Taming the Boar

by Anne-Li

Author's disclaimer and notes: I don't own them, I just dream of doing so. Feedback is better than Lindor Eastern Eggs. Corrections to my language are welcome as are comments! Ask if you want me to archive it anywhere. You may link to this story if you want or to my main page. 10,520 words. Written in November 2007. Was published in October 2009 in the Connotations 2009 con zine.

Warnings: crossover with Sleepy Hollow. K/D, H/I, K/H

Betaed by Heather Sparrows (Great job, as always) and Kadorienne (Very big thank you!) and Cassie Ingaben. I really appreciate all your help! Remaining errors are all mine.

Klaus sat morosely at his desk, jiggling a pen. He felt listless and out of sorts. There hadn't been a new mission for days and he was slowly going insane with boredom. Paperwork had its points, he supposed. It needed to get done, if nothing else; but his team had finished the notes on the last mission yesterday morning. Since then all they had done was read up on recent developments. Which also needed doing, possibly, but Klaus could hardly imagine anything more boring.

Maybe if I take a walk, I will see something suspicious?

Like a bald man in a trench coat. Surely there must be someone in Bonn he could mistake for Mischa? Or better yet – actually finding Mischa? Oh, what Klaus wouldn't give to have the Russian alone for a bit, to pay him back for those hits in Alaska!

When summoned to the Chief's office, he went eagerly, hopeful for something decent to do. Preferably something involving neither art nor thieves, though as jittery as he felt he would accept almost anything, just to get something to do. He would even play guard dog again, if need be.

"Ah, Major von dem Eberbach," the Chief said by way of greeting. "Good. Sit. Here, what do you make of this?"

The man handed him a thin folder. Klaus, feeling better already, opened it and glanced through the scant material. There really wasn't much to work with. Mischa was involved – good, good. The Octopus was travelling to America. A booking had been made for a group of ten going from Moscow to New York by way of Warsaw, Copenhagen and Amsterdam. Mischa usually travelled with nine agents, his Writers Team, with code names based on classic Russian authors. A stupid way of naming agents, Klaus thought – especially since he found most books in Russian boring, pointless and overly complicated. Give him Lothar Günther Buchheim any day!

The flight from Moscow was scheduled for take-off in two hours. They would arrive at JFK 33 hours later, having spent a night in Amsterdam. No record had been found of a hotel booked in New York, so presumably they wouldn't stay in the Big Apple, but would continue directly towards the Hudson Highlands. Copies of short memos from Mischa's boss had been included in the folder. The gist of the matter seemed to be that the Ruskies had discovered a new power source or weapon in the United States. Something that the Yanks either didn't know of themselves or kept mum about.

Mischa's mission was to evaluate this potential power source/weapon and, if possible, bring it back to Russia.

Klaus's mission was to thwart Mischa, evaluate this potential power source/weapon and, if possible, bring it back to NATO. Since it happened to be on American soil he might be forced to leave whatever it was with the Americans, but if it was small enough and the Americans really didn't know about it, well ... He would bring it home with him, if he could.

Power source or potential weapon. Not art! Possibly not even something that needed actual stealing!

This might actually be a worthwhile mission, Klaus decided, feeling all in all fairly content. They had scant information to go on, but figuring out the little details was all part of a day's work. And facing Mischa was always a promising activity. So far the Russian was in the lead in their little game o' war – but Klaus had far from surrendered. Oh no!

He only regretted that the mission seemed quite straightforward – a couple of days' worth of activity, maximum.

For how much complication can there be, he thought, in what by all accounts is an unremarkable little American village?

Yes. How much complication could there be ... in an unremarkable little American village by the name of Sleepy Hollow?

Regardless of art not being involved and there being nothing supposedly needing to be stolen, the first thing Klaus saw on entering Sleepy Hollow, 26 hours later, was the most outrageously gay cowboy ever to nance across a prairie.

"This was never cowboy territory, you stupid Limey!" he shouted.

"I know!" the Earl replied gaily. "But don't I look spiffy?" He performed a little turn, making the leather strips of his shining white chaps flutter. Something slick in royal blue shone through the heart-shaped cut-out over his arse. Blue and white were his colours, except for the red bandanna, which looked as if it would glow in the dark, and a red heart decorating his white Stetson.

Klaus certainly wasn't going to answer something that ridiculous. "What are you doing here, you idiot?" he asked instead. "There can't possibly be anything for you to steal here!"

"Oh, I can think of at least one thing," the Brit answered, sounding suggestive as he blatantly eyed Klaus's body. Up and down his gaze went in a caress, up and down ... Then Dorian fingered the white whip hanging curled from his belt.

"Pervert!" Klaus bellowed.

Dorian laughed happily. "No, no, Major! I'm not here to snare you like a calf at one of those rodeo thingies. Unless you are eager for me to? It would be grand fun to have you tied up so tightly you couldn't move a finger, unable to do anything but lie there as I--"

"I'd kill you!"

"Not until afterwards, if you still wanted to. Hmm ... I suppose I just have to ask myself if it might be worth the price, to have you completely at my mercy ..." A glimmer in the cornflower blue eyes indicated that the Earl at least in theory might consider his demise a worthy sacrifice. "Alas, as I said – that's not why I'm here. I'm on a detour really, just thought I'd stop by to say hello, since I heard you were in the neighbourhood."

Klaus snorted. "I want the name of the 'little birdie' who told you that."

"Oh, I'm sure I don't remember. I'm off to visit a Mr. Triptek a couple of villages eastwards. A collector of old prints of the more risqué kind, if you catch my drift? I happened to see the most divine little print in a brochure, and I'm told he owns an original. It's most enchanting. A dark-haired man on his hands and knees, and a curly-haired blond who—"

"I don't want to hear about it!" Klaus growled.

"Of course, dear. I'll be back in a day or two and if you're a good boy I might be able to show you what I'm talking about instead. And then perhaps I will show you the print too ..."

Klaus felt his face go warm – with rage, he hoped. "Get out of my sight!"

"Yes darling!" the Earl replied and blew him a kiss. Then the peacock flounced off, heading towards a purple Ferrari. Bonham sat in the passenger seat, eyeing Klaus with obvious fright. Dorian jumped into the driver's seat, gunned the engine, blew Klaus another kiss, and then drove off in a cloud of dust.

Not putting much faith in the thief actually remaining out of arse-grabbing range for long, Klaus hoped that he could finish the mission quickly. If nothing worse happened to him than being indecently propositioned, he would count himself lucky.

Klaus had brought A, G, H and Z with him. They rented two twins and a single in the village's only motel. Then they proceeded to investigate the area, meeting up for lunch and late dinner to compare notes. Klaus soon realised, to his chagrin, that unless a hush-up of Olympian proportions was underway, there appeared to be no hidden agendas in the village. Sleepy Hollow, populated mostly by people of Dutch origin, really appeared to be what it claimed to be – a sleepy little village where time often paused to admire the scenery. While the majority of transportation was done by way of car and truck, there even appeared to be some who still preferred the good old four-legged mean of transportation. The citizens weren't Amish or the like, but there seemed to be a kind of overlying contentedness in the area, as if the rush of most modern cities was something that didn't concern these particular people.

Calls to Bonn, Amsterdam and New York, where various Alphabets researched Sleepy Hollow or kept track of Mischa, gave little more. Sleepy Hollow, while it appeared to have prospered, had made very few impressions on the world in general. A series of murders back in the late 1700s seemed to have been the village's sole 15 minutes of fame. Nothing about a potential power source or any sign of why the Russians ought to be interested. Klaus began to suspect the entire thing to be a hoax – by Dorian, to get Klaus where Dorian wanted him, for whatever bizarre reason– or by Mischa, to lure him away while something actually important happened elsewhere. Alas, B through F reported the arrival of the Russian group to Amsterdam – half an hour late due to some problem with the Danish flight, but otherwise right on schedule. Later they also reported that the group left on the plane to New York – with F on the same flight, to keep an eye on them In New York R and S joined up with F and took turns shadowing the KGB party – until they arrived in Sleepy Hollow, just as Mischa's superior had instructed.

At 20:55 Klaus watched the Bear Cub's silhouette from his motel room window as the man left one of the two cars rented by the little group. He felt a grim sort of satisfaction that his adversary had arrived. They harboured a mutual hatred for one another, but now that the players were all gathered, perhaps his own team could get some clue as to what this mysterious "power source" might be.

By then it was, however, fairly late. The Russians opted to retreat to their own rooms – at the same motel where Klaus and his men stayed. Not about to let himself be caught unaware, Klaus put A and G on the first guard shift to ascertain that Mischa didn't slip out in the lull of night. He instructed them to wake him up immediately, should anything suspicious happen.

Nothing suspicious happened. To avoid Mischa's lot in the breakfast room Klaus and his men ordered room service. Then they snuck out the back stairs and took up positions to wait out their prey. Mischa did sent out two men to have a look around first, but Klaus easily avoided them. Half an hour later his patience was awarded with the Bear Cub himself leaving the lair, together with the rest of his troop. For the next couple of hours they trailed him across the village. S, a new agent and thus unlikely to be recognised on sight, followed the Russians into a store, where they bought a map of the surrounding area as well as a stack of sandwiches and bottles of water. Mischa also visited the City Hall before returning to the motel. Klaus sent in A, their expert on women on the basis of him still being married, to chat up the mayor's secretary. From her he learned that Mischa had made inquiries about the Western Woods.

"Did she say if there was anything of interest there?" Klaus asked.

"No, sir. From what she said I gathered that the mayor didn't want to talk to him about it either."

Klaus phoned the teams in New York and Bonn, telling them to concentrate on the forest area.

"The only thing we've found about those woods," V, whom he spoke to in Bonn, answered hesitatingly," is something that I'm sure is of no interest to you, sir."

"Let me be the judge of that! What?"

"A local legend, sir. About a headless horseman, who rises from his grave to avenge injustice done to the village. He's supposed to be buried in the heart of the Western Woods, below the Tree of the Dead, sir."

"A ... horseman? Buried in the Western Woods? Under the Tree of the Dead?"

"Yes, sir ..."

"A headless horseman?"

"Yes, sir."

"Idiot! We're not here to investigate some bloody fairytale! Keep to the facts! Now get back to research. Find me something usable!"

"Yes, sir!"

Klaus hung up.

A headless horseman! Argh! I swear they get more and more moronic with each mission! Soon they'll start blabbing about magic and aliens!

Much later:

When Klaus woke up, his entire world shifted rhythmically. Up – down, up – down, even a little to the side in a way that made him instantly nauseous. A hard clatter, almost like pistol shots, accompanied the movements. Wind rushed at him and there were creaks he couldn't identify. He half-sat, half-leaned, rather uncomfortably, against something uneven and warm. A strong arm lay around him, with a hand splayed over his chest, holding him firmly in place.

For a second or two he was certain he was held by the fop, who had somehow managed to abduct him and was now carrying him off on a white charger or some equally stupid nonsense. Only ... Well, the Earl of Gloria was no weakling. While not as strong as Klaus himself – few men were – he could hold his own, if he put his mind to it. Whoever held Klaus now, however, was stronger still. And then there was the pungent smell of old leather, sweat and ... something else, something Klaus associated with battle. The fruity Earl wouldn't be caught dead smelling like that.

Then Klaus remembered his last waking moment:

He and his men had entered the Western Woods on Mischa's trail. The KGB penetrated the dreary forest in a determined way that indicated some set goal. Snow had fallen, both a help to let them see Mischa's tracks, and also a hindrance, as they couldn't move as fast as they otherwise might have. They progressed slowly, careful not to be seen, in case Mischa had posted sentries or even doubled back.

Finally, their luck ran out; Mischa was waiting for them in a clearing. Guns were drawn and an impasse reached.

"Iron Klaus! What a surprise. You keep following me. I begin to wonder if you've lost interest in your British toyboy and are looking for a real man."

While beside himself with rage at that little comment Klaus refused to let himself be baited.

"Give up, Mischa!" he shouted back. "You have nothing to gain here. The Americans have already harnessed the power source, so go home!"

"You lie! Mother Russia has had the situation under observation for decades and there has been no sign of the American government knowing what is right under its capitalistic nose!"

Neither side held the advantage: a very dangerous situation. Klaus hadn't been sure how to break the death-grip posed by readied weapons on both sides. He and his men were outnumbered, but only eight to ten – and his skill with his Magnum would make up for the slack. Still. Not a good situation.

In the end there hadn't been time for him to do anything. The weather very suddenly took a turn for the worse. A bone-rattling wind, laden with snow, blew in. Then thunder rolled, accompanied by a network of lightning across the rapidly darkening evening sky. Finally came the sound of fast hoof beats, becoming louder, sounding strangely ominous. Klaus, who had been standing closest to the sound, moved sideways to keep the Ruskies in sight as well as the newcomer. He hoped that it wasn't the fop who had rented a horse to go with the cowboy suit. This was not a good moment for him to get involved.

Then, out of the shadow of an old, twisted tree, came a rider on a black horse. A rider ... with no head. And he came straight at Klaus.

Dorian slid his Ferrari elegantly into an empty parking space in front of The Hessian's Hide-out. The motel wasn't much to write home about, but it was the only accommodation Sleepy Hollow could boast, so he would have to make do. If only he could spend the night with Klaus, wherever they were would be heaven, of that he was certain. Not that he was actually hopeful. No, his German love never showed the slightest sign of weakening. To misquote – his castle laughed Dorian's siege to scorn. Good thing that Dorian himself was so persistent.

Regardless of his Klausiemausie's continued resistance Dorian was in a pretty good mood. The trip to South Millery had proven a success. In his possession he now had a folder containing not just one, but a whole series of delightful prints. They weren't even stolen, but were gifts from the old collector. "For the sake of your blue eyes," Mr. Triptek had said oh so gallantly. Dorian had given the old sweetie a little peck on the cheek by way of thank you. Nice to know he still had it in him! There were times when Klaus's mule-headedness made Dorian fear that he was losing his charm. The prints had been excellent – far better than the grainy image in the catalogue had suggested. Same subjects on all five – the dark-haired man and the curly-haired blond in various carnal acts – each very nicely, artistically done while showing the obvious enjoyment of both men. Dorian hoped he would one day be able to show them to Klaus – and perhaps even act them out ...

Especially the first one ... Oh dear, incoming Alphabets!

The Alphabet – or selected parts thereof, anyway - streamed out of the forest. On spotting him they made a bee-line for the Ferrari. Dorian got out to meet them, wondering what was going on and – weren't those men Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy? Sudden apprehension seized him.

"M'lord!" A gasped. "He took him! He took him!"

"Mischa? Again? Oh, what for this time, then?" Dorian wasn't sure he really wanted to know. The stocky Russian seemed to have some sort of fetish for capturing Klaus. A somewhat sado-masochistic fetish at that, with tying him up and hitting him all the time. Now, Dorian had a fetish or two (or three (or four)) himself – including a rather interesting one prominently involving Klaus's hair ... - but he didn't approve of anyone else panting after his man. "Never mind – where's the nearest sub-marine base?"

"No!" wailed F – an old friend of Dorian's, not that either man would admit to their acquaintance considering the circumstances. "He did it! He just knocked him out, grabbed him and took off with him!"

"Who did?!"

Klaus remembered the axe's arc as it swung at him – but blunt handle first, rather than sharp blade. He tried to duck, then he remembered nothing further. Deciding he would gain nothing more from playing possum he opened his eyes. Turning his head to the right he saw ...

That he hadn't been abducted by a headless horseman.

Apparently he had – for better or for worse – been abducted by a headless horseman currently with a head ...

Icy blue eyes studied him in turn. A red-lipped mouth with sharpened teeth grinned at him. Black hair, looking as if it hadn't been brushed in years, moved in the wind.

Not a Russian agent, that Klaus was willing to stake his life on. But what was he? Or what was it, perhaps, considering that the first time he saw the apparition it had been without its head ...

Whatever it is, it's up to no good, he decided. The thing had also made a vital mistake – Klaus was still armed! In a fluid move he drew his Magnum and fired into its chest.

The combined recoil and impact threw them both off the galloping horse. Klaus rolled mid-air. He managed a not very elegant landing in a pile of snow. Whatever had captured him, however, fell like dead weight, bouncing once onto the wild trail before laying still. Klaus rose, determinedly ignoring the aches in his wrists from where he had caught himself in the fall.

He walked up to the body of the horseman – still with head, rather than sans. Magnum levelled at the corpse, he nudged the fallen figure's legs with his boot. The man's cold blue eyes flashed open and he lunged upwards. Klaus fired once more, this time hitting him in the throat.

"Let me see if I have this right, dear A," Dorian said slowly and twirled a lock of his hair with a finger. "I leave my darling major alone for 32 hours ... and he manages to get himself abducted by a headless horseman?"

"A dead one!" G moaned.

"Headless!" F filled in.

A, his normally rather pale skin now ghastly pale, nodded.

"Oh, that's it! I'm chaining that man to my bed!"

The third shot hit him in the heart. The fourth between the eyes. The fifth in the stomach. Each time he blacked out and when he came to he found himself on the ground again, with the gun still levelled at him. The man threatening him looked astonishingly collected and determined for someone who must think that he had just stepped into a ghost story. If he keeps this up, the Hessian reflected, this could be a long day ...

The sixth shot hit him in the head. When he came to this time, the man was running away at a fast sprint. Perhaps he was out of bullets or perhaps he had just given up and decided to make a break for it. The Hessian couldn't care less. His prey was fleeing, so pursuit was his only option. A whistle had Daredevil at his side. He jumped into the saddle and urged on the black stallion.

To give credit where due, the man was a quick runner. Against a horse, though, – not to mention an undead one such as the Hessian's dear friend - he had little to give. Mid-step he performed a kind of twirl, twisting back to fire once more before continuing. The bullet hit Daredevil's shoulder. The horse leaped sideways and screamed. Enraged, the Hessian bared his teeth and hissed. Shoot me, you stupid man – but leave Daredevil alone!

Not that the horse would be hurt for long – likely didn't hurt at all, if what happened to him was the same that happened to the Hessian when he was injured. Still. Once more he urged the stallion after the man and once they got close enough, jumped at him.

"I do not give a fig for what your orders happen to be, " Dorian curtly informed P, who led the New York-team. "Did you not hear me? The major is missing. Tell NATO I'm blackmailing you or pretended to be Major von dem Eberbach or whatever, I don't care. We need every available man here without delay if we are going to find him!"

P began to protest, but Dorian did not have time to cajole.

"Get over here now, P, or you will wish that you had. Show some loyalty, man, the major needs you!"

Then he hung up and turned around. "Bonham!" he called. "We need to start looking. Why haven't Jones and the rest arrived yet?"

"They be on their way, M'lord," Bonham answered, using a voice that Dorian recognized all too well as the one Bonham used when attempting to soothe him. "They'll be here in fifteen, tops!"

Dorian certainly did not feel in any mood to be soothed. "They had better be," he grumbled under his breath. "Herr A, what about the police or marshal or whatever? What did they say?"

"The man I spoke to said they would come at once, M'lord. Ah ... Though he did say that if the Hessian is involved we might as well forget about the major ..."

"Oh, what do they know? Blithering idiots! The major can look out for himself, we just have to concentrate on finding him. G, dear, have you located Mischa yet? This is all his fault! If Klaus is hurt I swear I'll have that man flogged!"

They tussled on the forest ground, each grappling to try to get ahold of the other. No mortal man could match the Hessian in strength, so he was amazed at the fight the other put up. The man was slippery like an eel and he struck out as if he had a dozen hands – not to mention as many kicking feet and sharp elbows. Finally the Hessian managed to get in a glancing head blow, enough to make the other man groggy. Then he grabbed him by the shoulder and rolled him onto his stomach before climbing on top.

The man didn't give up, though, the Hessian had to give him that. He struggled his way up onto his knees, tearing at the iron bonds formed around his wrists by the Hessian's hands, cursing wildly ... in ...

"You are German?" the Hessian asked, in the same language.

The man faltered for a moment. "Ja," he then replied, with venom in his voice. "Now release me, you undead son of a bitch!"

The Hessian tightened his grip and locked the other man's legs by planting his own knees around them and then his feet in between. "We are both a long way from home," he said, briefly overwhelmed by an almost forgotten longing for his homeland. "What are you doing in my forest?" There had been many strangers in the Western Woods lately, which he disliked. That was why he had decided to secure himself a prisoner to interrogate. After a moment he added, "From where in Germany are you? What is your name?"

"Major Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach, NATO Intelligence. I'm from Bonn. What I do here is none of your business!"

The major then bucked hard, trying to throw the Hessian off. He might as well have tried to buck off a mountain. The Hessian rode the rocking like the expert horseman he was – and couldn't help but to notice how nicely that made a certain part of the major's anatomy rub against a certain part of the Hessian's own anatomy ...

"You are in my forest! That makes it my business! Bonn, eh? Sounds familiar – but I was never good at cities. Eberbach, though ... I do know of a town called Eberbach. I rode past it on my way to the coast. On the Neckar. It was celebrating something, I forget what it was about."

The struggling stopped anew. "I'm from that Eberbach. Celebration? When was this?"

Pity, as the Hessian had kind of enjoyed that rubbing. He leaned a little closer, under the pretence of holding the other's hands more firmly to the ground. "In ... 1770? No ... It had to have been a bit later, just before I left for America. Yes -1775." The year he had made that fateful journey, yes. After four more years he had died, to be called from his cold grave some twenty years later. He hadn't had sex in over 130 years, not since dear Ichabod left ... There was always masturbation, but it seldom amused him any longer. On the other hand, the body below him might be longer and broader than Ichabod's, but it smelled very nice ... "A big festivity. I rode past."

He vaguely remembered a hazy night with the Eberbach mayor's son ... Just to test the waters he tried an experimental little thrust. The behind wasn't as round and soft as Ichabod's either. Not that Ichabod had ever been fat, not even in his middle age, he had simply never been as fit as the man now beneath the Hessian.

"In 1775? You are over 200 years old?"

"Yes," the Hessian replied, though he wasn't sure if he could really count himself as being of that age. Sure, he had existed for that long, but he hadn't aged since being beheaded. He thrust again, a little harder this time.

A new bout of frantic struggles met his action. "What the fuck do you think you're doing!? Get off me, you perverted, degenerate undead!"

The Hessian stilled his hips and sniffed cautiously. Then he smiled. "Your body seems to think what I'm doing feels good," he replied softly and resumed his shallow thrusts. With two sets of clothes between them, the friction still felt nice enough. "We're in the middle of the forest, with no one around for miles. Let yourself go, Major von dem Eberbach. Have you never laid down with a fellow soldier after the rush of battle?"

"Certainly not! I—That would be unmanly. Get off me! Stop at once!"

The Hessian tsked and leaned forward, licking up where the long, black hair had fallen aside to expose a tense neck. "On the contrary. Men can give each other something no woman can give a man." He thrusted once more, to illustrate. Then he sniffed again, to make sure. "You do like this," he stated, assured by the scent.

More struggles. The Hessian leaned forward further – noting with pleasure how this pressed his groin even more snugly into the valley formed by the other man's buttocks - before opening his mouth wide and biting down.

"I'm so glad you are finally here, I thought you'd never arrive. What took you so long?" Dorian scolded Jones, almost before the van the man drove had even come to a halt. "Out, now, quickly, all of you, we must get started!"

The nine men quickly spilled from the vehicle. Not even James, who privately thought that looking for a missing NATO major was completely unnecessary, argued. No doubt they all sensed their master's agitation. Or saw it, in the way he restlessly moved back and forth. Unused to their normally so cool leader showing any cracks under pressure, they swiftly obeyed him.

"Sheriff Garrett!" Dorian grabbed a tall, blond man by the arm. "Do you have the search patterns yet? Everyone is here and we are ready to begin."

As the sharp teeth took hold of his neck, Klaus's entire body stiffened up. His entire body. Including his - Johannes. Not out of fright though, as he had heard could happen, no matter how strange he found the notion. All the things combined - the warmth on his back; the teeth; the adrenaline coursing through his body after the abrupt awakening, the fall and the fight - had made something he normally kept tightly under control slip loose. He couldn't lie, not even to himself: he was, as outrageous as the notion was, turned on ...

The sound that emanated from the man above him resembled a cat's satisfied purr. "Yes, like that, young soldier. Feel me. Let me feel you." The words were slightly slurred against Klaus's skin, but he heard them and understood them perfectly.

His right wrist was released as the Hessian instead opted to caress Klaus's chest. Knowing that he should try to free himself – that to do so was his duty! – Klaus shifted his weight towards the left, to be able to use his right arm and hand for ... something. Before he had time to follow through the sharp teeth bit down in clear warning, then withdrew.

"No, no, no, young soldier," that hoarse voice growled. "Be still and let me make things nice for both of us."

The words went straight to Klaus's libido. Then a roaming hand encountered his filled out crotch. For a moment Klaus felt a crushing humiliation, but when rhythmic pressure was administered he ruthlessly forced himself to accept the situation. A stranger. A total stranger. An undead total stranger - though at least an undead, total German stranger - had him on his hands and knees – and all in all not too horrified to be there. Something about the superior strength of the other; of being held in place so effortlessly; of being given no choice but to enjoy - broke through Klaus's carefully erected defences. The hand on his cock felt good – much better than his own did, especially counter-pointed by the slower thrust against his rear, the warmth of a body along his back, the way he was held firmly and ... "Oh!" ... those teeth that again rubbed the sides of his neck – no longer threatening ... merely ... "Yes ..." enticing ...

Another grazing of those teeth answered his whispered admission - and the way his hips had begun to move. "Good boy, good ..." the Hessian muttered into Klaus's heated skin.

What the fuck do I think I'm doing? I've never even seen the man before! He is not even human. But he's ... Oh! That feels so good ... Yes ...

"We'll move in a grid pattern, starting here!" Dorian informed the rest and pointed at the map. "That is where the major was last seen."

Sheriff Garrett glanced up at the agitated sky. "It will get dark soon enough. We won't have time to search for more than a few hours. Perhaps it would be better if we waited until morning?"

"I've never heard such nonsense. Time is of the essence. Has the army arrived yet?"

"Ah ... The ... army?"

Dorian gave the young sheriff a withering glance. "Major von dem Eberbach is one of the most valuable men in NATO intelligence. I do presume the US government would not want it known that such a man was lost in the America wilderness because not all available resources were dedicated to finding him?"

"Ah ... I guess not."

Oh yes ...

The body beneath his responded readily to his touch. Time to up the ante. He let go of the second wrist as well. To make sure no escape attempt followed he took a few seconds to caress the strong chest, opening up the jacket and then the shirt to reach skin. When forced to use his right hand for the task, rather than to please the confined bulge in the major's tight trousers with it, the man grumbled low in his throat. If his mouth hadn't been nibbling on the neck so temptingly bowed before him, the Hessian might have smiled. To prolong the other's wait he used both hands to tug at the man's nipples, pinch them a little and twirl them. That earned him a confused moan.

Oh, yes, you like that, he thought, pleased with how his seduction proceeded. Don't you, my beautiful boy? In reality the major was around the same age as he himself had been when he had died, but since he had been dead for centuries, the Hessian tended to imagine everyone as far younger than himself. Besides, there was something refreshingly pure about the man he now pleasured. Don't worry. There's far more where that came from. I'm going to make you feel so very good ...

With one last pinch to the now stiff nipplebuds, he let his hands slide lower, to find and open the fly of the other's trousers. The modern clothes differed from the ones he was used to, but he did see people in the forest occasionally and had taken to studying the changes that occurred over time. His right hand slid against the hot skin of the soldier's flat belly – and then through the scraggly-soft pubic hair to finally rest against a sudden length of hot, hard member that eagerly pushed into his grip.

With a breathy laughter, the Hessian obligingly stroked the straining flesh for a while before continuing with his game plan. He began to ease down the trousers, hampered slightly by the material's sheer tightness.

"What are you," said the major, "doing?"

The Hessian sat back on his heels and brushed aside the man's shirt. After a brief pause to admire the scenery he leaned forward and grazed his teeth across the soft skin on the small of the other's back. "The plan is to get you nice and loose and wet and then roger you until you forget your own name," he said with his stomach heavy in anticipation. As he eased down the Major's thin clothes to reveal more of the delicious, pale flesh, he let his mouth drift south.

The body he had enjoyed suddenly dove forward, twisting as it did, and then he was looking into the business end of a pistol. "No!" the major growled. "That's not for you! Absolutely not!"

He studied the weapon. Based on the previous attempts, a bullet would knock him out for 15-20 seconds, depending on where it hit. The need in his groin estimated that the other man wouldn't even run 100 meters in that time, considering his current position and partly pulled down trousers. Say 150 meters or another 5 to 10 seconds before the Hessian would be wrestling his prey to the ground. Less than a minute before he would be buried to the hilt in clutching, tight heat, where he would rut until all his desires had been quenched, be it within minutes or hours.

The Hessian knew himself well. He was not a noble man. He had killed and maimed and raped – oh yes. That had been in a different life, though – when he had been alive, to start with. Being dead put things in perspective. As had the seemingly frail boy, his Ichabod, who had saved him from what would have been eternal damnation. There had been a time when he wouldn't have hesitated to follow through with what his cock demanded, yes. As it was he took a few seconds to sniff the air again. Major von dem Eberbach had said "no" before when his body had screamed "yes" – and soon enough his mouth had followed. But to the Hessian's regret the air no longer tasted of their mutual excitement, but was saturated with the bitter scent of rejection and cold determination.

Ignoring the insistent pulse in his groin the Hessian held up his gloved hands. "Peace, young soldier. I won't bone your narrow arse without your permission. Put that down, it will do you no good anyway."

Except for the steady breath the other could have been carved out of marble. The Hessian waited. He felt so horny ... Slowly he lowered a hand to rub against the prominent, aching bulge in his trousers, hissing slightly at the jolt of pleasure.

"We were doing well, weren't we?" he tried, not really expecting the entreaty to work.

To his surprise his countryman nodded slowly, while his aim never wavered. He seemed very confused, as if he didn't know where he would like things to go.

Figuring that he had nothing to lose, the Hessian, moving with exaggerated slowness, unbuttoned his trousers to free his already weeping erection. He gave it a few tugs, noting how the major's sharp eyes followed his every movement. Not quite hungrily, no, that couldn't be said, but ... at least with some interest.

Good enough. The Hessian decided that to get up and step closer might be viewed as too aggressive given the circumstance, so he crawled forward. No shot came. When he reached the boot-clad feet, he ran a hand slowly up the inside of his leg, starting from his ankle, working his way towards the knee, then skipped past the thigh to continue up the side. The gun was lowered. Sensing victory, the Hessian with great care slipped his own leg between the man's while his hand again went to one of the pert nipples. He leaned forward, not to kiss, but to nibble at a small earlobe.

"If you won't let me have you further," he purred, "how about letting me finish between your thighs?"

He decided to interpret a shiver that went through the solid body beneath his as consent. The Hessian unbuttoned his coat and arranged the cloth as a make-shift blanket on the cold ground. He might not be bothered by the low temperature, but he thought his guest might appreciate the gesture. Then, with slow movements, he eased down the other's trousers, pausing for an awkward moment to pull off the boots as well. As he worked he shifted them over onto the mantle. When he looked up again, the major had put his gun down, so apparently the shiver really had been consent. Good. The green eyes were still wary, though, like those of a sometime-beaten cat. The Hessian bent down. Ignoring the stiff erection that seemed to strain up to meet him, he bit lightly at the taut stomach, not even hard enough to leave a trace. Then he slowly worked his way upwards, positioning his body as he did.

By the time his lips for the first time met the other German's, the latter's cock was trapped firmly between their flat stomachs and his own was nestled in the warm crevice formed between the muscular legs. He felt the other man's arsehole slide over the ridge of his manhood, while the slick head of his penis was caressed between strong buttocks. Delightful. As he began the slow slide back and forth he wondered idly if Herr Offizier knew how many men and women the Hessian had made a similar suggestion to – and how many of them he had ended up fucking for real anyway?

Dorian mounted the blue roan gelding – for whatever inane reason named Gunpowder XXVI – and gathered the reins expertly.

"Well, come on!" he shouted encouragingly to the others before urging the horse into a canter towards the forest. "We have a huge area to search through! And not a minute to lose! Let us get started!"

Some of the men shook their heads. They all still followed him.

Klaus couldn't believe he had agreed to let his body be used like some sort of sex-toy. On the other hand ... what the man did didn't feel degrading, as Klaus had assumed that it would. Each time he tensed his thighs the eyes of the fierce-looking man above him would widen and Klaus heard a sharp intake of breath. Obviously what he did had an immediate, appreciated effect. The realisation that he brought pleasure to someone felt strangely empowering.

He wasn't feeling half-bad either, when strong fingers pinched his unexpectedly sensitive nipples or slid between their bodies to provide extra stimuli to his trapped manhood. Not to mention how the cock sliding below him felt as it rubbed against his balls and arse – not in a position to enter him, but each time hinting at the available possibility.

The man? - ghost? – undead? – was strong. Far stronger than Klaus – something he hadn't encountered since his teenage days. There was no doubt in his mind that if the other so decided, he could easily take what he earlier had expressed an interest in having. Nor did Klaus doubt that if he relaxed his legs, perhaps let them fall open and raised his knees a bit, he would also end up riding the hard, teasing length more literally than he already did.

The combined danger and stimuli was something Klaus had never experienced before and something he had no defence against. A part of him wondered how it would really feel to get buggered. He had tried with his fingers in his arse, once, while masturbating. That had felt rather awkward and clumsy – up to a point, after which he had come with embarrassing haste. He had never repeated the experiment, ashamed of his own weakness. However, the memory lingered – and made surrendering feel so tempting – both to the primal warrior currently taking obvious pleasure in his body as well as to the elegant Brit who had pursued him for so long.

Dorian wasn't strong enough to treat him as he was currently being treated; not strong enough to overwhelm him, yet ... If it was Dorian, perhaps I would let him ... he found himself thinking hazily. The unexpected realisation washed over him. Perhaps he had known it before - he had fought his attraction to the thief long enough, but the current torrent of feelings that flooded him washed away any attempts to delude himself. Nor did it let him in any way ignore the physical responses of his body, awoken by the man straining on top of him. "What's your name?" he asked, wanting at least a name to put to the fierce face.

The vigorous strokes stopped. Icy blue eyes blinked at him. "Hans ..." was said hesitatingly. "Hans the Hessian. I don't remember my last name. Perhaps I never had one." Then the thrusts resumed, rocking Klaus's body with their intensity.

"Hans," he said in a breath, acknowledging the name and committing it to memory. Then he took a firmer grip of the wide shoulders above him and, timing himself to a downward stroke, flexed his thigh muscles. A growl answered his action and the speed of the other's moves intensified.

"M'lord," Bonham said carefully. "It's gettin' dark. P'rhaps we ought to go back? Return again tomorrow?"

Dorian glared at his SIC. He was tired too, yes, of course, as well as frustrated and worried, but the knowledge that Klaus needed him spurred him on.

"I have no intention of stopping until the major has been found," he replied curtly, having to work hard to keep the irritation he felt out of his voice. "I am aware that it is late, but tell everyone to keep going."

Some time later the Hessian dipped his mouth to the side of Klaus's head and, hips pumping furiously in his release, bit roughly into his shoulder. Klaus gasped and came hard.

They had stopped briefly to drink.

"Herr Gloria?" A said, tiredly. "I want to find the major as badly as you do—"

Dorian snorted. He had a headache and he felt very cold and rather miserable. "I sincerely doubt that, Herr A. At least not for the same reason." He heard the snideness in his tone, but felt too exhausted to apologise.

"That might be true," A replied, his tone somewhat clipped. "But it's dark, the men are tired, we didn't bring enough equipment and--"

Dorian's at this point very limited patience dwindled completely. "If you want to leave Major von dem Eberbach out here in the dark, you go ahead. I'll keep looking myself!"

"Sure he was a sweet little one. Like a girl, almost, but all man where it counts. Incredibly brave, yet ... Oh, I don't know. He made me feel alive. He had to go. To England. To rectify a situation of his father's doing. He'll come back to me one day. I know he will."

"Rotten bloody thief, he is. Kind of innocent in a way, though. Not when it comes to sex – he's a menace. But he ... doesn't understand sometimes. About the world. Curly hair. Lots of curly, blond hair."

"He's still out in the forest right now, looking for you."

"At this hour? Doesn't surprise me. He's very insistent when he wants something. Stole my belt once. While I was wearing it. Are the Ruskies still out there?"

"The ones you met in the forest? Yes, they came back in again as well. Kind of amusing how the two groups keep avoiding each other. So - why are you all here? I want my forest quiet again."

"The villagers don't talk about you, but I think the Russians found out somehow. They want to capture you and use you."

"Ah. That's happened before. But good, then I know. I'll keep away when I sense them. They'll lose interest in a couple of decades. Hmm. You know, I really miss Germany. I can't leave here, you see. I've tried, but after a couple of hours I get weak and am sucked back. What wouldn't I give for some good German sausage ... Not that I need to eat, but ..."

"I know the feeling. I'm gone for a couple of months and I'm beginning to feel as if Mischa would stop taunting me and offered me a nice beer instead, I might switch sides ... Well, not really, but ..."

"Don't mention beer! I would kill for beer ... Literally."

"I'll remember that. A couple of hours, huh? Not enough time to get anywhere. Especially not on horseback. In a MIG 25, perhaps ..."

"Daredevil is very fast. I rode to New York a couple of times, to find Ichabod when he left. I only had a very short time when I got there before I had to ride back again, but it worked."

"That's interesting ... Hmm ... You don't suppose—"

"Your lordship?"

"I don't have time, Z! Lord knows what's happening to him this very minute!"

"But your lordship, I--"



"Good work, Z, keepn' 'm occupied. An' Jones, for catchin' 'im when he fell. Now help me tie 'im to the saddle and we'll get 'im to the motel."

Later the same night.

"Klaus, my friend! This is ... This is ... incredible!"

"Thought you might like it. Nothing like the taste of good, cold German beer. Here, try this Kölsch, it's also good. The sausages look about done now, don't you think?"

"That they do!"

A shook his head. "No, that sounds like a false lead, V. Well, yes, look into it and report back if you hear anything. Bye." Then he hung up the phone.

"What was that about, A?" Bonham asked.

"They've put out a search warrant for the major in New York. A police car responded on seeing someone who looked like him. Couldn't be him, though."

"Damn it! I had hope we would have something to report to M'lord in the morning. He'll be furious, as it is."

"I hoped so too."

"Why couldn't it be Uncle NATO, then?"

"The police saw the man and another guy leave a shop they had broken into. They left money for the things they stole as well as for the damage done. Strange that. Escaped on horseback, would you believe it? Hardly sounds like Major von dem Eberbach, does it? Even if it was in a German specialty store."

The next morning.

"Bonham! I shan't forgive you for this! If Klaus has been hurt--"

"M'lord, it was pitch black and we couldn't find our own feet! 'm sorry we put you to sleep, but you wouldn't see reason. Look outside – it's bright and early and everyone's had a few hours o' shut-eye. We'll have a quick breakfast and then go at it again, right?"

"I'm not the least bit hungry! We can eat after we've found him."

"Please, M'lord—"

"No, that is not for you to argue, Bonham! Call everyone up, so we can get started again!"

"Yes, M'lord."

The Hessian rekindled the fire and put the four remaining Thüringer Rostbratwursts on their crudely carved spits, before kneeling by the still slumbering major. "Klaus, my friend?"

Green eyes immediately opened, sharp and with no trace of either sleepiness or the regal amount of drinking they had done the previous night. Hans hadn't even known he was able to get tipsy while dead.

"What time is it?"

The Hessian didn't know. Times other than day and night had long since ceased to have any meaning for him. "Time to rise. Your friends are gathering to look for you again."

His visitor shrugged out of the heavy mantle, sat up and reached for his jacket, beginning to put it on. "You can really sense the entire forest?"

"Everything that breathes or grows," he affirmed, proud of this. The ability had extended over time to be more and more specific and cover an ever widening area. He wondered idly if it would continue to expand over the years and centuries and millennia to come.

"Hmm. No wonder the Russians are looking for you. NATO could have use for that too. If you could leave this forest."

He grunted non-committally. "Those Ruskies are out again this morning as well. Stubborn lot. They have nothing to gain here. I'm no longer a soldier of fortune. I work for no one. Not even your NATO, even if you are German. At least now I know where to get German food, when the urge befalls me."

Klaus nodded. He looked so proper, sitting by the fire, watching the sausages slowly darken. The Hessian felt a sudden need to keep the proud man. The forest did get lonely sometimes, even if he still hoped that his little Ichabod would find his way home, eventually. Though if Ichabod ever did return Hans better be alone or there would literally be Hell to pay ... Still ...

He resolutely went up to the other and knelt before him. The Major pulled back, looking at him with scepticism, obviously wondering what he was up to. Hans smiled, showing off his teeth. He would have had to be both blind and deaf not to notice how Klaus had responded to them, the previous night ...

"How about a blow job for the road?" he asked winsomely. "I've been told I give excellent head ..."

Dorian was furious. How dare they! Klaus needed him! The Brit wasn't sure what to think about the outrageous story the normally level-headed NATO agents had told him about a headless horseman, but clearly something had happened, and he must find out exactly what. And now! Just as they were getting started again, Mischa intervened! Oh, that man should be grateful that Dorian had had to leave his broadside decapitation sword at home. As it was he felt sorely tempted to do as his ancestors would have done, and simply ride the man down!

"Lord Gloria. Fancy seeing you here," said the Bear Cub. "Looking for your lover?"

Dorian hated with a passion when someone referred to Klaus in that manner. Oh, he wanted it – burned for it – yearned for it! - but they weren't lovers yet, and to hear the word used when it simply wasn't true felt like the worst kind of insult! He began to wonder if Her Majesty would mind terribly if he started just a tiny little war against Russia?

However, he would never let his annoyance at such a thing show. Oh no, that might give people the wrong idea.

"Why, yes I am," he answered blithely. "Have you seen him?"

"No, but if you find him, tell him—"

"Tell me yourself, Bear Cub!" Klaus's annoyed baritone growled from the glade's right. Just as Dorian's eyes flickered that way the man himself stepped out onto the snow-covered ground. Dorian could have wept with joy!

"Iron Klaus! There you are!" Mischa shouted back "We thought that the demon got you."

"Perhaps he did. Or I got him. One thing is for sure, Mischa – you'll never find what you're looking for!" Klaus sounded supremely sure of this. Dorian didn't know if he was telling the truth or was trying to fool the Russian – not that Dorian really cared. His major was alive! Alive and well, by the way he stood and sounded. Dorian urged Gunpowder XXVI on. The dark-headed gelding stepped towards the Earl's future lover.

Clear green eyes turned in his direction. To Dorian's amazement, Klaus then actually smiled. And not that wry "Figures I would find you here"-smile he sometimes received, but an almost ... almost real smile.

"Charging to my rescue, Herr Thief?"

"Well, that was my intention, Major. Though—"

"My hero. How gallant. Come then, let me reward you." Then the major turned and started to walk towards Sleepy Hollow. "A, gather the men, we're going home in the morning."

Dorian hesitated, feeling utterly bewildered. "Um ... Major? Come ... where?"

"You have a room at the motel, yes?" Klaus retorted over his shoulder. "A bigger room than mine, I bet. I believe you have something to show me?"

For a moment Dorian didn't know what to do. The major seemed to imply ... but he couldn't really mean it! He looked around for help, but Z, A, Mischa as well as Bonham seemed just as puzzled as he was. Perhaps the major had hit his head? Perhaps he needed medical attention? Or perhaps ...

With the practiced ease of a born rider, Dorian urged the horse into a full out gallop.

The dark-haired man on his hands and knees, with the blond kneeling behind him.

The dark-haired man on his back, with his legs hooked over the blond's shoulders.

The dark-haired man on his right side, left knee raised while the blond thrust into him from a similar position.

The dark-haired man on his belly, long legs framing those of the blond servicing him.

The dark-haired man riding the blond's cock like a jockey at a race course.

So many options ... Klaus rifled through the prints one more time, then dropped all but the first one, which he slapped against Dorian's chest. "I'll have a quick shower first," he informed him, then rounded the still sputtering man to reach the bathroom.

When he emerged again he wore only a towel around his hips – and a large bandage on his right shoulder, where Hans had bit him. He and Dorian hadn't been lovers while he and the undead Hessian had had their little ... tête-à-tête ... but it did strike him as somewhat rude to come to a man's bed not just smelling of another lover, but also wearing his mark ...

"Ah ... Major?" Dorian said. He stood in the exact same spot Klaus had left him in, still clutching the erotic print to his chest. The paper had creased some. "Y-you ... Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes," Klaus replied and dropped his pile of clothes on the bed. Then he sat and quickly sorted through them - folding them and putting them on the night table as he did.

The Earl took a step closer. "Weren't ... hit in the head, were you?"

"No." He noted that a button had gone missing from his shirt and reminded himself to inform the butler later.

"Major von dem Eberbach, are you drunk?"

He levelled a glare at the other man. "My name is Klaus – use it. No, I'm horny. And you're overdressed."

Then he was honestly impressed with the speed with which the Earl stripped. Dorian seemed to merely drag his fingers down his shirt, flicking buttons open as he went, then - shrug out of the left shoulder, shrug out of the right shoulder and two quick shakes to make the sheer material flutter to the floor. The boots were divested while performing an odd Cossack dance, while the trousers proved a little more difficult, since they were tight enough to have been spray-painted on. Finally he stepped out of them, fully naked, having apparently discarded underwear simultaneously – had he worn any. His cheeks were a little rosy – though probably not from the exertion.

The Brit took another step closer, then stopped. "Um ... Klaus? We don't have to ... Umm ... I mean ... You can top the first time, if you want?"

Klaus shook his head. "Perhaps next time. This time it must be you. I need to know what it feels like." To illustrate his willingness, he rose from the bed and deftly undid the corner of his towel. Gravity took over, making the cloth fall. His freed cock twitched, already half-hard and aching. He still felt a little apprehensive over what would soon happen, but his mind was set. Major Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach would get royally fucked today and if the foppy nobleman wasn't feeling up to it, well ...

Though the foppy nobleman was at least literally up to the task, that looked rather painfully obvious ...

Which was good, for Klaus was really set on the blond - hopefully for the rest of their lives.

The dark-haired man on his hands and knees, with the blond kneeling behind him. Both were stark naked: the dark-haired man with the exception of the white cloth square on his shoulder and the blond with the exception of a jangling gold bracelet.

The blond trailed lines of licks and kisses everywhere he could reach along the dark-haired man's back, side and legs. With his left hand he caressed up and down the smooth skin, tracing strong muscles, wiry pubic hair and hot erection. His other hand was busy between the dark-haired man's buttocks, working with utmost patience to stretch the tiny hole until it would be able to accommodate his not inconsiderable girth. He might have the best lube money could buy, but he was taking no chances. Long before he considered his loving task accomplished the dark-haired man was making small, jerking hip movements in time with the blond's clever fingers.

Finally he applied new, generous dollops of the lube both to the small opening and to his cock before scooting into a better position. He admired the sight before him – all of that lovely, pale flesh – all his for the claiming. There had been days he thought he would never get to see the sight.

"Are you still sure?" he forced himself to ask, though he didn't know what he would do if the answer turned out to be no.

"Fucking hell yes!" came the heated reply. "Now get inside me!"

So the blond obliged, slowly easing his flesh into one of the hottest, snuggest spaces it had ever been his undivided pleasure of entering.

The dark-haired man on his hands and knees, with the blond thrusting hard into him from behind. They had been at it for some time now. Both shone with sweat from the workout they gave one another. At first the blond had been oh so careful, but at the dark-haired man's rather insistent encouragement he soon threw caution to the wind and set about doing his very best to fuck the other into oblivion. They strained into one another, grinding their bodies together. The air was filled with small sounds of flesh sliding over flesh, hissed breaths and bit back moans.


"Yes? Oh! Yes, you beautiful – oh! - beast of a man –Ah! - yes?"

"Could you—Ah! Could you—Ja! Ah! Could you—"

"What? I'd – Ah! Oh, yes! – do anything for you! Oh – yes! Yes! Yes!"

"Bite – Mmm! – bite my neck? Oh! Real hard? Ah!"

The blond man lunged forward and bit down hard. His hips moved frantically and his groans of completion were muffled against the dark-haired man's skin.

"Ja! Oh, Dorian – ja! Ja! Jaaa!!"

The End

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