After having read (most of- I am lazy -_-) the book, I wrote this . . . It's more of like a cryptic response where I dragged my favorite motifs from the book and favorite themes together than anything else. So it's not exactly a continuation of anything . . .
lol While reading the book I couldn't help but want Dorian and Basil to be together- "It was such love that Michelangelo had known, and Montaigne, and Winckelmann, and Shakespeare himself." Dorian why did you not want that such loooove? D: . . . Even when Dorian was all like D: and killed Basil and then I was all sad inside . . . (I'm not going to bother to warn for this spoiler because-
A) this book is really old and B) everyone should have read it by now because it is very awesome-opossum.
Enjoy! Or make fun of me- Either way I'll still be happy XD
With youth is the innocent beauty taken for granted, yet longed for by the sagely aesthete. Subconsciously longed by even the most prudent of ascetics.
With age is the hardened beauty won over time with much difficulty. It too is easily taken for granted by the youth.
Basil Hallward swept back the fair hair from his beautiful muse's face. Said boy whimpered beneath his gentle touches.
Though the softest of summer breezes lent its cooling touch to the fevered boy, he remained in a fitful cage of nightmare. Constricted by the swear dampened silk of his lover's bed, the youth imagined painful tethers constricting and wring his lungs of air.
"Oh Dorian." Basil cooed to the unconscious boy. "You have gone too deep you silly boy. You have dug yourself deeper than most bury their narcissus." As he went on, he lent lower to his boy, his Dorian. "You have found yourself in a vicious strangle-hold, which you are now resigned to call home." He whispered huskily, almost bitterly. Why can you not make your home with me instead?
The beautiful face contorted then, and Basil was just a hair-breadths away, hovering just above the boy's plush lips.
"What a terrible crime - vengeance. You seek it upon yourself, yes?" He made to cock his head to the side, as if he planned on descending upon those lips. His head stopped though, cocked to the side to strain with effort to listen.
The boy had stopped his whimpering and his face at once became a countenance of childlike supplication. And he spoke in an almost deadly, trembling tenor.
"Basil, am I quite useless? P-please, answer in truth." His breath only quivered slightly then and it was warm on the painter's cheek, warm as tears.
The man made to speak when the youth's eyes opened.
Half-lidded in some sort of painful way, he sees the beautiful orbs and behind them the unmistakable moisture - a damp warmness.
Basil finds himself unable to lie to that warmness. Quite simply the words roll as the breeze off the trees beyond the heavy curtains.
He is quite warm, like a reverent flame, this muse of his.
"No Dorian, Never." Not to me, are the words of the unconscious mantra Basil holds to quite religiously, but never can he get them caged within a conscious thought. "Quite honestly Dorian." He whispers in an almost morose seriousness to the maudlin youth beneath him.
The Heat is overwhelming as their lips meet and the fire scorches vengefully across Basil's mouth. As the lovers come to breathe, resting foreheads against one another, Dorian cannot help but to notice that the otherwise unbearable fire has become a simmering heat. It burns within his Basil's eyes.
It is all just too beautiful, the boy blushes at his thought and Basil smiles tiredly back.
Too beautiful.