Glimpse [1/5]
Title: Glimpse [1/5]
Author: frisky_biscuit
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 6367
Pairing: Bellamy/Howard
Summary: Does having everything you want truly make you happy?
Disclaimer: I do not own any persons, places, themes, or elements in this; nor am I affiliated with the persons represented. Only the story is mine. No harm was intended by this.
Note: Please note the rating and acknowledge that you are accepting full responsibility for reading this. You have been warned.
A/N: If raising a child takes a village then consider me one lucky bitch to have such incredible people to call my "neighbors." Thank you to the flawless dolce_piccante and my sweet and supportive sis millionstar for letting me bit them to death. Your input has meant more to me than you'll ever know, and I adore you both. Thanks also to shayunknown who looked at this in its beginning stages and told me it wasn't crap and to continue on, your encouragement is so vital to me. Finally, thanks to amusedinred , who kept me focused when all I wanted to do was talk about Dom's nipples. I don't think this would've gotten done had you not gently (and sometimes not so gently) reminded me to write. This is something a little different than I'm used to writing, as I'm putting myself on a timeline and forcing myself to adhere to it. I seriously hope you all enjoy it.
<3
Glimpse (gl
mps) n. A brief, incomplete view or look.
"Was something brushed across my mind That no one on earth will ever find?
Heaven gives it glimpses only to those Not in position to look too close." ~ excerpt from A Passing Glimpse, by Robert Frost
"Good morning, Mr. Howard!"
"Morning, Janiece!" Dominic said, winking at the receptionist as he breezed past her. She blushed in response, as she did every morning since the start of his career with Edmund and Sons Law Firm. And, as he had since his first day, Dom let his eyes rove over her, grinning when she preened under his scrutiny. "Lovely top."
"Why, thank you!" Janiece crowed, bending over just the slightest bit to offer him a view down said top. The sight was nice enough, but it was more impressive that she had the wherewithal to feign innocence. "You're so sweet, Dominic."
"As are you, babe," he laughed, stealing one last glance at the smooth, cinnamon skin tucked beneath red lace before waggling his eyebrows and continuing on.
A bounce in his step, Dom made his way back to his cubicle, waving to each of the four sons as he passed them. Edmund himself was tucked behind the largest door in the farthest corner of the building, but Dom would see him soon enough.
He had just made a break in their most recent case involving a pharmaceutical sales rep who had been keeping a bit of his product to himself and trying to sell it on the street to turn a greater profit. It had been an amateurish and stupid mistake on the part of the sales rep - a small scale case by Edmund Wolstenholme's standards - but Dom had been allowed to take it on by himself, thanks in no small part to Edmund's middle son, Chris.
Actually, if Dom were to give credit where credit was due, Chris Wolstenholme was the entire reason he even had a job. Having met in law school, Dom found himself drawn to Chris' easy gait and calm demeanor, while Chris himself had enjoyed the benefits that came with Dom's severe phobia of his grade point average falling even a tenth of a point - as well as his generosity, which often extended to allowing his friends a peek at his homework.
It didn't hurt that Chris was entirely disinterested in any of Dom's numerous dates, either.
By the time they graduated, Dom had spent the better part of his summer vacations interning for Edmund and Sons, as well as more than a few holidays at the Wolstenholme family's sprawling manse off the shores of St. Augustine. Edmund himself could hardly deny the logic behind bringing Dom on board when Chris brought up the idea over a Sunday brunch.
That, however, was as far as his friendship with Edmund's son took him.
Once he'd crossed the threshold of that brick building with its ornate columns and stone etchings, he'd had to fight to earn every single case he was given. Most of them were passed down to him because the sons were either preoccupied with larger cases or found the lawsuits to be tedious.
Dom wasn't one to pick and choose, and as a result, his experience was broad and his methods were sound. It was his persistence and consistency that led Edmund to assign him a case of a grander scale, and that was more than enough to prove that he had finally won the old man's respect.
Yet even with that knowledge, Dom couldn't still the butterflies of apprehension that swarmed in his gut. The acute awareness that he had a meeting with Edmund to run over his reports and progress was more than enough to send him to the bathroom twice before he'd ever set foot outside of his house that morning.
As if on cue, the moment Dom had settled into his chair and pressed the button to boot up his computer, his phone rang. A quick glance at the lines told him it was Terry, Edmund's personal assistant.
"Hey, Terry!"
"Dom," her voice was soft and gentle, but he could practically see her on the other line, marking him off some unseen checklist. Terry was a machine - a sweet but thorough expert who performed all of her tasks with professionalism and proficiency. Even now, as she told him that Edmund expected him in his office right this moment, she did so with courtesy and in a timely fashion.
"Sounds great," Dom answered, but she was no longer there, having predictably moved on to the next task on her lengthy list. "Right."
Dom stood to his feet, scratching idly at his stomach. He tugged open a drawer of his desk to whip out the little rhinestone leopard print compact he kept there, popping it open to check his hair. Satisfied, he shoved the little mirror back into the drawer and closed it, spinning on his heel to make his way down the long corridor.
All around him the office buzzed with life; copy machines whirring and phone rings punctuating the low mumble of people clustered here and there throughout the building. Everyone seemed oblivious to the war raging in Dom's stomach: one part desperate to empty itself onto the floor right then and there, while what was left clenched with giddy expectancy.
His entire future was staked on today's meeting, he could feel it.
Reaching the great wooden door that gleamed at the end of the hallway, Dom took one final deep breath, whispered a quiet "you got this, Howard," and lifted his fist to knock on the door with more confidence than he felt. You always were a pro at bullshit. Makes you good at your job, though.
A muffled "Come in," had him turning the knob and entering, trying hard to hide the whoosh of air that burst from his lips in a nervous rush.
The eldest Wolstenhome sat behind his massive desk, a pile of papers to each side of him and a folder that lay open in front of him. Even in his high back desk chair, Edmund Wolstenholme was a looming presence. He was tall with broad shoulders, thick arms, unreadable eyes and a permascowl carved into his deeply tanned face. In short, he was intimidation personified, and not even Dom's years of friendship with Chris - which had included copious amounts of exposure to the man - had served to cure the shaky feeling that often kicked up in the pit of Dom's stomach whenever Edmund's eyes were on him.
"Have a seat," ordered Edmund, motioning to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Dom did as he was instructed, handing the elder man his reports and letting his attention wander over the office while he waited for it to be reviewed.
If there was one thing the senior Wolstenholme loved more than anything, it was his wife, Annabel. But, next to her was his grand and lasting passion for hunting. As if to prove this, his work space was covered with trophies, pictures - it was more a mausoleum for the old man's conquests than an actual place for labor. Dom knew this was because Mrs. Wolstenhome had drawn the line at the elephant head Edmund had dragged in when he returned last year from a hunting safari in South Africa. She'd quickly hired an interior designer to turn Edmund's office into a reincarnation of the African plains, and sent as many mounted heads and stuffed carcasses of slaughtered animals as could be fit into the large room.
Now, instead of the petite woman who owned the old man's heart, it was Dom who sat beneath the dead eyed stares of the fallen beasts that lined Edmund's office walls. He couldn't help but wonder if this is how the poor creatures must have felt in their last moments, staring the old man in the face and waiting for him to decide their fate.
Blinking a few times, Dom tore his eyes away from the lifeless ones of the open jawed alligator that hung by the window and forced his gaze back to Mr. Wolstenholme.
"Good work, son," Edmund stated, his little dash of a mouth lifting infinitesimally at the edges, only to fall flat once more. His jowls shook a bit as he regarded Dom, setting down the report to interlace his meaty fingers and bring them to rest on top of it. "I'm not a man to consider adding partners to the firm who aren't in my family, but Chris insists that you'd be a great fit." He paused, seemingly to let his words sink in. Dom fought the urge to sit on his hands, which suddenly wanted to flail about in glee. "I like to think of myself as an open minded man, so I'm willing to give you a trial, provided that you take on several high profile cases prior to promotion. If you can do that, then I'm thinking that Edmund and Sons could very well use a Howard."
That was more than Dom had ever come into the firm hoping for. At best, he had only allowed his imagination to roam as far as starting with Edmund and Sons before heading to Arlington to open his own firm when the time came.
But a partnership? It was more than he had ever dared to dream.
"Yes, sir," Dom grinned, clasping the hand that the old man offered. "I can definitely do that!"
Gracelessly he scrambled to his feet, trying to ignore the trembling behind his kneecaps.
"I look forward to it."
"Thank you, sir," gasped the blond, slamming his mouth shut so that at least he didn't look like a mouth breather in addition to being a klutz. With a final nod, the old man went back to his work, leaving Dom to see himself out. Every step that brought him closer to his desk felt lighter, less steady, the thought of being made partner the only coherent thing in his head.
"Hey, Howard!"
Dom spun around on his heel, continuing to walk backwards as he spotted Chris leaning out of his office door. He had both of his arms out, one hand in thumbs up while the other was a thumbs down, a look of expectancy on his face.
Biting his lip to stifle a laugh, Dom gave his friend two thumbs up, nearly losing his control when Chris whooped for him.
"Come eat with me tonight," Chris said, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm going to be meeting a friend of mine who just moved into the area at La Nopalera on Argyle Forest if you want to tag along. On me of course, Mr. Promotion."
"Yeah, sounds good!"
"Be there at six, Dom!" Chris yelled after him, "And don't be late either, you fluffy assed diva!"
"Fuck you," Dom chortled, flipping up his middle fingers at his friends' laughing face.
"Language, Howard," snorted Jason Wolstenholme, the youngest of the bunch. He was on his way in - late as usual - his arms laden with a shiny crocodile skin briefcase and a sloshing cup of coffee. "This is a family atmosphere, you dumb fuck."
"Jason!"
"Sorry Pops!" Jason flushed beet red, while Chris and Dom dashed off to their respective office and cubicle like cockroaches when the light flicked on. The old man waddled by them all, his round stomach steering him toward the restroom.
As Dom settled behind his desk, humming an off key tune to himself and laying out his reports, a glint of something caught his eye. There, perched on the edge of his desk was a black marble paperweight, his name written in gold, capital letters over the smooth surface.
"Dominic Howard: Edmund, Sons and Howard," he read, lightly brushing the tips of his fingers over the new and improved firm's title. A tiny sliver of paper rested beneath the chunky thing with familiar handwriting.
You've got this, bro. ~ Chris
He smiled, throat tight, as he tossed the weight from palm to palm, marveling at the coolness of it against his skin. It seemed as if the whole world were falling at his feet, each piece of his life clicking into place perfectly, effortlessly even.
There was absolutely nothing more he could ever ask for, and no way for him to be beaten. He felt completely and utterly invincible.
* * * * *
The restaurant was so loud that Dom's first thought was to turn around and leave, Chris be damned.
Cutlery clattered against plates to the backdrop of various sports programs on the huge flat screens that hung from different corners of the building. Patrons were yelling at each other to be heard while the bartender blended a frozen drink, tapping his foot all the while to the beat of the mariachi band that was moving from table to table like a portable nuisance.
But, whether out of boredom or just plain curiosity - how could Chris know someone he didn't? - Dom stuck it out, and made himself slide into the booth where Chris sat with another man.
"Nice of you to show up, Howard!" Chris grinned, scooting over and shoving a sweaty bottle of something lovely and alcoholic toward Dom. "Took the liberty of ordering you a drink. Hope you don't mind a beer, because I wasn't about to order you a girly drink."
"Mojitos are very masculine," pouted Dom, pulling the drink to himself all the same and taking a dainty sip off the top. Chris' friend watched the exchange in companionable silence, a grin wrinkling the edges of his startlingly blue eyes. Though admittedly attractive man, he was hardly Dom's type. He was slim, with sharp angles and fragile looking limbs, and a shock of brown hair that seemed to defy gravity by floating all over his skull.
Still, his skin looked soft, and his smile was easy and that in and of itself made up for his lack of bulk.
"So," Dom started, trying his damndest to be casual," who's your friend?"
"Dom, this is Matt Bellamy," Chris said, patting the former on his back before continuing, "Matt, this is Howard the Fuck."
"Hey!" Dom protested, but any other objection he might have made died on his tongue in the wake of the singularly most annoying sound he had ever heard.
Matt Bellamy was leaning back in his chair, his head tipped back and throat bobbing in what was apparently laughter, but amidst the cacophony of the restaurant, it sounded more like a dying burro.
"Don't insult the movie," said the small man once he'd regained his composure. Quickly, he swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand before pinching the tip of his nose, as though that would stop the honking sound of his giggles. "Extraterrestrial ducks have feelings, too."
"God, I forgot how corny you are," Chris took a swig of his beer, nearly spitting it out when a tortilla chip came flying at his head. Matt made that horrible cackling sound again. "That was a shit movie, man, and you know it!"
"The fuck I do! It was great film."
"You can't possibly remember what the movie was even about! You were shitfaced from all that pot and Randy kept trying to suck your dick, if I recall correctly."
That perked Dom's ears up. He had been listening to the ping pong of banter, completely out of the loop and unaware of what the two men were referring to, but the mention of sexuality was enough to gain his interest. Not that he'd ever had trouble luring a straight man to his bed before.
"Dude, where's the bathroom? I've got to piss like a fucking racehorse." Chris stood, stretching out and looking around until he spotted what he was searching for. He glanced at Dom. "You two alright?"
"Yeah, no problem," Dom said, making a shooing motion with his hands. The taller man gave his friends a quick thumbs up before taking off.
"You work with Chris, right?" Matt started, and though it was meant to be more of a conversation starter than an inquisition, Dom found himself nodding in response.
"Yeah, yeah. We went to law school together."
"Ah."
"And you?" asked Dom, spinning the bottle cap from his beer like a top on the table. "How do you know Chris?"
"Grew up with him," Matt beamed, his eyes lighting up. "We were neighbors in elementary school. My mama didn't raise no fool, I saw big, tall Chris and spotted my chance to avoid wedgies and being dumped in lockers."
"Funny, I don't remember him ever mentioning you." It was a catty thing to say, but it was out before Dom could think to stop it, and he wasn't about to apologize for the slip.
"Probably not much reason to," Matt said dispassionately. "I have absolutely nothing in common with the man but history and one chick we both dated around the same time in high school." He chuckled lightly. "But, you know, bros before hoes."
"And what brings you to Jacksonville? Are you from here?"
"Originally, yes," the brunet answered, picking up a chip and swirling it in salsa. He stared at it for a moment before setting it on his open napkin and continuing. "I opened up a franchise in Daytona with an inheritance my Nana left me. It's doing pretty good, so I'm opening another one on Neptune Beach."
"What kind of franchise?"
"Bellamy's Beach Hut," Matt said proudly. "We sell surf boards, and towels, plus all the tourist shit like shot glasses and tee shirts."
"Ah." It was Dom's turn to be disinterested. Surf shops were a dime a dozen, especially in Daytona, so he wasn't sure exactly what Matt felt like he was accomplishing by opening another one. "Any specific reason why you've chosen Neptune Beach?"
"Daytona's okay," Matt shrugged, "but I hate spring break, and I especially loathe summers there. Neptune seems to have more locals than tourists, and I like that. Plus, my family's in Orange Park, so it just makes sense right now."
Dom nodded, watching the other man as he finished his drink and set it down in front of him. There seemed to be nothing more to say, so they sat quietly, waiting for Chris to come and save them from the lull.
Chris was taking his time, however, and as the silence stretched on without him returning, Dom began to wish he'd turned and left when he had the chance.
He wasn't certain when the moment slid from awkward silence to heated tension; all Dom knew for sure was when he looked back up, those big, bottomless blues were fastened on him, and Matt was worrying his full bottom lip with his teeth.
"How awful would it be if I asked you to blow him off and take me home?"
* * * * *
"Nice place," Matt said once they'd walked into Dom's house. His eyes darted everywhere, taking in the large living room with all its sparse furnishings. Nervously it seemed, he shoved his hands into his pockets, only to pull them right back out and cross his arms over his chest. Finally, he settled on running his hand over the back of the Dom's brown leather couch. For all his pretending to be indifferent, Dom didn't miss the sweaty outline of his palm, marring the smooth surface when Matt lifted hand to scratch the back of his neck.
"You want a tour?"
The brunet locked eyes with Dom, slowly shaking his head back and forth. "No, I want you naked."
Dom grinned, grabbing Matt's hand and leading him to the bedroom. Frantically, they undressed, only stopping to toss clothing between greedy, sloppy kisses. Dom could only laugh when they were finally naked: he never would have guessed that such a small looking man could be hiding such a large cock.
Matt must have felt the same, because eyed Dom openly, letting out a low whistle. "I feel like I've won the lottery," he said, shoving a giggling blond down onto the mattress and clambering on top of him.
Dom gasped when Matt rolled his hips, their lengths sliding together. He was already hard - so fucking hard- that he feared he would burst. "Oh god, do that again."
"Say please, pretty," growled Matt, his hands squeezing at Dom's waist to hold him still.
"Ha! It's going to take a lot more than that to get meto say please," scoffed the blond, the building tension abated for the moment. Even so, he found he could not stymie the whine that whistled through his clenched teeth when Matt's long fingers enveloped them both, stroking at an agonizingly slow pace.
The brunet leaned down, sucking an earlobe between his lips and nibbling for a moment before letting his tongue dart in for a taste.
"I like a challenge," he whispered, his breath hot against the shell of Dom's ear. A shiver skittered down Dom's spine, and he moaned helplessly. "And, fuck me, you look good enough to eat."
As if to prove his point, he latched on to Dom's neck, sucking and biting until the blond's head was spinning, his entire world brought down to the man whose hands and lips seemed more important than petty pride.
"Please," Dom begged, his voice little more than a whimper. "Please, Matt, please."
For a moment, they were still: bodies suspended by an unexpected and easy surrender. But before Dom could retract his words or offer explanation, a wicked grin split Matt's face from ear to ear.
"Good boy," he cackled, sitting back to flip Dom over easily, his thin arms belying their strength. The blond said nothing, only arched his back as he felt the head of Matt's cock press lightly against his entrance. "Such a good, good boy."
It was the last thing either of them said.
If Dom had ever worried that Matt's conversation skills were a direct reflection of his bedroom prowess, he would forever thereafter be able to confidently testify that this was not the case. He was like a living, breathing dildo in the way that he kept going, even after Dom had come the first time.
Instead of letting himself go, he had pulled out of the squirming, screaming blond and focused his attention on all of the sensitive parts of Dom's tingling body. A few well placed nibbles followed by lazy licks on Dom's toes had him ready to go again, and Matt was more than happy to oblige.
Finally, they lay still, panting and exhausted and thoroughly fucked.
"That was nice." Dom felt the man behind him kiss along the nape of his neck, noting that already his spine was tingling with anxiety. Quickly, he rolled away from Matt, standing to his feet and snatching his boxers up from the floor.
"Yeah, it was a great time."
"Okay," Matt snorted, rolling onto his back and stretching luxuriously. He fixed Dom with a soft grin as he settled back into the mattress. "Next time, I think you should let me take you to dinner first and we'll actually eat. La Nop's okay, but Chris and I used to go to this one place, um… A Taste of Thai, I think it was? Anyway, they've got this pineapple fried rice that is to fucking die fo-"
"Look," Dom interrupted, smiling gently. His stomach was curdling at the thought of a date, no matter how benign it may appear to be. Besides, the longer I put this off, the more upset he'll be. Best to end it now. "I don't know that there should be a next time. I promise, it's not you - it's me. I mean I just can't be tied down right n-"
"Seriously?" the sweet smile quickly twisted into something else - a mash up of mockery and incredulity, the two emotions seeming to war from his hairline to that cute little dent in the middle of his chin that Dom had been so drawn to at dinner. "That's seriously the line you're going to use on me?"
Dom hated this part.
He never understood what it was about one night stands that left room for misinterpretation. It wasn't as though he'd implied that they would see each other further. Hell, he hadn't even given his number to the other man, and the only thing that had been promised was sex. As it stood, his erstwhile partner couldn't deny that Dom had fulfilled that part of the bargain - the proof was in the pudding.
Well, it's definitely in the come all over his stomach.
"You really are a prick, aren't you?" Matt laughed mirthlessly as he bent over to retrieve the clothes that they'd strewn earlier while in the heat of their careless ardor. His hair was a very becoming mess, tufted in some areas from Dom's fingers while plastered in others by drying sweat. A dark, purple mark covered an embarrassingly large amount of Matt's neck, like wine spilled onto cream colored carpet. He spoke again, his voice jarred Dom from admiring his work. "I hadn't believed Chris when he first told me. I figured that you had been friends for so long that maybe he'd just lost sight of anything good in…you know what? It doesn't matter. The point is, he was right."
Dom watched the other man shake his head sadly, pulling his pants up and reaching to tug his shirt over his head.
"Chris said I was a prick?"
"I'll see you around, Dom. Thanks for the dick."
Nonplussed, Dom watched as Matt slipped his bare feet back into his shoes, grabbing his socks and belt before he turned to leave without waiting to be led to the door. He still hadn't moved when he heard the soft click of the front door latching shut, or budged an inch by the time he heard the sound of an engine roaring to life and tires screeching angrily as Matt drove away.
* * * * *
"He's right, you know." Dom nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the voice, so close to his ear. After Matt had left, his complete lack of gratitude fizzled whatever afterglow Dom had been struggling to cling to. Instead of feeling sated and sleepy, he was restless and agitated - in short; he was in desperate need of a drink. A quick inventory of his fridge revealed that he had nothing in the way of alcohol, so he decided a quick trip to the liquor section of the Oak Leaf Publix was in order. It wasn't like he'd be sleeping any time soon. A man stood next to him, a blue black wash of stubble over his tan cheeks that was in direct contrast to the bright, wide smile that stretched all the way to his glittering brown eyes. He was cleanly dressed in a high dollar black suit that hugged his frame despite the white button down top tucked beneath the jacket. A chunky, bright silver watch glinted on his wrist while a very expensive pair of aviators dangled from the open collar of his shirt, all of which was slovenly paired with a well worn pair of red canvas Converse tennis shoes.
And, as though he didn't look appealing enough, Dom noted as he leaned in closer that he smelled divine. Like cinnamon and cloves on a bed of patchouli or morning earth.
"Lovely," Dom murmured, his eyes drifting shut as he took a deep breath.
"What's that?" his voice was silk, sliding over Dom's skin and tugging him out of his sudden urge to bury his face in that jacket and sniff the hell out of it. Instead, he felt his cheeks heat, and cleared his throat to cover up his embarrassment.
"The Pinot Grigio looks lovely. I'd like to grab a bottle of it, if you wouldn't mind.'"
"Ah," the stranger said, his smile never faltering, though his lips quivered a bit in repressed laughter. He stepped out of the way, rubbing his chin with his forefinger as he watched Dom snatch up the bottle of wine he had pointed out.
"You were saying?" Dom tilted his head, letting his eyes roam over the man in front of him again, lingering unabashedly in a few choice areas. When their gazes met once more, Dom recognized the disappointment that had crashed over the previous friendliness.
"Honestly, Dominic, is that all you ever think about?"
Fear squeezed Dom's insides; he didn't remember introducing himself. "How did you know my name?"
"Look, I don't have a lot of time, so let's just skip the introductions. We'll say that I've known you for quite some time, alright?"
Seems familiar, somehow, but I'm not sure. I wonder if…
"Have we fucked?" Dom asked, the alarm softening around the edges. It wasn't unlike him to have bedded someone and completely forgotten about them within a week's time. After all, with a track record as long as his, one couldn't expect him to remember every name and face of every person he'd ever slept with - that would be unreasonable. Of course, it did seem as though they never forgot about him, the poor assholes. Dom was nothing if not a good lay. It was something he prided himself on, and he loved nothing more than proving his prowess. Man with a dick like yours shouldn't be kept a secret, Howard. Add in the skills, and hell, it's just cruel not to share.
"Stick with me, Dom," the man snapped in his face, which would have offended him, except that his hand came to rest on Dom's own, so soft and warm and smooth and horribly distracting. "My name is Tom, and no, we haven't, erm… No, we've not done…that."
"We haven't?" Tom took a step back, crossing his arms and shaking his head as Dom leaned in closer. "Maybe we should."
Tom's hand came out of nowhere, lightning fast across Dom's cheek and leaving a sting to match its force.
"What the fuck?" Dom howled, jumping away from the man and covering his red skin with the palm of his hand.
"Pay attention, Dom."
"You hit me!"
"And I'll do it again if you don't shut up," Tom warned, a menacing edge to his voice. "Now listen." He waited a few moments, his thick eyebrows raised in what appeared to be a test to see whether Dom would try and talk again or not. When it seemed like he was satisfied, he spoke again. "I want to offer you something, something that could change your life."
"Don't tell me you're one of those Jehovah's Witness dudes. Look, no offense, but I don't really think I need religion; I'm basically a good person. Except for that one time when I did that thing to that one cat… but we all do stupid shit when we're drunk, right?"
"I'M OFFERING YOU A GLIMPSE!"
Dom nearly dropped his wine, his eyes flying open wide at the outburst. "Okay, dude, no problem. But if you're going to offer me a glimpse, then chances are I'm going to want to see more. So, why don't we just take this to my place?"
"You know what? I'm going to let this go," Tom sighed, defeated. He pursed his lips, taking a moment to knead the space between his eyebrows his thumb and forefinger. "I'll be back when you're ready to discuss this like a sensible person instead of acting like an ignorant asswipe."
Dom could only watch the man's back as he left, puzzled over their exchange and Tom's evident exasperation with him. But, once he was home and two glasses in, the whole encounter seemed as hazy as a distant memory. All too soon he was drifting off to sleep, Tom and his "glimpse" completely forgotten.
* * * * *
Sunlight painted the back of his eyelids an odd shade of russet, pulling him from deep sleep into the morning, but he wasn't ready to get up just yet. Groaning, he grabbed a handful of blankets and jerked them up to his chin, scooting down the mattress until his toes hung over the edge. He was just settling back into a dream, something with warm, soft skin and a sweet way of nibbling on his ear that made him curl his toes. In fact, the enthusiastic way that the hot, wet tongue licked his cheek, the feel of drool slivering down the back of Dom's neck felt so real that….
"What the fuck?"
Dom leapt out of bed, only to hear a strange yelping noise, followed by a thump of bones as a body hit the floor. Terrified, he could only stand transfixed as the prisoner tried to fight free of the blanket ensconcing him. A few seconds of futile attempts at escape ticked by before the intruder went still, with only a high pitched whine emanating from the depths of fabric to let Dom know he was still alive.
"I don't know who you are," Dom whispered, his voice shaky and breathless instead of menacing like he'd intended, "or how you got in, but -"
"What happened in here?"
Whipping his head around, Dom barely registered the flash of dark hair and light skin that dashed past him toward the whimpering blanket. It only took him a fraction of a minute to realize that the man untangling the ear rapist was the same man who had walked away the night before - the same man who'd thanked him for sex after insulting him and was now staring quizzically up at him, dressed in only an apron.
"What did you do to Winston?" he asked, standing to his feet again. The ruffles at the hemline of his cow spotted apron were in sore need of straightening, and Dom could see the tip of Matt Bellamy's manhood peeking from underneath in the most distracting way. Matt himself snorted, tugging down the frilly edges and smoothing over the large, block letters at his chest that read "Moo's the Boss!" "Face is up here, hoss. What happened to Winston?"
An offended huff came from behind Matt's skinny legs, where the ugliest dog Dom had ever laid eyes on was slinking, a look of utter heartbreak on his face. His ears were floppy, and his eyes were big and watery brown, but that was the closest thing on the animal's entire body that resembled a normal dog. His black muzzle was so distorted by a crippling under bite that the poor creature's nose seemed to be shoved back into his skull.
His little stump of a tail tried to tuck itself between his long, sturdy looking legs, but it was so stinted that it couldn't even cover the dog's asshole. And while his powerful body might have been impressive - judging by the muscles that rippled beneath his shiny tan coat - when the dog cocked his head and simultaneously farted, he seemed more disgusting than threatening.
"Where the hell am I?" Dom asked finally, looking about a room which was most definitely not his.
"Ha ha, very funny," Matt said in a voice that let Dom know he did not find this funny at all. He slapped the bewildered blond once on his bottom before grabbing a spoon up off the bed that he must've thrown down on his way in to save Winston. He brandished it in the air, a goofy grin playing at the edge of his lips. "Get your ass to the table or I'll spank you again."
With that, the other man sashayed out, making a show of shaking his own, unclothed rear at Dom as he went.
Dom could smell the bacon frying a few moments later, and his heart kicked into overdrive, a panic attack threatening to bowl him over at any moment. He could not be here, in this house, having breakfast with a naked man who left him only hours ago on not-so-friendly terms.
Yet here he was, and how he got into this predicament remained a mystery to him. He didn't remember ever asking Matt for his number, so there couldn't have been a drunken call. He was just about to dive out the window in his boxers when the phone rang.
"Babe, can you get that?" Matt called from the kitchen.
Babe? This has got to be a nightmare…
Still, he looked at the nightstand where the phone sat, ringing obstinately - as if to spite him. Warily, he reached for it, kicking himself for not taking this literal window of opportunity to escape. "Hello?"
"Now will you pay attention?"
One conversation. That's all he'd had with the man on the phone, but he would recognize that voice anywhere.
"What the fuck is going on, Tom?"
"Consider this a favor from a concerned benefactor, Dominic," said the voice on the receiver. "A once in a lifetime opportunity to learn an invaluable lesson."
"I don't understand," Dom said, panic soaking the back of his tongue. It was all he could do not to fall to his knees and plead for this to be nothing but a horrible nightmare, courtesy of a bottle of cheap wine and a mariachi band. Those things were evil.
"You will," Tom assured him, "and once you have, you can go back to your petty little life with your empty little aspirations."
"Hey!"
"I don't do this for just anyone, Dom. So pay attention."
And with that, the line went dead. Dom stared at the phone in his hand, the dial tone blaring and filling his head with hopelessness. He was stuck. He was stuck in this fucking house with that fucking naked man and his fucking dog and he had no way of getting out.
Bending down to put his head between his knees, Dom gulped for air, beating his fists against his shins when that failed to calm him down. From behind him, he heard the clinking sounds of plates being set on the table, the popping of coffee percolating and the hiss of butter hitting the frying pan. He had only seconds before Matt came back in and found him like this, and he had no intentions of trying to explain.
So, he did the only thing he knew to do - he stood and walked into the kitchen, Winston hot on his heels.
Author: frisky_biscuit
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 6367
Pairing: Bellamy/Howard
Summary: Does having everything you want truly make you happy?
Disclaimer: I do not own any persons, places, themes, or elements in this; nor am I affiliated with the persons represented. Only the story is mine. No harm was intended by this.
Note: Please note the rating and acknowledge that you are accepting full responsibility for reading this. You have been warned.
A/N: If raising a child takes a village then consider me one lucky bitch to have such incredible people to call my "neighbors." Thank you to the flawless dolce_piccante and my sweet and supportive sis millionstar for letting me bit them to death. Your input has meant more to me than you'll ever know, and I adore you both. Thanks also to shayunknown who looked at this in its beginning stages and told me it wasn't crap and to continue on, your encouragement is so vital to me. Finally, thanks to amusedinred , who kept me focused when all I wanted to do was talk about Dom's nipples. I don't think this would've gotten done had you not gently (and sometimes not so gently) reminded me to write. This is something a little different than I'm used to writing, as I'm putting myself on a timeline and forcing myself to adhere to it. I seriously hope you all enjoy it.
<3
Glimpse (gl
mps) n. A brief, incomplete view or look.
"Was something brushed across my mind That no one on earth will ever find?
Heaven gives it glimpses only to those Not in position to look too close." ~ excerpt from A Passing Glimpse, by Robert Frost
"Good morning, Mr. Howard!"
"Morning, Janiece!" Dominic said, winking at the receptionist as he breezed past her. She blushed in response, as she did every morning since the start of his career with Edmund and Sons Law Firm. And, as he had since his first day, Dom let his eyes rove over her, grinning when she preened under his scrutiny. "Lovely top."
"Why, thank you!" Janiece crowed, bending over just the slightest bit to offer him a view down said top. The sight was nice enough, but it was more impressive that she had the wherewithal to feign innocence. "You're so sweet, Dominic."
"As are you, babe," he laughed, stealing one last glance at the smooth, cinnamon skin tucked beneath red lace before waggling his eyebrows and continuing on.
A bounce in his step, Dom made his way back to his cubicle, waving to each of the four sons as he passed them. Edmund himself was tucked behind the largest door in the farthest corner of the building, but Dom would see him soon enough.
He had just made a break in their most recent case involving a pharmaceutical sales rep who had been keeping a bit of his product to himself and trying to sell it on the street to turn a greater profit. It had been an amateurish and stupid mistake on the part of the sales rep - a small scale case by Edmund Wolstenholme's standards - but Dom had been allowed to take it on by himself, thanks in no small part to Edmund's middle son, Chris.
Actually, if Dom were to give credit where credit was due, Chris Wolstenholme was the entire reason he even had a job. Having met in law school, Dom found himself drawn to Chris' easy gait and calm demeanor, while Chris himself had enjoyed the benefits that came with Dom's severe phobia of his grade point average falling even a tenth of a point - as well as his generosity, which often extended to allowing his friends a peek at his homework.
It didn't hurt that Chris was entirely disinterested in any of Dom's numerous dates, either.
By the time they graduated, Dom had spent the better part of his summer vacations interning for Edmund and Sons, as well as more than a few holidays at the Wolstenholme family's sprawling manse off the shores of St. Augustine. Edmund himself could hardly deny the logic behind bringing Dom on board when Chris brought up the idea over a Sunday brunch.
That, however, was as far as his friendship with Edmund's son took him.
Once he'd crossed the threshold of that brick building with its ornate columns and stone etchings, he'd had to fight to earn every single case he was given. Most of them were passed down to him because the sons were either preoccupied with larger cases or found the lawsuits to be tedious.
Dom wasn't one to pick and choose, and as a result, his experience was broad and his methods were sound. It was his persistence and consistency that led Edmund to assign him a case of a grander scale, and that was more than enough to prove that he had finally won the old man's respect.
Yet even with that knowledge, Dom couldn't still the butterflies of apprehension that swarmed in his gut. The acute awareness that he had a meeting with Edmund to run over his reports and progress was more than enough to send him to the bathroom twice before he'd ever set foot outside of his house that morning.
As if on cue, the moment Dom had settled into his chair and pressed the button to boot up his computer, his phone rang. A quick glance at the lines told him it was Terry, Edmund's personal assistant.
"Hey, Terry!"
"Dom," her voice was soft and gentle, but he could practically see her on the other line, marking him off some unseen checklist. Terry was a machine - a sweet but thorough expert who performed all of her tasks with professionalism and proficiency. Even now, as she told him that Edmund expected him in his office right this moment, she did so with courtesy and in a timely fashion.
"Sounds great," Dom answered, but she was no longer there, having predictably moved on to the next task on her lengthy list. "Right."
Dom stood to his feet, scratching idly at his stomach. He tugged open a drawer of his desk to whip out the little rhinestone leopard print compact he kept there, popping it open to check his hair. Satisfied, he shoved the little mirror back into the drawer and closed it, spinning on his heel to make his way down the long corridor.
All around him the office buzzed with life; copy machines whirring and phone rings punctuating the low mumble of people clustered here and there throughout the building. Everyone seemed oblivious to the war raging in Dom's stomach: one part desperate to empty itself onto the floor right then and there, while what was left clenched with giddy expectancy.
His entire future was staked on today's meeting, he could feel it.
Reaching the great wooden door that gleamed at the end of the hallway, Dom took one final deep breath, whispered a quiet "you got this, Howard," and lifted his fist to knock on the door with more confidence than he felt. You always were a pro at bullshit. Makes you good at your job, though.
A muffled "Come in," had him turning the knob and entering, trying hard to hide the whoosh of air that burst from his lips in a nervous rush.
The eldest Wolstenhome sat behind his massive desk, a pile of papers to each side of him and a folder that lay open in front of him. Even in his high back desk chair, Edmund Wolstenholme was a looming presence. He was tall with broad shoulders, thick arms, unreadable eyes and a permascowl carved into his deeply tanned face. In short, he was intimidation personified, and not even Dom's years of friendship with Chris - which had included copious amounts of exposure to the man - had served to cure the shaky feeling that often kicked up in the pit of Dom's stomach whenever Edmund's eyes were on him.
"Have a seat," ordered Edmund, motioning to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Dom did as he was instructed, handing the elder man his reports and letting his attention wander over the office while he waited for it to be reviewed.
If there was one thing the senior Wolstenholme loved more than anything, it was his wife, Annabel. But, next to her was his grand and lasting passion for hunting. As if to prove this, his work space was covered with trophies, pictures - it was more a mausoleum for the old man's conquests than an actual place for labor. Dom knew this was because Mrs. Wolstenhome had drawn the line at the elephant head Edmund had dragged in when he returned last year from a hunting safari in South Africa. She'd quickly hired an interior designer to turn Edmund's office into a reincarnation of the African plains, and sent as many mounted heads and stuffed carcasses of slaughtered animals as could be fit into the large room.
Now, instead of the petite woman who owned the old man's heart, it was Dom who sat beneath the dead eyed stares of the fallen beasts that lined Edmund's office walls. He couldn't help but wonder if this is how the poor creatures must have felt in their last moments, staring the old man in the face and waiting for him to decide their fate.
Blinking a few times, Dom tore his eyes away from the lifeless ones of the open jawed alligator that hung by the window and forced his gaze back to Mr. Wolstenholme.
"Good work, son," Edmund stated, his little dash of a mouth lifting infinitesimally at the edges, only to fall flat once more. His jowls shook a bit as he regarded Dom, setting down the report to interlace his meaty fingers and bring them to rest on top of it. "I'm not a man to consider adding partners to the firm who aren't in my family, but Chris insists that you'd be a great fit." He paused, seemingly to let his words sink in. Dom fought the urge to sit on his hands, which suddenly wanted to flail about in glee. "I like to think of myself as an open minded man, so I'm willing to give you a trial, provided that you take on several high profile cases prior to promotion. If you can do that, then I'm thinking that Edmund and Sons could very well use a Howard."
That was more than Dom had ever come into the firm hoping for. At best, he had only allowed his imagination to roam as far as starting with Edmund and Sons before heading to Arlington to open his own firm when the time came.
But a partnership? It was more than he had ever dared to dream.
"Yes, sir," Dom grinned, clasping the hand that the old man offered. "I can definitely do that!"
Gracelessly he scrambled to his feet, trying to ignore the trembling behind his kneecaps.
"I look forward to it."
"Thank you, sir," gasped the blond, slamming his mouth shut so that at least he didn't look like a mouth breather in addition to being a klutz. With a final nod, the old man went back to his work, leaving Dom to see himself out. Every step that brought him closer to his desk felt lighter, less steady, the thought of being made partner the only coherent thing in his head.
"Hey, Howard!"
Dom spun around on his heel, continuing to walk backwards as he spotted Chris leaning out of his office door. He had both of his arms out, one hand in thumbs up while the other was a thumbs down, a look of expectancy on his face.
Biting his lip to stifle a laugh, Dom gave his friend two thumbs up, nearly losing his control when Chris whooped for him.
"Come eat with me tonight," Chris said, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm going to be meeting a friend of mine who just moved into the area at La Nopalera on Argyle Forest if you want to tag along. On me of course, Mr. Promotion."
"Yeah, sounds good!"
"Be there at six, Dom!" Chris yelled after him, "And don't be late either, you fluffy assed diva!"
"Fuck you," Dom chortled, flipping up his middle fingers at his friends' laughing face.
"Language, Howard," snorted Jason Wolstenholme, the youngest of the bunch. He was on his way in - late as usual - his arms laden with a shiny crocodile skin briefcase and a sloshing cup of coffee. "This is a family atmosphere, you dumb fuck."
"Jason!"
"Sorry Pops!" Jason flushed beet red, while Chris and Dom dashed off to their respective office and cubicle like cockroaches when the light flicked on. The old man waddled by them all, his round stomach steering him toward the restroom.
As Dom settled behind his desk, humming an off key tune to himself and laying out his reports, a glint of something caught his eye. There, perched on the edge of his desk was a black marble paperweight, his name written in gold, capital letters over the smooth surface.
"Dominic Howard: Edmund, Sons and Howard," he read, lightly brushing the tips of his fingers over the new and improved firm's title. A tiny sliver of paper rested beneath the chunky thing with familiar handwriting.
You've got this, bro. ~ Chris
He smiled, throat tight, as he tossed the weight from palm to palm, marveling at the coolness of it against his skin. It seemed as if the whole world were falling at his feet, each piece of his life clicking into place perfectly, effortlessly even.
There was absolutely nothing more he could ever ask for, and no way for him to be beaten. He felt completely and utterly invincible.
* * * * *
The restaurant was so loud that Dom's first thought was to turn around and leave, Chris be damned.
Cutlery clattered against plates to the backdrop of various sports programs on the huge flat screens that hung from different corners of the building. Patrons were yelling at each other to be heard while the bartender blended a frozen drink, tapping his foot all the while to the beat of the mariachi band that was moving from table to table like a portable nuisance.
But, whether out of boredom or just plain curiosity - how could Chris know someone he didn't? - Dom stuck it out, and made himself slide into the booth where Chris sat with another man.
"Nice of you to show up, Howard!" Chris grinned, scooting over and shoving a sweaty bottle of something lovely and alcoholic toward Dom. "Took the liberty of ordering you a drink. Hope you don't mind a beer, because I wasn't about to order you a girly drink."
"Mojitos are very masculine," pouted Dom, pulling the drink to himself all the same and taking a dainty sip off the top. Chris' friend watched the exchange in companionable silence, a grin wrinkling the edges of his startlingly blue eyes. Though admittedly attractive man, he was hardly Dom's type. He was slim, with sharp angles and fragile looking limbs, and a shock of brown hair that seemed to defy gravity by floating all over his skull.
Still, his skin looked soft, and his smile was easy and that in and of itself made up for his lack of bulk.
"So," Dom started, trying his damndest to be casual," who's your friend?"
"Dom, this is Matt Bellamy," Chris said, patting the former on his back before continuing, "Matt, this is Howard the Fuck."
"Hey!" Dom protested, but any other objection he might have made died on his tongue in the wake of the singularly most annoying sound he had ever heard.
Matt Bellamy was leaning back in his chair, his head tipped back and throat bobbing in what was apparently laughter, but amidst the cacophony of the restaurant, it sounded more like a dying burro.
"Don't insult the movie," said the small man once he'd regained his composure. Quickly, he swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand before pinching the tip of his nose, as though that would stop the honking sound of his giggles. "Extraterrestrial ducks have feelings, too."
"God, I forgot how corny you are," Chris took a swig of his beer, nearly spitting it out when a tortilla chip came flying at his head. Matt made that horrible cackling sound again. "That was a shit movie, man, and you know it!"
"The fuck I do! It was great film."
"You can't possibly remember what the movie was even about! You were shitfaced from all that pot and Randy kept trying to suck your dick, if I recall correctly."
That perked Dom's ears up. He had been listening to the ping pong of banter, completely out of the loop and unaware of what the two men were referring to, but the mention of sexuality was enough to gain his interest. Not that he'd ever had trouble luring a straight man to his bed before.
"Dude, where's the bathroom? I've got to piss like a fucking racehorse." Chris stood, stretching out and looking around until he spotted what he was searching for. He glanced at Dom. "You two alright?"
"Yeah, no problem," Dom said, making a shooing motion with his hands. The taller man gave his friends a quick thumbs up before taking off.
"You work with Chris, right?" Matt started, and though it was meant to be more of a conversation starter than an inquisition, Dom found himself nodding in response.
"Yeah, yeah. We went to law school together."
"Ah."
"And you?" asked Dom, spinning the bottle cap from his beer like a top on the table. "How do you know Chris?"
"Grew up with him," Matt beamed, his eyes lighting up. "We were neighbors in elementary school. My mama didn't raise no fool, I saw big, tall Chris and spotted my chance to avoid wedgies and being dumped in lockers."
"Funny, I don't remember him ever mentioning you." It was a catty thing to say, but it was out before Dom could think to stop it, and he wasn't about to apologize for the slip.
"Probably not much reason to," Matt said dispassionately. "I have absolutely nothing in common with the man but history and one chick we both dated around the same time in high school." He chuckled lightly. "But, you know, bros before hoes."
"And what brings you to Jacksonville? Are you from here?"
"Originally, yes," the brunet answered, picking up a chip and swirling it in salsa. He stared at it for a moment before setting it on his open napkin and continuing. "I opened up a franchise in Daytona with an inheritance my Nana left me. It's doing pretty good, so I'm opening another one on Neptune Beach."
"What kind of franchise?"
"Bellamy's Beach Hut," Matt said proudly. "We sell surf boards, and towels, plus all the tourist shit like shot glasses and tee shirts."
"Ah." It was Dom's turn to be disinterested. Surf shops were a dime a dozen, especially in Daytona, so he wasn't sure exactly what Matt felt like he was accomplishing by opening another one. "Any specific reason why you've chosen Neptune Beach?"
"Daytona's okay," Matt shrugged, "but I hate spring break, and I especially loathe summers there. Neptune seems to have more locals than tourists, and I like that. Plus, my family's in Orange Park, so it just makes sense right now."
Dom nodded, watching the other man as he finished his drink and set it down in front of him. There seemed to be nothing more to say, so they sat quietly, waiting for Chris to come and save them from the lull.
Chris was taking his time, however, and as the silence stretched on without him returning, Dom began to wish he'd turned and left when he had the chance.
He wasn't certain when the moment slid from awkward silence to heated tension; all Dom knew for sure was when he looked back up, those big, bottomless blues were fastened on him, and Matt was worrying his full bottom lip with his teeth.
"How awful would it be if I asked you to blow him off and take me home?"
* * * * *
"Nice place," Matt said once they'd walked into Dom's house. His eyes darted everywhere, taking in the large living room with all its sparse furnishings. Nervously it seemed, he shoved his hands into his pockets, only to pull them right back out and cross his arms over his chest. Finally, he settled on running his hand over the back of the Dom's brown leather couch. For all his pretending to be indifferent, Dom didn't miss the sweaty outline of his palm, marring the smooth surface when Matt lifted hand to scratch the back of his neck.
"You want a tour?"
The brunet locked eyes with Dom, slowly shaking his head back and forth. "No, I want you naked."
Dom grinned, grabbing Matt's hand and leading him to the bedroom. Frantically, they undressed, only stopping to toss clothing between greedy, sloppy kisses. Dom could only laugh when they were finally naked: he never would have guessed that such a small looking man could be hiding such a large cock.
Matt must have felt the same, because eyed Dom openly, letting out a low whistle. "I feel like I've won the lottery," he said, shoving a giggling blond down onto the mattress and clambering on top of him.
Dom gasped when Matt rolled his hips, their lengths sliding together. He was already hard - so fucking hard- that he feared he would burst. "Oh god, do that again."
"Say please, pretty," growled Matt, his hands squeezing at Dom's waist to hold him still.
"Ha! It's going to take a lot more than that to get meto say please," scoffed the blond, the building tension abated for the moment. Even so, he found he could not stymie the whine that whistled through his clenched teeth when Matt's long fingers enveloped them both, stroking at an agonizingly slow pace.
The brunet leaned down, sucking an earlobe between his lips and nibbling for a moment before letting his tongue dart in for a taste.
"I like a challenge," he whispered, his breath hot against the shell of Dom's ear. A shiver skittered down Dom's spine, and he moaned helplessly. "And, fuck me, you look good enough to eat."
As if to prove his point, he latched on to Dom's neck, sucking and biting until the blond's head was spinning, his entire world brought down to the man whose hands and lips seemed more important than petty pride.
"Please," Dom begged, his voice little more than a whimper. "Please, Matt, please."
For a moment, they were still: bodies suspended by an unexpected and easy surrender. But before Dom could retract his words or offer explanation, a wicked grin split Matt's face from ear to ear.
"Good boy," he cackled, sitting back to flip Dom over easily, his thin arms belying their strength. The blond said nothing, only arched his back as he felt the head of Matt's cock press lightly against his entrance. "Such a good, good boy."
It was the last thing either of them said.
If Dom had ever worried that Matt's conversation skills were a direct reflection of his bedroom prowess, he would forever thereafter be able to confidently testify that this was not the case. He was like a living, breathing dildo in the way that he kept going, even after Dom had come the first time.
Instead of letting himself go, he had pulled out of the squirming, screaming blond and focused his attention on all of the sensitive parts of Dom's tingling body. A few well placed nibbles followed by lazy licks on Dom's toes had him ready to go again, and Matt was more than happy to oblige.
Finally, they lay still, panting and exhausted and thoroughly fucked.
"That was nice." Dom felt the man behind him kiss along the nape of his neck, noting that already his spine was tingling with anxiety. Quickly, he rolled away from Matt, standing to his feet and snatching his boxers up from the floor.
"Yeah, it was a great time."
"Okay," Matt snorted, rolling onto his back and stretching luxuriously. He fixed Dom with a soft grin as he settled back into the mattress. "Next time, I think you should let me take you to dinner first and we'll actually eat. La Nop's okay, but Chris and I used to go to this one place, um… A Taste of Thai, I think it was? Anyway, they've got this pineapple fried rice that is to fucking die fo-"
"Look," Dom interrupted, smiling gently. His stomach was curdling at the thought of a date, no matter how benign it may appear to be. Besides, the longer I put this off, the more upset he'll be. Best to end it now. "I don't know that there should be a next time. I promise, it's not you - it's me. I mean I just can't be tied down right n-"
"Seriously?" the sweet smile quickly twisted into something else - a mash up of mockery and incredulity, the two emotions seeming to war from his hairline to that cute little dent in the middle of his chin that Dom had been so drawn to at dinner. "That's seriously the line you're going to use on me?"
Dom hated this part.
He never understood what it was about one night stands that left room for misinterpretation. It wasn't as though he'd implied that they would see each other further. Hell, he hadn't even given his number to the other man, and the only thing that had been promised was sex. As it stood, his erstwhile partner couldn't deny that Dom had fulfilled that part of the bargain - the proof was in the pudding.
Well, it's definitely in the come all over his stomach.
"You really are a prick, aren't you?" Matt laughed mirthlessly as he bent over to retrieve the clothes that they'd strewn earlier while in the heat of their careless ardor. His hair was a very becoming mess, tufted in some areas from Dom's fingers while plastered in others by drying sweat. A dark, purple mark covered an embarrassingly large amount of Matt's neck, like wine spilled onto cream colored carpet. He spoke again, his voice jarred Dom from admiring his work. "I hadn't believed Chris when he first told me. I figured that you had been friends for so long that maybe he'd just lost sight of anything good in…you know what? It doesn't matter. The point is, he was right."
Dom watched the other man shake his head sadly, pulling his pants up and reaching to tug his shirt over his head.
"Chris said I was a prick?"
"I'll see you around, Dom. Thanks for the dick."
Nonplussed, Dom watched as Matt slipped his bare feet back into his shoes, grabbing his socks and belt before he turned to leave without waiting to be led to the door. He still hadn't moved when he heard the soft click of the front door latching shut, or budged an inch by the time he heard the sound of an engine roaring to life and tires screeching angrily as Matt drove away.
* * * * *
"He's right, you know." Dom nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the voice, so close to his ear. After Matt had left, his complete lack of gratitude fizzled whatever afterglow Dom had been struggling to cling to. Instead of feeling sated and sleepy, he was restless and agitated - in short; he was in desperate need of a drink. A quick inventory of his fridge revealed that he had nothing in the way of alcohol, so he decided a quick trip to the liquor section of the Oak Leaf Publix was in order. It wasn't like he'd be sleeping any time soon. A man stood next to him, a blue black wash of stubble over his tan cheeks that was in direct contrast to the bright, wide smile that stretched all the way to his glittering brown eyes. He was cleanly dressed in a high dollar black suit that hugged his frame despite the white button down top tucked beneath the jacket. A chunky, bright silver watch glinted on his wrist while a very expensive pair of aviators dangled from the open collar of his shirt, all of which was slovenly paired with a well worn pair of red canvas Converse tennis shoes.
And, as though he didn't look appealing enough, Dom noted as he leaned in closer that he smelled divine. Like cinnamon and cloves on a bed of patchouli or morning earth.
"Lovely," Dom murmured, his eyes drifting shut as he took a deep breath.
"What's that?" his voice was silk, sliding over Dom's skin and tugging him out of his sudden urge to bury his face in that jacket and sniff the hell out of it. Instead, he felt his cheeks heat, and cleared his throat to cover up his embarrassment.
"The Pinot Grigio looks lovely. I'd like to grab a bottle of it, if you wouldn't mind.'"
"Ah," the stranger said, his smile never faltering, though his lips quivered a bit in repressed laughter. He stepped out of the way, rubbing his chin with his forefinger as he watched Dom snatch up the bottle of wine he had pointed out.
"You were saying?" Dom tilted his head, letting his eyes roam over the man in front of him again, lingering unabashedly in a few choice areas. When their gazes met once more, Dom recognized the disappointment that had crashed over the previous friendliness.
"Honestly, Dominic, is that all you ever think about?"
Fear squeezed Dom's insides; he didn't remember introducing himself. "How did you know my name?"
"Look, I don't have a lot of time, so let's just skip the introductions. We'll say that I've known you for quite some time, alright?"
Seems familiar, somehow, but I'm not sure. I wonder if…
"Have we fucked?" Dom asked, the alarm softening around the edges. It wasn't unlike him to have bedded someone and completely forgotten about them within a week's time. After all, with a track record as long as his, one couldn't expect him to remember every name and face of every person he'd ever slept with - that would be unreasonable. Of course, it did seem as though they never forgot about him, the poor assholes. Dom was nothing if not a good lay. It was something he prided himself on, and he loved nothing more than proving his prowess. Man with a dick like yours shouldn't be kept a secret, Howard. Add in the skills, and hell, it's just cruel not to share.
"Stick with me, Dom," the man snapped in his face, which would have offended him, except that his hand came to rest on Dom's own, so soft and warm and smooth and horribly distracting. "My name is Tom, and no, we haven't, erm… No, we've not done…that."
"We haven't?" Tom took a step back, crossing his arms and shaking his head as Dom leaned in closer. "Maybe we should."
Tom's hand came out of nowhere, lightning fast across Dom's cheek and leaving a sting to match its force.
"What the fuck?" Dom howled, jumping away from the man and covering his red skin with the palm of his hand.
"Pay attention, Dom."
"You hit me!"
"And I'll do it again if you don't shut up," Tom warned, a menacing edge to his voice. "Now listen." He waited a few moments, his thick eyebrows raised in what appeared to be a test to see whether Dom would try and talk again or not. When it seemed like he was satisfied, he spoke again. "I want to offer you something, something that could change your life."
"Don't tell me you're one of those Jehovah's Witness dudes. Look, no offense, but I don't really think I need religion; I'm basically a good person. Except for that one time when I did that thing to that one cat… but we all do stupid shit when we're drunk, right?"
"I'M OFFERING YOU A GLIMPSE!"
Dom nearly dropped his wine, his eyes flying open wide at the outburst. "Okay, dude, no problem. But if you're going to offer me a glimpse, then chances are I'm going to want to see more. So, why don't we just take this to my place?"
"You know what? I'm going to let this go," Tom sighed, defeated. He pursed his lips, taking a moment to knead the space between his eyebrows his thumb and forefinger. "I'll be back when you're ready to discuss this like a sensible person instead of acting like an ignorant asswipe."
Dom could only watch the man's back as he left, puzzled over their exchange and Tom's evident exasperation with him. But, once he was home and two glasses in, the whole encounter seemed as hazy as a distant memory. All too soon he was drifting off to sleep, Tom and his "glimpse" completely forgotten.
* * * * *
Sunlight painted the back of his eyelids an odd shade of russet, pulling him from deep sleep into the morning, but he wasn't ready to get up just yet. Groaning, he grabbed a handful of blankets and jerked them up to his chin, scooting down the mattress until his toes hung over the edge. He was just settling back into a dream, something with warm, soft skin and a sweet way of nibbling on his ear that made him curl his toes. In fact, the enthusiastic way that the hot, wet tongue licked his cheek, the feel of drool slivering down the back of Dom's neck felt so real that….
"What the fuck?"
Dom leapt out of bed, only to hear a strange yelping noise, followed by a thump of bones as a body hit the floor. Terrified, he could only stand transfixed as the prisoner tried to fight free of the blanket ensconcing him. A few seconds of futile attempts at escape ticked by before the intruder went still, with only a high pitched whine emanating from the depths of fabric to let Dom know he was still alive.
"I don't know who you are," Dom whispered, his voice shaky and breathless instead of menacing like he'd intended, "or how you got in, but -"
"What happened in here?"
Whipping his head around, Dom barely registered the flash of dark hair and light skin that dashed past him toward the whimpering blanket. It only took him a fraction of a minute to realize that the man untangling the ear rapist was the same man who had walked away the night before - the same man who'd thanked him for sex after insulting him and was now staring quizzically up at him, dressed in only an apron.
"What did you do to Winston?" he asked, standing to his feet again. The ruffles at the hemline of his cow spotted apron were in sore need of straightening, and Dom could see the tip of Matt Bellamy's manhood peeking from underneath in the most distracting way. Matt himself snorted, tugging down the frilly edges and smoothing over the large, block letters at his chest that read "Moo's the Boss!" "Face is up here, hoss. What happened to Winston?"
An offended huff came from behind Matt's skinny legs, where the ugliest dog Dom had ever laid eyes on was slinking, a look of utter heartbreak on his face. His ears were floppy, and his eyes were big and watery brown, but that was the closest thing on the animal's entire body that resembled a normal dog. His black muzzle was so distorted by a crippling under bite that the poor creature's nose seemed to be shoved back into his skull.
His little stump of a tail tried to tuck itself between his long, sturdy looking legs, but it was so stinted that it couldn't even cover the dog's asshole. And while his powerful body might have been impressive - judging by the muscles that rippled beneath his shiny tan coat - when the dog cocked his head and simultaneously farted, he seemed more disgusting than threatening.
"Where the hell am I?" Dom asked finally, looking about a room which was most definitely not his.
"Ha ha, very funny," Matt said in a voice that let Dom know he did not find this funny at all. He slapped the bewildered blond once on his bottom before grabbing a spoon up off the bed that he must've thrown down on his way in to save Winston. He brandished it in the air, a goofy grin playing at the edge of his lips. "Get your ass to the table or I'll spank you again."
With that, the other man sashayed out, making a show of shaking his own, unclothed rear at Dom as he went.
Dom could smell the bacon frying a few moments later, and his heart kicked into overdrive, a panic attack threatening to bowl him over at any moment. He could not be here, in this house, having breakfast with a naked man who left him only hours ago on not-so-friendly terms.
Yet here he was, and how he got into this predicament remained a mystery to him. He didn't remember ever asking Matt for his number, so there couldn't have been a drunken call. He was just about to dive out the window in his boxers when the phone rang.
"Babe, can you get that?" Matt called from the kitchen.
Babe? This has got to be a nightmare…
Still, he looked at the nightstand where the phone sat, ringing obstinately - as if to spite him. Warily, he reached for it, kicking himself for not taking this literal window of opportunity to escape. "Hello?"
"Now will you pay attention?"
One conversation. That's all he'd had with the man on the phone, but he would recognize that voice anywhere.
"What the fuck is going on, Tom?"
"Consider this a favor from a concerned benefactor, Dominic," said the voice on the receiver. "A once in a lifetime opportunity to learn an invaluable lesson."
"I don't understand," Dom said, panic soaking the back of his tongue. It was all he could do not to fall to his knees and plead for this to be nothing but a horrible nightmare, courtesy of a bottle of cheap wine and a mariachi band. Those things were evil.
"You will," Tom assured him, "and once you have, you can go back to your petty little life with your empty little aspirations."
"Hey!"
"I don't do this for just anyone, Dom. So pay attention."
And with that, the line went dead. Dom stared at the phone in his hand, the dial tone blaring and filling his head with hopelessness. He was stuck. He was stuck in this fucking house with that fucking naked man and his fucking dog and he had no way of getting out.
Bending down to put his head between his knees, Dom gulped for air, beating his fists against his shins when that failed to calm him down. From behind him, he heard the clinking sounds of plates being set on the table, the popping of coffee percolating and the hiss of butter hitting the frying pan. He had only seconds before Matt came back in and found him like this, and he had no intentions of trying to explain.
So, he did the only thing he knew to do - he stood and walked into the kitchen, Winston hot on his heels.