For Dorian's Eyes Only
Author's disclaimer and notes: I don't own them, I just dream of doing so. Feedback is better than Marabou Strawberry Chocolate. Corrections to my language are welcome. Ask if you want me to archive it anywhere. You may link to this story if you want or to my main page. 4.308 words. Written in March 2009.
Birthday story for Heather 2009!
Big thank you's to my three great betas, Heather Sparrows, Maf and Kadorienne. You're the best!
This fic is available translated to japanese by BasilLeaves! Thank you very much, BasilLeaves!
please don't tell Klaus you've seen this ...
28th of July, some thirty odd years after a blue-eyed baby boy had made his grand debut into this world of ours, the man that the boy had become drove his Lamborghini towards his humble North Downs castle home. His eyes had never darkened, changed colour or even dulled since his birth, but had remained the same intense, catching blue which had charmed the midwife so. Nowadays he would never dream of doing something so gauche as to scream to get everyone's attention, but then - he hardly needed to.
Dorian revved the engine and overtook a blue lorry with ease. He wasn't in a hurry, but merely enjoyed using the considerable horsepower at his disposal. The first guests weren't scheduled to arrive until three at the earliest, so Dorian had taken a quick drive to London, to pick up a birthday present for himself over at Harrods. A sweet little mirror, of Jay Strongwater design, with a charming Serengeti pattern. Paid for nevertheless, rather than stolen - James would have a fit, no doubt, but sometimes Dorian enjoyed the simple elegance of not blinking at a price, merely handing over his credit card.
He swept up the driveway to North Downs a few minutes later. On parking the 'ghini at the garage his eyes fell on an unfamiliar, black Mercedes.
It must be Klaus. He is early, though. Well, I certainly don't mind!
Dorian had this personal policy of his: whatever he wanted, he got. He had wanted a certain Major Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach - and he had got him. After a considerably longer struggle than he had ever anticipated - six years, in fact - , but got him he had, in the end, and the acquisition had been a far wiser move than Dorian could have imagined. Not that they never fought - they did. Often, loudly and with a passion. Much the same way as they made love, actually. Strangely, the former often turned into the latter - though on some occasion the reverse had also been true ... All in all, though, the years since the more intimate part of their relationship started had been all that Dorian could have dreamed of, had he before meeting Klaus ever seriously considered the possibility of being in a committed, monogamous relationship.
They met as often as their schedules would allow. Dorian had begun to broach the subject of why not just move in together, but so far Klaus appeared totally oblivious to any small hint dropped. Truth be told, Dorian wasn't sure if doing so was all that good an idea just yet, either. It would have to be Germany, of course. He knew his Klaus and to expect the man to leave the land of his birth was to ask too much on top of everything else. Especially when Dorian had no work that tied him anywhere. Schloss Eberbach was certainly large enough to house both him and his gang. He would still keep his own castles for the holidays and to display his art in, of course. Before anything like that came about, however, Klaus's father must approve - and by the scraps of information Klaus had dropped about von dem Eberbach Senior, the latter was likely to happen on a very nippy day in Hell's lower regions.
Oh well, those were thoughts for another time. Today was Dorian's natal day and - much to Dorian's delight - Klaus had said he might be able to come, as long as nothing criminal would go on at the party - or any orgies, and he was not dancing with Dorian or kissing him in public. As so often Klaus had been unable to make a more definite promise - his work was too irregular for that: anything could happen, at any time, anywhere in the world, which would demand his attention. Klaus loathed to make promises he might not be able to keep; not even for a visit. But the Mercedes was a good sign, as that make was what Klaus would always pick if given the least choice.
Dorian jogged up the stairs from the garage to the hallway. He hadn't seen Klaus for weeks and while he had kept busy with various projects of his own he did miss the man. Strange, but had his bed really been so cold when he slept alone before meeting Klaus?
Beck, coming in the other direction, cried out, "Happy birthday, Milord!"
"Thank you, dear!" Dorian replied, gracing the man with a bright smile. Beck had, of course, wished him a happy birthday once already, in the morning, when the entire gang had "surprised" Dorian with an opulent breakfast in bed, but on the 28th of July all possible excuses were taken to congratulate him. "Say, Beck, have you noticed any NATO officers hanging around, by any chance?"
Beck smiled his sly, slightly slanted grin. "I might have, Milord."
Dorian laughed. "And where did you make this chance observation, pray tell?"
"Up in the game room, Milord." Beck's dark eyes glittered with mischief. "Ah, but you can't go up just yet."
"Oh? I thought this was my castle and that I could go wherever I wanted in it?" Dorian wasn't the least bit angry, of course, he merely played along in Beck's little game.
Beck shrugged. "We got very clear orders not to let you up before half past on pain of death. It's still five to, so you'd better wait. And before you ask - I haven't a clue what he's up to. I was there with Rudy, having a go at the billiard table, when the man stomped in, about 35 minutes ago. Had a big sack with him and all but chased us out. Said if any of us others showed our faces up there we'd wish we hadn't. I, for one, am not that eager to find out how he'd make us wish that, so we've all stayed clear since."
By now Dorian had already passed Beck, eager to find out what his lover was up to. Beck made no attempt to stop him, five minutes left to a deadline or not. Klaus can't have counted on anyone seeing me and stopping me anyway, Dorian decided and so felt no need to wait.
"Have fun, Milord," he heard Beck say from behind him. "Happy birthday!"
"Thank you!" he called back.
The game room was on the second floor. Dorian saw no one else on his way there. Perhaps the rest of his gang were aware of that something was up and had deemed it safest to stay out of harm's way. Klaus had a very vicious bite to match his bark and most of Dorian's men had at one point or another been subjected to his lover's wrath.
On entering the room Dorian eagerly looked around, only to find ... nothing. However, the windows were open, letting in a nice breeze, as was the French door to the small balcony. He started towards the latter.
"You couldn't follow orders to save your life, could you? Stay where you are or you'll regret it. I'm almost done."
The dulcet tones of his beloved's voice floated in from the next room, where the television set resided. Dorian weighed his growing curiosity against the risk of seriously annoying Klaus. Last time Klaus had warned him "or you'll regret it" he had been denied nookie for two nights. But this was his birthday! Surely not even Iron Klaus would withhold nookie on Dorian's birthday?
"Oh, and Happy Birthday," Klaus added. "Now stay put. I mean it. Two minutes."
Well ... Actually ... Iron Klaus very well could do something as dastardly as withholding nookie on Dorian's birthday. Dorian decided to be a good boy and so leaned back against the door. He looked in the direction of the television room when half of Klaus's head appeared, slanted so that only one eye, a hint of an ear and the fall of dark hair could be seen. Just as quickly the doorway once again cleared.
Bemused, Dorian decided not to comment. He heard rustles from beyond, and then a grunt, followed by silence.
"Do you ... need any help?" he asked when the silence alone felt to have lasted longer than the estimated two minutes.
"No," Klaus said and stepped out into the doorway. "Happy birthday."
Dorian felt his knees give, just for a second, before he caught himself.
The sight was certainly one to behold.
More to the point, the sight went straight to Dorian's not so very straight at all libido.
He bit back a moan.
The swelling in his groin already pushed hard against his tight trousers, hinting that things would start hurting soon if he did nothing to ease the pressure.
For a less sophisticated man than Dorian, drooling might have been a very real option.
"I thought," said Klaus, "when we were in Berlin, at the youth hostel. You kept staring at him, so--"
Dorian only half listened. He was in love with Klaus's knees. Half a pair of innocent, shy knee caps, rarely seen before, peeked forth. He was also tantalized by the gleam of skin on the trim legs before woollen socks, turned down at the knees, once more covered them. Klaus had also rolled up his shirt sleeves, which all in all equalled more bare skin than the private man ever showed outside the bedroom or possibly during a dip in the pool.
The shirt was ordinary enough, a medium green one Dorian vaguely remembered having seeing previously. On Klaus's left wrist was the ever-present watch, which Dorian knew was another precious memory, this of Klaus's first pay check as a NATO Major. On his feet he wore neatly tied Ghillie brogues that made the white socks stand out even more. What had caught the vast majority of Dorian's attention, however, prudently covered the area from the tucked in shirt to just above said socks.
"--the guy looked like he'd been kicked in the face by a horse, so I figured you liked the outfit and--"
Dorian remembered now. Berlin. They had been forced to spend the evening at a youth hostel, of all places. Dorian had actually found the experience somewhat quaint, though he had drawn the line at using the communal shower. That Klaus hadn't thought twice about stripping in front of strangers had amused him, though, considering how prudish the other man normally acted. He had chalked the anomaly up to military habit. Many people, of different ages and nationalities, stayed at the youth hostel. Including, just as Klaus's sharp eyes had noted, a man who Dorian had severe difficulties keeping his attention off.
"--mission with the Black Watch regiment. I needed to blend in and it's a free pattern. Since you seemed to like the look of that guy I thought--"
It might have been that their lovemaking that night - on the lower bunk bed in their tiny shack of a room, which they - luckily for everyone involved - didn't have to share with anyone - Dorian had felt just a little ... inspired. Who could blame him? A little fantasy now and then never harmed anyone.
"--fool out of myself? Fuck this!"
Klaus whirled and headed back towards the television room.
"No, stop!" Dorian shouted, suddenly aware of that his prize was slipping through his fingers.
Klaus turned back. He looked disgruntled as all of hell. And irresistible.
Dorian held up his hands to prevent any further flight attempts. "You were right," he said. "Absolutely right. Can't you see that?" He let his smile widen and patted his now very filled-out groin. "An observant man like yourself? Tsk, tsk, tsk ..."
Apparently his words - combined with the very visible sign of his approval - had the aimed for effect, for he saw Klaus's shoulders relax minutely. Actually, what he saw were the hands at the man's sides being lowered slightly, because at the moment Klaus's shoulders were slightly out of focus as Dorian concentrated fully on the area from the man's knees up to just between his lowest rib and hip.
"Ah ... Dare I hope you are a ... true Scotsman?" he asked, making an effort to lift his eyes to his lover's.
Klaus looked a bit smug. Obviously having been reassured of Dorian's interest had put his plan back on track. "Find out for yourself, Sassenach."
When Klaus walked past him over to the billiard table, swaggering just a little bit, Dorian followed as if tugged along by rubber bands. He loved Klaus's arse! Small, with buttocks firm like a pair of coconuts; usually snug in whatever garment Klaus wore; straining gently against the fabric as he moved; inviting to touch and practically begging for attention. The word 'pert' unbidden sprang to mind, as did an urge to flip coins on it, to see if they would bounce off. By all rights the same should have been true now, but somehow the more concealing, thick wool, patterned in squares of dark green, lighter green and dark blue, managed to transform the rump to an alluring mound of hidden delights.
Instead of turning back on reaching the billiard table, Klaus went all the way up to it, then bent forward, making the kilt stretch hard across his rear.
Dorian felt the twinge in his knees return. This time he allowed them to fold until he knelt, like a supplicant before an altar. With all intent to worship, he ran his hands slowly up the kilt socks, over the muscular calves and the soft skin on the back of Klaus's knees. Then he let them stray in under the edge of the knife pleats. So close he smelled the deep, unmistakable scent of his lover, mixed in with something unfamiliar that might well have emanated from the unusual apparel.
As his fingers inched their way upwards, his palms caressed warm skin and the wool touched him gently in turn. By the time he was elbow-deep in the material, his hands triumphantly cupped a pair of bare, firm buttocks. In this, as in all things, Klaus followed military regulation. Grinning joyfully like the boy who had successfully stolen the brightest, reddest bicycle for Christmas, Dorian caressed and kneaded the buttocks. He even stroked the wool covering them with his cheek, feeling the warmth of the flesh beneath.
"You have such a lovely arse, Major," he said with a sigh, just before the ache in his balls got the better of him and he withdrew his hands in order to stand.
The only answer he got was a snort. Undaunted, Dorian ran his eyes over what he had already decided was the best birthday gift he had received in years. In fact, all of Klaus was lovely to him, especially like now, dressed up for Dorian's pleasure and bent in a vulnerable position. Judging by the slight tension in the other's shoulders and the way Klaus held his arms pressed against the billiard table, the man had purposely put himself in the less defensible position. All for Dorian. Dorian's.
Dorian slipped a hand down the front of his tight trousers, rearranging his erection to a less painful position. When the hand on flesh-action almost made him come right then and there, he lowered the zipper and manoeuvred his cock out of the confinement. It stuck out of his fly, bobbing and eager for play.
Though play had a tendency of being abruptly cancelled if Klaus got uncomfortable with whatever Dorian suggested; and even if this had been Klaus's own initiative, that certainly didn't mean he couldn't suddenly balk. Knowing that a little patience now would be richly rewarded in the long run, Dorian stepped up to the man so nicely on display before him, until his feet bracketed Klaus's, their legs rested against one another and his manhood pressed hard against the tartan patterned wool still covering his lover's rear. He bent over, draping himself over the strong, warm body, and finally wrapped his arms along Klaus's own.
"You look so hot like this," he said, because it was true, and thrusted lightly. "My bold, sexy warrior, mmm ... Oh yes ... Naked underneath. Ah ... Are you hard for me, Klaus?" He kissed the neck before him and continued the slow movements of his lower body. "Are you?"
The answer was a long while in coming, but then it was said, "Yes," like a confession.
"I almost sat on my arse when you stepped out, do you know that? Like a hero from an old story, though an X-rated one, I do hope. So hot ... No one else saw you like this, did they?" He leaned forward, to nibble at a small earlobe. "Turn back a little, my love, I want to kiss you."
As Klaus obeyed Dorian saw a smudge of red on his lover's cheeks, which he decided never to mention. For all his bravado, Klaus did have a surprising streak of insecurity, especially when it came to sex play. Mentally Dorian labelled the dressing up as being equally as brave as many of Klaus's death-defying acts during various missions.
They kissed deeply and Dorian was pleased to feel some of the tension in the body below him ease. He wouldn't have minded standing there all day, but finally he had to groan and break off. "I'm going to mess up this handsome kilt of yours drastically soon and that just wouldn't do, would it? I do fear it must be cleaned even as it is."
He stepped back. Yes, some glistening smudges of pre-cum already stained the material. With a mental shrug he reached down and started to tug the kilt upwards. As more of the pale, strong legs were exposed, an insistent flutter started in Dorian's stomach, rapidly spreading downwards until he feared he would shoot his load like an excited school boy.
Is this why some men like women? Because of the thrill of lifting a skirt or a dress and finding--
"Oh Klaus, you really do have a lovely arse!" he said with another sigh.
"You're an idiot," was grumped from the top of the billiard table.
But Klaus could grump all he wanted. Come hell or high water, the man did have a lovely arse - a fact only enhanced by the tartan cloth, when the latter had, with some difficulties, been bunched up to reveal the treasure previously hidden beneath. The right buttock - Dorian's favourite - had three small birthmarks, forming an uneven triangle which Dorian couldn't neglect to kiss, but he always kissed the left one too, because its unblemished skin looked every bit as irresistible. Besides, Klaus hated unevenness and could get quite frustrated if caresses were unevenly bestowed.
Dorian paused, trying to decide if the rump itself needed more attention or if he should devote himself to other pursuits. Just then Klaus shuffled his feet apart - and the small hole previously covered by tensely clenched buttocks appeared.
"Oh!" Dorian had to squeeze his cock hard to prevent himself from spilling his seed.
The little hole glistened faintly.
"You prepared yourself for me, didn't you?" he said, surprising himself by the hoarseness in his voice. Then he reached out, hands shivering with need. With his left he caressed down Klaus's thighs, enjoying the feel of strong muscles, while the middle finger of the right carefully nudged the small opening. He received no reply, but his finger slipped in easily enough.
"You did," he answered his own question. "Was that what you were doing just before you stepped out, hmm?"
His entire finger was inside the hot channel now, so he pulled out. Then he moved inside again, letting the index finger accompany its sibling.
"Were you, Klaus? Were you fingering yourself? Did you have your fingers up your arse, loosening yourself for me? So that my cock could slide right up inside you? Was that what you were thinking about? My cock going up your little hole? Did you wish it was my cock and not your fingers, hmm?"
He had to tear his eyes away from the way his fingers worked the slick hole, to see that the faint blush on Klaus's cheeks had deepened. Even though they had been lovers for a good while now, Klaus still was uncomfortable with how his desires could overwhelm him. One of the biggest surprises to Dorian had been how easily sex talk caught Klaus's interest. He couldn't bring himself to say anything, yet, apart from a few broken exclamations as he approached his climax, but to hear Dorian describe the naughtiness they would get up to worked almost as effectively as more physical preparations.
"Don't worry," Dorian assured his lover as he continued to work with two fingers to stretch the narrow passage. "You'll get my cock soon enough."
Klaus had made an effort, that was clear, but the passage still wasn't as loose as Dorian preferred. He knew that his taciturn lover didn't mind a hint of pain with his pleasure and this had proved a problem in the past when Klaus had prepared himself. He tended to underestimate the amount of stretching needed. Since a hospital visit to treat tearing damages really put a damper on romance Dorian always insisted on being the final judge on when Klaus was ready to receive him.
"So tight and nice," he said with clear approval. With his other hand he found Klaus's erection, pressed down the kilt against the billiard table. "I do love how tight you are. But I need a little slick on me before I take you. In the television room?"
He really didn't want to move away and was very pleased when Klaus shook his head. The major leaned his weight on his left arm while extracting a small lube bottle from his sporran. Dorian took the mute offering, removed the fingers from his lover's arse and rapidly slicked up his dick. Then he put the bottle on the table border and stepped back to take in the sight. The brogues; the socks; the tense, open legs; the glimpse of his lover's balls hanging down between the spread thighs, very pale against the kilt's apron; the buttocks set off against the dark green that dominated the tartan pattern; the lighter hue of the shirt; and his lover's dark hair. The sharp eyes were a paradox - warm in colour, yet something about them put Dorian in mind of the deepest, coolest, greenest sea. The red stains on the cheek and the clenched jaw spoke their own language, as did the parted lips and audible breathing. Always volatile, Klaus's patience was reaching its limit and Dorian knew he played with fire by pushing the man further.
"I love you," Dorian found himself saying, and something in the sharp gaze softened. Aware of that some hurdle had been passed, Dorian felt his eyes once more irresistibly drawn to between Klaus's buttocks. The little hole winked open at him, as if sensing his interest and wanting to inform him of its desire to be filled. Well, he would certainly oblige it. Pressing against his trousers to arrange his balls a little better, as the strain was getting to them, Dorian took up the same position as before, flushing their legs. This time he kept just enough distance between Klaus's arse and his own groin so that he could gently guide his aching cock home. "I do hope you realise this will be over very soon?" he said, only half joking.
Klaus shrugged. "Then we do it twice," he said. His voice also sounded hoarse and some of his native language's clippedness had sneaked into his speech pattern.
"Yee-ees," Dorian affirmed, hanging on to his control as he inch by inch slid his cock into the narrow channel of his lover's arse. "So good; you feel so good; it feels so good to be in you; to ... oh ... conquer my Scottish warrior ..."
The last part slipped out before he had even thought the words through, but he couldn't deny that he did feel like a conqueror of sort. Perhaps it was in his genes, from some ancestor who had met the fearsome Scots in battle. Or perhaps he just had a kilt fetish.
He was snorted at again, but Dorian didn't mind. He was in to the hilt now, Klaus's flesh like a fist around him, and the tight heat was mind numbingly good. With all due care he backed out again - not far, just three inches or so, just enough so he could slide forward again, carefully judging how much resistance the slide encountered.
"Did," he started at the depth of the thrust, "you rent ... it? Or did you ... Ah ... The pattern ... Mmmm ... "
Somewhere mid-sentence he had forgotten what he was about to say. He had leaned back enough to see his thick length widen Klaus's hole and be swallowed easily for each forward push. No matter how many times he had plowed this fertile field, the sight still captivated him.
Klaus shrugged again. "'s mine," he grunted. "Mission."
For the briefest second Dorian reflected that there probably was an interesting story behind that. Then Klaus clenched his inner muscles firmly and rational thought was no longer important, only the knowledge that the kilt would not have to be returned.
His thrusts sped up quite of their own accord. This coupling really would be over with embarrassing swiftness. Dorian already looked forward to round two. Happy birthday to me!
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