Adequacy of Addiction: Chapter 3
Dec. 4th, 2011 04:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sunshine_173author: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sunshine_173
rating: NC-17
pairing: BellDom
summary: Explores the darker side of a relationship; What it means to be truly addicted to someone.
feedback: I wants it, my precious.
disclaimer: I think if I owned Muse, you would know about it. They're a bit famous so I doubt it'd be something easily hidden.
warning: Lil bit of cursing, lil bit of sexy.
“Would you like to come home with me?”
I stood motionless before Dominic, my back against the tree, but despite how hard I was pushing into it, I couldn’t feel the stab of the bark into my back. I knew the wind whipped bitterly around us but I couldn’t feel its cold prick against my skin. I could smell the scent of rain and the crackle of electricity that seemed to spark from his eyes, they were so intense. I could hear his quiet inhalations keeping rhythm with the beating in my chest and I wondered if our bodies were synced. I felt myself change as I replayed his voice over and over in my head and something inside of me told me to listen to the niggling worry in the furthest recess of my mind and to question the answer I felt wavering on the tip of my tongue. That something snapped when I found myself refusing to break eye contact, and everything about the night, about this moment, was altered.
“Yes.” That one, insignificant, small word of acceptance held so much.
The look that flashed across his eyes told me he felt it too. That he felt how the temperature seemed to drop a fraction of a degree and yet I never felt as warm as I did then. That he felt Pandora’s Box open the moment my mouth told him what my heart wanted. My heartbeat raced and drummed in my ears and I wanted to reach my open palm out and place it on his chest to feel his dance in time with mine but I was in a paralysis. I wondered if this is how a mouse felt in the eyes of a snake preparing to strike.
My eyes began to sting from lack of blinking but I didn’t want to miss a second of his gaze as he stared, calculating, striving for some sort of understanding about where we now stood and just how much that one “yes” agreed to.
I watched his eyes flit across my face, searching. My senses were hyperaware and I could feel the trails they took burning into my skin. I could taste the particles in the air and I knew that our thoughts were in harmony, on the same page. I knew that my expression, in that moment, mirrored his. Loss of the answer; the knowledge of our mutual demise.
He nodded once and swallowed and I felt myself let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding when he turned on his heel and broke eye contact. I could still feel my world changing around me as I pushed off from the tree to follow him, our footsteps quiet on grass too alive for this time of year. The air around us was solemn now, the getting-to-know-each-other vibe disappearing as quickly as my breath evaporated into the air. What was left was comprehension and perception. Possession.
He answered the curiosity that was threatening to escape though I already knew what he’d say. “You feel it.” That statement wasn’t enough, though.
I had to make sure; I couldn’t be faulty in the assumption that what I felt and what he felt were the same.
So I played the idiot. “Feel what?”
The look he gave me was a mixture of disbelief and exasperation but he didn’t say anything, merely answered physically, reaching out to grasp my wrist and pull my hand out from its comfort in the pocket of my jacket. He grabbed my hand roughly, entwining our fingers with a sort of worried reluctance. “You know.”
“I do.”
He looked every bit the lost little boy as he shook his head quickly, his hair falling against his forehead. “Matthew.” He whispered my name as if hearing it for the first time, as if he was trying to taste me as it rolled off of his tongue. I could feel his pulse – or was it mine? – throbbing in his palm and I squeezed his hand. He reciprocated, his short nails digging into the back of my hand.
“Why have I never heard of you?” The question was burning to be answered. I wanted to know why this night could not have happened sooner.
“You tend to fall out of people’s good graces when you leave for a year without saying goodbye.” He replied as if it was the most obvious answer.
“But why did you leave? Why don’t you just stay in the same place?”
“It’s not in my nature to stay.”
“Will you be gone in the morning?” I felt my life teeter on the edge as I murmured that to the wind. I didn’t really want to know. I felt sick just thinking of it. I wondered for a moment why everything about him suddenly mattered, why everything in my life now revolved around whatever came next out of his mouth. It’s amazing how one tiny and seemingly unimportant invitation to his home changed everything. I wished I had never left with him. I wished I’d paid attention to the expressions on Sam and Jacob’s faces and the hesitation in Elise’s voice.
“Not anymore.” It made me smile, that bit of information. We reached the gates and he slipped his hand away from mine and grabbed the iron wrought bars, setting his foot onto the bar that ran horizontal. He looked at me over his shoulder with a small, crooked grin on his face. “You look like everything to me right now.”
My heart fluttered and I felt like a fifteen year old girl as I watched him pull his weight up and over the gate, a soft thud sounding when his feet hit the ground on the other side. I followed suit and found it a bit more difficult than it was the first time, but I didn’t care because I was immediately back on the ground and my hand was reaching, grabbing, for his. My fingers fell back into the spaces between his and he brought our clasped hands up before his face as he took a step towards me. His eyes flickered between mine and our hands, holding my stare when he tilted his face downwards to press his lips gently onto the back of my hand. I felt my breath catch in my throat and even the shadow of his smile blinded me.
“Why?” I knew he would understand my question despite its vagueness.
“Dunno. I tend to not question fate.” He quirked his head at me as if that answer was the most obvious thing in the world.
“You think this is fate.” I repeated him, deadpanned.
“The fuck do I know? Would it matter any other way?” I wanted for a moment to punch his arm or something but I couldn’t. For one, he’d begun to walk. Second, I couldn’t deny how right he was.
We fell into step and I let him guide me down the sidewalk to wherever he lived. While we past a bridge he told me that Carl Sandburg had jumped off of it, and before I could let escape a sound of interest, he promptly told me he was lying. I wasn’t sure if he was or not; I had never been much of a fan.
“Are you in a relationship?” I don’t know why I asked. It felt important.
He snorted. “No. I used to find them pointless since I move all the time.”
And now? My stare told him.
He raised an amused eyebrow. “Do you like to read?” I nodded.
It went silent after that and I found entertainment in listening to the gentle hum of his breathing and the chaos writing itself into the plotline we’d created for ourselves. I don’t know how long we walked or how far, and after awhile I stopped wondering if we were even headed in a specific direction. The cold pierced my clothes and my skin like a razor and my face felt chapped but I found warmth in his hand. I concentrated on his thumb tracing the pad of mine and it was enough. He would stop sometimes just to turn his head and look at me, moonlight playing havoc with his eyes and lighting his hair like a halo around his face. His eyes would trace the shape of my bottom lip before he licked his own, and then he’d glance at me with a hesitant smile and continue forward. We never turned, never changed route. We just followed the same street as it curved through the city.
I wondered if Elise realized I had left with Dominic and if she was worried, if she’d been calling me but I’d turned my phone off for that particular reason. I wondered if I was being irresponsible leaving with him, but then rationalization took over and I figured that I only lived once, and if he was the one to kill me I would probably be okay with it.
Countless minutes and possible hours had passed before we were standing in front of an architecturally beautiful building, Dominic fishing in his coat pocket with his free hand till I heard the jingle of keys. Within moments he was pulling me inside and up a staircase leading to a hallway of four doors. I welcomed the onslaught of warmth, my cheeks tingling as they began to regain feeling. The hallway was narrow and had ivory walls with dark red lining and wood floors. Wall scones were spaced every several feet casting cool, fluorescent light. He still held my hand as he walked in front of me and I took a moment to appreciate the sway of his hips.
The second door to the left was at least fifteen feet from the first, and I leaned my body against the wall as I let go of his hand so he could put his key into the lock and turn the knob. He let the door swing open with a slight push of his hand and reached in blindly, the room lighting within seconds, and he stared at me until I took the hint to enter. I was greeted by a high ceiling and dark gray walls, white curtains hanging from the one window that was in what seemed to be the living room. A short hallway was immediately to my left, the door to whatever was at the end open. It was a bathroom; I could see the glint of a white porcelain toilet. Another door was adjacent to the bathroom but it was shut. I assumed it was his room. Before me was a large, black leather couch facing a flat screen TV on the opposite wall and a coffee table on top of an elegant black and white rug sat in between. On the wall facing me from the doorway was the window, flanked on either side by at least ten foot high bookcases, the shelves of both so full I could practically hear the books gasping for air. To my right was a small dining area, a square table and two black wooden chairs in the corner. The kitchen took up the rest of that side, light gray concrete floors reflecting the light. No art or pictures other than a large Roman numeral clock adorned the walls.
“How long as it been since you were last here?” I figured I knew the answer already but it wouldn’t hurt to ask.
“Over a year.”
“How long have you had it?”
“Nearly ten.” My eyebrows shot up. So he was that kind of money.
I felt more than heard his footsteps as he shut the door quietly and came up behind me, one arm reaching around my front and automatically finding the zipper to my jacket. He tugged it down and I let him. I would let him take me standing right now if he so desired. I felt my jacket slide down my arms before it disappeared, as did he, and I turned around to find him hanging it on a metal coat rack mounted on the wall to the left of the door. He did the same with his own and I watched his back muscles flex through the thinness of his t-shirt. Combing a hand through his hair, he turned around and looked at me. Looked is putting it nicely. He observed me like an artist would his work. I instantly felt like I was under a magnifying glass and I could feel my face heating as I stood awkwardly, fidgeting with the hem of my black button-down.
“Drink?” He tilted his head, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. My eyes traced the line of his neck before I brought my eyes to his and nodded. That was enough for him, and he turned with an unreadable expression towards the kitchen. “You’re welcome to make yourself comfortable.”
I’d always hated when people told me that if I was in their house for the first time, but I ignored my initial feeling of irritation and took slow and unsure steps towards the large couch. I could hear him shuffling around as I settled onto the couch, the clink of glasses soon following, a hushed “shit” reaching my ears and I muffled a giggle.
A moment later he appeared with two wine glasses in one hand and his other wrapped around the neck of a bottle of red. I noticed that he always seemed to be surrounded by a sort of electric intensity and I could feel it hit me like a wave the moment his eyes flicked up and he dragged his stare up my form as I leaned back into the corner, draping my arm along the length of the back of the couch. I had folded my left knee under my body, careful not to have my shoe on the cushion, and I felt his eyes landing on my groin. They traced up my torso and I could almost feel his eyes dilate when he saw I had undone the first few buttons, my collarbones peeking out.
He met my own stare and a chill ran up my spine. “All I had was wine?” His statement came out as a question, and he pursed his lips gently as he tilted the bottle back and forth.
“I love wine.”
He smiled then, a proper smile, the kind where his eyes crinkled at the edges and a dimple on his left cheek came out, the right side of his mouth lifting up a fraction of an inch higher and his teeth shining white. It was beautiful. “Me too.” His tongue danced behind his lips as he held contact a beat longer before bending down to set the glasses on the coffee table. His shirt fell slightly and I could see a pink nipple and more tanned, golden skin. My throat tightened and I looked away.
After uncorking the bottle and pouring both glasses, he handed me mine and clinked it before sitting down on the opposite side of the couch. Too far away.
“What are we cheering?” I asked, curious.
He paused thoughtful, before answering. “To destruction.” He whispered before he took a sip, looking at me from underneath his long and dark eyelashes. I repeated after him, swallowing the bitterness of whatever kind he’d poured. It was dry, very.
“What do you like to do, Matthew?” There he goes again, quirking his head to the side like a goddamn owl.
And so it went. If it wasn’t for his clock, I wouldn’t have realized it was four in the morning. He told me the time was off but that he might be lying. He told me he didn’t want me leave and to ignore the clock. So I did, I ignored it. I ignored the quickening of my heart every time I noticed he had scooted close when he sat back down from refilling his or my glass. After awhile I started to feel the familiar buzz of alcohol and I asked him if I could use his bathroom to splash some water on my face. He had furrowed his eyebrows with a smile but nodded, and he stood up with glass in hand and beckoned me to follow him. I didn’t know why he was leading me to it when he could just have easily told me to walk the few feet down the hall and go into the room at the very end, but I said nothing.
Reaching the bathroom, he reached in to turn on the light, letting me pass him as he opened a small closet I hadn’t noticed and grabbed a hand towel. He handed it to me and I thanked him, turning a brushed nickel faucet handle before cupping my hands under the steady stream. I bent down and splashed the cold water on my face, my breath catching in my throat from the iciness of it, but it was refreshing.
After a few repeats, I blindly searched for the faucet, turning the water off once I’d found it. I reached for where I’d placed the towel and soon had my face pressed against fluffy white, patting my skin dry and feeling the buzz from the wine diminish some.
I could feel him before he’d made any noise, the snap and crackle of his presence alerting me, warning me. I chose to ignore him, to force him to make any move he might act upon. I hung the towel on the rack and sighed, deciding if I should meet his eyes in the mirror. I gave in after a few seconds, my desire to see him too great.
He stood in the doorway, leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed loosely across his chest. His bottom lip was being chewed on thoughtlessly and he smiled slightly when I turned away from the mirror to look at him full on. The air was silent, hushed, as if someone was holding their breath.
“What are you thin-”
I was surrounded by warmth, the mouth suddenly pressed against mine unexpected and hot, the flavor of wine and peppermint and the air after it rains and the smell of silence after lightning strikes flooding my senses. He tasted licentious, like freedom and wanton desire. He tasted like truth and denial and the missing link, the reason I moved. I gasped and his tongue took advantage, pressing urgently against my own and the ripple of tension, a current of electromagnetism ran down my body and settled in my groin, sparking part of me awake. I craved, I desired. I instinctively clutched at his hips and he made the filthiest noise, something between a whine and a groan, and he grabbed the back of my head with one of his hands, fingers curling and grabbing a hold onto my hair. He pulled my head back, pain his obvious intention, and I found myself moaning as he began to kiss me deeper, giving me a new definition of tongue-fucking, a new meaning altogether.
Dominic fisted his hand tighter and the prickling yank caused me to gasp again, his tongue sliding harder and rougher against mine. He traced the roof of my mouth before thrusting his tongue back in and resuming the dance, my hips bucking up into his, into anything, and I found what I needed. Hardness and heat mirroring my own pressed against me and I moaned again, his mouth swallowing the noises I made as he ground once into me. I held onto his hips tighter, pulling him closer, my right hand moving to the small of his back and bunching his shirt up there, a light sheen of sweat already appearing over his skin. He heaved me up onto the countertop, my legs automatically wrapping around his hips as I moved my hands to grab hold of anything, his forearm, his bicep, his shoulder. Anything that would bring me closer to him. I pressed against him and he whined, gasping little sighs as he pulled back from my mouth to catch his breath, eyes almost black as they stared at me wide and shocked.
I understood. I knew. I could feel the final piece being shoved into place and I knew that this would no longer be escapable.
And then we were kissing again. It wasn’t as angry, wasn’t as rough, but it was still slick and fast and wet, our tongues massaging each other and my teeth scraping his bottom lip as I panted against him, our breath the same. He began to thrust sharply against me, both our erections straining in our jeans and rubbing against together, the onslaught of feeling and pleasure overwhelming. He cradled my head in both his hands and angled me so that he could kiss me deeper, mimicking the rhythm of his hips with his relentless tongue, like he was trying to taste my very essence. I dragged both of my hands up his sides, bunching his shirt up along the way, his skin slippery with sweat, and when I reached his shoulder blades I dug my nails into him, scratching down hard, causing him to let out an unrestrained cry, the sound grating and rough. He arched his back and shoved his hips into mine, almost knocking me back into the dip of the sink, and I took this moment to catch my breath and plan my form of attack.
I took advantage of his head being thrown back and I dragged my teeth down the column of his neck, closing my mouth around his Adam’s apple and sucking hard, quiet whines and gasps coming from his open mouth. I tightened my legs around his hips and began to shallowly buck into him, wordlessly begging him to resume his own thrusting rhythm, my cock hard and wanting. I could feel a wet spot forming from pre-come but I didn’t care. I wanted this, I wanted completion. I had the sudden craving for him to be inside of me, the same dance we’re performing only at a much more intimate level.
Suddenly and surprisingly I felt his hands come down on my hips, hard, and still me, lowering my body some until my tailbone was against the side of the sink, and then he pressed himself, unyielding and strong and slow, into me, so I could feel the weight of his erection and just how hard he was for me. He met my eyes, his face flushed and lips red, hair mussed and pupils dilated to the extreme.
“I want to fuck you, Matt. Please let me be inside of you.”
sunshine_173rating: NC-17
pairing: BellDom
summary: Explores the darker side of a relationship; What it means to be truly addicted to someone.
feedback: I wants it, my precious.
disclaimer: I think if I owned Muse, you would know about it. They're a bit famous so I doubt it'd be something easily hidden.
warning: Lil bit of cursing, lil bit of sexy.
“Would you like to come home with me?”
I stood motionless before Dominic, my back against the tree, but despite how hard I was pushing into it, I couldn’t feel the stab of the bark into my back. I knew the wind whipped bitterly around us but I couldn’t feel its cold prick against my skin. I could smell the scent of rain and the crackle of electricity that seemed to spark from his eyes, they were so intense. I could hear his quiet inhalations keeping rhythm with the beating in my chest and I wondered if our bodies were synced. I felt myself change as I replayed his voice over and over in my head and something inside of me told me to listen to the niggling worry in the furthest recess of my mind and to question the answer I felt wavering on the tip of my tongue. That something snapped when I found myself refusing to break eye contact, and everything about the night, about this moment, was altered.
“Yes.” That one, insignificant, small word of acceptance held so much.
The look that flashed across his eyes told me he felt it too. That he felt how the temperature seemed to drop a fraction of a degree and yet I never felt as warm as I did then. That he felt Pandora’s Box open the moment my mouth told him what my heart wanted. My heartbeat raced and drummed in my ears and I wanted to reach my open palm out and place it on his chest to feel his dance in time with mine but I was in a paralysis. I wondered if this is how a mouse felt in the eyes of a snake preparing to strike.
My eyes began to sting from lack of blinking but I didn’t want to miss a second of his gaze as he stared, calculating, striving for some sort of understanding about where we now stood and just how much that one “yes” agreed to.
I watched his eyes flit across my face, searching. My senses were hyperaware and I could feel the trails they took burning into my skin. I could taste the particles in the air and I knew that our thoughts were in harmony, on the same page. I knew that my expression, in that moment, mirrored his. Loss of the answer; the knowledge of our mutual demise.
He nodded once and swallowed and I felt myself let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding when he turned on his heel and broke eye contact. I could still feel my world changing around me as I pushed off from the tree to follow him, our footsteps quiet on grass too alive for this time of year. The air around us was solemn now, the getting-to-know-each-other vibe disappearing as quickly as my breath evaporated into the air. What was left was comprehension and perception. Possession.
He answered the curiosity that was threatening to escape though I already knew what he’d say. “You feel it.” That statement wasn’t enough, though.
I had to make sure; I couldn’t be faulty in the assumption that what I felt and what he felt were the same.
So I played the idiot. “Feel what?”
The look he gave me was a mixture of disbelief and exasperation but he didn’t say anything, merely answered physically, reaching out to grasp my wrist and pull my hand out from its comfort in the pocket of my jacket. He grabbed my hand roughly, entwining our fingers with a sort of worried reluctance. “You know.”
“I do.”
He looked every bit the lost little boy as he shook his head quickly, his hair falling against his forehead. “Matthew.” He whispered my name as if hearing it for the first time, as if he was trying to taste me as it rolled off of his tongue. I could feel his pulse – or was it mine? – throbbing in his palm and I squeezed his hand. He reciprocated, his short nails digging into the back of my hand.
“Why have I never heard of you?” The question was burning to be answered. I wanted to know why this night could not have happened sooner.
“You tend to fall out of people’s good graces when you leave for a year without saying goodbye.” He replied as if it was the most obvious answer.
“But why did you leave? Why don’t you just stay in the same place?”
“It’s not in my nature to stay.”
“Will you be gone in the morning?” I felt my life teeter on the edge as I murmured that to the wind. I didn’t really want to know. I felt sick just thinking of it. I wondered for a moment why everything about him suddenly mattered, why everything in my life now revolved around whatever came next out of his mouth. It’s amazing how one tiny and seemingly unimportant invitation to his home changed everything. I wished I had never left with him. I wished I’d paid attention to the expressions on Sam and Jacob’s faces and the hesitation in Elise’s voice.
“Not anymore.” It made me smile, that bit of information. We reached the gates and he slipped his hand away from mine and grabbed the iron wrought bars, setting his foot onto the bar that ran horizontal. He looked at me over his shoulder with a small, crooked grin on his face. “You look like everything to me right now.”
My heart fluttered and I felt like a fifteen year old girl as I watched him pull his weight up and over the gate, a soft thud sounding when his feet hit the ground on the other side. I followed suit and found it a bit more difficult than it was the first time, but I didn’t care because I was immediately back on the ground and my hand was reaching, grabbing, for his. My fingers fell back into the spaces between his and he brought our clasped hands up before his face as he took a step towards me. His eyes flickered between mine and our hands, holding my stare when he tilted his face downwards to press his lips gently onto the back of my hand. I felt my breath catch in my throat and even the shadow of his smile blinded me.
“Why?” I knew he would understand my question despite its vagueness.
“Dunno. I tend to not question fate.” He quirked his head at me as if that answer was the most obvious thing in the world.
“You think this is fate.” I repeated him, deadpanned.
“The fuck do I know? Would it matter any other way?” I wanted for a moment to punch his arm or something but I couldn’t. For one, he’d begun to walk. Second, I couldn’t deny how right he was.
We fell into step and I let him guide me down the sidewalk to wherever he lived. While we past a bridge he told me that Carl Sandburg had jumped off of it, and before I could let escape a sound of interest, he promptly told me he was lying. I wasn’t sure if he was or not; I had never been much of a fan.
“Are you in a relationship?” I don’t know why I asked. It felt important.
He snorted. “No. I used to find them pointless since I move all the time.”
And now? My stare told him.
He raised an amused eyebrow. “Do you like to read?” I nodded.
It went silent after that and I found entertainment in listening to the gentle hum of his breathing and the chaos writing itself into the plotline we’d created for ourselves. I don’t know how long we walked or how far, and after awhile I stopped wondering if we were even headed in a specific direction. The cold pierced my clothes and my skin like a razor and my face felt chapped but I found warmth in his hand. I concentrated on his thumb tracing the pad of mine and it was enough. He would stop sometimes just to turn his head and look at me, moonlight playing havoc with his eyes and lighting his hair like a halo around his face. His eyes would trace the shape of my bottom lip before he licked his own, and then he’d glance at me with a hesitant smile and continue forward. We never turned, never changed route. We just followed the same street as it curved through the city.
I wondered if Elise realized I had left with Dominic and if she was worried, if she’d been calling me but I’d turned my phone off for that particular reason. I wondered if I was being irresponsible leaving with him, but then rationalization took over and I figured that I only lived once, and if he was the one to kill me I would probably be okay with it.
Countless minutes and possible hours had passed before we were standing in front of an architecturally beautiful building, Dominic fishing in his coat pocket with his free hand till I heard the jingle of keys. Within moments he was pulling me inside and up a staircase leading to a hallway of four doors. I welcomed the onslaught of warmth, my cheeks tingling as they began to regain feeling. The hallway was narrow and had ivory walls with dark red lining and wood floors. Wall scones were spaced every several feet casting cool, fluorescent light. He still held my hand as he walked in front of me and I took a moment to appreciate the sway of his hips.
The second door to the left was at least fifteen feet from the first, and I leaned my body against the wall as I let go of his hand so he could put his key into the lock and turn the knob. He let the door swing open with a slight push of his hand and reached in blindly, the room lighting within seconds, and he stared at me until I took the hint to enter. I was greeted by a high ceiling and dark gray walls, white curtains hanging from the one window that was in what seemed to be the living room. A short hallway was immediately to my left, the door to whatever was at the end open. It was a bathroom; I could see the glint of a white porcelain toilet. Another door was adjacent to the bathroom but it was shut. I assumed it was his room. Before me was a large, black leather couch facing a flat screen TV on the opposite wall and a coffee table on top of an elegant black and white rug sat in between. On the wall facing me from the doorway was the window, flanked on either side by at least ten foot high bookcases, the shelves of both so full I could practically hear the books gasping for air. To my right was a small dining area, a square table and two black wooden chairs in the corner. The kitchen took up the rest of that side, light gray concrete floors reflecting the light. No art or pictures other than a large Roman numeral clock adorned the walls.
“How long as it been since you were last here?” I figured I knew the answer already but it wouldn’t hurt to ask.
“Over a year.”
“How long have you had it?”
“Nearly ten.” My eyebrows shot up. So he was that kind of money.
I felt more than heard his footsteps as he shut the door quietly and came up behind me, one arm reaching around my front and automatically finding the zipper to my jacket. He tugged it down and I let him. I would let him take me standing right now if he so desired. I felt my jacket slide down my arms before it disappeared, as did he, and I turned around to find him hanging it on a metal coat rack mounted on the wall to the left of the door. He did the same with his own and I watched his back muscles flex through the thinness of his t-shirt. Combing a hand through his hair, he turned around and looked at me. Looked is putting it nicely. He observed me like an artist would his work. I instantly felt like I was under a magnifying glass and I could feel my face heating as I stood awkwardly, fidgeting with the hem of my black button-down.
“Drink?” He tilted his head, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. My eyes traced the line of his neck before I brought my eyes to his and nodded. That was enough for him, and he turned with an unreadable expression towards the kitchen. “You’re welcome to make yourself comfortable.”
I’d always hated when people told me that if I was in their house for the first time, but I ignored my initial feeling of irritation and took slow and unsure steps towards the large couch. I could hear him shuffling around as I settled onto the couch, the clink of glasses soon following, a hushed “shit” reaching my ears and I muffled a giggle.
A moment later he appeared with two wine glasses in one hand and his other wrapped around the neck of a bottle of red. I noticed that he always seemed to be surrounded by a sort of electric intensity and I could feel it hit me like a wave the moment his eyes flicked up and he dragged his stare up my form as I leaned back into the corner, draping my arm along the length of the back of the couch. I had folded my left knee under my body, careful not to have my shoe on the cushion, and I felt his eyes landing on my groin. They traced up my torso and I could almost feel his eyes dilate when he saw I had undone the first few buttons, my collarbones peeking out.
He met my own stare and a chill ran up my spine. “All I had was wine?” His statement came out as a question, and he pursed his lips gently as he tilted the bottle back and forth.
“I love wine.”
He smiled then, a proper smile, the kind where his eyes crinkled at the edges and a dimple on his left cheek came out, the right side of his mouth lifting up a fraction of an inch higher and his teeth shining white. It was beautiful. “Me too.” His tongue danced behind his lips as he held contact a beat longer before bending down to set the glasses on the coffee table. His shirt fell slightly and I could see a pink nipple and more tanned, golden skin. My throat tightened and I looked away.
After uncorking the bottle and pouring both glasses, he handed me mine and clinked it before sitting down on the opposite side of the couch. Too far away.
“What are we cheering?” I asked, curious.
He paused thoughtful, before answering. “To destruction.” He whispered before he took a sip, looking at me from underneath his long and dark eyelashes. I repeated after him, swallowing the bitterness of whatever kind he’d poured. It was dry, very.
“What do you like to do, Matthew?” There he goes again, quirking his head to the side like a goddamn owl.
And so it went. If it wasn’t for his clock, I wouldn’t have realized it was four in the morning. He told me the time was off but that he might be lying. He told me he didn’t want me leave and to ignore the clock. So I did, I ignored it. I ignored the quickening of my heart every time I noticed he had scooted close when he sat back down from refilling his or my glass. After awhile I started to feel the familiar buzz of alcohol and I asked him if I could use his bathroom to splash some water on my face. He had furrowed his eyebrows with a smile but nodded, and he stood up with glass in hand and beckoned me to follow him. I didn’t know why he was leading me to it when he could just have easily told me to walk the few feet down the hall and go into the room at the very end, but I said nothing.
Reaching the bathroom, he reached in to turn on the light, letting me pass him as he opened a small closet I hadn’t noticed and grabbed a hand towel. He handed it to me and I thanked him, turning a brushed nickel faucet handle before cupping my hands under the steady stream. I bent down and splashed the cold water on my face, my breath catching in my throat from the iciness of it, but it was refreshing.
After a few repeats, I blindly searched for the faucet, turning the water off once I’d found it. I reached for where I’d placed the towel and soon had my face pressed against fluffy white, patting my skin dry and feeling the buzz from the wine diminish some.
I could feel him before he’d made any noise, the snap and crackle of his presence alerting me, warning me. I chose to ignore him, to force him to make any move he might act upon. I hung the towel on the rack and sighed, deciding if I should meet his eyes in the mirror. I gave in after a few seconds, my desire to see him too great.
He stood in the doorway, leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed loosely across his chest. His bottom lip was being chewed on thoughtlessly and he smiled slightly when I turned away from the mirror to look at him full on. The air was silent, hushed, as if someone was holding their breath.
“What are you thin-”
I was surrounded by warmth, the mouth suddenly pressed against mine unexpected and hot, the flavor of wine and peppermint and the air after it rains and the smell of silence after lightning strikes flooding my senses. He tasted licentious, like freedom and wanton desire. He tasted like truth and denial and the missing link, the reason I moved. I gasped and his tongue took advantage, pressing urgently against my own and the ripple of tension, a current of electromagnetism ran down my body and settled in my groin, sparking part of me awake. I craved, I desired. I instinctively clutched at his hips and he made the filthiest noise, something between a whine and a groan, and he grabbed the back of my head with one of his hands, fingers curling and grabbing a hold onto my hair. He pulled my head back, pain his obvious intention, and I found myself moaning as he began to kiss me deeper, giving me a new definition of tongue-fucking, a new meaning altogether.
Dominic fisted his hand tighter and the prickling yank caused me to gasp again, his tongue sliding harder and rougher against mine. He traced the roof of my mouth before thrusting his tongue back in and resuming the dance, my hips bucking up into his, into anything, and I found what I needed. Hardness and heat mirroring my own pressed against me and I moaned again, his mouth swallowing the noises I made as he ground once into me. I held onto his hips tighter, pulling him closer, my right hand moving to the small of his back and bunching his shirt up there, a light sheen of sweat already appearing over his skin. He heaved me up onto the countertop, my legs automatically wrapping around his hips as I moved my hands to grab hold of anything, his forearm, his bicep, his shoulder. Anything that would bring me closer to him. I pressed against him and he whined, gasping little sighs as he pulled back from my mouth to catch his breath, eyes almost black as they stared at me wide and shocked.
I understood. I knew. I could feel the final piece being shoved into place and I knew that this would no longer be escapable.
And then we were kissing again. It wasn’t as angry, wasn’t as rough, but it was still slick and fast and wet, our tongues massaging each other and my teeth scraping his bottom lip as I panted against him, our breath the same. He began to thrust sharply against me, both our erections straining in our jeans and rubbing against together, the onslaught of feeling and pleasure overwhelming. He cradled my head in both his hands and angled me so that he could kiss me deeper, mimicking the rhythm of his hips with his relentless tongue, like he was trying to taste my very essence. I dragged both of my hands up his sides, bunching his shirt up along the way, his skin slippery with sweat, and when I reached his shoulder blades I dug my nails into him, scratching down hard, causing him to let out an unrestrained cry, the sound grating and rough. He arched his back and shoved his hips into mine, almost knocking me back into the dip of the sink, and I took this moment to catch my breath and plan my form of attack.
I took advantage of his head being thrown back and I dragged my teeth down the column of his neck, closing my mouth around his Adam’s apple and sucking hard, quiet whines and gasps coming from his open mouth. I tightened my legs around his hips and began to shallowly buck into him, wordlessly begging him to resume his own thrusting rhythm, my cock hard and wanting. I could feel a wet spot forming from pre-come but I didn’t care. I wanted this, I wanted completion. I had the sudden craving for him to be inside of me, the same dance we’re performing only at a much more intimate level.
Suddenly and surprisingly I felt his hands come down on my hips, hard, and still me, lowering my body some until my tailbone was against the side of the sink, and then he pressed himself, unyielding and strong and slow, into me, so I could feel the weight of his erection and just how hard he was for me. He met my eyes, his face flushed and lips red, hair mussed and pupils dilated to the extreme.
“I want to fuck you, Matt. Please let me be inside of you.”
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Date: 2011-12-04 06:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 04:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-04 07:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 04:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-07 06:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 04:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-19 11:35 pm (UTC)Somehow missed this when you posted it. Only realised when you put up chapter 4.
Bloody hell. That was probably the most intense scene I've ever read. I forgot to breathe.
It's glorious.
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Date: 2012-01-08 09:37 am (UTC)Thank you loverface