Work Text:
"Fuck.”
“Fuck, indeed.”
“I should have seen this coming”, the Major replied, to himself, as he looked out the window.
Lord Gloria laughs. “From the way you say it, it’s almost as if I’m the one to blame for the snow!”
The Earl turned on his heels, his long lilac robe gently flowing behind him, as if dancing. His feet were bare, steps silent on the floorboard like a cat’s.
“I wouldn’t put it past you.” Eberbach looked away from the blizzard falling over London and towards the Earl, strutting towards the corridor.
At this point, he did wonder if Eroica had, in fact, planned this. It was the first time, after months of pleading, nearly groveling , that the Major decided to meet the Earl at his apartment, rather than the hotels they’d gotten accustomed to — unassuming, seedy hotels, where none would look for Iron Klaus, nor wonder why he was accompanied by his arch nemesis, nor wonder why they walked so close, so close as if they were there in secret, as if they had something to hide.
The Earl was more than aware, despite not asking, that Eberbach would never allow him in any of his own properties — be it the Eberbach Schloss, or one of his apartments in Bonn. And so, he began to hint at the idea, in his disgustingly coy manner, that perhaps, the next time he visited London, oh, maybe, perhaps, he could spend the weekend at his apartment. Even if it were only for a night, or only an evening, or only an hour.
Though the Major did not think it would take solely an hour — he knew himself to be an active and healthy man — he accepted the idea.
“And what’s the difference between a night at your apartment and a night at a hotel?” The Major had asked him then, buttoning up his shirt as he stood only a few meters from the Earl, who laid nude on the bed, only the hotel’s sheets covering him. Klaus looked away from him then, as he often avoided his gaze, once they were finished.
“I won’t feel as if I am your whore, is the difference.”
A pompous fool is what he is , Eberbach reminisced bitterly, his ears faintly burning at the memory. With his hands in his suit pockets, he began pacing across the lavish living room, waiting for the Earl to be done with whatever it was he was doing.
The walls in the apartment were painted dark green, contrasting with the golden frames of the paintings that were hung on them, of adolescent young gods and their equally adolescent young goddesses. The floors were of a warm dark wood, covered in ornate Turkish tapestries. The couch he’d been sitting on was of red velvet, as was the armchair beside it. Two sets of tall book cabinets stood behind the couch, with books in English as well as French, Italian and Portuguese.
It all strongly reminded him of the collection room in his home, probably the most ornate room in the Schloss — the difference being, of course, that Lord Gloria’s entire apartment looked like his living room. Not a wall without an arabesque, or a piece of furniture without a statue or cloth that covered it.
“I can still drive in a blizzard”, the Major suddenly says, as if wanting to get the last word in his own memory — but his attention is drawn to a picture frame on one of the bookcase’s shelves.
A black-and-white portrait of a family, probably from the early 1960s. The relaxed father stood, hands in the pockets of a three-piece suit, with graying curls and a trimmed moustache. Beside him, sitting down, was a stern-looking mother in figure-hugging clothing and a hat decorated with roses, her hair on a tight updo. And next to her were four children, three daughters and a son, all clad in hats and sailor’s uniforms.
“I doubt that very much.” He stops looking once Lord Gloria emerges from the corridor, carrying a salmon-colored bottle under his arm and two glasses in his hands.
“You do remember how lovely the traffic was in Rome, no? When I was the one driving? Now picture that, but with a blizzard — that’s how London gets this time of year.”
“I can drive in traffic , Lord Gloria.” He eyes the bottle, then the man holding it. “Mateus Rose?”
Eroica nods, delicately setting the glasses on a coffee table between the armchair and couch. “Our favorite. I thought it might help you relax.”
“You’re trying to get me drunk?” The Major snorts, sitting down on the couch. “We’ve never drank before…”
He cuts his own sentence short, finding himself unable to finish it. Despite how long they’d been meeting each other for, still he didn’t wish to say the words out loud. It wasn’t necessary — they were adults. Lord Gloria knew what he meant.
“We haven’t.” The Earl smiled softly. His appearance contrasted heavily with that of the apartment’s of muted browns and greens, his golden hair appearing almost silver in the lamplight, his lilac robe looking as if it glittered.
“So”, he abruptly says, “What shall the brave Iron Klaus do? Shall he drive back to his hotel in a blizzard, or shall he sleep under his mortal enemy’s roof?” He bends over with a smile, pouring the wine in one of the glasses.
The Major chuckled, leaning forward to take the glass in his hand. He’d be back to his hotel before midnight, he decided.
***
On their third glass of wine, the Major did not feel any different — though clearly it had done its ‘relaxing’ effect, seeing as how comfortably the Earl sat on the tiny space left on the couch that he stretched his legs on. His feet were on the armrest, and his tie was on the floor, and his mortal enemy lovingly caressed his legs, sipping on cheap Portuguese wine.
“If we keep this up, we won’t have time to do what we need to do.” The Major takes a drag from his cigarette, before stubbing it on the ashtray on the coffee table.
“What we need to do?” Lord Gloria laughs — he was definitely drunker than Klaus was. He was much more of a lightweight than him. The one time Eroica attempted to smoke one of his cigarettes, he nearly fainted due to his girlishly low blood pressure. “Why, you say it like it’s a mission !”
“I have a schedule ”, the Major protests, incredulous.
The Earl only laughs again. “Oh, I’m well aware. Dinner from 8:30 to 9:30, shagging from 10:00 to 11:00…” He elegantly covers his mouth with the back of his hand, leaning down as he places his glass back on the coffee table.
The Major pursed his lips as he sat on the couch. “I need my schedule”, he says, pointing to his chest with his thumb.
“I can tell”, the Earl responds, resting his stupid head full of stupid curls on the couch. He smiled at him — either lovingly or mockingly, the Major was not able to tell — as his long fingers continued gently caressing his thigh.
He ignores it. “I’m a hard-working man .”
Eroica snorts. “I know, darling. What about it?”
“ What about it ”, Eberbach says, his accent becoming stronger as he slurred over his words, proudly hitting his own chest with an open palm. “Is that you are the last person that can mock me for having a schedule, verstanden ? I work tirelessly for my country — while you sit around and —”
His words are cut short as Lord Gloria throws himself at him, grabbing his face with both hands as he kisses him, over and over, until he straddles his lap, kissing his lips, his nose, his eyelids, his cheeks and his forehead.
“Eroica!” The Major yells, grabbing onto the other man’s waist so the both of them didn’t fall off the couch. “Scheiße! Was machst du da!?”
The Earl finally envelops him in a kiss, deeper and more passionate than the others, still firmly holding the sides of his face as their lips slid across one another, the Earl softly moaning as he moved. The Major’s breath hitched, his hands squeezing the Earl’s waist tighter before he finally remembered to push the man away, holding him firmly in place by his sides.
“What!?” Lord Gloria protests, his robe falling off his shoulder. The Major glanced at it, the pale skin immediately capturing his gaze as if he’d been put under a witch’s spell.
“Weren’t you worried about your schedule ? Then get on with it !”
“ Nein! ” The Major rasps, still holding the Earl by the waist as he tried to move closer, then failed, his strength no match for the Major's. Klaus finally decided to let go of the man, only to raise a finger in his face.
“You”, he says, “disrespected me.”
“ I disrespected you?” Lord Gloria spits, a loose curl falling over his forehead. “And how many times haven't you disrespected me ?”
Eberbach blinks slowly.
“When the hell did I do that?”
Eroica scoffs. He holds up his hand, counting on his fingers. “You yell and strike me in front of your men. You call me names in public — and you want to come to my home, have your way with me , and then leave without even — without even sleeping in a bed with me!”
“Fine!” The Major slams his hand on his thigh, pointing a finger at the Earl's naked chest. “I will sleep on a bed with you!”
In merely seconds, the Earl's expression changes from almost pained frustration to glee, his plump lips curving into a grin.
“If you say so, I'll get the bed ready for us, darling…”
It was only at this moment that the Major’s words fully dawned on him, and he stared at the Earl with widened eyes and knit eyebrows. Though he had been intent on winning the argument, he forgot to pay attention to what they were actually arguing about.
“I didn't bring any clothes”, he manages to protest.
“Don't you worry, my Major”, he says, giving Klaus a kiss on the cheek, before leaving his lap and standing up. The man was light enough that he’d had long forgotten he had sat there at all. “There's plenty of your clothes here.”
“Why do…” The Major complained once more, but did not finish the question he knew the answer to.
He just groaned in annoyance, whispering swears in German while the Earl walked towards the hallway. Klaus watched him, noticing how his long legs appeared from under the transparent robe, how his hips moved.
***
There were way too many pillows for it to be a man’s bed. There were way too many pillows to be a bed.
Klaus sat uncomfortably at the edge of the Earl’s canopy bed, at the center of a room just as lushly decorated as all the others in the house. A large ornate rug with roses and plants covered almost the entire floor, and paintings of angelic men hung on the walls. The bed itself was made out of eucalyptus wood, with red tulle curtains hanging on its sides. Beside the bed was a tall bookcase, in such a strange spot due to the Earl’s enormous wall-to-wall closet consuming most of the bedroom.
“Might I come out now?” Lord Gloria's voice came from the bathroom in the suite.
“Ja” , Klaus agreed, furrowing his eyebrows as he fixed his pajamas. His pajamas — which had somehow found their way in Eroica’s closet.
“I'm not quite sure why you wouldn't want me in the room while you change”, Eroica softly spoke, walking out of the bedroom in an oversized sweater that fell off his shoulder, wearing, the Major had assumed, hoped, an extremely small pair of shorts. “Lovers see one another naked all the time.”
“I don't want you leering at me”, the Major rasps.
The Earl stood in front of him for a second, smiling as he always did, his leg bent slightly to reveal more of his thigh, before Eberbach took notice of the sweater he wore, too large for a man as scrawny as he was.
“That sweater is mine.”
“Is it?” Lord Gloria asks, walking towards him, before sitting down on his lap, spreading his legs so they'd be beside his thighs. “I didn't notice.”
“Those are my initials on your chest.” He glanced at the embroidery on the sweater: the letters “K.H.E”, on top of a diamond shape with the colors of the German flag.
“Hmm. Do you like looking at my chest, Major?” The Earl purrs, putting his hands on Klaus’ chest, sliding them up until his arms wrapped around his neck. “Do you think it's soft like a woman's when you kiss it?”
The Major suddenly felt his face burn — the Earl’s half-lidded gaze sending an even stronger burn on the pit of his stomach, making him look away in shame.
“So you'll sleep in here after all”, Lord Gloria says, smiling. There's a glint of excitement and proudness in his eyes, which the Major did not dare to look back at. “With me, in my bed…”
“Not if you keep this up”, Klaus replies, trying to maintain the last ounces of his dignity.
“I'm not doing anything I haven't done before. I'm doing everything I know you love , in fact, my Major…”
Eberbach feels warm lips be pressed to his neck, soft eyelashes fluttering against his skin. The warmth of Lord Gloria’s sweater — that is, his sweater — did not help with how stuffy the room made the Major feel, as faint droplets of sweat started to form around his nose.
“I do not love it when you steal my clothes.”
“Then you shouldn't have let me wear it the last time we were together”, The kisses continue, trailing up to his ear. “In that hotel in Vienna… when I told you I was cold, but you said you wanted to see me, so you made me —”
“Scheiße! I got it, Eroica, God damn it!”
The Earl let out a triumphant laugh as the Major took hold of his wrists and pushed them away, his face burning like coal in a fire.
“Let's just get on with it”, The Major says, standing up and pulling back the bed’s blankets. He sat down, then laid on his back, crossing his arms as he looked to the ceiling of the bed.
The Earl giggled. “You’re uncommonly patient tonight”, he purrs. Differently from Eberbach, Lord Gloria crawled his way up to the pillows instead, the catlike grin still adorning his lips, before he sat on the Major’s stomach, straddling him.
“It was the wine.”
“Sure was”, Lord Gloria replies. “You tend to get more… assertive when you’re drunk on beer. Or whiskey. It’s quite manly of you”, he says, trailing his hand up the Major’s chest again, making it slowly rise as he sighed.
Likewise, the Major couldn’t remember the last time the Earl had been this straight-forward — in bed, anyway. During missions, he’d tease him as if they were schoolboys, but he knew it was merely to irritate him. But whenever they went to a hotel, once the lights were out and his hands were on him, Lord Gloria only sighed, letting himself be taken as if melting into Klaus’ arms.
“I never did understand why somebody as uptight as you would keep your hair so long”, The Earl mused, playing with a lock of the Major’s hair that rested on his chest.
“I have to blend in”, Eberbach replies, gazing at his hand. Even his hands were too feminine , he thought. Slender and soft, his nails manicured, in a long oval shape. “And I’m not uptight.”
Eroica laughs. “And I've secretly only loved women all along.”
The Major lets out a grunt, looking up at the Earl. “Nobody suspects another long-haired freak to be an officer.”
“Hm-hmm…” Eroica sighs, trailing his fingertips across the Major’s scalp. He plays with it like a child to a doll, pushing the ends up so that it looks as if his hair had become shorter.
“Oh, my! Well you'd best keep it long…”
The Major knitted his eyebrows, perplexed. “What's wrong with it being short?”
Lord Gloria shook his head. “Nothing”, he says. He removed his legs from the Major’s side before laying on his stomach, still keeping a hand playing with the man’s hair. “It only takes away your boyish charm.”
“I turn thirty next year”, the Major looks at the ceiling before sitting up. He wasn’t fond of talking about himself. “Do you have cigarettes?” He asks, his hands already digging into the Earl’s nightstand.
“Thirty?” Lord Gloria repeats, incredulous. “I — yes... They're the ones you always smoke. I knew you’d complain otherwise.”
Eberbach hums, unknowingly agreeing, as he digs around the Earl's nightstand, brushing aside jewelry, hair elastics and pins, before finding the cigarettes and a lighter. “How old are you, again?”
“Younger than you.” Lord Gloria smirks, elaborating no further. “That much, I can tell you.”
“Huh.” Eberbach narrows his eyes at him, filled with that familiar irritation. As if they were schoolboys , he thought. “I always thought you were older — you British tend to look older than you are.”
But the Earl only laughs, his eyes squinting slightly as he did, hidden under heavy blonde eyelashes.
The Major takes a drag, blowing the smoke in the opposite direction of the Earl. “You never mentioned you had sisters.”
Though the Earl’s smile never disappeared from his face, the Major saw a glint of surprise in his eyes. He raised his feet in the air, slowly swaying them back and forth.
“You never asked”, he replies calmly. “You always seemed to have other things in mind when it came to me — if you should call the police or not, for example. Or if you should hit me.”
Eberbach rolls his eyes. “Youngest?”
Eroica nods. “After Elizabeth, Jane and Cathy”, he adds. “I haven't seen them in quite a while — since Father's funeral, I believe.”
The Major hums, looking away as he smoked silently. He was no good at walking about his own family, let alone the families of others, but something drew his eye to the portrait, from the many women, to the lonely boy who stood in the sailor’s uniform, and now laid beside him, trailing his hand down his chest.
“But how utterly depressing that is”, Lord Gloria spoke lowly, his voice soft and slow, as he moved closer to the Major, looking at him from above as his long hair fell beside his face, like a golden curtain.
“And you didn’t come here to talk about my family, did you, Major?”
The Earl draped his fleshy thigh on top of the Major’s, nudging the unmoving man’s groin as he looked at him with glassy blue eyes. “You came for something else”, he says. “And I’d be a fool not to give Iron Klaus what he wants…”
The Major did not speak, rather let his actions become his words, as he places his hands on Lord Gloria's waist, nearly wrapping around it entirely, letting his lips be met with his, warm and tasting of Mateus Rose. His head sunk deeper into the pillows as Lord Gloria's lustrous mane covered them both, a soft sigh escaping the man's lips as the Major held onto his waist tighter.
They were here to do what they needed to do — here to do what they had been doing for months, here to do what Klaus had to do whenever his urges became too strong, whenever his mind went into places he'd forever damn himself for. The addresses, the cheap hotels, the drinks, the sighs, the silence, the sighs, over and over.
He grabs the Earl by the wrists, pulling him away, a faint sigh escaping from the man who still stood centimeters above him.
“We should sleep”, Eberbach says abruptly, looking away.
The Earl knit his eyebrows. “Did something happen?”
“No”, the Major responds, meeting his gaze for only a second. “I just want to sleep.”
“Are you unable to—”
“ No ”, the Major says, letting go of the Earl as he dragged his hand over his face. “I’m just fucking tired. I don’t feel like it.”
Lord Gloria sighs, his lips forming a small, tired smile. Eberbach wondered what he thought of him. The Earl was good at reading people, as good as an Intelligence agent — and Klaus knew that’s what he did to him then. Trying to get in his mind, trying to understand. And he hated it. But he still wondered what the Earl thought of him then.
“If you say so, my darling”, Dorian Red Gloria said, kissing his cheek. He placed either hand beside the Major's head as he slid his legs on the bed, laying on top of him.
The Earl pulled their blankets up, before wrapping his arms around the Major's neck. Eberbach felt himself become awkward, almost unsure what to do with his hands, before wrapping them around the other man’s torso. Klaus glanced up, noticing the Earl’s wrists — deeply marked by his hands, red and irritated from pressure.
“Your wrists”, he says.
“What about them?” Lord Gloria's tired voice asked.
Klaus doesn’t answer.
The Earl chuckled. “So? You've left them in worse shape.”
He doesn’t answer, again. He wasn’t sure what to make of the comment. He only grunted instead, neither in approval nor disagreement.
***
Pale rays of light seeped through the bed’s tulle curtains. The blankets enveloped Dorian as if he were lost in a thick jungle, suffocated by thick leaves and vines. It was just the way he liked it.
His eyes don’t open at first, believing the moment to be too picturesque to be ruined by the fluttering of an eyelid, or a sound that came from his throat — or the throat of the man who slept beside him. His hands triumphed over his words, however, as his hands seeked to caress the Major’s broad chest, drag his fingertips across his strong jaw, feel his silky hair against his skin. But his hands only reach cotton bed sheets instead — try as they may, being unable to reach the man he desired.
Dorian's golden head slowly rose from the pillows, smiling softly even if confused — expecting perhaps to hear of his lover from the kitchen, or to see his beloved’s clothes across the room, neatly folded on top of a chair.
But he doesn’t see or hear either — the house silent, and the Major’s clothes, gone.
A sinking feeling sets in him, rotting away at his chest — and he doesn't call out the other man's name, as if he knew what would come, as if he knew what had happened. Dorian stands up. The light in the bathroom was not on, neither was the one on the kitchen or the living room. In the morning sky, the other rooms remained involved in dark blue, untouched by sunlight.
Dorian stood still in the hallway before running back to his bedroom, looking under the blankets and pillows, inside and outside of the nightstands, looking for something, anything , when he knew there was nothing. Not even his old pajamas, which Dorian had given him the night before — The only remains of the past night being the wine glasses they shared on the coffee table, the ashtray beside his bed with the Major’s cigarette still inside.
His heart pounded on his chest, exhausting, humiliating him. His hands trembled out of adrenaline, be it shame or anxiety, anger or heartache. Dorian grinded his teeth.
In my own house , he thought. In my own bed.
His legs soon gave out, and the Earl of Gloria collapsed on the ground, tears running down his face as he hugged himself, biting his lips to hold him back from screaming at the top of his lungs. His eyes looked toward the windows, but his gaze went towards nothing.
His mouth opened, but no wail left it, no sob or scream.
“Klaus”, he spoke softly. “I swear…”