#“pick up” has a very different meaning for Henry “women are decorative sex” Wotton lol

[justastrugglinghotchocolate]

💪🏽 I am in a desperate need of Dasil

This went from "funny fic about Dorian picking up Basil" to "Dorian and Basil have a genuine conversation about had Basil treats Dorian and learn things about each other ft. bridal carry"

This is technically for the og book, but you could see it as a prequel to The Losing Game or set in a Modern AU

AO3 Link (if it's easier ^-^)

~~~~

Dorian had many talents. He was a brilliant pianist, he could draw quite well, he could act decently when needed, and he looked stunning at all times with little effort. However, there was one very important thing that Dorian could not do:

Pick up Basil.

It made sense; Basil was tall and his body naturally dense, despite his rather lean figure. It didn’t help that Basil grew bashful and shy whenever he so much as looked at him. Really that man reminded Dorian of a sweet little turtle—hard shell, but so shy and always trying to hide his head in his coat.

Dorian might have let the inability slide—there were many other things he couldn’t do like tying a necktie or immediately tell his left from right—had Henry been as incapable. But on one sunny afternoon, he watched the lord lift a laughing Basil up a few inches off the ground. The artist had looked so happy, his smiling face illuminated in the warm orange glow of the sun despite how his coal black hair tried to soak it in. And when he saw how Basil had looked down at Henry with a look of pure affection and adoration—Dorian knew he had to do it too.

He started his process by cornering Lord Henry at a party and demanding to know everything about picking up Basil. 

“Pick him up?” Henry chuckled. “Dorian, you don’t have to do anything at all. Basil’s already enamored with you—tell him that you want to lay with him and he’ll worship your feet.”

Dorian blinked, “But I don’t want him to worship my feet. I want to pick him up.”

Henry smiled, “Yes, you’ve said. And as I’ve said, simply tell him you want him. You’ve already won his affection, picking him up shouldn’t be hard—you won’t have to play much of a game.”

“‘Game?’ What are you—?” Dorian shook his head, “Harry. I want to physically lift Basil in my arms.”

The lord stopped mid sentence and Dorian had the rare split-second joy of watching Lord Henry’s brain buffer as he tried to save face. He eventually forced out a laugh and patted the young man’s back rapidly.

“I know, Dorian.” Henry quickly tried to maintain his composure and appearance. “‘Physically pick up Basil’—I did understand you—”

“You had no idea what I meant.”

Henry excused himself from the conversation, citing boredom for his early departure. Dorian let him go, unimpressed and still nowhere closer to lifting up his favorite artist. He’d have to figure this out on his own.

He considered making himself stronger through exercise. He had a friend in the Guards who was more than willing to help him. After a single session, Dorian realized he’d rather die than do a ‘push-up’. He turned his focus to innovation, throwing himself into strategy books he had accidentally stolen from Alan Campbell.

Dorian would need to account for both Basil’s physique and his own. While Dorian couldn’t lift a thing, he certainly could hold them and, since Basil was tall, it wouldn’t be efficient to start from the ground up. Somehow he needed to elevate Basil. 

That night, as he flung himself into bed, an idea came to him. He fell asleep easily, eager to test out the idea the next day. 

…

The next day he arrived outside of Basil’s home. Instead of immediately alerting the artist of his presence, Dorian balled up the scarf he had brought with him and threw it into the great tree in Basil’s garden. It took a few tries, but finally he got the scarf to stay in the tree.

With a wide grin that he quickly hid, Dorian rapidly knocked on Basil’s door.

Basil opened the door with a concerned look, “Dorian? Has something happened?”

“My scarf got stuck in the tree!” the youth said, clutching at his chest. He batted his eyes, “Basil, will you please get it down for me?”

Basil stared at the man in confusion, but nodded his head and with long strides walked over to the tree with Dorian’s scarf. As he reached for it, Dorian quickly grabbed the small stool he knew Basil kept foyer and rushed to bring it to Basil. He slammed it down into the ground in front of the artist.

“It’s on a higher branch, so you’ll need to stand on this!” he said quickly.

Basil stared at him, “Dorian, are you feeling quite alright?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ve already gotten your scarf down,” the painter smiled, offering it to the youth.

Dorian’s eyes widened and he stammered, “That—I brought a different one today, that’s not it.”

Basil furrowed his brow, “You… brought two scarves?”

“Yes—no!” Dorian grabbed Basil’s arm and began pulling him to stand on the stool. “I lost that scarf when I last visited you!” “Why didn’t you tell me?” Basil asked. “Dorian, are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, now just stand on this!”

“Why?”

“Because—because—” Dorian made a frustrated noise, hissing, “Just get on the stool, Basil!”

Nervously, Basil did as Dorian requested, grabbing one of the branches to steady himself as he looked through the tree. For a moment neither spoke. Then in a small voice, Basil said, “I’m sorry, Dorian, but I don’t see a scarf here.”

As hard as he could, Dorian kicked the stool underneath Basil. Unfortunately, because of how hard he’d placed it down earlier, it had been pushed deeply into the ground. His kick only resulted in him stubbing his toe against the hard wooden stool as it gave a small jerk upon impact. Basil slightly lost his balance, but grabbed the tree branches to keep steady. In a panic, he glanced back down at Dorian who looked like he was trying hard not to cry.

“Dorian, what’s wrong?” Basil clambered down the stool. “Should I get you ice?”

“No!” the younger man, stamping his foot. “No, no! This isn’t fair!”

Basil was bewildered, but tentatively he placed his hand on the other man’s shoulder, “Dorian… what’s wrong?”

The young man sighed, whipping furiously at his eyes, “I wanted to pick you up.”

“What? Why?”

“Because Henry could do it.”

Basil couldn’t help but chuckle, “Dorian, you don’t have to do everything Henry does. I’d honestly advise against aspiring to even attempt to be like him.”

“It’s not—” the young man sighed heavily. “I don’t want to be like Henry.”

“Then, why—?”

“Because I can’t just be me, can I?”

“What?”

“Basil,” Dorian looked down at the ground. “I’m only your friend because I’m your muse. Once I am old and no longer beautiful, you won’t want my companionship anymore—I have to do something more so you’ll want to stay as my friend as I get older.”

Basil looked aghast, “Dorian, you thought I’d stop being friends with you simply because you’ll… age?”

Dorian crossed his arm over himself protectively, “You spend half our time together giving me compliments. What other reason will you have to tolerate my presence?”

The painter sighed, “That’s… not untrue. But Dorian, I enjoy our time together because I simply enjoy being with you. There is no reason or any other justification necessary.”

“But we don’t do anything. I just sit and you paint. Those are wholly individual activities. When I’m with Henry, or anyone else for that matter, we laugh or talk or do something with each other. And when you’re with anyone else, you talk to them or laugh with them or anything else that friends are supposed to do!”

He frowned, holding himself tighter, “Why do I have to be the one you treat differently?”

Basil looked surprised, then guilty. He opened his mouth then closed it as he searched for the right words to say. Dorian wiped at his eyes again, wishing that he’d stop crying in front of Basil. Eventually, he sat at the trunk of the tree, watching the sky as he waited for Basil to say something.

Finally, Basil came to sit with him. With a saddened look in his eyes, he said, “Dorian, I’m sorry that I’ve treated you differently than how I’ve treated others—it was never my intention to make you feel as though I only valued you for your beauty.”

He paused, hesitating, then gently said, “I’ve only done so, because, well, truthfully, my friend, I’m not sure how to treat you.”

Dorian raised a brow.

“You act very young, Dorian. And forgive my blunt wording, but you’re… fragile.”

“I’m not!” Dorian paused and sighed. “I am.”

“And it’s not just that. You’re so… open. You wear your sleeve on your heart—I always know how you feel and what you want, but I never know how to respond to it.”

“I can give quite a lot at once,” Dorian admitted softly.

“And I have trouble giving anything at all,” Basil chuckled, defeatedly. “Sometimes, I want to be nurturing and give you someone to look up to and other times, I… Well, that isn’t important. I just don’t know how to treat you in a way that respects your human complexity.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be, I lov—I appreciate your genuinity. I can’t fathom ever being as confident as you.” Basil's eyes grew sad again. “Truthfully, it’s quite ironic that you think I’d end our friendship over something so fickle. Once you met Harry, I was sure our friendship had come to an end.”

“Why?” Dorian looked at Basil with wide eyes. 

“He seems to understand you better than I do. You seem to enjoy his company more.”

The young man scoffed, “Absolutely not, Basil. Harry is fascinating, but I do not enjoy his company enough to even attempt to do half as much as I’ve done to maintain my friendship with you. I’d prefer you to him on any day.”

Hallward was surprised, “I… I wasn’t aware of that.”

Basil leaned back against the tree and Dorian leaned onto his shoulder, gently grabbing one of Basil’s hands and absentmindedly thumbing over the back. Around them, birds chirped and the gentle wind rustled the leaves.

“If you want to do something other than sit for me, you are always welcome to ask,” Basil said, lifting his hand to run his fingers through Dorian’s golden locks. He felt the other man relax in his hold. “I can’t always promise that I’ll be available, but I am willing to make time for what you’d like. You’re my friend after all.”

“Thank you, Basil.” Dorian smiled mischievously. “But I’d still like to try picking you up.”

Basil laughed, “I don’t intend to stop you.”

Dorian guided Basil to stand on the stool then to carefully lower himself into Dorian’s arms in a bridal carry. Basil warped his arms around Dorian’s neck, then allowed his full weight to fall down on Dorian, fully expecting to be dropped.

Both were surprised to see that Dorian managed to hold Basil up. Dorian was gritting his teeth and overly tense, nail digging into Basil as he tried to carry him back into the house.

“You don’t have to do that!” Basil laughed. He felt light-headed from being so close to Dorian and fought the urge to bury his face in the other man’s neck. 

“I’m… going to!” Dorian grunted out. His face had gone red from the exertion and he took a shaky step forwards, jostling Basil. Basil cried out and clutched at the other man, bursting with laughter. Dorian would have laughed too, but he was more preoccupied with not dropping Basil.

Finally they reached the door. Dorian hissed out, “Basil, please open the door.”

Basil did so, but reached too far, causing Dorian to lose his balance and fall into the doorway with Basil in his arms. They fell into a heap on the floor, both laughing hysterically.

After they calmed down, Dorian breathlessly said, “Can we do more things like that?”

“Like carrying or falling?” Basil wheezed, looking at the young with adoration.

“Whichever one means I get to hear you laugh more.” Dorian grinned, feeling a flush on his face.

Basil was glad his face was already red. He forced out a chuckle and motioned deeper into the house, “Shall we grab something to drink?”

Dorian nodded and held Basil’s hand as they walked to the kitchen together.