Possibilities

"VERDAMNT!"

Iron Klaus stomped through the bullpen on the way to his office, ignoring the cringing of his Alphabet, and turned in the doorway only to slam the door hard enough to rattle the wall. He barely restrained himself from angrily sweeping the files off his cluttered desk, but he managed to remind himself that he would be the one to suffer for that lack of control. So he kicked one of his side chairs across the room and watched it suffer instead. Then he limped to the chair behind the desk, slumped into it, and reached for his cigarettes.

He was bloody tired. His NATO section had completed six important, though low profile, field assignments within the last five weeks, and he owed the fact that he was still even somewhat functional to a combination of nicotine, caffeine, stubbornness and adrenaline. A bad combination for a man with nothing but small-talk and social niceties on the agenda for the next week. And if the fool outside his door didn't stop talking immediately, Klaus was going to have to break his neck to stop his tongue! Finally, someone managed to get the man far away from his office that Klaus would not be disturbed. In the sudden quiet, Klaus lit a cigarette and took stock of his situation.

He had planned to go home after the debriefing of his last mission and had arranged for two weeks leave, supposedly beginning tomorrow. He had planned to spend those two weeks at Schloss Eberbach tending to business on his family estate. But it seemed that both NATO and Germany required his presence at some diplomatic show and tell in Paris. His leave would not begin for another five days, and he was to leave for Paris immediately. The Chief seemed to take great delight in the fact that the Major was wound tightly enough that he might just snap and kill someone over cocktail conversation.

The Major rose and began to pace. Black tie and white tie! Cocktails and innuendo! Dinner and dancing! Brandy, cigars and stupid jokes!Inane politicians and inept security guards! Bureaucrats! Overdressed and over-jewelled, brainless women! ARGHH! There was only one thing that could possibly make the situation worse.

Klaus abruptly halted his frantic pacing and quickly reached into his pocket for the list of dignitaries invited to the Ambassador's residence for the events this week. Glancing down the list of names, Klaus sighed in relief. He couldn't detect anyone whose presence might attract a certain thief to the party. All he needed right now was for Eroica to sweep into his life and turn things even more inside out than they already were.

Klaus violently stubbed out his cigarette and immediately lit another. Truth be told, he preferred sparring with Eroica over catering to this lot. At least the infuriating blond fop had a warped sense of the ridiculous that appealed to Klaus' disgust for politics. But, all in all, he was too tired to fight with Dorian and win. And he couldn't afford to fight with Dorian and lose.

The Major slumped back into his chair and stared at the wall, absently smoking cigarette after cigarette. As always happened when he was too tired to control it, his mind immediately began to ask the familiar questions: What would it be like to let Dorian win, just once? What would it feel like to touch that milky skin, plunge his hands into that unbelievable mass of golden curls and pull that beautiful face up to his? What would it feel like to possess that tempting mouth, to kiss Dorian until he couldn't breathe? What would it be like to feel that lithe body wrapped around his own as he lay the man down? What would it feel like to wake with all that beauty draped over him after holding the man as he slept?

Christ, he was tired! Even to consider a night with Dorian -- perhaps Dorian would be discreet about it (he might be persuaded to give Dorian the benefit of the doubt at times like these) but he wouldn't trust Mr. James or any of the man's other retainers not to let it slip -- meant that he was too tired for words. The vision would not fade, and that made it more imperative than ever that Klaus keep Dorian at more than arm's length. Because the answer to the question was obvious to Klaus and had been for years.

He could not yield to Dorian even once. Once with Dorian would never
be enough for Klaus.

And now -- oh PERFECT! -- he was hard and aching just from thinking about the idiot! This was intolerable. Something had to be done immediately or his guard would be down when he most needed it. Crumpling the empty cigarette pack and throwing it across the room just for the hell of it, Klaus reached for the telephone. A trip to Paris might be exactly what he needed.

***********

Klaus took a deep breath of smoke- and sweat-filled air, slid onto a stool at the far end of the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey and a good German beer. When they arrived, he tossed the shot back and turned on the stool to scowl at the dance floor as he sipped the beer. He let the music wash over him, and he relaxed a little as he settled into the rhythm of the club. Oh, yes. He had been right to come here.

"Les Ombres" was one of Klaus' favorite clubs in spite of the fact that it was in Paris. This would make the third time in six years that he had come to this particular place in search of particular pleasure. There were few places like this across the world that he visited more than once, but the atmosphere here -- dark, rich, filled with cigarette smoke and beautiful men -- was very much to his liking. He was taking a chance by repeating his visits at all, but tonight, for once, he didn't care. He would be careful, as always.

Taking stock of his surroundings, Klaus noticed a large man sitting
several stools away from him at the bar. He was tanned and fit, with dark curly hair and a neatly trimmed beard and moustache. His nose was a bit large and hooked, and his eyes, Klaus noticed as they met his, were dark brown.

Klaus turned to watch the dancers moving to the driving beat of the music. His attention was caught by a flash of blond hair, and for several minutes Klaus's gaze followed the laughing young man carefully. No, he decided. No willowy blonds this time -- too close to the real thing. Besides, this boy lacked both style and elegance. A poor substitute indeed.

"Bah!" he muttered, scowling into his beer.

"But you must admit that he's a very good dancer," came a deep voice from beside Klaus.

Klaus cut his eyes toward the man on the stool next to him. The large man he had observed earlier had moved to sit beside Klaus and was leaning back with his elbows braced against the bar. He did not face Klaus, but kept his attention riveted to the dance floor, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

Klaus leaned back against the bar and replied, "Fop."

"Oh, yes, I agree." On the dance floor, the boy under observation suddenly stopped his gyrations, slapped his partner, and minced off toward the restrooms. "And a drama queen, evidently."

Klaus cut his eyes toward his companion again. The man's long leather jacket hung open, revealing a light colored knit shirt clinging to a muscular chest and tapering across a flat belly into dark trousers. No gun. Klaus reached into his jacket pocket for his cigarettes.

"An idiot. Cigarette?"

"Yes, thanks. I shouldn't, but then I shouldn't be doing a lot of things tonight."

Klaus snorted. The two men leaned back against the bar and smoked,
watching the dancers pair off and come together as the music slowed.

"The redhead in the white leather moves well also," Klaus offered.

"Yes, I'd noticed. But red hair..." He broke off as he was jostled by a young man who had tripped and fallen into him from the other side. He automatically reached up to catch the falling man, and helped him regain his balance. But before the boy could move away, Klaus' companion grasped the boy's wrist, twisted it in a crushing grip, and forced the young man to his knees.

"Give it back." The man's voice was controlled, low and deadly. Klaus
felt a frisson of excitement travel up his spine. Well, that was interesting -- as well as revealing. An effortless display of jujitsu by a patron of a gay club. Or by someone pretending to be a patron of a gay club.

With his other hand the whimpering young man held up a leather wallet. The man took the wallet, released the boy and calmly leaned back against the bar as the would-be thief scampered away, holding his injured wrist.

Klaus lit another cigarette, offered the pack to his companion, and cupped a match for them both. Face to face, the two men took stock of each other.

The stranger noticed that Klaus was not at all upset by his recent actions, and he sighed to himself. Oh, well, it had been worth a try. He should have known he would be watched. At least he could appreciate the elegant picture Klaus presented. He was dressed in black, from his silk turtleneck and cashmere jacket and slacks to the polished tips of his shoes. His dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail held in place by a silver clasp. But it was the assessing green eyes that caught his attention. Arresting eyes. Knowing eyes.

Klaus observed that the other man showed no concern over the incident that had just taken place. Of course he wouldn't, would he. He was breathing easily, his hands did not shake as he held the cigarette, and his eyes were bright with... enjoyment? In spite of himself, Klaus felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward in response. This was not the run-of -the-mill KGB agent.

At that moment, the bartender leaned over to attract Klaus' attention. "Mr. Bachmann, your table is ready."

Klaus nodded and, deciding quickly that the best way to watch this spy would be to stay with him, turned back to the other man. "I had planned to dine here, upstairs. Would you care to join me?"

The stranger smiled broadly and replied, "Why not? I'm Peter."

"Heinz Bachmann. Shall we?"

Klaus noticed that they were very much the same height. Klaus' shoulders were broader, but Peter's chest was thicker and more muscular. Strong. He seemed more at ease than Klaus would have expected a KGB agent to be in a place like this, but they were obviously getting better at blending in.

Peter noticed that Klaus walked like a jungle cat, all sleek muscle and predatory grace. Dangerous and... beautiful. They had never sent someone like this before. As they sat down at the small table facing each other, Peter smiled again.

"I like your choice of table."

The table was situated against the balcony rail overlooking the dance floor and the bar. From here the two men could continue their observation of the other patrons of the club and enjoy the ambience as well as a fine meal.

"Yes, it has its advantages. Do you care for wine?"

"No, thank you, but please enjoy yourself. I will have another beer."

Klaus ordered beer for both of them before turning his full attention on his dinner companion. He was curious and more than a little wary of the man. He did not look familiar, he was not among the known agents Klaus might have suspected of following him, but it never hurt to be careful.

"So, Peter. How long will you be in Paris?"

"For a week or so, no more. You?"

"The same, as it happens. I hope my invitation to dine has not upset
your plans for the evening."

The dark eyes sparked and glinted briefly, and Peter barked a short laugh before he turned his attention to the action on the dance floor. "The blond is back."

Dinner passed with guarded conversation and growing, now unwanted, attraction. Between the lines, both men learned that each was well-traveled and rather well-to-do. Family duty was touched upon and quickly dropped, as was a discussion about hunting, and another about art. As the waiter brought coffee and brandy to the table, a speculative silence hung over the two men. Peter was the first to speak.

With his face turned toward the dance floor he said under his breath, "You are good. Very good. I would never have suspected my father would send someone like you. You are unusually attractive, and I have actually enjoyed your company. If I didn't know better, you would seem to be much like me. What are you? A mercenary?"

By instinct, Klaus showed no expression. But he was more than a little stunned. He quickly regarded the implications of that statement, then decided to go forward a bit more.

"I was a soldier once. You?"

"Surely you know the answer to that," he said bitterly. He raked a hand through his hair and sighed. "Well, Heinz, it's been an interesting evening. Thank you for allowing me to enjoy looking at the... scenery. From the way you watched that blond earlier tonight, I thought that surely you had come here for the same reason I had. But as I said, you are very good. Are you going to drive me back to the house now?"

Klaus thought quickly. He was intrigued, not only by Peter's comments
but by the man himself. He was as different from Dorian as night from
day, and that appealed to him as much as did the man's own... charm. This man could meet him strength for strength and, maybe, secret for
secret. But it was too early to tell.

Klaus lit a cigarette and shoved the pack across the table. As Peter lit his cigarette, his attention still on the dance floor, Klaus started to speak.

"I honestly wouldn't know where to take you." Peter's eyes met Klaus'
and held them as Klaus continued. "Until you said what you did, I thought that, perhaps, *you* had been sent here to watch *me*. You are exactly the type they would have sent, too."

The two men studied each other in silence. Finally, Peter spoke.

"If I hadn't said anything...?"

"I would have offered to take you to my hotel for a... continuation of our acquaintance. You are not the type of man I usually admire, but tonight you were exactly what I was looking for. Pity it didn't work out."

"Yes. If what you say is true, then I am... truly sorry." He grinned
suddenly, and Klaus couldn't keep his lips from twisting up in response.
"Heinz, I think we would have been amazing together. I've been wanting to kiss you all night, even though I thought I knew what you were."

"You might have regretted the kiss. I bite."

"Of course you do. Christ! I wish... I wish I didn't have so much to lose."

That drew a full smile from Klaus, and Peter was stunned by the beauty it revealed.

"I, too, have a great deal too much to lose to take the chance now. We are no longer strangers, yet know too little about each other for there to be..."

"Any level of trust."

The two men rose from the table, and Klaus offered his hand. "I must go. I hope I have not entirely spoiled your evening. And I wish you well, Peter."

"The night is young, Heinz. And the blond is still dancing. Good night."

**********

Klaus tugged at his white waistcoat, checking to make certain that the points did not extend below the front of his tailcoat. He had practically been born in white tie, and it showed every time he had to wear it. Collar points, starched just so, bent perfectly over the white bow tie. Silver studs engraved with his family crest gleamed on the spotless shirt and in his cuffs. One more glance in the mirror and Klaus realized he could not stall any longer. Time to go downstairs.

He had moved to the Ambassador's residence for his official stay in
Paris, having spent his one free night in a hotel across the city. He
was under no illusions that he would have another chance to... Well,
anyway, time to do his duty. Then get the hell back to Germany and his vacation.

Klaus greeted his host and hostess and the other dignitaries who had already arrived and prepared to take up a position between the stairs and the kitchen, where he would hardly be seen the rest of the evening. He was forestalled by the Ambassador's wife, a childhood friend, who pulled him aside.

"Klaus, I will wish to introduce you to Stefanos Christophorou and his
family when they arrive. I'm sure I need not tell you why. Be agreeable, if you please, Klaus, and dance with the daughters. We need their goodwill."

"Scheisse, Marie! You know how I hate this. Very well. But if I must
dance with the daughters, I'm going to say goodnight at midnight and
you will have to get through the rest of it without me."

"Oh, all right. But I'll be forever in your debt if you can last the
entire evening. Try, please, Klaus." She swept away in a swirl of silk skirts and expensive perfume. Klaus lit a cigarette in self-defense.

An hour later, an aide arrived at Klaus' hiding place to summon him
to meet Stefanos Christophorou, the founder and head of a large Greek conglomerate. Wealthy, powerful, with his eyes and ears in many camps, Christophorou was a valuable friend and ally in the Mediterranean. Time to make nice with the daughters.

Klaus stubbed out his cigarette and followed the aide to the reception area. He shook hands with old Stefanos and bowed over the many be-ringed hand of the red haired daughter-in-law. And came face to face with Peter.

The Ambassador said, "Petros, allow me to introduce you to Major
Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach of NATO. Major, this is Petros
Christophorou."

They shook hands. And grinned.

Klaus danced with Petros' sisters, managed to behave himself during
dinner, and finally escaped to the terrace for a much-needed cigarette and a moment of silence.

"Ah, Major. There you are."

Klaus turned to greet Petros as he strode across the terrace, his dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "Mr. Christophorou."

"Please, call me Petros... or Peter. I insist."

"Klaus. Cigarette?"

"Yes, thanks. I shouldn't, but then..."

"Your wife is very beautiful."

"Thank you. Yes, I suppose so. She was my father's choice for me. He was tired of waiting for a grandson. He thought that a redhead would... that her hair color would make her acceptable to me."

"Ah. My position with NATO prevents me from marrying any time soon. Thank God. But my father has similar plans for me. Hair color will not be on his agenda."

"But you would prefer a blond?"

"You will never hear me say so."

"Of course not. Major... Klaus. I find that my wife and sisters will be shopping most of the day tomorrow and that my father has other plans. He suggested I ask you to instruct me on NATO's policies in the Mediterranean. Would you be available, say for about 3 hours at midday? You could give me an overview, and then we could meet the
ladies for a late lunch."

"I'm sure that NATO would wish for me to cooperate in every way. I would be delighted."

"Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow." Klaus extended his hand, and Petros gripped it, smiling,
before he turned and walked quickly back into the house. Klaus lit
another cigarette and thought about the possibilities.

This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

************************

The End.

Thanks to Eve for the beta!
Summary: For the OccasionallyActsOnIt!Klaus challenge.