Dorian walked among the flowerbeds surrounding North Downs, picking and choosing the prettiest of the blue and yellow flowers. Those colours were Bonham's favourites. Hearing of the Cockney's accident had scared him nearly out of his mind. Bonham had been with him forever and he just couldn't imagine life without his trusted SIC. Luckily, the injury Bonham had sustained from falling off the wall had proven to be far less dangerous than they all had first feared. He had a bad concussion and a leg broken in two places, but the concussion went away and the breaks had - surprisingly enough - been clean. The doctor expressed no doubt in that he would regain full mobility in the injured limb.
When he had gathered enough flowers for a good-sized bouquet he tied it with his red silk scarf. James would have been livid if he found out, but James was currently off Lord knew where to scout out some new supermarket that had promised unbelievable bargains during its first week in business. Ergo: Dorian did what Dorian wanted to do, and since he wanted to give Bonham a pretty flower bouquet, giving Bonham a pretty flower bouquet Dorian would.
With the flower bundle resting against his chest he wandered down the wild - but actually not so wild, in fact carefully planned - meadow that separated the castle from what had used to be the caretaker's cottage. Bonham did act as caretaker occasionally, but the man hired for the task lived down in the village and thus had no need for a house on the estate.
It was a beautiful day, yet Dorian felt ... despondent. He wasn't sure why, but since he did get that way occasionally he didn't worry overmuch. Perhaps it was time he planned some grand heist again: stole something spectacular - yes, that should get his blood pumping nicely.
To the right of the caretaker's cottage was a flat patio of white gravel. Bonham would often sit there during the summers, sunning himself. Dorian vividly remembered sitting there, when they were both young lads, drinking lemonade made by Bonham's dear mother, North Down's cook. He smiled a little. Ah, to be so young and carefree again ...
Just then he noticed that one of his sandal laces had become undone. So he sat down gingerly on a sun chair just by the house and, seeing that the lacing had become skewed as well, patiently unwound it to start anew. Of course he could have fastened it summarily, but that would have looked sloppy ... No, better get it right, lest someone would think that he was slipping in his search for perfection!
The sun was just the perfect temperature to warm cool, British flesh. Dorian regretted even more that Bonham had been injured. Otherwise they could have sat together again. An idea occurred to him: perhaps with his help Bonham could still make the lemonade? Then he could also help Bonham outside? Yes, that was definitely worth considering. Just sit and talk together. He did so love hearing Bonham talk, the man had such a lovely voice, Dorian even found his dialect charming and had often told him so.
As he sat there, intending to do nothing more than enjoy the warmth for a few more seconds, he heard voices drift out from the cottage's open window. He recognized them, of course - Bonham and John-Paul - and couldn't help but to hear what they said. Since he had no secrets from his gang - and they had none from him, as far as he knew - he never thought twice of listening in. If anything, he felt just a hint worried, as it was John-Paul who had caused Bonham's accident and he didn't want there to be any bad blood between his men.
"I can't tell you often enough how sorry I am, Bonham."
"Ah, think nothing of it, mate. A bloody bother, this broken leg, but that doctor said I'm mending. I will be good as new in three shakes of a cat's tail, just you wait."
"Still - I shouldn't have called out when I did."
"You couldn't have known I got distracted. Don't you worry none about that. It could have been a guard calling out, couldn't it have been? I would have felt right a fool then, wouldn't I have?"
"Still, it was just a training session. I shouldn't have done that."
"All the better it happened at training. Otherwise I'd be in the slammer now. Not a nice place to be, I be guessing. I'll be fine, John-Paul. A few weeks like this and Bob's your uncle. Besides, I get all food coming to me and don't have to do a lick of work. I'm in no pain."
"I'm just so glad they weren't unclean breaks, Bonham. And you must take care now! If you got hurt again, if you twist the breaks or something, why that would just be awful!"
"I'll be a good patient, don't you worry. I don't be wanting any complications either. I like it here and I don't want to be leaving."
Dorian frowned and sat up straighter, turning his head to hear better. What ever is he talking about?
Luckily, John-Paul seemed to think the very same thing, for he asked just that. "What ever are you talking about, Bonham? Why would you leave us? I did say I was sorry!"
"Oh, I didn't mean because of what you did. I told you not to mind that. It's like this, you know: three strikes and you're out, right? Well, I'm already having them two against me, like. Get a third one and I am guessing I would be asked to take myself elsewhere."
Dorian didn't understand what Bonham was hinting at. Luckily, neither did John-Paul. "I can make neither head nor tail of this, Bonham. Y-you are starting to scare me. What do you mean?"
"Well, look at me, John-Paul. I don't be all tall and willowy like the rest of you lads. A bit too much packing here and there and especially here. My face isn't much to write home to mum about either. I don't fit in. And then there's ... well ... you know."
"What?"
"Oh, you ... know." Last word said with extra weight and possibly some accompanying gesture that eavesdropping Dorian could not see.
"Oh. That. Um ... Yeah. But we love you anyway, Bonham. All of us do and he does too. We don't care about ... that."
"Which is all good and well and that's why I've been around for so long. But just look at what happened to Uncle NATO."
"We don't know what happened to him. His Lordship hasn't told us."
"True, but I be knowing something about that German icicle that you don't and I overheard his Lordship muttering to himself about having seen it too. This be between you and me, John-Paul, now, don't you go telling the others!"
Bonham ... knows?! And he never even told me?!
Oh, he needed to have a talk to Bonham about that. Perhaps Dorian had wasted years unnecessarily!
But I can't let him tell John-Paul! Klaus'd kill me if he thought I told anyone!
Dorian was up and drawing breath to scream at Bonham to keep quiet, when the man's next words stopped him.
"He be scarred. On one of his shoulders, that is. Old bullet wound, looking none to pretty. Seems his Lordship took a good look and then ran for greener pastures. You know his Lordship, bless him, he wants only beauty and perfection. He can't be blamed, that's just the way he was made. But think about how much he loved the big Kraut until he found out about that blemish of his?"
So, Bonham didn't know the ... truth. Not that Dorian would tell him. No, that much he owed Klaus - or perhaps that high he valued his life, because if Klaus heard whispers spreading about his ... condition he would surely come loaded for thief. As it was, Dorian still felt most disappointed in Bonham for believing Dorian to be so shallow! True, Klaus's scar hadn't been an overly pleasing sight, but Dorian would have put up with that. The real reason though - had Bonham known, he would have understood, Dorian felt sure of it.
Meanwhile, Bonham continued his explanation.
"Then one look and it was fare thee well and good riddance. See - it'd just be too much for his Lordship if I didn't just look like I do and ... well, the you-know-what thing. Me being a gimp too - no, that'd be too much for him. He'd send me packing, he would. No need to worry now, though. I'll be well. The doctor said as much."
Dorian felt like charging inside and start yelling. Of course he would never do such a thing! Bonham was his friend! Even if Bonham were to become crippled, Bonham would always have a place with him! Always! How dared Bonham think otherwise? How dared Bonham believe Dorian capable of something so ... shallow?!
"I suppose you're right," said John-Paul with a faint shiver to his voice. "When you put it that way I understand. He's all about beauty and perfection. And if you don't live up to his standards you're on your own. You're right. He was all over Major Eberbach. I thought he'd follow him through Hell if that cagey bastard asked him to. You could have thought they were soul mates or something - at least as far as his Lordship was concerned. Dumped him like bad news because of a scar, did he? It's not as if Uncle NATO could help getting shot at. Damn. That really makes you think, doesn't it? I gained two kilos last year, maybe I can join Rudy in running in the mornings, get them off again. Better not get any older either."
Again, Dorian felt like screaming at them.
Traitors!
He had to dig his nails into his palms as not to rush in there right away. But to do so wouldn't do. No, first he had to get his emotions under control, else he feared he would start bawling, not just yelling. No, cool and collected, then get Bonham alone to start with. He and Bonham had been friends for so long. Bonham knew him better than anybody! Dorian would have bet anything that Bonham knew exactly what made Dorian tick! Apparently not so, though.
"I'm nowhere near that shallow!" Dorian mumbled to the wind as he trudged back towards the castle.
** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **
The same night.
Dorian was, in a vague sort of way, aware of that it was all a dream, but it was such a lovely dream that he just let himself be swept away, enjoying what happened.
His bed at Castle Gloria, with the bright red silk sheets - for making love on only. For sleeping he had a white set in cashmere. The Eroica Rose red really set off the milky pale skin of his companion.
What a body!
Long, long lines - gorgeous legs; tightest little arse he had had the pleasure of seeing in a long while; strong back - left shoulderblade marked with a scar, but the light of love made even that look enticing, rather than off-putting. Straight, black hair which had fallen aside to reveal an elegant, pale neck and a small shell of an ear that just begged for Dorian to come nibble on it.
He sat behind the other man, admiring the rippling play of muscles as he shifted his arms to wrap them around the pillow he hid his face in. Then his arse and legs as he spread the latter, tilting the former slightly upwards. The muscular globes - begging, just like the ear, for a bit of caressing teeth - were far enough apart to give him a mouth-watering view of the cleft in between. And after another shift - legs opening further, arse rising as if yearning for his touch - he saw the little pink, wrinkly hole previously hidden.
Delicious!
And! Since this was his dream - he could do exactly what he wanted!
He leaned down and bit gently into the left arse cheek, eliciting a slightly surprised grunt from the other man. Then the right cheek looked so abandoned, so he had to bite that as well. This time the other must have been prepared, for no sound emerged. He found the sensitive spot just above the tail bone and laved it with his tongue before sucking over said bone, letting his teeth scrape the skin delicately. That earned him a muffled moan.
Micropenis! he suddenly remembered and stilled all action. No, no, no! This is my dream! Nothing so horrible would be in my dream!
Still, there was nothing for it but to scoot closer and pull gently at the nearest hip. When the arse obligingly rose, he slipped a hand beneath the man, fumbling around ...
... and quickly located something very long and fat, not to mention hot and a little slick.
Perfect!
He breathed out a sigh in relief. I knew my subconscious wouldn't let me down, he thought happily.
Still fondling the nice manhood he began inching higher, until his own, very erect and very, very happy cock encountered interesting parts in its search of a snug, hot cave to call home.
The scar did give him pause as his mouth in turn searched for that sweet little ear. The thing was so ... ugly. Far uglier than he had remembered. Dark red, with a twisting to the skin that made him want to shudder. Couldn't his dream self have, well ... smoothed it out a little? If it could make that really nice length that currently twitched willingly against his palm, then it certainly should be able to pretty up this part too, shouldn't it? But apparently that was not on the agenda for the day, so he just lifted his head as he went past it.
He was just about to take that little earlobe between his teeth. He was also just about to let the crown of his engorged manhood slip into that eager little hole down below. For the hole would be eager, that was a given. This was Dorian's dream and - ugly scars aside - he was about to have a good time in it. Yes, no doubt the hole was already stretched and oiled, ready to receive him. Though tight - oh so very tight ... Still, nothing would stop him from just sliding in to the hilt.
"I say, how about a little less dallying and a little more of the old how's your father?"
Dorian's entire body seized up and a ball of ice materialised in his stomach. That ... That ...
"A good shag between manly men is just the thing to get the old blood pumping, eh?"
No ... No! No!! It can't be! No, no, no! The world can't be that cruel!
"Ah ..." he managed to gasp. "Ah ..."
Then he flung himself backwards.
The most horrifying sight he had ever seen in his entire life - and that included the time when he accidentally saw his mother naked - turned around to face him.
"Dreadfully rude that, Dorian, old chap."
"Nnnght!" he pressed forth through a panicked-blocked throat. He bit his cheek, but felt no pain, confirming that it really was a dream, much good that it did him otherwise. Wake up, Dorian! Wake up! Wake the fuck up right fucking now! "Nrrrghghh-ha!"
The hair - which he had thought pushed aside - wasn't long at all, it had merely appeared that way - or had possibly now, since this was a dream, shortened to its regular length. The man before him reached down to grab hold of the almost obscenely long penis that jutted out straight at Dorian. He pumped it slowly. Before Dorian's eyes the dreadful object actually seemed to expand!
"Ng-ha-ha-aaah!" If he could just scream loud enough, surely he would wake himself up? But his vocal cords weren't cooperating. I have to wake up! I must! If I die in my sleep I'll die in real life too! And he surely would die if he had to stay there any longer!
"What's the matter, Dorian, old chum?" said the man. "What you said before was that it didn't matter who I was, as long as I was built like old Big Ben pointing at twelve o'clock."
Finally, Dorian screamed. The sound hit his eardrums - far more real than the sounds he himself had made earlier - actual sound, not just the remembrance of sound. It ripped him from the world of red sheets and horror - and into a dark room where the sheets were warm and soft and white against his cold, wet body.
As he scooted up to the bed's head his heart drummed like the head of a crazed woodpecker. He tugged the blankets along before darting out a hand to light the bedside table lamp. A hasty inspection of the room found him alone and he manfully withstood an urge to check all hidden areas for an intruder.
Slowly his furiously pumping blood slowed down. When it no longer felt as if he was on the verge of a heart attack, he abandoned the bed's relative safety and high tailed it towards the shower.
** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **
With the cold sweat and the last cobwebs of sleep cleaned away, Dorian still felt soiled. What a terrible, terrible dream!
This is all Bonham's fault! he thought morosely as he dried his body with a blanket-sized towel. His and John-Paul's! Doubting me like they did! How dare they?! And that dream! I'm not some ... size queen! It must just be ... proportional, yes, that's all. Not ... boy-sized. That's just ... wrong. That doesn't make me shallow!
Only ... there was a small part of him that saw the connection. An ugly scar or a small penis - was one or the other really a failing mark? Or both, for that matter?
Oh, this is stupid! I ... I don't know what to think ...
He had dried his hair as good as he was capable of in a hurry, without bringing out the hair drier and spending much too long a time getting it right. He loved the royal air his mane gave him, but on occasions such as this it could be a bit of a bother.
I'm not shallow! I'm not! Really! I ... Well, I don't want to be!
He sat down before the empty fireplace, looking at the ashes.
I would never do anything with Lawrence just because he happens to have a big-- If he even does! That was just in my nightmare! He probably has a tiny, tiny one - smaller even than Klaus's! Ha! Then the thought of Klaus made him curl up tighter. But I left Klaus because of ... that. Perhaps not left him as if they had been in a committed relationship and Dorian had broken it up, but still ... He had abandoned the man he had considered himself in love with due to a less than pleasing physical attribute.
A stress headache started to build in his temples. To think was much too difficult.
Zur Hölle damit! he thought, borrowing one of Klaus's frequent expressions. I need to talk to someone!
And, well, who that "someone" might be, was never in any doubt. It never had been.
He got up and dug out a loose pair of jeans from the very back of his wardrobe - about the only pair of loose fitting trousers he owned, as he normally preferred the skin tight versions. Then he pulled on a pair of running shoes and a pistachio green T-shirt. Tonight was not a night to feel confined. Finally he dried his hair one last time, brushing it through perfunctory with his fingers to get out the worst snarls. His stylist would have to look at it later, he suspected. Never mind. He then slipped out the open window, descending the castle as if going down steep stairs. The night was dark, but the moon provided some shady light, as did the lamp posts burning faintly down the road - they were always on, just in case the castle's inhabitants had to abandon ship in a hurry. Or, for a night such as this, to guide Dorian's feet over the dew-damp grass on the well-known path to the caretaker's cottage.
It had been years, he realised with some regret, since last time he had done this - since Before Klaus at the very least. There had simply been no need as A.K. he had been happy and focused on his goal. Frustrated, sometimes, yes, but not in so far that he hadn't been dead sure of what he wanted.
When he reached the little patio he stopped, looking up at the largest of the three windows on the second floor, the window that led to Bonham's bedroom. Bonham had the strange habit of waking up early and thus had chosen a room graced by the morning sun. That wouldn't happen for a few hours yet, though.
Dorian stepped up on one of the chairs and from it onto the table. From there his fingers found purchase in the minute hollows formed between the bricks. The running shoes made scaling slightly more awkward than his usual boots, but it was only a few steps up until he could take hold of the first of the iron bars circling the window. From a distance they might look like decorations, but Dorian knew they were not. They were made to easily take a man's weight, as he stood on his knees against the wall, peering inside.
The room was not so dark that Dorian couldn't see the single shape occupying the bed. He drew a quiet breath of relief. If Bonham had had ... company, Dorian wouldn't have known what to do. Besides, it had always felt so ... wrong, the few times Dorian had come only to find his old friend ... entertaining.
It wasn't exactly a secret, but neither was it something that the gang members ever really talked about. Newcomers usually didn't find out for quite some time and, when they did, they were often quite shocked. Of course, Bonham was most discrete. He never brought his ... partners up to the castle, for instance. Dorian had only met one of them face to face, and that had been pure accident - though thoroughly embarrassing, at least from Dorian's point of view. He had managed to outwit James and plundered the kitchen, finding enough bounty for a good-sized breakfast for two, which he had packed into a picnic basket and then set out towards the caretaker's cottage, intent on sharing his mighty spoil with his best friend. He hadn't had a thought of Bonham's little ... peculiarity, and had thus walked right into the kitchen - only to find ... her there!
Yes. Bonham ... collected flowers, rather than trees. Liked the jiggling bits. Preferred pussy. In other words - he was ... straight. Or mostly so, anyway. Sometimes he joked that just being around Dorian and his gang made him at least 5% gay. To Dorian's knowledge, though, Bonham had never as much as looked at a guy with a bit of heat in his eyes. Utterly weird, Dorian just couldn't understand it, but it was Bonham, after all, so he made allowance. Such as making sure that none of the ... more femininely inclined persons occupied Bonham's bed on a night when Dorian himself intended to share it.
Tonight, though, the coast seemed clear. He flipped up the locking mechanism - the window could be opened from both sides - and sneaked in. To close the window again was a second's work, then he toed off his running shoes. He stood absolutely still for a few moments, listening intently. Hearing nothing but Bonham's slow, steady breaths, with just a hint of a snore, he slipped up to the bed and then onto it.
"Huh? Ha? Oh, 's jus' 'ou," Bonham muttered. He shifted to the side, leaving Dorian room to lay down in while resting his head on Bonham's shoulder. An arm settled around his back and pulled him closer. "Whassup?"
Dorian didn't answer. He desperately wanted to discuss things with Bonham, but he just wasn't sure how to formulate the problem. Better just lay there and draw strength from the quiet presence. The presence that apparently didn't feel as secure with him as he did with it. Which was intolerable.
"I love you, Bonnie," he whispered in the dark, making an almost question of the words.
The arm around his back tightened. "Love you too, doll."
"Never leave me, Bonnie."
"Course not, doll."
"Not even if you become a ... a ... gimp."
A rumbling sound. "Heard that, did you? John-Paul found the flowers outside. I thought they might be from you, I did. Don't you worry none, doll. Old Bonham isn't budging, unless you be wanting him to."
"I can't believe you think I might want that, Bonnie!" His hand had landed on the chest of Bonham's pyjamas and he fisted the flannel to make his point. "I'm not that shallow at all!"
"Course you're not, Milord."
Dorian gasped. These times they spent together were sacred. Ever since they were both youngsters he had visited Bonham like this - and Bonham always, but always called him 'doll' when it was just the two of them. After Dorian had tried to break into Lord Price's house Bonham's father had found him and taken him with him to their home. This had been before the family moved to North Downs. Bonham had always claimed that Dorian looked like a life-sized doll. The name had stuck. The only time when Bonham wouldn't use it when they were alone was when Bonham lied to him. Which meant ...
"Am I really that shallow, Bonnie?"
"What do you think, doll?"
Not ready to answer that question, Dorian began to haltingly explain what had happened between him and Klaus during the Latanirth mission. Oh, he didn't mention the ... actual problem, just let Bonham draw his own conclusion, since he knew that Bonham was on the wrong track already anyway. Besides, wouldn't it be the same thing if he had abandoned Klaus due to the scar as if he had done it due to ... something else?
While listening to the explanation Bonham lay in mostly silence. Sometimes he would hum and sometimes his arm tightened a little, as if he wanted to reassure Dorian of his presence.
"Well?" Dorian finally asked. "Did I do wrong?"
"Right and wrong is a tricky business, doll. It's not always as simple as all that. You followed that machine maniac around for years, for all that he claimed not to want you around. For you to ask for a kiss I understand. I'm just not sure why Mr. Repressed was showing off his scar to you, I'm not. How did he seem like?"
"Klaus? Annoyed enough to start a minor war. But doesn't he always?"
"Nah, sometimes he just be flustered because you get too close to him. Like when I happened to brush up against his lanky carcass that time up in Schloss Adler. Like a virgin girl, he be, not knowing how to react to a boy who likes him and wants to cuddle."
Dorian laughed half-heartedly. "Now that you mention it, well ... yes, that is a rather apt image, I will admit."
"See? So, why do you think Uncle NATO showed you that scar of his, then, doll?"
"To scare me off from that kiss I wanted, of course." Which ... Klaus had succeeded in.
"Hmm. You really be thinking so?"
"Why, yes. Of course."
"Hmm. Because he usually does that, does he? Whips off his clothes to let you ogle his body? Yes, does that at a drop of a hat, does he? A real exhibitionist, he be."
"No, of course not! He's the very model of a prude! I've never even seen the man in shorts or a T-shirt!"
"How did he seem when he did it, then? Nervous, was he? Angry? Anything? Think about it, doll."
So Dorian thought about it. "Well ... He did hesitate just before he ... bared himself. But otherwise he just had his smooth mask on."
"Be hiding his feelings, then. Yes, he be real good at that. And he would do that too, in a situation like that, I would think. Did he say anything before?"
"Well, he kind of snorted and muttered 'Thought as much'."
"Hmm." Bonham rubbed Dorian's back for a few seconds. "Try this on for size, doll - what if old stoneface was ... testing the waters, kind of like?"
"How do you mean, Bonnie?"
"It takes a bit of imagining, but he be human, like, and he does have feelings too. Doesn't want to have them trodden on, not more than any of us do. What if he was kind of worried that the scar really would turn you off and wanted to check if it would before he dared to trust you?"
"I still don't understand what you're getting at, Bonnie. Why would the major be worried about a thing like that?"
Bonham grunted. "As I said, he's not more than human, he is. Who knows what goes on behind those icy green eyes of his? Perhaps what the big lug really wanted was for you to say 'oh, that little thing? Why, something as small as that won't change my mind. I be loving you forever anyway.' And then you would live happily ever after, like."
Dorian felt like saying "Nrrrghghh-ha!" all over again, only he was all too aware of that this was no dream. Still - "Nnnght!" expressed fairly well exactly how he felt. Shell-shocked. Stupefied. Fucked.