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Basil's concentration is stirred when Dorian, who has been sitting obediently for the past two hours or so, breaks his pose to stretch and yawn. Basil fixes him with a glare over the canvas and Dorian offers a timid smile in response.

"Sorry, Basil," he says, rubbing his eyes, "but I've--"

"Don't do that! You'll make your eyes puffy!"

"--been sitting for ages. Surely you've almost finished by now?"

"Not remotely," Basil says distractedly, squinting through his glasses as he fusses over something or other on the canvas. Dorian fails to suppress a sigh of exasperation. "All right", Basil relents, cleaning the brush he had been using, "what o'clock is it? We'll have lunch, if you want to take a break so badly."

"Not only a break, Basil! I couldn't possibly sit any longer to-day!"

"You must if I'm ever to finish this painting."

By the intake of his breath, Dorian appears to consider saying something, but he instead closes his mouth and crosses the room in a few long strides.

"Wha- what are you-" Basil asks as Dorian begins to tug at his shirt collar. He clears his throat, realizing he never finished his sentence. "-doing?" he adds belatedly, blindly placing the paintbrush in his hand on the table nearby. He feels compelled to keep his breath shallow, with Dorian's face being only a few inches from his own, and it causes him to become light-headed.

"It's been annoying me all day," Dorian says as his long white fingers undo Basil's necktie with the intention of tying it properly. "Really, Basil, you become quite a mess when you're engrossed in your work."

Basil manages a weak laugh. "W-wouldn't you like something to, um, to eat? You must be famished. I can call Parker-"

"I suppose I shall have to sit for you again, then, if it means I can have your whole attention back when the painting's finished," Dorian muses, ignoring what Basil had said. He looks up from Basil's chest to meet his gaze and Basil's heart quickens at the glint of mischief in Dorian's eyes. "Or, I could..."

"You could...?" Basil asks, though he's sure he'll be unable to hear Dorian's answer over his own thoughts, rushing through his mind like a particularly tempestuous ravine. Surely he's getting his hopes up, misreading the situation entirely? He doesn't quite believe this is happening, it's all rather suspiciously dream-like.

Dorian carefully studies Basil's face as he considers his next action. Could he really commit such a sin? And worse, take Basil to Hell with him! But this doesn't feel sinful or shameful. It feels like- like fate. Dorian's never felt so certain about anything. Still, he couldn't possibly... And yet...

Dorian finds himself removing Basil's glasses and setting them down beside his brushes on the table. His hands then settle on Basil's waist to pull him closer. Basil exhales sharply, his own arms hanging uselessly at his sides as he dares to glance at the curves of Dorian's lips. There's little space left between them, the air thick with the scent of paint and the flowers in Basil's garden, and it's hard to breathe. Dorian is sure he'll suffocate if he doesn't cut the tension, so when Basil parts his lips, he takes it as permission to just kiss him already.

Basil melts into the kiss, his hands coming up to frame Dorian's face then run through his hair. It's intense at first, but then Dorian's nerves and the thrill of sin are replaced with a feeling of content, and Basil stops wondering whether this is truly happening or not - or rather, he stops caring. If this is a dream, he's going to make the most of it.

Dorian hesitantly opens his mouth, and Basil's tongue immediately meets his. He groans softly and begins to slowly guide Basil backwards until the backs of his knees hit the sofa. As Basil falls, he pulls Dorian down on top of him, his hands untucking Dorian's shirt to touch the warm, pale skin beneath. He pauses when he begins to run his hand up Dorian's back and feels the raised lines of some sort of scar.

"Pay no mind to my scars," Dorian says, removing his mouth from Basil's to press gentle kisses to his neck. "They are ugly, and I won't allow you to concern yourself with ugly things."

Basil obediently slides his hands from Dorian's back to his chest and Dorian recaptures Basil's lips between his own. Basil explains when he has breath to spare that surely even Dorian's imperfections are more beautiful than the most exotic of flowers. He seizes Dorian's hips and runs his thumbs over the sharp bones there as they continue to devour each other.

Regrettably, they have to pull apart for air eventually. Dorian returns to mouthing Basil's neck, gently nibbling every so often. Basil sighs. He could never have predicted this morning at breakfast before Dorian arrived that he'd ever live out this fantasy, much less that Dorian would initiate it. He doesn't think on it long, though. Besides, before his mind can wander any further, Dorian's tongue flattens out against his neck and he simply has to kiss him again.

"I've wanted this since the day I met you," Basil mumbles as the kiss becomes more a shared breath than lips brushing. "You're my muse, Dorian, which I can't thank you enough for."

He blushes at his own words as they are a love confession of sorts. Dorian laughs, but it isn't a cruel sound - it's more musical and breathless than that. "And I'm rather taken with you, Basil," he says in return, his fingers brushing Basil's side as he moves his hips against him. Basil moans, his eyes falling closed as he curls his hands around the backs of Dorian's thighs. Dorian repeats the motion, burying his face in Basil's neck to muffle the beautiful, desperate sounds spilling from his throat.

Both men jump, pulling away abruptly, at the sound of Basil's front door opening. Dorian looks helplessly to Basil, pushing his hair back and out of his face. Dorian, with his red lips and a blush high on his cheeks, his shirt collar in disarray much like Basil's was earlier, looks the best Basil has ever seen him.

"Go redress into your informal clothes behind the backdrop, I'll handle the guest," Basil says and Dorian lets out a shaky sigh of relief. He hesitates for a second before pressing a quick but firm and lingering kiss to Basil's mouth, then climbs off to go compose himself away from the prying eyes of servants and guests.

"To be continued, Basil Hallward?" he calls once he's out of sight, delighted at his own forwardness.

"Of course!" cries Basil with a grin before turning to Parker, who has appeared in the doorway of the studio.

Dorian has never been so glad he allowed Basil to paint his portrait: the reward is worth the sitting.