maskormenacelogs | all that we lost sits before us shattered into ash

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all that we lost sits before us shattered into ash

WHO: Dorian Gray & Yuri Petrov
WHERE: Yuri's apartment
WHEN: forward-dated to 8am, Saturday Nov. 22
WHAT: back from a canon update, Dorian spills the beans on his immortality to Yuri. what can possibly go wrong.
WARNINGS: possible talk about death, murder, all those fun things

This was all so damned inconvenient.

Dorian knew that he was going to have to explain how he went from 2007 to 2014 without changing. How he managed to return home for seven years and arrive like he had only aged a day. He looked young, there was such a change between ages twenty and twenty seven. And he had to tell Yuri. He had to tell Yuri before he slipped up, before he casually referenced something from 2012, before he inevitably messed up. He knew that someone would eventually ask why he was refusing any sort of cigarettes (or any sort of harder drug), why he was straying away from a particular one of his former vices. For Dorian knew himself. And he knew that he couldn't simply pretend that he had decided not to talk to anyone for a day, he knew he couldn't simply pretend that he hadn't gone home.

And besides...he had recently regained his body. His voice, his body, his youth, those things belonged to him again, he could control them again, he could speak, he could touch, he could do all the things that he never knew he would missed during what seemed like an eternity in that rotting house in Mayfair, flitting around like a spirit (not like a spirit, he briefly corrected himself, as a spirit. For that's what he was.)

He briefly felt guilty that he first wasn't heading to Kate, wasn't heading to Dio. They were special, of course. And he enjoyed both of their companies. But, still practically drunk on the ecstasy of regaining what he thought he had lost, Dorian wanted to go to Yuri first, to go to the one who he still hadn't fully possessed, who he hadn't entirely made his own yet. After all, he could take on the world right now.

As he reached Yuri's apartment, Dorian rapped on the door, thankful that he still remembered his way to there. So many things were coming back to him, flitting through his brain like muscle memory. Faces that he had forgotten back home (but how could he forget those faces? How could he forget those names, he didn't forget. He never forgot.) Terms and directions that made absolutely no sense to him back home were suddenly gaining meaning. It had hit him all at once, like someone throwing a photo album at him, and now Dorian was paging through the album, getting inspired by names and faces, reliving memories that he had almost forgot.

Impatient, Dorian knocked on the door again, partly just to feel the sensation as his knuckles connected with the wood. "Yuri, it's me."

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Seven years, Dorian had said; he'd found himself returned to his world and seven years had passed. People came and went all the time, of course. The Porter sent them home and brought them back, more impulsive than most teenagers. Yuri was not surprised to learn that Dorian Gray was one of the people who had eventually left only to find their way back again because, eventually, it was bound to happen to most of them.

No, what was surprising was just how unchanged Dorian was.

Upon opening the door and admitting the other man into his apartment, Yuri had not expected to see Dorian exactly as he remembered him, a young man of twenty-something, possessing an almost ethereal sort of beauty, never mind that curious agelessness he'd recalled having noticed when they'd first met face-to-face. He'd expected somebody seven years older, because that was the natural thing to expect.

Dorian was definitely not seven years older. In fact, he didn't even appear to be seven months older.

But for all that Yuri was inwardly troubled by that realization, outwardly he was the very picture of composed.

"The tea is ready. Come in."

Dorian knew what Yuri had to be thinking. After all, he had calculatedly told him about the seven year gap before they met face to face. "You're doing a marvelous job of hiding your shock," Dorian dryly responded, as he walked into the apartment. At least, Yuri was doing a better job of hiding his shock than Dorian was of hiding his desire. His eyes virtually undressed Yuri as he looked over the man, lingering on his face, lingering on his skin, trying to hide the fact that more than anything right now, Dorian just wanted physical contact.

"I owe you an explanation," he remarked, looking over at Yuri. As if that wasn't the most obvious thing ever. He owed Yuri plenty of explanations, and was only giving the man the barest details of one. "But first, that tea you mentioned. I haven't had a cup in ages."

And surely any sort of talk about his immortality and lack of aging could be put on hold for a minute or so, as Dorian had a well-needed cup of tea.

"I have had plenty of practice," answered Yuri as he shut the door. Of course, in all his years, he had never encountered anyone who had simply resisted the flow of time quite like Dorian had. To be true, it was something that Yuri found to be as unsettling as it was intriguing.

The explanation as to why that was the way things were would come in due time, however. First, the promised tea.

Leading Dorian to the dining area, he instructed the man to take a seat before heading into the kitchen. He returned but a few moments later holding two steaming cups of chai, the aroma wafting from each rich in cinnamon, rose, vanilla, cardamom, and coconut. One cup was set before Dorian, and as Yuri took a seat opposite the other man, he set his own cup before himself.

"Well, I dare say...you have my complete attention."

As the smell of the chai hit his nose, Dorian visibly relaxed, like someone had flipped a switch to casual. That smelled delicious. And he hadn't fully realized just how much he wanted something to drink until now. Dorian watched from his seat, like an eager child who had spotted mom bringing dessert from the kitchen, practically grabbing the teacup from Yuri's hands as he came close.

Without waiting for it to cool down more, Dorian took a long, large sip. A small smile spread on his face as he drunk the tea. Oh that was good. That was so good. It was just a cup of tea, he knew that much, but it was so relaxing and so good. He took another smaller sip of the chai, trying to relax, trying to pace himself, trying not to just drink the whole thing then and there, like he wanted to do. For once in your life, Dorian, pace yourself. The tea would taste even better if he didn't wolf it all down like a prisoner who had just been released from jail, enjoying his first meal in ages on the outside...despite the fact that he essentially was a newly released prisoner.

"You know how I said that I was named after Oscar's Dorian Gray?" he calmly stated, sinking down into the chair, just enjoying the feel of sitting, of doing things. "Sorry, but that was a lie. I am Dorian Gray, immortal and never changing. I knew Oscar Wilde--my story inspired his work, putting my life into fiction." He took another sip of the chai, just enjoying the feel of the hot tea running down his throat. How could he ever have thought to give something like that up? What a sanctimonious prick he had been.

"I've lived over a hundred and fifty years and I've seen so much during that time." He couldn't help but smirk slightly, setting the cup down for a moment. "It's fitting that seven years for me was just...what, forty-eight hours for you? I don't know how long I've been gone, just that it wasn't for too long."

Ah, yes...

Yuri had wondered, hadn't he? When he'd first come upon that book, when he'd turned its pages, the story within unfolding—he had wondered if that Dorian Gray was this Dorian Gray, and had even thought that the possibility of it all being a mere coincidence was too slim a chance to be worth considering.

In the time that followed, however, the young man hadn't truly lived up to his namesake, at least not as far as Yuri had been aware. The judge had begun running out of reasons to suspect Dorian of the terrible acts his written counterpart had committed. At the end of the day, Dorian was in Yuri's eyes just a crude, egotistical, and incredibly spoiled individual—

—until he'd finally confessed to being more.

"I hadn't actually noticed you were missing." He had, in fact, but Dorian didn't need to know that. "I presumed you were, as usual, busy with one thing or another. It isn't my place to keep tabs on you."

He took a sip of his tea before setting it down softly atop the table. He enjoyed it, but nowhere near as openly as Dorian did himself.

The Dorian Gray. The very same? The lecherous, hedonistic, morally reprehensible—the one responsible for all those heinous misdeeds and sinful acts...practically gift wrapped and sitting across from him. And Yuri could do nothing...not yet. He needed to know more. And needed to buy time, besides.

"If I asked, would you tell me how much of Oscar Wilde's version was true?"

A brief flash of annoyance flits across Dorian's face--because what? Surely had had to have noticed that Dorian was missing. He was gone for a whole day. Why didn't Yuri notice that? However, a brief sip of the tea helped to calm his annoyance. It really was good, and something he had missed for so long.

And then they hit that question. Ah. The question that he knew was coming and didn't really want to answer. Truth be told, there was too much of him in Wilde's Dorian. The story was mostly similar, with only a few minor changes--and even then, some of the major changes, Dorian didn't figure out until years later (the supposed fate of Alan Campbell sprung to his mind at first). Still, there wasn't any way that he could get through this without admitting that yes, there was some of Wilde in him and him in Wilde, that he wasn't the simple vain twenty-something that he knew Yuri thought he was.

Still, Yuri must have seen. He must have known that there was more to Dorian that met the eye, right?

"By phrasing it like that, you're already asking me," Dorian responded, with a small little smirk. "And the answer is yes, I would. There's a fair amount of crossover between Wilde's Dorian and me. The people that Oscar had the courtesy to make fiction: Basil, Henry, Sibyl-" his voice hitched the briefest amount as he said Sibyl's name. That's the one that Yuri wouldn't forgive him for. "They're as real to me as I am to you."

Yuri lifted his cup to his lips and took from it a very long drink.

The red on Dorian's hands was beginning to show. He had hurt so many people, and had been indirectly responsible for the misfortune that had befallen so many more...and all the while, that truth had just been one version. Dorian, if his claims were true, had lived for one hundred fifty years. How many more lives had he taken, had he led to ruin in that time? How many more sins had he committed?

Yuri had scarcely met anymore more deserving of receiving his idea of justice before.

"And what of their fates, Dorian?" He lowered his cup, but not his gaze, holding the other man's intently. "Are those also real?"

Here we go. This was his true colors starting to show, the lies starting to unravel, Yuri starting to learn the truth. There wasn't any way he'd be able to go back to what was, to their peaceful web of lies. And honestly? Dorian didn't care. He was so wrapped up in being alive again, in what he had done in order to be alive, that spilling his secrets didn't matter. At least one person here needed to know who he was, what he was capable of, what he had done. It might as well be Yuri.

"Most of them are. And...the ones that Oscar got right did include Basil and Sibyl." His words were almost nonchalant as he said their names, as if relating something that happened to somebody else, instead of relating something that he had done himself. Basil Hallward, the man that Dorian had murdered. Sibyl Vane, the woman that he might as well have murdered, with his words and his tone. The ones that Yuri had to be the most curious about, the ones that he knew the man wanted to hear about. Dorian took a sip of the tea.

"You amass a staggering amount of skeletons in the closet when you've lived as long as I have."

"Yes, I suppose time lends itself rather willingly to depravity."

Not that time was solely to blame. Yuri knew better than most that a man could turn just as heinous in the span of one year as he could given the span of ten or even one hundred. Humanity's capacity for evil knew no bounds; never had it failed to sicken him.

Another sip of his tea and Yuri found his cup surprisingly drained. He set it aside and folded his hands before him.

"I have to know, what happened in those seven years for you to suddenly need to tell me any of this?" Surely Dorian wouldn't protest the validity of the question. After all, Yuri was a judge where he came from. Dorian had to know that this confession came with some risks, even if he had no way of knowing the greatest among them.

"What happened was I-I died." It was hard saying it. It was hard saying those words, getting it out, telling Yuri just what had happened. "I made a stupid decision that I thought would save somebody and I died." Because it was a stupid decision. A stupid decision based entirely out of impulse. So he saved Constance's soul, but did he really want to. After what that woman had done to him, after what she had put him though, why should he save her soul in the first place? She didn't deserve it. It was just a misguided attempt at Dorian being a good person, being someone who cared and helped and did nice things.

Well he wasn't that person. He wasn't caring, he wasn't helpful, and he certainly wasn't nice. His time alone, haunting the house had taught him that much.

"I stabbed my portrait, attacking it with a paring knife, and I died." All said so matter-of-factly. "But I didn't stay dead. Oh no. Instead, I somehow became a ghost, trapped in that portrait, haunting my house for what seemed like an eternity." He didn't have to tell Yuri the whole story. He didn't have to tell him about how he regained his body back home, not when he had the Porter to conveniently shuffle blame off onto.

The portrait.

Of course!

If there was any way at all to kill Dorian Gray the immortal, it was through the destruction of the portrait Basil Hallward had painted of him all those years ago. However, if for whatever reason the attempt failed, there was the minute possibility that Yuri would find himself saddled with yet another ghostly complication.

Curiously enough, the Manipulator had proven himself capable of keeping the secret of Yuri's identity as Lunatic, but that was because they shared the same goal: the Manipulator's death. But if in attempting to make Dorian atone Yuri was unsuccessful, not only would Yuri's cover be blown, but he would likely have one very pissed off ghost on his hands and out for his blood.

Which, of course, didn't matter one lick if he couldn't get close to that portrait to begin with.

"Living is not meant to be easy...but I think you possess a certain knack for making it much more difficult than it needs to be." Yuri slowly stood. "Telling me this, of all people...I should end this thing between us. I should throw you out. But I'm not going to."

At Yuri's words, Dorian couldn't help but smile slightly, taking a long sip of the tea as he did so, finishing off the mug. That was precisely what he wanted to here. Completely unexpected, of course, but precisely what he wanted. Perhaps he had worked his way into Yuri's thoughts more than he gave himself credit for. If so, how wonderful was that.

"Thank you," Dorian said, with a small nod. "You don't know how much it means that I've actually sat down and talked about this with someone." Because there's no way he'd talk about it with just anyone. Oh no. This was too delicate a subject just to bring up in casual conversation. Hello there, I'm Dorian Gray, yes that Dorian Gray, and I've killed so many people, ruined so many lives during my lifetime? No thanks.

Pushing his chair in, Dorian walked around the table towards Yuri. He had gotten this out of his system. He had told the man. And now that he had his body again, how he wanted to use it. "The fact remains though, that I haven't been with somebody in ages." As he walked behind the man, Dorian attempted to drape himself over Yuri, resting his head on the other man's shoulder. "Care to change that?"

How miserable he felt, presenting himself as both absorbed and attainable, his shoulders forced to resist the shudder that struggled desperately to claim them under Dorian's modest weight—but Yuri did not pull away for all that he wanted to.

"For what it's worth, you've exhibited better tendencies this side of the Porter."

It was true, he had. The robberies aside, Dorian hadn't left a trail of broken hearts in his wake here, not yet. Neither were there any broken bodies, at least none that Yuri knew about. In fact, if Dorian had told his story to anyone else, he might genuinely have been forgiven for his past transgressions. But Yuri's willingness to turn a blind eye...that was perfectly fictitious.

"That, coupled with your honesty, undoubtedly deserves some reward."

Better tendencies? Dorian wasn't entirely sure what to think about that. The only reason he had exhibited better tendencies was because he was satiated. He had Kate and Dio, he had a job that he enjoyed, he was starting up his painting again...he was fine. He knew that eventually he wouldn't be, but now? He was content.

"Also for what it's worth, I've had a hundred or so years between then and now." While he still was the same Dorian who killed Basil Hallward, he was also a Dorian with a hundred plus years of extra life experience. But enough about that. Yuri mentioned a reward. Dorian would snatch that reward as fast as he could.

"I know exactly what kind of reward I want to claim." Moving off of Yuri's shoulders, he squatted down, making it so he was eye level with the man. Without waiting for Yuri to say anything, Dorian leant in, attempting to kiss the man square on the lips.

Without a word, Yuri rose from the chair to his full height and met Dorian's lips forcefully on the way.

For now, however, that would be the only forceful thing about their encounter. For all that Lunatic was responsible for fiery and violent ends, Yuri himself was not a physically aggressive person. Whether he liked it or not, Dorian would find that, at least in Yuri's bed—if they managed to make it that far without either one of them ruining the moment—he would be treated with doting levels of attentiveness and care. The judge was nothing if not a careful and deliberate man, after all.

As they kissed, Dorian pulled himself closer to Yuri, moving a hand up to the man's hair in the process, running a finger through a strand of it that he had gently freed from his tied back hair. There we go. This was what he wanted. And this was what he was getting.

The kiss was different from the one they'd shared in the park, more intense in their allotted privacy than it had opportunity to become someplace more public. But intense didn't have to mean intimate. It was a price to pay, a means to an end and nothing more—as Yuri's hands found the buttons on the front of Dorian's shirt and began to push them one-by-one through the holes, it was to him but a foot in the door to keep it from closing.

As Yuri's hands went to Dorian's shirt, Dorian's almost instantly went to the man's pants, trying to undo Yuri's belt while still kissing the man harder, more intensely, enjoying the moment and enjoying the promise of what (he hoped) would come afterwards.

Yuri allowed Dorian to loosen his belt, but no more. As the kiss was broken, he caught the other man's hands in the instant they made toward his zipper and he pushed them gently away. "Not here," he said, and with a nod, he indicated a door behind them and just off the main living area. Dorian would get precisely what he wanted, what was promised him, but only on Yuri's terms: in the bedroom where this sort of thing belonged.

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all that we lost sits before us shattered into ash

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