Warning: this paragraph contains somewhat graphic scenes. I will mark it for all those who don't like it.
Also: on this note, I kind of feel like I have to point out that I keep referring to Dorian as "the boy", which might look gross, given that part of the story. However, Dorian is about 20 or even 21 when this takes place, and the term only refers to his boyish looks and nature, because he keeps behaving like a child.

(Plus, and this is just a little fun fact, which I think is really cute, both Basil and Harry keep calling him either "a good boy", "dear boy", or "silly boy", and the latter really upsets Dorian in the scene where they're all in Basil's studio in the beginning. I personally find it quite funny. :P)

At four, Dorian insisted he wanted to return to the hotel and Basil should accompany him. As was his habit, he did not explain why. Eventually, the artist gave in and followed his lover back to their temporary home. Both of them returned to their rooms (of course, they had to have separate ones) to take a bath. While Hallward was exiting the tub, he could hear Dorian leave his room already. An elderly lady stopped him in the hallway to chat. The voice was familiar, but without understanding her words, he could not possibly identify her. He heard as they parted ways. With a shrug, he began to put on the suit his man had prepared for him. At about five, he set out to find the boy, although he didn't have to look for him for long. Dorian was sat in the lounge, surrounded by strangers who listened with great delight as he played the piano. A spark of joy entered his eyes and he smiled widely as he saw his friend. Somehow, the encounter changed his play. Not that it had been lacking in any way, but since that brief glance, there was more emotion, more joy and passion in the melody. The artist sat down at the back of the crowd and listened. What art was to him, the piano was to Dorian, there was no doubt in that. So could it be that he had the same effect on the boy, as the boy had on him? He had never thought about it before. Why would he? Until this moment, it seemed very clear that that was not the case! What else could this change in music mean, if not that he loved him equally? Basil listened intently. He felt that his realisation had altered the way he saw him. Basil had always believed he was merely a friend to him- a friend, with whom he occasionally shared a bedroom, and it had been perfectly fine. Now he felt like a fool for feeling that way. Could he dare to say those three words he had always wanted to say so dearly? No. He could not possibly do so before Dorian. What if he frightened him away? What if he was wrong after all? No, he could never say it as long as Dorian didn't. He had said so many things he regretted having said afterwards, but this, he knew, would simply go too far. Basil was so engrossed in his own thoughts, he did not realise Dorian finished playing. Only when the room erupted into applause, he was torn from his reverie and joined the clapping. Immediately, Gray approached him.
"Basil! Oh I am so glad you came down. Did you like my little concert?"
"You were extraordinary, my dear fellow! I daresay tonight was the best I have ever heard you play!"
"I simply could not help it. Do you remember, earlier today, when the desire to play struck me?" the artist nodded. "Well, it struck me again as soon as I entered my room. It felt so wonderful to yield to this wish." Dorian positively radiated with joy. "Oh, and Lady Cattersby invited us to her banquet in the ballroom tonight. She happens to stay at this very hotel for the occasion for her and her husband's anniversary. You remember the lady, Basil. You painted a portrait of her daughter in spring."
Again, the painter nodded. "I remember her vividly, yes." He said and chuckled quietly. "How come you know her?"
"She was a friend of my uncle. He sometimes took me with him on visits."
"Our world is a small one. Shall we go?"
The two linked arms and headed for the ball room, which, for the occasion, had been filled with tables and chairs, flowers and cutlery. Soup was already being served when the couple found a spot. Almost immediately, Basil engaged in a conversation with the man opposite him, a Mr. Howard Paisley, who shared the same profession, while Dorian started talking to a young woman of similar beauty to him. The artist did not mind. What he had experienced in the lounge, had infinitely strengthened his trust in the lad.
Dinner continued pleasantly, and music began to play in the background, while people chatted and laughed and enjoyed their meals. In the middle of the main course, however, Dorian tugged at Basil's coat and leaned over to whisper into his ear. The words that reached the artist made him blush a deep shade of crimson.
"Take me to bed, Basil…let's leave this boring dinner."
For a moment, the artist looked at him, not knowing what to say, but the boy only encouraged him by biting his lip. Under the table, he could feel a warm hand on his thigh.
"Please excuse us." Said Hallward eventually to his new friend. "Mr. Gray is feeling unwell."
Dorian responded with a sigh. Slowly he got to his feet. "I must have stayed in the sun for too long. How very foolish of me."
And so, the young couple left for Dorian's room.

***graphic content***

They had agreed for one of them to book a room with a double bed, in case a scenario like this would occur. Quietly, Gray unlocked the door and locked it again behind them, while Basil closed the curtains. Finally, he could do what he had longed for all this time at the beach- kiss him. Those memories sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. How awfully sweet he had looked in his bathing suit and his straw boater! Their lips met passionately and Hallward found his hands entangled in those soft, golden curls he loved so much. He could feel nimble fingers remove his watch chain and undo the buttons of his vest.
"I kept my promise, Basil…" Dorian muttered as his tie was removed. "I played only for you. You are all the inspiration I need. Don't grin like that. Just because I failed to understand you before, does not mean I do not understand now."
"I must say, I am glad you do, and honoured you feel that way." He guided him towards the bed. The boy sat down and allowed Basil to undress him fully, before watching him undress himself. Slowly, the painter crawled upon the mattress, covered in lavish fabrics. Gently, he planted kisses all over the pale, youthful body before him. Oh how he adored him! Every inch of his flawless skin seemed so pure! Yet, pure he was not, for he knew about the physical aspects of love, more than a lad of twenty should know. Soon, his moans filled the room and he closed his eyes. Every one of Basils' moves sent a new wave of pleasure through his body and put a gentle smile on his parted lips. Just like the melody Dorian had lured from the piano, this encounter too was different in a remarkably positive way. Sensually, the lad moaned his lover's name and clung to him for dear life. Not long and he began to tremble. His fingernails dug into Basils' back, leaving little, red crescents. A few more thrusts and Dorian spilled his seed between them. His lover followed not long afterwards.

***End graphic content***

Neither of them said a word until their hearts stopped racing. Their eyes met and their cheeks flushed crimson. "Thank you…" the boy said quietly, after placing a soft kiss on Basil's lips. "Today has been a most wonderful day. I will never forget it."
Something inside the artist struggled to believe him, but he smiled happily. Even though Dorian would forget, in this moment, those words meant everything.
"Please come to my studio, as soon as we are back in London. For once, I wish to paint you as you are…to remind you of what we have." He didn't mean to say those words. They hadn't even been in his head. They were part of the curious influence Dorian had on him.
Strangely, the lad did not mind Basil talking about his art. Strangely, because he usually frowned at it, especially in situations like this, when the topic seemed rather inappropriate. This time, Dorian seemed to understand, and nodded. A pleasant silence fell over them and Basil's hand found itself caressing the boy's beautiful face and golden mane once again.
"I had better return to my own room…" said the artist after some time. A sad tone dominated his voice.
"Do you really have to leave me? Your company is so pleasant and I was just about to fall asleep." Dorian whined.
"I am afraid I have no choice. I have no desire to rouse anyone's suspicion."
A sigh and a last, quick kiss. "Very well. I shall see you at breakfast."
The artist nodded as he gathered his clothes and quickly dressed himself.
"Good night, Dorian." He said with a smile, as he opened the door.
"Good night, Basil."
When the painter reached his room, he collapsed onto his bed. Once more, he could not help but feel that a terrible fate would soon befall him. It was the same strange terror he had felt upon first setting eyes on Dorian; the same that had made him want to leave Lady Brandon's party.
However, it was this fear that made him grateful for days like this that would remind him, even in the darkest moments, of how lucky he was to have loved Dorian Gray.