Friends (2/?)
Title: Friends (2/?)
Author: hannah_chapter
Summary: Sequel to Enemies. When worlds collide...
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: 15/R
Feedback: Hit me, baby, one more time.
Disclaimer: Don't own Muse, this is fiction, never happened.
Tom stands in the middle of the market, mind whirling.
Did he see what he thinks he just saw?
Is that really possible?
Only one way to find out.
The man, who might be Dom Howard and might just be some random guy, is shuffling down the next aisle. Tom, thinking the most casual thoughts he can, tries to sidle up to him and get a better look. He is not successful. His quarry spots him, does a ninety-degree turn and walks out of the market.
Tom ignores the nervous, fretting part of his brain, the part that's telling him to leave well enough alone, and follows. He's barely out of the market when it happens: a hand grabs the collar of his coat and hauls him into a convenient alley. His attacker shoves him up against the wall, holds him in place and Tom can feel the muzzle of a gun pressing against the one place no man ever wants to feel a gun pressed against.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Dom snarls, and it's Dom alright, Tom would know that voice anywhere, "you want to make your wife a widow? Huh? Do you?"
"I'm divorced."
This is not the answer Dom was expecting, and it puts him off-balance. He lets the cop go and backs up a couple of steps.
"Walk away, Tom, okay? Just forget you ever saw me."
Dom holsters his gun and starts walking out of the alley.
"Wait!"
Dom stops, turns back.
"What?" he asks, irritated.
"Can't we talk? Go somewhere, have a couple of beers and talk?"
The ex-cop backs away, eyes narrowing into suspicious slits.
"You think I'd do that to you, Dom? Lure you into a trap?"
Dom doesn't answer, he doesn't have to, and the fragile thread that is Tom's temper snaps.
"Fuck you, Dom! You know what, you're right, it's a terrible idea."
The cop shoves past his former friend.
"I'm going home. You can crawl back into whatever hole you crawled out of."
"I'm sorry, Tom."
"Are you?"
"Yes," Dom sighs, "alright. This is insane, but alright. Meet me outside this market tomorrow. Three o' clock. We'll talk then."
He's gone before Tom can say yes or no.
***********************************************
Black smoke fills the kitchen. Dom yelps and curses as he deposits the overcooked - no, make that burnt to shit - mess in the sink. So much for Matt's welcome meal. The front door opens and Dom puts a hand on his gun, his latest culinary disaster quickly forgotten. But he relaxes when Matt, and he'd know his man anywhere, all the wigs and makeup and contact lenses in the world will never change that, walks into the kitchen.
Matt drops his bags and races into his husband's arms with a happy squeal. They hold each other and Dom's heart swells with a mixture of happiness and deep relief, as it always does when they come together after time apart. Matt finally pulls away and coughs. He points at the mess in the sink.
"What was it?" he asks.
"Uh ... coq au vin?"
Matt smiles gently and turns back to his luggage. He holds up a couple of plastic bags and a bottle of wine.
"What did you get?" Dom asks.
"Chinese."
Dom pours the wine and arranges their food on plates while Matt takes a quick shower and takes his outside face off. They eat and talk and Dom throws an occasional baleful glance at the sink and the mess congealing within it. Matt touches his hand.
"It's not a big deal, sweetheart, honestly, it's not."
"It is," Dom pouts, "I wanted to cook for you. I wanted tonight to be special."
Fucking up their meal was bad. Matt's obvious anticipation of his failure is even worse.
"I know, and I appreciate the gesture," Matt replies, trying to be as tactful as he can, "but some people are good in the kitchen and some people just ... aren't."
Dom scowls and drains his wine glass. Matt scoots closer to him.
"Never mind," he says, "you're talented in other ways. Lots of ways."
All Dom's irritation melts away as his husband presses their lips together. The kiss deepens and everything else in the world melts away, too.
Matt pulls Dom to his feet.
"Take me to bed, Dom" he says, "take me to bed and do me slow."
Slow is what he asks for and slow is what he gets. Matt lies in his side, panting, sweating, as his husband holds his hip in an iron grip and moves deep within him, taking him to the very brink of ecstasy and keeping him there for what feels like forever. Matt is reduced to a boneless, babbling mess long before Dom lets him come.
Matt curls up on Dom's chest in the aftermath, humming, content.
"See?" he says, "you're plenty talented."
Dom chuckle and kisses the top of his husband's head.
"So," Matt asks, "seen any potential scores?"
"A few. I think we'll do well here."
"Crew?"
"I was waiting for you. It's better when we pick them together."
"True, and ..." Matt's next words are lost in a huge yawn. Dom rubs his neck.
"Go to sleep, Matt," he says, "we'll talk about it later."
"... mmm .... 'kay," Matt mutters, already half-asleep.
Dom doesn't sleep. He lies awake and thinks about Tom Kirk.
Tom - of all the people in his past, why did it have to be Tom?
And this meeting - he's not actually thinking of going to it, is he?
Is he?
***************************************
Tom checks his watch for the third or fourth time. It's fifteen - , no make that closer to twenty - minutes past the hour and Dom hasn't shown. The cop's shoulders slump in defeat. Well, he tried.
He turns to go and that's when he feels to hand on his arm.
"Follow me," Dom says.
He's walking away before Tom can argue. The cop follows the ex-cop through narrow, crowded streets and into a small, dark, sparsely populated bar. They get beers and find a table in a corner, far from prying eyes. They stare at each other, unsure of how to proceed.
"I didn't think you'd come," Tom finally ventures.
"I wasn't going to. But then ..." the ex-cop shrugs and sips his beer.
"It's good to see you, Dom. You look ... different."
"That's the idea."
"I almost didn't know you."
"But you did. What gave me away?"
"Your eyes. You should wear contacts."
"I tried. They make my eyes burn."
And they do. Matt wears them all the time, changing his distinctive blues to an unremarkable, muddy brown and back again. How Dom envies him.
"I see," Tom takes a sip of his own beer, " you know, it's funny, I was talking about you just the other day."
"Were you?"
"Yeah. I heard you killed a man."
"You heard right."
"Gutted him like a fish."
"Just like a fish."
Tom looks for any trace of shame or disgust on his old friend's face, finds none.
"Are you ... are you actually proud of it?"
"No. Not proud, not ashamed. He turned on us, sold us out to save himself, and Matt ..." Dom closes his eyes as he remembers that awful day, Matt bleeding in his lap, Dom trying to stop the bleeding with one hand and drive the car with the other. He opens his eyes, comes back to the present, " ... I had to do it. He spilled his guts, so I spilled his guts."
"What about his family?"
Dom laughs, a cold, bitter sound.
"Some family. Five dimwit brothers and their dimwit daddy. Pimps and meth cooks and degenerates. Trust me, the gene pool got much less polluted that day."
"You could have let them be."
"No. They would have come after us."
"So you did what had to be done"
"Yes, and you can stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I burned down a building full of kittens, babies and helpless old ladies. There were no innocents in that house."
Tom decides to let it go. They drink in silence for awhile.
"So," Dom says, "you got divorced."
"I did."
"What happened?"
Tom sighs.
"It was good, then it was bad, and then it was ugly. Very ugly."
"Your kids?"
"Bronwyn still talks to me. The others ... well, if they ever get tired of cutting off their noses to spite their faces, I'll be here. Until then..."
"I'm sorry."
"So am I."
Tom drinks, changes the subject.
"And what about you? How's your marriage working out?"
Dom smiles and touches his wedding ring.
"Amazing. It's better than I ever could have dreamed."
"Really?"
"Really. I never thought I could feel this way about anyone."
"Did you tell Matt you were meeting me?"
Dom's eyes lose some of their sparkle.
"No. But I will. He won't like it."
"You don't have to tell him."
"I know. But if Matt and I can't trust each other, who can we trust?"
"Can I ask you something, Dom?"
"Shoot."
"Why are you still doing this? You must have stolen enough to last a hundred lifetimes by now. Why don't you just quit? Go live on a tropical island or something?"
"Because we enjoy it. And we are so, so good at it."
Dom checks his watch, stands up.
"I gotta go. It was good seeing you, Tom."
"Can we meet again?"
"I don't think that's a good idea, do you?"
"Probably not. But can we?"
Dom chews it over, then sighs.
"Alright. In front of the market, same time next week."
He leaves Tom staring at empty glasses.
Author: hannah_chapter
Summary: Sequel to Enemies. When worlds collide...
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: 15/R
Feedback: Hit me, baby, one more time.
Disclaimer: Don't own Muse, this is fiction, never happened.
Tom stands in the middle of the market, mind whirling.
Did he see what he thinks he just saw?
Is that really possible?
Only one way to find out.
The man, who might be Dom Howard and might just be some random guy, is shuffling down the next aisle. Tom, thinking the most casual thoughts he can, tries to sidle up to him and get a better look. He is not successful. His quarry spots him, does a ninety-degree turn and walks out of the market.
Tom ignores the nervous, fretting part of his brain, the part that's telling him to leave well enough alone, and follows. He's barely out of the market when it happens: a hand grabs the collar of his coat and hauls him into a convenient alley. His attacker shoves him up against the wall, holds him in place and Tom can feel the muzzle of a gun pressing against the one place no man ever wants to feel a gun pressed against.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Dom snarls, and it's Dom alright, Tom would know that voice anywhere, "you want to make your wife a widow? Huh? Do you?"
"I'm divorced."
This is not the answer Dom was expecting, and it puts him off-balance. He lets the cop go and backs up a couple of steps.
"Walk away, Tom, okay? Just forget you ever saw me."
Dom holsters his gun and starts walking out of the alley.
"Wait!"
Dom stops, turns back.
"What?" he asks, irritated.
"Can't we talk? Go somewhere, have a couple of beers and talk?"
The ex-cop backs away, eyes narrowing into suspicious slits.
"You think I'd do that to you, Dom? Lure you into a trap?"
Dom doesn't answer, he doesn't have to, and the fragile thread that is Tom's temper snaps.
"Fuck you, Dom! You know what, you're right, it's a terrible idea."
The cop shoves past his former friend.
"I'm going home. You can crawl back into whatever hole you crawled out of."
"I'm sorry, Tom."
"Are you?"
"Yes," Dom sighs, "alright. This is insane, but alright. Meet me outside this market tomorrow. Three o' clock. We'll talk then."
He's gone before Tom can say yes or no.
***********************************************
Black smoke fills the kitchen. Dom yelps and curses as he deposits the overcooked - no, make that burnt to shit - mess in the sink. So much for Matt's welcome meal. The front door opens and Dom puts a hand on his gun, his latest culinary disaster quickly forgotten. But he relaxes when Matt, and he'd know his man anywhere, all the wigs and makeup and contact lenses in the world will never change that, walks into the kitchen.
Matt drops his bags and races into his husband's arms with a happy squeal. They hold each other and Dom's heart swells with a mixture of happiness and deep relief, as it always does when they come together after time apart. Matt finally pulls away and coughs. He points at the mess in the sink.
"What was it?" he asks.
"Uh ... coq au vin?"
Matt smiles gently and turns back to his luggage. He holds up a couple of plastic bags and a bottle of wine.
"What did you get?" Dom asks.
"Chinese."
Dom pours the wine and arranges their food on plates while Matt takes a quick shower and takes his outside face off. They eat and talk and Dom throws an occasional baleful glance at the sink and the mess congealing within it. Matt touches his hand.
"It's not a big deal, sweetheart, honestly, it's not."
"It is," Dom pouts, "I wanted to cook for you. I wanted tonight to be special."
Fucking up their meal was bad. Matt's obvious anticipation of his failure is even worse.
"I know, and I appreciate the gesture," Matt replies, trying to be as tactful as he can, "but some people are good in the kitchen and some people just ... aren't."
Dom scowls and drains his wine glass. Matt scoots closer to him.
"Never mind," he says, "you're talented in other ways. Lots of ways."
All Dom's irritation melts away as his husband presses their lips together. The kiss deepens and everything else in the world melts away, too.
Matt pulls Dom to his feet.
"Take me to bed, Dom" he says, "take me to bed and do me slow."
Slow is what he asks for and slow is what he gets. Matt lies in his side, panting, sweating, as his husband holds his hip in an iron grip and moves deep within him, taking him to the very brink of ecstasy and keeping him there for what feels like forever. Matt is reduced to a boneless, babbling mess long before Dom lets him come.
Matt curls up on Dom's chest in the aftermath, humming, content.
"See?" he says, "you're plenty talented."
Dom chuckle and kisses the top of his husband's head.
"So," Matt asks, "seen any potential scores?"
"A few. I think we'll do well here."
"Crew?"
"I was waiting for you. It's better when we pick them together."
"True, and ..." Matt's next words are lost in a huge yawn. Dom rubs his neck.
"Go to sleep, Matt," he says, "we'll talk about it later."
"... mmm .... 'kay," Matt mutters, already half-asleep.
Dom doesn't sleep. He lies awake and thinks about Tom Kirk.
Tom - of all the people in his past, why did it have to be Tom?
And this meeting - he's not actually thinking of going to it, is he?
Is he?
***************************************
Tom checks his watch for the third or fourth time. It's fifteen - , no make that closer to twenty - minutes past the hour and Dom hasn't shown. The cop's shoulders slump in defeat. Well, he tried.
He turns to go and that's when he feels to hand on his arm.
"Follow me," Dom says.
He's walking away before Tom can argue. The cop follows the ex-cop through narrow, crowded streets and into a small, dark, sparsely populated bar. They get beers and find a table in a corner, far from prying eyes. They stare at each other, unsure of how to proceed.
"I didn't think you'd come," Tom finally ventures.
"I wasn't going to. But then ..." the ex-cop shrugs and sips his beer.
"It's good to see you, Dom. You look ... different."
"That's the idea."
"I almost didn't know you."
"But you did. What gave me away?"
"Your eyes. You should wear contacts."
"I tried. They make my eyes burn."
And they do. Matt wears them all the time, changing his distinctive blues to an unremarkable, muddy brown and back again. How Dom envies him.
"I see," Tom takes a sip of his own beer, " you know, it's funny, I was talking about you just the other day."
"Were you?"
"Yeah. I heard you killed a man."
"You heard right."
"Gutted him like a fish."
"Just like a fish."
Tom looks for any trace of shame or disgust on his old friend's face, finds none.
"Are you ... are you actually proud of it?"
"No. Not proud, not ashamed. He turned on us, sold us out to save himself, and Matt ..." Dom closes his eyes as he remembers that awful day, Matt bleeding in his lap, Dom trying to stop the bleeding with one hand and drive the car with the other. He opens his eyes, comes back to the present, " ... I had to do it. He spilled his guts, so I spilled his guts."
"What about his family?"
Dom laughs, a cold, bitter sound.
"Some family. Five dimwit brothers and their dimwit daddy. Pimps and meth cooks and degenerates. Trust me, the gene pool got much less polluted that day."
"You could have let them be."
"No. They would have come after us."
"So you did what had to be done"
"Yes, and you can stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I burned down a building full of kittens, babies and helpless old ladies. There were no innocents in that house."
Tom decides to let it go. They drink in silence for awhile.
"So," Dom says, "you got divorced."
"I did."
"What happened?"
Tom sighs.
"It was good, then it was bad, and then it was ugly. Very ugly."
"Your kids?"
"Bronwyn still talks to me. The others ... well, if they ever get tired of cutting off their noses to spite their faces, I'll be here. Until then..."
"I'm sorry."
"So am I."
Tom drinks, changes the subject.
"And what about you? How's your marriage working out?"
Dom smiles and touches his wedding ring.
"Amazing. It's better than I ever could have dreamed."
"Really?"
"Really. I never thought I could feel this way about anyone."
"Did you tell Matt you were meeting me?"
Dom's eyes lose some of their sparkle.
"No. But I will. He won't like it."
"You don't have to tell him."
"I know. But if Matt and I can't trust each other, who can we trust?"
"Can I ask you something, Dom?"
"Shoot."
"Why are you still doing this? You must have stolen enough to last a hundred lifetimes by now. Why don't you just quit? Go live on a tropical island or something?"
"Because we enjoy it. And we are so, so good at it."
Dom checks his watch, stands up.
"I gotta go. It was good seeing you, Tom."
"Can we meet again?"
"I don't think that's a good idea, do you?"
"Probably not. But can we?"
Dom chews it over, then sighs.
"Alright. In front of the market, same time next week."
He leaves Tom staring at empty glasses.