Early Morning Departures ||
Title: Early Morning Departures
Author: mm29
Rating: 18 for language
Pairing: belldom
Disclaimer: I own zilch.
*Warning:*: lots of language : ) Ye be warn.
Notes: Thank you so much to everyone for the lovely words XD
I’m altering between the two perspectives of Matt and Dom.
Though I was thinking about this, and I’m not sure if it’ll be just a story from their perspectives or if a third part will be included as a narrative…
I don’t have a beta either, so all mistakes are mine and I apologies for that.
Lastly, thank you for all the nice comments and hugs XD They’ve meant heaps and I’ve been floating for a while XD
Part Two.
p ~ Because sooner or later, something’s got to give. ~
I don’t know how or why we started, but we both knew it was wrong. Not wrong in the sense that two males were having carefree sex, but in the more emotional sense that we were best friends; that we were already so powerfully connected anything more between us would either break us down slowly or permanently fuse us together.
At first neither of us cared, we swept it under the mat and kept on with our charade. You mentioned it to me once and we had a brief talk about how we felt, where we were at and if we should stop this now before someone gets hurt. I wanted to say yes, let’s end this, but the desperation and fear in your eyes, that beautiful, vulnerable blue, made me squeeze your hand and say no.
Such a mistake.
After that, it only seemed I resented you. I loathed your antics, cringed when you called my name, shuddered in revolt when your body screamed for affection and hated how I had to give it to you dutifully. The only thing I wanted from you was that frantic, rough, animalistic sex with that undertone of passion and need you would offer me. So I played along because I’m greedy and, yes, a bastard. I called your name and held you tight and whispered sweet nothings in your ear and then had my way with you and left before you could want anything else. And slowly what we had dissolved- but you were too naïve and unwilling to see it that way, to you, I still loved you as much as I had that first time. I stopped calling it love making, but instead sex and then eventually ‘let’s fuck’ and even that couldn’t throw you. Secretly, I think you liked it. Liked how rough and dominating I was becoming rather than that tender, sweet man I had once been with you.
Everyone thinks that because you’re the front man for Muse, because you prance around those bloody stages like you own them, that you dominate me and Chris. But they couldn’t be more wrong. You’re just a puppet on strings to which we control. Chris didn’t want the lead spot- he wanted a family and a picturesque house. I didn’t want the media focusing on me every single minute, didn’t want every failure or upset we created fall upon my shoulders, so I let you lead the interviews, let you arrange tours and schedules and take the blame for fuck ups. We let you write the music because, let’s be honest, we couldn’t compare to you. We had ideas and little melodies, but you always took them and blew them up so out of proportion and into something amazing, that we soon learnt to leave you to it.
And you didn’t mind; you loved it. You loved been able to dominate the stage, loved having the control, loved losing yourself, and an entire stadium, in your music and revelled in the little fact that there were certain aspects of your life no one controlled.
Off stage though, stripped of any music, you were just that silly, wooden puppet. We said who we wanted to interview with, you arranged it. We said what countries we wanted to play in next; you planned the towns and stadium dates. We said when we wanted to take a break, you let the producers and crew know. We said what songs we wanted on the album and what songs of yours we weren’t keen on, and you took them out. We told you to go back and tell the producer he had fucked up such and such song, and you took the abuse he’d unleash in fury.
You were mine.
All I had to do was pull a string and you’d bend for me.
When I said I loved you, you preened. When I complimented you, you blushed and giggled childishly. When I held you tenderly, you’d sigh in utter contentment. When I praised you, you only got better. But as I resented you, I changed and couldn’t help the sneers and snide comments. If I said you looked stupid dressed like that, you became self conscious and changed hurriedly. If I laughed at an idea of yours, you’d shut up instantly. If I criticized you, you’d take it to heart and try and fix it. Soon it became deliberate; it became a game to me. Seeing how far I could push you, what I could say to hurt you, what I could do to make you shrink in insignificance.
I saw how truly vulnerable and needy you were, how much you needed someone to love you. And if I cared about you, maybe I would’ve looked into it more and wondered if it was because for so long you’d only had empty, superficial love. But I didn’t. I resented you, very near hated you, so your emotional wellbeing, your fragility, meant nothing to me.
Though I couldn’t let you go either. As much as I didn’t love you, I loved what we had. The way I could dominate and control you, how you’d succumb to everything I said, that what I thought, felt and did, affected you deeply. You were almost like an experiment to me; I wanted to see how much you could take, how far you’d be pushed, what I could get away with saying, until you cracked.
You never did though and I became bored. You allowed it, so I continued it- getting nastier and more violent as we went along. I was trying to hurt you, because you were hurting me.
Each morning after a heated night, I’d awake before you and watch you sleep. There is nothing more perfect than you sleeping. Every worry that weighs you down is forgotten, every frown and fear that lines your face gone, leaving only your flawless milky skin that’s basked in honey light. You seem so at peace, so content, that I can’t believe you can still feel this way after I bestow so much anger upon you. That you can still love me after I’m such a bastard to you, and that kills me, it tears me apart because I know you don’t deserve this, you deserve someone better, and I’m just too selfish to change any of this. I hate that I’m the one who ruins this perfection and when I reach out and stroke your face softly, and all you do is lean into my touch, I wish that I didn’t have to be so selfish and power hungry and egotistical and could just say that I didn’t love you, that I only want you because you’re a good little shag. But I can’t; so I say I’m sorry and leave to let you wake up alone and empty.
I wish I could give you up instead of being this addicted. You have these ways, these peculiar mannerisms, these knowing touches and seduces, and I crave it so much. I hurt you because this inner turmoil that’s not only tearing me up inside, but fuelling the anger I have for you, forces me to do so. And you let me-until recently.
“Can’t do what anymore?”
You cringe at my tone, “This…I can’t…I’m just…” You’re unable to structure a sentence and I wait until you’ve calmed down inside.
“I’m sorry.” You sigh and look up at me with watery eyes, forcing me to look away, “I’m just-I’m not prepared to be with you when you so blatantly don’t want to be with me.” You continue over my attempted interruption, “I know you say it Dominic, but it’s not enough.”
A weary sigh escapes me, “What do you want from me?”
“I just want- I want to know that you do love me, I want you to show it…I want…I want to feel something between us again, something more than this bloody anger you keep giving me. I’m sick of waking up alone and feeling like a fucking whore because you’re still ashamed of us.”
“I’m not ashamed!” I snarl.
“Then what are you? Because this is bloody pathetic Dominic. Why should I let you treat me like shit?” Your voice is growing angrier with each word,”why should I be made to feel like I mean nothing to you!? Why should I pretend that you’re not hurting me, that I don’t care, that-”
“Because you’re just an easy fuck!” I close my eyes against the cruel words and wish fervently that I could take them back.
There’s a cold silence, a funny stillness and then your voice, low and harsh, a sinister growl, cutting across the air, “What the fuck did you say?”
I don’t answer which only serves to anger you more.
“What the fuck did you just say to me you fucking cunt ?!”
It’s very rare for you to come out with the ‘big c-bomb’ and I have to suppress a smile. “I said,” and I’m amazed at how calm and cool I’m responding back to you, “you’re an easy fuck.”
There’s a stunned silence and a shift in the mattress and I leap off the bed just as you fly in fury at me. “Get the fuck out!” You scream manically at me. “Get the fuck out of here you fucking son of a bitch.” I can’t recall when you’ve ever been this angry.
And I’m laughing. Why, I’m not sure- perhaps the hysteria and melodrama- but regardless, it’s not the time; it’s defiantly not helping you for you’re approaching me now with a mad glint in your eyes.
“How is this funny, Dominic?” Your voice is back to that low, sinister, controlled angry whisper, and it’s a lot scarier than when you’re yelling, but slightly amusing too. You really do love me, you blind fool.
“You’re pathetic,” I laugh louder, “I mean, look at you.”
Your face drops, “I’m the pathetic one?” You laugh hollowly and I catch a glimpse of pain in your eyes before it’s covered again with a blank void I’ve become quite acquainted with over the last weeks. “Christ, I hate you.”
I beam that thousand watt smile at you, “Taken you long enough.” I can’t stop hurting you, I can’t stop the pleasure I get from it.
You stop in your steps, I’m only a metre from the door, and cast your head downwards. “Why are you such a bastard to me Dom, what have I done to you to make you hate me?”
Nothing; you’ve done nothing but simply love me. I shake my head at you. “Nothing. I don’t hate you. Look, you’re obviously not in the right frame of mind, the tours probably caught up with you and all, so let’s forget it. I know it’s been stressful for you, and that I haven’t been there to help you as much as I’d have liked to, but this is bloody pathetic of you Matt. Don’t blame me because you’re suddenly feeling depressed. I’m here for you, you know I am, but not if you’re going to shoot false accusations at me. So…” I hate myself more than you can believe, I should just tell you that you’re right, that I don’t love you and I’m sorry, but I’m not going to. I’m going to guilt you and let you take the blame, just like I always have.
“..So when you’re ready to talk, hell, maybe even apologise, then I’m here for you.” I open up the door, your face deathly white and confused, “I’m sorry things were said from us both that don’t mean anything, but just get some sleep or go and get some damn sun and stop sulking up here, because I’m telling you now Matthew, I’m not putting up with your shit.”
The door closes behind me, leaving all guilt with you. I take a deep breath, listening to the sounds of wood splintering as you smash, what I can only assume, the side table and curse me in hatred. I can faintly hear your harsh, frantic sobs over the destruction and I smile.
I’m still in control.