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"I knew that I had come face to face with some one whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself."
- Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray


"So... condom?" Avery pulled out the drawer on his nightstand. "I actually just got tested a couple weeks ago, and I'm clean. Haven't been with anyone since. Been too busy with work." He pulled out a line of condoms and wiggled it back and forth. "And, if I'm lying, you know where I live and could come kick my ass if I gave you the clap."

Pendergast didn't smile, but stared solemnly at Avery. "I trust you," he said simply.

Avery twirled the foil package in his hands, staring at the frenetic reflections of light from the bedside lamp across its metallic surface as if he was transfixed. "Yeah, okay," he finally replied, allowing the condoms to drop back into the drawer. He pulled out a small bottle of lubricant and set it on the nightstand. Then, hesitantly, he moved to stand in front of Pendergast.

"All right?" Pendergast reached up and took Avery's hands in his own.

Avery nodded. And then, abruptly, he threw his head back and laughed. "Oh man, but you know I'm not going to measure up to you, right?"

"Measure up?"

"Mm-hmm." Avery bent forward at the waist, tugging his hands away from Pendergast and moving them appreciatively to his shoulders. "All this." He squeezed Pendergast's biceps. The man was quite slender, not obviously bulky or overly muscular, but athletic and streamlined; he was obviously in good shape and quite strong. "I mean, look at me."

Pendergast examined Avery, imitating his movements and squeezing his thin, smaller shoulders, moving his hands first down to his forearms and then back up again all the way to his delicate neck. "I like the way you look."

"Yeah, but in my experience guys who like the way I look really just want to make me their 'little woman.'" He smiled when Pendergast raised his eyebrows. "I'm not a big guy, right? The men I meet who are built more like you are always seem to think that means I'll submit to everything without putting up a fight."

Pendergast shook his head. "That hadn't occurred to me. In fact, what first struck me was the color of your hair." He hesitated slightly. "My brother had hair that was a very similar color."

"Huh. That's kind of a creepy thing to say." Avery slid onto the bed next to Pendergast and began to tug off his socks. "I remind you of your brother?"

"No, in fact." Avery gave him a questioning look, and Pendergast let his head fall forward as if he was ashamed. "My brother was a very... unusual person." He glanced back at Avery, reached up, and traced the line of a red curl that had fallen across his forehead. "Aside from your hair color, you have nothing in common with him." Avery looked doubtful. "I mean that in a very positive way," Pendergast reassured him. "I would never have come here and posed for you if I thought you were anything like my brother."

Avery leaned against Pendergast's side, resting his head on his shoulder. "This sounds like a touchy subject," he murmured.

"Indeed it is."

"You don't seem like you're real close to your family."

"For the most part, no, I'm not."

"Yeah, me neither." There was a pause as Avery lifted his head. "You don't really want to be here, do you?"

Pendergast stared down at the floor. "I'm not sure." When Avery opened his mouth to speak again, Pendergast pressed his index finger to the man's lips to silence him. "I'm not particularly good at giving voice to my emotions, as I'm sure you can tell." He stared at Avery and, after a moment, his expression softened. "I'm here now, and I'm glad I am. I certainly didn't expect to meet you or to come home with you or to find you... attractive. But-" His voice dropped. "But here we are."

"Here we are," Avery repeated, his words vibrating past his lips to Pendergast's finger. He laid his hand over Pendergast's as he opened his mouth slightly and nipped the flesh at the tip of his finger. Pendergast drew an audible breath as Avery soothed the reddened skin he'd caught between his teeth with slow, gentle laves of his tongue.

Pendergast sighed and smoothed his fingertip over Avery's bottom lip before allowing his hand to drop from Avery's grasp. There was a pause between them, and the look they exchanged had lost much of the earlier awkwardness or embarrassment. Avery's eyelids slowly dropped as Pendergast leaned forward and touched their lips together very gently; he hovered there, stealing Avery's breath and teasing him with contact, until Avery placed his hands at the back of Pendergast's neck and forced him to close the distance.

As they kissed, Avery's hand went impatiently to the belt of the bathrobe, untying it and pushing the material aside. He moved one hand over Pendergast's thigh, while the other worked almost frantically to pull the bathrobe off his shoulders. Pendergast aided him, moving much more slowly as he removed the robe; Avery took it from him, turned, and tossed it irreverently over the back of a small wooden chair in the far corner of the small room. The chair and the desk it stood in front of already hosted several other articles of clothing.

Avery turned back to him hungrily, and Pendergast placed one hand on his chest and the other around his shoulders. "/Du calme, du calme/." he whispered soothingly as he felt Avery's heartbeat hammering through his chest against his palm. "Slow down."

Avery embraced him tensely with rigid muscles, and his breath came in short, shallow pants against Pendergast's neck. It was disconcerting for Pendergast to realize how emotionally and physically agitated Avery already was. He'd shown little sign of arousal earlier, but Pendergast understood that he must have been holding back his reactions, channeling his feelings into his painting or into a low-level state of nervousness and irritation. He held Avery uncertainly, waiting for the younger man to become calmer. Avery's ways of expressing emotion-quickly, intensely, clumsily, and unpredictably-were all reminiscent of an attack, something that Pendergast's instincts initially told him to resist.

"I'm sorry," Avery muttered against his shoulder.

"Don't be." Pendergast drew a deep breath as he felt Avery's pulse become more even. He glanced down at Avery's face and was again aware of the dark circles beneath his eyes and peculiar sheen of his eyes below partially lowered lids. "You're very tired," he observed. It was an understatement; Pendergast was certain that Avery had entered that peculiar state of exhaustion in which a sleep-deprived individual suddenly acquires a burst of odd, neurotic energy.

"Yeah, well, I haven't really slept in the last couple of days," Avery said sullenly. "Too busy setting up the show and working." He sighed. "And I hate to say it, but that's not really unusual for me." With a small noise of contentment, Avery pushed his nose into the crook of Pendergast's shoulder and began to stroke his fingertips lightly over the other man's collarbone. "What about you, FBI-man?"

"I'm sorry?" Pendergast blinked and looked down again.

"We could have a contest. See who's had the most sleepless nights." Pendergast felt Avery's lips hovering just over his pulse point, the warm puffs of his breath hitting his skin so lightly that he had to concentrate to feel them. "Except that when you stay up all night, I guess it's because you're working on catching a serial killer or a drug dealer." Avery began to kiss his neck, moving in a gentle line up to his earlobe, where he paused. "And when I stay up all night, it's because I'm trying to meet a deadline or having trouble hanging some stupid picture."

Pendergast trailed his hand absently up and down Avery's back. "Don't you enjoy your work?"

Avery raised his head and looked him skeptically in the eye. "Yeah, I guess, but it's not exactly making a difference in the world these days."

"Perhaps you set your standards too high," Pendergast replied. "I could never paint the way you do or make a living using those skills." Avery bit his lower lip and shrugged sulkily. "And after all, we often come to define a culture by the art it produces."

"Well, whatever. It's not really a big deal," Avery said, slightly too casually. "Can we keep going now?" He slipped his hand down Pendergast's chest, pausing slightly to tease the layer of fine, pale hairs with his fingertips.

"We can," Pendergast said after a moment of consideration. "Though I don't think we're very evenly matched." He gave the hem of Avery's shirt a small tug. "Why don't you stand up?"

Avery gave him a lopsided smile. "Okay, sure." He stood, positioning himself between Pendergast's legs, and hesitated momentarily before pulling off his t-shirt and throwing it carelessly in the direction of his over-flowing hamper. As he turned back to Pendergast, he hunched his shoulders, suddenly shy. "Better?"

"A bit, yes." Pendergast placed his hands on Avery's hips, drawing him closer. There was a prominent pink scar several inches long visible just above his right hip; he ran a thumb over it tenderly. "An appendectomy?"

"Yeah, like three years ago." Avery laughed shortly. "I know, I get such ugly scars."

"It is called a hypertrophic scar," Pendergast said. "The result of an overproduction of collagen at the scar site. Some people simply get them more frequently than others." He leaned forward, touched his lips to the smooth, raised flesh, and then traced its lines with the tip of his tongue. When he looked up, he heard Avery's breath hitch and felt the hair being gingerly brushed back from his forehead.

"You're so nice," Avery whispered, letting his hand fall to the back of Pendergast's neck.

"Well, I'm afraid I've been host to quite a number of scars myself." Pendergast allowed himself a small smile. "Such is the nature of my work."

"That... isn't exactly what I meant." There was a moment of distance, of disconnect between the two before Pendergast could catch Avery's eye again. "But that's okay," he said as he removed Pendergast's hands from his hips and knelt down in front of him.

Pendergast leaned back and let his head fall forward as Avery moved his hands over his inner thighs to the limp curve of his cock. Avery's hands were warm and dry as he began to knead the soft flesh slowly and deliberately. After a moment he paused, brought one hand up to his mouth, licked his fingers, and then resumed, making sure to pay special attention to the head as he continued. His saliva-slicked palm moved in an odd twisting motion, and Pendergast found himself watching the changes in the bones and tendons in the back of Avery's hand and wrist as he worked.

He felt the characteristic heaviness and rush of blood between his legs as he became around and Avery's touch encouraged his erection to grow. He let his eyelids fall part way and observed the scene through the blurred curtain of his pale eyelashes. Pleasure began to overcome the intensely ingrained reactions of anxiety and discomfort at intimate contact. He exhaled slowly and deeply, and Avery cocked his head to one side as his hands continued to move steadily up and down.

"Feel good, Aloysius?" Avery's voice hissed over the 's' sound at the end of his name. "I can call you Aloysius now, right?"

"Of course," Pendergast murmured, bracing his hands on the mattress and lifting his hips slightly. "And, yes, it feels very good."

Avery ran his fingertips very lightly up either side of Pendergast's fully stiff erection. "I'm glad," he said, and then lowered his lips to kiss and lick the underside of the glans enthusiastically. Pendergast shivered faintly at the feeling, prompting Avery to give him a small smile before he opened his mouth and closed the ring of his lips over the tip of his cock. As he began to bob his head gently up and down, he kept one hand at the base of the shaft and used the other to massage the loose flesh of the scrotum.

Pendergast closed his eyes and clenched his fingers in the tangle of sheets and blankets on the bed as Avery continued, keeping the pressure and rhythm steady and consistent. His breathing quickened and the muscles in his thighs tensed. He found himself imagining, quite vividly, how it would feel and look to climax with Avery's mouth over him, hot and wet closed tight around him as he swallowed reflexively. The image was arousing enough to cause him to buck his hips reflexively; the movement caught Avery off-guard, and he choked slightly before he was able to pull back.

With a toss of his head, Avery snorted and wiped away a thin line of drool that had escaped from the corner of his mouth. Pendergast clenched his teeth to keep from making any noise of distress or passion. Avery's hand still rested at the base of his erection, and they both took a moment to watch as it leapt visibly with each beat of Pendergast's heart.

Avery smiled up at him almost beatifically. "We have a choice, now," he said. "We can keep doing this..." He tightened his grip momentarily, and Pendergast's breath caught in his throat. "Or..." he hesitated. "Or I can come up there with you."

Pendergast's eyes were clear and unusually bright as he leaned forward and urged Avery to stand. His hands went to the zipper of Avery's blue jeans, and he helped Avery to slip them off. His underwear quickly followed, and Avery unceremoniously kicked both garments back in the general direction of the hamper. Pendergast pulled Avery close, almost into his lap, as he brushed his hands over the prominent ridges of the other man's pelvis. Avery was smaller than him and his body was softer and pleasantly boyish. Like most men with his body-type, Avery's hips tended to dominate his flat torso; the effect was neither classically masculine nor feminine, and Pendergast was mildly surprised at how exciting he found the androgyny to be.

The room was cool, and Pendergast noticed that goosebumps had risen on Avery's forearms. He tugged Avery onto the bed beside him, and Avery let out an uncomfortable little laugh. With a small, secretive little smile, Pendergast began to ghost his fingertips gently up and down Avery's sides, drawing him closer. Avery squirmed and sighed at the touch before leaning forward and kissing Pendergast aggressively. Their tongues met and clashed; Pendergast found the rough feeling of tastebuds rasping over tastebuds pleasantly odd enough to be a distraction from the lingering salty, bitter taste in Avery's mouth.

He leaned back against the headboard of Avery's small bed, the cushioning pile of pillows supporting his shoulder blades and lower back. Avery followed, straddling his thighs and moving his hips carefully forward so that their erections brushed. Pendergast let out a small sigh, and Avery responded with a hum of satisfaction as he put his hands on Pendergast's shoulders. "So," Avery said quietly, his voice low and husky, "How far did you want to go?"

"I'm sorry?" Pendergast blinked, somewhat startled by the question. "'How far?'"

"Some guys aren't really into the whole anal thing, is all. It's safer to ask."

"Ah." Pendergast averted his eyes, feeling slightly out of his depth. "Whatever you'd like, I think, will be fine."

"Okay." Avery leaned out to the side to the bedside table, where he'd left the small bottle of lubricant. As he eased himself back into Pendergast's lap, he caught the other man's expression and gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, it isn't like you have to do any work." He tipped him a salacious wink and then stifled a laugh. "You are so prep school gay. It's almost adorable."

"I don't believe I've ever heard the term before," Pendergast replied weakly.

"Rich boys who do a little 'experimenting' in high school and college, even though they know they're going to have to find a girl and get married once they're out because of whatever social standards the elite still cling to," Avery explained, a touch of bitterness creeping into his voice as he flipped up the top of the bottle and squeezed out a small portion of viscous liquid. "What the hell do I know, right? My family always had both feet firmly planted in the middle class." He snapped the bottle shut and leaned forward again to replace it on the nightstand. "But I ran into a surprising number of them at Columbia. They can be so refreshingly naïve."

Pendergast watched as Avery tipped his hand and allowed some of the thick liquid to drip down onto his erection before using both hands to ensure that the lubricant was evenly distributed. "You went to Columbia?"

"On a scholarship," Avery answered defensively. "Now, shh, you're ruining the mood." He allowed himself a small smile to show that all was forgiven and gave Pendergast a friendly squeeze. "Ready?"

"If you are." He placed his hands on Avery's hips to steady him as he straightened up.

Avery sighed as he lowered himself slowly onto Pendergast's erection and placed his hands on the other man's chest. They were still greasy from the lubricant and he took advantage of that, slipping his hands up and down and massaging the flesh of the pectoral muscles with the heels of his palms. Pendergast moved his own hands over Avery's thighs, struck by the sensations of tightness and heat that enveloped him nearly to the point of pain. He breathed deeply as Avery's weight shifted minutely forward and back, forward and back, in an agonizing seesaw.

With a quiet grunt of approval, Avery slipped forward a little further and kissed him quickly before moving back again. Pendergast watched lazily as Avery bit his lower lip and tossed his head, a reaction to the feeling of some startling and sudden inner pleasure. He watched Avery's movements carefully, trying to determine the precise timing, and after several moments of watching began to lift his own hips gently up and down, offsetting Avery's own movements.

The first several strokes were nothing special; Avery looked first surprised, then pleased at Pendergast's involvement. By the fourth stroke, he found the angle he'd been hoping for, and Avery gasped loudly as the tip of Pendergast's cock brushed his prostate.

And then Avery stretched forward, placing one hand behind Pendergast's neck and allowing the other to fall between his own legs as they both began to move more quickly. Pendergast listened to the subtle, rhythmic squeaking of the bedsprings and observed, in an almost detached way, that the extended physical contact had eroded many of the fears and reservations he'd had concerning intimacy with anyone since the death of his wife. He had expected that this would be the case, of course, but the reality of it stunned him; it was the emotional equivalent of jumping into a pool of cold water. Even as their pace quickened and became more frantic, his mind whirred and ticked beyond his control, rationalizing and compartmentalizing the good feelings and the bad.

Avery's hold on his neck tightened and he began to kiss down his temple, his cheek, his jaw. Their movement had become so fast and urgent that it ceased to be organized at all, and had instead melded and reformed as the frenzied rocking of two people on the brink, clutching one another tightly. Pendergast felt himself jarred from his sense of disconnected objectivity and forced back into the world of raw, frightening, human sensation. His first impulse was to pull back again, to keep from becoming too close or connected, but then he felt Avery go stiff against him and heard a soft moan in his ear. "Ah, fuck... Aloysius." A moment later he felt a series of exquisite muscle contractions around his erection, followed by sticky liquid warmth against his belly; Avery sighed contentedly and relaxed against his chest, sated.

Pendergast let out a low moan in reply, continuing to thrust against Avery's limp and compliant form. Obscene images flashed through his mind in quick succession, and within moments he too reached orgasm, shuddering and bucking his hips and feeling the release of semen.

They lay together in the glow of the soft bedside lamp, panting quietly as they recovered. Pendergast rubbed his hands over Avery's back, his fingers lingering over the even bumps of his vertebrae. He felt his pulse in his ears, his arms, his legs, and his groin slowing, felt his erection soften and slip out of Avery.

Then, abruptly, Avery rolled away from him. He staggered slightly as he stood, grabbed a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt that were at the top of a pile that had been stacked at the foot of his bed, and began to pull them on without saying a word.

Pendergast sat up and listened to the faint noise of Avery dressing, leaving the room, and walking down the hall to the bathroom. His limbs felt heavy and his muscles ached pleasantly with the aftermath of exertion and orgasm. The physical sensations were clear, easily translatable, and far preferable to the overbearing emotion of guilt that had suddenly come to rest heavily inside his chest.

He still missed his wife, of course, and he hadn't expected not to. But he hadn't expected to feel badly about enjoying his first sexual encounter since her untimely death. He closed his eyes, but in his mind he could still see the sharply delineated planes of Avery's cheap box-spring and mattress. He felt almost taken aback by the sheer number of differences, by how far away Avery's bed was from the one he had once shared with his wife.

With Avery there was no sense of luxury, obviously, as the young man lived mostly in poverty. But, refreshingly, there was no sense of obligation. Pendergast frowned slightly. His wife had been a tall, athletic woman and very beautiful. They had loved each other quite deeply, but during their marriage neither had ever been truly and consistently enthused about doing anything sexual.

A memory surfaced; it was from a time he had tried very hard to stay distanced from. He and his wife had been in Tanzania, nearly six months before she would be dead and he would be left alone. A handsome young man, a native of the area named Kingunge, had been acting as their guide and had just left for the evening-

"You were watching him."

"I'm sorry?" He looked up from his luggage, startled.

Her voice was accusatory, but her eyes were smiling. "You were watching him." She nodded toward the door of their hotel room. "Kingunge. I saw you."

"I was just being cautious," he said warily.

She shook her head. "No, you weren't. Not cautious at all. Cautious looks like this-" She altered her expression, drawing her brows together and pressing her lips into a thin, straight line. Her normally open face became tight, severe, and withdrawn. "You looked like this-" Her face changed minutely, remaining smooth and closed as her brow relaxed, her eyes widened, and her lips parted very slightly. Her expression became one of reserved, but very clear and deliberate interest.

He froze, watching her carefully, unsure of exactly what to say or how to say it. But before he could react, she smiled at him sadly. "I don't blame you."

"You don't?"

"I never have."

He looked away, an uncharacteristic blush staining his pale cheeks a blotchy, broken red. "I apologize."

"There's no need to." She stepped forward and laid her hand over his. "There are some things we can't-and probably shouldn't-control."

-He had been more grateful to her in that moment than ever before. And that night, beneath the mosquito net, they had made love in the stifling heat, and it had been the most satisfying sexual experience of their entire marriage.

He looked up as he heard the toilet flush and the sound of running water in the bathroom. Avery emerged a moment later, walking somewhat stiffly, his hair tousled and his eyes red-rimmed. In one hand he carried a damp washcloth. He sat down on the edge of the bed and tenderly began to use the washcloth to clean away the semen, sweat, and lubricant on Pendergast's chest, the warm water quickly turning cool on his skin as it evaporated. It was a more intimate gesture than any display of sexual affection could hope to be. Pendergast pulled Avery closer and kissed his temple briefly.

Once finished with his task, Avery balled up the washcloth and tossed it into the hamper. "So," Avery said quietly, "I figured I'd let you have the bed, and I'd take the couch. Assuming you're staying, I mean."

"You wouldn't prefer to share?"

Avery gave him a skeptical look. "This bed's too small for both of us."

Pendergast shook his head. "It would be a little close, maybe, but I'm sure there's enough room."

Avery still looked doubtful. "Most guys just want to be left alone afterward."

"Again, I'm not like most people." Pendergast paused, took Avery's hand, and lifted it to his lips in a courtly pretense that caused Avery to raise his eyebrows. "And it simply doesn't seem right for you to end the evening alone on a couch that was never intended for sleeping."

"All right. Whatever you say." Avery shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but Pendergast could see quite plainly that he was pleased. "Move over, then." He reached over, switched off the bedside lamp, then pulled his legs up and laid down, curling himself compactly against Pendergast and allowing the other man to draw the sheet and blanket over both of them. "Good night."

"Good night to you too," Pendergast replied as he rested his head on the pillow. He felt the soft cotton of Avery's pajamas on his own naked skin, the smoothness of the sheet and the heaviness of the blanket above it, and the small, subtle movements Avery's breathing produced. He watched as each breath became slower, steadier, until he knew Avery had fallen asleep beside him. He allowed feelings of pleasure and security to creep over him, and permitted himself to begin to relax.

But still, Pendergast laid awake for long, long into the night.