The man sitting in the swivel-chair turned to pin each person in the room
with a hard look. The only sound was the slight squeak from the chair.

"Is everyone clear on the plan?"

Everyone in the room nodded. There was an atmosphere of muted
anticipation. This was the moment that they'd been working towards for
the last decade.

"Good. Phase one has begun. You know what to do."

The room cleared, except for the one who had spoken. He remained seated,
going over the plan in his mind. He was satisfied. Every contingency had
been taken into account. They would not -- *could* not -- fail.

Let the world tremble.

* * * * *

Mac Ramsey was bored. Bored, bored, boredboredbored.

He looked longingly at the tray of champagne glasses that was being
maneuvered through the room by one of the black-clad waiters, but didn't
take one. Black was obviously the theme at this little soiree. All the
men wore black suits -- all the same style, for the most part -- and
black evening gown was the dress of preference among the women, with the
occasional splash of scarlet or royal blue to provide color.

Of course he wasn't really in a position to complain. He was dressed in
the standard black tuxedo as well. His only departures from that standard
were a green cummerbund -- to remind himself of his lover's eyes -- and a
matching emerald ear-stud. For a moment he wondered what the reaction
would have been if he had shown up in a powder-blue suit, or something
equally tacky.

No. He was on a job, so it wouldn't have gone over well. *Never* annoy
the customers. Mac glanced over at Herr Bernhoff, scion of a noble line
of Teutonic descent. Mac had already been treated to a lengthy lecture on
his employer's lofty blood-line and the glories of its members. Luckily,
the portly little man was too busy sucking up Princess Whatserface, 27th
in line for the throne of a postage-stamp sized kingdom that Mac had
never heard of, to continue the history lesson. Why the man insisted he
needed a bodyguard, Mac wasn't sure, but he had and he was paying
handsomely. Normally, Thornton & Blake would be providing the security
for the event, not just one man.

And it was a job for just one man, which was why Mac was on his own. He
*really* wished that Victor was here. They could have traded barbs about
the well-heeled -- but vapid -- crowd that filled the reception hall for
the opening gala for the exhibit of Faberge eggs. But Vic had decided
that since Herr Bernhoff insisted that he trusted no one but the Thornton
& Blake Security Agency, Mac would go. After all, he said, Mac was much
more familiar with these sorts of affairs than an ex-cop from Canada. And
he looked better in a tux too -- a statement that Mac had to agree with.

But still, he wished that he had fought a little harder. Much longer here
and he was going to die from boredom.

A stir at the main doors caught his attention, along with everyone
else's. When he finally saw what was causing the commotion, he had to
resist the urge to whistle. This guy was definitely *not* your normal
party-goer. At least not for *these* sorts of parties.

The man was tall -- taller than Mac, and he towered over a good
percentage of the room. He was slim, but muscular, and carried himself
with the grace of a dancer or martial artist. His features bordered on a
delicate beauty, without ever becoming effete. His hair was a tumble of
blond curls that brushed his shoulders, perfectly matched by bright blue
eyes. He was beautiful, but undeniably masculine.

And his *clothes*. He would stand out in a crowd anywhere, but among the
formal black dress of *this* crowd, he stood out like a peacock among
peahens. Instead of a black suit, he wore breaches of a deep sapphire
blue. Above it, he wore a blouse of pure white. Combined with a midnight
blue jacket and black, knee-high boots, he looked ready for the hunt. A
heavy silver necklace around his throat completed the ensemble.

From across the room, Mac's eyes met the other man's. For a brief moment,
Mac was certain that he knew this man. But he was equally certain that
he'd never met the man.

Mac shook himself. Herr Bernhoff was his business, not blondie. He
scanned the room again, evaluating any risks, and again found that there
were none. Then he moved back to stand near the portly German.

A few minutes later, there was a tap on his shoulder. Mac turned and
found himself face to face -- almost nose to nose -- with blondie. The
handsome man was smiling.

"I don't believe we've met," he said with a British accent. "I'm sure I
would remember seeing someone of your... caliber at these events."

Mac snorted at the subtle comment on the fact that he was armed. "Matthew
Blake, of Thornton & Blake Security. Just a bodyguard."

Blondie's smile grew wider. "Somehow I doubt that you are 'just'
anything," he said, taking Mac's hand in a strong grip, but just holding
it instead of shaking it. For a moment Mac was certain that he was going
to kiss it, as if Mac were a woman. "Dorian, Earl of Red Gloria," the man
said, finally introducing himself.

"An Earl?" Mac said, raising his eyebrows in mock-surprise. "Should I
bow?"

Dorian's laughter chimed through the room. They had attracted an audience
by this point.

"Please don't," he said. "Mr. Blake, you are a breath of fresh air in
here. I certainly hope to see you again later."

"I'm sure you will," Mac said with a grin. Then the hostess was pulling
the Earl away, no doubt horrified that he'd spent so much time with
someone who was basically hired help. He certainly hoped that he'd meet
up with the flirtatious nobleman again. It looked like his presence was
the next-best thing to having Vic around to trade comments with.

But he still had the weirdest feeling that he'd seen the man before. But
where?

* * * * *

"Really, Dorian. He's a pretty boy, but surely not of any *real*
interest."

Dorian smiled and let his hostess pull him away. "Certainly not as
interesting as you, cherie," he assured her, even though nothing could be
further from the truth. He recognized Mr. Blake as being one of the two
men he'd seen breaking in -- then out -- of a London home with Klaus only
six months ago. How *fascinating* to see him again, especially in *this*
setting. And such a refreshing young man, too.

He listened with half an ear as the young woman prattled on. Very little
of what she had to say was worth listening to, but he pretended to find
it fascinating. He responded politely as he was introduced to the same
batch of pretentious, but rich, fools that always showed up at these
affairs. Dorian pasted on his most ingratiating smile and pretended that
he was happy to see them. They did the same, although he was sure that
few of *them* were actually happy to see *him*.

No, it wasn't the people or the admittedly excellent buffet that had drawn
him to this event. It was the display that was being opened.

Faberge eggs. Jeweled eggs created by Carl Faberge for royalty a hundred
years ago. Each one an exquisitely detailed ornament of precious metals
and gems, concealing a beautiful surprise inside. An older and *much*
more elegant version of the Kinder Egg, he thought to himself with a
smile. Not that he would ever make the comparison out loud. Each of them
was worth a fortune, assuming you could sell something so distinctive,
but there was one in particular that had caught Dorian's eye.

The egg in question had only recently been re-discovered. There had been
quite a bit of controversy before it had been authenticated as being by
Faberge since it had not appeared on any of the lists of his creations.
The egg was made of onyx and platinum, studded with brilliant-cut
diamonds and sapphires. It split into two halves length-wise to reveal
the beautiful figure of a cavalry officer, mounted on his steed. The
figure was so finely detailed that you could almost identify the subject,
if you had the pictures to compare it to.

And it also happened to bear a striking resemblance to a certain former
Major in NATO Intelligence, now an inspector in Interpol, Klaus von dem
Eberbach. Dorian smiled as he thought of his beloved Major, as he still
thought of the man. He had recognized his soul-mate on the day they met,
but unfortunately, the Major was determined *not* to cooperate. Still,
there'd been signs lately that his resistance was starting to show
cracks. Sooner or later, his Major would give in to the inevitable, and
he looked forward to that day.

But until then, this would make a lovely addition to his collection. A
momento to remind him of his beloved.

A suitable challenge for the master thief, Eroica.

* * * * *

When the reception finally wound down, late in the night -- or early in
the morning, depending on your point of view -- Mac breathed a sigh of
relief. His eyes were burning, as were his lungs. Noblemen *must* smoke,
it seemed, and they *must* smoke cigars. His tuxedo was going to need to
be cleaned before it could be worn again. It stank of cigar smoke.

Thinking longingly of his bed, Mac escorted Herr Bernhoff back to his
hotel suite. At the suite's doors, Mac started to make his good-nights.
His own rooms were down the hall, elegant, but not quite as luxurious.

"Actually, Mr. Blake," the man said in a pompous tone before Mac could
make his escape. "There is one other thing. If you wouldn't mind," he
said, waving Mac into the suite.

Mac sighed. He hoped that this wasn't going to be one of those jobs where
he had to fight off lecherous advances. Unfortunately, his looks and
Vic's made that a not-uncommon occurrence. On the other hand, Herr
Bernhoff was a little too fond of his beer and did not look capable of
*forcing* his attentions. The worst that could happen was that he would
abruptly cancel the contract and refuse to pay. Then Mac would get to go
home, at least.

Inside the overly-plush suite, Mac turned to face his employer. As he
did, he heard a puff. It was followed a sting. Looking down, Mac saw the
fletching of a tranquilizer dart sticking out of his thigh. The pompous
fool had disappeared, replaced by a hard man with the same face and
figure. Mac's vision started to go black and his legs suddenly couldn't
support his weight. As he crumpled to the floor, he had only one thought.

Shit.

* * * * *

The door to the bedroom opened, and two men stepped out. They lifted the
young man up and carried him into the other room. Herr Bernhoff walked
over to the phone and dialed a memorized number.

"We have him."

* * * * *

It was hours after the end of the reception. Dawn was just around the
corner.

Dressed completely in black, including a cap to disguise his bright hair,
Dorian Red Gloria, also known as the thief Eroica, made his way through
the museum. He had carefully observed the locations of the security
sensors during the reception. He had acquired blueprints of the museum,
so he knew the way to the reception hall as well as at least five escape
routes if a security guard should arrive at the wrong moment.

The detritus of the reception still littered the hall. The janitorial
staff would be in soon to clean up the mess, which meant that he didn't
have much time. Dorian grinned. He worked well under pressure.

He ignored the majority of the cases. All he wanted was the one egg. It
wasn't as though he was trying to steal the collection to sell, since
there wasn't much of a market for stolen Faberge eggs.

The lock on the display case was hopelessly archaic -- so easy that it
was almost an insult to his skills. It took him less than a minute to
pick it. The electronic sensor inside was equally simple to deal with. He
popped open the case with a sigh. Somehow, he thought that if the
delightful Mr. Blake had been in charge of security it would have been a
great deal more challenging to complete his little task.

Dorian smiled at the memory of the young man. It was such a pity that he
hadn't had the chance to talk to him again before the end of the evening.
While he wouldn't have inspired Dorian to abandon his Major, he might
have been a fun diversion.

With a satisfied smile, Dorian stood up with the egg carefully cradled in
his hands. He turned around and found that he was no longer alone in the
room.

There were three figures, all swathed in black. He couldn't even tell
whether they were male or female. One of them raised a gun and pulled the
trigger.

Dorian looked down to see a tranquilizer dart embedded in his thigh. He
could already feel the dizziness as the drug took effect. Very carefully,
he turned back to the case and placed the egg back in its place. It would
be a pity if it were damaged when he collapsed. As he crumpled to the
floor, he had only one thought.

Oh dear.

* * * * *

When the blond thief was completely unconscious, two of the figures
stepped forward. They grasped the limp man's arms and dragged him towards
the exit.

The third man holstered his tranquilizer gun and pulled out what looked
like a cell-phone. He punched a button, then raised it to his ear.

"Phase one is complete."
 
 

----------------------------------------
Bait
by Lianne Burwell
November 1998
----------------------------------------

"Phase one is complete. It's time to move on to Phase two."

There was a feeling of satisfaction in the room. Nothing could stop them
now. Nothing, except...

"But will they cooperate?"

The leader frowned at the lone questioner. "Not yet. That is why Phase
two is so important." He was pleased to see the man cringe at his tone of
voice. "Have they been sent?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, then. Now we wait."

The conspirators filed out of the room, in ones and twos and threes. The
leader watched the one who had spoken up, though. He would have to be
disposed of.

There was no room in their plans for any doubt or doubters.

* * * * *

Klaus von dem Eberbach sat at his desk, reviewing his case files. It was
only ten in the morning, and he wanted a cigarette badly. Unfortunately,
Interpol's new buildings were all smoke-free zones. To have a cigarette,
he would have to go outside, which he didn't have time for. Not to
mention that the late-winter weather was damp and unpleasant.

Sometimes, he thought that he should have stayed with NATO Intelligence.
They didn't try to impose this ridiculous "smoking is evil" attitude on
*its* employees.

Klaus read through the standard surveillance reports, signing off on
them. A couple, he made notes on to send the agents back to school, since
they had managed to loose their subjects. That was usually either due to
sloppy work or insufficient training, and he decided to give them the
benefit of the doubt. He snorted to himself. He was going soft in his old
age.

Then he reached for the mail in his in-box. Most of it was garbage. There
were the usual invitations to conferences that he never went to, offers
of courses that were supposed to make his life better. There were the
memos sent through the inter-office mail by the fools who were his
superiors. Why were his superiors always fools?

And a plain envelope with no return address. His name and the office
address were printed in block letters, impossible to match handwritings.
Klaus frowned. Normally he would suspect a bomb, but it was obvious that
the envelope only contained a single piece of paper. Poisoned, perhaps?
He considered calling the forensics department and handing the envelope
over to them, but his curiosity was peaked now.

Deciding to play it safe, he put on his leather gloves and a dust mask
that he kept in his desk drawer for times like this. Checking the
envelope for fingerprints would be useless, since it had gone through too
many people to leave the original prints intact. Klaus made a mental note
to talk to the mailroom staff. Something so obvious should have been
stopped and examined immediately.

Klaus picked up his letter-opener and carefully slit the envelope open.
There were no suspicious smells or stains. He slip the piece of paper out
and unfolded it.

//We have Eroica. His fate depends on you.//

Klaus promptly wadded up the paper and tossed it in the garbage in
disgust. The gloves went back in his coat pocket and the mask went in the
desk. He didn't have time for this sort of nonsense. Besides, it was
probably just a ploy.

But was it? His attention kept turning back to the letter. While Eroica
had tried just about everything to get -- and keep -- his attention, this
was definitely... below him.

Klaus dismissed it again. Even if he was in trouble, he was a big boy and
could get himself out of it on his own.

He went back to his work, and tried to concentrate on the quarterly
budget report. He never should have let them promote him to a management
level. Around here, that meant he was off the streets. He was going soft.

He was going soft in the *head*. Every time he turned around, he saw a
flash of golden curls, heard a husky chuckle. He thought of calling
James, the Earl's accountant, and asking...

That was ridiculous. It would just *encourage* the man. If he was in
trouble, he got there on his own and didn't need help getting out.

Except... How many times had he saved Klaus's life? Probably as many
times as he put it in danger, he reminded himself. Still, he'd always
been there... Where he wasn't wanted or needed. But...

Klaus snarled at himself. He was *definitely* going soft. But still... he
got up and retrieved the paper from the wastebasket, along with the
envelope. Then he picked up the phone and called the department secretary.

"Mathilde? Eberbach here. I'm taking a few days off. Yes, you heard me
right. A... friend needs some help. Right, I'll let you know when I have
a better idea of how long I'll be away. Send everything to Christophers.
He'll be filling in for me."

He hung up, still hearing the shock in her voice. Klaus von dem Eberbach
taking time off? Going to help a *friend*? He even *had* one? He could
almost hear the gossip mill grinding away at that piece of information.

He turned the envelope over in his hand, looking for something,
*anything*, to start him on his way.

The postmark. It was from a small Polish village, near the border with
the old Soviet Union.

That was where he would start.

* * * * *

Victor Mansfield was not a happy camper. Mac hadn't called him the day
before, and he was supposed to. Sure, he was probably tired from the
gala, but still... And there'd been no word that morning before Victor
had left to go to town to do the shopping, and he was starting to get
upset.

Victor had gone to the market to buy the week's groceries, with a stop in
at the post office to pick up the mail. Along the way, he greeted some of
the people that had been his neighbors for the last three years. They
still thought of Victor and Mac as those new kids in the area, but that
was all right. Around here, anything more recent than about a hundred
years was new. But a hundred kilometers, that was a long way away. It was
an attitude that took some getting used to.

Back at the cottage, Vic wheeled the push cart into the kitchen, dropped
the mail and headed for the answering machine.

Nothing. This was getting worrisome.

Victor put away the groceries, mentally planning several meals that he
was going to prepare and freeze for the times when they didn't have the
time to spare to cook a meal. Then he picked up the mail and started
sorting.

He paused when he came to one of the envelopes addressed to him. More
specifically, to Victor Mansfield, not Richard Thornton. It was plain
white, and the name and address was printed in block letters. Victor felt
his stomach clench up. He opened the envelope and pulled out the page
inside.

//'We have Mac Ramsey. His fate depends on you.//

Victor grabbed the envelope. It was postmarked in Poland, someplace. No
matter. He'd find it. He grabbed his emergency travel bag and headed for
the door.

Mac better be in one piece or there would be *Hell* to pay.

* * * * *

Klaus stepped off the train onto the tiny platform that passed for a
station in the village. It was surprising that the village even rated
that. There was only one real street, with lanes leading away, no doubt
to the local farms. There were few buildings and fewer shops. He picked
up his duffel and went looking for someone who could direct him to
lodgings.

He found someone who spoke German, and found that there were no hotels in
the area. However, one of the residents rented out rooms, and had a
couple free.

The building was dilapidated and the room cold and dank, but it was
better than nothing. He paid the hag for two nights, and slid his duffel
under the bed. He wasn't fool enough to leave anything valuable in it,
though.

Now that he knew where he was sleeping, it was time to find out what had
happened to Eroica.

As he headed back out to the so-called 'Main Street', he saw a rickety
old bus pull to a stop. Only one person got off, and Klaus wondered what
could possible bring someone here.

Then he recognized the man. Someone he hadn't seen since last summer.
Victor Mansfield.

This was getting... interesting.

* * * * *

Victor got off the bus and breathed a sigh of relief. The ancient
monstrosity didn't seem to have a single shock-absorber left, and he felt
like half his fillings had shaken free. Still, it had gotten him here,
combined with a plane trip and a train ride. He would have preferred to
take the train all the way, but he'd been too late to make the connection
and had decided to take the bus instead of waiting for the next day's
train. Mac was depending on him.

So here he was. Now what?

First thing was to find someplace to stay that night. Second was to check
the post office. See if he could find out who had mailed the letter.

Victor turned, hefting his bag, and looked for someone who might
understand French or English. Despite three years in Europe, he wasn't
fluent in many languages.

"What are *you* doing here?" a voice said in English behind him. Victor
jumped at the unexpected question. Spinning and landing in a defensive
posture, he found himself looking at...

"Eberbach? What the hell?"

"I asked first, Mansfield."

Victor straightened up. "Mac disappeared while on a bodyguard job. I got a
letter postmarked from here."

Klaus frowned (not that he ever seemed to have a different expression,
Victor thought to himself). "Do you have the letter?"

Curious to see why the man was interested, Victor pulled out the paper
and handed it over. Klaus examined it in minute detail, then pulled out a
similar paper to compare it to. Victor snatched the page from the man's
hand.

"We have Eroica. His fate depends on you," he read aloud. "Who is
Eroica?" He watched in amazement as the other man flushed a dusky rose.

"He's a thief. I... worked with him, while I was in NATO Intelligence."

"An operative? Or maybe... more?" Victor asked with a grin. He didn't
have time for this, but he couldn't help needling the grim German.

"He was a nuisance! I moved to Interpol to rid myself of his nonsense,"
the man said in a defensive tone.

"Riiight. That's why you drop everything to come to his rescue." Victor
snickered as the other man got more and more irate. Reading between the
lines was very amusing. Then something occurred to him.

"This Eroica. Would he be the one who drew the guards away in London?"

"Yes." Klaus didn't look happy about that, but Victor didn't care.

"Then I owe him one. Well, now. It looks like we're here for the same
reason. Someone has taken our... partners," he watched in amusement as
the other man choked at the way he said the word, "and has lured us here.
I'd say that it's in our best interests to work on this together."

"Agreed," Klaus said, with obvious reluctance.
 

"Good. Now, the post office is the obvious place to start. But first, I
don't suppose that this place has hotel, by any chance?"

* * * * *

A phone rang and was answered.

"They've arrived."

"Good. Commence Phase two."
 

----------------------------------------
Phase II
by Lianne Burwell
December 1998
----------------------------------------

Mac woke up gradually, in stages, his head feeling like it had been
stuffed full of cotton. He didn't feel hung-over, but his memories of the
night before were strangely hazy. Vic... No, Vic hadn't been there.
Right, the job. Herr Bernhoff. The reception, and then...

Shit!

Mac sat up, and immediately regretted it, as the sudden movement made his
stomach roil.

"Ah, so you're awake. I was beginning to worry. Good morning. Or maybe
that should be 'Good Evening'. It's difficult to tell."

Mac turned, wincing at the glaring light from the bare lightbulb. The
room was definitely *not* on his list of ideal travel destinations. In
fact, it looked like a dungeon. Bare stone walls, dripping with
condensation, a couple of bare cots, mildewed blankets...

And blondie.

Mac raised a hand to his forehead, trying to come up with a coherent
thought. Whatever they'd drugged him with, it was pretty damned
effective. "Umm..." he said, then stopped. How *did* you address an Earl?

The blond smiled, obviously having a good idea of his problem.
"Considering the circumstance, I think just Dorian will do nicely," he
said with a gracious wave of his hand.

In his drug-befuddled state, Mac found himself admiring the gesture. How
was it that the man could look so fresh and relaxed in this setting?
Unless, of course, he was here willingly, Mac thought to himself,
dragging his attention back to more important matters.

"Dorian. Why the *hell* am I here?" Mac winced a little at his tone.

"Good question," the other man said with a beautiful pout. "I was rather
hoping that you could tell me. I have no idea why either of us is here."

"Okay, then. How did we *get* here?"

"Well, you were here when I woke up. I was... taking another look at the
collection," he glanced at Mac, a small smile on his lips. "After the
museum closed, I have to say. Anyway, I was surprised by a group of men
in black who shot me with a tranquilizer dart, then I woke up here. You?"

Mac shook his head. "Same sort of thing. Except it was my employer, Herr
Bernhoff, who shot me. Damn, I *knew* there was something fishy when he
insisted that it had to be *us* that he hired. We don't *do* bodyguard
work anymore."

"But he offered enough money to make it worth your while, but not enough
to be too suspicious?" Mac nodded, still disgusted with himself. "And I
must wonder about the authenticity of that Faberge egg. It seems a little
too convenient that it would be just right to catch my attention. No,
someone has been *very* clever about capturing us. The question is why."

Mac frowned, as he watched the handsome man musing over possible reasons.
"Just what is it you do?" he finally asked. Dorian *had* said that he was
in the museum after it closed, after all. Dorian smiled brightly.

"I'm a thief, of course," he said. "Although I've been known to do a
favor or two for the authorities when a certain handsome Major is
involved." Mac blinked in confusion. "Klaus, darling. He helped you break
into a London townhouse last fall."

Mac blinked. "How did you know about that? He didn't seem like he would
willingly *tell* anyone about it."

"Who do you think led those guards away so that you could escape?"

Mac's eyes went wide at that. He remembered the guards being distracted,
just when he'd thought that they were as good as dead. But why would
blondie want to help Eberbach? Then he considered the German, and the
obvious flamboyance of the man co-habiting the cell with him.

"He seems like a tough nut to crack, so to speak," he said with a sly
grin. He was rewarded with another blinding smile.

"I'm a patient man. He can't resist *forever*."

Mac wasn't so sure about that, but he didn't say anything. The important
question was why they were there. One thought was the Tangs, which had
rebuilt as a crime family in the years since both the Old Man and his
son, Michael, had died. He was disappointed that they hadn't gone through
with Father's plans to move to legitimate enterprises only, but he didn't
exactly have a say in it. But if it were the Tangs behind this, they
wouldn't bother with Dorian.

However, since they'd both been at the London townhouse when an Agency
Director had died, it *might* be related to Agency business. He didn't
think that the Director -- now the Head -- would do this, but there were
too many people within the Agency for her to control them all. That was a
definite possibility.

Of course, it could be some other player entirely. But why the two of
them? After all, the only other thing they had in common was the fact
that they were both... thieves?

Before he could follow that line of thought, there was the sound of metal
scraping against metal. Both Mac and Dorian looked to the door, where a
slot at the bottom had opened. A tray was being pushed through.

"Hey!" Mac called out, pounding on the door with a fist. "What's going
on? What do you want?" The only answer was fading footsteps. Mac turned
to Dorian, who was poking at the dishes on the tray with a disgusted look
on his face.

"It's edible," the man said. "But just barely." He patted the stone floor
next to him. "Come now, Mac. We need to keep our strength up. It may not
be good, but it is fuel."

Mac sat in the indicated spot and took a look at what had been supplied.
Oatmeal, gone cold, and stale bread. He gagged slightly at the thought,
but dug in. No spoon, though. Did they think that he and Dorian would be
able to dig their way out? Use it as a weapon?

Actually, Mac thought, he could have. Pity.

* * * * *

Klaus tossed and turned, trying to escape the familiar dream. Blue eyes
gleamed and a mouth curved into a knowing smile. He snarled and moved
away, but hands followed, refusing to let him escape. A warm voice spoke
words that he didn't want to hear.

Then he was awake. There was a brief moment where he was just relieved to
be out of the dream, but it disappeared quickly. Something had woken him.

There was a creak of the ancient floorboards outside his door. Klaus
reached under his pillow for his gun, pulling it out slowly, not making a
noise, and pointed it towards the door that was starting to creak open.

But before he could react, there was a 'phhht', and he felt a sting.
Looking down he saw was a tranquilizer dart sticking out of his arm.

As the world went dark, he grimaced in disgust at how easily he'd been
taken. Hopefully Mansfield wouldn't be as easy to capture.

* * * * *

Victor groaned, trying to shake off the effects of the drug.

He and Klaus had spent the day questioning the locals, trying to figure
out who had sent them the letters without getting anywhere. They'd
finally gone back to the boarding house and their separate rooms, but
Victor had found sleep elusive. He'd tossed and turned, then had finally
gotten up and dressed, planning to go for a walk to get some fresh air.

Just as he'd reached the door, he'd heard another door open and the sound
of a silenced gun. Freezing, he'd listened to the sounds of a body being
dragged away. Then the footsteps had moved towards his own door.

Victor had flattened himself to the wall, a hand going to his gun. The
door had opened and gun had poked through the narrow gap. He'd promptly
kicked it from its owner's grasp. Unfortunately, the man hadn't been
alone, and the fight was on. Victor was an excellent martial artist, but
the hallway was narrow and there had been no way for him to safely use
his gun.

Still, one man had gone down with a dislocated shoulder and another with
a damaged kneecap before the original attacker managed to recover his gun
and shoot Victor.

Within seconds, Victor had been reeling from the drug. It had been a
tranquilizer gun. A blow from one of the other men had knocked him off
his feet. As a boot descended, he had cursed himself for walking into
such an obvious trap.

But now he was awake again and raging. He shifted his weight, only to
be drawn up short by the sound of metal against metal. Shaking his head
to clear it, he realized that he was chained up.

In fact, he was chained to the wall in what looked like one of those bad
rip-offs of a medieval dungeon -- the type that Hollywood used for
movies. Whips on the walls, an Iron Maiden in the corner, a fire with
several pokers sticking out of the coals glowing a cheery red...

And the ultimate of cliches, a rack, stood in the center of the room,
with Klaus stretched out on it.

Victor cleared his throat and saw Klaus turn his head towards him, as
best he could. "So, any idea where we are?"

"No," was the blunt, almost snarled, reply. "And I doubt we'll find out
until our captors are ready to tell us *why* we are here."

Victor sighed. Obviously the German was not in the mood for conversation.
Victor shifted his weight, trying to find a comfortable position and
settled himself to wait as patiently as possible, but his face throbbed,
his head ached and he was still worried about Mac.

* * * * *

Dorian woke, slightly disoriented. There was no way to tell what time it
was, or how long they'd been locked in the tiny room. They'd been fed
four times, but that didn't give a very good estimate of time.

He shifted slightly and Mac murmured a sleepy protest from his position,
curled up against Dorian's side. Unsurprising, considering the time of
year, the room wasn't just damp, it was bitterly cold, and the ancient
blankets that they'd been supplied with were worse than useless for
keeping them warm. Instead, they'd huddled together, trying to share
their meager body warmth.

Dorian smiled down at the young man. They'd talked for hours, just to
pass the time. The boy had certainly led an interesting, if not
always pleasant, life. In some ways, Dorian found himself jealous. Mac
had found his true love and *hadn't* been soundly rejected. Instead, he
and Victor seemed to have built a life together that was almost idyllic.
Dorian sometimes wondered if he would ever have that with Klaus.

Voices in the distance brought him abruptly out of his musings. That must
have been what woke him up. Dorian listened carefully.

There were several voices, although he couldn't tell what they were
saying, and they were getting closer. Dorian gave Mac a small shake.

"Nnn.. Five more minutes, Vic..." was the sleepy reply.

"Darling, I think we're about to get those answers we've been waiting
for," Dorian said with a fond smile. The boy really was adorable.

"Wha?" Mac was wide awake almost immediately. Dorian stood, and easily
pulled his cellmate to his feet. They both straightened their clothes,
almost instinctively making sure that they looked their best. They both
stopped at the same moment and looked at each other before snickering at
how ridiculous they must look.

Then they moved into position next to the door, waiting for it to open.

Dorian resisted the urge to hold his breath, forcing himself instead to
take deep, even breaths. There was a scraping noise as a key was inserted
in the door lock and turned. Mac settled into a ready pose that
demonstrated his martial arts knowledge as the door opened.

He didn't have a chance. The first man through the door was shaped like a
gorilla, six and a half feet tall, and massively built. Mac just bounced
off of him and was tossed against the wall. The man behind the gorilla
stepped into the cell, holding a very efficient looking gun.

"Don't," was all he said. He waved them towards the door.

Dorian pulled Mac to his feet, the young man still looking dazed from his
impact. "I suggest we go along with them," he whispered to Mac.

"Yeah," Mac gasped. "I can do that."
 

They followed the gorilla down the hallway, the gunman walking behind
them, no doubt ready to shoot at the slightest sign of resistance. There
were no signs of life from any of the cells that they passed. Around the
corner, a doorway spilled light though. They were encouraged towards it.

Dorian tensed, as he realized that this was obviously the torture chamber
for the dungeons. He resisted the urge to groan when he saw Klaus
strapped to the rack in the center of the room.

"Vic!" Dorian just barely managed to stop the young man from doing
something foolish. At the far side of the room, Victor Mansfield was
chained against the wall. A large purple bruise spread across one side of
his face and the slightly glazed look in his eyes did not bode well. The
man Mac called Herr Bernhoff was at his side, a gun pointed at Victor's
head.

"Very wise, Herr Eroica," the man said. "Do restrain your young friend or
things could get... messy."

"Who are you?" Dorian asked, his eyes drawn back to Klaus's impassive
face. "What do you want?"

"Who I am is unimportant. But what I want... well, unless you want these
two men to learn first-hand how all this equipment works, what I want is
*very* important. It is also quite simple. I want the two of you to steal
something for me. Do as I tell you and the four of you will live.
Refuse... I'm sure that two intelligent men like yourselves can figure
that out on your own."

Dorian looked into Mac's anguished face and shrugged. They didn't exactly
have much of choice.

"What is it you want stolen?"
 

----------------------------------------
Caper
by Lianne Burwell
December 1998
----------------------------------------

"They've arrived in Moscow."

"Good."

The leader looked around the room, full of satisfaction. Everything was
proceeding exactly as had been planned. They had considered every
contingency. Years of planning were finally coming to fruition.

"Are we ready to eliminate them as soon as they succeed?"

"Yes sir. As soon as they bring it to us, they will be disposed of. What
of the other two? Should we deal with them now?"

"No. We may need them if their friends are obstinate. As soon as the task
is completed, they will all be eliminated. Go get ready."

One by one, the others left the room, each bowing respectfully as they
passed. Men and women, each chosen for their skills and their loyalty to
the cause.

Bu there was only one missing. The one who had expressed doubts in a
previous meeting. He had been dealt with.

There was no room in the plan for doubters.

* * * * *

Mac held his breath as he disabled the last of the security sensors. A
tweak here, an adjustment there, and...

Voila!

Mac sat back, smiling in satisfaction at a job well done. Then he looked
over at his partner and the feeling disappeared, like a soap bubble going
>pop<.

"Very nice, darling," Dorian said, lightly clapping his hands.

Mac nodded, and waved for the blond man to lead the way into the room. He
wanted Vic, now more than ever. If Vic had been there he would have
rewarded Mac with a long kiss (with lots of tongue), and the promise of
more later. While Dorian might be willing to do the same, he wasn't the
one Mac wanted.

But Vic wasn't there. Vic was chained to the wall of a medieval dungeon
just inside the Russian border. He and Klaus, the stiff German that
Dorian was so hung up on, had been lured into a trap by the jerks who had
grabbed him and Dorian. Once inside the trap, they became the threat that
had brought the two thieves to Moscow.

Either they stole what their blackmailers wanted or Vic and Klaus would
be killed, slowly and painfully.

Needless to say, they didn't have much choice.

So here they were, breaking into a heavily protected building to steal...
This was ridiculous. And how the hell were they supposed to get it out?

Mac shook his head. It still didn't make any sense.

Why the hell would anyone want Lenin's body anyway?

* * * * *

The leader watched the phone, willing it to ring. Their team had watched
the two thieves break into Lenin's tomb, but they hadn't been seen
leaving. While the press had been told nothing, his people had confirmed
that the police were hunting for the body and that a replica had been
placed on display.

So where were Mac Ramsey and Eroica?

The phone rang. Snatching it up, he barked "Have you found them?"

"Found who?"

The leader resisted the urge to snarl, recognizing the insolent voice of
Ramsey.

"Where are you? You did not do what you were ordered."

"There was a change of plans." He could almost see the smirk on the man's
face. "We found another way out. We have what you wanted. Time for you to
come through on your end of the bargain."

"Meaning?"

"We have stinky, here. You have Vic and Klaus. We're in a farmhouse, just
outside of Minsk. I'll give you more detailed directions in a moment. You
bring our partners and we'll do a trade. Then, when we all have what we
want, we'll go our separate ways, never to meet again. Agreed?"

"Agreed," the leader said, reaching for a pen. He wrote down the
directions, then hung up the phone, a cold smile curling his lips.

They were fools. There would be no exchange. His people would kill the
two thieves and take the body. Once it was in their possession there
would be no reason to keep the other two alive. He would enjoy killing
them personally. It would make up for the aggravation that their partners
had caused.

* * * * *

The men surrounded the farmhouse, their orders clear: Take the body and
leave two in its place. The farmhouse sparkled before them in the light
of the nearly full moon above. It might have been a problem if the
farmhouse lights weren't all on, but the yellow glow streaming through
the windows would make it difficult for anyone inside to see out.

The two men inside would be no threat. Even if they had taken advantage
of their time out of the surveillance to obtain weapons they were still
only two men against a squad of highly trained warriors.

The signal was given, and the men went in, coming through every entrance.
Guns were ready.

The only problem was... No one was there.

The building was searched, from top to bottom. They found Lenin's body
tucked upright inside a broom closet. Of the two thieves, there was no
sign.

The squad leader snarled his frustration. He pulled out the cell phone to
call his boss to report, but before he could, floodlights lit the outside
of the building.

"Come out with your hands up!" called a voice in Russian. A glance out
the window showed dozens of armed men, all in uniform. The squad leader
turned to his men.

"The mission must succeed."

His men all nodded. They knew what to do.

Gunfire filled the night.

* * * * *

Outside the castle, Mac and Dorian had found a back entrance with only one
guard and no electronic surveillance. One guard would not be much trouble.

Mac came up along the side of the building and struck a blow to the back
of the man's head with the side of his hand which left the guard
unconscious, oblivious to the two figures in black who slipped past him
into the ancient building.

Locating the castle hadn't been easy, taking several days. Once they'd
reached the stone heap, they'd called the number that Bernhoff had given
them to tell them where he could find Lenin's body. They knew that he had
no intention of letting them or their partners go, so they planned to be
in and out before he found out that they weren't with the body.

Mac was a little surprised, though. The voice on the other end *hadn't*
been Bernhoff. If he wasn't in charge, then who was? And just what was
this group up to?

An anonymous tip to the appropriate authorities, telling them where they
could find the stolen body and the gang of thieves, would hopefully
provide enough of a delay so that they could get away.

Once inside, common sense drew them down to the lowest levels of the
building; where else would the dungeons be? Once there, memory led to
the torture chamber. It was empty. Mac cursed under her breath. They
started down the rows of cells until they found one that was occupied.
Mac had the ancient lock open in seconds.

"Vic!" he hissed quietly. One of the sleeping figures sat up, wide eyed.
In a moment, the man was on his feet, across the room and holding Mac.
Mac laughed, and rained small kisses all over the older man's face,
momentarily forgetting where they were.

"If you two can drag yourselves apart, I suggest you save it until we
actually get out of here," came the sarcastic comment from behind them.

"Hush, Major. I think they're sweet. Unfortunately, children, he's right.
We'd better be going."

Reluctantly, Mac pulled away. "Later," he promised, brushing the back of
his hand against Vic's cheek, feeling the several day's worth of beard
growth there. When they were out of here, he was going to pamper his
lover shamelessly.

Vic gave him a small smile, and accepted the gun held out to him. Klaus
was already armed. Then they headed for the stairs, wondering how long
until their luck would run out.

* * * * *

The leader hung up the phone very, very carefully.

Then he ripped the cord from the wall and threw the phone across the
room, shouting with rage.

How could things have been so badly botched? Only three of the men sent
to the farmhouse had survived, escaping with the body while their
compatriots held off the Russian soldiers. The body was on its way to the
center, but the price had been high. Every loyal member would be needed
when the time came, and the loss infuriated him.

But they had the body. Eberbach and Mansfield were no longer necessary.

The leader pulled a pistol from his desk drawer, then headed for the
stairs.

He was going to take *great* pleasure in killing them.

* * * * *

Klaus took the rear as Dorian led the way back to whatever exit that he
and Ramsey had used to get into the castle. His eyes constantly scanned
the hallway, looking for someone -- anyone -- to hurt.

Klaus *really* wanted to hurt someone. He'd been made a fool of, and
there was nothing he liked less than looking the fool. He was going to
find out who was behind this whole business, and he was going to make
them pay.

They were almost to the exit, came the whispered report from Dorian. A
little further and they would be out and on their way to a hidden
vehicle. He would be on his way back to Berlin and his office. Mansfield
and Ramsey would go back to France, and hopefully Dorian would go back to
wherever he was making home at the moment. London, probably.

But before they could reach the exit, the alarms started to blare.

What the hell was this old heap doing with that sort of alarm system,
Klaus wondered to himself. Then he shut off that line of thought, and
checked his gun again to make sure that it was ready and in working order.

Amazing how Dorian had managed to find his preferred type of firearm. But
that was the way that the blond thief worked.

They were at the door, and already Klaus could hear the sounds of boots
coming down the hallway behind them. He watched their rear, while Ramsey
and Mansfield took the lead. Klaus and Dorian followed them out.

They had almost reached the small car when gunshots rang out. Klaus
returned fire, welcoming the chance to take a little revenge.

In his mind, the first man he hit was Bernhoff, the pompous little
asshole. The next was the guard who had kicked him in the ribs when he
and Mansfield had tried to escape, three days earlier. The next was
whoever cooked the wretched gruel that had been their only food during
their stay.

"Klaus! It's time to go!"

Klaus blinked, suddenly realizing that no one was shooting at them
anymore. He pulled his trigger one last time, and was answered with the
click of an empty clip.

Klaus tucked the gun into the back of his pants, hissing a little as the
heated metal pressed against him, even with the fabric of his shirt as a
buffer. He spared one last look at the building that had held him for
nearly a week.

Then he turned and followed the others to the waiting vehicle

* * * * *

"I want them *dead*!"

The leader was beyond angry, beyond enraged. The four men had escaped and
he wanted revenge. He picked up the phone and started giving orders to
hunt down and destroy the escapees. His chief aide waved at him, trying
to get his attention.

"What?!"

"Sir, there is no room in the plan for these actions. Not yet. We have
the body, and should proceed according to the schedule. There will be
time to deal with them later, if they interfere."

Grudgingly, he lowered the phone. The young man was right, and that
galled him. This was not the time to allow themselves to be distracted.
Once there was no chance of the plan being disrupted, though...

"This isn't over," he muttered to himself. "Not over at all."

A new world order was coming, and there would be a price to pay in it for
the four men who'd defied him.
 

----------------------------------------
Comfort and Confusion
by Lianne Burwell
January 1999
----------------------------------------

Klaus sighed, looking around the private train carriage. Trust Dorian to
do an escape in style. He'd expected a cold, wet chase across the country-
side, only to be led straight to the train tracks. There, a private car
hooked up to a mini-engine waited. Once they reached a larger town Dorian
had dropped off Ramsey and Mansfield, then hooked up the car to one of
the regular trains headed for Germany -- something that wasn't cheap.

Klaus had protested that it would be too easy to track them, but Dorian
had countered that it was too public to attack them. Besides, he'd had
the car stocked with well-hidden weapons before it was delivered by
Bonham.

He could have left with the other two and made his own way back to
Germany, but since Dorian's passenger car was headed that way, he might
as well take advantage of it.

At least that's what he kept telling himself. Now, finally clean, dry and
warm, tucked into a bed, he couldn't hide the truth.

He didn't want to be alone. After nearly a week of being locked in a
cell, beaten up and threatened with all sort of horrific tortures,
knowing that he was dead as soon as Dorian and Ramsey came through on
what they'd been sent to do, he didn't want to be alone.

Not that he was *ever* going to admit that to Dorian.

* * * * *

Dorian put down the hairdryer, sighing in pleasure at finally having
clean hair again. One of the benefits of a private train carriage was
that it had a fully equipped bathroom, complete with a tub large enough
for him to properly stretch out it. Considering his height, it was to be
a custom job, like the car.

A filling dinner, a hot bath, clean clothes. Who could want more?

Well, he did want more, but despite his confident words to Mac, he wasn't
so sure that he was ever likely to get what he really wanted. He gave his
reflection a wry grin. Why did he have to go and fall head over heels in
love -- not to mention lust -- with an uptight German full of Catholic
guilt?

Dorian shook his head. What made it worse was the fact that Klaus was so
*obviously* gay. He was repressed to the point of blindness, but anyone
with a brain could see it. He almost never showed interest in a woman, he
surrounded himself exclusively with male operatives. And despite his
refusal to admit it, Dorian saw the appreciation in the man's eyes when
they turned his way.

Dorian pulled his sapphire-blue silk robe on, belting it loosely around
his waist. A good night's sleep, and when they woke they would be in
Berlin. Then he and Klaus would go their separate ways yet again.

Dorian headed down the hallway to his bedroom, but paused outside of
Klaus's door. It was probably not a good idea, but he couldn't resist
sliding the door open, just enough to look at the man.

Klaus was lying flat on his back, arms straight at his sides on top of
the covers, looking for all the world like a marble effigy on top of a
medieval tomb. Even in his sleep, he was completely expressionless.

Dorian sometimes wondered about Klaus's past. It was his experience that
this much repression of emotions comes from trauma in a person's past,
usually in childhood. If he were to guess, he'd say that Klaus's parents
were cold and demanding, never praising their son. Klaus would be
spending his life trying to live up to standards forever out of his
reach. Dorian sniffed a little, imagining Klaus as a child. He would have
been so adorable, only needing a little love and affection. Dorian wished
that he could have been there to provide it for him.

Dorian was so caught up in his musings that he almost missed the start of
the nightmare. Even then, Klaus didn't make a sound. The only signs that
showed were the deepening line on his brow and the hands tightening into
fists. Other than that, he didn't move, didn't make a sound.

Concerned, Dorian stepped into the room, swaying with the motion of the
train. Hesitant, he sat down on the edge of the bed next to Klaus.

"Major?" he said softly, laying a gentle hand on the other man's arm.

That was a mistake. In a burst of motion, Klaus erupted from the bed,
fists flying. He was making guttural noises, more like an animal than a
human.

Caught off-guard, Dorian's head swum as several blows hit him solidly,
one to the jaw and several to his torso. With a cry, he fell backwards
onto the floor, Klaus landing on top of him, hands around his throat. His
eyes were blank, still caught in whatever nightmare he'd been having.

"Major!" Dorian's cry was blocked by hands tightening around his neck. He
was going to need a scarf tomorrow to cover the bruises.

Assuming, of course, that he survived the next few minutes.

But the one word was enough. He could see awareness returning to the
other man's eyes. The hands loosened, then dropped away. Klaus sat back
on his heels, still straddling Dorian's body, and Dorian pushed himself up
following him. Klaus refused to meet his eyes.

"Are you all right, Klaus?" Dorian frowned in worry.

The comment brought Klaus around to face him. He raised a hand to touch
the side of Dorian's face. Dorian could already feel the bruise there as
well. A scarf *and* makeup.

"I'm the one who should be saying that," was the quiet reply. Dorian's
jaw almost hit his chest. Klaus had not been afraid to hit him over the
years -- although that impulse had gradually disappeared -- but he had
trouble remembering the last time that the man had apologized for it, let
alone sounded so contrite.

Klaus stood up and actually reached a hand to help Dorian to his feet.

"It's all right," Dorian said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "You
should go back to bed."

Strangely docile now, Klaus moved back to the bed and climbed under the
covers. A little more cautious than before, Dorian sat down next to him
on the edge of the bed. "Better?" he asked, and was answered with a small
nod.

Klaus went still and closed his eyes, obviously wanting to give the
impression of being asleep again. Dorian waited a moment, but there was
no further movement or sound from Klaus. After a few minutes, the man's
breathing had evened out until Dorian knew he was asleep for real.

Dorian knew he should leave for his own bed, but he smiled. It was a
foolish thing to do, but he couldn't resist.

He bent his head and kissed Klaus.

The mouth under his was soft with sleep and opened up to the probe of
tongue. Dorian deepened the kiss a little more, then pulled back
regretfully.

Klaus's eyes were open and glittering in the dim light from the doorway.
Dorian froze, wondering if he was about to acquire a few more bruises
that night. Klaus didn't move.

Dorian bit his lip, then decided that he might as well go for it all
while Klaus was in such an unusually passive mood. He brushed a hand
through the straight, dark hair, then bent his head again.

There was no resistance to the kiss, but no participation either. Dorian
ran his tongue over Klaus's lips, but this time they remained shut. They
tasted of beer. He'd made sure that he had a supply of Klaus's favorite
on board, and the man had obviously taken advantage of it.

There was a sound that he couldn't identify. It was part whimper, part
groan and part something he couldn't put a name to. And suddenly, without
warning, the lips parted.

Moaning deep in his throat, Dorian plunged in, memorizing every taste,
every texture. If he never had the chance to repeat this, he wanted to
remember every detail.

Dorian slid down to lie stretched out next to Klaus on the bed. He
continued the kiss, begrudging those moments when he had to pull away to
allow them bother to breathe before sealing their lips together again.
Meanwhile, his hands kept moving. First they ran through the thick hair,
moving occasionally to caress the sides of the strong jaw. Then, when no
move was made to stop him, he moved his hands further down.

He used light touches, trying not to spook Klaus. Button by button, he
undid the buttons of the silk pajama top, then pulled it open to reveal
the skin beneath. Finally breaking the kiss, Dorian gently pressed his
lips to the base of Klaus's neck, then to the midpoint between dark
nipples. Inch by inch, he worked his way down until his lips hovered at
the drawstring of the pajama bottoms.

Dorian risked a glance up. Klaus was staring at the ceiling, his lips
swollen and reddened. Dorian considered stopping, but Klaus finally
looked at him and the expression on his face nearly broke Dorian's heart.

With fumbling fingers, he undid the drawstring and pulled the bottoms
down, aided by a slight lift of the hips, the first sign of cooperation
that Klaus had made.

Klaus was half-hard, just enough to lift his cock up from his belly.
Dorian sighed at the sight, then gently kissed the underside. The
erection twitched, and grew a little more. Dorian bent his head and did
what he'd wanted to do for so long.

Every trick from a lifetime of practice was put into use. Dorian had
known what he was at an early age, and hadn't been afraid to indulge his
curiosity in all things to do with sex. Some experiences had been less
pleasant than others, but that was part of life. He was glad for the
experiences, since they allowed him to make this as good as possible for
Klaus.

Kisses, licks and touches coaxed the other man to full erection. He was
making sounds now, moans and whimpers of what couldn't be mistaken for as
anything but pleasure. When he knew that Klaus couldn't last much longer,
Dorian opened his mouth and slid down on Klaus, flexing his throat
muscles as he reached bottom.

Fingers gripped his head and Klaus's hip thrust up in short bursts as he
came. Dorian drank down, unable to taste Klaus, he was so deeply
embedded. Then the hands fell away, and he pulled back in time for the
last drops to land on his tongue. He closed his eyes for a moment and
memorized the flavor.

Aroused to the point of pain, Dorian moved back up to lie next to Klaus.
Not saying a word, he reached over to brush his fingers over Klaus's
cheek. They came away wet. Dorian wasn't surprised. Klaus's walls were
too thick to be breached so easily.

"Shhh..." he said softly. "Sleep. Everything will be all right."

Silent once more, Klaus shut his eyes. Dorian watched him for a while
longer, until he was sure that the man was asleep. Then he rose from the
bed, careful not to disturb Klaus this time. He would take care of
himself once he got to his own bed.

And then he would give Klaus the space he needed to come to terms with
what had happened this night. He'd been patient for this long, he could
wait even longer if need be.

At least now he had a memory to fuel his dreams.

* * * * *

Mac was being stalked.

It had been a long trip home, and all he wanted to do was have a hot
shower then sleep for a week. However, Vic obviously had other plans. No
sooner had he disarmed the security system, then locked the door behind
them, Vic had him up against the wall, kissing him senseless.

Long minutes later, Vic pulled away. He brushed the knuckles of one hand
against Mac's cheek, which was still colored by a large purple bruise.

"You're sure you're all right?" he asked again, for the umpteenth time
since they'd left the castle.

"I'm tired, I stink and my clothes can probably stand up on their own,"
Mac said in fond exasperation. "But other than that, I'm *fine*. After
all, I'm not the one who spent a week in a damp dungeon."

Mac ducked under one of the arms that bracketed him and headed for the
bathroom, shedding clothes as he went. He didn't bother looking to see if
Vic was following him. He turned on the shower and was relieved to find
that there was hot water.

Stepping under the spray, he breathed a sigh of relief. He could feel the
tension draining away, along with the crust of grime that had seemed
permanently embedded into his skin pores.

There was a sound behind him, and he smiled as strong arms wrapped around
his waist and warm lips brushed the back of his neck.

"Gonna wash my back?" he asked, grinning.

"And everything else," was the husky reply.

The hands rubbing his chest disappeared for a moment, then came back
covered in body soap. Vic gently scrubbed Mac, inch by inch. Mac groaned
in pleasure, feeling an arousal he thought he was too tired for build. He
leaned back against the tile wall, just enjoying being home, being with
Vic. When Vic urged him to turn around, he went willingly and spread his
legs.

He was so relaxed that only the sketchiest of preparations were needed
before Vic was pressing his way in. Mac threw his head back and moaned. A
soapy hand was stroking him, carrying him even higher.

The build-up was leisurely, and climax was sweet beyond description.

When the water started to run cold, they tumbled out of the shower, dried
off and collapsed into bed, both of them exhausted.

"Vic?"

"Hmmm?"

"They know where we live."

Vic sighed, and rolled onto his back. Mac followed him, draping himself
over the older man like a blanket.

"Yeah, but what can we do? Move? They'd be able to find us again. Change
identities and start over? There's no guarantee that they wouldn't still
be able to find us.

"Besides." Vic's tone hardened. "I like our life, and I'm not willing to
let them take it away from us. If they come after us again, we'll... deal
with it."

Mac shivered. If the enemy was smart, they wouldn't test Vic's resolve.
They wouldn't like the result.

And if it came to that, he'd be right next to his partner, equally ready
to protect Vic and their life together. Vic was right. This was a time
when running was *not* an option.

Mac burrowed deeper under the pile of quilts, listening to Vic's breathing
deepen into sleep. As he followed, just one question echoed in his mind.

Why *had* the wanted Lenin's body?

* * * * *

When he woke the next morning, Klaus was relieved to find himself alone
in the bed. It wouldn't have been the first time that he'd woken with
Dorian wrapped around him, but it was the first time that they'd actually
done... something the night before.

Klaus closed his eyes and fought the urge to curse himself. How could he
have let the thief... do *that* to him, he asked himself, unwilling to
give the act a name. For years he'd successfully managed to evade
Dorian's flirtations, innuendoes and gropes, but in a moment of weakness,
he'd let him...

Klaus cursed his traitorous cock as it hardened at the memory. It had
felt... good. But it was *wrong*!

Resisting the urge to hide in the compartment (he was no coward, he told
himself), Klaus got up and started to dress in the clothes left out for
him. The last thing he wanted was for Dorian to come along and open the
door before he was decently covered.

For that matter, where was Dorian? The train was no longer moving so they
had obviously reached Berlin. Why hadn't Dorian woken him to let him know?

Suit and tie, starched shirt and trenchcoat had all been donned like
armor, and Klaus was finally ready to face the world. He opened the sleep
compartment's door and headed down the hallway to the sitting room.

In the lush room, he was surprised by what he found. Instead of long
blond curls, the man waiting for him had short hair and a mustache.

"Bonham?"

The man looked up from the book he was reading. "Ah! Morning, Major."

Klaus frowned at him. "Where is Dorian?"

"Well," Dorian's operations manager said, glancing at his watch. "He
should be half-way to London by now." He quirked an eyebrow, and Klaus
realized that he wasn't being very successful in hiding his confusion.

"He said you probably wouldn't want to see him for a while. So, if you're
leaving, I can return the carriage to storage."

Within minutes, Klaus found himself on the platform, moving through the
crowd to make his way home, even more confused than when he woke. He was
surprised that Dorian hadn't stayed to press his advantage, and even
though he would never admit it, he was grateful.

Life had become very complicated and he needed time to adjust to it.

Or better yet, forget that it had ever happened.
 

----------------------------------------
Interlude
by Lianne Burwell
February 1999
----------------------------------------

Klaus closed the current file on a blackmail ring operating across Europe
and sighed. He hated these sorts of cases. He much preferred something
with a little more... action. A little less sleaze.

The sort of thing that happened when Dorian, or his alter-ego Eroica, was
around. He'd left NATO Intelligence to escape that, and now he wanted it.
The irony was not lost on him. But no. No excitement. No intrigue.

No Dorian. He hadn't seen the man in nearly three months. Not since...

He squashed that thought quickly. He wasn't going to think about it. If
he didn't think about it, then it didn't happen.

Now if he could just convince his subconscious of that, and kill off those
damned dreams...

Klaus resisted the urge to throw the file folder across the room.
Unfortunately, the last few months had been very quiet for him, leaving
him with too *much* time to think. And remember. And relive, every time
he closed his eyes.

However, it had also given him time to find out just who had arranged
that little stay in a dungeon with Victor Mansfield, while Dorian and Mac
Ramsey had been forced to go off and steal the body of Lenin, of all
things. He didn't have much to go on. Just the name of the man who'd set
Ramsey up and the location of the castle where he and Victor had been
held. With that little information it had taken him a while to find any
information of use.

New World.

It was the name of an international organization of scientists. Bernhoff
was one of the financial supporters of the group and the castle belonged
to another. He'd only been able to link nine names to the organization,
and he hadn't been able to find out anything about what the group *did*
or what their agenda was.

He'd tried to convince his superiors to let him pursue the case, but
they'd firmly refused. Even when all the members he'd been able to trace
suddenly disappeared, they'd refused. There are too many other *important*
cases needing investigation, Eberbach, they'd said. Don't waste your time
on hunches. Do what you are paid for.

Sometimes he wondered about his superiors.

In the meantime though, the only excitement in his life had been two
packages from Mansfield and Ramsey. They had abandoned the anonymous
package route for their pilfered evidence, instead sending the packages
directly to him. Both packages had led to arrests, making him look good
in the eyes of the higher-up, balancing his refusal to give up his
investigation into New World.

He had to admit a grudging respect for the two men, although not out
loud. One of the packages had included the files of a Mafia don that
Interpol had been after for years. But the man was highly paranoid and
very security conscious. Getting into his safe was something that he
would consider impossible, even for Eroica.

But these two had done it. Now the man was behind bars and likely to
stay there for a *very* long time. And the battle between those who would
take his place was going to keep his organization very *un*organized for
a while.

Not bad. For a pair of thieves, that is.

Now if he just knew what Dorian was up to, he'd be able to relax. He
couldn't remember the last time he'd gone this long without the blond
thief sticking his elegant nose into Klaus's business.

Klaus groaned and smacked his forehead. Why couldn't he go even half an
hour without thinking of the man? If anything, he'd suspect Dorian of
staying away just so that Klaus *would* spend all his time wondering
about what the man was up to.

A glance at the clock showed that it was just after five o'clock.
Deciding that he wasn't going to get anything more done that day, Klaus
grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

The warm damp air outside announced that spring had finally arrived, and
Klaus took a grateful breath before lighting the cigarette that he'd been
desperate for during the last few hours. He took a few deep drags, then
headed for the subway entrance.

All the way home, the question of Dorian nagged at him. Every night, as
he closed his eyes, he relived every detail of the last time he'd seen
Dorian, lips wrapped around...

Klaus shuddered. It was like an electric shock moving through his body,
the memory of what Dorian had done to him. Every night, he dreamt it over
and over again, waking up covered in the embarrassing results. If Dorian
would just show up again, maybe he could bury the memories. Replace them
with something more recent and definitely non-sexual. A proper Catholic
should not be having these dreams.

These thoughts.

Klaus was so busy fighting with his conscience that he almost missed his
stop. At the last moment, he managed to squeeze off the subway and head
for his apartment.

His apartment was on the fourth floor of a old building, one of the few
in the area that survived the bombings of Germany during World War II. It
was small, but that suited him just fine. The bedroom held his bed and
armoire, with just enough room left over for a bedside table. The
bathroom was cramped, with just a shower, toilet and sink, but was kept
spotless. The living room had been turned into more of an office than a
space to entertain, since Klaus never entertained. The kitchen had a
small table for eating, and the microwave saw more use in a week than the
stove saw in a year. Klaus was *not* a cook.

Klaus entered the apartment and locked the door behind him, then stopped.
There was someone moving around in his apartment. He reached under his
trenchcoat to retrieve his gun. His nose wrinkled. And what was that
smell? It smelled like...

A blond head poked out from the kitchen and smiled. "Ah, Major! Perfect
timing. Go wash up. Dinner will be ready in five minutes."

Klaus holstered his gun, kicking himself. Be careful for what you wish
for, they say.

You just might get it.

* * * * *

Dinner was gourmet and excellent and frustrating as hell. The frustration
was because Dorian refused to discuss anything but trivialities during the
meal. Every time Klaus tried to steer the conversation to what Dorian was
up to, the thief promptly changed the subject.

After dinner, Dorian washed dishes while Klaus dried. He resisted the
urge to think how cozy the arrangement was, how domestic. He was only
doing it because it would not be proper to let Dorian do all the work. At
least that was what he told himself.

The gesture earned him another bright smile.

Finally, when all the dishes were put away they moved out to the living
room, Dorian taking a bottle of wine from the fridge and two glasses from
the counter. He popped the cork expertly and poured two glasses, handing
one to Klaus and taking the other for himself.

Klaus promptly put the glass down, untasted. "What are you up to?" he
demanded. "Where have you been?"

"Why? Did you miss me?" Dorian asked with a smile, sipping at the white
wine. "I've been making James a very happy boy. He's been after me for a
while to take care of the paperwork, so I did."

"For three *months*!?" Klaus took a deep breath, trying to control
himself. He was not going to yell. He was not going to lose his cool.

Right.

"Besides," Dorian said, ignoring the outburst. "I thought you might like
some time to yourself. To think."

"About what?"

Even to his own ears, he sounded defensive -- something that wasn't lost
on Dorian. The blond set down his own wineglass and stepping forward into
Klaus's personal space. He brushed the fingers of one hand over Klaus's
cheek.

Klaus immediately backed away from the other man, trying to hide the
shivers running through him. He wasn't ready yet. He wasn't ready. He
would *never* be ready.

He pulled out his cigarette case, but before he could pull out one of the
familiar, comforting white cylinders, Dorian had pulled it out of his
grasp and tossed it onto the desk. Cupping Klaus's face in strong hands,
he leaned in and kissed him.

Klaus's eyes fell shut as he found himself helpless to do anything except
respond. So good, he thought to himself. So good...

So *wrong*!

He pulled away and stepped back, bumping into the desk. "This is wrong,"
he said weakly. Dorian followed him, leaning forward, resting his hands
on the desk to either side of Klaus's hips.

"Says who?"

"The church! Besides, I'm not gay. I'm not attracted to men."

Dorian smiled, and brushed his lips against Klaus's cheek. Klaus fought
the urge to turn so that their lips would meet. The kiss had been even
better than he remembered.

"Are you so sure, Major? When was the last time you were with a woman on
a date, let alone more?"

Klaus opened his mouth, then shut it again. He was not about to admit the
truth. Not to Dorian. "It's still wrong," he protested. "God did not
intend for men to do this."

Dorian pulled back with a frown. "Klaus, who made me this way? God did.
Do you really believe that God would be so petty as to make me to love a
man, then refuse to allow me to? Love is a precious thing, something rare
and wonderful. I don't think that He would create me and the one I love as
the same sex if that was not the way he meant for it to be."

He moved closer again. Klaus was already reeling, both from the kiss and
the argument. Dorian continued.

"Those rules were made by *men*. Men who did not think sex should be
enjoyed. That it was just a chore endured to create children. God made us
to enjoy sex. He made us to love. The God I believe in would not consider
*any* love to be wrong."

Suddenly, Dorian moved several steps back, leaving Klaus free. "I've
never said this in so many words, but I will now. Klaus von dem Eberbach,
I love you. I want you to be happy. I want to be the one who *makes* you
happy. If my absence is what it would take, then so be it. I will leave
and never bother you again. Do you want me to go?"

Klaus looked into Dorian's eyes, and saw determination there. He truly
meant it. All Klaus had to do was say the word, and he would never have
to deal with Dorian again. Never be plagued by his attention-seeking
schemes. Never have to fend off the man's attentions. It was the chance
he'd been dreaming of ever since he'd first met the man.

"No."

Klaus felt his jaw drop, watching Dorian's face light up. That *wasn't*
what he'd meant to say. He was *sure* that wasn't what he meant to say.

Wasn't it?

But Dorian was in his arms again, kissing him breathless, and he was
responding. Dorian was right about one thing. He'd rarely bothered with
women, and when he had it had never felt this good.

This right.

This wrong.

This right.

The conflict rushed through him, making him tense. Dorian pulled away
just slightly. "Shh," he said, brushing a smooth cheek against Klaus's
face. "Let's go to bed."

Klaus wasn't sure what expression was on his face, but it was probably
sheer terror. Dorian smiled gently.

"Just to sleep, love. I've waited this long, I can wait for you to become
comfortable with this. All I want is the chance to sleep next to you,
close enough to touch. Will you let me?"

Klaus gulped, his throat too tight to speak. Somehow, he sensed this was
the point of no return. Finally, he just nodded.

Again, the blinding smile came out. That smile did make Dorian absolutely
radiant, Klaus noticed in the one part of his mind that wasn't screaming
that he was *out* of his mind.

Later, in bed with Dorian cuddled up next to him wearing one of his spare
pairs of pajamas, Klaus stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he was
going insane. How could he be doing this?

But the warm body next to his was a comforting presence, something he
hadn't realized that he missed. Klaus drifted off to sleep, suddenly
confident that there would be no dreams that night.

* * * * *

Victor watched as Mac scanned the streets below their rooftop perch. The
job, this time, was simple enough. Provide security for a meeting of
Asian rebels with NATO representatives, where presumably funding for the
fight would be arranged. NATO was not supposed to have anything to do
with Asia, but since when had that stopped anyone?

"All clear," Mac said into the headset that they wore to connect them to
the other teams. He nodded to Victor, who headed for the next vantage
point.

Normally they would be working inside, but this meeting was supposed to be
secret, and no one not involved was allowed inside, even the men providing
security. That way they could honestly say that they didn't know what was
going on.

As he moved across the rooftop, he watched for anything out of place. He
didn't see anything.

Hearing was a different matter.

As he moved to a spot where he could see the next building and the next
security team, he felt something shift under his foot, and there was an
ominous click.

"Mac?"

"Yeah, gorgeous?"

"I think I just stepped on something I shouldn't have."

"So scrape it off."

"Not that sort of something."

Mac was at his side in an instant. Victor concentrated on not shifting
his weight, while Mac crouched down to check the roof tile he was
standing on. Normally, he liked having Mac in this position, but not at
the moment.

"Shit."

Not a good sign.

Mac flicked the switch on his headset. "Get the bomb-squad up here," he
told the other teams. Considering the job, they had a bomb-squad on
standby.

The only thing was that he wasn't exactly expecting to be the one
*standing* on the bomb.

Shit.
 

----------------------------------------
Boom!
by Lianne Burwell
March 1999
----------------------------------------

When Klaus woke the next morning, he was alone in his bed.

For a moment, he wondered if the evening before had just been an insane
dream, and was hit with a flash of regret at the thought.

Then he noticed the rose on the bedside table, propped up against an
elegant notecard embossed with the crest of the Earl of Red Gloria.
Dorian.

Klaus picked up the card, and hesitated for a moment before opening it.

"My Dear Major," it said inside.

"While I'm thrilled by the advances we've made, I feel that I shouldn't
push you too fast. After all, I've waited this long. I can afford to be
patient a while longer. So, I will give you time to adjust.

"I would like to invite you to dinner at my club, this Saturday. I will
come pick you up at seven in the evening. Do dress nicely.

"If you need to speak to me sooner, please call."

The note was signed with Dorian's name, in the flamboyant style that
matched its owner. Beneath it was a local phone number.

Briefly, Klaus was tempted to call Dorian and tell him that he'd changed
his mind, and that the thief shouldn't bother coming by again, but his
hand stopped just short of picking up phone.

In his mind, he remembered the feeling of the night before. It was the
first time in a long time that he'd shared a bed with anyone, and it had
felt... nice. And Klaus hadn't pushed matters, either. Just a kiss, then
a warm and comfortable sleep.

Besides, he thought, his back straightening, to back out now would be the
act of a coward, and Klaus von dem Eberbach was *not* a coward.

That settled, Klaus glanced over at the clock and realized that he was
late. In fact, he was so late that he was going to have to skip his
shower -- something that offended his sensibilities -- *and* he was going
to have to drive to work. Klaus hated having to deal with traffic and
parking, so usually took the subway, but if he didn't he would be late.

He settled for shaving, washing his face and brushing his teeth and hair
before pulling on clean clothes and heading for the door.

Once out on the street, he pulled out his keychain with its handy car
remote, and clicked the buttons to start the engine and unlock the doors
as he reached the vehicle.

As the blast of his car exploding knocked him backwards, and his head hit
the pavement behind him, Klaus's last thought was that the remote was
worth its weight in gold.

Then everything went black.

* * * * *

Mac sighed, and nuzzled the side of Vic's throat, savoring the salty tang
of the other man's sweat. The chest under his hand rumbled with what
sounded suspiciously like a self-satisfied purr. He stroked the chest,
prompting more purrs, doing his best not to think about the fact that his
partner had almost ended up in little pieces.

Getting Vic off of that bomb had been scary, but they only hired the
best, and that went double for bomb experts. The device had been one of
the most complicated that their men could remember seeing, and it had
taken them more than an hour to deactivate it so that Vic could move, but
they *had* been successful.

Mac had been ready for the nut-house by the time that Vic had been able
to step away from the booby-trapped roof tile.

The rest of the evening had been routine, other than the adrenaline rush
from nearly having his lover blown to kingdom come. Then back to their
hotel room.

Where he'd immediately been pounced, fucked silly, then returned the favor.

"You know, Vic," he said, rolling over on top of the older man, settling
his weight down on Vic. "I knew that bullets flying turned you on, but I
never suspected that a bomb would affect you *this* much."

Mac was a little surprised that he could joke so easily about what had
happened, but as long as he continued joking, he wouldn't have that
breakdown that was threatening. He did not want to think about life
without Vic. Not now. Not ever.

Vic grinned, then surged upwards to fasten his teeth on Mac's throat for
a moment before dropping back against the pillows.

"That's because the last few times we've been around bombs, we either
haven't had the opportunity, or we weren't in any shape to do anything
about it. After all, after Grubb nearly blew me up, we immediately had to
fight those two wrestlers and ended up in traction. And the time after
that, we hurt too much and were to busy getting out of the country to
indulge."

Green eyes glinted wickedly at him, and a not-so-subtle thrust upwards
told Mac that his partner was already set for round three. Or was it
round four?

Mac snickered. *He* wasn't going to be able to get it up again any time
soon, but he was more than willing to oblige his lover. He lowered his
head to suck at the exposed throat, and ground his still-soft (but
sticky) groin against the hardness beneath him. In fact, he was beginning
to feel a few twitches in his own groin that told him he might have
spoken too soon.

So of course the phone rang.

Mac dropped his head until his forehead was resting against Vic's.

"That's my cell," Vic said apologetically.

Admitting defeat, Mac reached over and snagged the annoying device from
the bedside table and handed it to the other man.

"Thornton," Vic barked, using the pseudonym that he'd established when
they'd first arrived in Europe.

They'd been worried that anyone associated with the Agency might
recognize the names Mac Ramsey and Vic Mansfield, so they had become
Matthew "Matt" Blake and Richard "Dick" Thornton. That way, calling each
other by their real names wouldn't be noticed.

Mac rolled over onto his side, watching Vic's expressive face. He reached
out and started running his hand down his lover's side. Vic batted the
hand away with a fond grin, but stayed focused on the phone conversation.

"Actually, I stepped on a bomb yesterday evening," he said in a tone of
surprise.

Mention of the bomb woke Mac from his semi-lustful haze, and he sat up.
Vic mouthed 'Klaus' to him and he became even *more* awake.

"Uh-huh. Yeah. Listen, can you contact Dorian? Good. I think we need to
meet. Right. We'll see you in a couple days then. Watch yourself. Bye."

Vic put the phone down, a worried frown on his face. Mac chewed on the
inside of his cheek, waiting for Vic to put whatever it was into words.

"That was Klaus."

Mac rolled his eyes. Like he hadn't already figured that out.

"Someone planted a bomb in his car yesterday. Went off when the car
started. The only reason he's still alive is because he's got one of
those remotes that let you start the car before you get to it. Otherwise
he'd be little fragments all over his block."

Now Mac was *really* worried. "Another bomb? I don't like these sorts of
coincidences, Vic."

Vic snorted. "Neither do I. I think our friends with the corpse-fetish
are back.

"Anyway, Klaus is going to call Dorian, then they'll come to our place so
that we can make plans."

Mac settled back against the pillows. "Damnit, Vic. I would have let the
kidnapping and blackmail slide. Hey, everyone makes enemies. But now,
trying to kill us..."

Vic nodded, also settling back. "Now it's time to take them down before
they try again."

He rolled over and punched the pillow. "Better get some sleep, lover,"
Vic said. "Things are about to get complicated, I think."

* * * * *

Dorian lounged in the parlor of his Berlin town house, idly flipping
through a paperback novel. He wasn't really paying attention to the plot,
but there wasn't much else to do. James was puttering around in the
background, muttering to himself.

Poor James. For the first time in years the dear boy didn't have any
papers or reports or expense accounts to nag Dorian about. Everything was
filled out, up to date and signed. James didn't have anything to do, as a
result, and it was driving him nuts. He'd been reduced to working on the
budgets for the next *decade* for entertainment.

Dorian smiled, and his thoughts returned to their favorite subject. The
reason all the paperwork was up to date was that he'd wanted to give
Klaus time to think, while not doing anything that might attract his
attention or Interpol's. It had required a lot of self-control, but the
results were worth it.

Things were progressing nicely. He'd woken earlier than Klaus, cradled in
the man's arms, and when he'd slipped out of bed, the other man had tried
to tighten his grasp. Klaus's conscious mind may not be sure about their
relationship, but his subconscious was.

Dorian had been tempted to stay, but he knew that he had to continue with
great care. Too much pressure would send Klaus running for cover.

A dinner date was a nice place to start. Dorian's club was very exclusive,
so they were not like to run into anyone that Klaus knew. The dining room
there had several private alcoves, shielded from the rest of the room,
but not completely shut off. It would let Klaus relax, knowing he wasn't
alone with Dorian, but also not observed by anyone else.

The man could be *so* paranoid.

Then there was the question of what to wear for their date. Dorian's
personal tastes tended towards the flamboyant, but, again to spare
Klaus's sensibilities, something more subdued would seem appropriate.
However, his own sensibilities required something stylish.

Dorian went through his closets mentally and smiled. He had a pair of
grey slacks made of raw silk, with a matching sports coat in a slightly
darker shade of grey. Paired with a dark blue silk blouse, the outfit
would be beyond reproach, even to Klaus. Simple jewelry to go with it; a
gold chain around the throat and a matching sapphire ring and earring set
would do nicely.

Dorian tossed the paperback aside, finally giving up on trying to read.
It was nearly a week until their 'date', and here he was, already picking
out his clothes like some sort of love-sick teenager.

It was wonderful.

Unfortunately, with all his attention on Klaus, his talents were going to
start going stale. He needed to get as Eroica for a little practice. But
a heist would annoy Klaus, so that was out. What were the alternatives?

Dorian's smile turned predatory. He had just the thing. The art museum
had just installed a new security system, but it wouldn't be able to stop
him from breaking in, he was sure.

He wouldn't take anything, though. Just... rearrange the paintings on the
walls. He might even leave a report explaining *how* he defeated their
security system. Just in case they were interested in more improvements.

That would be perfect. A bit of exercise, with a touch of altruism.

"James," Dorian called out, moving over to a large bouquet of roses that
sat in a wide-mouthed vase on a pedestal in front of the window. "Be a
dear and find out what you can about the security system at the National
Art Museum."

Several of the roses had passed their prime, and he started pulling them
from the arrangement, making sure that the resulting arrangement didn't
show any holes. Behind him, he could hear James griping about the expense
of getting that information and how Dorian was going to get them all in
trouble again. The dear sounded happier already.

Dorian ignored him, focused on the roses.

When the phone rang, he reached into his pocket to retrieve the small
device and held it to his ear. "Red Gloria," he said in an airy tone,
plucking another rose from the bunch.

"Are you all right?"

Dorian's eyebrows went up at the sound of Klaus's voice. "Of course,
Major," he said, wondering why Klaus would be calling him so soon. "Why
wouldn't I be?"

"Because someone planted a bomb in my car, and Mansfield and Ramsey were
targeted by another bomb."

Dorian plucked another rose from the bunch, frowning in thought. "Which
is too much of a coincidence," he said, considering the possible reasons
for the attacks. "That either connects it to the business with that
Agency outfit, or else that job Mac and I were... coerced into a few
months back. If it's the second..."

"Then you're next."

Dorian stared down at the vase, mulling over the possibilities. Then he
frowned. For a moment he thought he saw a glint of light.

There was another flash. Red. Swearing under his breath, Dorian pulled
the rest of the bouquet out from the vase.

"Klaus, I'm afraid I need to go. There's a bomb."

Ignoring the shouts from the phone, Dorian dropped it and ran for the
door, grabbing James by the collar as he passed the young man.

They were just barely through the parlor door when the world exploded in
a rush of sound and flame.
 

----------------------------------------
Council of War
by Lianne Burwell
March 1999
----------------------------------------

By the time Klaus made it to Dorian's townhouse, the fire department
already had the blaze under control, but there wasn't much left of the
building.

He hadn't actually known where Dorian was, but it hadn't required much
effort to find out from the police the site of the only explosion in
Berlin at the time.

The moment he'd had an address, he'd grabbed one of Interpol's official
cars, leaving its driver behind, no doubt wetting himself in fear after a
run-in with the "Iron Major" who'd been the terror of NATO intelligence
for many years.

Because of the fire and rescue crews -- not to mention the number of
police present -- he'd had to park several blocks away and force his way
through the crowds to reach the quiet residential street that was no
longer, by any stretch of the imagination, quiet.

There he stopped, and stared in disbelief.

The building had been a pleasant little townhouse. Probably turn of the
century, a perfect example of the city residence of the upper-crust
during the gilded age. At least, that's what he guessed.

Now the brick exterior was charred and blackened, dripping with water
from the fire-hoses that were battling the fire. Through gaping holes
that had once been windows, he could see that there wasn't much left of
the interior. Not even floors or walls. Whatever type of bomb it had
been, it had done an excellent job of destruction. Amazingly, though, the
buildings to either side were almost completely untouched.

After a moment, Klaus came back to his senses and started searching.
Dorian had found the bomb *before* it had gone off, so with any luck, he
would have gotten out in time. Klaus ignored the little voice in the
darkest parts of his mind that suggested that it would be so much easier
for him if Dorian *hadn't* managed to escape.

A firefighter was the first person there in an official capacity that
made the mistake of getting too close to Klaus. Unfortunately, he had no
idea whether or not the building's residents got out before it exploded.
Klaus let him go with only a few choice words about the man's competence.

The next person was a police officer who snarled at him to keep out of
the way of an official investigation, and wasn't overly impressed when
Klaus snarled back. Instead, Klaus found himself escorted across the
street by not one but *two* policemen.

He scanned the area, looking for someone else to question, and finally
noticed the ambulance parked halfway down the block.

Immediately, he headed for it, circling around to the back of the
vehicle. There, he found James lying on a gurney with an oxygen mask over
his face and Dorian sitting next to him while an ambulance attendant
checked a cut on his arm.

Dorian looked up, and broke into a bright smile. "Klaus! Sorry about
cutting you off like that..."

Klaus didn't reply. Instead he yanked the blond thief to his feet and
hugged him tight for a second. Then he let go, just as quickly as he'd
grabbed on, and stepped back. His jaw was tightly clenched, and there was
a suspicious prickling behind his eyes that he chose to ignore.

Dorian looked stunned. James looked murderous.

"Well?" Klaus asked curtly.

Dorian's mouth curved into a gentle smile. "The bomb was in a flower
vase. I saw the lights flashing, so I grabbed James and ran. I'd just
opened the door when it went off, and we were thrown clear."

"Then why..." Klaus gestured towards the oxygen mask that James was
wearing.

"Because I almost died, and it's probably all *your* fault!" James said,
yanking it off and sitting up. "Do you know how much that townhouse cost?
It's a total loss! And my *files*!"

"James," Dorian said quietly, and the young accountant settled down to
just a glower.

"So now what?" Dorian asked, turning back to Klaus.

"We go to Mansfield and Ramsey's place. We need to find out who is behind
this and *stop* them."

"Vengeance?"

"Practicality. If they tried to kill us once, then they will keep trying
until they succeed, and they obviously don't care if they kill anyone
else in getting to us. We need to take them out first."

Dorian nodded, the graceful move marred only by the fact that part of his
hair was charred, and there was a vivid bruise forming on one cheek.

"James," he said, turning back to the still sulking young man. "Deal with
the police and the insurance investigators, then go to London. Tell
everyone to be ready, in case they are needed."

The young man glared, but nodded.

Dorian stood up and dropped the blanket that had been draped around his
shoulders. Without a word, Klaus turned and led the way back to the car.

"We need to stop at my office," he said, not trusting himself to look
back at Dorian. "I need to collect the file I've put together so far.
Then we'll head for France."

"What ever you say, darling," was the light reply.

* * * * *

The next afternoon, the four men sat clustered around the heavy wood
table in the kitchen of Victor and Mac's country cottage. Spread out on
the table were the pages of information that Klaus had brought with him.
He was explaining the highlights.

"New World is an organization of scientists, but with no publicly
stated agenda. That in itself is unusual. These days, every group is
championing a cause," Klaus said, with a certain amount of disdain in his
voice.

"Your Herr Bernhoff is one of the backers of the group. So is the owner
of the... vacation home that Mansfield and I stayed in while the two of
you made the trip to Moscow."

Victor shuffled through the pages, finally settling on the list of names
that Klaus had managed to link to New World. He scanned down the short
list, noting which were funders and which were scientists.

He stopped at one name and frowned. "Mac..."

"Hmm?" Mac said absently, his eyes focused on a list of bank transactions
made by the backers, looking for a pattern that might give them a clue of
what the group was up to and where.

"Take a look at this."

Vic handed over the page, his finger pointing at one of the names.

Mac looked at the line. He blinked. "Hasn't someone killed that weasel
yet?"

"Apparently not."

"So what's he doing here?"

"Good question."

"Victor, darling. How about letting *us* in on what you are talking
about?"

Victor looked over at where Dorian and Klaus sat, varying degrees of

impatience on their faces.

"Dr. Bernard Fry. He's on the list as a member. He *also* has done work
for the Agency in the past, developing designer drugs to control people,
turning them into the perfect operatives. The last time we saw him, he'd
been involved in an attempted coup within the Agency. I'm not sure what
happened to him after that.."

Klaus frowned. "Could your Agency be involved in New World?"

Victor glanced over at Mac, who was still sitting with a puzzled
expression on his face. "Actively? I don't think so. The Director
wouldn't authorize an attempt on us. I think."

He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "No, she wouldn't
But that doesn't mean someone *else* inside the Agency might not have
their own agenda going on."

Mac snorted. "It's not like *that's* never happened before."

Victor mock-glared at his unrepentant lover, then reached for the phone.
"Well, there's only one way to find out."

It was mid-afternoon, so in Toronto it would be early morning. Certainly,
the Director -- now Head -- would be in the office. Victor still had
trouble thinking of the woman as Head of the Agency. He'd known her as
the Director, even though there were a dozen others who could claim the
same name, and it was as the Director that he still thought of her.

He dialed the number that he'd memorized -- since you never knew when it
might be needed -- and waited for the other end to pick up.

"What?" came from the other end in an impatient tone.

"Hi?"

"Victor!" The voice immediately warmed up, turning into the purr he
remembered so well. Too well, perhaps. "What can I do for you? Convince
you to come back?"

Victor laughed. "No. Just looking for information."

"Go for it."

"Bernard Fry."

"Dead."

Victor frowned, and waved for the bank records. He flipped through them
until he found the information that he wanted. "Well, unless dead men
make bank deposits and withdrawals..."

"Victor, I saw the body myself."

"Shit. You're sure? Never mind. We've linked him to an organization that
just tried to kill us, though, and they've got him listed as a current
member."

There was a squeaking noise, and his mind filled in an image of the older
woman sitting up in her chair.

"What organization?"

"They call themselves 'New World'. We don't know what they're up to, but
a few months back they kidnapped myself and another man to blackmail Mac
and another thief into stealing something for them. Lenin's body, if you
can believe it. And in the last few days, all of us have been targeted by
bombs."

"Victor, New World shows up in Agency records. *Old* Agency records. Who
else is associated with them?"

Victor read off the list of names, nine in total: three backers and six
scientists. He could hear the Director typing the names on a keyboard.

A pause.

"Four of those scientists did work for the Agency, back before I took
over. Fry worked with drugs. Hoomang worked with genetic manipulation.
Seward and Kryman worked with cloning. And all four of them are listed as
dead, with bodies positively identified."

"When?"

There was more tapping. "All in the same week, about two months before
the Head started killing off the Directors."

Victor chewed at his bottom lip, ignoring the frustrated looks he was
getting from the other three men. "Coincidence?"

The Director snorted. "If you believe that, then you're more naive that I
thought, Victor. He did say that the Agency's purpose had been fulfilled
and it wasn't needed anymore," she added in a speculative tone.

"Well," she said, suddenly all business. "I'm faxing you the files we
have on them. I'll set Nathan to researching New World, and I'll arrange
for a second look at the bodies of these people who seem to be very
active for dead men and women."

"Good. I'll call you tomorrow. Somehow, I don't think we should stay
where we are."

Victor cut the connection and looked at the other men. "Four of the
scientists on the list did work for the Agency, and they're all supposed
to be dead. They died, leaving positively identified bodies, a couple
months before the Head tried to shut down the Agency."

"Well, if they're dead..." Klaus started to say, but Dorian cut him off.

"What fields were they in?"

"Designer drugs, genetics and... cloning."

That got raised eyebrows from everyone in the room. "Clones?" Mac said in
disbelief. "That's science fiction!"

Dorian shook his head. "It's been more than five years since scientists
managed to clone a sheep. With access to unlimited funding the proper
labs..." He trailed off, obviously not wanting to say what everyone was
thinking. Victor said it instead.

"Maybe they've managed to clone a human?"

"It would explain how dead people are still alive, even though there were
bodies to be identified," Klaus said with a frown.

"Okay," Mac said, throwing up his hands. "Assuming that they've somehow
managed to clone people, then why? And where do we come in?"

Victor shuddered. There was only one thing that came to mind. "They
wanted Lenin's body," he said, hesitantly.

Everyone was looking at him in horror.

"Clone Lenin?" Klaus said. "But why?"

Dorian was looking at the papers on the table. "A New World..." he said,
shuffling through them.

"And whatever else you say about him, Lenin was a charismatic leader,"
Victor pointed out. He glared at the expression on Mac's face. "Hey, I
didn't sleep through history class, unlike some people I know."

Mac shrugged. "I didn't have any classes until the Tangs took me in, and
then it was private tutors more interested in teaching me how to crack a
safe."

Victor shuddered at the reminder of Mac's childhood. Being raised by a
crime family might have had some benefits, but there were some major
drawbacks. The physical and mental scars that Mac had from being sexually
abused by his foster brother might be barely noticeable, but they were
still there, rearing their head at unexpected moments.

"Anyway," he said, hearing the fax machine starting to spew out papers.
"The Director is sending everything she has, and the Agency is going to
start looking at New World from their end. Meanwhile, I think we should
find someplace to stay that *isn't* going to be linked to us."

Dorian smiled. "I have a townhouse in Paris," he said, leaning back. "And
unlike the Berlin townhouse, which belongs to Dorian Red Gloria, the
Paris townhouse was bought through a series of cut-outs, not by me. It
would take a lot of time and effort to link it to me."

Mac nodded, and headed towards the bedroom. "Sounds good to me. It's been
a while since we've spent any time in 'Gay Paree'."

Victor snorted. "We are *not* going sight-seeing," he yelled to Mac, who
was already opening drawers and armoires to pull out clothes for packing.

"Yes, dear," was the mocking answer.

Vic snorted, and headed for the fax machine to collect the rapidly
growing pile of pages.

He just hoped that Paris would survive them.

* * * * *

As the Director headed down the hallway, people got out of her way. She
didn't notice, she was so intent on her thoughts.

"Nathan!" she shouted, entering the sub-sub-basement that housed the
Agency's records.

A head topped with mousy brown hair stuck out from between two of the
rows of bookcases. The man's eyes widened, and he broke into a sweat. He
looked like he was about to bolt.

"Nathan, come here," she said calmly, beckoning him with a crooked
finger. "I just need some information."

If anything, he looked even more terrified, but he did come.

"Ye.. yes?" he said, voice cracking. She resisted the urge to sigh. While
she didn't mind being feared, sometimes it frustrated her to deal with
the paranoid little researcher who thought she was some sort of queen
alien, come to take over the planet. However, he was excellent at his job.

"I have a list of names, here," she said, holding out the piece of paper.
Nathan darted forward and took it from her, then backed out of reach. "I
want you to find out everything you can about them and an organization
they belong to called New World."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, his eyes darting between her and the page.

This time she did sigh. She turned and headed for the door, stopping only
to say, "This has priority, Nathan. I need the information *fast*."

She didn't wait for a reply, heading back out to the corridor.

If someone wanted Mac and Victor dead, she wanted them stopped.
Immediately. She owed the two men her life.

And she always paid her debts.
 

----------------------------------------
Gay Paree
by Lianne Burwell
April 1999
----------------------------------------

"I love Paris in the Spriiiiiiingtime," Mac warbled, completely missing
the correct tune. Victor just shook his head. His partner probably didn't
even *know* the right tune.

"You're drawing attention, Mac," he hissed, trying to ignore the sneers
they were getting from the locals. Even more distracting was the prickle
between his shoulder-blades, as if there were a gun aimed at his back.
Hell, after the last week, that wasn't so far-fetched an idea.

Mac just slapped him on the back and grinned at him. "C'mon, Vic. Lighten
up! We're in the city of lights, the city of lovers, and it's a beautiful
spring day. Enjoy it."

Victor rolled his eyes. Yes, Mac was right. It *was* a beautiful day and
a beautiful city, but still... "And for all we know, there might be a
team of assassins coming after us right now."

Mac didn't look impressed. "And how would we know? For that matter, how
would they know to look for us here? C'mon, we can't live constantly
worrying about it or we'll turn into... into *Nathan*," he finally said,
and Victor winced at the comparison. "Listen, if we hide away from the
world because of what they *might* do, then they've won. You said that
yourself when we got home last time."

Victor rolled the argument over in his mind, and had to admit, "You're
right." He sighed. "But could you at least limit yourself to songs you
*know*?" he asked his lover in a plaintive voice.

Mac laughed, and threw an arm around his shoulders, pulling Victor into a
fast hug. "Done," he said cheerfully.

A few minutes later, Victor was beginning to regret that request. His own
taste in music hadn't changed over the years; classical blues and jazz,
most of it older than himself. Mac, on the other hand, went with whatever
was currently popular. At the moment he was singing the latest hit making
the rounds of the dance clubs. Victor hesitated at calling it singing,
though, since he wasn't sure that it counted as music.

They were headed for their favorite Paris restaurant, Chez Pauline. It
was pricey, but the food was excellent. There were even a few dishes
plain enough for Victor's meat and potato tastes. When Alice had come to
visit them, she'd loved the restaurant, especially sitting on the upper
level with a view of the world.

"Ah! M'sieu Blake, M'sieu Thornton. So good to see you again. Your table
is waiting."

"How could we not come while in town, Oscar," Mac reassured the pinched-
face man as they followed him to their usual table overlooking the lower
level. They might only come in every couple of months or so, but Oscar
was always happy to give them the same table. Victor had a sneaking
suspicion that the Frenchman had a crush on his lover.

"So, Vic," Mac said after they'd ordered. "How about Les Bains tonight?"

"No. Definitely not. We do *not* have the time to his the dance clubs,"
he said sternly. "We still need to decide out next move."

Mac pouted slightly, showing off his full lower-lip, but Vic refused to
give in. "Then I suppose Le Queen is out too?" Mac said with an impish
grin.

Victor promptly choked as the water he was sipping went down the wrong
way. "Mac..." he said plaintively. Le Queen was one of the hottest gay
clubs in Paris, and definitely *not* his style.

Les Bains was also a gay club, but a little less... flamboyant. It was
also a club that you had to have the right look to get into, not that he
or Mac ever had any trouble with that. In fact, he quite enjoyed Les
Bains and being able to dance *with* Mac in public, but was quite serious
about them not having the time.

Not until the organization that wanted them dead was dealt with.

* * * * *

Mac wadded up his napkin and dropped it on the table with a sigh. The
food had been up to the usual high standards of Chez Pauline. Fine French
cuisine, liberally laced with wine, followed by a dessert that would put
flesh on a supermodel, with a glass of fine wine to wash it down.
Combined with the best company, the meal had been a wonderful tension-
breaker. Vic was right about them being in danger, but there was a point
where you had to relieve the tension before it drove you nuts.

He sipped at the dark red wine, looking around at the rest of the diners.

Suddenly, he blinked, glancing over at an out-of-the-way corner, barely
visible from where they sat. "Vic," he said very casually, setting his
wine glass down.

"Hmmm?" was the sated reply. Normally he would have paused to admire the
drowsy smile on the older man's face, but...

"Five o'clock from you. Who do you see?"

Very casually, Vic glanced around, and his eyes went wide. "Bernhoff."

"Yep."

"I don't recognize the man with him, though."

Mac leaned back until he couldn't see the two men at the other table, and
hopefully they couldn't see him. "I do. Vincent diPaul de Venard."

Vic frowned, a few small lines forming between his eyes. "I know that
name," he muttered to himself.

"A French mobster, based out of Marseilles. We've never targeted him. He
used to do business with the Tangs."

"Would he recognize you?"

Mac snorted, very quietly. Now was *not* a good time to attract attention.
"Oh, I don't know. I did steal his Porche when I was nineteen."

Vic sighed. "He'll recognize you," he said in a resigned tone.

Mac discretely signaled the waiter for the check. Once it was paid, they
made their way to the door, Mac making sure that he kept his back to the
two men and Vic between him and them. Still, he didn't relax completely
until they were out the door and several blocks away.

Next to him, Vic breathed a sigh of relief. "So why would this mobster be
meeting with Bernhoff?" he asked.

Mac started ticking off the possibilities on his fingers. "New World is
looking for finances. New World wants to hire himself for something else.
He's a member of New World. He and Bernhoff are having a steamy romance."

They looked at each other and chorused, "Ewwwwwww."

"Okay, skip that last one," Vic said. "The first two are definite
possibles. What about the third?"

Mac shrugged. "When I knew him, Vince was the head of the French Mob,
based on money and connections, but most of that was dependant on the
Tangs. When they collapsed, he lost power, and believe me, Vince *loves*
power. If New World could give it to him, he'd climb into bed with them
in a second."

Vic was giving him a searching look, but Mac kept quiet. What was there
to say? Vince had made a pass at him, sure, and he hadn't been happy
about being told no. It was part of why Mac had decided to steal his car,
along with the fact that the man was an bore. Vince hadn't dared to do
anything, though. Mac had the protection of the Tangs, and Vince needed
the Tangs to keep power.

Hadn't stopped the old man from pinning his ears back for the stunt,
though.

"So being a member is also a good possibility," Vic said. "C'mon. We need
to get back to the townhouse."

* * * * *

Klaus stood at the window looking out at the late afternoon view, trying
to ignore the room's flamboyant design which suited its owner so well.

They'd arrived in Paris late that morning, and Ramsey had promptly
dragged Mansfield out the door to go to lunch at some fancy restaurant.
Klaus had protested the wisdom of that indulgence, but Ramsey had ignored
him.

"Are you alright, Klaus?"

Klaus accepted the cup of coffee, but didn't look at the blond man
standing next to him. But the entire side of his body nearest to Dorian
prickled, as if he were standing next to a magnetic source.

Magnetic source. As good a term as any for Dorian Red Gloria. For more
than a decade the thief had pursued him and he had evaded, but something
always seemed to draw them together. Certainly, their encounters were
often deliberately contrived by Dorian, but far too often it was chance
that threw them together, again and again. Obviously, it had been
pointless to resist.

"Klaus?"

Klaus started, suddenly realizing that Dorian was still waiting for a
reply. "I'm fine," he snapped, angry at himself for being so distracted.

Dorian ignored the irate tone. He pressed up against his back and slipped
his arms around Klaus's waist, resting his face against Klaus's shoulder.
Klaus tensed up, but the other man ignored the rigid stance.

Klaus stayed the way he was for several minutes, but Dorian didn't move
away. Finally, he sighed and relaxed. He could feel Dorian's cheek move
against his back as the other man smiled.

"You need to learn to relax, darling," was the quiet comment.

His temper flaring, Klaus spun around to face the blond. "Relax? We were
both nearly killed by bombs, and we are being targeted by a mysterious
group whose motives are a mystery, and you want me to *relax*?"

Dorian just smiled. "If you don't, they won't need to do anything. You'll
work yourself into a stroke, saving them the trouble. And," he purred,
moving in closer, "I would be most unhappy if that happened."

"Dorian," Klaus said, exasperated. He resisted the urge to back away.
Before he could continue, though, long arms wound around his neck and
warm lips pressed against his.

Once again, his traitorous body immediately responded to the touch, and
he found himself participating almost eagerly in the kiss. It was so...
intoxicating that he forgot about their surroundings until he heard
applause.

Pulling away, he turned to find Mansfield and Ramsey standing in the
doorway. Naturally, Ramsey was the one applauding. Klaus resisted the
urge to snarl at the man, knowing that he wouldn't care.

"Enough, Mac," his partner said. "We don't have time for that."

He turned, ignoring Ramsey's good-natured grip about being to serious.
"We now have a link between New World and the French Mob."

* * * * *

"So we're decided?" Dorian asked, many hours later.

He looked around the room and didn't see any signs of disagreement. "I
still wish you would let me go with you," he said, yet again.

Victor shook his head. "No offense, Dorian, but Mac and I have been
working together for years. We know what to expect from each other. We
don't really have time to learn to work with a new person."

"I had no trouble working with Mac in Moscow," he pointed out.

"Yeah, we worked together. But I still kept getting thrown off-balance
every time I turned around because I expected Vic to be there instead,"
Mac replied with a shrug.

"Whatever," Klaus broke in. "We leave for Marseilles tomorrow. The two of
you break into de Venard's compound to find anything links to New World.
It's the only lead we have, so don't screw it up."

"Klaus, I'm *wounded*," Mac said, pressing the back of his hand to his
forehead in a dramatic gesture that had Dorian smiling behind a
concealing hand. "We're the *best*, after all."

"Don't tease the man, Mac," Victor said, heading for the door, pulling
his partner behind him. "We'll see you in the morning," he threw over his
shoulder.

"Don't do anything *we* wouldn't do, children," Mac called, as they
disappeared from sight.

Dorian leaned back in his chair, no longer bothering to hide his smile.
Klaus was turning red, and looked like he was about to explode.

"It was a joke, darling," Dorian said, trying to soothe the man. Klaus
didn't say a word. Dorian could almost see the storm cloud's gathering
over the man's head. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and said, "If
we're going to leave for Marseilles early in the morning, we should head
for bed."

"What!?"

Dorian sighed, taking in the tense body-language. "To sleep, Klaus.
That's all." He headed for the door, and after a moment, Klaus followed.

Upstairs were several bedrooms. As he passed one, Dorian could hear
voices. They were loud enough to recognize as Mac and Victor, but not
enough to understand what they were saying.

Dorian led the way to the door furthest from the already occupied
bedroom. It was seperated from the other bedroom by a bathroom. Across
the hall was the master bedroom, which had its own bathroom. He opened
the door with a flourish. "Good night, Klaus," he said as the man passed
him.

"And where are *you* sleeping?" Klaus asked, suspiciously.

Dorian sighed. "Across the hall," he said, pointing to the door. "You are
welcome to join me, if you like. Otherwise, I'll see you in the morning."

In his room, Dorian pulled out a pair of silk pajamas. He normally didn't
wear anything to bed, but if Klaus *did* decide to join him, the man
would probably be more comfortable if Dorian wasn't nude.

A fast shower relaxed some of the tension that had spilled over from the
German, and Dorian was ready for sleep. As he climbed into bed, Dorian
briefly wondered if Klaus was worth the effort. The he snorted. Of course
he was.

With that thought in mind, Dorian started to drift to sleep.

* * * * *

"You know, I never would have thought that blondie could pull it off,"
Mac snickered.

Victor sighed. "Back off, Mac. Klaus looks ready to bolt at the slightest
provocation. You push and Dorian is back at square one. Or worse." He
wasn't sure just *why* Dorian was so fixated on the uptight German, but
he didn't want ruin the man's chances.

Mac grinned at him. "Would I do that?" he asked in a voice dripping with
innocence. Victor just snorted. "Well, I guess you'll just have to keep
me too distracted to say anything."

"Distracted? I'll show you distracted."

In one quick motion, Victor rolled over on top of Mac and pinned his
lover's wrists to the mattress. He swooped in and kissed Mac until they
were both breathless.

Then he pulled back. "Well?" he asked.

Mac looked back at him, eyes glazed. "Huh?"

Victor grinned. Mission accomplished. Of course there was now another
problem to take care of, but he was ready for it.

Keeping as much body contact as he could, Victor moved down Mac's body,
licking, nibbling and sucking as he went. By the time he reached the
other man's groin, Mac was begging. Loudly.

"Please, Vic, please. Suck me. Oh God. Need you. Please. Yes! Oh, yes.
Soooo good. Vic, yes. Vic!"

Victor's ears were ringing by the time Mac came in his mouth. Very self-
satisfied, he stretched out next to his lover and waited for him to
recover.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Your turn, lover," Mac growled, flipping him over. Victor didn't resist.

* * * * *

Klaus stared up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the obvious sounds of
sex coming from the room down the hall. More difficult to ignore was the
way his own body was responding to those sounds.

When thinking cold thoughts failed, Klaus reached down, intending to take
care of the problem. Then he stopped. It didn't feel... right. Still
staring at the ceiling, Klaus wondered why.

Finally, he conceded defeat, and climbed out of bed. Moving as quietly as
possible, he walked across the hall to open the door opposite.

Dorian sat up in the bed, blinking sleepily in the light from the
hallway. Klaus stood still, waiting. Dorian pulled back the covers, and
silently patted the mattress beside him.

Klaus climbed into the bed, and Dorian moved into his arms. A stray limb
brushed his erection, and he gasped, ever so slightly.

Dorian smiled and kissed him, his hands already reaching for the
drawstring on Klaus's pajama bottoms. Still silent, the blond thief
pushed them down, out of the way, then did the same to his own. Then he
rolled over onto his back, pulling Klaus over on top of him.

As their erections brushed against each other, Klaus gasped again, then
bit his lip. He was *not* going to put on a show like the two men down
the hall. Instead, he kissed Dorian, muffling them both.

Operating purely on instinct, Klaus's hips started to thrust, rubbing his
erection against Dorian's. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he fought
to keep quiet. He might not know what he was doing, but it felt good. Too
good.

Very soon, his movements became erratic, and he felt climax hit him like
an explosion. Below him, Dorian tensed and made a faint sound that might
have been his name, then added his own fluids to the mix.

Klaus rolled away, suddenly feeling guilty for using Dorian simply
because he couldn't control his own urges. Eyes closed, he felt Dorian
climb out of the bed.

The sound of running water came to him, then after a minute, the bed
dipped again.

A warm, damp cloth ran over his genitals. Then his pajama bottoms, which
were still bunched around his knees, were pulled up and refastened. He
heard the cloth drop into some sort of ceramic container, then Dorian was
cuddling up against his side again.

"Thank you," Dorian whispered in his ear, then relaxed.

Thank you? For what?

Before Klaus could ponder the question, he fell asleep.
 

Go to Revenge of the Bolsheviks Part Two