It doesn't take long for Dorian to find Basil. In fact, with the exception of a few warning looks and thinly-veiled demands that he 'take care of the master…or else!', the staff seem to have been waiting for Dorian to ask just where the master of the house had got to. He smiles to himself as he trails the butler to Basil's private chambers, already imagining Basil's look of surprise when he finds Dorian in the private part of his house. How scandalous. How wonderful.
Dorian dismisses the servant outside Basil's bedroom, making sure to keep the conversation to their side of the door. He doesn't want to alert Basil to his presence before they can come face-to-face. The look that the butler gives Dorian is an obvious assertion of the man's fondness of the master of the house, and of all the things that might befall Dorian should he hurt the artist.
'As if I could harm him,' Dorian thinks, and then shivers oddly. 'Maybe in another life, but not in this one.'
He draws himself to his full height, making sure to smooth the nonexistent wrinkles in his waistcoat and pat down any stray hairs on his head. He refuses to enter Basil's private domain with any lingering evidence of what has transpired in the garden. They will come to that when the time is right, but it is not the main topic that Dorian wishes to address; or start with, for that matter. After a last mental once-over, Dorian raises his fist to rap gently on the heavy wooden door.
He hears a shuffle, and something suspiciously like a suppressed sniffle, from the other side of the door. His heart contracts a little, imagining Basil dabbing at moist eyes with his beautiful fingers. After a few seconds the movement stops, but the door remains closed. Dorian knocks, again.
"I'm not receiving any more visitors tonight. If it is a matter of the house, I'm sure that you are all capable of handling it without me until morning."
Dorian almost laughs to think that Basil believes him to be one of the staff. He knocks again, just as softly.
"I wish to be left alone," Is the slightly stronger murmur from the other side.
'Not strong enough, Basil. Give me a little more fire,' Dorian thinks, thrilling slightly at the thought of Basil becoming firm and agitated. He is determined to pull the artist out of himself. He wants the passion that he just knows the artist possesses. It is what gives Basil his talent for painting, and what gives him his conviction… when he deems to convey it in words. He raps once more, hoping to get a rise. He is not disappointed.
There is a frustrated groan that makes Dorian's arms physically ache to have Basil in them, soothing the artist as Dorian is sure only he can. The sound of sheets rustling and feet hurriedly shuffling across carpet and hardwood flooring reaches Dorian before the door is flung open. For a moment Dorian sees Basil in all of his angry glory: eyes wide and mad, lips parted in reproach, teeth clinched and face flushed. Dorian has never wanted to kiss anyone's lips so much in his life as much as he wants to kiss Basil's right now. He restrains himself, just barely.
After a moment's pause, is which both men simply stare at each other, Basil's eyes begin to widen even more. His face becomes slack in surprise, and the flush on his cheeks darkens from an angry pink to an embarrassed rouge. His mouth goes slack and then snaps closed, and a strangled sort of half-whimper escapes the back of his throat.
"Dorian!" Basil cries, faintly. He does not even realize that the doorknob is still clutched tightly in his right hand, or that he is standing before the younger man in naught but a long nightshirt.
"That is my Christian name, Basil," Dorian replies, a charming half smile playing across his lips. He tries to keep his gaze decent, for Basil's sake.
Basil seems to realize in that moment that he is not fit to receive visitors. His face, much to Dorian's worry, flushes even more. Dorian begins to wonder if he should prepare for the artist to faint, what with all that blood rushing to his head, and then Basil becomes a whirl of motion. He tries to tug at his nightshirt frantically, and then in his panic he slams the door in Dorian's face. Not two seconds later, he throws the door back open.
"I'm so sorry, Dorian! I'll just…I'm just going to…hold on!"
Dorian tries, again for the artist's sake, not to burst into a fit of laughter at the bit of slapstick taking place before his very eyes. It seems to him that Basil cannot decide if it would be better for him to spend his night apologizing to Dorian for his state of undress, shut the door and fix his state of undress, or simply open and close the door in Dorian's face all night and while trying to do a combination of the afore mentioned options. Dorian decides to take pity on his flustered friend.
"Basil," He says in a calming tone, his hand bracing the door from becoming reacquainted with the air just inches from his nose. "Why don't you dress, and then invite me in? You can apologize after you've calmed down enough to finish a proper sentence."
Basil deflates visibly, and for a moment looks like a young boy in too big pajamas. He smiles gratefully at Dorian, and nods. Dorian smiles back, murmurs "Alright," and slowly closes the door. He then backs up to lean against the opposite wall of the hallway, and settles there to wait for his friend to change.
He doesn't have to wait long.
"Dorian," He hears Basil call, and he enters the private room. He wonders if Basil realizes that he's just allowed him into an improper room of the house for visitors. Again, he suppresses a laugh, and pats himself on the back for his own cunning. This is playing out even better than he had originally planned. His smugness is cut short when he gets a good look at Basil.
Now that the other man is no longer blushing, the pinkness of his eyes is in stark contrast to his pale, English complexion. Dorian remembers the sniffle he heard when he first knocked, and knocks himself in the head, mentally, for forgetting that Basil has born witness to the kiss downstairs. The poor man must be heartbroken.
Dorian becomes serious. He is playing for keeps, and he refuses to let his pride ruin this crucial moment in time. He hadn't wanted to address the garden scene so early, but he realizes that it is the only way to get Basil to see him clearly.
"Basil," He begins, his voice as serious as the expression on his beautiful countenance. "I know what you saw."
"Oh Dorian, please don't…" Basil starts to plead, his own face crumpling in anguish. He sags into a chair at a writing desk near the bed.
"No, Basil. Listen to me. I know what you saw, and I know what you didn't see."
Basil is a smart man, and Dorian is not disappointed when he takes the bait; however reluctantly he does so. After a pause, Basil sighs and says what Dorian wants him to.
"Alright, Dorian, what 'didn't I see'?"
"That it wasn't a kiss."
Basil represses the urge to snort, but Dorian catches his disbelief in the momentary downward twitch of his lips.
"Oh it wasn't, was it? I don't know what the definition of a 'kiss' is in your books, but in mine the press of lips to almost any surface is a kiss. Two pairs of lips pressing together definitely fits the accepted definition."
Dorian can see that Basil is trying to be detached and clinical about the whole affair, but the glistening in his eyes gives him away. He is an artist at heart, passionate and filled with empathy and emotion, and Dorian wants to love him for it. If only Basil would let him.
"It wasn't a kiss," Dorian reiterates in the same, calm tone. He doesn't want to sound bored, but he doesn't want to seem engaged in the memory of the kiss, either. "It was a warning, a punishment, if you will. Lord Henry will not bother you again."
"What? Dorian, what did you do? How can any kiss be a warning? Punishment, you say? For what?! For not kissing you sooner!?" Basil's voice is rising in volume as well as pitch, and his body thrums in the chair as if he might fling himself out of it at any moment. Dorian sits and bears Basil's anger, all the while watching him closely and waiting for an opportune moment to make Basil understand. If he can convey his point to Lord Henry with a kiss and three words, alone, then he is sure that he can get Basil to see things his way…but he will have to use a different approach then the one with Lord Henry or Basil will accuse him of having cheap kisses. That wouldn't do.
"Basil!" He barks, and realizes in the back of his mind that he's said the artist's name more often tonight than he probably ever has, before. "Stop it! Right now!"
He crosses the distance between them and hauls Basil out of his chair, holding the other man close to him by his shirt and waistcoat. He wonders, absently, why Basil dressed so thoroughly just to have a late evening conversation in his own bedchamber. He takes a deep breath and loosens his hold, but does not let Basil go. For his own part, Basil is too shocked by the sudden movement to even try struggling out of Dorian's, now gentle, grip.
"I've seen the way he looks at you. I've heard, firsthand, the things he says to you. You think I don't see the hurt in your eyes when he degrades you, mocks you. I know that he once fancied you, and I don't like it."
"I'm sorr…"
"No! I am not saying that I dislike like your preferences, but that I do not like his attention. He does not handle you correctly, and then he abuses you when you rebuff him. I know you play dumb to his advances. I've seen you shy away from his casually wandering hands and suggestive looks. Now he won't come after you, anymore. That 'kiss' was a warning to leave you alone. I showed him what it might be like to have to surrender to another's wants. He can't do it. He is too shallow to give to another, and too frightened to face true passion. He mocks what he doesn't understand and harries what he cannot have."
Dorian throws his arms up into the air, and begins pacing the room. Basil watches him with wide eyes.
"I am sick of watching the light go out of your eyes when you look for approval and he gives you reproach. And then, to try and take me from you! As if he could simply draw my attention with clever words! You of all people should know that I need more substance than mere promises and witty whispers. Oh, Basil."
Dorian stops and turns back to the stunned artist. Basil has slumped back into his chair, and Dorian comes to kneel in front of him, taking both of his hands in his own.
"Don't you know how much I adore you?" Dorian sighs, his eyes entreating as he gazes up into the dark pair above him.
"Dorian, please. Don't mock me," Basil begs, gently trying to pull his hands out of Dorian's grasp. Dorian refuses to release them and kisses the top of each one, ceasing Basil's weak struggle with his soft lips. "Was that punishment for me, then?"
Dorian's eyes grow wide, and he pushes himself up onto his knees; coming closer to Basil's face.
"No! No, Basil. My kisses are not meant as any kind of punishment for you. Never for you," And, again, he kissed the hands in his grasp. Basil begins to shake. "I tried so hard to get you to admit your feelings for me. I came by every day. I played the piano for you whenever you asked. I sat for you for days on end, just hoping you'd see my care for you in the reflection of my eyes on paper. I even walked, arm in arm, down a public street with you! I once tried to kiss your hand as I watched you paint a landscape."
"But that was accidental!" Basil murmurs in disbelief. Has this really been staring him in the face, the whole time?
"No, Basil. I was trying to act nonchalant. I wanted to know what your reaction would be. When you didn't even mention it, I thought my adoration was sadly one-sided. I have to thank Lord Henry for something, because I was too shy to approach you before him. He's the one who told me to confront you one your 'adoration' of me, even if he was trying to create a rift between us at the time. My wonderful Basil, I've wanted you from the moment I saw you at that horridly boring party."
Basil cannot help but let out a small chuckle at the description of said party; Dorian's lips quirk upwards in response.
"Dorian," Basil sighs, gently reclaiming one of his hands in order to stroke Dorian's beautifully fine, thick hair. "My dearest Dorian."
And in the next moment, Dorian has propelled himself forward and flung his arms around the man in the chair, burying his face in his crisp, white shirt.
"Your Dorian," Is the joyful, if muffled reply that reverberates throughout his chest.
Basil overcomes his momentary shock, and quickly wraps his own arms around the young man's back, pulling him impossibly closer. He brushes his cheek against Dorian's hair, encouraging the youth to look up at him. After a short searching of Dorian's face, Basil smiles and bestows a gentle kiss to the rose colored lips before him. He can feel a smile answering his own in the perfect press of their lips as they share this first kiss.
"My Dorian," He murmurs once again, raining gentle kisses on the beautiful face and hair before him.
"Yes," Dorian replies, placing his ear against Basil's chest and thrilling at the feel of Basil's strongly beating heart against his cheek. "Your Dorian."
