Early Morning Departures III
Title: Early Morning Departures
Author: Stephie
Rating: NC-17 ?
Pairing: belldom
Disclaimer: Well they say it never happened...
Warning: Sex and swearing and violence.
Notes: Thanks everyone really, but especially xanium who beta'd this for me and put up with my shananningins and added some beautiful touches too. You're a gem : )
I'm not particularly happy with this. I've been rather contrary with it, *sigh* but , alas.. ..
There’s an electricity to the air that none of us has ever felt. It’s strong and rich and more than a little disturbing. I feel perverse, as if the first scent of it I caught has turned me into something different, made me dark and sinister and thus changed what I play. It’s affecting all of us, expelled only further by the small space in which we’re rehearsing. It’s making Chris uncomfortable and aloof, unable to lose himself. It’s adding a dark touch to every note that rings from my guitar, and it’s making you demented, punishing your drums with each furious beat.
I stop half way through the song, receiving an adverse glance from Chris, “Again,” I sigh in exhaustion, “Start again, it wasn’t right.”
“What now, Bellamy?” You let your arms fall wearily, the snarl in your voice muffled from your tiredness.
“Someone was out of time.”
“Sorry? I think you’ll find I wasn’t.”
“You were,” I snap, “Chris, wasn’t he out of time?”
“I don’t care. Just play the damn song.”
Almost painfully, we start up again; such is the reluctance among us that it’s making us sloppy. How long have we been playing this damn song anyway? How long have we been trying unsuccessfully to get past just the bloody first verse? I’ve lost so much concentration I don’t know where we’re up to, chords sounding horribly wrong.
“Shit.” I slam the A chord, “Fuck. Stop. Stop-stop-stop!!”
“Someone fucked up” You mock my own words to me, a gleeful smile on your face.
“Fuck you.”
An eyebrow quirk, “I believe you made it clear last night that you were sick of me.”
I blush and pry a look at Chris, who’s looking more alert than he has this entire session, eyebrows to his hairline.
“Well if you weren’t such a bloody jerkoff-”
“And you not such a bitch-”
I scream my guitar at you, the noise shattering.
“That’s right, just-”
The screaming becomes distorted, insane screeching.
“-play over-”
The notes holding longer, lingering and vibrating on your snare drum.
“-the fucking top of me, you little-”
I grate down, a metallic monster unleashing and I envision a silver white beast chasing you down, tearing into you body...
“-melodramatic, whiny, mother-”
...forever screaming as it rips you apart, piece by fucking piece like you do to me.
“-fucker!’-”
I narrowly avoid the drumsticks you hurl at me, watching them, from my crouched position, as they splinter against the wall. I flash alarmed and somewhat amused eyes to you, only standing and backing up as you push down your cymbals, kick and push against your bass drum and advance towards me.
Chris steps closer, frowning at us. “Is it any wonder we can’t fucking play? And stop that,” pulling at my guitar that I was strumming insolently, “Don’t be so childish,” his pull is hard enough that the strap breaks off, guitar caught by a strong grip and put aside. “What the hell is wrong with you two?”
“Ask Miss ‘I-can’t-do-this-anymore’”
“Sure, that’s right, blame it on me Dominic.”
You laugh bitterly, “Well why not Matt? We blame everything else on you, and let me remind you that it was you who wanted to end this, not me.”
“Because,” and I don’t know if it’s you or me I’m trying to convince, “You drove me to it. You can’t possibly expect me to smile and pretend to be happy when I feel so utterly miserable.”
“I pretended just fine.”
“That’s right,” If I were stronger and not so bloody delicate, I’d be pounding your ass into the ground, “I’m just an easy little fuck for you, aren’t I.”
Speechless, you open and close your mouth comically and I laugh at you pathetically.
“Alright, look, let’s just forget about this, get out of here, raid Tom’s fridge for booze, and move on.” I look at Chris in astonishment of what he said.
“You can’t just forget this Chris; it’s not that fucking simple!”
“I’m only trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help!” Of course you do, take it back, apologise you twat! I can practically hear Chris screaming in my mind.
A long silence stretches and I can feel his eyes looking me over quizzically even though I’m facing away from him in shame. I can sense him trying to break down my walls and take a glance into what I’m trying so very poorly to conceal.
He gives up and fumes, “Alright Matt, you’re on your own. I’m going to get pissed though, so if you’ll excuse me.”
It leaves me alone with drummer boy. Peachy. Sighing, I pick up the guitar against the wall, ripping the plug from it and placing it uncaringly on the stand - the pick caught between strings. I’m standing in the middle of the room, completely aware of you watching me and utterly unsure of what to do now. I stretch, body arching backwards, shirt riding up a little.
“You’re beautiful, you know that.”
I stare at you in pause. You’re unbelievable, you know that, un-fucking-believable. Coming back to a normal pose, I shake my head at you. “Leave it Dom. I need some time.”
It won’t do for you though, nothing I’ve wanted ever has. “Aw Christ Matt, you can’t tell me what was said yesterday is what you really want.”
“It is.”
“Bollocks.” You advance slowly towards me, “You need me Matthew, you can’t give me up - you like what we have.”
I frown, feeling much like a caged animal as your strides become longer, forcing me backwards. “Don’t tell me what I want or need.”
Laughter. “I’ve been telling you those things for years Matt; it’s never bothered you before.”
Perhaps the second realisation that you have more control over me than I’ve ever realised, that you affect me like no one else has managed to, that I’m mere putty in your hands, a little lap dog that tries its hardest to please you and gets kicked for failing, is why I launch at you.
“I really do hate you.” Our bodies collide, “Christ how I fucking hate you. Can’t you ever, ever, just let me have what I want?!
You’re holding me off as I attempt to assault you. “You don’t even know what you want.” You’ve forced me against the wall and I use it as leverage to push away before you can get the upper hand, pacing to the other end of the room near your askew drum kit.
“Why are you like this!?”
Following my path, you state slowly, “Because you like it.”
“I don’t!” I practically scream, “I don’t like this! I don’t want this! I want what we once had.”
You stop, cocking your head jeeringly at me, “What is it that we once had Matt? Because to me,” a step, “It’s always been this,” another predatory move, “Frantic,” your pace quickens, “Rough,” floor grinds beneath your shoe, “Needy” you’re only a metre away, “Primitive,” a hand space now, “Sexual,” your breath warm on my face, “Interaction between us.”
The drum bumps against me and I snarl words of fury, grabbing bunches of your t-shirt in my fists, knuckles white, “That’s all this ever was to you, wasn’t it.” It’s a statement for which the answers already known.
“Let go of me.”
“Why Dom? Don’t like being controlled? Don’t like the way fear consumes you? Don’t like the idea of being at my mercy for once?”
Your eyes betray your words, “You’re making a fool of yourself.”
“No” and I turn and slam you into the wall, cymbal rattling, “No, you’re the one making a fool of me, and Christ, I just let you. I just fucking let you!” I slam you again into the wall, a strange triumph settling in me when I see you grimace in pain, “Well not anymore, drummer boy, it’s not going to be like this.”
You’re trying to pry my hands from your collar, thick fingers tightening and crushing around my wrist, “Like hell it isn’t.” You manage to pull an arm away, using the wall and my unbalanced stance to push me backwards, shaking the drum kit. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, Matthew?”
Staggering, I retain my hold on you, tearing your shirt as I fall backwards over the double bass, bringing you on top of me. A pause of breath, a moment of damage assessment and, not caring if I’ve hurt you in the fall, my fist connects with your jaw, hands gripping your shoulders as I force you to roll over, giving me the advantage as I straddle you.
My assault on you continues. I’m shaking you hard, your head smacking on the floor, screaming at you incoherent sentences. “What have I ever done to you?! Why are you - Christ I’m so stupid - to think that maybe - you don’t do you? - No you couldn’t possibly - I’m just - what am I even - I hate this - you - everything - I’m sick of this - this bullshit - fuck - ” I don’t even realise I’ve slapped you, panting like a beast above you, “fuck.”
Eyes watery, face flushed in rage, you use my lapse in movement to your advantage, strong arms gripping me powerfully, making me gasp sharply, your body weight behind you throwing me off, letting me smack into the stands of the kit. I lay there breathing quickly, body aching as the hi-hat topples from the force and crashes down across my pelvis.
You gather yourself to your knees, two fingers on the handprint that flaws your face. There’s darkness in your eyes I’ve never seen, your teeth are gritted and you come towards me, giving me no time to compose myself and get away. “Bastard,” You seethe, “Wanna play rough, do you?”
You swipe the hi-hat off me, letting it collide with the rest of the kit, ignoring the crashes of metal and steel as it falls to pieces around us. “Get the fuck off me,” I growl as you straddle me now, and I curse my self for getting in this position, a position I know my weaker, smaller frame can’t possibly get out of now.
“I thought you liked it rough,” You taunt. Hands gather my wrists and pin them above me and in fear and panic I bring a knee up, connecting with your stomach, giving me a possible opportunity to escape. But either it’s not hard enough, or you’re too lost in this demented rage for it to hurt, and all you do is backhand me.
“Piss off!” My hands find your chest, running aggressively down; nails leaving red marks as I try to push you off me but you remain unmoved.
“You know you want this” Risking yourself, you lean in and suck and lick a trail of feverish kisses on my neck, coming to the jugular and sucking like your life depends on it. My hands fall from your chest, my own chest heaving from the tension between needing you to touch me and wanting to fight back.
“You know,” Your hands take mine and pin them once more above my head, “You want,” You lick the side of my face, your musky scent engulfing me, “This. That you,” Mouth deliriously close to mine, “Need,” Lips touching, vibrating against me as you speak, “This.” I shake my head even though I submit to your kiss, tears forming behind closed lids. I jerk up, trying to force you off me.
“Come on baby, just give in already.”
I shake my head again, letting the tears fall, squirming beneath you, tyring to prise my hands from your lethal grip. “I’m sick of this,” I whisper, energy draining.
You clasp my wrists in one hand now, grounding them against the floor, your other hand running down my chest, following the indents of my ribs, lingering over my hips before attacking my belt, pulling it from its confinement. “We’re going to do this. Then you’ll see how - how wrong you were yesterday.”
I struggle and pull away, hands going for you neck as you tug my pants down. “I said no!” Fingers skim your skin as you pull just out of reach.
You backhand me brutally, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth, head spinning as I fall back down. Seconds later your lips are against mine, kissing me with more ferocity than I’ve ever known, pulling at my lips, biting into my skin, tongues colliding powerfully. There’s no tenderness or elegance to our kiss, just raw desire, the need to gain control.
You reach for my pants, tugging them down and this time I let you, our kiss becoming sloppy. Breaking apart, you focus on bringing the material over and down my legs, swearing as they get caught on my shoes, throwing them victoriously aside after a few seconds. My own hands finds the ends of your torn shirt, pulling it off you, relishing in the tears of fabric, letting the pieces fall as I trail hands down you, brushing over your nipples.
“That’s right,” you smile and it infuriates me but the moment your warm hands run up my thigh, I let it rest forgotten. You massage my inner thigh with your thumb, pulling on my briefs. “Help me,” you whisper.
Swallowing, I nod, caught in your twisted spell. Reaching for your pants, your fly grating harshly, I pull them down, hands running over your firm ass, squeezing lightly, watching your arousal become more prominent.
The slightest touch across my cock through material makes me jump, electricity coursing through me and I pull you down on top of me, biting hard into the crook of your neck, sucking the few droplets of blood away, feeling you shudder against me.
“Shit.” You breathe and find your way back to my briefs, tugging them off and letting them collect near my knees. I move your hair and suck greedily on your neck, reaching for a raised nipple, teasing and pinching it, dragging my nails down your chest.
Your hips grind against me, the jeans that still cling half way down your thighs rubbing raw against my naked legs, a honey hand pulling my buttoned shirt apart, neither caring as buttons pop and ‘clang’ lightly against drums. Leaning down, your tongue licks a wet trail down my skin causing me to moan in ecstasy.
I slip a hand inside your boxers, grabbing your warm member and stroking it in the way only I know you like. The jolt of pleasure it emits in you forces you up, giving me better access and you return the favour, spare hand pushing me harder against the ground until I think that if you push any harder I’m going to fall right through.
I can feel my arousal peaking, myself starting to throb harder as climax draws closer and, feeling the same, you pull away, make me let go and move higher up on me. The message is clear and two fingers, laced with my pre-cum, pry my mouth open so you can force your cock inside. I retch at the brief taste of myself, but take you nonetheless, my mouth warm and wet. There is no passion to this, no caring and no love, so I don’t expect any warning, or any gestures of affection, like the way you used to; stroking my hair, praising me. Anything to show me how much it meant to you.
You thrust deeper inside my mouth, ignoring the struggle I have as my gag reflex flares, my hands gripping your torso for support, fingertips forcing themselves into the skin so hard I know you’ll come away from this bruised. My tongue follows your length, licking the first drops of your pre-cum away, and I notice that it’s no longer bitter sweet like how it used to be, but almost rancid.
You pulse sharply and we both know you’re close, but you pull way from me instead, wiping a sweaty hand down my equally sweaty chest, leaving traces of blood and semen on me. I shudder in revulsion, panting heavily in time with you.
“Get up.” You rasp, “Get up now.”
Confused, I don’t obey immediately and this sends you into a fit of rage. Harshly, you pull and yank on my arm, dragging me up as you stand. You pull away my red shirt from where it hung raggedly on my arms and push me violently to the fallen bass drum that lies flat. I grip the circumference for balance, frowning in confusion. You ascend behind me, placing hands on my hips and it hits me.
You’re going to fuck me over the bass drum.
“Dominic, not here-” You force me down painfully, “It won’t support us.”
“Shut up.”
Your cock bumps against my arse and I whimper. Fuck, how I need you. The horrible revelation that I do need you tears me apart and I can’t stop the tears that flow.
“What!” You cry in exasperation.
“Please,” it can’t be like this, “Please, stop this…”
You squeeze me tighter, with a burning hatred, and laugh demonically, “Just shut up and bend.” And I realise that the rage you’re in is blind rage; surely, if you were more calm, more yourself, you wouldn’t torment me like this, you’d stop now and let me get away and at least allow me to believe that I don’t need you.
I push against you, “Please,” I beg.
“Please fuck you? Sure.”
You take my arms and place them in front of me so that they’re stretching painfully, holding onto the silver circumference of the drum on the other side. Running calloused fingers down my spine and down to the tip of my arse. You spread and bend my legs a little, and the cold touch of the drum against me excites me and I thrust involuntarily. Resulting in another laugh from you.
“That’s right.” You purr dangerously close to me ear, “Just enjoy it, my little whore.” You lick the shell of my ear, nibbling on the lobe and I moan as you drag your lips across my face and capture my mouth. You run hands down my chest and torso and finally grip my cock. The overwhelming sensation of your touch, the cool drum against me and your cock throbbing behind me takes my breath and I moan louder
“Dominic…”
You squeeze me painfully hard, a soft yelp escaping my lips and then your touch is gone, leaving me feeling numb. I whine in protest, more laughter, and you quieten me down with nonsense. Asking you to stop only seconds ago seems like years, your touch electrifying and I need it so badly. You force fingers in my mouth, moving them around, coating them in my saliva and I suck greedily. Pulling away before I’m satisfied you prod one inside me, roughly moving around. I squirm and try to pull away, unused to this violent intrusion and uncomfortable with it. You pull out of me though and I relax.
“That’s all you’ll get.”
I don’t understand you and it’s the lapse that you take advantage of, gripping my hips and suddenly thrusting inside of me, the pain unlike nothing I’ve felt before. There’s no warning, no preparation. No slickness of lube or safety of a condom. Just your cock as nature intended, thrusting deep inside of me, the small amount of saliva doing nothing to ease the pain as my muscles clench tightly around you. Now I understand what you meant.
“Shit,” you groan, “Aw fuck!”
I grunt as you place a hand on the back of my head, pushing me down, my arms trembling slightly from supporting our combined weight. A toned arm snakes around my body and grabs my chest, pulling me closer to you and I feel a bizarre amount of pain. You’re pushing and pulling me, trying to go as deep as physically possible within me and I’ve lost all ability to breathe.
Your hand drags against my chest as you pull out and then in again, starting up on a frantic rhythm that doesn’t care if the brutality is making me sick. You’re going harder now, occasionally slamming me into the side of the kit which leaves hard marks in my thighs, biting the skin and tearing at it. “Dom…Dominic…”
You slam into me, squeezing all air from me, unleashing me into a world of colours and sound as you hit my spot roughly. I can barely make out your yells of ecstasy and pent up anger, barely feel your hand that scratches seeping red lines into my chest. I’ve lost ability to think, to scream your name in pure pleasure that the noises coming from me seem so distant and animalistic, so full of torture and pain that I can’t be sure that it is me.
There’s a cry of urgency from you and then you’re filling me with yourself, your very soul almost, and our yells mix as one, blend in unison. I’m coming into your open palm and the feeling breaks all boundaries of life, engulfing me in a world only we can create. I can no longer breathe, your weight too much for me in this delirious state, all strength completely drained from me. My arms shake and give out, the skin on the bass drum tearing as I fall through it with you still attached to me. The metal circumference cuts into my stomach and thighs, pain blinding and I scream for everything I have, voice breaking and faltering.
My hair is drenched in sweat, your body slick against mine. For the next minutes, the only sounds that fill the room are our combined, shaky, rapid breaths. You still leave your weight on me; still leave your hand curled around my cock. I cough painfully and it seems to bring you back to reality as you unstick yourself from me, pulling yourself out. As you turn me over beneath you I feel the sticky substance of cum trail down my inner thigh, but there’s something else too. Glancing down, I see the vivid crimson of blood and my stomach turns over as the contrasts of white and red blend and spiral down my thigh.
How has it come to this?
You don’t seem to care though. Instead, you lift the hand covered in my semen and wipe it down my neck, across my chest. Bile feels my mouth and I turn my head away from you.
"You’re beautiful,” you pant, “This, us…it’s beautiful.”
I don’t acknowledge your words and you clamber off me, calm and tranquil, nothing like the violent storm that you were before. My body aches, my position inside the bass drum horribly uncomfortable. I force myself up, the simple act too exhausting for me, but I know I can’t stay stuck here forever. Climbing out on shaky legs I collapse on the floor. You glance over at me and smile, shrugging and pulling your pants up again. “This is love.” You husk.
I watch your retreating form from my curled spot on the floor. I scream out, the tears pouring down my face, clawing a hand at the floor. This isn’t beautiful, this isn’t’ love. This is some fucked up, demented rage between us, and it can’t go on like this.
Dragging myself up to my knees and hands, I gag and let spit and bile pour from my mouth amid harsh coughs.
This has to end.