When Klaus drifted into consciousness again, it was to find himself in a suspiciously large room. Large rooms in general were often bad, because it meant that there were more people expected than just he and Dorian.

He and Dorian... heavily cuffed each, wrists to ankles. In fact, the entire room, as his gaze let him focus once more, seemed to hold more chains and strange objects... "Lord Gloria..."

The thief's golden head remained on the floor where he lay, not lifting or moving, curls spread wildly around where his cap had been pulled off and his hair had been released. He slept still, though it seemed obvious that it shouldn't be much longer 'til they were both awake. It was cold enough in the room that waking seemed almost an act of self-defense.

Stasi.

So the mission now was a complete compromise, except what they'd managed to get so far. They would have to think of a way, quickly, to escape before they were interrogated. This was why he hated having a civilian on mission with him! Twice the risk, all his responsibility!

"Mmn..." The sound of Dorian stirring became obvious, the Briton trying to move and whimpering softly when he realized that he couldn't. "Nnn..."

Dorian would have to pick himself free. Then Klaus could be free, and together they would overpower their captors. "Lord Gloria -- wake up!" He shifted nearer the man, to nudge at his side best he could.

"Klaus?" It was a whisper of a question, sounding groggy. "Where...?"

"We're prisoners," he said shortly, nudging more gently now. "I need you to free yourself."

Coming around a bit more, Dorian shifted. "I can't reach my pocket," he answered shortly, trying to clear the fog from his mind. "They should be in the left one. D'you think you might manage it...?"

"I'll try," he uttered, shifting closer as the thief sat up a little. Right in front of the man, but hand movement was limited by the ties to his ankles, so he had to shift nearer yet, to get a chance to dig into the man's left pocket.

Nothing.

"Did you find them?" Dorian said softly, afraid of the answer.

"No." Now he had to work backwards, freeing his hands, shifting towards Dorian's right. "I'll try this side. Don't move."

"All right," Dorian whispered, already knowing they were gone. His hair had been taken down, as well, so the extra pair of picks he'd tucked there would be missing, also.

Klaus slipped part of one hand in, and already feeling defeat, pulled back, settling into a sitting position again. As if he had any choice; it was that, or lay curled on his side. "They'll slip up -- we'll get out then."

"I'm sorry," Dorian murmured, eyes closed. "I'm sorry, Klaus..."
"You shouldn't have even been on this fucking mission," Klaus hissed quietly to himself. "Fuck, this is my fault. But wait -- we'll get out..."

"All right..." Even though he didn't believe they would, Dorian was going to go along with it. After all, if Klaus said it was so, he'd do his best to MAKE it so.

Klaus remained calm, though, and that helped a great deal for Dorian -- nervousness was like a plague. It spread quickly... "Are you all right?" he was asked carefully.

"Sore," Dorian replied. "I feel like I've already been knocked around a bit, but that's to be expected, I suppose. You?"

"Same. Headache from the gas yet?" He sure could feel one coming on, but perhaps that was just a natural proclivity to headaches when they were least useful.

The other man nodded. "Yes. Queasy, a little. How long..." How long 'til they came was what he meant, but the answer was almost immediate with the sound of a door coming open somewhere behind him.

"Not long," Klaus murmured in a low whisper, closing his eyes as if sleeping. "Don't talk. Any."

"[Put Iron Klaus in a chair,]" the first entry instructed, while Klaus marked in his mind the footfalls of five other men behind him. Interrogation it was, then.

Dorian could feel his heart beating madly and he tried to stamp down the rise of outright terror in his blood as Klaus was moved away from him. His lashes fluttered open enough to see the men who placed the dark-haired German in the chair as they chained his ankles down before releasing his hands and bringing them up to cuff them to the arms of the chair, as well. /Oh, God help me to keep my mouth shut.../

"[I am a Major in NATO's army. My name is Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach. I know nothing else,]" he said in crisp German, opening his eyes to look at the face of the Stasi leader. Nothing placeable. Lower-ranking officer, then.

"[You know much more, Herr Eberbach.]" Slowly, he turned towards the four with him -- two more officers, two guards. "[Get me a knife. And tie down the fag.]"

To say that Dorian's German was rusty at times would have been kind. He understood that they were referring to him, though -- he'd heard that word, 'fag', from Klaus enough to know it. When they reached to move him, he couldn't help the tremor that ran through him even as he kept his eyes closed and his mouth shut tightly. /I won't talk. I will not humiliate Klaus.../

They did much the same to him as they'd done to Klaus -- settled him in a chair, ankles bound first followed by wrists. He didn't open his eyes anymore. He didn't want to see what was going to happen next, at least for the moment.

"One of you will tell me what I want to know," the officer said firmly in English, looking between the two of them -- Klaus, sitting firm and stiff jawed in his chair, Dorian looking fearful as his eyes opened again. "The partnership between the both of you is a famous one... Iron Klaus and Eroica. A reluctant partnership, the stuff of which books are written. You hate each other, or so we are told... [The fag will suffer if you do not speak, Eberbach.]"

"[I will say nothing.]" Klaus told him, eyes meeting Dorian's -- a message conveyed for silence.

/Yes./ It was the only answer he could give, wasn't it? And it wasn't as though Dorian knew what it was all about anyway. He only knew that he was to steal what Klaus told him to. It was best for them all that way. He knew nothing except for what they had stolen, and the Stasi knew that already. He had nothing to give.

"We will see." The Stasi officer moved near to Dorian, standing right beside him, knife glinting white in the dull florescent lighting. "If you look away, Herr Eberbach, I will cut his throat."

The pale blue cast of the light only heightened Dorian's pallor as he closed his eyes again, shuddering slightly. /Don't look away, Klaus. Please, God, don't.../ Not that he truly had to worry about that, he thought. It would bother Klaus more to feel that what was happening was his fault, his responsibility, than that it was happening to Dorian specifically.

Steel-green eyes kept locked with Dorian's, and the officer nodded slowly. "Good. Good, Herr Eberbach. You will not look away until I say you can." The blade slipped up, not touching skin yet, a glint of steel that Dorian could see as it came to rest against his cheek. "Tell me, Faggot, what you have been doing for the man across from you in that chair."

"You know what I've been doing," Dorian said faintly, the nausea that had originally been from the gas used on them now rising higher. "I don't think I really have to tell you."

For a moment, blade bit flesh, just a nick against the high bone of his cheek that gained a little shiver, a start. "Just repeat what I know, faggot."

"Why should I?" Dorian asked, still watching Klaus for cues on what could be said and what couldn't. He had a feeling that saying anything at all would be useless, all the same. "You already know, and I'd rather face you than face HIM if I tell you anything!"

Another small cut with that blade, against the same spot as before, with the same results. "Your name and rank, then."

"Eroica," Dorian whispered, eyes momentarily slitting closed, lips trembling. God, that hurt! To think, it was probably only the start... "I have no rank. I'm a thief."

"Why do you work for NATO?" Another press, but the blade didn't complete a downwards stroke -- not yet.

Across from him, there was nothing in Klaus's eyes -- no emotion, no urging, as if the man had already said his piece to Dorian and was expecting the thief to do as he'd said. "Because I'm an idiot," Dorian got out, trying not to whimper or say anything at all constructive. God, that hurt! "Why else would I be sitting here letting you cut my face?"

"It isn't a matter of letting you do anything, Faggot." Something flashed in the officer's eyes, and he looked as Klaus's blank gaze for a moment. "You like men, huh, Thief?"

"Tell me something the rest of the world doesn't already know," Dorian muttered, closing his eyes and biting the inside of his lip. /Bloody hell!/

Eyes closed, he could hear the familiar sound of a zipper coming down -- not his own -- and cloth rustling. Then the knife pulled away from his cheek. "Lean forward, Herr Faggot, and suck me off. I will take that as payment for your silence."

"No, thank you, all the same. I'd just as soon not, you know. I'm afraid I'm a bit out of practice and all that," Dorian murmured, shaking his head. He'd much prefer they kept on cutting him to making him do something like that in front of Klaus.... Klaus, who could never understand what it was to love another man, no matter how much Dorian hoped. Klaus, who would only be worse when speaking of perversions ever after... /IF we get out of this alive,/ Dorian told himself.

The man's hand came out, knife and all, and the slice intersected with the cut already there, a bone-deep dash of the blond's cheek that brought with it a muffled yelp. "You will do as I say, Thief. Lean forward."

Klaus's gaze was blank because he was furiously searching for a way to escape. As mission leader, it was his duty to get all agents home in the best shape possible... and alive, no matter what, was better than dead. He'd promised himself on every mission that he would do his best to make sure Dorian got home alive... "Do as he says, Eroica." Tone flat, carefully reigned in.

Dorian's trembling breath was audible in the room over the low snickers of the extra Stasi, the tears that flooded over his lids unstoppable as they mingled momentarily with the wash of blood that coursed down the line of his cheek, trembling over with heavy plops as he shuddered, leaning forward and opening his mouth to take the man's cock between his lips.

"Ah, that is a good faggot." Sharply sighed words, as the hand that didn't hold the knife patted his head. "If Herr Eberbach looks away, shoot the faggot for me. Now, do your business, thief."

It was worse than disgusting. The man wasn't very clean, and the overwhelming queasiness that Dorian already felt was only added to as he tried to pleasure him. The thickness of the thing, the taste of him, the deliberate jerking thrusts made into his throat, made it difficult, and he moaned in agony as his breath was momentarily cut off by the thing. Perhaps worst of all was the pain of his stinging cheek, the flesh tugging unbearably with the actions of his mouth. /Oh, God. Oh, GOD.../ He'd made love to many men in his life; there was no getting around that. He had. Nothing, ever, had been so terrible, or seemed so wrong to him... and 'Klaus told me to' suddenly seemed like the worst rationalization he'd ever thought to give himself!

Klaus couldn't look away, even as the sick-minded officer shoved in deeply once more, pulling back with a grunt of pleasure to let his semen spit barely inside of Dorian's mouth, aiming for that cut cheek. He would have to apologize to the man when they escaped, have to find a way to thank Dorian for keeping quiet. The thief was probably edging on hysteria now, needing to be freed and with his men, surrounded with his art and not cold metal, chained to chairs...

The officer folded himself away neatly, smiling. "Very nice, Herr Faggot. Now will you tell me what you know?"

"I know nothing," Dorian whispered hoarsely, eyes still slowly leaking tears. "Nothing!"

Now he leaned near to Dorian, the man's breath clean but disgustingly warm against his face. Then, a whisper of words that could only be heard by Dorian. "Would you speak to stop me from doing that to Herr Eberbach?"

The sound of Dorian's breath catching was heard, his entire body seeming to go still before he whispered, "I can't." That was more true than not. He *couldn't*. He would die if someone did such a thing to Klaus and it was his fault, but he *could* not disappoint the German NATO agent. He couldn't!

"We will see if both of you will hold that sentiment," the officer whispered, pulling back. The knife glinted near Dorian's eyes for a moment, but didn't strike. "Herr Eberbach! Will you speak to save your partner in crime?"

"Nein." And still, he hadn't looked away -- couldn't look away just as Dorian couldn't speak.

"Then he will not be saved. Lift your pretty face, Faggot, and I will clean it for you."

/No, no, no, no, no,/ Dorian thought, but he did it. He did it because going along with it wouldn't make it better, but because maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he did. /No, no, no.../

The blade pressed again, drawing blood anew, before scraping down the length of his cheek as if a straight razor, sweeping the semen from his face, and the blood and salty liquid over the gash already on his cheek. Another gash was added, from the edge of Dorian's nose across to the top of his jaw. The officer stepped back for a moment, surveying his work, before repeating the same marks on the other side, each time with a vicious slice of that fine honed blade, each of which drew wretched little sounds from somewhere deep in Dorian that he muffled to the best of his ability. "He is yours now, boys. Keep watching, Herr Eberbach. And remember that everything is because you will not speak."

The obvious trembling in Dorian implied hitched sobs, and the sounds of his breath did not relieve that implication even as the other five moved forward.

"[You ruined his face before we got to play with him,]" one laughed, working on the cuffs that held Dorian's ankles to the chair.

A second snickered slightly. "[It's not his face we're interested in, anyway, idiot.]"

Now beside Klaus, the interrogator only smiled coolly as they brought the slim blond thief to standing, one of them reaching for the ringed zipper that would remove his cat-suit. "Well, Herr Eberbach," he said lightly so that Dorian could understand him, "I'm afraid that your faggot friend won't like this at all."

"He knew the risks," Klaus said stiffly, still watching with half-open eyes. "He... has always known the risks." Whether he'd ever serious considered them, before, though, was another matter entirely! /Of course he never has... I will not let him work with me again. There will be no more missions with Eroica./ Because he felt that Dorian would never want anything to do with NATO ever again. The fun and shine was coming off of the spy game in those moments, the Briton shuddering as he was stripped. Klaus could remember quite vividly from the mission with the exploding vase that Dorian hated to be stripped, probably because it took control from him. Now, to be stripped, knowing there were five vicious agents intent on harming him to make Klaus talk...

The shivering releases of breath intensified once Dorian was naked, and his eyes were wrenched tightly shut. /I won't think about it,/ he promised himself, even though he knew it was impossible. /I won't think about it.../

"[Hey, look,]" one of them snickered. "[It's a natural blond!]" Those words accompanied a tug at the thief's soft manhood, painful, but nowhere near as bad as the gashes on his face.

"[All soft and white,]" the third one purred, a redhead with thick fingers that twisted and pinched at pale flesh as they pushed Dorian against a wall. Chains were brought down, manacles fastened about his wrists. They were loose, a little, not allowing for him to slide his hands out, but allowing a certain amount of movement away from the wall so that both sides of him could be reached.

"Don't...!" It was more a thought than anything else. Dorian wasn't even truly aware that he'd said it until raucous laughter sounded in the room.

Klaus bit down on the inside of his cheek, straining to keep from looking away. No, he couldn't watch this -- but he had to, or the officer still standing beside him would kill Dorian. He still might, but as long as there was a chance of the thief living... But Dorian, for all of his faggish way, did not deserve what was being done to him. He always flaunted his sexuality, but only for pleasure -- and that sharp objection was anything but pleasure. "[This will do you no good.]"

"[Oh, I think it will do us a fine bit of good,]" the interrogator said with that same easy smile, blue eyes lighting up almost cheerfully. "[After all. This is only the beginning.]"

Dorian bit down hard on his lip as one of them slipped fingers idly between the cheeks of his ass, rubbing a thumb up against the delicate aperture there. "[My, my, boys. Look what we have here...]"

"A little hole to fuck," came the tittering mockery in English as the man fondling him forced his wide finger into the Briton, drawing a muffled sound of pain from him despite Dorian swearing to himself that he wouldn't say anything.

/Don't, don't, don't, don't.../

"I won't talk." Klaus was sure of it, even as he watched Dorian bite back his own cries of pain. "Hurting him will get nothing from me." /So stop it. Leave the fucking civilian alone!/

"[Perhaps,]" the man beside him said, lightly smoking a cigarette. "[Perhaps not. It doesn't matter. This...this is only for the fun of it. This is to get them started. He is only the beginning for you.]"

"Hurting civilians for fun? You have no honor, Stasi," Klaus snapped, having to work now to keep looking at Dorian. Ahh, he needed to think of a way out soon! Needed to escape before much more damage could be done to the Briton. Already the sight of blood running down Dorian's face to spill in little runs over white skin was enough to make Klaus want to turn away from the sight.

Across the way, Dorian cried out as one of them pinched hard at his nipples, the lot of them laughing as steel clothespins were brought to bear. They marched them across his chest, pinching up flesh where they could, teasing at him, bruising him. A suggestion was met with more laughter, something he couldn't understand, and he moaned as the little steel pins were brought to bear on the softness of his cock, delved through golden hair to pinch at his balls. He couldn't help the little sounds he made, the thumb still in him, dry, and working at him as they enjoyed hurting him.

"[Perhaps I don't have any honor]," the interrogator drawled. "[Would you like a draw?]" He offered Klaus the cigarette with a strange little smile. "[Perhaps it will help to calm your nerves as you watch this little scene.]"

Careful -- because it would have been a sick trap he expected from such a man -- to not look away, Klaus nodded once, unable to use his hands to grasp the cigarette. "I could use a smoke." And he could, to steel himself both to watching the horror before him and for whatever else might come next. Dorian's skin was not supposed to be treated so. It was always soft and perfect whenever they'd touched in accident over missions and the past few weeks of living in close quarters. Clothespins... sick. Worse was the blood trickling down his throat and chest from his face, lovely and ruined, mingled with tears. Anyone would cry, hurt like that. Almost anyone, anyway, and Dorian was so soft...

The thumb was removed, but it was no relief. Dorian tensed, sensing somehow what came next even without the sound of the zipper that accompanied that cessation, the shifting of the man behind him, the laughter of the four who were watching. They tugged at him, touching the pins, snickering as he felt turgid flesh sneaking closer to him. /Oh, God. Oh, *GOD*!/

Klaus flinched as the man shoved ruthlessly into Dorian, drawing a helpless sound of pain; he'd almost, almost averted his eyes, but there was no part of Dorian that he could look at and not feel anger rise up in him. The man was his responsibility to keep safe, to see safely home after a mission was done, and now he was suffering in ways that Klaus would wish on *no* one, not even Mischa!

"[So. The two of you are still not speaking. This,]" the man smoking beside him, "[is a good thing. It would be less fun for me if you did speak. He has good technique, no?]" he asked, waving a hand towards the man now raping Dorian thoroughly, rasping him raw, blood now dripping down one pale thigh as the thief went limp, wrists above him carrying his weight momentarily. "[The faggot, he loves you. That is what they say in our circles. He works for you for that, even though you do not like him. It must be terrible, hm? To be treated like this as you watch, not caring enough to answer and relieve his pain...]"

If he said anything that could reassure Dorian it wasn't a lack of caring, the torture would only prolong. "Don't make me watch," Klaus said simply, even as he *did* watch, watched another take the first's place behind the Briton. No one, *no* one deserved that, and *no* one but him had ever, to his knowledge, hurt Dorian, and he could barely stand it. For a moment, as the second entered Dorian, Klaus's strong hands clenched into fists before relaxing with effort.

"[There would be no fun in that,]" the Stasi told him with a laugh, giving a sharp direction to one of the others.

The steel pins began coming off, tugged loose with roughness, and the sounds they made were terrible, breaking the skin as they came away, leaving little trails of blood behind. One of the men lifted Dorian from his feet, holding him to give the second rapist a deeper depth of penetration. The sounds coming from Dorian were terrible and soft, not screams... No, Dorian was not the sort of man to *scream*, and even then, even shaking and close to unconsciousness, he did no more than sob and moan quietly.

"You'll die for this," Klaus promised in a rough growl, hands clenching again. And he would -- there were unspoken rules of engagement in this war, and the sick officer beside him was breaking all of them. No one did that to Iron Klaus, or one of his missions, and lived.

"[Perhaps. Probably not, though,]" the interrogator chuckled, leaning down to put out his cigarette in the flesh of Klaus's right hand. "After all. It's just a faggot, isn't it?"

The double entendre was hard to miss, as Klaus let out a hiss of breath, eyes barely kept open. There really was nothing quite like having a cigarette pressed against the skin of one's hand... Though he could imagine, too, that there was really nothing like what was being done to Dorian.

They were on to the fourth, now, despite the fact that Dorian was clearly unconscious, and the first three stood and laughed while the last, the redhead, tugged at the softness between Dorian's legs. Fingers reached up and pressed the cuts on the thief's face, pulling him from his stupor with a cry that rang explicitly of agony. The sound of Dorian's voice was strained, and a sharp sound came clearly as a particularly vicious thrust was given.

"[Nothing of any true importance,]" the man beside Klaus chuckled.

"Shut up," Klaus snapped in a soft hiss of noise. "I will not talk." /Shut up, stop baiting me, before I rip your fucking throat out, you disgusting excuse for a fucking human being!/

"We will see," was the only answer as the redhead began to take his turn. The first of them reached up and loosed the chains from Dorian's manacles so that they could hold him better, bend him for the last one.

"[He's no good anymore,]" the man complained. "[This is no better than my hand!]"

"[So, fuck him harder. Maybe if you get deep enough, it'll get better,]" one of them joked.

In disgust, the fourth stopped, shoving Dorian down onto the floor. "[It's not worth bloodying my cock over, anyway.]"

Klaus started to his feet and caught himself, still watching Dorian. Still unable to look away, and immobilized, and the Stasi officer had caught him actually reacting. /Shit, shit, shit. Not what you wanted to happen... Not what needed to happen.../

It seemed, for the moment, that the thief was unconscious, and the man beside Klaus laughed softly. "Perhaps you would like to see better, hm? Bring him here," he said, gesturing for the men to pick up the abused and bleeding man. His orders were followed without question, Dorian brought along and placed, strangely enough, in Klaus's lap, head tucked against his shoulder momentarily. "Isn't it sweet?" the man said with that strange smile. "Do you think our little faggot will like waking up there with you, Iron Major?"

"I don't know." /Don't move him. He will. Leave him there.../ Anything to save the Earl a little suffering, anything at all...

A prod sent him tumbling off into the floor and brought laughter from the men surrounding them now as they picked him up and shoved him back in the chair across from Klaus, shackling him back into it.

"Leave him there," the interrogator told him. "When he wakes up, we'll go to work again. For now..." The smile he gave Klaus was utterly and completely wicked. "We will see you soon, Major. Perhaps you will enjoy our care as much as he."

"You will not be able to make me talk." To know that he was their next target brought stunning fear and strange relaxation. He was a professional -- he knew, full well, what could happen during any mission. He wasn't an innocent like Dorian was; he was a murderer, a man with a temper and strength behind it.

"We will see," the man said simply, still smiling at him as the others left the room. He soon followed, shutting and audibly locking the door behind them.

Two options laid before Klaus -- wake Dorian up and try to talk to him for a moment, or let the man sleep in the safety of unconsciousness while Klaus tried to escape. Letting Dorian be *not* awake seemed best, so he leaned towards his right hand, tested the lack of leeway he had, and inspected the lock. He'd need a pick, but there was nothing that would do.

It was hopeless.

"Nnnnmmm...."

"Sleep, Lord Gloria," he urged quietly, leaning in again to lick the burnt spot on the back of his hand. There. That took away some of the sting. Carefully, he sat upright, eyes closing to rest for a moment....

And then stopping. He'd been told to not look away from Lord Gloria until told he could... and he hadn't been told so. Best to not risk it when playing games with such a sick man.

The sight of Dorian was hard to bear. It wasn't his nakedness that was so bad -- though perhaps it should have been. It was, instead, the sheer vulnerability of him, the rivulets of blood staining pale flesh, the tears that were even now leaking from beneath blond lashes and swollen lids to clear pinkish tracks down his cheeks. Terrible, it was terrible, and worse was the realization that he was awake, the sound of his voice nearly gone, only a faint whisper reaching Klaus's ears.

"Did I say anything?"

"Nothing. Lord Gloria, I am sorry that... that was done to you. No one should..." He was looking clearly at Dorian, gaze a little shaky but still strong. /That officer will die... slowly.../ "Go through that. They will be back soon. Do not say anything to them. I will get us out of here somehow."
"Hmmm," Dorian managed to say softly, agreeing somehow as he brought his head up, dropping it against the back of the chair. "'t's all right. Hurts," he whispered. "But 't's not you. 'sokay."

"What did you say, Lord Gloria?" He was fluent in English, but there were times that it eluded him, and he was hoping Dorian hadn't said what he'd thought he'd heard.

Eroica was gone again, though, and only silence spilled through the room as Klaus remained there, the cold in the room increasing slowly. It was almost as if they were trying to make them both as uncomfortable as possible, and Dorian was shivering, but it seemed to make him rest easier aside from that. Klaus stayed silent, too, taking the time he was given to watch Dorian through half slitted eyes, resting that way. Cold was a matter of discipline, and it didn't effect him, still warm in sweater, undershirt, pants, boots... Burglar clothing that had been quickly stripped from Dorian's unwilling body.

The sound of the door coming open again seemed to startle Eroica to life, his entire body tensing as his head came up, eyes opening wide before dropping down again. "Ahhhh," a voice behind Klaus murmured, "I see our thief is at least semi-conscious. Enough to be afraid, so that is good."

So they weren't going to leave Dorian alone yet... He'd actually been counting on the thief having a little while to re-gather his wits, and perhaps spot something Klaus hadn't yet. If only the damned shackles gave him enough leeway to do something!

"Well, queer little burglar? Are you awake again?" the man asked cheerfully. "Perhaps someone can hold your head up if you can't quite make it on your own." A snap of the interrogator's fingers brought the redheaded Stasi to stand behind Dorian, hand fisting in those golden curls to hold his head upright. "After all, we will soon be starting on your friend, and I would hate for you to miss the opportunity to watch such a thing, hm?"

"This will not work," Klaus reminded the man, almost as much as he was reminding himself. There was no way that the same thing was in store for him. No, there would be something different, though perhaps just as bad... And when they unshackled him, he would attack as quickly as possible.

"We will see." God, how Klaus was beginning to hate the cheerful sound of those words! A sharp flicker of motion prompted the man who'd first raped Dorian to move forward, a knife in hand, and he began cutting Klaus's sweater loose from him. "After all, the tactics for our sticky-fingered friend have only begun. So it will be with you as well."

/Don't say a thing Lord Gloria, don't.../ There was a realization setting in that made it all the worse -- Dorian truly knew nothing of importance in the matter. Only Klaus. Dorian had suffered not for information that they both had -- only for what Klaus knew. And now... well, it was a relief to realize, idiotically, that the only person who had to keep quiet was himself.

The sweater fell away without resistance, the loss of good, sensible warmth as he was left with his undershirt only to keep him warm.

"Don't," Dorian was whispering, shaking even harder. "Don't...!"

"You will watch," the interrogator replied pleasantly as Klaus's undershirt was cut away, the knife working on getting the soft black pants off of him, not very careful of his flesh as it worked up from a leg and towards his waist. "Just as he did. Perhaps I will be lenient with you, in this. After all, you are not trained to withstand interrogation, are you? You are only a queer little fuck. You will watch, remain conscious, or he will lose a part of him. Do you understand? Tell me you understand, Eroica."

"I understand," Dorian mumbled, shuddering.

Klaus was frighteningly still in the chair as all of this was done, even as they cut off his underwear. So, Dorian was looking at him naked; he still had his pride, his defiance of the sick Soviet who was within his line of vision.

...for all the good it would do him...

"Begin." That word seemed to prompt something, movement behind him, and the men who'd worked on Dorian were now close to him. It was *not* a pleasant considering, and it was an even less pleasant feeling as one of them ran a hand slowly down his chest in a manner clearly meant to titillate, to arouse... or to humiliate.

Humiliate it was, Klaus closing his eyes when that touch came; no reaction other than that, and he was glad he was confined to the chair, glad that they wouldn't risk putting him up to the wall as they had Dorian.

"You see, it begins this way," Klaus was told. Dorian's eyes welled with tears again, heated saline that spilled over helplessly as a hand found its way to Klaus's genitals and squeezed consideringly. "It is always best to show a little of what you may do, do you not think, Eroica?"

"Bastard," Dorian whispered, gasping slightly as fingers pressed hard to his cheeks.

"Yes," the interrogator purred, pulling loose his knife and moving towards Klaus. "Perhaps that is so."

Klaus bit the inside of his lip, trying to not jerk himself free of that grasp -- to do so would have brought delight to them, far more than the unmoving, unwatching thing that Klaus was being in that moment. "[I am loyal to West Germany. I am Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach. I will not say anything you wish to hear.]"

"We will see."

The sound of soft laughter chuckled in his ear as fingers pried his legs open, seeking out the same spot they'd invaded in Dorian. It was conceivably the most horrible thing he could imagine, and the man who pushed a finger into him laughed. "[Ohhh, this one's tight. He's not some sissy fucking queer, though, is he?]"

Lip bitten through as his body failed to win its fight against the invasion, Klaus felt the taste of blood just as much as he felt the foreign digit working its way into him. So, they weren't even going to remove him from the chair...? Well, there was no possible way they could do worse. His pride would survive, and he didn't have to look at Dorian as he was. Eyes closed, yes, a shield against the reality that across from him, Dorian was watching his hands white-knuckle on the arms of the chair, trying to not bring his legs together, and frowning at it all.
"He is thinking that this is the worst which we can do to him," the interrogator said softly. "He is thinking that we cannot hurt him in the same ways we have hurt you. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps we cannot. Perhaps," he suggested, moving forward with the knife, "there are better ways in which to hurt the Iron Major. If destroying his precious pet thief does not make him flinch, perhaps other things will."

"[I thought you wanted me to talk, not flinch,]" Klaus challenged through gritted teeth, as the finger within him twisted sharply and without any warning at all -- ah, were they trying to *gut* him from inside?!

ALL of them seemed to find that amusing. The laughter was almost as bad, in a strange way, as everything else. "[Ahh, but we don't expect you to talk so soon, even though we encourage you to do so. This, then, is just the beginning of the fun for us. We will accept flinching, when later you will talk.]"

Just the beginning? Just...?

/No. Iron Klaus will not break. I will not talk./ He knew that his mind was a wealth of information on hundreds of things beyond any set of documents they could ever lay their hands on. He was a walking book of classified information, waiting to be read...

He gritted his teeth as another twist was given, concentrating on the blood in his mouth. "Oh-ho, so you don't like this. Perhaps we should have done to you what we have done to him. That would involve moving you from this chair, though, and I am not so stupid as that, I think. Boys," he said softly, a pre arranged signal of some sort.

A signal for *what*, though, Klaus couldn't tell. Only that the digit within him pulled out, and he clamped his legs shut instantly, despite his ankles kept so close to the legs of the chair. He couldn't go it blind forever, so he opened his eyes slightly, chin still held high...

To find Lord Gloria, still being made to watch. The expression on Dorian's face seemed so sorrowful, almost aching, and the terrible look in his eyes was nearly impossible for Klaus to bear even as the men around him shifted, a small table being wheeled in from outside of the room.

Laid out with exact precision upon that table was a variety of terrible looking instruments. Surgical steel seemed to be the overwhelming composition, gleaming and pale, better than the knife that the interrogator was now flipping back and forth. "Now, then," he said calmly. "We will begin, Major. What were you doing invading our offices?"

"You already know." This was more of something Klaus knew he could handle. Pain... was nothing. They'd stab him a few times, slip up, and they'd escape.

"This is no better answer than the faggot gave." A scalpel was chosen, the tip of it brought forward to rest against his shoulder. "What were you doing invading our offices?"

"You. Already. Know."

The first slice was made with what was almost joy, a diagonal cut approximately an inch deep that ran from mid-shoulder to just above his left nipple. "What were you doing invading our offices?"

"Ggghh." Klaus's head tipped forwards, teeth clenched sharply. He couldn't manage a 'you know' in that moment. Nothing more than a stoic negative grunt.

"Oh, God..." That was from Dorian, a horrified whimper that gained mimicked sounds from the three who were now watching the interrogator work on Klaus. "Oh, God..."

"What were you doing invading our offices?" The scalpel moved down, slicing across the nipple. "We know what you stole. Why?"

"Geneva... conventions... forbid... torture to...." Ah, God, so deep that scalpel was cutting more than just flesh. There was a patchwork of thin veins and arteries, muscles sliced... "Interrogate."

"[I do not think you comprehend what I mean,]" came the soft German words. "[We know what you stole. Why.]" The last word was said flatly, accompanied by another cut, this one from the right shoulder to just above the right nipple.

"[I serve... Western Germany. I am Major Klaus Heinz... von... dem Eberbach. I will... tell you... nothing more!]" Words barely gritted out in the aftermath of that slice, Klaus curling forward more.

"[You will tell me what I want to know. You will tell me why.]" The next slice crossed the right nipple, carefully calculated.

For a few moments, there was only the steady gasping of breath from Klaus, shuddering at matching sets of deep pain. He wouldn't be able to move his arms well, or quickly without pain, not with those muscles damaged. The man knew well what would hurt him best... "How dare... you..."

"[Tell me why.]" This time, the slices were barely skin deep, tracing patterns delicately over Klaus's chest despite the sounds coming from the thief so close by them.

"Stop... Please, stop, please, stop, *please*, stop!"

That stung, heightening Klaus's outrage, eyes closing again to pull together strength. "Shut up, Dorian." He didn't need to hear the Earl whimpering, over his *own* pain.

The quiet that came was marred by the soft sounds of Eroica across the way; the words had ceased, but it seemed to hurt him impossibly that he couldn't give them. "Ahhhh, this bothers you, then? It bothers the little thief and he bothers you. How remarkable. Make him talk, Nielson."

"[How, sir?]" the first one, another officer, sneered, moving towards Dorian with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "[Why don't we just kill him if he stops talking?]"

Klaus was sure, now, that he shouldn't have snapped that out at Dorian.

"[Keep him alive until I tell you otherwise,]" the interrogator drawled, momentarily laying down the scalpel and turning to smile at Dorian. It was absolutely chilling and the Briton's breath caught in his throat at the sight of it. "You will talk for me, faggot. You will let him hear your voice as I work. If you stop talking while I work, I will hurt one of you. I will not tell you which one. Tell me you understand this."

"I..." Dorian said softly, eyes trained on Klaus. "I understand. What do you want me to say? What if I can't think of anything?"

"You will manage."

Klaus closed his eyes again, against Dorian's face and the gleam of those blades. If it was just the pain, he could withstand it so much better... And better yet if Dorian weren't involved. The earl needed to be far away just then...

"Why?" Dorian whispered. "I don't know anything and he won't tell you anything. Why?"

The interrogator simply smiled. "He will tell me all, eventually. Perhaps I will have to kill you before then. The Iron Major is a strange man. The rumors about him are, perhaps, not as true as we thought. We may deal with him in many ways. I believe that first, I will remove his fingers. What do you think?"

"NO!" Dorian blurted out, nausea rising sharply again. "Oh, God..."

Klaus wanted to panic -- wanted to rage, too, and one was simply easier than the other. "You... will die at my hands. No one plays... fucking games like this with Iron Klaus and lives..."

"We will see."

The scalpel was in hand again, that terrible smile on the man's face, and Dorian's voice was in Klaus's ears even as he began to cut, shaking, trembling. It seemed pained impossibly -- but pained because someone was hurting Klaus, not because he himself was being harmed. "When I was very young, my mother used to sing to me. Oh, God, oh, God, what did she sing? I can't think of it. I don't know, how will I ever remember it this way? She used to sing..." His words wobbled, but they didn't stop, and he seemed to find the words of the song he was looking for. "The water is wide..." It was almost a whisper. "I cannot cross o'er..."

Klaus was just glad he had his eyes closed -- seeing his own blood would have made it worse, if that was possible. His pinkie-finger, fist pried open with two hands of the Stasi officer's nearest 'helper', was being severed slowly. Starting with the sensitive webbing between that and his ring finger, then sharply down against bone. "Awhh, *FUCK*." A growl of noise and his hand jerked within the man's grasp.

"Oh, God, oh, GOD," Dorian half-sobbed, shaking his head and trying to start up the song again. "And neither have I... wings to fly... give me a boat... that can c..c..carry t..two..."

"Your friend seems to be having some problems," the interrogator said cheerfully, wrenching the finger firmly and cutting it loose, dropping it to the floor. "I can't imagine why."

Klaus swore he heard one of the bones in his hand snap -- but it didn't matter much, since all he could feel was a seer of pain that shot from where the digit *had* been. "[Oh, fucking G-god...]" Half gritted and half gasped as Klaus slammed his head back against the chair's back... and then did it again, trying to put himself unconscious.

"Which one shall we try next? Perhaps the index finger," came the cheerful voice over the sound of Dorian's singing. The man obviously enjoyed his work.

"An...and... I thought it was... a trusty tree..."

Klaus tried one more slam, and when all he got was stars behind closed eyelids gave in, trying futilely now and violently to rip himself free of the chair. He didn't care what it did to his wrists and ankles, all he wanted was to be *free*.

"...swayed...and then... It broke..."

"Ah-ah-ah, how bad you are. How very bad, and with your friend still trying to sing for you! Index finger it is!"

Then, with just as much warning as before, he started on that finger, too. God, it was his right hand! His fucking right hand, he *needed* that hand, and... "*FUCK*." It somehow doubled the wrenching pain of the first finger. He'd rather have Mischa beat him senseless again. He'd rather it was the KGB...

"There, there. This is not fucking. Fucking will come later. Now, there are fingers. Perhaps, if your little faggot friend likes, we will stuff them in him later. He would like that, do you think?" he was asked as the scalpel pried down to bone, inserting itself delicately to separate the carpal metacarpal from the rest of his hand.

"An-nd... so my false love... did unto me....oh... Oh... Oh, god, oh, god, oh god, I've forgotten the words," Dorian said almost to himself. "Oh, God, oh, God, oh, Klaus, I can't, I can't, I...!!!"

"Agggh, *GOTT*," Klaus gritted, shaking furiously with that new blaze of pain as he tried piteously to get free again. It was barely a tug at the wrist restraints as he curled forwards again, head down between his knees. Perhaps God was listening partly to his cries, because with the way his mane of hair fell, no one could see the tears streak down his face.

"Oh, God." Dorian whispered, swallowing hard, eyes almost closing. His voice failed him momentarily before he managed to get out again, "Oh, GOD...!"

"Ahhh, your little friend has almost failed us... HAS failed us," the interrogator said softly as Dorian sobbed, unable to get anything out past the lump risen so heavily in his throat. "Since you are already at my whim, I think it is you I will punish this time. Next time will be him." With a nod, he gestured to the man who'd been holding Klaus's hand still. "Pull back his head."

"No!" Dorian spat out, shuddering. "No, no, no, no, no...!"

Klaus drew in a sharp gasp of breath as he was wrenched upright again, scalp tingling from that hard jerk. Now humiliation fought to rise above the pain. He'd been crying, and it was plainly visible. He, Major Eberbach, Iron Klaus, had been crying, and still almost was, the streaks still sliding down his handsome face.

And he was looking at Dorian again.

"Klaus..."

It was the last word he saw mouthed with two whole eyes, a blade digging into the right one firmly.

Dorian had never heard a sound like that come from a human being. He'd seen Klaus kill on occasion, those wolves in particular, and that was what came to mind when he heard Klaus's howl of outrage and agony. The one that Dorian gave echoed it, a sound born of horror and too much hurt and utter misery.

"[They are a pair, aren't they?]" the officer laughed, gesturing to his men. "[Unchain them. Toss one atop the other. We'll let them bleed for a while. Put something over his eye first, and wrap the hand quickly. We can't have them bleed too much before the next go around.]"

His orders were followed quickly and explicitly, Klaus unconscious now and Dorian simply too weak already from shock and loss of blood to do more than wrap his arms around Klaus protectively as they threw them in a heap in one corner. "[That'll be enough,]" one of them said. "[Get those fingers, though. We'll want them later...]"

For what sick purposes, Dorian didn't want to know -- but he could guess...

Things like that had happened to hundreds of men in the line of duty -- and they had been buried with full military honors if their bodies were recovered, and buried as such without bodies if there was enough evidence pointing to death. Klaus had lost a total of twenty alphabets through the years he'd been the head of his Alphabet Soup.

Now it seemed that they would both be joining those twenty agents.

"I'm so sorry, darling," he whispered, tears streaming loose again, body shaking, unconsciousness so very close. "I'm so sorry, Klaus..."

Gunfire.

The shooting of guns brought him to his senses again, after who knew how long. Klaus had yet to revive, but, oh -- gunfire! Orders being shouted, feet pounding down the corridor outside of the interrogation room, and then stopping. A hard battery of hits against that door, and then it swung open.