Sunrise (1/1)
Title: Sunrise
Author:
ms_belle10
Rating: PG?
Pairing: belldom
Summary: Leaving him at sunrise is the hardest thing Matt ever has to do, yet he takes something of his lover with him when he goes. Inspired by a set of images linked to me by the kind
weezeuse.
Note 1: Thank you to
gripyoutight for looking this over, and happy birthday,
easilyglorious !
Note 2: We all have noticed Matt and Dom share (or at the very least buy the same) shirts, a habit they seem to have carried into present day. The images that inspired this fic are here.
Dislcaimer: Muse isn't mine. Matt and Dom aren't mine. The story belongs to me, the men do not. Please don't sue, I've got no money as I work for the U.S. government. ;)
It is early morning.
The sun barely kisses the horizon, a few apricot-colored fingers stretch toward the clouds. The London streets are still; the bustling city is asleep. Asleep save for a blue-eyed singer in a high-rise penthouse, who watches the first moments of sunrise with a swath of gray fabric clutched in his hands. The first moments of light are a beautiful sight, yet it is a sight he dreads, because it always seems to come too soon.
The slender male figure behind him begins to stir. Matt remains silent and still until a strong arm reaches out, looping weakly around his bare stomach. Only then does he exhale and reach down, resting one hand and the tanned wrist pressed to his navel.
“It’s too early,” the man behind him murmurs, “we’ve still got a bit of time.”
Matt glances out the window, and then at his iphone next to the bed to check the time. The sky is gradually growing lighter, but the blond that rests behind him is right; they still have a bit more time left. He decides that he can spare a few more more minutes, the pull of the blond at his side far stronger than his need to leave.
Gently, Matt picks up the limp arm that rests around his middle and holds it above his body as he turns on his side to face the drummer. He lets his lover’s sculpted arm fall back around his waist as he curls up next to the warm body on the other side of the bed, snuggling close to enjoy the feeling of their bodies pressed so close together.
Sleepy gray eyes fix on Matt’s face, the look of adoration in them fuelling Matt’s heart and making it soar.
“Hi,” Dom murmurs, shifting his head on the pillow and tipping his face toward Matt. He smiles softly, mouth curling upward, and Matt leans in to cover those full lips with his own. The action is sweet, natural, and free from pretenses, and Matt loses himself in the emotion and purity of the kiss.
“We’ve not got long,” Matt says, his voice colored with regret. He lifts a hand from the bed, abandoning the gray bundle of fabric he brought with him into the bed, and strokes the side of Dom’s face. He traces the smooth, stubbly skin, trying to express his love for Dominic through the tender movements of his fingertips.
Dom nods, swallowing hard. “I know.”
Matt sees his lover struggle, watching the drummer’s gray eyes gain a watery shine, and he feels his chest tighten. He has lost count of how many mornings have started this way, with soft touches and kisses that tasted of heartbreak. He hates seeing Dom crumble, his sunny disposition replaced by clouds of sadness, and knowing that it his own fault is almost too much for Matt to bear. The alternative to these uneasy mornings is a lifetime spent apart, and it is an alternative Matt and Dom both refuse to consider.
Softly, Matt moves his hand from Dom’s cheek and places it at the back of the drummer’s neck, toying with the soft blond hair that fans across his nape. His hand moves farther down, stroking Dom’s strong back and shoulders and when Dom mirrors his actions with the same tender, loving touch, Matt’s eyes flutter closed. For a moment, he indulges and pretends that this morning is every morning, and that if he wanted to, he and Dom could spend eternity in each other’s arms.
He brings Dom close, drawing their faces together until their noses touch. Matt moves his mouth across Dom’s handsome face, lips and eyelashes whispering over Dom’s features. Matt places kisses as soft and light as silk along Dom’s cheeks, nose, and chin. Finally, he places a soft kiss on Dom’s lips before moving his mouth against the drummer’s ear. When he speaks, his voice trembles.
“Never forget that I love you,” Matt whispers, holding Dom tight. “Never, ever.”
“Never, ever,” Dom repeats, his voice trembling just as Matt’s did. “I love you, Matthew.”
Matt draws back and looks at Dom. He manages a sweet smile, one that Dom returns, even though the expression does not reach his beautiful silver eyes.
“I have to go,” whispers Matt, the words breaking his heart as they leave his lips.
He pulls Dom into another kiss, this one achingly brief, and climbs out of bed before he loses his strength to leave. Nude, he moves around the room, gathering his jacket and shoes and trousers. He feels Dom’s eyes upon him as he dresses, but neither of them speak. Something light and soft strikes his shoulder and he realizes that Dom has thrown something at him.
“Don’t forget my shirt,” says Dom, pointing to the gray fabric Matt holds in his hands. “Something to remember me by?”
They both grin, knowing just how often they share shirts, and enjoying the secret display of ownership and possession that each shared garment represents. Still smiling widely, Matt pulls the shirt over his head. The fabric is soft, luxuriously so, and the scent that clings to each fiber belongs to Dom. Matt feels the fragrance of Dom’s skin, of his cologne, soaking into him and he stretches, luxuriating in the sensation. He knows that with Dom’s shirt wrapped around his body, he can take a bit of his lover with him when he goes.
He runs his hands over the slightly stiff graphic on the front of the shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles in the ash-colored cloth with shaky fingers, and looks at Dom. He takes in his gorgeous blond lover, wrapped in spotless white linens like an ancient God, and his heart pounds just a bit faster in his chest. He is crazy, he knows--crazy in love with this man, and crazy to leave him.
“Perfect,” Dom says, smiling brightly and motioning to his shirt. “Take good care of my shirt, I quite like it.”
“You’ve trusted me with your heart,” Matt replies, staring deeply into Dom’s eyes, “and you can trust me with your shirt.”
The bedsheets rustle and then Dom is at Matt’s side, cranberry-colored duvet swathed low around his hips. The drummer takes Matt’s hand and walks with him to the door, where Matt pauses to kiss Dom goodbye.
“I’ll see you soon,” Dom whispers between tiny kisses.
Matt nods and brushes a few strands of honey colored hair from Dom’s eyes. “Thursday. Abbey Road.” He feels his throat tighten with emotion and he knows he needs to go before he breaks down and finds it impossible to leave. He plucks his gaudy red sunglasses from atop his head and slides them on, hiding his tear-filled eyes from Dom, and opens the door. “I love you, Dom.”
Dom smiles. “Look after my shirt, Bellamy. If you don’t, I’m afraid you’ll have to replace it.”
Matt nods curtly, the slight smile on his face betraying the otherwise stony mask he has fixed over his features in the blink of an eye. “Thursday” is all he says before stepping through the doorway and pulling the door closed behind him. He does not say goodbye; he will never say goodbye to Dom, for goodbye is far too final, and long ago, they swore that what they shared would never end.
It is early morning.
The sun has broken the horizon, and orange light has turned sweetly golden. The London streets are no longer sleeping; in fact, the familiar symphony of camera shutters accompany Matt as he moves down a footpath. He holds his head high, meeting the eyes of the paparazzi who capture his every move, and tugs on the hem of his shirt--Dom’s shirt--and displays the front of it proudly. For just a moment, he indulges in sharing his biggest secret--that everything he was, and is, and will ever be, belongs to Dominic Howard.
Just like the shirt stretched across his chest.