~Damnable Mistake~
Author: RagnarokSkurai
Pairing: Tom/Dorian
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Series of drabbles that sort of make up a fic all together. A 500 word on a Tom's biggest mistake about Dorian, a 150 on a missing scene between Dorian and Mina, another 150 on Tom receiving a letter, and lastly a 500 on Dorian thinking of Tom. Whew. Think that's it?
It shouldn't have mattered so much. Tom Sawyer had never been one to turn down a good romp of any kind, between the sheets or no. Some things you did to get done, some you did so you could say you'd done, but some you did because you wanted to do them. Sleeping with Dorian had been pretty much all three.
There was that something about him of course. The knowledge, that under all the money and polish was steel. Never broken, never bending, always there. Tom never did find out how old he had been. Something else he would never be able to drag out of Dorian. Dorian's secrets had Tom occupied for a time. To find him browsing in Nemo's library and sneak up upon him, glancing over his shoulder and asking exactly what the hell he was reading. Trick stories and names and places out of him. Seeing the world through Dorian's eyes.
Then of course there were the in bedroom sessions. Trading word for word, thrust for thrust. Back and forth and back and forth, a meeting of words and minds and bodies. Tom found nothing wrong with fucking until dawn and sleeping until noon. Dorian was similarly inclined. If he had woken up in Dorian's arms, well, the bed really had only been so big.
Tom couldn't exactly pin the moment he has started watching Dorian. And in doing so, had stopped watching him at all. He couldn't help feel that he was so busy contemplating Dorian that he'd let down his guard. He never let his guard. But he had. No way to take it back either. He almost got everyone killed because he was thinking with the wrong head. A mistake, a damnable one, but not half as bad as another one he thinks he made. He can't be sure but?
Well, look at it the way he was. If he'd felt a stab to the gut when he figured out that Dorian had slept with Mina it was because a lover deserved at least some measure of respect, didn't they? It wasn't like there were even that many people on the fucking Nautilus. And if he had felt grief when he learned that Dorian had died it was simply because it had been a waste of a perfectly good life, despite what Dorian had done. There are very few people that truly deserve to die and Tom isn't so sure Dorian was one of them. Dorian had sold them out for the one thing he would have done anything for and if the Devil came dancing on Tom's doorstep he's not so sure he'd be able to turn him down.
Then of course it seemed like his stomach had done funny things every time had Dorian smiled. Damn it, he barely out of adolescence. It was hormones. Nothing more. Because if it hadn't been hormones then it had been love, and that didn't even bear thinking about. That was a damnable mistake.
~~~~~~~
He was going to die. It was an unusual feeling for Dorian Gray, one that he'd never felt before. One he thought he'd never have. But now it was here and he knew he had a few seconds before Mina killed him. A very precious few indeed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a note, a little something he had written. Just in case.
"Take it to him?"
"What makes you think I owe you anything?"
"You don't," he said simply. "For him?"
"That was a low card to play Dorian."
"It was the only one I had." So. The Death of Dorian Gray. At the most inopportune of times, at that. He struggled vainly with the blade as Mina ripped off the paper around the portrait. It had been futility after all. He should have known. All he'd had before was time, and now he had none.
~~~~~~~
After the funeral Mina had placed a folded piece of parchment in his hand.
"From Dorian," she said plainly, and walked away.
Tom looked down at the scrap fearfully. Just a little scrap of paper. Nothing to be scared of. Paper and ink. Then again, Dorian's portrait had been canvas and paint, and that had indeed been something to fear.
He walked back to his room and poured himself a drink. Then another one. Tom had learned long ago to hold his whiskey. It would take quite a bit to make him piss drunk and he wished he were well on his way. He'd be working on it.
He fingered the paper gently. Oh hell. Dorian himself had no magic other than his immortality. He was no African shaman, no traitaur of the bayou. What did Tom have to fear?
He read the letter. Poured himself another drink. And cried.
~~~~~~~
Dorian wasn't quite sure why he was writing this. Why he was indulging in this? this feeling of foreboding? Perhaps because he didn't get this feeling very often. Perhaps because he often indulged himself. It evened out.
Now. What was he to write? How was he to write about what he did not fully understand? Well. He'd manage.
Tom,
If you're reading this then it would seem I am more mortal than not. A pity, that. Could have been interesting to live forever. I've seen a lot of things. I would have liked to see more. For instance, this Mississippi you speak so much of. Thought I wasn't listening, didn't you? Ah Tom, I always listen to what interests or intrigues me. You do both. Or did both, I suppose I should say. How odd to be writing as if one were dead.
But back to where I want to be heading. There is a particular quote I found in a book in Nemo's library the other day. // The years keep coming and going / Men will arise and
depart / Only one thing is immortal / The love that is in my heart // Part of a poem by a man called Heinrich Heine. Quaint, yes? Based on this, may I assume I am immortal after all? Or perhaps that is just an assumption. One could almost call it wishful thinking, if one did not know myself the way I do. I so very rarely wish for anything.
You came to me so willingly Tom. I had expected a challenge, yet it seemed you wanted me as much as I wanted you. The first of a few blessed surprises. You kept me quite amused Tom, quite amused indeed. Do you wonder why I want you? Mostly I was bored. I needed some entertainment, and the beautiful, candid, lively man you are fascinated me. Then I was greedy. One taste wasn't enough for something that made me feel alive, for lack of a better word. Few can do that. Mina used to. I suppose you know by now I've had
her. It was? passable. Nothing like it was. Maybe even nothing like it could have been. Mayhap what I used to depend on Mina for is now yours.
I had not intended to become dependent on you. I did not intend to let you stay, to sneak up into my life and learn things about me. I never intended to tell you of my portrait. Yet I did. I did not intend to develop feeling for you, of any kind. And what is this feeling? I don't know. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I haven't the slightest idea what love is. But if I did, I think it would have a great deal to do with you.
Dorian
That was not he intended. Yet it felt oddly? right. He could think on it more later. It was a long, cold ride to the frozen North.
The End