Author's Note: Hello, again. =3 Becci here with more man on man smut, once again, apologies for not updating my other story Alone Again in a while. I'll be sure to right on it once I have more time, this story was typed up on a spare Sunday afternoon right before a week's worth of performances. I've noticed a strange theme with my fictions, they're getting progressively darker, then again that might have something to do with the choices I make. This is, by far, my darkest fiction, and my shortest, and although there shouldn't be as much cussing outside of the sex, there is some pretty nasty content and under-lying themes. Be afraid. It isn't necessarily non-con, since Basil doesn't once say no, but Dorian is not nice in this fiction, he is harsh and cruel! Thought I'd better put that in bold just in case people don't read it. But hey, it's Dorian Gray, so that explains everything. This is based off of the 2009 movie, as I haven't had time to read the book yet, so I hope you all enjoy the drama, smut and angst. =3
Warnings: 'Cause I think this fic needs them, I need to tell you that there will be:
Cruel sadistic sex
I knew what Dorian was doing was wrong. I knew that Henry was to blame for his sudden change of behaviour; his disregard for anyone's feelings but his own had only come to the fore when the older man introduced himself. I knew that the boy who I used to know had long since been corrupted and twisted, so only his angel-face remained to hide what was left of his torn and distorted soul. I knew the moment he denied me my own painting that something was wrong. I knew the moment his lips touched mine that we were damning ourselves straight to hell. I knew both of us were being led astray by passion, lust and on my part love. And I knew that I was too caught up in my one-sided love that I would never do anything about it; any of it. I knew I had loved Dorian Gray the moment that I had first drawn him playing the piano, since the first time I'd seen his smile, or had him look at me with that awed yet frightened expression, that screamed to me for help, on his face.
I knew all of this.
But what I didn't know was that he would be capable of murder.
I should have seen it coming. There were, after all, so many signs. I thought he would be distraught when I heard Sybil had drowned herself, but when I had gone to comfort him there was nothing inside of him. No regret. No pain. No sorrow. I suppose I convinced myself that it was his way of dealing with loss, that he was numb. But then came the drinking. The drugs. The women…Oh…So many women. I kept making allowances. I kept telling myself that it was a phase, that he was being a rebellious child. And all the while I felt my heart aching, throbbing, tearing itself apart as I watched him take more and more. More of what would undoubtedly be his undoing. I would turn away when he dipped his head to whisper obscenities into a woman's ear. I would avert my gaze when I saw them leaving together. I would clear my throat when he would look at me, smirking, over the shoulder of his next victim as if to taunt me, as if to show me what I was missing. And I never said I word. Not one damnable word. Right up until I couldn't take it anymore.
I didn't want to be used anymore. Least of all by him.
I was at his party.
We were on the balcony above the overcrowded dance floor below, and I implored him one final time to let me have the painting.
"That picture is my finest work," I stated, looking round at him, trying to force the scene I had walked in on a few moments ago from my head. Dorian, in the library, on one of his chaise longue's his head supported on one woman's thighs while another straddled his waist and licked the dips and contours of his chest. That whore…Who was she to touch such perfection? Shaking my head I continued my question. "And it would be greatly appreciated if I – "
"The greatest gift - " Dorian said easily, cutting across me as if I were a fool for asking. Which, I suppose, I was. He turned me; put one hand upon my shoulder, another around my neck. I had to remind myself to breathe at the intimate gesture I had not been privy to for some time. Dorian Gray was my one weakness…And I was sure that he knew it. " – that anyone could have given."
I was struggling to breathe again. His face was getting closer and he was fiddling also suggestively at the lapels of my evening jacket, one hand still wrapped around the back of my neck in that nonchalant way he had. His dark eyes, as beautiful and innocent as the day I painted them, flickered between my own eyes and my lips, and I couldn't help but reciprocate the movement with my own. I was being betrayed by my own body, and even my mind was starting to protest that it would like nothing more than to command that innocence I beheld. There must be something in the air, some aphrodisiac, for suddenly the air surrounding us stirred with the sparks of passion and I became aware of a couple, equally as engrossed in each other, kissing passionately in the corner.
It was hot. Too hot. I wanted away immediately but Dorian started to speak again.
"In fact I wished that I could tell you just how great."
I tried desperately to lighten the mood; I tried to jest with him. Anything to lift the oppressive lust and heat I could feel moving between our two impossibly close bodies. I tried to shift away, but Dorian followed, his hand still gripping my lapel while the other started to brush long, delicate fingers across the back of my neck.
"But then, is it so unreasonable to borrow it back for a little while?" I said.
I tried to laugh, but it caught in my tightening throat and I forced myself to look at his eyes. Only his eyes.
The hand that had been gripping my jacket slid seductively to meet its brother at the back of my neck as his eyes lingered on my lips. I felt myself react to the look alone, so full of passion, and want, and need, and I found myself staring unabashed at his own perfect, rosy pink lips. They looked soft, soft enough to kiss. My painting, although good, had not managed to capture the perfection of those lips.
"I'm not sure that I've ever fully expressed my gratitude…" he whispered as he rubbed my shoulder, dropping his hand to drag down my chest and across my stomach. There was no way that I could pretend not to notice the meaning behind those words and I shook my head. No. I would never, not even intoxicated, and intoxicated I was as I could feel the slight buzz in the back of my mind, take up that proposition. Dorian was too precious for the likes of me.
"I-I hardly think that – "
I was horrified to hear myself gasp when that hand, the one that had been resting on my stomach, suddenly cupped my groin and rubbed lightly. The innocence in his eyes gave way a little to the lust, and his eyelids hooded as they darkened with desire. I tried to formulate another response; one that told him that what he was doing was unacceptable, despite the bulge he could feel against his practiced fingers. However, he was too fast for me, and before I knew it those lips were pressed against mine, both hands holding my face fast.
It took all of my control not to kiss him back, though my eyes did fall shut against my will and arousal flooded my senses until all I could hear was the beating of my heart in my ears. It wasn't right, there were people. We could be seen. But it appeared that the entire house was under a spell of lust, passion and desire that couldn't be quenched. The likelihood of anyone else noticing us while trying to fulfill their own aching need wasn't high. Perhaps Dorian had drugged us all for his own sick, twisted pleasure…I would never find out.
But somehow I managed to remain still and I did not respond to his kiss.
He pulled away, looking somewhat hurt at my lack of enthusiasm, his thumb still gently stroking my cheek. I saw him lean forward a second time and I twisted my body away. But not far enough it seemed as his lower lip still brushed my upper lip and he bumped his nose affectionately against my own, silently asking me to return his advances. I still forced myself to remain still. I could not bring myself to react. It was the alcohol. It must be, to make Dorian act this way and for my body to react this way.
His dark impassioned eyes rested on mine for a moment before he tilted his head to gently lick and bite and tease my neck, and I couldn't help the small hum of pleasure that forced its way through my throat. He whispered those obscenities I had always wondered over into my ear and I found I could resist him no longer.
"I want to fuck you."
I shuddered and swallowed thickly as his eyes searched my face and I gave into temptation. I was sick of arguing with myself. I moved in for a kiss of my own, desperate and needy in comparison to his firm, yet no less passionate kisses as he gripped my face and I wrapped my arms about his neck, my body pressed against his, feeling his own need clashing against my own.
I moaned gently into his mouth, opening submissively when his tongue swiped against my lower lip. I was intoxicated. But not by drink. No, that was nothing in comparison to my own brand of liquor. I was drunk on Dorian, all that he was; his scent, his taste, his looks, everything was perfect. He was everything I could have wanted. His tongue warred with my own, but I submitted easily to the commanding strokes as he tugged me towards the open door that led to the private part of his house.
He slammed it behind him and didn't even enter any of the rooms as he pushed me face first against the wall. I moaned at the rough treatment, my entire body shuddering at the supreme aura that surrounded his every move. His hand slipped round to roughly fondle my throbbing need as he bit and sucked on my ear before turning my quickly and pushing me down in front of him.
I waited patiently as he undid the fastenings on his trousers and tugged them down, I licked my lips eagerly, mindful of how much I was behaving like one of his whores…But it was so difficult. When in front of Dorian it was difficult to think of much more than how to please him most, especially when he looked at you with the smoldering lust that he had in his eye down.
Dorian's fingers ran gently through my hair and pulled my face forward, it wasn't hard to tell what it was that he wanted when I looked at his erection, standing proudly from his body. With a moan of pleasure bought on from the hard tug to my hair I leant forward and let my tongue run slowly up the vein, moving in gentle circles around the head. I heard him groan in satisfaction above me, and I felt a thrill of arousal shoot through my body once again and I took him into my mouth.
He wasn't gentle as I thought he would be. In fact, he almost choked me as he gripped my hair and forced my head down on him fully, though he did give me the gift of coughing and spluttering before forcing himself into my mouth once again. I soon got used to his rhythm and relaxed my throat as much as I could which simply made him groan and gasp louder.
Eventually he pulled away and quickly joined me on the floor, kneeling in front of me and staring at me with those eyes, eyes that were both innocent and yet impossibly cruel at the same time. My masochistic tendencies sent a wave of thrilled arousal through me again and I went in for a kiss, which, much to my surprised, he allowed. I had expected to be thrown to the ground, or at least for him to be repulsed at the possibility of tasting himself, but he seemed to be used to that, or it never crossed his mind. I would put money on the former.
He shocked me further at how gentle the kiss was in contrast to his behaviour moments before and shuddering I moaned again. Dorian pulled away after a moment and he gripped my collar, pulling me up as he got to his feet, his trousers long discarded. Taking the hint I stood and he turned me quickly and pushed me against the wall once more. My small moan seemed to confirm something and he started to fondle me through my trousers as he pressed his still hard cock against my behind.
"So you like it when I'm rough with you, do you Basil?" he asked gruffly against my ear, biting a little harder than usual. I groaned loudly and pushed my hips forward into his hand, unable to help my wanton behaviour.
"Who would have thought you'd have such a masochistic undertone to you? Yet, I shouldn't be surprised; you are, after all, everyone's punch bag…"
The comment stung slightly and I hung my head in shame, barely realizing that he had stopped fondly me and had tugged my trousers down my hips to pool at my feet. He spread my legs with his foot and for a moment I thought that he was going to take me without preparation, but he seemed to think better of it, for before I knew it his fingers were brushing against my lips and he was telling me to suck.
My bruised lips parted and I obediently sucked, my breath hitching slightly when I felt his hand wrap around my erection. I made sure to slick every finger with care, I knew this was going hurt enough as it was, I wanted to be as prepared as I could. Dorian removed his fingers a moment later, flicking his hair back and away from his perfect face as he pressed one finger against my entrance, pushing his finger past the tight ring of muscle. I hissed in pain, feeling as though I was being torn apart, but I heard him reassure me and tell me to relax, and I did, allowing him to push another finger inside of me.
Despite his gentle words he was rough and quick, his fingers thrust hurriedly inside of me and he scissored them mercilessly, only brushing that amazing place once in passing and avoided since. I got the impression that this was more for him than for me and my suspicions were confirmed when his hand held my neck and pinned me in place, face against the wall. He didn't want to see me as he violated me. I would be just another moment, another mindless, meaningless fuck…But I wouldn't stop him. I couldn't stop him. I would rather have this moment than to not have it at all…
Dorian was gentle as he pushed into me, and went deliberately slow to try and lessen my pain. However he didn't wait for me to adjust, at all, as soon as he was inside of me he pulled out and slammed back in. I cried out in surprised pain, biting back another scream as he continued his merciless thrusts. His bipolar tendencies were confusing me, as well as causing nothing but unprepared discomfort. One moment he would be the caring and gentle Dorian I had known and the next he would be the terrifying, commanding sex God that was currently pounding into me.
Only this one wasn't entirely out of pain.
In his hast for completion Dorian had brushed against that place inside of me, and it made me see stars. Finally it was starting to feel good and I clenched appreciatively around him, drawing a loud moan from behind me. Seeing that it was more pleasurable to have me respond he kept the angle and pounded against my prostate. I bought my hands up to grip the wall, but the hand that had pinned me by the neck gathered them in his and held them against my back, as he leant over to bite my shoulder hard.
"Oh…God…Dorian…Harder! Fuck!" I was ashamed of the wanton words that forced their way from my throat but my shame was short lived as he complied and snapped his hips forcefully against me. I cried out in pleasure, my mind blank for all but the overwhelming pleasure flowing through my body, panting his name over and over. I was whispering obscenities, words of love, words of encouragement. I never expected any of the words that left my mouth to ever be revealed to anyone. Such language was not acceptable in any scenario. Except when one was being fucked by Dorian Gray. I would never use the words making love to describe the act as there was no love in what we were doing…Or at least not on his side.
I could feel the tension in my abdomen tightening, warning me of my impending orgasm and I moaned a soft caution to my groaning lover.
His free hand, which had been holding onto my hip with bruising force, slid round my stomach and wrapped around my throbbing need squeezing and pumping. I felt the tension coil tighter and tighter, but one final thrust had me hurtling over the edge and spilling my seed over the wall in front of me and my muscles clamping around Dorian's erection.
That had been the first coherent word to escape him throughout the entire encounter, there I had been, panting and moaning his name like some love stuck woman and he had not one looked at me, nor spoken my name. I was a fool. And it was only now that I realised how much of a fool I was.
Dorian released me and I fell spinelessly to the floor, still panting in the afterglow of my climax as he retrieved his trousers and made himself acceptable. I watched as he took one look at me and leant down to press a gentle kiss to my forehead then brushed off my attempts at conversation. I felt what little of my heart that was intact break as he swept from the room without looking back at me.
Brushing the tears I convinced myself were not there I stood and pulled my own trousers up, running a hand through my tousled hair.
This was not my Dorian Gray. This was an imposter.
My Dorian Gray had been led astray.
"He is young."
I glared at Henry as I swept past him, hissing into his ear.
"But he was never cruel until he met you."
"You terrified that poor boy tonight," I said quietly as I followed Dorian up the stairs. Everyone had long since left and I needed to talk to him, to demand an explanation, but in front of him all of my conviction bled from me.
"He seemed to recover," Dorian said jovially, though he sounded bored of the conversation already, how easy it was for him to take what he wants and then cast it aside, trifle or not, human or not. I felt repulsed. I lashed out, trying to get emotion out of him, any emotion.
"Is that what you tell yourself about Celia Radley?"
"Look, I'm sorry about her misfortune, but do you really believe that I'm to blame?" he asked, staring at me with those achingly beautiful eyes as if he hoped to sway me again. Well it wasn't going to work a second time. I was immune to his charms. I had already felt the strength of his scorn, and once was enough for me.
"When I look at you I find it impossible to imagine," I said shaking my head and turned to look over the now empty dance floor, turning away from his still hurt eyes that were threatening to make me his again. "But I know you're treating people poor. Even me. When I ask you the small favour that you loan me my own painting…"
"Is that what this is about – "
"No it's worth a good deal more!" I shouted, unable to temper my emotions any longer. He'd betrayed me. He'd used me. And I had lied to myself and tried to make myself think that it wouldn't hurt when it came to an end. But what we had both done, what Dorian had done was wrong, and it was killing me.
He was looking at me in surprise and anger, and I was pleased to finally get a response out of him, even if it was at my own expense. I think he finally saw just how angry and upset I was because he simply stood there, staring at me, and I shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny before turning away from him. I rested my hands on the railing, knuckles white in my controlled rage. I heard his footsteps behind me and felt his aura surrounding me before I felt his hands gently rest against my back.
I pushed him away and turned suddenly, staring at a man devoid of emotion once again. His face was as if he were carved of marble, as beautiful and immovable as the precious rock and I felt my face with in anguish.
"What happened to the Dorian Gray I painted?" I whispered brokenly, my voice pitifully weak compared to my shout. I felt weaker as well. Defeated.
"You just don't understand."
His own whisper sounded dangerous in comparison to my own and I shifted slightly when he took a step forward, one hand reaching up to cup my face while the other gripped the lapel of my jacket once more. He seemed to sense my discomfort and he let his hand retreat back into his space and out of my own, leaving me safely to deny him without more difficulty.
"I will always be that Dorian."
I met his words with uncomprehending silence. It was true. I didn't understand. I didn't understand any of it. All I knew was that my Dorian was gone and had been replaced with Henry's corrupt little copy.
"Can I trust you, Basil?"
I tilted my head to look at him, and it seemed my expression was questioning because he went on to explain himself further, but ended up sounding more cryptic.
"Would you like to see why you can never exhibit that picture?"
I nodded warily and he turned from me, striding towards the corridor that led to his attic. I couldn't bring myself to move, fearful of what Dorian was going to show me, and fearful of what he might do to me. He stopped a few feet away from me and looked round smirking slightly at my unease and if only to banish that knowing look I followed him.
"Don't you see this must be destroyed?! Dorian, I want to help you! We – We'll find a priest…or…Or a spirit worker…There's good in your heart I've seen it! You're not this…this Devil!" I shouted, imploring him, begging him, wishing that he would turn and ask me for help like he had so many times before. But my speech fell on deaf ears and all I got in response was.
"I am a God…"
I had been walking to the door when Dorian turned and stabbed me in the neck. It was almost painless. Almost; because in comparison to hearing Dorian ignore my attempts to help this was nothing. A broken heart hurt more than being stabbed in the neck by the same man to which the broken heart was given to. I was numb to it, though that didn't mean that my body didn't respond to the wound. I felt myself fall to the ground. I felt blood running down my neck onto my shirt and for an absurd moment I thought about how I would get the stains out.
He stared at me in something akin to horror and I realised the choking, retching sounds I could hear were coming from my own throat. I wanted it to end. And only Dorian could do it.
He pulled the shard of the mirror from my neck and I shuddered. Now I felt the pain. It was searing and I could feel my heart beating harder and harder as my body panicked, pushing my life's blood from my veins. It would be too slow to die like this, bleeding to death at the feet of my once companion, friend and lover. I wanted it over quickly and I begged with my eyes for him to end it.
Dorian understood what I wanted. He always understood. Every subtle change of mood, every gesture, every laugh every breath he understood. And that didn't change when I breathed my last. He graciously stabbed me in the stomach, over and over in what could have been an anguished tirade at what he had had to do…But I was pleased it was over…Finally I wouldn't have to hurt anymore when I looked at has beautiful angels-face.
He leant over and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, murmuring reassurance to me.
His beautiful face had been the first thing I had seen when I truly opened my eyes, and it was the last thing I saw as I rasped my last breath and closed my eyes.