Immortality

***
Ten

Dorian Gray was an infuriating creature.

After having sent a message on to Cardinal Jinette about a boat, Gabriel had accepted Dorian's invitation to dinner; they had sat there in the small yet exclusive restaurant in absolute silence throughout the whole meal, not even a mention of Abraham or a question as to where he was going passing his infuriating lips. Apart from the odd meal he'd shared with monks, he had to say that it was the most awkward meal he'd ever eaten.

Dorian Gray was the *most* infuriating creature. Following that long and silent meal and the long and silent walk back to their lodgings, he had asked Gabriel to his room for a nightcap; he'd poured two glasses of whiskey that he'd obviously bought earlier in the day and then proceeded to take off his shoes and to sprawl barefoot and jacketless on his cheap, musty bed, his nose in a beaten-up cope of La Divina Commedia. After that he hadn't said a word, hadn't even looked up as Gabriel had set his glass down with a clatter and stalked from the room.

Of course, Gabriel had said nothing either, but that was not the point. He clenched his teeth as he stripped off his clothes and tossed them down into the bottom of the rickety wardrobe, knowing quite gleefully despite his annoyance that he'd leave them right there and never have to wear them again. He slipped into bed and pulled up the covers, settling down for his last night in Rome. He had, much as he was loath to admit it, hoped that it might have turned out quite differently.

He could not for the very life of him figure Dorian out, and had they even had a month together, two, a year, he could see he'd never understand him. They came from very different worlds or spheres at least, despite Gabriel's vast wardrobe of clothes that so resembled his back in his London townhouse. Even despite Dorian's supernatural invulnerability, which he thought might have been the reasoning behind his avoidance of the Vatican... perhaps he hadn't said it, but it seemed that Dorian knew more of Gabriel's current occupation that he had let on.

Now he was set to leave for Transylvania, and Dorian for Paris. The feeling of loss was still there, as if knowing that he'd be without Dorian's luminous presence was somehow profoundly saddening. It hit him then that perhaps part of Dorian Gray's power was that beauty, seemingly impossible, unlike anything he'd ever seen. The unwavering innocence of his face that was so free of any trace of sin led people to believe in him; at all times Gabriel was conscious of something there beneath that face that others could not see, and that made him wary. It was a lack of wrongdoing, a void where his soul should have been, or at least a part of it.

He had never to his knowledge known anyone so disarming or so pure. And he wanted so badly to defile him, if he was going to put a name to the compulsion. He'd thought that the looks that Dorian gave him with such constancy meant that he wanted that also. Apparently though, he had read far too much into it.

He was just drifting off, though probably into a fevered and nightmarish sleep, when there came a knock on the door. He groaned and turned over and tried hard to ignore it, but the knocking was annoyingly persistent.

"Who is it?" he growled, half into the pillows.

"Dorian," came the reply.

He sighed. "What do you want?"

"Just let me in."

So he got out of bed and pulled on his trousers, buckling his belt as he walked barefoot to the door. He unlocked and opened it, rubbing his eyes. When he stepped back to let him in, Dorian kissed him. Just like that he kissed him, softly, and then drew back and closed the door behind him.

"What the hell was that?" Gabriel demanded, feeling substantially less furious than he sounded, though Dorian seemed decidedly unperturbed.

"It seemed like the thing to do," he said. "Ordinarily I don't fling myself at strange men, but considering the fact that you're leaving tomorrow on some sort of gloriously secret assignment, I didn't seem to have a choice."

"So you're... flinging yourself at me?" His tone was only slightly incredulous.

Dorian nodded. "That would seem to be accurate," he said, and laid his hand on Gabriel's bare shoulder. He flinched and stepped back, eyeing him warily. "Come, come, Gabriel - you can't say you don't want me; I've seen the way you look at me, like you'd rather enjoy eating me alive."

"You're the one who looks at *me*!" he snapped indignantly.

"Can you blame me?" Dorian stepped closer, and kept on advancing.

"Well..."

"So you *do* want me."

"This is not how I'd planned this."

"So you *planned* this?"

"That's not what I meant."

"What *did* you mean?"

"Look..."

"I *am* looking, Gabriel."

"Gah!"

And he sprang at him. His hands caught him at the shoulders and he pushed him back, hard, up against the door. It was almost like a little of the wolf was left inside him, begging to be let out, to devour Dorian Gray alive. He thought of holding back as he stood there, pinning Dorian to the door, staring into his eyes, which were as always infuriatingly calm; he wondered what it would take to force another expression to his face, to force Dorian to let go of that unsettling serenity. So he left out the wolf.

He tilted his head and dove in at Dorian's neck, fixing his hot mouth over the pulse that beat there in his jugular. His teeth grazed at Dorian's smooth skin, so much smoother than he'd imagined, and he bit down hard, tasted copper in his mouth. He looked up and Dorian smiled his vague smile; he glanced back at his throat and the wound was already healed completely. That realisation spurred him on.

His right hand snaked up over Dorian's exposed throat, back into his long hair. He took a handful of it and yanked back his head, leaning in hard against Dorian's lithe, pliant body as he brought their mouths together. There was nothing soft about the kiss; Gabriel claimed his lips roughly, with the press of lips and teeth. Had Dorian been any other man that kiss would have been bruising; as it was he let Gabriel have free rein, licking at his lips and biting, then deepening the kiss still further, sweeping into his mouth to taste the sharp tang of whiskey that he knew was mirrored in his own. And just when Dorian began to respond, when his hand left his side and went for Gabriel's bare shoulder, he drew back, very nearly breathless.

"Take off your tie," he said, in a voice that he barely recognised as his own it seemed so wild. Dorian met his gaze, a little colour in his cheeks that were usually so pale. He took off his ties and threw it onto a nearby armchair. "Now take off your shirt." So Dorian made to take off his shirt, plucking slowly - maddeningly slowly - at the buttons. Gabriel licked his teeth and stepped forward, taking Dorian by the wrists at first to stop him, then he took the two sides of the shirt in his hands and ripped it soundly apart. The noise of the ripping fabric and the click of lost buttons on the floor were like music played just for him, and Dorian seemed to be amused.

He stepped back, running his appraising eyes over Dorian's bare and flawless torso, down to the dark trail of hair that led down beneath the waist of his trousers. He smiled. "Come here," he said, and Dorian did as he was instructed, stepping forward bare-chested and barefoot, his long hair brushing at his shoulders. His eyes were darker now, as Gabriel assumed were his own. He took his quickly by the shoulders, pulled him close and kissed him again.

This time it was an altogether different experience - not in intensity on his part, but still altogether changed. His bare chest pressed to Dorian's as he pulled him in, the actions of Dorian's hands mirroring his own as he tangled them in his long hair. Their mouths joined, hard and demanding; it seemed that Dorian was intent on stealing the air from his body and his heart raced madly in response.

This was what he'd planned. No slow seduction over dinner, no nightcap in Dorian's shabby room next door, just heat and passion and animal rutting, which the tingle and heat that pooled down low in his belly, the incipient hardness down below his belt that he felt returned in Dorian, told him would be happening soon. It had been far too long and had such frustrations to unleash, release. He thought without really thinking that soon might not be soon enough.

He took Dorian by the shoulders and pushed him hard, turning, so that he fell on the musty double bed with a bounce and what sounded like a stifled laugh. He looked so utterly wanton, lying there wearing only his light grey trousers that Gabriel was sure were not proper dinner etiquette, his head tossed back as he propped himself up on his forearms. Gabriel stalked forward, watching as Dorian moved to fluidly back, up toward the headboard; he knelt on the edge of the bed, feeling it dip down with his weight, and crawled up slowly over Dorian's supine form.

"You want me to take you," he said lowly, the words definitely far from a question. His head was dipped down, tilted to his lips were right by Dorian's ear, as he knelt there leaning down between Dorian's spread thighs.

"Of course," came the hoarse, unnecessary but gratifying response. Gabriel smiled, the look almost feral, and then brought up one hand; he watched with a silent glee as Dorian's eyes widened as he stroked at the prominent bulge in his trousers. So that was the way to change his expression. He had a feeling that he could do even more.

He leant back on his calves and made light work of the fastenings of Dorian's trousers - he pulled open the flaps and pushed in his hand, his long, callused fingers curling around thee ofe of his hard cock. It seemed to him that Dorian was trying very hard not to cry out, so he squeezed a little, just hard enough to be a little painful right alongside the pleasure. Dorian moaned beneath him and Gabriel smiled. That was amusing, feeling Dorian's extremity pulsing heavy in his hand, but there was more; he wanted to make him lose the perfect control in its entirety, to rob him of it whole and not just in these separate small parts.

He pulled at the waist of Dorian's trousers, tugged and moved, contorting around him until the clothing lay on the chair across the room where he'd tossed it and Dorian himself lay there beneath him, gloriously naked. Gabriel looked over him, his sharp white teeth showing as he grinned. He ran his hands over Dorian's thighs, over his chest, plucking at his nipples as he watched his fingers curling into the sheets. Then he fumbled quickly at his belt and soon his trousers hung upon, pushed down on his hips just far enough to pull out his harness.

Dorian spread his legs wider in the anticipation of what was to come; Gabriel leant down and pulled his bag from just under the side of the bed, producing a small bottle of something clear and viscous, the primary purpose of which was, bizarrely, oiling his hat. Dorian pulled up his knees as Gabriel pulled at the stopper; in one short moment he'd spread a generous amount over his pulsing cock and discarded it to the bedside cabinet. Then he leant down, close enough that their foreheads rested together for a second.

He kissed him quickly as he pushed inside, eliciting a moan that he swallowed with great satisfaction. They'd both wanted it rough so he hadn't prepared him, and he was glad to feel the tightness, the searing heat. He let his head and his hair hang forward as he rocked, slowly, just a minute amount, until he had the control to continue. Dorian's white hands clutched almost desperately at his forearms, digging down to the point of pain as he pulled out with agonising precision, and then thrust back in with bone-jarring force.

Dorian cried out loud and he knew he'd found the angle. He drew out and thrust again and again, Dorian almost incoherent beneath him. He felt flushed, elated, spiralling higher and out of control; Dorian bucked against him, one hand straying down to his own cock that was almost trapped between them. He jerked wildly, the light from the lamps playing on his blushing skin as he glowed there, divine. When he came, in long sticky bursts that fell between them, Gabriel knew that his own release would not be long after.

He came buried inside him, up to the hilt, moaning aloud and pressing down hard against Dorian's heated body. It was heaven in that moment, inside him, his breath coming in those short, sharp gasps. He tingled. When Dorian's hand touched his face he opened his eyes, unsure when he'd closed them.

He slipped from his body and lay down beside him, regaining his breath. Dorian wiped them both off with a piece of his ruined shirt, then he put out the lamp.

Gabriel was too tired to protest. He fell asleep then, still parti dre dressed, in that bed beside Dorian Gray.

***