Written: Spring 2002
Major Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach was nearly done with assurances. He had gotten assurances from the Dresden surveillance team about where and when he could get to the safe. He had gotten assurances from his own team, that G had arranged sufficient transportation (German-made, and fuel-efficient) from the building and, most importantly, that Eroica's current itenarary would keep him far from Germany for the duration of the mission. Accordingly, he had assured his buffoon of a chief that he could handle the mission alone.
And now, just after five in the morning and at a dead run, Major Eberbach was beginning to realize how much those assurances were worth. The safe was in the wrong place, had a different combination and set of keys, and the guard was unexpected. Moreover, the papers hadn't been there. Klaus planned to be at Headquarters to yell at his Alphabets in person by eight.
They had arranged for him to get to the nearest train station on a motorcycle - and after this was over, he was going to send G to Alaska for it. The machine carried unpleasant connotations of excess and a thief who favored fast, flashy vehicles.
The thief in turn brought to mind the failed mission. Klaus, still clad in the tight black leather that doubled as catsuit, glared at the motorcycle as if it could pass on the incivility, and pulled the tinted goggles over his eyes.
He was turning the key when something slammed into his back and latched onto him. /Not in Spain, either./ "Don't argue, darling," Eroica panted. "Just go." Eberbach turned to object, to get the pervert off him when he heard Russian interspersed in the shouting behind him. And Lord Gloria or no, Major Eberbach was not getting caught as an end to the debacle. He cursed and sped off.
No-one ever used the farm roads between Dresden and Bonn. To Klaus's mind, that made them ideal, but admittedly he had never tried to navigate them in a hurry and at night. Now he knew that no-one used the farm roads simply because they were unusable. and, at this hour of the morning, very dark. If he went any slower, he would be expected to hold a conversation as well - Klaus could almost hear Eroica behind him, trying to pester him without distracting him from the road. His mood would not stand up under that strain. The arms wrapped around his chest were clad in black, and he sincerely hoped Eroica's theft had gone as badly as his. In the middle of a swerve, the engine stopped and, lacking the momentum to pull out of the turn, the motorcycle slid into the ditch.
Eroica jumped clear early, keeping his feet with a cat's grace. Klaus hung on until the motorcycle toppled over. He lifted it enough to pull himself out from under, and let it fall on its other side in disgust. Infernal, unreliable thing - even if it was German! Choked with dirt, no doubt. The road was paved, but only just.
He pulled the motorcycle upright again, grimacing at the dial readings and ignoring the thief's approach. "Are you alright, Major?" Eroica inquired brightly. "I have to thank you for that, I was in a tight spot..." He circled around to peer at the German over the handlebars. "But I'm hardly touched! You, now - you're all over dust, darling. When we get to Bonn, I'll have to get you out of those... won't it start again?" While Klaus kept his gaze on the dials, he eased closer - around the front and leaning over, and straight into the Major's fist. Klaus almost smiled to see Eroica fall back into the dirt.
Before the thief could gather his wits and sit up, Major Eberbach planted his boot squarely on his chest, grinding his heel down to rub the road-dust into the pristine tight catsuit. Eroica opened his eyes wide in surprise, but Klaus's scowl did nothing to shake his habitual fearlessness.
Stilling his breath and moving deliberately, the blond reached up slowly. Carefully, he wound his arm around Klaus's leg, his long fingers resting just above the boots to rest delicately against the side of his knee.
/He could pull me off-balance like this/, Klaus appraised. /Just as I could break his jaw with one kick./ His eyes stayed fixed to Eroica's earnest gaze. /I think an entanglement of wire rope and a rose vine is a rather sadistically wonderful combination./ The phrase hung in the air, unsaid. Klaus recalled, too, his response. The motorcycle was out of gasoline.
He jerked back, snarling. Dorian let his arm fall to the side, only turning his head slightly. "Goddamn limey pervert! Get up, will you?" Klaus retreated first, scaling the embankment to the road. Five paces; he looked back.
Dorian had drawn his knees up to his chest, face tilted down under all that hair. He was sifting dust through his fingers, tipping his hand to let it trickle out. Klaus stared. Dorian scooped up another handful.
"Get up," he demanded, too loud, and this time Eroica listened. The thief rose, shaking off the dust. Klaus turned away, back to the road, to avoid his gaze. "Start walking."