And rarely did it come with the German's solid warmth sitting up abruptly, flicking off the clock, and starting to shift out from under Dorian. "C'mon. 's morning."

"No!" the mop of blonde curls protested, clinging. "Don' wanna..."

"We can't be seen like this, dammit!" Klaus snapped, easily prying Dorian off of him; though, that left the blonde in the bed and him out of it. Dorian looked so rumpled, and still beautiful, even with his hair tangled, silk pants twisted on his hips, and lean, pale torso marked with sheet lines. Just decadent...

And Klaus was... Well, Klaus was rarely *not* stern, which was okay by Dorian, as he happened to think Klaus approached his most adorable when stern. "Seen like what?" Before Klaus had pried him off he'd succeeding in dragging Dorian half way out of bed with him. "You locked the door, didn't you?"

"Doesn't matter -- there are keys, and I'm expected to be up and about the house by six-thirty." Klaus was stretching a little, and then moved into the bathroom. He didn't close the door this time, since he wasn't showering -- just started to run water in the sink and began to shave.

"Six thirty?" Dorian was incredulous as he used the headboard to drag himself to his feet. Consciousness was not kind to the Earl, reminding him of the fiasco the library had been the night before, and that he would have to repeat that feat without first getting a good cup of coffee down his gullet. "I- Oh, damn. What I have packed in the bag isn't suitable at all. I'll need to borrow from your closet again."

"Just go through there and find something," Klaus told him, dragging a disposable razor with skill over the planes of his jaw. "Towards the back, stuff'll fit you."

Dorian wandered over, feeling his own jaw experimentally. Not bad -- he could go at least another day without looking scruffy. The closet proved not to be the delight he was expecting -- which lazily shifting through any of Klaus' things ought to have been -- thanks to the pressing issues of time and sire. He chose a sombre suit-coat to replace the peacock-blue velvet number packed in his bag, and paired it with a reasonably loose set of dark trousers.

Which was just fine, once he put it on. Klaus darted out of the bathroom for a moment to grab a suit for himself, and then ducked back into the bathroom to put it on, the door firmly closed behind him.

A normal grey suit for Klaus, and he looked refreshed and ready for the day to come as he stepped out of the bathroom.

Even if he wasn't ready at all.

"We're going to have to break you of that horrible modesty," Dorian informed him seriously as he performed the same service of the morning before, straightening Klaus' suit with a critical eye and the intent more to touch than anything else.

"What's so horrible about it?" Klaus asked, lifting his chin as Dorian needlessly adjusted his tie, before he batted Dorian away.

"It simply isn't something people who are comfortable around each other have to do. Dressing in bathrooms and sleeping in layers of clothing. You're beautiful, Klaus -- you've got nothing to hide." But as they weren't exactly comfortable with each other yet...

"When my father is gone." The edge of risk was certainly something that put Klaus at a far distance from comfort.

"Your father..." An edge of exasperation crept into Dorian's voice. "You're petrified of the old man! You -- a grown man yourself. He truly dictates your life, Klaus."

"He doesn't," Klaus snapped sternly. "I just act the way he wants when he's around. I'm not petrified of him -- I'm respectful. I'm not the son he wants, but I can at least pretend to be."

"You're not?" Dorian pulled back a step farther, surprise written on his face. "To see you when he's around... All your achievements with NATO... What more could any father ask for?"

"Married? Grandchildren? A commission in the tank corps? Medals? A reputation as something other than an asshole?" Klaus' expression was shuttering inward again, shifting from Klaus to somewhere between The Major and Iron Klaus -- an unhappy, sharp-tempered bitter man.

How many of those aspirations for his life were also Klaus' own, Dorian wondered. He'd bet a house in the country with a tank in the back yard that most weren't. But Klaus was looking so unhappy he didn't dare bring that point up at present! Instead he stepped forward and rested his head against Klaus' shoulder, his arms loosely circling the man. Dorian always had been better with touch than with words.

And Klaus needed it just then. His chin dropped against the mass of curls, eyes closing once more. "Ohhh, Christ, I don't even care. None of that..." Except, maybe, to be in the Tank Corps. But he loved his job as an agent. His reputation was a necessary evil, and one he used often to his advantage -- people in general didn't play with him, for good or for bad. Dorian felt a sigh hitch within Klaus' chest, and silence hovered again for a few moments before he realised they had to go. "'s time."

"Okay." Dorian pulled ruefully away, resigned to another day of torture. At least it would soon be over, with several days of peace on the other side to look forward to.

And beyond... beyond, who knew?

Klaus pulled open the bedroom door after unlocking it, and strode down the hall with Dorian at his side. "I'll have to get the Butler to have these decorations taken down..."

"Surely not before Christmas is even over!" Dorian exclaimed, his eyes rising in curiosity to the lushly green boughs.

"It's the twenty-sixth, Dorian," Klaus murmured as they turned into the main-hallway.

"Christmas is the one day which lasts nearly two weeks," Dorian reminded cheerily, his steps slowing as he noticed something hanging in the arch. Was it...? It was!

"Klaus..."

"Hm?" Klaus looked at Dorian, which required a slight downward and sideways tilt of his head to meet the blonde's eyes.

And Dorian was leaning up a little, and caught his mouth. Kisses were still such a new and good thing to Klaus -- and he was sure they always would be -- that he couldn't deny Dorian just a brief, brief moment. Risk never even flickered into his mind as he let his tongue delve briefly between Dorian's lips, a promise for when they were alone again, and hopefully with time on their hands.

"Mistletoe," the blonde whispered as he broke the kiss at last. "Who would dare to go against tradition?"

"I suppose not us," Klaus whispered back, looking hazily at Dorian for a moment before he started to pull back. "We don't want to be late."

Dorian was suddenly wood in his arms, the expression on his face one more stunned than Klaus had ever seen him wear before. Botched thefts, gunfights and ravenous wolves had never produced quite that level of horror in widened sapphire eyes.

And when Klaus turned to focus his own on what held the blonde's so raptly, he understood.

His father.

His father, the retired WWII Tank Commander, was standing in the middle of the long hall-way, staring.

Klaus had pulled mostly away from Dorian in the act of turning, but he still had a hand on the Earl's upper arm. And that hand was shaking terribly as Klaus met his father's eyes. Hard green meeting the waterier version, Klaus's expression a stiff and brave one as he slowly drew himself up into a perfect stance for *anything* that he might have to do. Be it run, or stand there and take abuse, or protect Dorian.

"Sir. Good morning." Normally strong voice shook a little, but he was reigning that in even as he spoke those few words. Ah, God, to be discovered so soon, and in such a manner!

His greeting produced no reaction in his father, save for a tick in the man's jaw as it clenched more tightly. Still no words as he finally moved, his steps measured and deliberate and all the more agonising for it.

"Klaus."

If it was possible to suffer a lifetime of disappointments, and then suffuse the essence of that suffering into a single utterance, Heinz had just accomplished it. Dorian was practically cowering behind the Major, to no purpose though, as he'd been rendered as inconsequential to the proceedings as the rug on the floor. Klaus was Heinz's son. Klaus was the one who had broken his every hope and aspiration for the family. Klaus was the one to explain, to accept the consequences.

"The parlour -- now."

"Yes, sir." Klaus' hand dropped from Dorian's arm, and for a moment, the sadness and misery that flickered in Klaus' eyes was palpable. He hated the way the old man could manipulate him, snap him into place with a words or a look, but he wanted to be approved of for once in his life. To finally reach an equal level with his father, or near it. Love and hate for a doddering fool who either didn't realise or didn't care what his tone of voice had done to his son.

The younger Eberbach was stiffly silent as he fell into pace beside his father, down what little was left of the hall, and then the steps. He didn't, couldn't even think of what was to come in the parlour. What his father would say or unleash, but he knew that Dorian hadn't done anything to deserve the old man's fury. Dorian had always been gay and exuberant about it -- he'd not disappointed his family as terribly as Klaus knew he had. So, jaw clenched and expression blank, Klaus entered the parlour after his father, and let him close the door.

And then waited to be addressed.

That address was a hellish eternity in coming. Upon entering the room, Heinz made for the window, where he stood at parade rest -- feet spread slightly and hands clasped so tightly behind his back that the knuckles turned white -- with his back to his son. His son the disgrace, who he couldn't bear the sight of at present.

When the words finally came it was as a subtle, masterfully orchestrated assault. No slow build to the fury of noise to come. He'd had time to line his arguments into regimented rows, sharpened and gleaming and ready to wound his son as he'd been wounded.

"If -- and I say this with no small bit of irony, given your unmarried and childless state -- you found yourself in my position, Klaus... What punishment would you proscribe for a wilful son, one who has fallen in his filial duties, who has failed as a representative of our proud and noble family, who has committed a crime against moral decency, has *sinned* against GOD?!?" The final words were launched from spittle-flecked lips as Heinz spun, truly looking at Klaus for the first time since the kiss.

"I'd probably kill him. Sir." Klaus said that automatically, and without hesitation -- yet with years of misery in his voice. Yes, he was a failure to the old man, a complete failure to the person he respected and hated most in the world. He didn't understand what it took from Klaus to admit at all to *Dorian* that he loved him -- the object of a frightening and unexplainable need. Now to be taken to task by his distant father... yet, the man was right. He'd failed, he'd failed in so many aspects that his father had wanted him to excel in.

"You would make such a suggestion," Heinz sneered. He hadn't done more than turn, as a step taken toward Klaus he knew would have ended in violence. Violence would have meant putting his hand to his son, and dirtying himself by association. "With sodomy already against your eternal soul, what is murder besides? No -- I would not kill..."

"We haven't done anything but kiss, sir," Klaus told his father in the closest he could get to a flat tone of voice. No emotion could slip free, no tears, no anger, nothing... emotion would be weakness, shown in someone already weakened in his father's eyes. He grasped at anything to keep himself anchored and steady, and the only thing available was the silence between the beats of his own heart -- racing, thrumming in his throat. "I know it's wrong, sir."

"Wilful, disobedient..." Pacing was a surprising display of agitation. But then, Klaus had not in all his years done something so awful as kiss another man. Of course his father would be more angered than he'd ever seen him. "If you were aware of the nature of your crime, WHY DID YOU DO IT? Why, Klaus -- explain to me..."

"I'm sorry, sir. I... can explain." Words barely spoken, half-whispered threads of air that barely drifted to his father's ear. "Dorian... Lord Gloria... I... I've known him since '77, sir. He's followed me all over the world declaring his love for me, proving it. He came here on Christmas eve, on a whim, and... I wanted to... feel loved."

It was finally too much for the infamous Eberbach temper. Two blurred strides across the parlour -- Klaus discovered that his father was still capable, despite his years, of striking with the speed and fury of a cobra. A slap snapped his head to the side, even as more raged words assaulted his ears. "LOVE?!? Your duties come before selfish emotions! If you feel you 'need' that weakness, feel it towards a woman!"

Klaus really hadn't expected to be slapped. And it took an effort of will to keep him from hitting back, knowing that one of his own blows *could* kill the old man. He just kept his head turned away, body stiff to attention, eyes wide and jaw trembling as he waited for the tirade to be done. And only when the lull came did he turn his head back even a little.

"I've tried, sir. I can't feel anything towards one." To be told that the confusing emotion playing havoc with Klaus's mind just then was simply idiocy was not what the man needed. "Were you weak when mother was alive, sir?" Deadly, deadly ground to touch upon, and he knew it well. As a child, he hadn't dared to mention or ask about her -- because when he had, he'd either been told to go to his room or met with a silence then a change of topic.

"How DARE you bring the memory of your dead mother into the filth of this discussion!" Almost, Heinz threw another blow. His hand was poised, and certainly in years past he wouldn't have hesitated. But there was something new in Klaus' eyes, which he couldn't place, would only realise much later had frightened him.

He spun back into his pacing, delivering from between painfully clenched teeth, "If by your own confession you cannot feel love for a woman, you could never understand what it is to respect the mother of your son. You *will* understand that love is not necessary for a fulfilling life. You will marry, my son. A woman of my choosing, and you will produce an heir, if I have to be present as you take her on your wedding night!"

The very fate that Klaus feared most. A sham of a life, a miserable existence where he hated himself every step of the way, and wished it had never happened, that he'd never even learned an inkling of what it was like to be with Dorian, to feel wanted and loved, to love back, even a little... But to keep honour for his family, and do what was right and expected of him.

Or, he could say no. Ruin family, still be miserable with the knowledge of what he'd done, the failures and wrongs he'd committed...

"I refuse to live a false life, sir," he started, through a clenched jaw and gritted teeth, eyes shifting dangerously between flat as glass and glittering misery.

"You... refuse?" Heinz's voice was not fiery for once. Merely curious, as if he was expecting to be told he'd misheard. "You defy me -- your father?"

"I will not do any woman the injustice of marrying them when I do not care for them," Klaus said, finally turning his head completely around to look at his father properly. "Yes, sir. I will continue to see to my duties at work, and anything else you expect of me, but I cannot do that. Sir."

"You would let your selfishness destroy the family...? Or is the burden of an heir to fall to my shoulders again? I am an old, old man, Klaus, but not so old that I cannot replace you."

"Would an illegitimate suit your purposes, sir?" Klaus asked him stiffly.

"If it has the proper number of limbs, squeals for its mother's breast when it's hungry, and can be legally given the Eberbach name -- yes!" Finally, some sense was seeping past his son's disobedience!

The fact... that his father would agree to such an idea shocked Klaus more than his face showed. "There is no honour in that. Replace me, then. I have always known, sir, that you'd replace me when I disappointed you. But I will not allow myself to be responsible for a child I do not want raise. I will not..." Another dangerous glitter in Klaus' eyes, and his father caught sight of Klaus's hand clenching momentarily into a fist. "I will not send another Eberbach boy to boarding school with the weight of family honour on his shoulders. I cannot impose my own life on another human being."

It was as if Klaus' words had aged the old man a decade. Whatever furious strength had been sustaining Heinz fled his body in a rush, leaving him stooped and withered. Or perhaps it wasn't simply that the strength was gone. There was an additional weight on him now, wasn't there? Worry over the family's future, hurt for a disappointment of a son. Hurt that that son had inflicted with the calculated malice of a few words.

He couldn't look at Klaus, couldn't force himself to meet the eyes so like his own. Heinz had gone so long without facing cowardice that he did not recognise his motives as he side-stepped Klaus, heading for the door. "Then... perhaps you should not have disappointed me, my son."

And then he was through the door, his steps echoing unsteadily down the hall. He would spend not a moment longer under this roof than was necessary.

What he hardly expected was, when in his room packing, to hear his son's heavy knocking on the door. Three raps, and when he didn't answer, Klaus's military foot-falls echoing off down the hall-way.

He'd thought it safe to go down the hall -- that fag of a Brit wasn't anywhere to be seen, though his car hadn't left -- and it was safe until he reached the stairs. Where Klaus was sitting, coatless amidst the snow, looking back at him.

"I'm sorry, sir, that I'm such a failure. I've tried to be a proper son. I'm sorry."

Not sorry enough to atone for his failures, as Heinz would have pointed out, had he been able to gather the will to speak. Such an effort, all for what? Klaus would not change his mind, he saw that now.

Locked in silence, he stumbled down the stairs to his waiting car, paying Klaus no more heed than had he been a piece of decorative statuary.

Which he might have been, for all that he didn't move for at least the next twenty minutes. When his father found his chauffeur, he heard the car peel out of the drive, and then the silence.

He'd fought it back hard since Dorian had arrived in the house, refused to let it's tempting swells enfold him again. He couldn't manage it anymore. The fucking bastard that was his father was going to replace him at the first chance he had. Negate completely years of a strained existence to please him and to do what was right for the family.

Dorian found him there some time later, emotionless and still as a statue. That explained why Klaus hadn't responded to his hesitant calls, and why he'd been unable to find the man in a quick sweep of the house. It had been difficult to miss the elder Eberbach's hasty departure, but while relieved that he was gone, Dorian was afraid to find what damage he'd left behind.

"Klaus...? Didn't you hear me calling?"

He was sitting dead centre in the middle of the stairway, one elbow on a knee to support the hand that held his chin, the other hand unmoving from where it rested across his lap. His right cheek bore a sharp hand-sized welt, and he didn't even look at Dorian when the man spoke to him.

He couldn't. He'd had all that time to dwell on both his failures as a son, and the complete uselessness of his life. Not his job -- it was a worthy goal, and he loved it. Would always love it, ups and downs. But the habits that had been ingrained into him, life-style, the quirks and attitudes that caused him so much trouble... why? What good did they do him now that he'd been all but disowned. The promptness that his father so appreciated did what? Pissed off people! The ingrained hatred and attending violence towards anything that wasn't straight and German did what?

Moulded towards being a perfect Eberbach, a perfect son. He hadn't been, but the moulding stayed even after being abandoned as a waste of effort. Now there was just silence to grasp onto, an imaginary something that couldn't exist with the carpet so thoroughly pulled out from under him.

The welt in itself was awful -- worse than anything Klaus had ever done to Dorian in a fit of Eroica-induced anger -- and if it was any indication of how the talk had gone...

"Klaus, love..." Dorian felt painfully ineffectual, a fly trying to comfort a brick wall, but he sat anyway at Klaus's back, resting his forehead wearily against the chilled solidity. At least there he could pretend Klaus wasn't making every effort not to look at him. "Oh, my love... I'm so sorry."

It wouldn't have been so bad if Klaus didn't know that all of his misery and loneliness suffered didn't have to be, and that it still would be, because those tendencies were so ingrained into who he was. Stiff, stern, uncaring, psychopathic German bastard who was strong enough to fire a .44 magnum one handed and performed flawlessly in missions. Could steal a new plane right off of a Soviet base, thwart KGB and local police world-wide, save a world summit...

But he couldn't live his own life. Would never be able to, even when the fucking bastard went and found some woman to bear a proper Eberbach to carry on the name. Some small part of him would always hope to be accepted back for all that he hated the man, and his father never would.

Dorian's tender words fell on nearly deaf ears, gaining only a twitch of movement and half a backwards glance. And in that glance, Klaus looked more tired and defeated than he'd looked during their entire mission of seven days, back in September, or even the horrible escapade in Alaska where Misha had beaten him completely senseless.

"Klaus, Klaus..." Nothing was getting through to the man, Dorian realised. Even touch was useless against the perfect, impenetrable shell Klaus had constructed. Stronger than the plated armour of a tank, it held all of his emotion tightly inside, good and bad, to roil and brew like a storm at sea.

Dorian's arms crept around his stomach then, hopeful though producing no reaction. Neither did the soft breathy words Dorian offered with painful sincerity. But he would have felt awkward, just sitting there in silence... "I remember clearly the day my mother left. She packed my sisters into the car, and just drove away. I... remember that Father wasn't sad at all. He took me inside, and we did all the naughty things Mother had never wanted to let us do. We ate a whole tub of ice cream for dinner, and watched TV with our feet on the coffee table... I didn't realise until later, when I caught him crying in the garage, that what had happened was for real, and that it would change my life..."

"He's going to replace me."

A barely voiced whisper, strained and struck through with the unbearable agony of learning that you were a complete *nothing* in the eyes of your only parent.

"You're the best man in the world," Dorian told him, his heart a knot of unshed tears and sympathy. "You're irreplaceable."

For a moment, finally freed of his contemplation, Klaus ducked his head forwards, covering his eyes with his hand, glad that Dorian couldn't see half held-back tears. His free hand moved only a fraction, latching atop one of the arms Dorian had slid around him. Holding on tightly, trying to find a new anchor without the solace of silence. "I am replicable. I'm a fucking failure."

"When measured against whose standards?" Now that Klaus was responding, after a matter, Dorian didn't dare let him stop. If he withdrew completely... What they had between them was still too new. It might not survive.

"The only standards my family has." Klaus leaned back minutes, clutching a little tighter with one chilled hand at Dorian's arm. It was all such a waste! Everything he'd been raised to belief in had proved, In the end, to come from the mouth of a complete hypocrite...

"You've never cared for others' opinions of you. Why does his matter for so much?" His own mother counted him one of the largest mistakes of her life. As far as she was concerned, her efforts at childbirth had stopped at three, one short of a son. But Dorian had had years to adjust to her contempt, and had been a rebellious child even at thirteen.

"He's my father." Even though he hated him so thoroughly in that moment, he wanted to do anything he *could* to get his forgiveness. Klaus sighed, and pulled Dorian a bit closer, still not looking, not moving much at all. "I've tried... my entire life to make him happy with me. Or proud. Anything." Anything other than irritating distrust and sniping.

Dorian pressed as close as he could, his arms tight around Klaus now, trying, though he knew it impossible, to take Klaus' despair into himself. Anything to lighten its burden even a little, and goodness knows he handled such emotions better than his love.

"If it helps to clarify any," he began hesitantly, "I... spent a very long time trying to gain similar things from a similar man. Even anger was better than nothing, and his rare compliments made my every effort worthwhile. Do you know... I think he loved me all along, and simply did not know how to begin to show it."

Him. Dorian... was talking about him, wasn't he?

Which meant he was just like his father. As cruel and hurtful as the fucking old man was, and that was another stunning realisation, wasn't it? He knew the alphabets feared and respected him, but...

"Have I ever been that cruel?"

"Cruel...?" Curiosity surged through Dorian, though he couldn't bring himself to ask yet. /What did he do, Klaus? What did he say?/

"You are honourable and just. I could not love a cruel man, Klaus."

"Thank you." Even if it was just a lie, Klaus needed to hear that.

He didn't say anything for a few more moments, but sat up more, pulling himself together before he stood up. His expression, as he offered one shaking hand to Dorian, was completely closed off -- nothing more than a little trickle of sadness showing on his face. "Have I shown you the tree in the ballroom, Dorian?"

"You haven't." Dorian took the offered hand demurely. For a while longer he would let Klaus deal with this in his own manner. But before the day was out, Dorian would try his own brand of coping with misery.

It was very odd for Klaus to walk up the stairs, into the house, and then the hall while holding Dorian's hand -- an open defiance of God and all of his heritage except for that pansy in the pumpkin pants. And it felt good. Why could something that felt so pleasant be considered so horrible?

"I'll turn it on so you can see."

Dorian didn't want to remind Klaus that he'd seen the tree on the night of the ball. Seen it from a distance, and while being danced in dizzying circles; his mind had been on Klaus that evening and nothing else. A chance to appreciate the tree up close would be nice.

And since it didn't seem to be leaping into Klaus' mind...

Klaus led the way down a shorter hall, and then pushed open the double-doors with one hand and his fore-arm -- he wasn't about to let go of Dorian's hand. He needed something stable, that wasn't going to shift on him suddenly.

Two light switches were hit in quick succession -- one that plunged the entire sprawl of a room into darkness, and then the second, that brought up the tree's lights. A huge twelve footer -- at least! -- that filled up a good corner of the room, radiating off a glinting dazzling brightness from at least a hundred pin-points. The glow and shine of a little tinsel added tastefully, and the light reflecting from the intricate glass bulbs only added to the allure of it.

Even an atheist, it seemed, could draw pleasure from the scene. Beside him Dorian gave a little gasp, his hand tightening momentarily in Klaus'. "It's lovely..."

Both atheists drew pleasure from it, and Klaus guided and pulled Dorian deeper towards it. " 's what I say before the ball starts every year. Dominic's always done a good job with it."

"Such an awful lot of work for a grumpy old butler," the blonde mused, happy to be led, right up to the edge of the dark green skirt. "Next year, we'll have to do it ourselves."

Next year.... Dorian still wanted there to be a next year... The thought of that sent a shiver through his heart -- but not a bad shiver. Could it actually work?

"If we're not on a mission, yeah," he agreed off-handedly, but Dorian caught a sliver of the spark that had risen in Klaus' eyes as he looked up the tree, eyes drifting from ornament to ornament. "Are you hungry? The servants probably need to be told 's safe to come out."

His offer of next year had been tentatively accepted! Even better was the flash in dark-softened jade eyes, which had been dead for most of the morning. Dorian squeezed Klaus' hand again, not intending to let it go for some time. "If they heard the car leave as I did, I'm certain they know it's safe."

Breakfast would be nice. Coffee was no longer a pressing want, thanks to the adrenaline still coursing though his bloodstream at being caught. Klaus hadn't said anything about that -- that it had been his impulse under the mistletoe that had sparked the whole awful affair. Dorian was going to snatch down that sprig before the decorations could be demolished, and keep it as a memento.

Klaus stayed still, looking up at the tree for a moment more. Then he looked straight ahead again, expression flat and bland once more. Images and cuts of the argument kept racing through his mind. And every last one of them was shoved down quickly. He didn't want to think about it, didn't ever want to think about it again.

"Let's go."

Dorian was, he decided, very grateful for coffee after all. It supplanted the fading adrenaline in his veins, giving him the needed kick of awareness even the chill of the front steps had not been able to. It was still several hours earlier than he was accustomed to waking.

Companionable silence had held until breakfast, where caffeine and Dorian's natural inclination to chatter had provided easy conversation. On a whim the thief had overtaken the kitchen, loathe to spend another meal in the stern dining room, and he and Klaus ate at the neat little table while Dominic hovered and fretted and generally disapproved of his domain being overrun.

Klaus just didn't give a shit anymore. His mood was grim, despite trying to answer Dorian's little comments, the occasional near flicker of a smile or glint in his eyes before it faded down again. It was the sort of non-expressiveness that occurred only in the very direst of situations in missions. When there was possibility of death or failure. But Klaus' new intensity seemed to be on just... being, which was strange and painful.

He hadn't realised how cold it had been outside, or how long he'd been out there, until he'd gotten into the house and sat down. In a warm chair, in a hot kitchen. He'd shivered a little until the Nescafe had gotten into his system and now just waited for something else to happen.

There was no telling how long Klaus might remain in such a mood. For a while Dorian could be patient, prodding gently in the hopes that Klaus would break his depression on his own. Drastic measures might come later, but he preferred optimism over contemplating exactly what those might be.

So when conversation faltered near the end of the meal, he took to making suggestions instead. "Would you mind showing me around, Klaus? I haven't ever seen the house when I'm not sneaking in the shadows."

Another guided tour? He'd done one just the day before... "Sure." Misery flickered in his expression for a split second, memory stinging for a moment as he stood up from the little table. Ah, but showing people the castle was one familial duty he could do right, wasn't it? "What do you want to see?"

Too late Dorian realised that the request was one of the worst possible ones he could have made. What was wrong with him? Usually adept at reading social situations, there was something about private arguments which made him uncomfortable, and the one he'd partially witnessed and was now exploring the aftermath had been particularly bad. He simply did not know how to handle other people's misery.

He was going to have to learn, very quickly.

"I... want to see all the places you like best, of course." A slim-fingered hand touched Klaus' arm.

Like best. Was there anything Klaus could think of that he 'liked best'?

The touch to his arm was aiding, and he let Dorian touch him, despite Dominic's obvious unease with the contact, and quickly averted eyes. Fucking butler could follow his old man to Switzerland for all he cared just then... "The gun room."

That hand trembled lightly for a moment, while Dorian fought down a twinge of unease. For Klaus, he was willing to brave just about anything, a room full of guns not the least horror. "The gun room it is," he managed in a cheery voice.

The room Dorian was led to was not quite what he expected.

For some reason, the image of an underground arsenal was in his mind -- not the niche with a desk in the corner, polishing clothes and power bags settled neatly atop it. The walls were panelled wood, a warm colour, and in every direction there were different guns settled carefully on the walls. A case against the wall was closed tightly, probably bearing the more precious of them.

Pistols and rifles from every age imaginable, all in pristine condition. Some had enamelled detailing, so among the metallic gleams of the small room there were glints of colour, crests and functional decorations on nearly all of them.

There wasn't a gun Dorian had seen which could inspire his romantic notions. But then, he'd never seen guns like half those in Klaus' collection. Trance-like he moved to the wall, not daring to touch any of the gleaming weapons which hung there, but the panelled wood between them, vibrantly glossy beneath his fingers.

"I like it, Klaus, very much." No small part, he was slowly realising, because the scents of the room were those which hung around his beloved Major. Machine oil and powder and something sharp. A metallic smell, if steel could have a scent.

"It's my favourite room," Klaus murmured, having closed the door behind him, and stepped into the room a little. He knew the statistics and history of every gun Dorian lingered by. They were organised by their date of manufacture, from intricate old flint locks to percussion chambers, over to the modern weapons that Klaus used himself while on missions.

And just above the desk, barely mounted at all, was a .44 Magnum. Klaus stood there for a moment, gaze lingering on that.

The older guns Dorian decided he actually liked, with their engraving and gilt and fancifully carved stocks. They were as much works of art as weapons. He wouldn't mind properly learning to shoot with pieces of such beauty in his hands.

"This... Thank you for sharing this with me, Klaus." The close room was intensely more personal than Klaus' Spartan bedroom had been, and had the feel of a special sanctuary. It was not a place Eroica would ever be welcome, or Dorian even, not so many days ago.

And perhaps it was a sanctuary for Klaus -- guns didn't give him trouble, stress him or harass him like humans could and would. Guns were the solace of cool steel, something that he controlled and controlled well.

"You can touch them, if you like. None are loaded. They all still work." Short phrases directed to Dorian while Klaus wasn't looking at him. He'd hefted the Magnum from its rest and was studying it before letting it settle into his hand. Most of the calluses on his right hand matched that particular gun perfectly. An old, reliable friend indeed in that gun.

"I'd prefer not to," Dorian answered politely, turning back to discover Klaus with the largest and scariest gun of all held fondly in his hand. "And I would... rather prefer you didn't either. You know how guns unsettle me, Klaus. Hanging on walls, I can at least pretend they're good for something other than killing."

Held fondly, and Klaus sat down at the desk, reaching for a polishing cloth. It looked like it was an action that was familiar for him -- and probably was, from the sharp gleam the weapon had. "I'll join you in a moment, Dorian."

Almost, Dorian told him to give it up, that the gun already held such a sheen that any more polishing would likely wear a hole in the barrel. What stopped him was the easing of tension from Klaus' face. Habits were comforting, he realised, and it couldn't hurt to let the man indulge in one of his obvious favourites.

"Where will we go next, Klaus?" he prodded, moving for the door. "Outside? Shall I fetch our coats?"

"Sure."

An almost mechanical reply, as Klaus turned it in his hand, starting to work carefully on the detailing. It was engrossing for him, the act of polishing his treasured signature weapon. No-one else quite seemed to understand what was so appealing about weapons -- that their worth and reliability deserved more respect than most got.

Polishing it didn't take much time, though, since he'd gone through every piece in the room meticulously on the twenty-fourth. It left him alone in the room, Dorian gone to find their coats, he with his gun held in his hands, looking for a moment, right down the sighting line.

He didn't even realise the automatic reaction to load it. Put a single bullet in, then the clip, locked in place with a most satisfying sound.

The question was, what to do with it now? A loaded, ready piece of precision equipment and nothing at all to shoot...

That thought bounced through his mind for a few moments, contemplating going into the backyard and taking out a statue or two, before a shift made in the chair brought up another. The muzzle of the gun brushed his temple, startling him minutely, but...

Cold steel. Dorian's touch frightened him more than anything, but the touch of steel against his skin was a familiar, unfearable thing. The press of metal to his temple was assuring and for a moment, the barrel seemed to whisper things to him.

One press of the trigger, and Iron Klaus would be gone forever. The shame and horror of the past few hours would fade, wouldn't they? He'd die, the horribly tragic death of a young man who'd been so devoted to duty as to not yet find the time to provide the family with an heir. His father would *have* to produce another, and it wouldn't smear Klaus' name at all, then, would it? He could save the family honour so much trouble if he just...

"I've fetched mine from upstairs Darling, but I just realised I don't know where your coat closet is." Dorian nudged the door open and backed into the room, still chattering, his arms full of a heavy, furred garment. "But I thought we could fetch it on the way-

"Klaus!"

The gun didn't fall from Klaus' hands, just stayed still against his temple, despite Klaus' look of a deer caught in the head-lights of a car. Grey-green eyes were wide, lips a little parted in statement.

Those eyes told the story his lips could not, embellishing it with terrible detail. The coat had fallen from Dorian's hands, and somehow he managed to move past it without his feet becoming tangled in the heavy folds. He didn't remember asking his legs to move at all, nor his arms to raise and pry the Magnum from Klaus' fingers. The first time he'd willingly touched the monstrosity, and for once his hands didn't shake.

"What in the-" No, it was entirely too obvious what Klaus had been doing.

"Are you mad?" No better. Dorian winced, though waited for an answer.

Klaus let Dorian have the gun, and let him put it on the desk. He could almost hear his father's voice accusing him of failing even at *that*. And Dorian had seen. The sharp disappointment in Dorian's voice, the accusation there...

Startled expression slid into pained -- thankfully, though, not that flat nothingness. "Apparently."

"I won't- I won't accept that." Now he was shaking, violently, and not just because he'd handled the gun's dreadful weight.

"You said it." Klaus stood up then, feeling sick and dizzy. Hell, nothing was going right. His father had tossed him to the side, Dorian probably was scared of him worse than ever... Fine. He'd go back to the office, where everything would be normal there, at least. Even if he had to camp out at his desk until the new year.

"I didn't mean it. I'm sorry I said it. Klaus..." Fear was in Dorian's eyes, veneering the surface of clear sapphire like a layer of ice. It was the fear of concern though, for Klaus and a little for himself. Seeing a gun pressed to his love's temple was not the most comfortable way of learning just how integral a part of his life Klaus had become.

"You said it." Hurt was clear in Klaus' voice, and outrage that Dorian would even *think* such a thing, let alone say it aloud. He was probably the most rational person on the planet. Mad?

His eyes slid shut for a moment, and when he looked at Dorian, it was with hurt and a fury Dorian had seldom seen. "Leave me alone."

"So you can properly finish the job?" A lash of cruelty like none Klaus had ever seen from Dorian. More than fear was in his eyes now, and more emotions than those were crowding his chest, talking up so much space he could barely draw a breath around them.

The hissed words were hardly expected, though Klaus used his anger to bolster himself against them. It seemed every shield he had was being shoved up as he met Dorian's gaze -- except, none of those shields reached his eyes. In them, the thief could see pure misery. The weight of disappointing the two people he'd ever bothered to put on a good presentation for, the weight of ruining his family and the possibility of being kicked out of the schloss... Nothing left in his old world but his job, and that was something that wouldn't take him anywhere but into the field, and back, into the field, and back...

"Yes."

Dorian edged a step closer, thirsting for the honest misery in Klaus' eyes, but unsure how to reach it. "Are you prepared to shoot me as well? It would be faster and kinder than breaking my heart."

But Klaus just stood there -- he couldn't answer that question! Dorian... he'd never been able to kill the thief, even after the pope fiasco. Now was no different.

Finally, Klaus sat back down again, heavily. "I can't deal with this."

He didn't see the thief's eyes flutter briefly shut, a silent thanks to a god he didn't believe in, that his judgement of Klaus had been sound. Today was not the day he'd have chosen as his last.

"Klaus..." There wasn't much room between the desk and Klaus' chair, but Dorian tossed himself to his knees there anyway, his head settling in the German's lap. "I know you, love. I know you're strong enough. You don't think you are, but I'll show you that you're wrong. Please, give me the chance."

One hand was near to Dorian's head and settled carefully into golden locks of hair, just resting with his fingers buried in them. "He's probably going to disown me," Klaus told him in a slow, measured tone of voice. The possibility of that wouldn't be final until the word was given -- until then, his life's position was in limbo. "My... entire life I've been groomed to be head of the Eberbach family. I've worked to serve only my family and country..."

Which was wrong, completely wrong, though finding a gentle way to explain that to Klaus was proving difficult. "Will you laugh at me if I suggest that it is past time you did something selfish? There is a lot more to life than meeting others' expectations, Klaus."

"My *own* expectations have been to properly serve my family and country." Klaus' voice grew a bit tireder, and certainly quieter.

"Are they yours because you genuinely wish to fulfil them, or did you inherit them?" He was still struggling to understand Klaus, a necessity before he could even begin to aid the man.

But the hand in his hair moved a little, started to stroke gently, and that was nothing if not a good sign -- especially since moments before that hand had been lovingly pressing a gun against Klaus' temple. "I want to be able to do my family justice, to be upright and honourable..."

"And you will not believe me if I say you are already those things." Because Klaus would not believe such words unless they were delivered from the mouth of his father.

"I can't do what I should."

"It's called being human, love." Warm breathe seeped through Klaus' pant leg, just as Dorian's words were slowly trickling into his mind. Even if he didn't really hear a thing Dorian was saying, at the very least the tone in which they were said was comforting.

"Being human..." Klaus echoed that quietly, hand still moving through Dorian's hair. Almost as if it was a fanciful notion he'd never stumbled across before in his life.

"Care to give it a try?" Dorian lifted his head a little, just to smile at Klaus, before settling it back with a soft sigh. Without waiting on an answer he added, "I think you are. If you hadn't been willing to accept the consequences of everything a union with me stands for, things would have gone very differently in the library."

"Which time?" Klaus asked quietly. Where they'd covered for each other about the holiday ball, or where they'd done things that made Klaus' head spin.

"You know which time." And to refresh his memory, Dorian turned his head enough to press a light kiss to the inside of Klaus' thigh.

A breathy gasp more than paid for his troubles that morning, and the feel of Klaus' hand losing it's pace through his hair. "You make me... interested in things. You..." Kept missions from becoming a terrible monotony, added a clear flaw and challenge to his daily life.

"Yes." He almost got the other man to laugh, *almost* -- so close he could feel the little upwards hitch that went with that utterance. "If anything happened to you, I... would probably take a long sabbatical."

His knees had long since past aching, and though Klaus' lap was a marvellous place to rest, Dorian now deemed occasional eye contact a needed thing. He slowly pulled himself to his feet, and held out a hand to the sitting man. "A sabbatical is something I'm supposed to drive you to when I'm around. You're not supposed to need one when I'm gone."

Hand accepted, and Klaus stood smoothly, unable to not keep eye contact with Dorian. "Most the times I've been on sabbatical, you have been gone," Klaus reminded him.

"Coincidence -- though probably a lucky one. If I'd been around, I would have followed you." Because he heard his voice begin to shake, and because the prickle behind hid eyes was unmistakable, Dorian quickly drew Klaus into a tight embrace.

"Idiot. Don't scare me like that ever again."

"'m sorry." If that had been heard at all, or if it was just a hallucination, Dorian would never know. What he was sure of was that Klaus held him tight in turn.

"'ve never heard you call *me* idiot before," Klaus mumbled.

Very gently Dorian's shoulders were shaking, in laughter, or tears, or most likely some combination of the two. "It's never been appropriate before."

"I suppose not." Klaus bundled Dorian all the closer now, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he pressed his cheek against Dorian's hair. "I've never had to... deal with things like this... 's never been a problem."

The blonde bundled in his arms gave a light sniffle. "Things like...?" Like Klaus' father, or Dorian himself?

"Figuring out what's been 'wrong' with me, my father... it all just happened too fast..." Blow after blow, just left him reeling and without footing at all. Only Dorian. The Britain who was somehow the root and the solution to his problems.

"You've been lucky in that so far," Dorian told him, thinking back on the events in his life that at the time had seemed to shatter the normal course of things. "And... I think now you'll be given a little peace to sort through.. everything."

"'s not like there's anything I can do about any of it," Klaus told him, pulling back a little from the embrace but not letting go.

"There's *always* something you can do." By Dorian's stern gaze, it was evident he was recalling again the Magnum's muzzle pressed against Klaus' temple. "It's choosing the right thing that's difficult."

"There's nothing I can do about the old man," Klaus clarified, trying to not register Dorian's hurt over the incident short minutes ago.

"So forget him, and whatever horrible things he said. He *is* old, Klaus, and before much longer he'll be gone, just like my father. It would be nice if you were to learn to live for yourself before that ability becomes a need."

Dorian just didn't *understand* that he was failing his family by not producing an heir, and living the 'proper' life... And living for himself? Hadn't he been doing that all along? Or was it something so completely foreign to him that he couldn't even grasp it? "Dorian..." He sighed tightly, eyes closing again. Headache. The horrible head-ache that had been threatening him since he was in the parlour stopped threatening to descend and did descend. A hard throb at the point just behind his jaw, and at the nape of his neck.

"Let's not go outside -- I want to... relax somewhere."

He'd seen Klaus in pain enough times to recognise it courting the man now. Softly in sympathy Dorian asked, "Where? I would like that too."

Jaw clenched for a moment, Klaus thought -- not the parlour, not his bedroom, not any of the main rooms...

"The library."

If nothing else, that location suited Dorian's aesthetic sense. Irony always did... "Will you go ahead and wait for me? There are some things I would like to fetch." A blanket, for one. Aspirin for Klaus, and perhaps some for himself as a preventative measure. And something warm to drink. He couldn't remember if the German cared for tea.

Nescafe might be a better substitute for Klaus just then.

Even though Klaus was being left to his own endeavours for a little while, at least it wasn't in a room full of weaponry. And the Britain could be sure that he'd given Klaus enough guilt to keep him from making another attempt at his own life.

Still, he did not care to leave Klaus alone for any time. He hurriedly gathered the other items after ordering drinks from the sulking Dominic, and was soon stepping quietly into the library.

Klaus was standing by a shelf, a slender yet big book, bound in blue leather, held in his hands. He turned from the shelf almost immediately, still holding the book. "You said... the last time we were here that you wanted to see a School Annual?"

"I do." It was hard to rein in his enthusiasm to a headache-friendly level. Heading for the couch, Dorian somehow managed to lose his shoes along the way, curling himself up at one end. "Come here and bring it with you?"

"What's that?" Klaus asked him languidly, walking over to sit beside him on the sofa, looking at the blanket and the aspirin bottle.

"Tools for fussing," Dorian informed him lightly, already busy draping the blanket over them both. "You're not allowed to protest, because I want to quite badly, and after the morning we've had, we're both entitled to it."

"Fussing?" A little quizzical, but... Klaus undraped his torso from the large blanket Dorian had procured who knows how, in an attempt to take off his suit-jacket and vest, uncuff his shirt and roll up the sleeves.

As soon as he was finished Dorian was pressing close again, murmuring, "That's the spirit. We could spend the rest of the day like this, you know. I wonder how your stuffy butler would react if you told him to serve dinner in here."

"I dun' care," Klaus sighed as he slid an arm around Dorian, and let the blonde have the book again. "I have a head-ache."

As if on cue, A soft knock was heard at the door. To be certain, Dominic would *never* enter this room or another again without being called first!

"Enter," Dorian did call, grinning at Klaus from a very small distance. "I'd guessed. Some coffee and aspirin ought to help." From somewhere he produced a pair of white pills.

"You know me pretty well," Klaus murmured, looking up as Dominic edged towards them. He settled a frustrated look on the man that was a mixture between complete dislike and 'I'm still the person you helped raise'.

"Your drinks." Steaming mugs were placed on the side table, Dominic's motions oddly not those of a man in a rush to complete his task and vacate the room with as much speed as possible. In fact, he lingered.

"Thank you, Dominic," Klaus sighed as he palmed the aspirin. Well, at least his butler hadn't tried to jump onto the back of his father's Benz when it had peeled out of the drive. There was something in that, at least.

Dominic had a frustrated expression as he mumbled some reply. It was the look of a man who has something on his mind he thinks worth saying, though knows it would be far overstepping his bounds to say it.

At the door though he could refrain no longer. "Sir...?"

"The Earl..." He gestured to Dorian helplessly. "It is not even setting a precedent for your family. Not everyone will disapprove."

Klaus was quiet for a moment, looking at Dominic before he said, "Who wouldn't?"

Dominic stared at him blankly, then recovered his tongue. "I... might not. It is a difficult notion to become accustomed to, but..." An uncharacteristic shrug, and the man fled.

Leaving Klaus to settle back down after picking up his coffee cup. "Huh."

Dorian gestured for his tea to be passed, delighting in the heat-soaked mug that Klaus delivered into his hands. He nestled in again, contemplating the butler's unexpected remarks, and Klaus' reaction to them.

It wasn't a dismissive reaction -- more along the lines of being completely surprised, yet satisfied. He'd always expected Dominic to always side with his father -- and for once... he wasn't. He wasn't quite siding with Klaus, but he wasn't taking the old man's word as law.

Later, Dorian decided, he would ask. For now he was happy to relax, snuggle and sip tea. "The yearbook? Will you show it to me?" After, there was always Klaus' gift to be read, and if an excuse to remain in the library's comfort after that was still necessary, Dorian would simply have to think of one.

It was a little uncomfortable to Klaus to even *have* that book, since he so thoroughly hated to dwell on himself for any period of time. "What do you want to see?"

"You. Small and adorable." Dorian pressed tea-warmed lips briefly to Klaus' chin.

"Then this would be the wrong book. 's my last year there," Klaus told him, opening the book for Dorian, skimming past the sports records pages to the pictures of students and then letting the earl look up 'Eberbach'. "Do you want me to get the other book?"

"In a while." The thought of moving was unbearable, given how comfortable Dorian was. "We can work our way backwards." A finger skimming the pages, finally Dorian's eye found a familiar face looking sternly out from his small square on the page. "Oh!"

There was very little difference between the picture on that page, and the man beside him now, except that the hair was shorter -- cut just like Z's, in fact. It was a strange reminder for Dorian that Klaus wasn't very old at all, and that neither was he.

"Oh, Klaus!" Forgetting in his excitement the German's lingering headache, Dorian pulled the book closer to his nose for a closer look. "So handsome! You've always been, haven't you?"

"I suppose," Klaus sighed, rubbing at his temple a little and taking another sip of coffee. At least he was comfortable while suffering his headache...

"And you don't look just like Z," Dorian sighed. Not even with the same haircut. "Z smiles sometimes, and blushes like a tomato when someone compliments him. I can't imagine the boy in the picture smiling."

Klaus looked a little offended by that. "I smiled sometimes!"

"But not for pictures." He didn't bother adding that it was likely Klaus hadn't smiled nearly often enough. "You were wonderful even then, Klaus."

"You must get some strange pleasure from doting on me," Klaus sighed with a frown, taking another sip of the coffee. "How?"

"Your eyes, I think, tell me so." Subtle grey on the page, instead of Klaus' vibrant green. But seeing just the picture, Dorian could have guessed their colour. "They're the eyes of someone very trustworthy. If I'd met you on the street, I would have fallen hopelessly in love with you."

"I would have clocked you." And he *had*, in fact, time and time again. "I got into more trouble for fighting then than I do now."

"I would have loved you more for it, and probably followed you home." Which was, unfortunately, true. Dorian wondered sometimes if his romantic nature didn't skirt him along the edge of masochism.

"Good thing you weren't in Germany then," Klaus said, on the edge of a joke with that as he moved a hand to skim it along the edge of the pages. "There's a picture of the Soccer Team towards the front."

There was a slip of pride in his voice as he said it, making Dorian take note. "You must have been a good athlete. Let me guess -- captain of the team?"

"Three years in a row." How could there be any question of Klaus' athleticism? He was strong, fast, determined and deadly -- that power had to have begun somewhere!

"Much better than my accomplishments as a child," Dorian told him, smiling at the other picture of Klaus, standing front and centre in a group of players, knee raised, his foot on a ball. "Ah, so that's what made you smile."

"You stole priceless art-work at that age -- I just played soccer for a boarding school." In the picture though, it was unmistakable -- Klaus had a tiny, if slightly superior, smirk on his face as he glared out at the camera.

"The boy in this photograph would probably knock you down, to hear you belittle the accomplishment he is so obviously proud of." With gentle hands the blonde closed the yearbook. "But then, the first 'priceless artworks' I stole were love letters out of my sister's dresser drawer. I laugh now, but then I was so pleased with myself..."

"You can be more pleased with yourself now, though, hm?" Klaus pressed, watching Dorian close the annual. "What I'm proud of now carry no mementoes to look back on."

The wry smile became crooked besides. "You will be surprised to hear I am most proud when I've completed a difficult heist. The prize is always secondary to the sense of accomplishment. And... best is when it's a contract job."

"Why?" He's always known Dorian loved the Hunt and Capture more than the art -- else, how could he part so easily with the art he stole?

Why else? "Because those jobs I did for you, Klaus. Not myself."

"And how would that make it best for you?" He couldn't understand, but if he *could* bridge that gap between them, maybe the thief could understand why he needed to uphold his family...

"It just... is." Dorian's hands left the yearbook to clasp one of Klaus'. "I had no other way of gaining your attention, much less your admiration. But even you can appreciate a job well done, Klaus. Every tiny glimmer of respect you gave me I cherished."

Klaus curled his hand gently around the one under his palm. "That... is exactly why I've worked so hard to serve my family," he murmured. Because a job well-done was the only way to get a shred of anything other than stern stiffness from the old man. "But... I respected you more than I showed you."

Just that small movement of Klaus' hand, and a few desperately craved words, and Dorian's heart sang. "I... appreciate you telling me that. But I won't settle for respect any more." There was something far more unlikely and difficult he wanted now from Klaus.

Something Klaus had already faced the facts of.

Silence settled, but Dorian didn't dare break it, because Klaus was obviously preparing something to say, or a way to say it. And it would either lift his heart to new levels of joy, or shatter it.

"I know. He... Father slapped me after I told him I wanted to feel what love was like." And the mark was still there on his cheek, no longer a welt but a faint bruise. "With you."

Dorian touched it now, the gentlest possible flutter of wondering fingertips. So often he'd seen Klaus bruised and battered from missions, and been unable to offer even the most basic of sympathy. And now, with all else that had happened, he'd forgotten even an ice-pack for the reddened mark.

An ice pack. Klaus had just as much admitted his love, and all Dorian could think about was an ice pack. It was all he dared think about. The rest was too longed-for, too wonderful to be believed.

A sigh escaped Klaus, and he closed his eyes for a flicker of a moment. "Tell me, Dorian, that you want to do this. That you will do this, help me learn this..." That he'd have enough patience to handle teaching Klaus things that should have been element in most humans and had been taken from Klaus through careful up-bringing and breeding.

There was no hesitation. "I want this, Klaus. I want you, for good or ill, and all the amazing things you're capable of making me feel." The whole gauntlet, from love right on down to frustration and worse.

"I'm glad," Klaus murmured, leaning close to press a tentative kiss to Dorian's cheek, "that the entire scene in the parlour wasn't for nothing, then."

Sometime, he would ask about what had transpired behind those doors. Not now though, nor for a long time. "Not for nothing." The next kiss was Dorian's, lingering at the edge of Klaus' mouth. "I can only hope I'm worth your trouble."

"You are." He savoured that touch, before shifting more, trying to escape the head-ache. "I think... 'm going to lay out and rest."

Dorian shifted to the floor, making room for Klaus' rather lengthy legs. "May I join you, like the other night?"

No response until Klaus was stretched out, aching head pillowed on one arm twisted back behind his head. "If you'd like to."

Dorian was beneath the blanket and curled against Klaus' side before the invitation had even been finished. "You never have to ask that again, love. I will always 'like'."

"Always?" It just felt like there should be times that such touch would be too much, and become something that needed to be backed away from, like any indulgence. Yet, he didn't feel like backing away from Dorian yet or at all, despite that touching the other man, laying with him like that pricked to life a hundred powerful sensations. A few of which promised to over-ride his headache.

"Well... Maybe not *always*. But damned near it, especially until the newness has worn off." Dorian had been though enough infatuations to recognise when one had the power to stick.

An arm slid around his waist gently, curling him a little closer. "I don't think the new-ness will ever wear off for me."

Lips nibbled his ear, paired with a teasing whisper. "I dare you to say the same ten years from now."

The tight shudder and exhale of breath proved just how very new it still was for Klaus. "Remember to ask me in... ohhh, that long." He was sure that if the strange foreign feeling ever stopped, he could do nothing but savour it, basking in Dorian's golden radiance of warmth and laughter. "'m glad you came."

"I will not forget." No more kisses -- he was trying to relax Klaus, not boil the blood in his veins -- but the softness of breath remained, and the reassurance of Dorian's heart beat so near Klaus' own. "It is something I would regret almost as much as not having come. I'm glad that I did, too, love. Very glad."

There was comfort in just laying there with the other man curled against him. Soon...soon he would have to face the fact that he wanted to do more with Dorian than just hold him and that he was completely amateur when it came to that 'more'. But for now, he didn't have to think at all; just let his head-ache fade itself out, maybe take a quick nap to push that process along...

And Dorian would be there to guard his sleep.