was… well, still a scowl, but it was thinking of changing vocation.

“It…” Klaus began, “it belonged to my grandfather… he gave it to me on his deathbed.”

Dorian felt a little guilty. Then, “ Wait… I thought your grandfather died before you were born.”

The Major looked up, the scowl a wicked grin, though somehow still a scowl. “He did. I lied. Give me my damned watch, thief, or you won’t need to worry about the time.”

Dorian sighed, defeated. “All right.” He unseated himself from his prize and began work on the intricate clasp. His wrist was streaked red from the pressure of his sitting on his hand. Once removed, Klaus reached for it but Dorian dropped it in his lap. Not only did Klaus scowl, he growled a bit, too.

“Give us a kiss, love.”

Bonham, who had previously been silent as the grave, whimpered in the front seat.

“You bloody bastard.” Klaus growled again.

Dorian smiled. “Not so hard, now is it? Just a kiss, darling. One kiss for your precious watch. And I’ll even guarantee never to steal it again.” He thought for a second how he might sweeten the deal. “As a bonus, I’ll even steal it back for you should some other thief with an unnatural interest in militaristic accessories take a liking to it.” He smiled sweetly.

The scowl had somehow become a blank sort of stare, and to Dorian’s great shock Klaus holstered his magnum, then leaned forward and kissed him soundly. Klaus had gotten to his knees to reach him properly, and hovered over him possessively. The hand in Dorian’s hair smelled a little of gun oil and cigarettes, but otherwise the Major’s scent was a gentle aftershave and a deep Klausness that Dorian would have recognized in a coma. But he was hardly comatose now. In fact, the Major had awakened his senses considerably. All of them. Taste not the least.

Mouths parted but not bodies, and Dorian could not see the Major’s face in the gray half light and hidden by his hair. But he could feel the look Klaus wore, the open gaze. The uncertainty. Then the Major sat back, stared at Dorian for a moment, the scowl vacationing around the corners of his mouth, his unnaturally red lips. Klaus reached for the door handle.

“Major!” Dorian managed at the last, just as the Major swung his long leg out the door. He reached for Klaus’s hand. It was not immediately pulled away. Klaus wouldn’t look at him. “Major… you’re forgetting your watch…”

Klaus glanced back at him and Dorian realized he must have looked terribly desperate, stretching across the seat, grasping at the Major’s sleeve, his eyes pleading.

“I’ll…” Klaus began, then pulled his hand away from Dorian’s grip. “Keep it for me. I’ll retrieve it when I’ve thought of a good reason to have it back.” Then the Major turned away and stepped from the car, closing the door behind him.

Dorian blinked, then smiled. Not because he had the watch, not because the Major had kissed him. But because, at the very last, just before Klaus turned his gaze to the gray, wet cement, Dorian saw the scowl again, which was not really a scowl at all.

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