FIC: Taking Advantage
Title: Taking Advantage
Pairing: Dorian/Klaus
Warnings: Dub-con, unbeta’d
Rating: R/NC-17
Word Count: ~ 4,000
Summary: My take on the well-loved amnesia cliché.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Yasuko Aoike. That's what makes it fanfic.
***
Dorian strode down the halls of NATO's medical center with singular purpose. Later, he couldn't be certain if it was Bonham's smooth explanations or Mr. James' incessant caterwauling that got them through the veritable sea of armed guards and medical personnel. All he would remember was the mounting feeling of dread as he hurried down one antiseptic corridor after another, looking for someone who could help him.
“Herr B!” Upon seeing the pudgy agent about to round a corner, Dorian gave up all pretense and broke into a sprint. Dodging around surprised orderlies and wheelchair-bound patients, he nearly collided with B in his haste. “Where is he?”
“Lord Gloria, you can't -”
Dorian would not be put off with platitudes. He rose to his full height and stared down at B. He did nothing to control his labored breathing. With his flushed face an mane of blond curls, he knew he cut quite an intimidating figure. “I will ask one more time. Where is he?”
A bead of sweat appeared on B's forehead, and his eyes flickered momentarily towards a door down the hall. Dorian pushed past him without further ceremony.
“Stop!” B hollered after him.
“Noooooooo,” At the precisely wrong moment, Mr. James flung himself at Dorian and became tangled up with Mr. B. The agent and the accountant fell to the floor amidst cries of, 'that horrible machine maniac!' and 'be sent to Alaska, for sure!' Leaving the clean-up in Bonham's capable hands, Dorian rushed to the hospital room and flung open the door.
Clearly alerted by the ruckus in the hall, Agent G stood by the bedside, gun in hand. And in the bed, beneath a stark white sheet, was the Major.
Dorian had prepared himself for the worst - a weak Klaus, a comatose Klaus, a Klaus laying pale and fragile, surrounded by blinking lights and beeping machines, his vitality slowly draining away. Since he had heard the news of the Major's escape from a terrorist interrogation facility (the news of his capture being so highly classified that not even his most persistent prying into NATO affairs had enlightened him), Dorian could think of little else. A small, terrified part of him had even imagined the unimaginable, that he would arrive too late and that Klaus would be … gone.
And so it came as a complete shock when the Major merely sat up, healthy and whole, and scowled.
“What took you so long?”
“M-m-major! Thank goodness!” Dorian, no longer able to restrain himself, flung his arms around his beloved's neck. Broad shoulders tensed beneath his hands. He pressed his face against Klaus' light blue hospital gown, feeling his warmth radiate through the flimsy material. Dorian relished the feeling of that strong heart beating against his cheek. Worth it, he decided, and waited for the inevitable blow.
And waited.
After several moments, he dared to look up. Given the awkward way he was sprawled, half in and half out of the Major's hospital bed, he first made eye contact with Agent G. The petite agent was staring at them, gun dangling from limps fingers, mouth and eyes wide with horror. Steeling himself for the worst, Dorian shifted until he could look the Major in the eyes.
“Alright, don't make a scene.” The Major regarded Dorian blandly and patted his head. “Help me find my clothes.”
Bewildered, Dorian straightened and began to do just that. He heard the Major's barked orders, and G's timid replies, but could not concentrate enough to understand the rapid German exchange. A quick search of the room yielded the Major's personal effects as well as a fresh change of clothes. He bundled his finds up and stood in the corner until the Major dismissed Agent G. With one last mystified look in Dorian's direction, G fled.
“Thought he would never leave,” the Major muttered, throwing aside his bedclothes. At the sight of the Major's naked shins, Dorian blushed crimson. Seemingly oblivious to Dorian's discomfiture, the Major reached behind himself and began tugging at the ties of his hospital gown.
Sweet merciful Mona Lisa, he's brain damaged. Dorian fought a furious, if silent, war with himself. On one hand, it would be the depth of depravity to take advantage of the Major when he wasn't in his right mind. On the other hand, when would such an opportunity ever present itself again? Dorian might celebrate a hundred birthdays and never again be given a chance to see his beloved in a state of undress.
On the third hand, if the Major ever did recover his faculties, he would be lucky to see his next birthday. Dorian turned to face the depressingly beige wallpaper. He held the Major's clothes at arm's length behind his back, at an awkward angle that made his shoulder ache.
“What's wrong with you?” The Major's voice was indulgent as he came up behind Dorian. He made no move to take the bundle from Dorian's hand.
“Excuse me, Major. I think ...” Dorian swallowed. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing to attention. Among other things. “Is it possible that you are concussed?”
“Nein. Is it possible that you are concussed?”
A strong arm pulled Dorian around, and he could do nothing but stare. The body on display before him was everything he dreamed it might be. Powerful muscles, interrupted here and there by intriguing scars. Dark body hair advertised the Major's masculinity without obstructing the view. Even the bandages around the Major's midsection and left upper arm had a certain macabre appeal.
Dorian crossed his arms and discreetly pinched himself. The Major ignored his lascivious scrutiny. He took the clothes from Dorian and dressed with calm efficiency.
“Now,” the Major said as he strapped on his watch. “Let's go.”
“Oh! Certainly. I'll have Bonham ring a car for you. You'll not want to drive all the way to the Schloss yourself.”
“What?” The Major sounded impatient. “Stop playing dumb! We will go to my apartment.”
Dorian blinked. Of course, he knew all about the Major's flat in Bonn. But he hadn't known that the Major knew that he knew. “Right. How silly of me. I'll just go... tell my men.”
The Major nodded and began checking the contents of his wallet. “Hurry. I wish to leave as soon as possible.”
“Back in two shakes of a lamb's tail,” he promised, and made his escape.
In the corridor, Agents B and G were having a whispered conference that stopped abruptly as soon as they laid eyes on Dorian. G looked pale, and B's expression was positively stunned. Dorian strove for nonchalance as he approached the wary agents.
“What happened to him?”
“That's classified, Lord Gloria.” Agent B squared his shoulders, clearly trying to take control of the situation. “Please, leave quietly or I will call the police.”
“Go ahead, Herr B. Then you can explain to the Major why I'm being carted off in chains.” He caught Agent G's flinch, and raised an eyebrow. “But you won't. Because you're worried about upsetting him - even more worried than usual. Tell me why.”
“Please, milord!” G began wringing his hands. “The Major is in a delicate mental state. He's been … Erased.”
“Halt die Klappe,” B growled.
But G waved him off. “It's an experimental use of post-hypnotic suggestion. Top agents are trained to activate an Eraser if they are captured. It wipes the memory of any sensitive information.”
“So why not just tell him everything he needs to know, and be done with it?”
“It's not that simple,” B snapped, clearly disgruntled by the break in protocol. “We need our hypnotherapist to undo the suggestion. Until then, anything we tell him may implant false memories, compromising him irrevocably. He'd never work in the field again.”
Dorian gasped. “That would kill him!”
“He knew the risks when he chose this course of action,” B muttered, not sounding terribly convinced.
Glancing back at the hospital room, Dorian knew he didn't have much time before the Major came storming out. “So why does he still remember me? Or for that matter, any of you?”
“He no longer knows our proper names,” G replied. “Only our code names. And he doesn't know how he knows. As for you,” He hesitated slightly before continuing, “the suggestion was designed not to Erase the agent's … personal life.”
It was on the tip of Dorian's tongue to correct him. Something had gone wrong with the post-hypo thingy - as far as he knew, the Major didn't have a personal life, much less one with Dorian in it. He actually opened his mouth to explain that this was all a misunderstanding, and now that he knew that Klaus was safe and (relatively) whole, he'd just be on his way.
“What is taking so long?” The Major emerged from his room and glowered at the world in general. A nurse in the hallway jumped and almost dropped the bedpans she was carrying. Ignoring her, he tromped over to where Dorian was huddled with Agents B and G. “Are you two still here? I've been discharged, and I told you to go.”
“Yes, sir. Except Lord Gloria had a few questions.” Dorian noted, with no small amount of amusement, that Agent B did not indicate whether he had been given any answers.
“Fine, fine,” the Major waved him off, as if keeping Dorian abreast of his medical condition was perfectly normal behavior. He turned to Dorian, “anything else, Dieb?”
If he didn't know any better, he might say the look the Major favored him with was almost … fond.
“N-no,” he stammered. “I'm done.”
“Gut. Did Bonham bring a car around?”
“Well, ah …”
“Actually, sir,” B interjected. “You've been cleared to drive.” He handed the Major a key.
The Major accepted it with a curt nod. “I will see you both tomorrow at 0800.”
“Yes, sir,” the perplexed agents replied in unison.
The Major turned on his heel and strode down the hallway. Somehow, without word or signal, he made it clear that he expected Dorian to follow. Dorian glanced over his shoulder to find Bonham physically restraining a sobbing Mr. James. Bonham nodded and smiled, even as one patched elbow caught him across the face. With an apologetic wince, Dorian hurried to catch up to the Major.
I'll double his pay, Dorian resolved. Hell, I'll steal him the Louvre.
The Major may have been temporarily brainwashed, but his pace was brisk. They made their way quickly down the hospital stairwell and into the attached parking garage. After a brief survey of the area, the Major made a beeline for his sensible black sedan.
The drive was quiet and uneventful. Dorian half expected the Major to come to his senses and kick him to the curb at any moment. The threat of imminent violence made the ensuing peace all the more precious. He allowed the Major to usher him into his flat, tingling with anticipation.
As the door shut behind them, Dorian turned to find his beloved standing close and regarding him with a dark look. Innuendo died on his lips as he was caught in the Major's bright green eyes. Strong hands wound themselves into his hair, holding him in place.
“Ma- Klaus?” Dorian murmured, not wanting to break the spell.
“I missed you,” the Major muttered, and pulled Dorian into a kiss.
The Major was actually quite bad at kissing. He was too abrupt, slamming their lips together instead of massaging, coaxing a response. He didn't open his mouth... which was actually a good thing, considering the damage he might do with his teeth. His hands clenched around Dorian's golden curls to the point of pain.
Dorian was in heaven.
Finally, ages too late, warning bells went off in Dorian's head. With a tremendous effort and the sacrifice of what felt like several strands of hair, he pulled away from the Major's iron grip. He turned his back, knowing he could not say what he needed to say while looking at his beloved's beautiful face.
“Major,” he said, straining to make his voice even and calm. “Don't do that.”
“Was?” The Major sounded annoyed.
“You're injured,” Dorian reasoned. And not at all yourself.
“I'm fine,” came the growled response. The hands that had previously been gripping Dorian's hair now settled themselves on his hips. “I know my body. As do you.”
Dorian's heart stopped, then started beating triple time. “No,” he managed to choke out. “We're not together.” Belying his own words, he allowed himself to be pulled against the Major's hard chest.
“What do you mean?” The Major leaned down and nuzzled at Dorian's neck.
Oh, please, he prayed, not quite knowing what he meant by it.
“I mean,” Dorian replied, focusing with all his might, “that we are not lovers. Never have been … never will be.” And how deeply it cut to have to admit it. He consoled himself with the thought that, once the Major regained his memory, he might thank Dorian for being such a gentleman. Or, at least, not blow his brains out.
“I see,” came the growled response. The Major whirled him around. Far from upset, the gleam in the Major's eyes was downright predatory. “You want to play, ja? So let's play.”
“No, you don't -” Dorian's denial was silenced by another fierce kiss. Before he could regain his equilibrium, he was thrown over a broad shoulder and carried to the bedroom.
Even as Dorian scrabbled ineffectually at the Major's back, part of him was screaming, What are you doing? Don't you dare stop him! A moment later he was dropped unceremoniously onto Klaus' bed. The knowledge of where he was and who he was with was enough to stutter his thoughts to a halt for several precious seconds. In that time, Klaus had efficiently divested him of his shirt and was tugging at the buttons of Dorian's fly.
“Wait!” Dorian tried to intervene, but his trembling hands were shoved away. “Klaus, wait, just -”
After a minute or two of struggling, Klaus had him pinned beneath his body. The feeling of muscular thighs tangled with his own made Dorian all the more frantic. “Good,” Klaus muttered into Dorian's ear. “This game's no fun unless you push me back.”
Klaus was not forceful in bed. He was a force. He foiled Dorian's half-hearted attempts at escape, all the while stripping him of his clothes and defenses. Eventually Dorian's body took over completely, not surrendering - never surrendering - but surging up to meet every one of the delicious assaults. He helped prepare his body and stared up at Klaus' smirking face as he thrust into him.
How did he get so good at this? Dorian wondered, with a flash of jealousy. Then he realized, Klaus probably thought he'd learned from Dorian.
They battled, rolling over one another. It was the clashing of titans, a union passionate almost to the point of violence. And even as Dorian gained the upper hand, straddling Klaus and pressing down on his chest, he knew he had lost. Awash in sensation, he came as soon as one square-fingered hand wrapped around his straining cock.
Euphoria was chased away immediately by guilt, and his whole body froze in place. He stared down at Klaus, not knowing what to say or think. Klaus gave an annoyed huff.
“Stop worrying, I feel fine.” As if to prove it, he deftly flipped Dorian over to finish what he'd started. Dorian writhed in sympathetic pleasure and overstimulation, crying out when Klaus reached his completion.
They lay in a tangle of sweaty limbs for several minutes before Klaus bestirred himself. He kissed Dorian's temple absently and got out of bed, walking naked to the bathroom. Dorian tried to form some kind of plan, but found he couldn't organize his scattered thoughts. Then Klaus was back, offering him a damp washcloth.
“Thank you,” Dorian murmured, surprised at his thoughtfulness. He held the sheet up with one hand and cleaned himself as discreetly as possible. Klaus looked on, bemused.
“What's with you?” He asked, pulling his boxer shorts on again. Dorian wished he could find his own underwear. He was feeling, for the first time, uncomfortable about being nude.
“Nothing,” he hedged, holding up the cloth. “Where do you want me to ...”
Klaus took it from his hand and dropped it off the side of the bed. “Take care of it in the morning,” he replied, climbing back into bed. He lay down on his back, his right arm behind his head and his bandaged left arm extended across the crumpled sheets. The gesture was automatic, made unthinkingly - tears sprung to Dorian's eyes. Luckily, Klaus already had his eyes firmly shut.
Oh, please, Dorian thought again as he nestled against his beloved's side. Let me have this.
***
He had fully intended to rise in the small hours and slip away like … well, like a thief in the night. But it seemed he underestimated his emotional and physical exhaustion. The midmorning sun found him still curled up in Klaus' bed, alone.
There was no note, of course, but when Dorian went into the kitchen he found a stone cold cup of Nescafe and two slices of whole-grain toast laid out for him. He stared for several minutes before tossing out the lot. He tidied the sterile kitchen and the stark bedroom, trying to erase any sign of his presence in the flat. The Major would be restored to normal today, and wouldn't need any reminders of his colossal mistake.
Now, now, he chided himself. Chin up, Dorian. Last night had been more than he had ever hoped for - he should be happy. No, he should be ecstatic. Staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, he hoisted an Eroica smile into place. There. Perfect.
The phone rang, and he jumped a foot. After two and a half rings, it abruptly stopped. Then, it rang again once. This was a signal he'd seen the Major use when contacting one of his Alphabets on a unsecured line. When the phone rang again a few moments later, Dorian cautiously picked it up.
“Yes?”
“Noon. That place you wanted to go after dinner two weeks ago.” There was a slight hesitation, and then the caller hung up.
Dorian almost smiled at the Major's paranoia. 'Week' was his code for 'mission.' The last time Dorian had run into the Major on assignment, they had parted after a screaming row. The time before that, however, they were on such good terms that Dorian had invited the Major to visit Bonner Münster with him. While the cathedral was beautiful and worth a visit in its own right, sharing it's sanctified silence with Klaus had been his real motive. And before his offhanded rejection, Dorian could've sworn he'd seen a flicker of interest in his beloved's eyes. Apparently, Klaus had remembered.
He probably just wants someplace where there won't be too many witnesses, Dorian mused. He returned to the bathroom and tried to do something with his hair. Just because one was going to face certain death was no excuse not to look good.
Thirty minutes later, Dorian stood in the south transept of Bonner Münster, studying an alabaster relief depicting Christ and John the Baptist. He was examining the faces, both simultaneously giving and receiving benediction, when he felt a presence behind him. Cowardice kept him facing the wall as he murmured,
“Lovely. Of course, I prefer Verrocchio's masterpiece.”
“Hmph,” the Major replied, betraying nothing of his thoughts.
He slowly turned around. The Major was wearing a dark suit of a distinctly untrendy cut. His single-breasted jacket was unbuttoned, and he had one hand stuffed in his pocket. Dorian knew this was done to give him easier access to his Magnum, and only incidentally displayed a tantalizing section of crisp white shirt. Still, he appreciated the effect and paused for a moment to take it all in. For all he knew, this would be the last time he saw his beloved's gorgeous, stern visage. Or quite possibly, the last time he saw anything at all.
“How did you know I would still be at your place?”
“Didn't. It was your last known location.”
Despite himself, Dorian smiled. “You are so very you, Major.”
“Hmph.”
“Can we just -” Dorian voice caught in his throat. “Let's pretend it never happened, alright? Please?”
“No, Lord Gloria.” The Major inhaled sharply, rising to his full height. “I must answer for what I have done.”
Dorian blinked. It was a rather awkward time for the Major to confuse his English pronouns. “Erm, I think you meant to say, 'you must answer for what you have done.' And I do understand, Major.” He lifted his chin, feigning bravery. “Do your worst.”
“What nonsense are you spouting?” The Major stepped forward menacingly. “I'm the one who ...”
Dorian watched in fascination as a deep blush rose over Iron Klaus' face. “W-well, yes,” he replied, feeling absurdly, uncharacteristically bashful. “I suppose - but you weren't yourself, and I took advantage!”
“When? When you told me we weren't … together?” The Major's eyes hardened, his voice full of self-recrimination. “Or when you begged me to stop? How about when you struggled to get free? Scheiße!” He fumbled - Klaus, fumbling! - for a cigarette.
Slowly, like the sun emerging after a storm, Dorian felt hope rising inside of him. “So, you don't hate me?”
“Of course not,” Klaus snapped, stuffing his cigarette back into the pack. “You are the one who should be hating me!”
Hope dawned into relief, which burst into joy. Dorian couldn't help it. He laughed.
Klaus stared at him with a thunderstruck expression on his face. This only made Dorian laugh harder. Three American tourists stopped their picture-taking and gawked. An old woman sitting a few pews away glared at him over her shoulder. Dorian clamped his hand over his mouth, but couldn't fully contain his giggling. The fat priest started waddling towards them, so Klaus grabbed his forearm and frog-marched him out into the courtyard.
“Lord, what fools we mortals be,” Dorian misquoted giddily.
“Have you gone mad?' Klaus gave Dorian a little shove that only sent him reeling two or three paces. Evidently, he was still feeling guilty.
“Darling,” he said, daring to address the man informally. “You didn't take advantage of me. I didn't take advantage of you. We...,” He let another laugh bubble up. “took advantage of each other.”
The frown on Klaus' face melted into an guarded expression. Slowly, as if with some effort, a scowl took its place. “Idiot.”
“One thing I don't understand,” Dorian continued blithely. “Why in the world did you think we were together?”
Klaus looked away. “Don't expect me to start spouting some foppish bullshit.”
“Oh, Klaus. I love you, too.”
“Hmph.”