Work Text:
Basil Hallward could barely remember meeting Dr. Henry Jekyll. It seemed as if they’d always known each other, and yet that wasn’t right-- had they met at a banquet? Perhaps Basil had been showing his art somewhere and Henry had shown up? Basil had often scoured his brain for that single moment, the moment they’d first met, but nothing ever turned up. Maybe Henry remembered, though Basil had never asked. It seemed too precious a moment to talk about.
Precious… everything about Henry was precious. The way he looked at you, interested in everything you had to say. The way Basil would sometimes get him to chuckle. The way he’d push his hair out of his eyes. The way he cared. Basil hadn’t felt cared for in a long time, but with his friend, everything seemed to fall into place.
Now, Basil wasn’t a stranger to his own… attractions, but this time it felt different. It felt quieter. A quiet contentment, a soft yearning. He wasn’t unhappy with where he was, with his relationship with Henry, but every time their gazes met he could feel a fluttering in his stomach. God, he wanted to lean forward, get a closer look at Henry’s eyes, his lips… he pushed the thought away. It couldn’t happen. They were both men. And besides, Henry liked women.
---
Basil peered over his canvas at Jekyll. The two men were in Jekyll’s office, Henry doing some paperwork and Basil painting him. The only noises were the mixing of paints and the slight scratch of a quill pen against paper. It was nice, sharing quiet moments with Henry like this. The curtains were open, a beam of sunlight illuminating Henry’s face. His hair looked reddish where the sun hit it. And Basil, ever a skilled painter, translated that onto the canvas. He hoped that Henry wouldn’t see the yearning, the devotion in every stroke of paint. So familiar, and yet, this time felt different. This time, the love felt more real.
“I am finished,” Basil finally said, a faint flush creeping along his cheeks. Henry looked up, and his lips parted slightly before a smile tugged at his lips. Basil motioned for Henry to come over, watching as the man stood and stretched. The floorboards creaked as Henry made his way over to the painting, and then he was behind Basil, peering over the artist’s shoulder. Basil suppressed a shudder. He could feel Henry’s breath on his neck, they were so close-- and then, much too soon, Henry stepped back. Basil turned to see him smiling, flushed with happiness.
“It looks wonderful! It’s almost as if it is real.” Henry stretched out a hand as if to run a hand along the painted canvas, but drew back at the last second-- the paint was still wet, after all. “Will you show it anywhere?”
Basil felt his face grow hot. He was used to it, receiving praise for his art, but praise from Henry felt much more personal. The man had a way of looking at you, of talking to you like you were the most special thing in the world. “Ah-- I don’t think I shall. It’s very nice, yes, but-- oh, I don’t know, I think you should have it.”
“Oh--!” Henry’s eyes widened, and a pleased smile stretched across his face. “Basil! How kind of you!”
Basil rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, we can wait for this to dry, and I’ll varnish and frame it.”
Henry took one of Basil’s hands in his own, looking into his eyes with an earnest happiness. “It’s amazing, really!”
Basil’s heart rate sped up, and he was sure that he was cherry-red at this point. Henry’s hands were so warm, and the touch felt electric. He couldn’t-- he couldn’t give into his desires, not with a man such as Henry, but his eyes flicked down to Henry’s lips and he could feel his own parting.
Was Henry leaning in? Basil couldn’t tell. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. This wasn’t devotion, wasn’t obsession, no, what he felt was something much simpler, something he dared to call… love. And then Henry’s lips were on his, and he couldn’t control the soft, surprised noise that escaped his mouth, causing Henry to pull back and look into his eyes with a worried look, a question. Is this alright…?
And Basil nodded, because God, it was more than alright, it was all he’d ever wanted. He’d never kissed a man, never loved one like this, and it was just as perfect as he’d imagined it to be as their lips met once again. Their hands let go of each other, but that was fine, their bodies were pressed so close, warmth blossoming in Basil’s stomach as Henry pulled him even closer.
It was over much too soon, as they both pulled away and Basil dared to ask the question he’d always wanted to know.
“Have you ever loved a man?”
Henry smiled, a soft, sad one. “Once.”
“So have I, though-- I do not think it was love, looking back.” And that statement was a confession, a confession to the fact that Basil was now aware of what love was, that he loved Henry Jekyll.
---
The days turned into weeks, Basil’s visits to the Society becoming more and more frequent. He found himself becoming less withdrawn, Henry’s sociable ways seemingly rubbing off on him. He painted more often, paintings of Henry, of the Society… Henry would often bring him tea while he did so, and the warmth he would feel wasn’t just from the drink.
They were sitting in Henry’s office one day when he first invited Basil to stay the night. Basil had looked up, surprised, a pleased blush spreading across his face. He shouldn’t… staying the night felt like another confession. But he said yes. He wanted to wake up next to Henry.
And he did, and it was wonderful. The sunlight trickled in through a crack between the curtains, providing just enough light to see Henry’s sleeping face. His bare chest rising and falling with his steady, even breathing, the way his hair was mussed from sleep… Basil wanted him so deeply, wanted to wake like this every day, hear how Henry’s voice was low and rough in the mornings…
Goosebumps prickled at Basil’s own bare chest and arms, and he shifted to be closer to Henry’s warmth. The other man sleepily pulled him closer, nuzzling into him. The warmth blossomed in Basil’s chest, the feeling of admiration and love overwhelming him until a lump rose in his throat and tears spilled from his eyes.
Henry stirred to the sound of Basil’s soft sniffling. Basil’s arms were around Henry, holding him as if he were a lifeline. Henry brought a hand up, brushing his thumb along Basil’s cheek to wipe away a tear.
“Oh… I’m sorry for waking you, Henry.”
“Is everything alright?”
Basil couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t tell Henry how much he loved him, memories of past confessions flooding his mind. So he held Henry tighter, held him as if he were the only thing in the world.
Henry caught on to the unspoken words, the things Basil wanted to say but couldn’t. So they held each other, the embrace saying all it needed to. And even if Basil could never articulate how he felt, Henry knew.
In a way, the painter had already told him.