The Earl of Gloria blinked when Major Klaus von dem Eberbach tossed the rifle over to him, but caught the weapon deftly with an amused smile.
“Why Darling, how nice of you to trust me to watch your back!”
“There aren’t any bullets in it.” Klaus snorted over his shoulder and settled deeper behind the snow bank, missing Dorian’s sigh and roll of eyes skyward. He was more than a little preoccupied. Their sixth morning in taiga country, tracking the KGB while under the guise of campers, and he hadn’t had his Nescafe for just as long. There wasn’t much in their backpacks, just a lighter to start a fire, and a few tasteless protein bars that the fop had at first refused to eat for dinner, and two hunter’s rifles. Klaus brought his rifle up to sight along it towards the hare that had appeared by a knobby pine five or six meters away.
Dorian hunkered down too, sitting cross-legged, and draping his gun across his shoulder. He inched as close as he dared to Klaus, who brought his rifle down again when the hare suddenly darted away, startled by the shadow of a bird of prey flying overhead. They sat in silence, staring at the snow for half an hour, when Klaus made a strange noise of resignation.
Dorian watched curiously as Klaus rose and made an impatient movement with his hand, commanding Dorian to do the same.
“I’m going to teach you how to use a rifle without bullets,” Klaus said as Dorian got up. “If you do it right, you’ll be able to knock down a few of the KGB when they circle back with the microfilm from the city. God knows they’ve been taking long enough, so you might as well be useful.”
“Oh, you mean the buttstroke?” Dorian asked, all innocent eyes, but there was an amused twinkle there that caught Klaus by surprise.
Klaus watched as Dorian caressed the barrel of the rifle, no doubt the fop was imagining touching something else.
“You perverted - !”
Dorian stopped, suddenly launching himself into a fight with an imaginary opponent, using the butt of his rifle as if he were smashing it across someone’s body. His movements were a little ungainly, without the finesse of someone who was used to them, but Klaus could make out the four basics: upward swing, forward strike, downward cut, side blow.
“The buttstroke,” Dorian said proudly, putting down his rifle and leaning negligently against it as if it were a cane. “I’ve been learning the techniques since I know I’m not a very good shot, but I suppose I do need more practice.” He demurely tucked a loose curl behind his ear.
“The,” Klaus coughed.
“Yes, the buttstroke,” Dorian said breezily. “That’s the name we English give to the use of a rifle’s buttstock as a blunt weapon. Now how about helping me? Is this correct?” Dorian adjusted his stance for an upward swing.
“No.” Klaus said after a moment for composure. “Like this.” He demonstrated.
“Like this?” Dorian shifted so that his legs looked like wobbly pieces of wurst.
Klaus cursed and approached Dorian to move his limbs into the correct stance, missing the silly smile on the thief’s face as he touched him.
Five hours later.
“God damn,” Klaus roared as he ran out of bullets. He had thrown the microfilm canister away after finding it was too light, empty. The KGB “mission” must have been a lure. He managed to grapple a man down as he wondered if the Alphabets had found any actual KGB agents in town, or if they had also been sent on a wild goose chase.
There was a sudden sound, like muted thunder or mortar striking stone.
Klaus punched out the man he was wrestling with and turned just in time to see the KGB agent and the gun he had drawn at Klaus’ back fall at his feet.
Dorian smiled and tucked a sweaty curl behind his ear, wielding the rifle as expertly as a majorette with a baton.
“I’m afraid I’ve been lying major,” Dorian preened. “I’m an expert in the buttstroke.”
Klaus got up, dusted the snow off his knees, pressed his empty rifle into Dorian’s hands, and grabbed the thief’s rifle instead.
“By the way,” Klaus said, taking aim as one KGB agent darted from around the pine and raised his pistol to fire. “Your gun is loaded.”
Re: Klaus/Dorian
The Earl of Gloria blinked when Major Klaus von dem Eberbach tossed the rifle over to him, but caught the weapon deftly with an amused smile.
“Why Darling, how nice of you to trust me to watch your back!”
“There aren’t any bullets in it.” Klaus snorted over his shoulder and settled deeper behind the snow bank, missing Dorian’s sigh and roll of eyes skyward. He was more than a little preoccupied. Their sixth morning in taiga country, tracking the KGB while under the guise of campers, and he hadn’t had his Nescafe for just as long. There wasn’t much in their backpacks, just a lighter to start a fire, and a few tasteless protein bars that the fop had at first refused to eat for dinner, and two hunter’s rifles. Klaus brought his rifle up to sight along it towards the hare that had appeared by a knobby pine five or six meters away.
Dorian hunkered down too, sitting cross-legged, and draping his gun across his shoulder. He inched as close as he dared to Klaus, who brought his rifle down again when the hare suddenly darted away, startled by the shadow of a bird of prey flying overhead. They sat in silence, staring at the snow for half an hour, when Klaus made a strange noise of resignation.
Dorian watched curiously as Klaus rose and made an impatient movement with his hand, commanding Dorian to do the same.
“I’m going to teach you how to use a rifle without bullets,” Klaus said as Dorian got up. “If you do it right, you’ll be able to knock down a few of the KGB when they circle back with the microfilm from the city. God knows they’ve been taking long enough, so you might as well be useful.”
“Oh, you mean the buttstroke?” Dorian asked, all innocent eyes, but there was an amused twinkle there that caught Klaus by surprise.
Klaus watched as Dorian caressed the barrel of the rifle, no doubt the fop was imagining touching something else.
“You perverted - !”
Dorian stopped, suddenly launching himself into a fight with an imaginary opponent, using the butt of his rifle as if he were smashing it across someone’s body. His movements were a little ungainly, without the finesse of someone who was used to them, but Klaus could make out the four basics: upward swing, forward strike, downward cut, side blow.
“The buttstroke,” Dorian said proudly, putting down his rifle and leaning negligently against it as if it were a cane. “I’ve been learning the techniques since I know I’m not a very good shot, but I suppose I do need more practice.” He demurely tucked a loose curl behind his ear.
“The,” Klaus coughed.
“Yes, the buttstroke,” Dorian said breezily. “That’s the name we English give to the use of a rifle’s buttstock as a blunt weapon. Now how about helping me? Is this correct?” Dorian adjusted his stance for an upward swing.
“No.” Klaus said after a moment for composure. “Like this.” He demonstrated.
“Like this?” Dorian shifted so that his legs looked like wobbly pieces of wurst.
Klaus cursed and approached Dorian to move his limbs into the correct stance, missing the silly smile on the thief’s face as he touched him.
Five hours later.
“God damn,” Klaus roared as he ran out of bullets. He had thrown the microfilm canister away after finding it was too light, empty. The KGB “mission” must have been a lure. He managed to grapple a man down as he wondered if the Alphabets had found any actual KGB agents in town, or if they had also been sent on a wild goose chase.
There was a sudden sound, like muted thunder or mortar striking stone.
Klaus punched out the man he was wrestling with and turned just in time to see the KGB agent and the gun he had drawn at Klaus’ back fall at his feet.
Dorian smiled and tucked a sweaty curl behind his ear, wielding the rifle as expertly as a majorette with a baton.
“I’m afraid I’ve been lying major,” Dorian preened. “I’m an expert in the buttstroke.”
Klaus got up, dusted the snow off his knees, pressed his empty rifle into Dorian’s hands, and grabbed the thief’s rifle instead.
“By the way,” Klaus said, taking aim as one KGB agent darted from around the pine and raised his pistol to fire. “Your gun is loaded.”