Title: Dorian's kind of comfort, Dorian/Tom-G R, 1/1
Author: Osiris Brackhaus (OsirisBrackhaus@aol.com) (www.morningchilde.com)
Rating: PG to R
Pairing: Dorian / Tom
Warnings: err... no sex? =D
Summary: Devastated by the death of his fatherly friend, young Tom is offered
a rather special kind of comfort by Dorian.
Timeline: LXG, slight AU (after retrieving his painting, Dorian turned against
M and didn't get killed), after Allan's funeral
Credits: To Beryll, always inspiring, my own personal muse.
----
Like a huge, fiery red eye the sun was sinking behind the N'gong mountains,
dusk drenching the roiling thunderstorm clouds at the horizon in a riot of colors.
The light increased the glow of Africa's red earth to a degree that made it
look almost surreal, together with the colorful sky a sight so intense it looked
hardly credible.
Yet the young man sitting on the balcony of his hotel room overlooking the scenery
couldn't have cared less. Actually, he hadn't even noticed.
Sitting on a chair, young agent Sawyer had propped the barrel of his Winchester
onto the balcony's railing, between a half-full glass of Whiskey and a half-empty
bottle of the same drink. Aiming in deep concentration on nothing particular,
he tried to sort out his
emotions about the loss of Allan rolling in his heart much like the clouds on
the horizon, though this particular image was completely lost on him right now.
Tom had been sitting here all afternoon since the brief ceremony this day when
they had buried Allan next to his son, and still, he couldn't put a finger on
what exactly it was that troubled him so much about the old man's death. Not
that it was an easy task, especially not after the drinks he had had in the
hotel's bar earlier on, and the missing half of the bottle's contend hadn't
vanished into the air, after all.
So when suddenly, a shadow fell onto his face, it took the young agent a while
to realize that it couldn't be the sudden African nightfall. Almost drowsy,
Tom looked up, only to find Dorian leaning against the railing, a cigarette
in his manicured fingers, a hinted
smile on his ageless lips.
"You look miserable", the immortal stated dryly, his half-smile disappearing
to reveal something that might be mistaken for genuine concern, if that hadn't
been a notion too foreign to Dorian for anybody to believe. "I was worried about
you, and your current state
seems to agree with me."
"How did you get in here?", Tom asked, his speech almost not slurred by the
alcohol. "Among decent people, locked doors mean something like 'stay out!'
."
"Probably they do, yes, among decent people." Turning around, snatching Tom's
Whiskey-glass from the railing, Dorian greeted the scenery in front of him with
a grand gesture. "Mother Africa", he declared as if staging the opening lines
of a romance novel, "where the earth beats in the thunderous rhythm of humanity's
ancestry, where the black continent's ancient magic makes the perfect background
for the white man's great adventures."
Toasting the horizon, Dorian emptied Tom's glass in a single drought and turned
around to face the young agent again. Nonchalantly, and completely ignorant
of the people on the place outside, he threw the glass over his shoulder, adding
in a soft voice: "We will all miss the old tiger, won't we?"
"Get lost", Tom snarled, "And stop pretending you'd miss anybody."
"Ouch." Completely nonplussed, Dorian took another step towards his young colleague,
stopping abruptly as Tom took his Winchester from the railing and put the barrel
right beneath the immortal's sternum. Raising his well-groomed eyebrows in amused
question, he said: "Really? Do you think it'll make you feel any better if you
ruin my suit?"
"Get lost." Underneath the blond curls hanging into his face almost like a curtain,
Tom's blue eyes blinked in tired boredom. "Just leave me alone."
"And that's going to improve what?", Dorian asked gently, and without removing
the gun pointing at his stomach, he leaned forward to take a strand of hair
out of the American's face. "Trust me, at my age, I have quite an experience
at losing people that were close to me. And just as much experience on how to
get over it."
"Dorian, I am really not interested in your advise. My way of life differs vastly
form yours."
"Oh of course. Live hard, party hard, die young and leave a pretty corpse."
"You're sick."
"No, I am actually quite fine. Perverse, that's what you wanted to say, but
even then, I would be tempted to object. I am complicated."
"You are bored." Tom set down the gun next to his chair, leaned back and grinned
mirthlessly at the immortal who for once looked neither snug nor amused. Actually,
he looked rather defiant. "You are bored to death and can't die. "
"You Americans are so blunt."
"But still right."
"So what? Did being right in this case help anybody?" Again, Dorian took another
step, his feet now almost touching the tips of Tom's shoes. The immortal bent
down, setting his hands onto the chair's armrests, his face only inches away
from the young man's nose. "Did it make you feel better to hurt me with the
truth?"
"Dorian, stop it."
"Why should I? It made you feel good to show me what a pathetic monster I have
become, didn't it? Go on, there's surely much more you'd like to tell me."
"I - no. I'm not joining you in one of your mad games."
"Not? So you're through? Then it's my turn now." Having Dorian's face so close
to his own, it struck Tom odd that he had never before realized how much the
immortals dark brown eyes sparkled with malicious intellect. "You loved the
old man. But not in the way a son loved his father, that is. At least, not in
the way it is proper in one of those decent, good christian American families
you doubtlessly grew up in."
"Fuck you, Gray." Tom was angry enough to attack the other man, but still he
was reasonable enough to remember that there was no point at all in doing so.
"What do you want?"
"Isn't that pretty obvious?" The deep, silken tone of Dorian's voice made the
young American blink nervously. "I want to express my sympathies and offer some
comfort." For a split second, Tom saw the tip of Dorian's tongue darting across
his lips, wetting them in an appetite that fatally reminded of Mina's less composed
moments. And yet, there was an unexpectedly tempting promise in the immortal's
words.
"I don't want your... kind of comfort."
"Very convincing, Tom, very convincing." Leaning forward even a bit more, until
his mouth was close to the young agent's ear and their cheeks all but touched,
Dorian whispered: "And you are sure that your body doesn't call out to mine,
that you definitely don't long for a human's touch to ease the pain you feel
inside? Can you say so without denying your precious truth?"
To his own, immense displeasure, Tom found himself not outright able to deny
Dorian's allegations. It made him furious.
"I hate you", he hissed, "you are despicable."
"Yeah. But still right, ain't I?"
Without waiting for Tom to find any words, the immortal seized the moment when
Tom was too stunned with fury and kissed him, taking the young man's head in
his hands and kissing him like he wanted to take all his fury, his pain, his
longing from him to make them disappear.
After what seemed like a small eternity to Tom, the other man let go of him,
leaving his lips alone and longing for more.
"I hate you...", the American whispered in bitter-sweet defeat.
"Ah well, you'll get over it." Dorian straightened up, checking his hair with
a gesture that spoke of ages of practice. "Boy", he added licking his lips,
looking down on the still somewhat stunned youngster with snug achievement in
his eyes, "You taste as sweet as I
thought you would." Patting Tom on the head, he turned and left for the exit,
he explained: "Which reminds me, I'll have to check what's for dinner tonight.
Yesterday's desert was utterly insufficient."
Sawyer's enraged scream contained hardly anything intelligible, and when he
emptied his gun shooting though the door that had closed behind the immortal's
back, it was to at least have a chance at ruining Dorian's suit for what he
had done to him.
The End