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How long had they been planning this holiday? Dorian couldn’t remember.
They had bought a small cottage in the Bavarian Alps last spring, far enough from the city to have some solitude, but close enough that Dorian wouldn’t need to do any farming (the horror). It was way cheaper than it should have been, considering the location — and Klaus was the one to seal the deal, commenting on how Bavaria had changed since he’d gone to school there. He didn’t elaborate further.
Once they arrived, it was clear why it had been so cheap. After the five hour drive from Bonn, they came to a house with poor plumbing, creaking doors and ripped wallpapers. Klaus urgently got to work, already paying for repair services — but otherwise, Dorian admired the charm of the early-century decoration and furniture. He remembered seeing similar silverware in his grandmother’s house, similar beds in his father’s old cottage. There were written numbers on one of the walls, marking children’s heights. Ghosts of the past.
That was back in May. At first, Dorian had been horrified, knowing for sure that Klaus would hate going on holiday and, God forbid, not have to work — but after he saw the poor state of the house, his eyes immediately lit up, rambling on about extractor fans, heating pipes and whatnot.
Dorian had smiled to himself. At last, Klaus could be relaxed — he wouldn’t be without work after all.
So while Dorian painted sunsets by the balcony and caught up on his reading list, Klaus cleaned up the kitchen and fixed any appliance he could find. On their last day, they went on a hiking trip. Dorian needed to prove himself — prove the depth of his feelings, and prove how long he could trek without complaining.
September 19th marked the day they’d be together for twenty-two months.
And after May, NATO sunk its claws into Klaus once again. He was only available again in September due to a mission being passed from him to the French branch. On the 18th, they met at the same bus station they’d met in months before. The bags under Klaus’ eyes were heavy and dark, his voice sounding like he’d done little effort into cutting back the cigarettes. Not that he ever listened to Dorian’s advice.
The cottage greeted them with a familiar squeak of the door.
“ Gottverdammt ”, Klaus grumbled. “ Diese verdammte Tür… ”
Dorian looked back at him as Klaus kneeled over the door, putting down the backpacks he'd brought along.
“What is it now?”
“I need to oil it again.”
“Don’t you want to do that tomorrow , darling?” Dorian said, tilting his head lovingly. He had other plans for them tonight — he had even brought this delightful new pair of underwear…
Klaus shook his head. “No, I need to do it now.”
“Why?”
“I just do”, Klaus says. “Can you put my clothes in the closet when you go to our rooms? I’ll make dinner.”
Dorian smiled, sighing, leaning down to kiss the top of Klaus’ head. “Of course.”
Klaus had his routines, his quirks. He wouldn't dare intervene in them.
One hour later, Dorian had organised their closet to mild success, and came downstairs to the scent of Klaus’ cooking. There wasn’t much available in the cottage — Dorian had promised to go to the market the next day; but still Klaus managed to make do with what they had, hovering over the stainless oven, the tomatoes and meat cut into perfect shapes along the corner, spices and pasta boiling inside a pot. The house smelled of cooked garlic.
Dorian chose not to interrupt him, though surely Klaus had noted his presence. He sat by the kitchen table instead, watching him — as focused with cooking as he was at work, murmuring to himself about the taste, groaning once he realised he’d gotten sauce on his sweater vest. Dorian smiled, admiring him until he was finished.
The morning sun rose hotter than expected — it was Autumn, for Christ’s sake…
Even after the two hours he spent packing, Dorian quickly realised he’d brought nothing that would fit both the weather and his personal style. He had to find a compromise — and find it he did, on a grey turtleneck he’d packed at the last minute, and form-fitting, but thick jeans that he wore his boots over.
The Earl groaned as he looked at the mirror. His eyes didn’t even look blue anymore, they looked the same boring grey as the turtleneck.
He was still fixing his hair, trying to make it look bigger, when Klaus saw him step out of the house.
“The people in the village won’t recognize you.”
The remark made Dorian even more self-conscious, especially with Klaus’ deadpan tone.
“Is it that bad?” He frowned, putting his hand over his chest.
Klaus stopped raking the leaves, looking at him.
“No. They are still you, but in a different way.”
Dorian looked surprised enough — but Klaus immediately went back to his domestic duties. He smiled.
“Thank you, darling. You’re so thoughtful.”
Though he did not look back, he could feel his Major’s gaze on him — likely just as surprised as Dorian had been. Before this, before them, Dorian would never accuse the man of thoughtfulness. He had changed so much, yet so little.
Stubborn Iron Klaus, his loving Iron Klaus, his and his alone.
It felt as if heaven had descended on the earth, and they lived together in elysium.
The Earl of Gloria returned three hours after, with two bags of groceries and a wreath of gardenias woven around wheat sprigs, given to him by the baker’s elderly wife. After dutifully placing the flowers in a vase with water, he found his Major back inside, in the master bedroom, sitting on an old, patched-up blanket, with an even older heater.
“What is it you’re doing to the poor thing?” Dorian asked, pouting as he sat down on the bed to face him.
“This poor thing—” Klaus paused, interrupted by Dorian giving him a peck on the lips. He blushed slightly. “It— It needs to be cleaned.”
He showed Dorian what he’d been working on. Dorian hummed along, even though it was thoroughly incomprehensible to him. “... At least that part, but I think that’s everything. There’s no holes or corroded wires.”
“I’m going to shower”, Dorian announced. “I’ll make you a bite to eat afterwards.” He winked at Klaus before opening the closet again, facing it with an expression of utter shock.
It was organised .
The clothes from their previous stay were folded and put on shelves . The ones he’d bought for this trip were on hangers — and they were all filled by colour .
“... Did you rearrange my closet, darling?”
“Ja”, Klaus nodded. “I had to, while I was looking for this blanket.” He eyed the old rag, patched up and beaten down. It didn’t take much to realise who it previously belonged to — or why Klaus had picked it. Out of spite, likely.
Dorian giggled.
“Perhaps you deserve a prize for all that hard work”, he says. “A kiss.”
“Perhaps”, Klaus responds.
Dorian quickly took off his turtleneck before sitting on Klaus’ lap, both to not get it stained with grease, and because he looked so particularly dashing that day. Klaus looked surprised — as if he thought he wouldn’t actually receive kisses.
He clumsily held Dorian’s hips as the Earl kissed the sides of his face, his jaw, then his neck; and Dorian smiled to himself as he felt the flush of Klaus’ skin, before feeling his lips finally being met.
“I am happy you did not mind it”, Klaus said, looking away from him. He found it difficult to look when they were this close.
“Why would I?” Dorian says, his knee lazily crossed over his thigh, his lips still brushing over Klaus’ neck.
“I would hate it if somebody rearranged my things.” He paused. “That includes you.”
But Dorian laughed, kissing his Major on the lips once more. “I would never, my love.”
He kissed Klaus again, tasting the coffee on his tongue and feeling the scruff of his cheek. Klaus held him firmly, steady. Not out of force, but so that Dorian wouldn’t fall — he’d always commented on how gangly he and his legs were. Too thin.
After they parted, Dorian rested his head on Klaus' shoulder, closing his eyes — and the man held him, staring at nothing, as he often did, when Dorian’s fingers brushed over his dark hair.
“I have to tell you something”, he said.
“What is it?” Dorian opened up his eyes again, lovingly staring at his Major.
“I didn’t take the days off. I quit.”
What ?
“What— what do you mean?” Dorian asked.
“I don’t work for NATO anymore.”
Dorian hesitated.
“But — but that’s your job”, he says. “It’s everything to you. It’s your whole life.”
Klaus hesitated, too.
“Yes.”
“I— I never thought I’d hear you say something like that.” The Earl couldn’t help but stutter, as confused as he was frustrated. He left Klaus’ lap, standing up. “Why, you’ve never even implied —”
“And do you think I’d just discuss something like that with you?” Klaus snapped, glaring at him as he stood up.
Dorian looked back at him wide-eyed and shocked, before slowly knitting his brows together, slowly crossing his arms.
“Yes”, he says. “I did.”
Klaus looked down. Dorian could hear him sigh through his nose — but he didn't push further. He’d been trying not to do that lately.
“Many things have changed these past twenty-two months”, Klaus says bluntly, hands in front of him as if talking to a superior. “My routine has changed. My… habits have changed.” He returned his gaze to Dorian.
“My lifestyle has changed.”
Dorian couldn’t help but snort at his words, before shaking his head. “I apologise”, he sighs through a broken laugh. He was so formal. “We should sit down, darling.”
“We should”, Klaus says curtly, and they both sat together, at the foot of their shared bed, staring at the old broken heater on the ground.
“What happens now, my love?”
Suddenly startled, seemingly annoyed, Klaus looked away again. He sighed.
“I don’t know. Maybe you’ll leave, since you can’t interfere with my missions anymore.”
Oh, so that’s why he looked so broody , Dorian thought.
“Now, after all the trouble to get you, do you really think I’d do that?” Dorian put his hand on his waist, smiling at Klaus, who grumbled in response.
“What, you don’t believe me?”
His Iron Klaus looked up at him. For all he had changed, the steely gaze remained — the same steely gaze that he had grown to love years ago, when they stared at him with nothing but loathing.
“I do”, Klaus says. “There are parts of me that say it is against my better judgement. But I do believe in you.”
The last words make the blood rush to Dorian’s cheeks as if he were a schoolboy again, making him unknowingly smile wider.
“I don’t want you to look at me with pity”, Klaus says.
“I would never.” Dorian leans forward, giving Klaus another peck — but to his surprise, he kisses back.
“ Now ”, Dorian sighed. “What happens now ?”
His retired Major looked at him, expressionless. Dorian took in his deep eyebags, his frown lines, the vanishing, small scar on his jaw from a knife that had been held to it. Le contrainte du mètier . Klaus then gazed at the creaky windows on the corner, then the patched-up blanket on the ground, then the broken heater.
“I still need to fix that thing”, Klaus says. “And that”, he glances at the window. “I need to replace the circuit breaker, too. The water came out too cold while I was washing the dishes. And I need to install the ceiling fan I left here during May.”
“You washed the dishes?” Dorian asked, smiling.
“Of course.”
Dorian woke up hugging not a man, but his pillow — sounds of drilling loudly echoing in his ears as he rubbed his face. The bastard. He always knew how to leave the bed without him noticing. A former spy indeed.
But before he could ever yell at Klaus to tone it down, as it was early as eleven in the morning (the horror!) — he turned his head to see a tray of breakfast in the nightstand, smelling of honey, complete with one of the gardenias he’d brought along.
The drilling continued. Dorian sighed, shaking his head as he smiled.
“Is this what you do on your days off?” Dorian asks, freshly off the shower, wearing his favourite bathrobe — barely reaching his knees. He watched as Klaus carried an oval mirror to the bathroom.
“What do you mean?” He asked.
“Drill holes into things”, Dorian says. “ Cook .”
“I don’t cook a lot. But whenever I’m back home, there’s always something that needs fixing”, Klaus says, grabbing a bulk of double sided tape and scissors. “The clocks are always late. Do you want to help?”
“Heavens no”, Dorian giggles, but Klaus doesn’t seem offended by it. If Klaus had his way, he’d work by himself for the rest of his life.
Well…
“I’m going to turn off the electricity when I install the fan”, Klaus says. “The house is old. I don’t want anything to short circuit when I’m realigning the wires.”
“Of course”, Dorian says. “Be careful.”
“I know.”
“I love you, Klaus.”
“I know.”
Once the retired Major had noticed how red his cheeks had gone, Dorian had already stolen a kiss from him and left, running up to their bedroom as Klaus nearly dropped the mirror he was holding. He had changed so much, yet so little.
Stubborn Eroica, loving Eroica, Klaus’ and Klaus’ alone.
Once the lights were out, Dorian took upon himself the task of lighting candles around the house, over and over his fingers swiping matches over their box, leaving them around the living room where Klaus worked. It wouldn’t take long — but it didn’t hurt to have candles around the home, either.
Klaus was up on a ladder, letting out short hums as he fixed the fan. Sure that his butch lover would be able to handle the legwork, Dorian sat on the couch, opening his sketchbook on his lap. It had to be over a year old by this point, carried by him around the world, bound in leather and a small string closing it shut to warn off any unsuspecting, curious eyes. He opened on a blank page, stealing glances at the tall, sweating, grunting man in front of him, before starting to draw. It obviously didn’t take long before Klaus caught on.
“Did something happen?”
“Hm?” Dorian looked up from his sketchbook.
“Why are you sitting there?” Klaus asked again, slightly impatient as he wiped sweat off his forehead.
“I’m just watching you, darling. Is something wrong?”
Klaus paused. He looked tense, breathing heavily due to the sweating.
“I don’t like being stared at when I’m doing things”, he says. “My father used to do that. He often did it so he could discipline me.”
Dorian’s lips parted slightly in surprise, his eyebrow twitching in slight worry and confusion. He recollected himself.
“I was but drawing you, my love”, he admits. “Do you want me to stop?”
The mention of Klaus’ father gave him an odd feeling, the same unsettling feeling of one hearing a noise when they’re alone. Dorian had been open about his past — and so did Klaus, in the vaguest way possible. His mother died at childbirth, he went into boarding school at nine, left at seventeen, went into the army. He probably heard the word ‘ butler ’ more than he heard the word ‘ father ’ as Klaus told the story.
“No. It’s fine.”
The Earl nodded in response. This short exchange had somehow made him tired — but he went back to his drawings, pen and graphite, paper and candle.
Klaus had that way of scaring him, saying too much with too little, or saying nothing at all.
Dorian watched him through his lashes as he drew. His stance was rigid as it always was, his gaze focused, eyebrows knit. A drop of sweat ran down his temple.
He wondered if he’d ever be able to shake it off — the soldier’s stance. Even the older men at NATO that Dorian had met weren’t as stiff as he was, as stuck up as he was. Dorian pressed the pencil harder against the paper as he detailed Klaus’ hair, the charming loose strands that stuck to his forehead.
Suddenly, he stepped off the ladder. Before Dorian could ask if he was finished, Klaus lifted up and took off his sweatshirt, now clad in the tank top he wore underneath.
Dorian’s worries did not go away — but the gesture certainly brought a small smirk to his lips. Klaus looked as if he came out of a chiaroscuro painting, the golden glow of his bare arms under candlelight contrasting with the darkness that surrounded them, as dusk settled into night. He wished he could properly register this as he wished. He wished he could properly register anything between them at all.
Maybe things were going to change.
Dorian took it upon himself to cook dinner. He made a soup of potatoes and meat to warm up — though Klaus was already doing that with his cigarette, allegedly his last of the night, as he watched the telly.
The movie was an old musical; one of Dorian’s favourites. He ran to the living room as soon as he recognized the first notes of a song he’d heard so many times before, reaching for the remote, before Klaus placed his hand over it.
“No. Leave it, I know you like this song. I heard you sing it in the shower.”
And who was he to say no to a (former) NATO Major?
Dorian’s gaze towards the screen likely mirrored the way Klaus gazed at the machinations of the electronics he fixed as he tapped his fingers on his thigh, corroded wires for a soft orchestral ballad, grease and iron for tap shoes and tuxedos.
The Earl grabbed his sketchbook which he’d left on the coffee table, inspired to put into paper the leading man and woman in the movie.
“What were you doing earlier?”
Klaus looked at him, his fist resting against his cheek.
“I was drawing you”, Dorian responded with a soft smile. “I wanted to have a recording of you, darling.”
“You could have used a camera. Leica has good ones.”
Dorian chuckled at the irony — as well as Klaus’ neverending knowledge of German machines. “No, no, I simply… Wanted something to remember you by.”
Klaus doesn’t respond. He was, obviously, rather tired, as he was every single day since Dorian had met him — even if they were on vacation. It made Dorian quickly forget his illustrations, as he moved closer to Klaus, nuzzling his neck, placing a hand on his chest. Short dark locks tickled his cheek, his heavy arm was draped over his shoulder.
“Oh, darling, what am I going to do now?” Dorian said, softly kissing his lover on the jaw. “I’ll have nobody to chase, you know. And nobody will chase me”, he teased.
“You’ll live”, Klaus responds, barely reacting to the affections. “I don’t think my retirement will stop you from chasing me any time soon.”
Dorian chuckled, though his eyes softened with a bit of melancholy. “Well, how am I going to be able to see you, then?”
“The same way I see you now.”
Dorian’s eyebrows furrowed. “Well, but how will you hide it from your fath—”
“ Dorian .” Klaus pinched the bridge of his nose, as he abruptly removed his hand from Dorian’s shoulder. It was rare to hear him say anything other than ‘Earl’ or ‘you’ — so, there was the sign Klaus was serious. “I’ll find a fucking way.”
The Earl’s cheeks flushed red hot with anger and embarrassment, tsking. A grown man — with the temper of a child , he thought to himself.
“Of course. Why would I expect you to care about me as you cared about that bloody job ?”
The room stood still, the air stopped blowing. The TV played over the interminable silence, prolonging it, as Dorian’s face became hidden under his curls, his hands grabbing his arms as if hugging himself, as if squeezing himself until his body disappeared.
He could not look at Klaus, he could not bear to. He bit his lip, tears swelling on the corners of his eyes. He cares more about a bloody door than about me , he thinks to himself. Cares more about a bloody heater…
The silence continued, the wind went back to blowing its gentle song.
Two brutish hands gently held Dorian, pressing him to another’s warm body until Dorian looked up at his Major again, his gaze hesitant yet warm, emotionless yet comforting. One of Klaus’ hands found his cheek, flushed and damp, then his hair, moving Dorian’s dollike curls from his forehead, behind his ear.
“Klaus…”
“You cannot go to the Castle in Bonn. But you can come here.”
“And how will I ever know when to?” Dorian’s eyes widened, pleading. “Will you answer my phone calls, Klaus? My letters?”
Klaus nodded.
“And will you visit me, in England? Will you fly to see me at all?”
Klaus nodded again.
Dorian let out a broken sob, looking down as Klaus pressed his face to his shoulder. His palm touched his cheek again, touched it with a gentleness Dorian felt was almost ludicrous, as if it was not Klaus at all who touched him.
“You cry too much”, Klaus complains. Dorian smiles. It was him after all.
“ You make me cry.”
“Then…” Klaus paused. Dorian could not see his face, but he could tell he felt embarrassed about whatever it was he was about to say. “When you cry because of me, come to this house. I’ll be waiting here. Then you can… I don’t know, fucking complain at me about it.”
“Do you promise you’ll wait for me?” Dorian suddenly looked back up at Klaus, his eyes still teary-eyed but wide, curious.
“... Ja .”
“I want to hear you say it.”
Klaus rolls his eyes, before that same brutish hand shoves Dorian back towards his shoulder. Dorian whines — but he stays still, especially as Klaus laid back on the couch, Dorian’s head on his chest.
The movie plays over silence again. For once, Dorian lets it.
“I promise”, Klaus says, stubborn Klaus, his and his alone.