He was sitting in my library in Mayfair, on an old chaise longue of mine that had long since gone out of style. He looked as though he had lived there his entire life, with one leg stretched across the bench and slightly bent at the knee while the other dangled under him, toes pointed delicately. His fair cheek rested on one hand, an antique book of verse poised in the other. So absorbed was he in those curious whisperings of some long-dead bard that he scarcely noticed my entrance, and I stood there leaning against the doorframe for what seemed years, admiring with almost an artist's aptitude the way his hair glinted in the apricot-summer sunlight and his waistcoat seemed to match his eyes and my Persian rugs and the tulips in the blue china jar on the mantle. It was no wonder Basil saw so much in him; such opportunity lay in those blooming features, such open curiosity that one could satiate with whatever one fancied. But Basil was, by his nature, weak and easily dazzled, prepared to bow to the first stronger personality that came his way. He would ruin the boy, make him frail, feeble, leave him oblivious to his own extraordinary beauty that could bend the will of the world with the lift of a flawless finger. I must rescue the lad, I decided, as Dorian raised a hand to turn a transparent, yellow stained page and subsequently resettled himself. No, I must do more than that; I must dominate him, and teach him how to dominate others, surrender them to his every lovely whim.

I came up softly behind him and placed my hands on his shoulders, kneading the muscles soothingly as they tightened under my unexpected weight. His mouth came open in a perfect O, and the ragged volume all but tumbled from his white hands and down onto the plush carpet before him.

"L-lord Henry!" He laughed faintly and made to stand, but I pushed him back down with a gentle grip that couldn't be denied. "How late you are!"

I shrugged. "Punctuality is the thief of time," I murmured, letting my fingers toy with the gold broach that shimmered against his pale throat. He rolled his head back, exposing more of his smooth skin to me. I couldn't help but smile and brushed my hands against him.

"I was so bored waiting for you! I even stooped so low as to study some tome of poetry you left here on the table."

"Stooped, Dorian? You seemed quite captivated while you were reading."

He blushed and laughed again. "Yes, perhaps I was, but not because I wanted to be. It's all your fault, Henry! There seems to be nothing about you that couldn't captivate me."

"Nothing? Well then, perhaps I should give you something worthy of your fascination." With that I bent and brushed my lips against his, pulling away momentarily to study his face.

One could drown in the boyish wonder that filled his eyes. I smiled and kissed him again.

Ah, poor Basil would be so jealous, I thought as the red mouth moved softly against mine. I must remember to give him the every detail upon our next meeting.

My hands strayed down to work the slender muscles of his chest, and I began to walk around to stand before him, kneeling so close that I could feel the heat coming off his trembling body. With an aching deliberateness that made us both shiver, I ran my tongue over his bottom lip. Obediently, he let his lips part and I invaded his mouth, my senses overwhelmed by the perfection in front of me. I could smell the sweet purple iris pinned to his lapel, the soft, brassy scent of his face powder, the cologne of heavy claret wines that still clung to his lips from the night before. Silky fabric rippled under my hands, smooth embroidery swept against my palms, golden hair tangled between my fingers. He responded to every movement, every touch, leaning deeper against me, moaning as my tongue grappled with his. Finally we broke away for air, and the wonder in his face had been replaced with foolish anxiety.

"Henry… no… we can't do this." I looked at him squarely.

"Why?" My hands ambled down, fingers dancing against his spine. He sighed and arched his back.

"You… you're married! I don't want anything to do with your infidelity."

I laughed aloud and gave another kiss to the wine-red mouth. "Infidelity is the only true form of faithfulness."

He shuddered as my fingers moved even further down to play with the hem of his waistcoat, un-tucking it in the process. "Your theories are absolutely poisonous, Harry. What if we're seen? What if we're found out? People will talk!"

"The only thing worse than being talked about…" The fingers slipped under the fabric of his silken trousers, "is not being talked about." I bent my head and buried my nose in the soft flesh of his thigh. He gasped and tried to squirm away, but only managed to corner himself against the armrest of the couch. I smiled and wrapped one hand around his slender hips. "You know that."

"Harry, we can't! Agh!" He squealed as my head moved higher up and my warm breath prickled across his groin. "Harry, no! Harry-" I tugged the trousers and underclothes down in one adroit motion, immensely pleased with the growing erection I was causing. I put up one finger and stroked it lightly, listening with delight to the groaning now interspersed amid weak protests. "This is wrong! We… I… ah…" His eyes closed against the heat between us.

"Dorian, the only way to rid oneself of temptation is to yield to it; it is the only manner by which to keep oneself truly moral."

I ran my tongue up and down the hardened skin teasingly before sliding him into my mouth. He groaned especially loudly and reached for the back of my head, compelling us closer together, forcing more and more of himself inside. "Don't talk of morality now," he whispered, his teeth gritted. "Morality… has nothing to do with this." He moaned as my head began to bob rhythmically and his grip tightened. "Oh, God!" He shifted, trying to get further in, and I dragged one leg out from under him to drape about my shoulders. He hardened with each pass, his body moving in time with mine, and I could feel him already on the edge, prepared to go over. With a wicked smile I pulled away, Dorian looking for all the world as though I had just stolen a plaything from a small child.

"Wh-why did you stop?" he hissed through ragged breaths. I grinned.

"My, weren't you the one the one who was begging me not to begin in the first place?" He only glared at me, so I continued, "You're right, of course, Dorian. We shouldn't be doing this. I am so sorry to have put you through this whole ordeal. Perhaps it would be best if we parted ways for a bit, try and cool our heads." I ran a hand up his quivering thigh. "Perhaps more than just our heads."

"You aren't serious?"

"I am quite serious, Dorian. I shall see you Tuesday; we promised to dine with the Duchess, remember. Eight o'clock." I stood up and turned halfway before his agitated voice brought me back. It took conscious effort not to smile at the frantic, half-naked figure lounging before me, damp with sweat and pulling hysterically at his already disheveled hair. There was a wild look in his eyes that told me all previous objections had been revoked.

"Harry, you can't just leave me!" He leaned forward and took my hand in a grip that suggested he was trying to break it. "I… I need you! Don't you dare leave; I should never forgive you if you left!"

"What would you suggest I do, then?" In answer he yanked me forward and mashed his mouth against mine, a needy, deprived tongue forcing its way inside. It was a moment before I recovered enough to realize that nimble fingers were already relieving me of my jacket and blouse. I tried to keep the laughter out of my voice. "My dear Dorian, what are you doing?" He pushed me down on the sofa and I wrestled him under me while he simply lay there, panting and pleading with his eyes. "I don't think a boy of such principles ought to make such advances."

"Harry, I don't care. I don't care! I need you." He sighed as my hands leisurely began to unbutton his waistcoat.

"People will talk," I reminded him.

"Please, Harry, I don't care." He bucked his naked hips up to rub against mine.

"Do you know what you are asking?"

"Yes!" He wriggled his hand free and began to fumble with my gilded belt buckle.

I pulled away the waistcoat and picked uninterestedly at the chemise beneath. "You are quite certain?"

"Don't tease me, Harry, please. I'm not in the mood." The belt slithered to the ground.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Your body seems to say differently," I murmured, stroking his arousal with the palm of my hand. He all but shrieked in my ear, dragging my mouth down to his once more. My trousers were halfway off, pooled about my knees. "You need me, you say?" I tugged the imported silk top over his head, and he shivered.

"Yes."

"Need me how?" I shed the remainder of my clothes and brought devilish fingers up to brush against his perfect lips. He tried to catch them in his mouth, but I pulled away. "Need me how?" I repeated.

He grabbed my wrist and forced the trailing fingers through his warm, bruised, perfect lips. I made no objection, but only laughed and ran my free hand through his flax-blond hair. At a wordless command he began to suck on them, running his tongue up and down each elongated digit as I positioned him under me, spreading his legs apart and settling his head on the armrest. Then I slid them out again and brought them to his entrance before thinking better of it and using first my tongue instead to wet the tender skin. He squealed at the unexpected sensation, and I blew on the spot gently as I pushed the first finger inside.

"Ah," I murmured, "a virgin." He tried to shake his head, but I knew better; the mere tightness of his body around the intrusion spoke volumes. I slid in the next finger. "We all were, once, weren't we?" I wondered aloud, stretching the digits apart. "Naïve children, who knew nothing of the pain or please that lay just within the sinner's reach… if only they would ask." The third finger made its way in. "If only they knew how." A fingernail grazed across a certain spot, and he cried out, hips rearing eagerly upward. I gave him that same devil's smile and tore my hand away, watching as he writhed under the weight of the sudden emptiness.

I caught his eye and he blushed, obediently moving his legs further apart. I pressed myself against him and lingered there, eyes flickering over the unblemished face that would soon be twisted in the agony of ecstasy, but that now only held a breathless expression of anticipation for what was to come. I smiled.

"The first taste of wine is the most delightful," I assured him, and in one fluid motion I was entirely inside of him. A trembling cry broke from trembling lips, and tears pooled in the edges of clear eyes.

"Oh, God!"

I put a single finger up to his mouth, and for the longest time he simply lay beneath me, shivering, whimpering, becoming accustomed to the sensation of being breached.

"How does it feel, Dorian?" I breathed in his ear. "How does it feel?" Without waiting for an answer I began to move, excruciatingly slowly, relishing the sounds that poured from his mouth. "How does it feel to have someone else inside of you – so deep inside they can discern your breath," I slammed into him harshly and he yelped, "your heartbeat," another rough thrust, "the very essence of all that you are…?" We began to move together and his gorgeous eyes closed against the pleasure, already brimming with tears of rapture.

"F-faster," he whimpered, putting up blind hands to wrap around my wrists. "Faster…" Instead I slowed suddenly and slid my hands down to angle his hips. "No, Harry, go faster. Don't stop."

"You'll like this, Dorian," I promised, gifting his mouth with an almost tender kiss to silence the oppositions. "You'll like this very much." I lifted his hips a little more and thrust myself in, drinking the sight and sounds of the boy beneath me. He simply screamed, the nails of one hand digging into the fragile skin of my wrist, the other reaching up to grasp at my hair.

"There, there!" He shrieked, bucking and writhing unabashedly. "Oh, God, God, right there!"

I smirked and found a rhythm, sliding back and forth through the vast, quavering heat that surrounded me, and listened to him scream my name over and over again. I reached between us and stroked his arousal with a rough hand; he arched up into my touch, moaning. He seemed quite unable to breathe, and I was almost afraid he would faint from lack of oxygen. I took my hand away from his waist and wrapped it gently about the back of his neck, caressing his throat with my thumb, a silent gesticulation of comfort. With that one touch his entire body seized as he reached a climax, moaning somewhere in the back of his throat as I finished seconds later. I continued to move for a minute or so, surging back and forth softly, and he simply lay under me, panting for breath, his fingers still tangled in my hair. At last I pulled away, inching the boy's lethargic body off of my own. His eyes flickered open, glazed over with the embers of desire.

"Harry…" he whispered. His voice was hoarse from screaming. "I… I love you."

I laughed as I stood to retrieve my garments from the floor. "My dear boy, don't say nonsense you don't mean; you shall regret it in the morning."

"No, Harry, I mean it!" He grabbed my wrist in mid-motion, and I stopped to look at him. "I do, I love you. Please don't laugh," he made a face, and I had to chuckle again at the beautiful, child-like defiance. "I know you think it horrid of me to say so, but I can't help it! Please don't mock me; you've loved before, have you not?"

Fully dressed, I produced a cigarette from the pocket of my waistcoat and lit it. Then I turned and looked at him, a beautiful son of Love and Death stretched out naked on the embroidered chaise, sweat still shimmering on his white skin, the musk of yearning still heavy about him. Languidly I blew a ring of smoke across his divine body, watching as he closed his exhausted eyes and leaned back, allowing the ashen halo to encircle his head. "I should not go so far as to say I have been in love. I have wanted, lusted, and that is all."

"Harry… is that all I am? Am I nothing more to you than a mad desire, a burning passion that's gone again now it's all over?"

"Dorian, you think me so shallow? No; I have much more control of myself than that. You, Dorian, are a mad desire that has been burning for a long, long time." I leaned forward and kissed him, but he pushed me away. I sat back, smirking. "You are young, that's all. Soon you'll discover the infatuations you hold are nothing more than shadows, fleeting, intangible devils that whisper soft deceits in your ear that sound oh so true in the dark of the night and then disintegrate with the dawn. Lust is one thing, but love! That is something different entirely."

"But you… you told me once you were fond of me."

"I am, terribly fond of you – you remind me of myself. I am everything a friend and aficionado should be towards you, but I do not love you, no. Why should I? You deserve better than love." I moved closer until my mouth was mere centimeters from his ear. "You deserve to know the reality of life, of sensation. You deserve to know how to enjoy the knowledge of your emotions, rather than be thrown at their mercy as so many are. You deserve to be taught the truths brought about by this gilded, golden age of hedonism, and I can teach you, if you'll let me." He shuddered as my breath ghosted over his face.

"What would you teach me…?" he whispered. I smiled.

"Everything. I would take you out of the bleeding gloom that is today's morality, shine a spotlight on you, reveal you to the world and the world to you. There is so much I could show you…" I kissed him deeply, and he did not pull away.

"I want to learn," he breathed when we separated. I smiled again and stubbed out the cigarette.