Work Text:
Basil couldn’t get enough of Dorian. He adjusted the pink in his cheeks, looking from the flesh Dorian to the paint Dorian. He carefully swept his brush across the canvas with utmost care. He flicked his eyes up. Dorian stood in front of the backdrop, staring at nothing. In the days he had spent in the studio, he been so patient and stood so still for Basil. He wanted to think that Dorian did it specially for him, but it was probably because he loved seeing his beautiful face on paper as much as Basil did.
As he started trying to focus on the lighting in his hair, Dorian’s eyes wandered to meet his. Basil quickly looked down at the oil paints. The silence in the room lay thick and heavy, the only thing loitering in the air being the smell of roses, so heavy it coated Basil’s tongue. He wondered if he should kiss Dorian if he would taste the rose there as well.
“Is something the matter, Basil?” Dorian asked. “Am I not meeting your standards as a model?
“Hmm? No, no, you are perfect. Why would you ever think such a ridiculous thought?”
“Well, it might have to do with the overwhelming fact that you have diverted your gaze from mine for the sixth time this morning.”
“If you haven’t noticed, I am a painter, Dorian. Painting is an especially important part of my job, not just ogling your beautiful face.”
“Is it?” Dorian said. “With all of the ‘ogling’ you do, I would think differently.”
“Yes, well,” Basil said, ducking his head behind his canvas. “I am the artist here. Your opinion on my artistic method has no weight in this conversation.”
“I suppose that is true.”
Silence. Basil built up the shadows in the background. He looked from Dorian to the canvas and back again, brows furrowed.
“You may relax; I am done for today,” Basil announced, setting the brush down. Dorian slowly walked around next to him, inspecting the unfinished piece of art.
“Even far from its finish,” he told Basil, smiling, hands on his hips, “it bears a strong resemblance to me. Have I told you what a talented man you are?”
“Yes, I believe you have.” Basil took a small step closer to the young man, arms almost touching. He felt his face heat up. His heart beat hard in his chest.
Before anything else could be said, footsteps came up behind them. Basil turned to see his butler.
“Lord Henry Wotton has arrived, sir.”
With a dry mouth, he spoke after a few seconds, “Ask him to wait, I will be there shortly.”
“Who's this Lord Henry fellow?” Dorian asked, turning to Basil.
“No one you want to associate with, do not worry,” Basil said, wringing his hands. He looked down at his feet, took a deep breath, then looked into Dorian’s eyes.
“Thank you, Dorian,” Basil said. Before Dorian could reply, Basil leaned in quickly, noses bumping as his lips slipped over the other pair. Dorian’s eyes widened, his breath hitched slightly. Basil’s heart leapt in his chest; Dorian’s lips were much softer than he could ever paint them.
Basil drew back, gave a cough into his fist, muttered, “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow,” and hurried past him.
Through the open door, Lord Henry stood dripping with amusement and surprise. Without stopping, Basil took him by the arm and said, “Change of plans, Harry. Why don’t we go to that quaint restaurant you were telling me about?”
“Oh, but who is that charming young man you just left? I would love to be acquainted with him,” Lord Henry asked, stumbling along with Basil.
The painter looked back. Dorian was watching him, fingers gingerly touching his lips and a faint flush blooming in his cheeks. He could have sworn that he was smiling behind the tips of his fingers.
“Dorian Gray.”