Fic sequel
With the permission of the author, I've written a sequel to almell's nifty story, Waiting for the Hammer (on her site over here.)
This is my first time on this comm, but not my first time writing fic. Hope this one's enjoyable.
Title: The Best Laid Plans
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Klaus/Dorian
Dorian Red Gloria stood on his balcony, watching London bustle below him. It was warm, very pleasant for this time in June, and there was a sense of energy and good cheer rising up from the little figures beneath him. He couldn't share in it.
He'd had a very quiet month, after the shock of seeing Klaus. It wasn't what the good Major had hoped, that a few scars on his face and shoulder would repell him for good and all. No; only worry.
His Major. Mortal after all, and now not even a Major anymore. He'd been promoted away from the field-- goodness, he'd always thought that Iron Klaus would be dashing after terrorists and neo-nazis when Dorian himself was old and leaning on a cane, shuffling about in the most fashionable house-slippers available..
He'd seen the silver in his own hair, visible only as a shimmer in the gold, but to see signs of slowing down in Klaus!- It wasn't to be imagined. And it wasn't as if the man were out of danger. Why, who knew who might use this chance to revenge themselves, now that Klaus was in one place all the time. And Klaus had behaved so strangely...
He was worried, that was the long and the short of it. He hadn't wanted to steal anything in ages.
Someone coughed politely behind him. "M'Lord? Package for you."
Dorian took a moment to get his face into the properly bright smile, and turned. "Yes? Who is it from? I wasn't expecting it."
Bonham looked warily at the long box in his hand-- a floral box, it must be from an admirer.
"No address. But we traced it from Schloss Eberbach, sir."
Strike the admirer, then! "But what could it be?" Dorian hurried forward, taking the box and opening it carefully.
A single rose, the large bloom a dark, sultry red. "Dear lord. An Eroica..." Of course he knew about it. That wasn't the sort of thing he'd easily let escape his attention. There was a single card in it, with three words embossed on it.
"Bonham, dear, get me the first flight to Germany that you can. I think something's very wrong."
----
Dorian turned the rose in his hands as he sat on the plane, glaring at it. Such a beautiful flower; in a better mood, he'd be delighted, of course. Even if Klaus hadn't meant it as a love token, he certainly could have pretended that he thought it was one. The fragrance was sweet, but not comforting.
It had to be a message. Code, from Klaus? Something was wrong? Perhaps some sort of inscrutable threat from someone else-- his worry had bloomed, rather like a rose, into full-blown paranoia.
A stewardess paused next to him for the fourth or fifth time on the flight, leaning closer than she had to to offer him champagne or a refreshment.
"It's such a lovely flower," she gushed, leaning over to remind him that her top button was undone. "Is it for a lady friend?"
He'd been so worried that he hadn't dressed quite as carefully as usual. And he was paying for it, too! Did the woman really think he wanted anything to do with her, or her entire species? He'd have to change before the flight back. Tighter trousers, no matter the discomfort, and a suitably blousy, handsome shirt. Let his hair down out of the tie he'd tucked it into when he hadn't wanted to wait to style it. He wouldn't be harassed this way on the way back.
He could do all that after he knew if Klaus was all right.
"My boyfriend gave it to me," he said, smiling innocently at her, and her face wrinkled up unattractively. That was the last he saw of her.
----
In Germany he picked up his car-- the same sleek red Koninsegg he'd used the last time he went to see Klaus. The sense of deja vu was strong. It cheered him a little; once everything had been worked out, maybe he could steal another kiss before he was thrown out.
The local weather wasn't as obliging as it had been in London, and evening was falling fast. He drove as fast as he felt capable-- but he was tired, and the roads were slick with rain. By the time the Schloss was in view, the sky was nearly pitch dark and the rain was falling in sheets.
A light drew his gaze-- a room was lit up with a faint golden light. A fire, perhaps.
His gaze dropped to a menacing looking shadow on the wall below it, and he turned the headlights on it.
A bush. Dorian parked the car with a sullen curse, fishing for an umbrella and a flashlight. The flashlight he found in the glove box. The umbrella wasn't so forthcoming. He swore again, and stepped out into the rain. He had to follow the curve of the wall, getting what little protection that afforded. He was thoroughly soaked by the time he reached his goal.
Not just a bush, a rose. An Eroica, covered in fragrant flowers just like the one Dorian had received. Was that what Klaus' cryptic message was about?
Follow the roses.
He looked up at the golden lit window and shuddered as a gust of wind cut through his sopping clothing and flung rain-drops full into his face. He'd get to the bottom of this soon enough.
The butler looked surprised to see him. Yes, twice in as many months-- practically a British invasion, Dorian thought.
"Wait here," the man said, giving Dorian a look that wasn't so much wary as faintly appalled. He did feel like a common bumpkin, standing here in common clothes and dripping on the flagstones. The Schloss was cool, and Dorian tried valiantly not to let his teeth chatter. It was supposed to be summer!
The butler reappeared before Dorian could work himself into a full shiver, and handed him a towel unceremoniously. "He wants to see you."
Dorian nodded, toweling off quickly. The butler didn't look satisfied, but turned and walked away quickly, motioning him to follow.
This time he wasn't taken to the library, but to a room on the upper floors, with a paneled oak door and firelight spilling out from under it.
"Komm," Klaus' voice called sharply. Dorian slipped through the door. He saw a lit fire roaring in a huge fireplace, thick rugs over the floor, a large chair, chests of drawers-- a large, antique bed.
It was Klaus' bedroom, he realized with a muted little thrill, and Klaus standing there.
Good lord.
Standing there in a dark burgundy dressing gown as if he received guests half-dressed all the time. Green eyes raked Dorian from head to toe, and he was more conscious than ever of his shabby appearance. He dropped his eyes, and was momentarily distracted by the sight of Klaus' bare feet.
His heart started to pound, and he quickly looked up again. No good; Klaus' scars caught his eyes. They had startled him at first, but that had faded almost instantly. They were dignified, fascinating, now as much a part of Dorian's vision of Klaus as his glass-green eyes.
This wasn't helping. He wasn't here to flirt, more was the pity.
"This is how you showed up?" Klaus asked coldly.
"I thought I'd better not waste any time." Dorian lifted his chin. "Perhaps if you'd explained what was wrong. Your message wasn't very helpful."
Only a man who'd made a study of Klaus' every mannerism would have caught the flash of surprise across his face.
"It was your message, wasn't it?" Dorian pressed.
"It was. What did you think it meant?"
"I honestly wasn't sure. These--" he carefully pulled his own rather battered rose out of his coat. "Eroicas? As much as I'd like to believe that you missed me, Ma-- Klaus-- I couldn't quite believe that you planted them just for the aesthetic value. They aren't steel at all."
"And you thought that something was wrong?"
"Or that you wanted me for a mission," Dorian agreed.
Klaus stared at him for a moment, and then shook his head sharply. "You're dripping on my floor. I'll explain everything after you've changed into something dry."
"My things are in the car-"
"Don't bother," Klaus said, striding forward to take his arm firmly and guide him to another room off the bedroom. A bathroom, Dorian realized, as he was thrust inside. "Here. Take a shower if you want. Put your wet clothes in the hamper."
"But-!" And Dorian was muffled by a bunch of cloth hitting him firmly in the face, and Klaus slammed the door as he disentangled himself.
Klaus' improvised missile turned out to be a wadded up white bathrobe, and Dorian stripped warily. The last time Klaus had expressed any interest in having him out of his clothes, there'd been microfilm in his briefs. Klaus could have just told him.
He padded out, dressed in the white robe, and found Klaus waiting patiently for him in front of the fire.
"Here," Klaus ordered. "Dry out in front of the fire a minute."
Dorian did.
"And get that thing out of your hair."
Dorian fought the tie out with a wince of pain-- wet strands of hair had gotten tangled in it.
Klaus was muttering to himself; Dorian caught -und die einzige mal du solltest romantische sein-! and not much else. He glared at the fire.
"Also. I'll explain," Klaus said out loud. "I was very dedicated to my work as a field agent."
Quite possibly the understatement of the year.
"It was always too dangerous to entertain relationships. The danger would have been increased; the risk of hostage situations would have been unacceptable. And Major is a young man's rank. I wouldn't have wanted to retire as one. I had wanted to wait until I was promoted."
Dorian's brow furrowed. "I'm not following." He gave Klaus a sideways glance, but the dark-haired man was looking at the fire.
"Obviously not. I forgot to compensate for your ability to foul up even the best-planned operation." Klaus looked at him, and Dorian felt his stomach dropping out.
What had he done? What clue had he missed?
"What was the message, Major?" Dorian asked, and then cursed his slip.
"I expected you to show up in your most foppish clothing, trace the rosebush up the wall. Defeat my alarm, swoop in in some hideously romantic fashion. And you came to the front door looking like a drowned rabbit!"
"The message!"
"That you of all people didn't understand."
"Klaus!" came out almost as a shout.
Klaus remained calm. "It was 'come and get me, if you can.'"
Dorian shut his eyes. Was it only his imagination that he could feel his heart stopping?
His voice was quiet and very tired.
"I've ruined everything, haven't I?"
"It's only what I should expect from you. You always ruin my missions."
Dorian yelped as the floor suddenly went out from under him. His eyes snapped open and Klaus' beautiful face was only inches away. He hung there, shocked and wide-eyes in Klaus' arms.
"And you should expect that I never give up a mission just because you tried to screw it up."
With brisk strides, Klaus carried him to one of the big chairs, and sat down with Dorian arranged him in his lap. Dorian's heart was starting to beat again, and he was regaining feeling in his limbs and coming to realize that the both of them being in robes meant that there was an awful lot of skin just a tug away from touching.
Klaus took his chin and spoke firmly. "And I’m not giving up on this. Tomorrow, you're gonna dress up in something foppish, break your way through the best security this place can offer, and sweep me off my damn feet. Understood?"
"Yes!" Dorian gasped, and Klaus buried a hand in his damp hair to pull him in for a kiss.
It was clumsy and unpracticed, but hungry. He couldn’t care about Klaus’ inexperience--he’d be doing something about that shortly, and for the time being it was rather sweet, actually. I'll have to teach him everything.
The realization was startling, the reality of his situation crashing home. My god. Teach him everything! Me!
Dorian made a high-pitched sound and threw his arms around Klaus' neck, pulling him close.
When they drew apart, Klaus laid his forehead on Dorian's, placing his scars too close to be resisted. Dorian kissed them, too, like he had in May. But longer, and Klaus didn't shove him away. No, he pulled Dorian closer and tucked his blond head under his chin. Dorian snuggled into the rich red fabric of Klaus' dressing gown, inhaling him.
"I couldn't even count on you to be a fop. You idiot," Klaus said, with a tone in his voice that Dorian had very rarely heard before.
Relief.
You weren’t even sure I was going to come, were you? And when Dorian hadn’t played along with his plan, had shown up in less than his usual glory... Now, could a pessimistic man decide it meant he wasn’t interested after all?
He’d thought Dorian would give up after the scars.
“I was worried about you, you insufferable German tank.”
“Worried about me?” Klaus scoffed. “Because I have a few gray hairs now?” There was a pause. “Is it the scars?”
“Dents on your armor, darling. I like them.” Dorian kissed them again. “Because you acted so strangely when I was here in May.”
“I was trying not to kiss you, you degenerate.”
“Why in the world would you do that?”
“I had a plan.” Klaus’ hand slipped into the collar of Dorian’s white robe. “And when one makes a plan, one should stick to it. You good-for-nothing British thief.”
“Even wire rope is more flexible than you,” Dorian said, rolling his eyes. “You... stuffy, boorish - mmmph.”
Klaus was learning quickly already.
-End
This is my first time on this comm, but not my first time writing fic. Hope this one's enjoyable.
Title: The Best Laid Plans
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Klaus/Dorian
Dorian Red Gloria stood on his balcony, watching London bustle below him. It was warm, very pleasant for this time in June, and there was a sense of energy and good cheer rising up from the little figures beneath him. He couldn't share in it.
He'd had a very quiet month, after the shock of seeing Klaus. It wasn't what the good Major had hoped, that a few scars on his face and shoulder would repell him for good and all. No; only worry.
His Major. Mortal after all, and now not even a Major anymore. He'd been promoted away from the field-- goodness, he'd always thought that Iron Klaus would be dashing after terrorists and neo-nazis when Dorian himself was old and leaning on a cane, shuffling about in the most fashionable house-slippers available..
He'd seen the silver in his own hair, visible only as a shimmer in the gold, but to see signs of slowing down in Klaus!- It wasn't to be imagined. And it wasn't as if the man were out of danger. Why, who knew who might use this chance to revenge themselves, now that Klaus was in one place all the time. And Klaus had behaved so strangely...
He was worried, that was the long and the short of it. He hadn't wanted to steal anything in ages.
Someone coughed politely behind him. "M'Lord? Package for you."
Dorian took a moment to get his face into the properly bright smile, and turned. "Yes? Who is it from? I wasn't expecting it."
Bonham looked warily at the long box in his hand-- a floral box, it must be from an admirer.
"No address. But we traced it from Schloss Eberbach, sir."
Strike the admirer, then! "But what could it be?" Dorian hurried forward, taking the box and opening it carefully.
A single rose, the large bloom a dark, sultry red. "Dear lord. An Eroica..." Of course he knew about it. That wasn't the sort of thing he'd easily let escape his attention. There was a single card in it, with three words embossed on it.
"Bonham, dear, get me the first flight to Germany that you can. I think something's very wrong."
----
Dorian turned the rose in his hands as he sat on the plane, glaring at it. Such a beautiful flower; in a better mood, he'd be delighted, of course. Even if Klaus hadn't meant it as a love token, he certainly could have pretended that he thought it was one. The fragrance was sweet, but not comforting.
It had to be a message. Code, from Klaus? Something was wrong? Perhaps some sort of inscrutable threat from someone else-- his worry had bloomed, rather like a rose, into full-blown paranoia.
A stewardess paused next to him for the fourth or fifth time on the flight, leaning closer than she had to to offer him champagne or a refreshment.
"It's such a lovely flower," she gushed, leaning over to remind him that her top button was undone. "Is it for a lady friend?"
He'd been so worried that he hadn't dressed quite as carefully as usual. And he was paying for it, too! Did the woman really think he wanted anything to do with her, or her entire species? He'd have to change before the flight back. Tighter trousers, no matter the discomfort, and a suitably blousy, handsome shirt. Let his hair down out of the tie he'd tucked it into when he hadn't wanted to wait to style it. He wouldn't be harassed this way on the way back.
He could do all that after he knew if Klaus was all right.
"My boyfriend gave it to me," he said, smiling innocently at her, and her face wrinkled up unattractively. That was the last he saw of her.
----
In Germany he picked up his car-- the same sleek red Koninsegg he'd used the last time he went to see Klaus. The sense of deja vu was strong. It cheered him a little; once everything had been worked out, maybe he could steal another kiss before he was thrown out.
The local weather wasn't as obliging as it had been in London, and evening was falling fast. He drove as fast as he felt capable-- but he was tired, and the roads were slick with rain. By the time the Schloss was in view, the sky was nearly pitch dark and the rain was falling in sheets.
A light drew his gaze-- a room was lit up with a faint golden light. A fire, perhaps.
His gaze dropped to a menacing looking shadow on the wall below it, and he turned the headlights on it.
A bush. Dorian parked the car with a sullen curse, fishing for an umbrella and a flashlight. The flashlight he found in the glove box. The umbrella wasn't so forthcoming. He swore again, and stepped out into the rain. He had to follow the curve of the wall, getting what little protection that afforded. He was thoroughly soaked by the time he reached his goal.
Not just a bush, a rose. An Eroica, covered in fragrant flowers just like the one Dorian had received. Was that what Klaus' cryptic message was about?
Follow the roses.
He looked up at the golden lit window and shuddered as a gust of wind cut through his sopping clothing and flung rain-drops full into his face. He'd get to the bottom of this soon enough.
The butler looked surprised to see him. Yes, twice in as many months-- practically a British invasion, Dorian thought.
"Wait here," the man said, giving Dorian a look that wasn't so much wary as faintly appalled. He did feel like a common bumpkin, standing here in common clothes and dripping on the flagstones. The Schloss was cool, and Dorian tried valiantly not to let his teeth chatter. It was supposed to be summer!
The butler reappeared before Dorian could work himself into a full shiver, and handed him a towel unceremoniously. "He wants to see you."
Dorian nodded, toweling off quickly. The butler didn't look satisfied, but turned and walked away quickly, motioning him to follow.
This time he wasn't taken to the library, but to a room on the upper floors, with a paneled oak door and firelight spilling out from under it.
"Komm," Klaus' voice called sharply. Dorian slipped through the door. He saw a lit fire roaring in a huge fireplace, thick rugs over the floor, a large chair, chests of drawers-- a large, antique bed.
It was Klaus' bedroom, he realized with a muted little thrill, and Klaus standing there.
Good lord.
Standing there in a dark burgundy dressing gown as if he received guests half-dressed all the time. Green eyes raked Dorian from head to toe, and he was more conscious than ever of his shabby appearance. He dropped his eyes, and was momentarily distracted by the sight of Klaus' bare feet.
His heart started to pound, and he quickly looked up again. No good; Klaus' scars caught his eyes. They had startled him at first, but that had faded almost instantly. They were dignified, fascinating, now as much a part of Dorian's vision of Klaus as his glass-green eyes.
This wasn't helping. He wasn't here to flirt, more was the pity.
"This is how you showed up?" Klaus asked coldly.
"I thought I'd better not waste any time." Dorian lifted his chin. "Perhaps if you'd explained what was wrong. Your message wasn't very helpful."
Only a man who'd made a study of Klaus' every mannerism would have caught the flash of surprise across his face.
"It was your message, wasn't it?" Dorian pressed.
"It was. What did you think it meant?"
"I honestly wasn't sure. These--" he carefully pulled his own rather battered rose out of his coat. "Eroicas? As much as I'd like to believe that you missed me, Ma-- Klaus-- I couldn't quite believe that you planted them just for the aesthetic value. They aren't steel at all."
"And you thought that something was wrong?"
"Or that you wanted me for a mission," Dorian agreed.
Klaus stared at him for a moment, and then shook his head sharply. "You're dripping on my floor. I'll explain everything after you've changed into something dry."
"My things are in the car-"
"Don't bother," Klaus said, striding forward to take his arm firmly and guide him to another room off the bedroom. A bathroom, Dorian realized, as he was thrust inside. "Here. Take a shower if you want. Put your wet clothes in the hamper."
"But-!" And Dorian was muffled by a bunch of cloth hitting him firmly in the face, and Klaus slammed the door as he disentangled himself.
Klaus' improvised missile turned out to be a wadded up white bathrobe, and Dorian stripped warily. The last time Klaus had expressed any interest in having him out of his clothes, there'd been microfilm in his briefs. Klaus could have just told him.
He padded out, dressed in the white robe, and found Klaus waiting patiently for him in front of the fire.
"Here," Klaus ordered. "Dry out in front of the fire a minute."
Dorian did.
"And get that thing out of your hair."
Dorian fought the tie out with a wince of pain-- wet strands of hair had gotten tangled in it.
Klaus was muttering to himself; Dorian caught -und die einzige mal du solltest romantische sein-! and not much else. He glared at the fire.
"Also. I'll explain," Klaus said out loud. "I was very dedicated to my work as a field agent."
Quite possibly the understatement of the year.
"It was always too dangerous to entertain relationships. The danger would have been increased; the risk of hostage situations would have been unacceptable. And Major is a young man's rank. I wouldn't have wanted to retire as one. I had wanted to wait until I was promoted."
Dorian's brow furrowed. "I'm not following." He gave Klaus a sideways glance, but the dark-haired man was looking at the fire.
"Obviously not. I forgot to compensate for your ability to foul up even the best-planned operation." Klaus looked at him, and Dorian felt his stomach dropping out.
What had he done? What clue had he missed?
"What was the message, Major?" Dorian asked, and then cursed his slip.
"I expected you to show up in your most foppish clothing, trace the rosebush up the wall. Defeat my alarm, swoop in in some hideously romantic fashion. And you came to the front door looking like a drowned rabbit!"
"The message!"
"That you of all people didn't understand."
"Klaus!" came out almost as a shout.
Klaus remained calm. "It was 'come and get me, if you can.'"
Dorian shut his eyes. Was it only his imagination that he could feel his heart stopping?
His voice was quiet and very tired.
"I've ruined everything, haven't I?"
"It's only what I should expect from you. You always ruin my missions."
Dorian yelped as the floor suddenly went out from under him. His eyes snapped open and Klaus' beautiful face was only inches away. He hung there, shocked and wide-eyes in Klaus' arms.
"And you should expect that I never give up a mission just because you tried to screw it up."
With brisk strides, Klaus carried him to one of the big chairs, and sat down with Dorian arranged him in his lap. Dorian's heart was starting to beat again, and he was regaining feeling in his limbs and coming to realize that the both of them being in robes meant that there was an awful lot of skin just a tug away from touching.
Klaus took his chin and spoke firmly. "And I’m not giving up on this. Tomorrow, you're gonna dress up in something foppish, break your way through the best security this place can offer, and sweep me off my damn feet. Understood?"
"Yes!" Dorian gasped, and Klaus buried a hand in his damp hair to pull him in for a kiss.
It was clumsy and unpracticed, but hungry. He couldn’t care about Klaus’ inexperience--he’d be doing something about that shortly, and for the time being it was rather sweet, actually. I'll have to teach him everything.
The realization was startling, the reality of his situation crashing home. My god. Teach him everything! Me!
Dorian made a high-pitched sound and threw his arms around Klaus' neck, pulling him close.
When they drew apart, Klaus laid his forehead on Dorian's, placing his scars too close to be resisted. Dorian kissed them, too, like he had in May. But longer, and Klaus didn't shove him away. No, he pulled Dorian closer and tucked his blond head under his chin. Dorian snuggled into the rich red fabric of Klaus' dressing gown, inhaling him.
"I couldn't even count on you to be a fop. You idiot," Klaus said, with a tone in his voice that Dorian had very rarely heard before.
Relief.
You weren’t even sure I was going to come, were you? And when Dorian hadn’t played along with his plan, had shown up in less than his usual glory... Now, could a pessimistic man decide it meant he wasn’t interested after all?
He’d thought Dorian would give up after the scars.
“I was worried about you, you insufferable German tank.”
“Worried about me?” Klaus scoffed. “Because I have a few gray hairs now?” There was a pause. “Is it the scars?”
“Dents on your armor, darling. I like them.” Dorian kissed them again. “Because you acted so strangely when I was here in May.”
“I was trying not to kiss you, you degenerate.”
“Why in the world would you do that?”
“I had a plan.” Klaus’ hand slipped into the collar of Dorian’s white robe. “And when one makes a plan, one should stick to it. You good-for-nothing British thief.”
“Even wire rope is more flexible than you,” Dorian said, rolling his eyes. “You... stuffy, boorish - mmmph.”
Klaus was learning quickly already.
-End