It had been on the demon-night before All Souls’ Day that he’d last seen Dorian; appropriate, he supposed. Since the late-summer evening on which Dorian had caught him while his soul was lost, nothing had been the same.

His soul had come back, of course, the better to cause him torment: now he could see the blemishing irregularities in it. The change might be in his perception, and to that extent he wondered if he should feel grateful to Dorian for clarifying the state of his existence by improving his vision.

He certainly felt a great deal for, and about, the problematic Earl of Gloria, not least an enormous fear of the fact that he could not cease to think about him continually. He’d been angry, but that passed; he’d been bitter at the new furtiveness he discovered in himself; he’d been gripped by lust and sinful joy in lust, for brief intervals that recurred far too often.

Dorian seemed to feel no weight of sin in their trysts; if anything, he would gain bubbling effervescence as they approached the carnal act and retained a buoyant serenity afterwards; it was, in fact, nothing more than Dorian’s usual behavior made more intense. Dorian gratified was merely a more satisfactory and less irritating manifestation of Dorian frustrated; but away from Dorian, Klaus found himself deeply disturbed, frequently irritated, and satisfied only when he knew Dorian’s whereabouts.

Late October was blustery and chill even in the Rhine-connected valleylands, and miscellaneous Eberbach possessions must be inspected before winter. Routine. Klaus stomped through frost-stiffened fields of dead plants, contemplating the durability of fences and insulation. Dorian was probably doing the same thing in England somewhere—would he bother? Klaus realized that he knew nothing about Dorian’s home or inheritance, beyond the assumption that an English earl had, or had ancestors who had, inherited land granted by the remarkably durable British Crown. Eberbachs fought for, bought and traded and defended their properties for themselves, and Klaus was not about to break with the tradition.

The twice-yearly tour took up a day and a half, broken, as always, by a night at Neckarelz in the same inn Eberbachs had used for generations on their inspection tours, and an All Souls’ Day service there in the morning. Orderly routine.

He’d settled himself for the night, eaten an adequate dinner in his room and fallen asleep an hour earlier than usual to allow for an early and orderly start in the morning.

He came awake, suddenly and completely, to the faint sound of his door being unlocked. He’d slept for perhaps an hour. His smaller but extremely well-balanced automatic was within arm’s reach, a magazine with it but not loaded. There were no other exits from the room save the well-shuttered window, which required thirty seconds to open. The room was completely dark, and remained so as the door ceased to reverberate with faint clicks and (by inference) began to swing inward.

Klaus waited one more second to gauge the speed and direction of the intruder. No rustle of air signaled an entering body, but, "Pssst! Klaus!" sounded a whisper. It was not a likely tactic from political adversaries, who preferred action to words, nor would a common thief wish to wake him by name. An uncommon thief, however… Eroica…

"Don’t shoot," said the—now-familiar—whisper. Klaus had not reached for his gun. "It’s me. Dorian."

The sound and subliminal scent of it were unquestionably Dorian, but Klaus said anyway, "Give me some proof." And, hastily, "In words."

Dorian repeated a Hungarian phrase gleaned from the Carpathian expedition Klaus remembered vividly—suddenly far too vividly. The softly voiced words named a mountain trail to a cave mouth, nothing more, but they woke explicit recollection of underground hell and its unforgettable aftermath. With Dorian.

"Come in," said Klaus. "Need I ask why you’re here?" There was no point in asking how Dorian had found him, or whether he had covered his tracks. He had.

A warm, sleekly near-silent presence entered; the door clicked, very quietly, shut and locked again. "No," said Dorian, bubbling mischief apparent even in his low tones. "I’m here for you, lover, and you know what I want." Soft, silky noises announced that Dorian was removing garments probably of form-fitting convenience and—as Klaus had no trouble picturing—immodesty. "And I know what you want, don’t I?" The siren voice approached Klaus’s bed. "Are you wearing that full kit of pajamas? You won’t need it now…" He broke off with a lilt that would have turned into a chuckle, given any encouragement, and paused there.

"No light?" asked Klaus, unmoving in the bed.

"Do we need it?"

Klaus thought, heart beating, Dorian’s enticing presence clouding his mind. Such things should be hidden in the dark… but Dorian had never done so… Dorian made the concealing dark an exciting, perverse thing that surrounded them with possibilities… like the night he had first made love to Klaus, wrapped in warmth and innocence and joy for Klaus’s unsouled, greedily aware body, a gift still sweet in the guilty memories.

"Mmm, I thought not," said Dorian now, pulling back a blanket and sliding into the bed, where he began unfastening buttons and tugging at uncooperatively tenacious closures.

"Is this necessary?" asked Klaus, one hand seeking Dorian’s face, finding a handful of warm hair and following it up to neck and jaw.

Dorian kissed the hand, then took hold of it to ease a sleeve over it and off. "Yes, lover, absolutely." He kissed Klaus’s bare shoulder, guided the hand to his own chest and let Klaus begin touching him there. "I want all of you with me, all your beautiful skin and all the parts that fill it out…" He leaned down and nuzzled Klaus’s neck, kissed his Adam’s apple. Klaus felt at the hard, lean body, renewing memories of a strange, reversed pleasure to be found in touching another man as he, shamefully, liked to be touched.

He had not known it, or the shame of it, before Dorian had shown him. Dorian, murmuring softly with wordless pleasure, knew no shame of it even now. Even as he was being bared by Dorian’s hands, Klaus let his own fingers run down Dorian’s flat belly to graze the soft crisp curls at his groin, and then to stroke, still shy but desiring, the warm shaft that grew there.

Dorian gave a tiny gasp. "Oh, good. Oh, very good, lover. I want the same of you." He tugged at Klaus’s pajama pants. "Push up, so I can have you too." Klaus complied, and felt the pants come off in a tangle of confused limbs. He lost hold of Dorian, groped at the moving figure above him, and found himself embracing, embraced by, a very naked and aroused Dorian.

Klaus, feeling very naked and aroused at the thought, gasped at the weight and bore the body-length skin-to-skin caress in a building daze of desire. It was not blind, even here in the dark, but the knowledge it brought him was free of daylight’s limitations. He knew Dorian’s presence more completely than sight could show, with the warmth around him filling his senses, Dorian’s tongue wet on his mouth, Dorian’s rushing breath and whispers the only sounds he could hear.

It was not too much. Not at all. Klaus let his hands work up over Dorian’s taut-muscled shoulders, up his neck and plunged them into thick, springing hair that parted under his fingers and closed over them again, mindlessly caressing. He pulled Dorian’s head up from his, just enough to be able to speak. "Dorian…" There was nothing to say that Dorian did not already know, but the act of speaking was important somehow. "I want you here." His cupped hands brought Dorian’s face back to his so that he could kiss the opening mouth before it formed words.

Dorian squirmed on him, heavily but more exciting than ever; his mouth, captive on Klaus’s, tasted of musk and meat and very faintly of roses. It played with him, too: sensual, distracting games of power and pressure while Dorian’s body slithered and rolled gently sideways to unburden Klaus of its weight.

One leg twined between his while a long-fingered hand swept down over chest and one nipple, down his ticklish stomach, light but bearable, to dip between his thighs. It teased him for a moment, finding sensations that were not so much tickles as rousing desire. Dorian’s lips were soft on his face now, and Dorian chuckled softly in his ear when Klaus stretched downward, wanting all of that light, teasing hand on his balls. "Yes…" said Dorian, stroking under and over with warm fingers while Klaus arched himself open to the touch, gasping at the deluge of need it awoke.

Prickling currents of sensation flowed from Dorian’s mouth on his neck, from sharp hot sucking at his nipples, to join the ache in his groin; Klaus, unable and unwilling to stop any of it, heard himself moaning with the need for more.

Something brushed Klaus’s hair, and slipped down to touch his face, while some of the overwhelming sensation eased. "Shhh, lover. You’re wonderful, but we have to be quiet." The words cooled him before he understood them. "Shhh, Klaus," came Dorian’s whisper in his ear, while fingers grazed his open mouth.

Klaus let his breath gasp soundlessly in and out, the only answer he could make. His groin was on fire in Dorian’s grasp, but he knew where the fire came from. He opened his mouth for an indrawn whisper, "Uh?" against Dorian’s fingertips.

"I’m not here, you know, lover, and you’re asleep. Everything has to be quiet while you’re asleep…" Dorian’s murmur scaled up and down like a giggle, but softly. Then his hand caressed the heat in Klaus’s balls, squeezing it higher, upward, unbearably contained in his engorged erection.

Klaus writhed in silence, grinding his teeth. One frantic hand closed on Dorian’s shoulder and pulled it to him, wanting more contact in the dark. With a breathy hiss, Dorian’s mouth found his again, fastening wetly to it, tongue invading and coaxing a little of his attention away from his groin. Klaus sucked at it to keep from screaming, the total urgency of need possessing him as he thrust into the hard sheath of Dorian’s hand, body tight with trembling effort, throat clenched on nothing.

Only the struggle toward orgasm existed: in the wet, slick motion of Dorian’s hands and mouth on him, and in the warmth and life and tangible presence of the other body spurring him on. With a convulsive shudder, he pulled his mouth away from Dorian’s, needing the rush of air to carry him to climax. He groaned as he burst from passionate lust to the equally passionate throes of satisfaction, but not aloud: Dorian was there to swallow it from him, between his gasps, and Dorian held him in the darkness until the shuddering in his loins relaxed into a tingling aftermath.

Almost without a break, Dorian was kissing him again, urgent now with his own need; Klaus could feel the hard push at his hip, then against his belly. Dorian’s body heat enveloped him as the long body stretched on top of him,

"Mmm, yes, lover," said Dorian, lips moving against him. He was squirming, wriggling to find his favorite position, shallow little thrusts pressing at Klaus’s abdomen where Klaus’s semen eased his way. "This is… Don’t let me go until I come," and his mouth and body devoured Klaus’s with a concentrated sincerity of lust that was nearly silent and the more intense for it.

Klaus held him, smelling harsh musk and Dorian’s sweat with the undertang of roses still spicing it, curling his legs around Dorian’s haunches the better to hold him, feeling the body’s tension and sharing the knowledge, if not the sensations, as Dorian climaxed against him. He stroked the tangled hair as Dorian went limp in his arms, went on stroking down the slim back and up again.

Dorian kissed him one last time before Klaus rolled them both sideways in the warm hollow of the sheets and blanket, and did not pull away from the arm Klaus kept around him. Dorian was the only real thing here, the only life; he could not let Dorian go.

Soft, easy breathing eventually gave way to a soft whisper. "Beautiful, Klaus. You were beautiful."

"I?" said Klaus, floating in the warm darkness. "You did it all."

Dorian chuckled then, very low and earthy into Klaus’s neck. "And you’ve been a frozen mute, is that it?"

A twinge of sharp pleasure echoed through Klaus’s balls. "Dorian. You know better."

"Ah, but do you?" asked the teasing whisper.

"I don’t know… what I do for you. Why do you want me?"

Dorian rubbed the silky mass of his hair against Klaus’s head for a moment. "Truthfully?"

In the dark, Klaus tightened his hold on the capricious thief who had seduced him only after years of effort. "Yes. I want to know."

"I wish…" Dorian’s voice was puzzled. "I don’t know, Klaus. That’s the truth. I love you. I want you. I like having you in bed…" He rubbed a hand across Klaus’s chest, sensual even in relaxation. "It doesn’t even matter what we do, lover. As long as it’s you."

"Me," said Klaus, still thoroughly unenlightened.

"When I know it’s your mouth and your hands and you under me, or on top…"

Klaus played with the rampant curls, finding damp, rose-smelling warmth in their depths. Dorian pushed back against his exploring hand. "You want me, too. You said so."

"Yes," said Klaus. It was the truth, here and now. It would be true whenever Dorian found him in this limitless, forgiving darkness.

"Could it be anyone to you, in the dark when you’re so hot you can’t think?"

Klaus shook his head. There had been enough women for him to conclude that women were all very similar. There had never been anyone even remotely like Dorian, among them or in imagination. "Truthfully?"

He felt Dorian smile. "Really, truly, cross your heart." Dorian matched action to words.

"Hmm? Oh, I see. No one is like you, even in the dark. It couldn’t be ‘anyone’. Mostly it’s been no one. And you." He ignored Dorian’s hand tracing figures on his left breast.

"‘No one’ excites you, mmm?" whispered Dorian, the mischievous lilt back in his words. "‘No one’ and you? Is that how it’s been?"

"Dorian!" Klaus did not care to continue this turn of the conversation.

Dorian’s playing hand found Klaus’s free one and squeezed it. "Shhh. You don’t have to answer me. Am I shocking you?"

Klaus found safe ground again. "Constantly," he said, reverting to a whisper.

"Do you like it?"

"I don’t know." More softly: "Sometimes."

"Good," said Dorian. He squeezed Klaus’s hand again. "Will it shock you if you go take a bath or something and I’m not here when you get back?"

"I see. That would be best, I suppose." He did not want to let Dorian go before the cold light of morning, but it would be foolish to prolong the visit. "When will I see you again?"

"Not for a few weeks. Look for me in the most unexpected places."

Klaus did not dignify that with an answer. "Good night, Dorian. Good… luck." He kissed the warm, yielding mouth in the dark, not hastily, and did not pull away when Dorian’s arms circled him again and Dorian’s body wrapped around his in intimacy he would not have accepted from anyone else.

"Good night, lover," said Dorian at last, slipping out from under him and away. Noises of cloth and zip fasteners came from near the door, then silence.

Klaus found his robe and made his way to the bath, which now seemed a very practical idea. His sleep for the rest of the night was dreamless and unbroken.

Morning dawned to churchbells, to unbelieving recollections and private chagrin that Dorian had come to him… had found him unawares… yet again. It had not been a dream; that was too much to hope for. Klaus was quite sure it had not been a dream, but he avoided thinking about exactly what it was. Such thoughts were not proper on a feast-day morning when he must, for propriety and custom’s sake, attend church.

He should be ashamed to show his face there, but Klaus found his soul curiously carefree as he presented his show of chaste piety to the priest and the townspeople who knew he was Eberbach. Perhaps he should fear their discovery, but the fresh memory of Dorian was sealed away for the moment, too far outside volition and reality to make Klaus guilty. Dorian was, like fate, inevitable but distant.

And Dorian, like fate, would find him again.

END