hannah_chapter1: (Ale)
Title: Stand and Deliver
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom.
Summary: Ravished by a dandy highwayman!
Rating: 18/NC-17
Feedback: Gimme some sugar, baby.
Disclaimer: Don't own Muse, this never happened, and so on, and so on, and such.

"Dominic? Dominic!"

Startled out of his daydream, Dominic shifts in his seat, turns to face his father. Lord Howard tuts.

"Did you hear any of what I just heard, Dominic?"

The boy drops his gaze, unable to meet his father's eyes.

"No, Papa, I did not."

"Really Dominic, you are impossible! You are fifteen now, almost a man, and men do not lose themselves in childish daydreaming."

"Yes, Papa. I am sorry, Papa."

The carriage rattles on. The senior Howard consults his pocket watch.

"We are late, later than I should like. The evening is drawing on, and I would not care to be upon this road after dark. Highwaymen haunt these roads, or so I have been told-"

A pistol shot, the squeal of the horses and a voice, ringing out loud and true:

"Stand and deliver!"

The carriage shudders to a halt and Lord Howard sits bolt upright, face a mask of fear.

"Do not move, Dominic, do not speak. I will deal with this."

A face appears at the window, a dark cloth obscuring most of it. All Dominic can see is a pair of brilliant blue eyes, eyes that - even in this dimming light - sparkle with a certain predatory cunning.

"Lord Howard! This is a most unexpected turn of events, but a welcome one."

"How do you know my name?"

"Knowing such things is my business."

The senior Howard grunts.

"And what of you?" he asks, "which one of these rogues are you? The Silent Blade? The Crimson Cloak? The Dark Shadow?"

The highwayman snorts.

"A ridiculous name. Dark Shadow, indeed! As if there were such a thing as a light shadow! Well, ridiculous or no, that is the name I am known by," he touches the brim of his hat, " and I am delighted to make your acquaintance."

"I hope you will not think ill of me if I cannot return the sentiment," his lordship says, "is it not early for one such as you to be about your business? I thought you only emerged from your hiding places when the sun went down."

"We do, but I have an appetite for danger. It brings sweeter rewards."

The muzzle of a pistol is suddenly thrust through the carriage window.

"Forgive me, my lord. This has been a most pleasant conversation, but it is not conversation that I seek. Turn out your pockets, hand over all of your valuables."

Lord Howard does as he is asked. Money purse, watch, rings, snuffbox - all given up to the Dark Shadow. The thief pockets the spoils and then his gaze shifts from Howard Senior to Howard Junior. Dominic would swear he can feel those blue eyes burning into his own.

"Step out of the carriage."

Lord Howard moves to obey, but the highwayman dismisses him with a wave of his pistol.

"No, not you. The boy. I want the boy."

The lord throws himself in front of his son in a futile attempt to shield him.

"No! You shall not have him!"

"I am sorry, but I must disagree with you, my lord. I will have the boy, a temporary hostage to secure your good behaviour, or I will see his brains blown all over this handsome carriage. Which would you prefer?"

Lord Howard looks at his son, at the highwayman, his son, desperation etched upon his features.

"I will not harm him, my lord, you have my word on that."

The lord and the highwayman, two men of strong will, stare at each other for a long moment. And then Lord Howard slowly, reluctantly, gives up his son. Dominic is taken from the carriage and set upon the highwayman's horse.

"If you should hurt him..." Lord Howard's voice is hoarse, thick with unshed tears.

"I will not. I gave my word, did I not? Your son shall be returned to you upon the morrow."

The Shadow puts spurs to his horse. Dominic tries to take it all in, commit the route to memory, but they take many twists and turns and this quickly proves impossible.

They finally reach a secluded clearing. Dominic's abductor dismounts and pulls the boy down off the horse.

"My father will send men after me, you know."

"He will. But he will not reach town for well over an hour, and it will take half as long again to gather an adequate rescue party. It will be fully dark by then and these woods work to aid me, not them. They will not find us, of that you can be sure."

"Why are we here? What would you have of me?"

The highwayman pulls the cloth away from his face and the boy is struck dumb by the pale beauty now revealed to him. Dominic watches the other man remove his hat, cloak and gloves, his sword and pistols. He presses Dominic against the trunk of a nearby tree and removes the boy's coat.

Dominic begins to panic when his captor's fingers begin to work at his shirt buttons, popping them open one by one. He seizes the other man's wrists, but the highwayman laughs and shrugs him off. The boy's shirt is pulled open and he shudders when his captor strokes his chest and stomach, his touch so bold, so forbidden! And then the other man lowers his head and Dominic feels his tongue exploring him, tasting his flesh and he squeals.

"Please," he implores, trying to ignore the sensation, "please, stop this. It is not right."

The other man laughs.

"Right? What do I care about right?"

He straightens up and leans into the boy until their mouths almost touch.

"No," Dominic offers up a feeble protest.

"Yes," the highwayman insists, before pressing their lips together.

The shock of it makes the boy gasp and the highwayman seizes the opportunity he has been given, thrusting his tongue between parted lips and into the boy's mouth. Dominic wants to be strong, does not want to give into temptation. But another man's tongue in his mouth, tasting him, duelling with his own - it overwhelms him, breaks down his resistance, takes all the desires he has locked away deep inside himself and sets them free. He pulls his abductor closer and they kiss, oh, how they kiss, hot and wet, slow and deep.

They finally part, struggling far breath. The highwayman smirks at his prisoner.

"You are not quite so reluctant as you first appeared, are you, boy?" he says as he cups the prominent bulge in Dominic's breeches.

Dominic hangs his head, convicted.

"How did you know?" he asks.

"I always know. I can smell it," Dominic's hand is pressed against the matching bulge in the other man's breeches, "I can smell my own kind."

The boy clears his throat.

"How - that is - will we - "

The highwayman walks away from Dominic, retrieves a bundle hidden in the hollow of another tree on the other side of the clearing. He opens it and Dominic sees a large blanket, some lanterns, a tinderbox. The lanterns are soon lit, the blanket spread out in the middle of the clearing. Dominic is taken by the hand, lead over to the blanket.

And then he is on his hands and knees, breeches around his ankles, bare arse in the air. The highwayman kneels behind, squeezing and fondling the boy's soft buttocks. He pulls them apart and delivers a teasing lick to Dominic's rear entrance.

"Oh!" the boy cries as the other man tastes the very heart of him, "what are you doing to me?"

"I am preparing you, preparing you for an experience you will never forget."

The boy's cries and moans increase in volume as the older man prepares him, first with tongue and then with fingers. These are soon replaced with hot, firm flesh, prodding his core.

"You have never done this before," the highwayman says. It is a statement of fact, not a question.


"Then we will go slowly at first, and I will be as gentle as I can."

He eases the very tip of his prick into the boy's hole and stops, allowing time for the boy grow used to the sensation. Then he inches his way inside, moving slowly, soothing the boy with gentle words and terms of endearment. And then he is there, all the way in.

"Does it hurt?" he enquires.

"No..." Dominic moans, hands clutching the blanket beneath him, "it is not pain. I feel ... full."

"You are full," the highwayman hums, "full to the very brim! My God, but I do love a sweet virgin arse."

He begins to move in and out of the boy's arse, employing slow and careful thrusts. Dominic places his hands flat upon the blanket and braces himself. The sensation ceases to be strange and becomes something else. Something ... wonderful? Yes. Wonderful. A dark and wonderful pleasure.

"More," he moans, "I need more."

More is what he receives, so much more. His captor's thrusts become harder, faster, the movements of an animal rather than that of a man. Dominic's prick is aching, throbbing fit to burst. He lifts a hand to that rigid flesh and begins to pleasure himself, tugging himself in time with the prick invading his arse. He screams as he disgorges, all his reason and restraint fled. His mind has only just begun to clear when the other man grunts  and pulses into him, filling his arse right up.

They lie together upon the blanket, not speaking, as they recover their wits. The highwayman is soon reaching for Dominic again and they strip each other of their remaining garments. It is a hot summer night and they feel no discomfort as they make a slow and thorough study of each others' bodies. Then Dominic lies upon his back, legs spread in invitation.

"Again?" he asks.

His lover covers him.

"Again," he agrees.

The moon is risen now, a gorgeous, golden July moon. Dominic stares up at it as he is filled, over and over again.


Dawn is breaking as they ride through the woods, Dominic wrapped in the outlaw's cloak. They stop when they reach a wide path and Dominic is urged to dismount. The highwayman points along the path.

"Stay on this path and you will come to an inn. The landlord is an early riser and he will be most anxious to assist you, once he knows whose son you are. You will be back in your house before noon."

"I do not want to go. I want to stay with you."

"I wish you could. But you cannot, Dominic, you know this."

Dominic nods, miserable. He takes off the cloak, offers it to the other man.

"No, it is yours now. A memento of our time together."

The highwayman turns his horse and rides away. Dominic watches him go, then starts along the path to the inn, cloak wrapped around him once more. He knows nothing of the highwayman's past, his future, he does not even know the man's name.

But he knows he will never forget him, or the night they spent together.
hannah_chapter1: (Invasion)
Title: Same As It Ever Was Part VI
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: 18/NC-17
Feedback: Yes please.
Summary: AU. Something is wrong in Matt Bellamy's life. In all his lives. He appears to move between worlds, but how? Which world is the real one? Is he just insane? And where does Dom Howard fit into all of this? Title taken from "Once in a Lifetime" by Talking Heads.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse and this never happened.

Matt tries to move his arms, can't do it. His brow furrows and then it all comes back to him.

A cell.

A straitjacket.

Bound and restricted.

He attacked that inspector, so they threw him in here. He screamed and threw himself at the door for a couple of hours. When he finally ran out of steam Wolstenholme, bearing all the marks of Matt's first assault, came into the cell. Matt promptly gained a second wind and kicked the policeman in the balls. Then he attacked the officers who came to help Wolstenholme. But they overpowered him, forced him onto the bunk and into this stupid fucking thing. They left him here, stewing in his own juices, Dom's voice inside his head.

He tells him to shut up, but Dom never did listen to him, so why should he start now?

He screams at Dom and Dom laughs.

Ignore him, he tries to ignore him, but he can't, and Dom babbles on, condemning him, calling him a murderer, a psychopath and Matt just can't take anymore.

Matt struggles to his feet, takes aim and runs into the cell door, head first. The first hit isn't hard enough, so he does it again. Three is the magic number, this last attempt cracking his skull and shutting off the voices. Matt

... lies

... on

... his

back, sweaty and spent. Dom pants and sweats beside him, lost in his own cloud of post-coital bliss. Matt reaches out blindly, needing to touch some part, any part, of his lover. Three months since Dom first took him to bed and Matt still can't get enough. He's here every other afternoon, when Mandy's at work and he has no students to teach. Dom doesn't wash his car half as often as he used to, now that he's found a better way to spend his free time - and boost his creativity.

He's tearing through his novel, producing twice - no, three times - as many pages as he did before they became lovers. And that's not all: his protagonist still doesn't have a name, but now he has a face: Matt's face.

Matt's the hero, the confused one, sliding through all the different worlds, unable to remain in any one place for long.

Sound of a door opening on the other side of the wall and Mandy's voice, calling for Matt. Fuck, Dom wasn't lying, these walls really are thin.

"Answer her," Dom whispers, "tell her where you are. Tell her what I'm doing to you. Tell her how much you love it."

Matt shakes his head, bites his lip to stifle a moan when Dom reaches over and tweaks a nipple. Then he hears his phone rings and every hair on his body stands on end. The phone is ringing ... on the other side of the wall. In their bedroom, not this one. He relaxes into the bed and Dom giggles. Matt's phone stops ringing and they both hear Mandy's muffled curse. Matt waits for her to leave the bedroom.

But she doesn't. She's still talking, she must have called someone. Chris? Probably. Dom looks at the wall, then at Matt.

"Okay," he says softly.

Before Matt can ask his lover what that's supposed to mean Dom's pinning him down, hands moving over all of Matt's most sensitive places, the spots that make him gasp and moan. Oh, he knows what Dom's trying to do, but it's going to happen. Matt won't make a sound.

Mandy prattles on even as Dom parts Matt's legs and enters him again. Matt keeps his mouth clamped shut, bites his lip hard enough to draw blood as Dom moves inside him.

"Do you want me to stop?" Dom half-whispers, half-moans, "I will, if that's what you want. All you have to do is ask."

Matt shakes his head and Dom laughs.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Biting his lip might not be enough. Matt clamps both hands over his mouth as Dom fucks him. He's silent but Dom is anything but, filling the room with exaggerated moans and expressions of pleasure. And it looks like Mandy's finally noticed what's going on over here. Matt can hear her voice, growing fainter as she leaves the bedroom, bitching about the pig who lives next door.

Their front door slams, a car engine roars to life and Matt loses control. His hands fly back and grab the headboard and he gives voice to a full-throated howl as he comes.  They lie together, completely spent for the second time in less than an hour. Matt sighs.

"You're evil," he tells the limp body still on top of him.

Dom pulls out but doesn't roll off.

"Evil?" he says, "me? I'm not the one cheating on my girlfriend, lying and offering lame excuses instead of sex."

Matt glares up at him.

"Eavesdropping again, are we?"

"No. Who needs to eavesdrop? The two of you fight and the whole street hears it."


Dom strokes his cheek.

"You can't go on like this, Matt."

"What should I do, then?"

"You know what you should do. Tell her about us. Leave her, move in with me."

"Right, into the house next door. Talk about rubbing salt in the wound."

"We don't have to stay here. We could go somewhere else."


"Anywhere you like. I don't care."

"I need to think about this, Dom."

"Yes, you do. Because this can't go on forever. You can't live like this, Matt, bouncing from one world to another. You need to pick one."

"I know. But it's hard."

Dom grunts and gets out of bed. He

... looks

... out

... of

the window.

"It's such a lovely day," he says.

He turns and smiles as Matt comes out of the bar.

"All clean?" he asks.

"All clean," Matt confirms.

Matt puts away the broom and cleaning rags. He walks over to the sink, where Dom is washing glasses.

"Anything else you need me to do?"

"No. Why don't you go outside for awhile, get some sun. You need some sun. You're too pale, Matt."

"Oh stop, I can't take all these compliments."

"Don't start. You know I worry about you, Matt."

"I know."

"And you know why."

"I do."

It's been a couple of months since Matt's little dust-up with Chris and, while things between them haven't gotten any worse, they haven't gotten any better, either. Chris doesn't talk to Dom much these days, doesn't talk to Matt at all. That's not a problem. But Matt's memory is still an almost completely blank slate and his headaches and dizzy spells are becoming more frequent. That is a problem. But he still won't go to a hospital, no matter what Dom says. Matt doesn't know much about himself, but he knows one thing: he'd rather die that set even one foot inside a hospital.

Matt stretches and sighs.

"I think I will go outside for awhile, and read my book."

"You do that."

Matt finds his book on the kitchen table and goes outside. He perches himself on a wooden barrel - old, but sturdy enough - and opens his book. He found it underneath their bed about a week ago. The covers ripped off, no title, no author name. Dom has no idea where it came from, or just how long it was under there. But it fascinates Matt, he finds this book and its story of a man leaping into other worlds and other versions of himself oddly compelling.

He reads for a couple of hours, only stopping when he hears a car. He looks up just in time to see Chris haul himself out of the driver's seat. Chris turns, sees Matt and his expression darkens. Matt puts his book aside and goes to find Dom. He stops in the doorway, the sight before him shocking him to his very core.

Dom's lying on his back, struggling to breathe, his face a red and pulpy mess. A hammer lies on the floor by Dom's foot and the blood - oh, sweet Jesus, so much blood.

Matt runs, slips on the bloody floor and falls to his knees. He crawls to his lover, crawls through all that blood. Dom's still fighting for breath and Matt hesitates. What should he do? What can he do?

A shadow falls across them and Matt is lifted up and away from Dom.

"What did you do?" Chris shakes him, making his teeth rattle, "you fucked up little freak, what did you do?"


... hears

... a

... key

scraping in a lock. He hides behind the kitchen door and waits. An unfamiliar voice in the front hall, asking questions. Matt can't hear the answers, can't hear the second voice at all. The front door opens again, closes and now someone is walking through the living room, coming into the kitchen. The stranger reaches for the light switch and Matt pounces, grabbing the man and bringing him to the floor. The man opens his mouth to scream - or try to, anyway - and Matt puts a hand over his mouth.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I swear, I'm not going to hurt you," he says and then, realising how stupid that sounds, adds, "again."

Doctor Howard stares up at him, eyes wide and terrified. Matt tries a reassuring smile but, when he catches a glimpse of himself in the oven door, he has to admit it doesn't really work. He doesn't look calm and reassuring; he looks like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

"Look, I'm going to take my hand away. Okay?"

Doctor Howard nods.

"You won't try anything clever, like running for the back door or trying to stab me with one of the knives on that rack over there?"

Another nod.


Matt releases him and Howard shifts into a sitting position, keeping a wary eye on Matt as he does so. Strange, but the good doctor looks so much younger, so much more vulnerable without his glasses. Howard touches the bandage on his throat and winces.

"What are you doing in my house?" he asks, voice little more than a hoarse whisper.

"Hiding in the last place anyone would expect to find me."

"How did you know where I lived?"

"Your wallet. Don't you remember? I took it from you just before I escaped."

"Took it just before you cut my throat and left me bleeding on the floor," the doctor corrects.

"I'm sorry about that."

"Are you? Are you really?"

"Yes. I didn't want to hurt you, I didn't."

"Why did you, then?"

"I needed a distraction and I wanted to keep Wolstenholme off you. I didn't want him blaming you for my escape, or maybe even thinking it was your idea."

"You were trying to help me, this is what you're telling me."

"Yeah, I was."

"Well it didn't work. Wolstenholme was waiting for me when I got out of surgery, didn't even wait for the drugs to wear off. I was grilled for hours. Why, he asked, would I, of all people, see fit to remove your restraints and give you a weapon? I wrote my answers down, he tore up the paper and threw it in my face. I could lose my job, my medical licence, I might even go to prison myself if Wolstenholme gets his way."

Another apology would be an insult and a waste of time, so Matt says nothing.

"So you've been here, all the time I was in hospital, you were here?"

"That's right. And how considerate of you, to leave a spare key in the flowerpot by the front door."

The doctor gives him a dirty look.

"Don't worry, I was careful, nobody saw me, and I've been a good guest. You've still got plenty of food and I've cleaned up after myself. I even fed your cat and kept it company."

Speak of the devil: a small, tabby cat pushes through the back door cat flap and strolls into the kitchen. Howard holds out his arms, but the cat ignores its master and jumps into Matt's lap instead.

"Aww, isn't that sweet," Matt grins, "I'm its Daddy, now."



"His name is Andrew."

"Oh, okay."

Matt plays with Andrew until the cat gets bored and goes to investigate his food dish.

"Are we going to spend the rest of the evening sitting on the kitchen floor?"

"No, of course not."

Matt brings the doctor upstairs, lets him shower, change and find his spare glasses. Then they eat, Howard sticking to custard and ice cream. They settle at opposite sides of Howard's couch and watch the news. Police are still looking for Matt, still have no idea where he might be hiding, or with who. Christopher Wolstenholme makes a statement and Matt grimaces and gives the television the finger.

"Why do you hate him so much? Why is he so interested in you?"

"I don't know. I just know he's bad news, for me and for you."

"How? Why?"

"The Eye sees everything. The Hand never lets go."

The words, suddenly in Matt's brain and bubbling out of his mouth.

"What does that mean?"

Images pouring into Matt's mind, drowning his reason. He squeezes his temples, tries to articulate it, tries to make Howard see.

"You ... me ... him ... the three of us ... always, the three of us ... the world ... we ... break ... the world ..."

And then it's all gone - worse than gone, like it was never there in the first place. Matt smacks the arm of the couch.

"I had it, I had it all and now it's gone!"

The doctor tries to calm him down, but Matt's having none of it. He jumps up and starts pacing around the room.

"Do you have any idea, doctor, what it's like to be a stranger in your own head? To experience the emotions of a man who is you and, at the same time, not you? You're happy, you don't know why, you're angry and you have no idea why and you ... don't ... know ... how ... to ... fix ...it!"

Doctor Howard gets up, takes Matt by the shoulders. A brave move, after what Matt did to him and what he thinks Matt's done to so many people.

"Matthew. Matt. Calm down, please. I want to help you and I know I can, if you'll let me. We can figure it out, all of it."

"You still want to help me, after what I did to you?"

"I do."

The doctor's touch soothes him, makes him feel more like himself, the way he was before ... well, before everything.

"Alright. I'm trusting you, Doctor Howard. Don't let me down."

"I won't, I promise."

They spend the rest of the evening in almost complete silence, restricting themselves to an occasional comment on whatever show they happen to be watching. Andrew lies on the couch between then, loving all the extra attention. The doctor tenses up again when Matt leads him upstairs at the end of the night. Matt picks up on the other man's fear.

"Do you really think I'd do that, Doctor Howard? Take advantage of you like that?"

Howard wraps his arms around himself, as if for comfort.

"I don't know. But you are bisexual, with an admitted preference for men."

"That's true. But you can relax. I think this relationship should be a platonic one and, well, don't take this the wrong way, but you're not my type."

The doctor's relief is written all over his face. Matt lies down, stretches his arm across the mattress, makes Doctor Howard lie on top of it.

"There," he says, "now we can sleep and I don't have to worry about you trying to sneak away in the middle of the night. You move, you get up for anything, and I'll know."

"I thought you were going to trust me."

"I am. But only so far, doctor, only so far."

They lie together in the dark. The doctor begins to snore and Matt can feel himself drifting off.

The weight shifting off his arm wakes him again. He can see the vague outline of Doctor Howard, sitting up, not moving, not speaking.

"What is it," Matt asks, "what's wrong?"

No answer from the shape beside him. Matt swears under his breath, reaches for the lamp. But, before he can switch it on, the doctor speaks and it's not the hoarse whisper of earlier. This voice is rich, confident and familiar, oh so familiar:

"Oh, Matt," it drawls, "you've really fucked up this time."


... pulls

... up

... a

chair and sits by his prisoner's bed. Howard opens his eyes.

"Commander Bellamy."

"Howard. How are you feeling?"

"Sick. Weak. Not ready to go back to your chamber of horrors. But you probably knew that already."

"I did. It doesn't matter, I can wait. I'm a patient man."

"Yes. You are."

Howard motions towards the plastic water jug on the table.

"Would you mind?"

"No, of course not."

Matthew pours him some water, helps him sit up so he can drink it. Howard looks at his torturer, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"The orderlies talk about you."

"What do they say?"

"You punched Minister Wolstenholme in the face, broke his nose."

"Yes, I did."

"And you took his spy and flayed him alive."


"Did you enjoy it?"

"Which? The nose breaking or the flaying?"

"Either. Both."

"No, I didn't enjoy it."

"You hated it, then?"

"No. I did what I had to do, in both cases. I didn't feel much of anything."

"You never do, do you? No love, no hate, you just do whatever you must to serve the state. Irritation when someone gets in your way, a faint sense of satisfaction when you've done what you think is right, that's the closest you get to an emotion, isn't it?"

"Yes. I'm such a good little clockwork thug."

Howard smiles.

"it wasn't an insult, you know."

"What wasn't?"

"Clockwork thug. Not an insult, just a fact. A hollow man, all memories, most of his emotions burned away. A man who serves the state because he was designed to, because that's the only thing he knows, the only thing he's allowed to know. That's you, Commander Bellamy. That's the clockwork thug."

"That's not me."

"Isn't it?" Howard suddenly changes tack, "where were you born?"


"Come on, it's a simple question. Where were you born?"

"I don't know."

"Who was your mother?"

"I don't know."

"Who was your father?"

"I don't kn-"

"Do you have brothers, sisters?"

"I don't - "

"What's your earliest memory?"

"I don't - I can't - "

"What did you do, in the time Before?"

"Before what?"

"Before the state was established, before the Eye, before the Hand."

"There is no time Before. The Eye and the Hand have always been here, will always be here."

Howard laughs.

"That's what you think. Poor little clockwork thug! You think you see everything. You see nothing, know nothing, have nothing. You are nothing. An empty man with an empty life."

"My life isn't empty."


"No. I ... have ... a piano! I have a piano. I have music."

"Yes, I heard about your piano, and it made me curious. Answer one last question, Commander Bellamy."

"I should be the one asking the questions."

"I know. But indulge me just a little longer."

"Ask your question, then."

"Do you get headaches? Night sweats? Do your hands shake?"

"How do you know about that?"

Howard says nothing.

"Damn you, talk to me! What does it mean?"

"The cracks are beginning to show. The clockwork thug is turning back into a real boy."

And that's all the prisoner will say. He closes his eyes and ignores Matthew, his questions and threats about removed fingernails and removed fingers. Frustrated almost to the point of insanity, Matthew leaves the former Deputy and goes to the man's house. The man won't give Matthew answers, but his possessions might.

Howard's house is warm and welcoming, with soft carpets and expensive furnishings, the complete opposite of Matthew's. The house has already been searched, of course, every document, every book, every scrap of paper examined and filed away. But there must be something, something -

He searches for hours, checks every room half a dozen times and gets nothing. He can almost hear Howard laughing at him. Something furious, some alien anger possesses him and he attacks the rooms in a frenzy, smashing furniture, ripping up carpets, tearing strips off the wallpaper.

And that's where he finds it, in Howard's study, taped up behind the wallpaper: a photograph. Dominic Howard in an army uniform, arm around another man, both smiling for the camera. Matthew stares at the other man's face, the face he sees every time he looks in a mirror. He tries

... to

... make

... sense

of his surroundings. They came for him, he remembers that. They treated his head injury, he remembers that, too. Now he's strapped into a chair, but not in an interrogation room. He's in ... an office?

He hears a door open and a man in a white coat stands before him. Matt gapes up at the white coat. It can't, it can't be -

"Good morning, Matthew!" the man exclaims brightly, "my name is Doctor Howard and I'm your psychiatrist. I'm here to help you."


Jan. 31st, 2014 09:24 pm
hannah_chapter1: (Airplane)
Title: Addiction
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom, of a sort.
Rating: 18/NC-17
Summary: You like to watch.
Feedback: We wants it, we needs it, give it to us.
Note: Emily wanted a sex addiction fic, so I (eventually) delivered.

Here we go again: another night, another fuck.

I zero in on him as he comes into the club, and so do you. He looks at the couples writhing on the dance floor, at you, propping up the bar and nursing your second scotch of the night, and then he sees me, alone at my table, open for business.

He talks to the guy behind the bar and then he's walking over to my table, a glass in each hand: a drink for himself and a fresh one for me. A considerate one, this. I ask him to sit, he does and we drink and talk and flirt. He asks me if I want another drink and I glance in your direction. You shake your head, so I lay a hand on his arm and lean in. No, I tell him, I've had enough of this club. We could go somewhere else and get to know each other better. I know just the place. He agrees happily, eagerly. He pays for the drinks, we get our coats and leave together. You follow us, but he doesn't see you.

The room is small, but big enough to hold a bed and, really, what else do we need? Doesn't waste time, this new boy, no, he walks right in and starts taking his clothes off. I shut the door and follow his lead. The foreplay is brief and efficient and then it's happening. We're on the bed, he's on me, pumping in and out, moaning and panting in my ear. I answer each of his moans with one of my own. He likes that, thinks he's giving me the fuck of my life. Nothing could be further from the truth. It's all an act, part of the show I'm putting on for him - and for you. Especially for you. I perform for you, do all these things, for you. It's all for you.

He squeaks as he comes. I bite my lip to stifle a giggle as he falls forward. I didn't come, but he's too wrapped up in his own bliss to care. And then he's done with me. I lie on the bed and watch him dress. He takes a comb from the inner pocket of his jacket, walks over to the mirror and fixes his hair. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the sluttiest one of all? You're on the other side of that mirror, watching his every move, but he doesn't see you.

You wait a few minutes and, when you're certain he isn't coming back, you come to me. You undress, taking it slow, teasing me with every sliver of revealed flesh. Then you wait. You won't move until I ask you to - no, until I beg you to. You like it when I'm desperate. You like to hear me beg.

I always do. Tonight is no exception. I open my arms and legs and I beg for it. You smile, a cold, cruel smile, and then you grant my wish. The bed creaks as you join me. Then your hands are on me, erasing all traces of him, marking me as yours. You're not gentle, you never are, rough is the only language you speak - and it's the only one I respond to.

You flip me onto my stomach and push inside me. My body recognises  its master and I come almost immediately, my seed seeping into the mattress beneath me. But you give me no time to recover, why should you? You squeeze my throat and hiss in my ear as you jackhammer into me, you call me a cheap, disgusting whore. Oh, I'm a whore alright - the whore you never pay.

I get hard again as you continue to use me, and I come a fraction of a second before you do. Your grip on my throat relaxes and you kiss and nuzzle the back of my neck. This unexpected tenderness brings me to my sense.

Why do I do this?

Why do we do this?

Because we're addicted, that's why. This is the only way you could ever want me, this is the only way I can ever have you. I made my choice, and now I live with the consequences.

But for how much longer?

How long can this go on?
hannah_chapter1: (Invasion)
Title: Enemies Part Nine
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: 18/NC-17
Summary: A cop. A bank robber. Some sex. What else do you need?
Feedback: Please do.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse, this is fiction.

"Hi there!"

Dom blinks, confused and more than a little wary. All the way up to this cell, to this new home of his, he'd felt eyes on him, all over him, like a physical weight. Dom has no illusions, he knows what happens to ex-cops in jail. This is why they're usually kept in a separate block, far from the other prisoners. But Dom's being made an example of, so it's gen. pop. for him. He'd tried to prepare himself for what he might find here. A shiv in the guts, a rope around his neck, or maybe just a couple of thugs waiting to administer a welcoming beating - so many possibilities. But this friendly prisoner, greeting him with a smile and open hand, this Dom did not expect. He hesitates, then shakes the offered hand.

"Trevor's the name, Trevor Philips."

"Dom Howard."

"I know. I've been expecting you."

Dom backs up a step, suddenly wary.

"I didn't mean it that way. I'm here to help you."

"Why would anyone in this place want to help me?"

"Let's just say we have a mutual acquaintance."

"Matt?" Dom lowers his voice, moves further into the cell, "you know Matt?"

"I worked with him, on the first crew he put together when he got out of here. Good times. Good money, too."

"And now you're here. What happened?"

"Poker. I needed to make back my money, so I joined another crew and the boss, well, he was no Matt Bellamy. Go directly to jail, do not pass Go, do not collect 200 dollars."

"And you'll help me."

"I will."

"For a price?"

"Naturally. Friendship's fine, but it doesn't pay the bills. I help you and, when I get out of here, I got a nice, juicy retirement package waiting for me."

Dom sits on the bottom bunk, digesting all this.

"You've talked to Matt?"

"I have."


"All in good time."


Dom adjusts to his new life. He's put to work in the laundry, loading carts with fresh sheets. It's hours and hours of back-breaking tedium, but Dom doesn't care. It still beats the hell out of paperwork. And Trevor's almost always by his side, ready to lighten the mood with a joke or a story. Dom would be lost without this man, his guide and friend. His only friend - the others avoid Dom like the plague. Dom has no problem with this. Better ignored than raped and shanked in the showers.

But is he being ignored? He slowly becomes aware of a small group of prisoners, seven or eight huge slabs of muscle. They follow him everywhere. They eat at the same table, they even watch him shower. But all they do is watch and Dom can't work it out. He asks Trevor about it and the other man shrugs it off, tells him not to worry.


Four weeks into his sentence and Trevor's shaking him awake in the middle of the night.


This is all Dom gets out before Trevor clamps a hand over his mouth.

"Don't talk, just listen. You only get to do this once, so make it count and don't fuck it up for the rest of us."

Trevor releases him and pushes something into his hand: a cellphone. Dom puts it to his ear. He's still half-asleep, but the voice he hears wakes him right up.


Dom sits up so fast he almost falls out of his bunk.


"Baby, I'm so sorry. I wanted to come for you, but I just couldn't do it."

"I know. It's okay."

"It's not okay, it's not. You took the fall for me, and I let you do it."

"It was my choice. You couldn't have stopped me."

Matt sniffling, like he's fighting back tears.

"I'd come and get you now if I could. But they're still watching, just waiting for me to give it a try."

"I know."

"But they can't keep this up, not indefinitely. Enough time goes by, they'll ease up. They'll think I've forgotten about you."

Matt's crying now and Dom feels a lump rising in his own throat.

"But they'll be wrong. I could never abandon you. Hang in there, baby. I'll keep you safe and, when the time is right, I'll get you out."

"I know you will."

"I love you, Dom."

"I love you, too."

A click in Dom's ear and Matt's gone. Trevor takes the phone away.

"Did you have a nice chat?"

"We did. Thank you."

"Don't thank me, thank Matt. His money made it possible."

Dom wants to know all about this, how it was set up and how they got a cellphone in here. But he doesn't ask. He's already beginning to think like a long-timer. The less he knows, the less he can spill.

Two days after the phone call, Dom has his first - and last - fight with another prisoner. The con in question tries to take Dom's lunch, but Dom won't give it up. The other guy stands up, reaches across the table...

...and Dom's stalker squad joins the party. Two guys grab Dom's would-be attacker's arms, two more take his legs. They break him, snap all four limbs like twigs.

"What was that?" Dom asks when they're back in their cell.

Trevor laughs at him from the comfort of his bunk.

"See, I told you not to worry about those guys. They're your guardian angels."

"I didn't know they cared."

"Who said they did? Believe me, they don't. There's not a man among them who wouldn't fuck you in the ass just to see the look on your face."

"Matt's paying them?"

"Of course. They've all got people on the outside, people they care about. The deal is, they keep you safe and - "

Trevor traces a dollar sign in the air.

" - Matt takes care of their loved ones."

"And if they don't?"

The other prisoner makes a gun shape.

"Matt will take care of their loved ones."

"He wouldn't."

"He would, and you know it. Matt's not a cruel man, but he is a practical one. He'd do it, and do you know what he'd say afterwards?"

"Just business."

"Just business, exactly. So relax, Dom, you're safe in here. Your man is taking care of you."


Days turn into months and Dom looks for a way to occupy his time. He starts working out, lifting weights in the gym and doing sit-ups in his cell. It's a useful outlet, a way of channeling his boredom and sexual frustration.

"Do you have to do that?" Trevor asks one night.

Dom pauses mid sit-up.

"Is this bothering you?"

Damn right it is," Trevor holds up his book, "how am I supposed to improve my mind with you grunting on the floor?"

Dom flashes his cellmate a lewd grin and cups his crotch.

"I don't have to grunt on the floor," he says, rubbing himself through his pants, "I can go and grunt in my bunk. Would you prefer that?"

Trevor glares at him, then returns to his book with a long-suffering sigh.

"Fine, do your stupid sit-ups."


Seven months into his sentence, Dom is taken out of the laundry and taken to the governor's office. But the governor isn't there and the guard won't answer Dom's questions. Dom waits, nerves tingling, and not in a good way. His fears are confirmed when Dick Jones, crusading prosecutor, sworn enemy of crime, walks in, wearing a suit as sharp as his eyes and black as his heart. He sits behind the governor's desk, opens his briefcase.

"Dom. You look good. Prison blue suits you."

"And you look like a cheap prick in an expensive suit. Black does not suit you."

Jones ignores the fashion critique.

"Talked to Bellamy lately?"

Dom laughs.

"Of course, I talk to him all the time! Gay men send telepathic message through their rectums, didn't you know that?"

"Very funny."

"Thank you. I aim to please."

"Right. How about you skip the comedy and answer the question."

"Stupid fucking question. How could i talk to him? I get no phone calls, no internet access and I got eyes all over my mail."

"Like any of that matters. There are always links to the outside world."

"If you say so. I haven't been using them. I haven't spoken to Matt since the day I was arrested."

"Since the day he left you to take the fall for him, you mean."

"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to."

Jones grunts at that and takes a stack of photographs from his briefcase.

"Guess what your boyfriend's been doing."

"Robbing banks, like he always does."

"No, not like he always does. He had a pattern, a certain way of doing things, you know that better than anybody. But when you got sent here, he went off the rails. There are no breaks, no cooling off periods. He's done three, sometimes even four, banks a week, each and every week, for the past seven months. And then there's this."

The lawyer takes his photos and fans then out on the desk like a winning poker hand. Dom looks through them and giggles. Jones hasn't been straight with him. There's a pattern, there's always a pattern when Matt's involved. The pictures are ariel shots, with the places Matt's hit marked in red. Each set of red dots comes together to form a picture: a smiley face, a fist with a raised middle finger, even a cock and balls. Jones slaps the desk.

"Stop it! Stop laughing!"

Dom ignores him. Jones' mouth twists into an odd shape. He looks like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle.

"Is this all a joke to you? Do you even know what you've done, understand the situation you're in?"

This sobers Dom up. He offers the prosecutor a small, sad smile.

"Well now, let's see, " Dom ticks off points on his fingers, "I've destroyed my department's credibility, my parents have disowned me, I'm going to spend the rest of my life rotting in this shithole and some pissy little excuse for a prosecutor is wasting my afternoon. Have I forgotten anything?"

"No, I think that just about covers it."

"Alright, I'll say this one time: I don't know where Matt is. I don't know why he's doing what he's doing. I couldn't stop him even when I was really trying, I can't stop him now, so why don't you get the fuck out of here and leave me in peace?"

A greasy smile slithers its way onto Jones' face and his voice takes on a wheedling tone.

"It doesn't have to be this way, Dom. Why should we be at each other's throats? Wasn't so long ago, we were on the same side. And I always liked you."

"No, you didn't. Don't shit a shitter."

"Okay, so maybe I didn't like you, but I always respected you."

"Oh, really?"

Dom thinks about a string of homophobic murders he had the bad luck to be assigned to, all those young, gay men, mutilated and left to bleed out.

"I thought I was a limp-wristed little faggot with no stomach for real police work,."

"That's not - "

"Your words, not mine."

"Alright, you got me. I never cared for you, on a personal or a professional level. But I want to help you, if you'll let me. We can make a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"Straight trade, you for Bellamy. We let you out, we fake an escape. Your loverboy gets in touch and you lead us right to him. He goes to jail, you go free. Sound good?"

"You're living in a dream. Do you think Matt's an idiot? Do you really think he wouldn't see the trap?"

"I think it's worth a shot. I think that, with the right bait, he could blinded to the existence of the trap."

"I think you're wrong, but it doesn't really matter. I won't do it."

"Just like that? We can't even talk it over?"

"Nothing to talk about. I won't be your bait."

"Oh, come on" You don't owe Bellamy anything! You throw away your career, your life, for him and he lets you. You do hard time while he lives it up. And you're okay with this?"

"You just don't get it, do you, Jones? It's not about keeping score, a game of who owes who. If I wanted Matt in here, he'd be in here. But he's not, because I love him and I want him to be free. Nothing he does and nothing you say can change the way I feel, so why don't you take this precious deal of yours and stick it up your ass?"

Red creeps out of the lawyer's collar and travels upwards, staining his face by degrees, turning him into a human thermometer. He leans forward until he and Dom are almost nose to nose.

"You want to stay in here?" he says, his voice soft and cold and deadly, "then stay here, it doesn't matter. We'll get your boyfriend, he slipped before, he'll slip again. And if we do take him alive, if we don't just splatter his brains all over the nearest wall, here's what I'll do. I'll pull some strings and have him isolated, locked in a tiny cell for the rest of his life. And you? Right there with him, in the next cell. Close, so close, but you'll never see each other, never touch, never speak. What do you think of that?"

Dom's statement is brief, but effective. He stands, unzips himself and pisses right in the prosecutor's face.

Jones gags and chokes and the guard grabs Dom and hauls him out of there. Dom laughs all the way to solitary confinement. He does three weeks in the hole for that little stunt, but it's worth it. When he gets back to gen. pop. the other prisoners look at him with new-found respect and things start to change. A few friendly words, then a couple of guys join his lunch table. When he's invited into the TV room and given a seat with a good view, he knows he's made it. He's been accepted.


Time marches on, but Dom never loses faith in Matt and, exactly one year and two months after his day in court, his faith is rewarded.

They're all in the TV room, watching the evening news. Thomas Anderson, the prison governor, is making his live television debut. He gives an interview, then takes calls from viewers.

Dom's tilted back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, when a familiar, high-pitched giggle brings him back to earth. He straightens up, looks at the screen and sees his own shocked recognition reflected in Anderson's face. The governor says two words, the only words that matter:

"Matt Bellamy."

Matt's laugh crackles over the phone line.

"Mr. Anderson, you remember me! I'm flattered. How long has it been since we've has the pleasure of each other's company?"

"Nowhere near long enough," the governor growls, "what do you want, Bellamy?"

"Don't play games with me, Anderson, you know why I'm calling. You've got something that belongs to me, and I want him back. I'm coming for him and nothing can stop me. Guns can't stop me, guards won't stop me, walls can't keep me out."

"You're crazy, Bellamy. No one can break into my prison, not even you. It can't be done."

"We'll see. I have one last thing to say, a message for my man. Are you watching this, Dom, are you hearing my voice? Get ready, baby. I'm taking you home."

And then he's gone. Around Dom the other prisoners whoop and holler and throw stuff at the TV. But Dom just sits there, the calm little island in the middle of the chaos, until the guards wade in and drive everyone out of the room and back to their cells. They're locked in and the cellblock is locked down. Trevor lies on his bunk, humming happily. He winks at Dom.

"Now we're gonna have some fun. I thought this party was never gonna start."

Dom paces his cell for a couple of hours before giving up and going to bed. But he doesn't sleep for long. At 1am, all the lights in the cellblock come on.

"What the fuck?" Trevor mutters as the door to their cell slides open.

The guards marching into the cell ignore Trevor and all his profanity-laced complaints. They only have eyes for Dom. He's scooped out of his bunk and frog-marched halfway across the prison.

The room they take him to is small, white, antiseptic. Dom looks up at his jailers.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"Shut the fuck up," the nearest one snaps.

One of the others steps in.

"Take it easy, George, this isn't his fault."

George retreats to the other side of the room, swearing under his breath. The friendly guard sits on the floor by Dom.

"You're getting out of here, Howard."


"We're taking you out of here. Anderson's scared of your boyfriend, thinks Bellamy's gonna blaze through this place in a tank or something. So you're being taken to a secure location, somewhere secret, where he can't get at you."


"At first light."

"Why not now?"

"We need time to set it up."

"Then why am I here now? Why couldn't you let me sleep?"

"The governer's idea. Keep you up all night, you won't cause any trouble when we take you out of here."

"When have I ever caused trouble?"

The guard doesn't answer, rejoins his friends. Dom spends a long, uncomfortable night shivering on the floor while his guards talk and laugh and drink coffee. Dom gazes longingly at their coffee cups, but he knows better than to ask for one.

Dawn finally comes. The white room has no windows, so Dom can't see it, but when they start chaining him up, he knows it's time to go. He's taken out of the prison and into the waiting van. One of Dom's chains is secured to the floor of the van and he's sandwiched between two huge guards. Dom wants to make a joke about a threesome, doesn't quite dare.

The van rolls and the sleepless night takes its toll. Dom begins to doze, head falling forward. But George is sitting right across from him and George is a mean and spiteful prick. He waits until he's sure Dom has fallen into a deep sleep, then he strikes. He kicks out with all of his might and gets Dom right in the shin. Dom snaps awake and George smiles, his prisoner's pained yelps sweet music to his ears.

"Aww, did I wake you?" he drawls, "sorry 'bout that. My foot slipped."

Dom curses the guard under his breath. He tries to rub his wounded shin, but his chains make it impossible. George sneers at him.

"This is a waste of time, Bellamy isn't coming for you. Any asshole can make a phone call. Everyone thinks your boyfriend is such a badass, but he's just a smug little shit in love with his own legend. I swear, Anderson is such a chickenshit and I cannot believe he fell for-"

A sudden, shockingly loud, bang shuts off the guard's monologue. The van flips, lands on its roof. His guards fly up and flop into a dazed heap, but Dom remains chained in his seat - and now he's upside down. The van doors are ripped off and masked gunmen swarm inside. Two of them head right for Dom. They cut him free and carry him out. One man grabs Dom's injured leg, presses down on the bruise and Dom cries out. His rescuers stop. One of them pulls up Dom's pants leg and exclaims angrily when he sees the huge, purple bruise that's already beginning to form.

"Who did this?" he asks Dom.

Dom points at George.



The masked man turns, crouches and Dom hears a gunshot and a scream. The last thing he sees as he's carried out of the van is George, moaning and clutching his own wounded leg.

Dom wasn't aware of it, but he's been traveling in a convoy, with cars in front of and behind his van. It wasn't enough. Everywhere he looks, Dom sees masked men: trussing up the guards in the cars, standing by the truck they used to ram Dom's van and swarming around three big, black vans.

Dom's bundled into one of the vans, the men who busted him out climb in, too. The one with the itchy trigger finger sits right across from Dom. He barks a command and the van starts to move.

"Are you in pain?" he asks Dom, "can we get you anything?"

"Aspirin would be good."

The man gets up, duck-walks to the front seats. He returns with two pills and a bottle of water. Dom hesitates - should he take pills on an empty stomach? Then he takes them anyway.

"That guard was an asshole," Dom addresses his rescuer, "but did you really have to shoot him?"

"Matt's orders. They hurt you, we hurt them back, with interest. And it's Matt's show," he removes his mask, wipes his face, "it wasn't a fatal shot, He'll live and who knows, he might even learn something."

They're all relaxing now, laughing, taking off their masks. Dom wonders where Matt is. Why isn't he here? His new friend reads his mind.

"Matt wanted to be here, he really did, but he's needed elsewhere today."

"Needed for what?"

"To make sure all this goes off without a hitch. Getting you out was the easy part. We've got forty minutes, an hour if we're lucky, before news of this gets out. And when this story breaks, it's gonna break big - no, not big, huge. You thought the media shat its drawers when you got arrested, wait until they get a load of this. Can't you just see the headlines being written?"

Bank robber breaks boyfriend out of prison.

Outlaw couple!

"Yeah, I can."

"There's gonna be a lot of heat and Matt's gonna draw it away from us. He'll keep the cops and the media off our backs, we'll keep you safe and get you where you need to go."

"When will I see Matt?"

"Soon, I promise. But where are my manners?" he offers Dom his hand, "I'm Chris, Chris Wolstenholme."

Dom shakes hands. Chris gestures at the men at either side of him.

"My brother, Lee, and my nephew, Tony. That's Chad and Eddie to your left, and Ty is driving the bus."

"Pleased to meet you all. I really appreciate everything you're doing."

Chris waves off the praise.

"Always glad to help a friend."

"Matt's a friend of yours?"

"Hell yeah, we go way back," Chris says, "he's practically family."

Lee and Tony nod in enthusiastic agreement as Chris continues.

"Maybe we'll get the old, sassy Matt back now you're free. He's been so miserable, no fun at all. It's been hell. And don't even get me started on the day you got sentenced."

"What happened?"

"Matt damn near lost his mind. He wanted all the men, all the guns, he was going down to get you. Fuck all our carefully laid plans, forget about all the people just waiting for him to do something stupid. He didn't care, he just wanted you."

"How did you stop him?"

"I drugged the shit out of him and locked him in one of my spare rooms until he saw the light."


"Trust me, it was for the best."

The van stops and everyone gets out. A woman in a tailored suit is standing by a shiny new BMW. Chris kisses her and takes a bundle out of the back seat. He throws it to Dom.

"Here, get changed. Become a real person again."

Dom changes his clothes and Chris and his crew strip off their top layers. They toss their clothes and masks into the van and torch it. Tony and Lee takes the guns todump later and the crew scatters. Chris introduces Dom to the woman with the fancy car.

"Dom, this is my lady, Kelly. She'll be taking it from here."

"You're not taking me?"

"No, but I'll see you later in the day. This is just an added precaution. A guy like me, the cops might stop just on general principles. But nobody's gonna stop the professional lady in the expensive car."

"But what if, say, someone tries to carjack the professional lady? What happens then?"

Kelly smiles and Dom is suddenly looking into the barrel of a Desert Eagle.

"Then won't they be surprised," she laughs.

Chris takes Dom to the back of the car and opens the trunk. It's been lined with blankets and there's even a pillow in there.

"I'm sorry about this, but keeping you in the back seat is just too big a risk," he says.

"I understand."

"Do you need the bathroom? If you do, now's the time to say so."

"I don't."

"You're sure?"


"Okay. In you go."

Dom climbs into the trunk and makes himself as comfortable as he can. Chris shuts the lid, Dom hears the roar of an engine and the car starts to move. Dom falls asleep and has a long and involved dream about Pacman, of all things. He's running through an empty city, chased by the ghosts from Pacman. He's trying to remember the name of the fourth ghost - Inky, Blinky, Pinky and ... Clu? Cletus? - when the trunk opens and Chris smiles down at him.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty, time to get out."

Dom tries to get up but his legs are still asleep. Chris lifts him out and supports him until he can stand on his own. Kelly says her goodbyes and roars off in the beamer. Chris leads Dom over to his own, considerably less fancy, car.

"How long was I in there?" Dom asks.

"About six hours."

"Oh. What happens, now?"

Chris points to a small dock nearby and Dom can see a speedboat tied up.

"We'll get in that boat and go to Matt. But first - "

Chris leans into his car, brings out a bucket of fried chicken and a cold drink.

"I thought you might be hungry."

Dom takes the bucket and tears through the chicken pieces, only stopping when he needs to wash the food down with cola. Chris leans against the car and smokes a cigar while he waits. Dom finishes, belches.

"Thanks, I needed that."

"I thought you might."

Dom regards Chris thoughtfully.

"You're some kind of underworld Mr. Big, aren't you, Chris?"

Chris crushes the end of his cigar underfoot.

"What makes you say that?"

"I watched you with the others. You're a man accustomed to giving orders, accustomed to being obeyed, too. Matt's got that same kind of swagger."

"Okay, you got me."

"What exactly is it that you do, Chris?"

"A little bit of everything. I've got my fingers in lots of pies."

Dom sucks up the remains of his drink.

"But I've never heard of you."

"And I work very hard to keep it that way. Cops look at me and see an ex-con gone clean, keeping his head down, running a garage and junkyard. Family man, hard worker, maybe not too bright, no links with other active criminals, and most definitely not an associate of notorious bank robbers answering to the name of Matt Bellamy."

Chris walks towards the boat.

"Come on, let's reunite you with your man."

They climb into the boat and Chris casts off. Dom fidgets through the journey. He's waited for so long, now he just wants Matt. They arrive at another small dock. Chris kills the engine, ties the boat up, leads Dom up to a cabin. He knocks, the door opens a crack and Dom catches a glimpse of a familiar blue eye. They go inside and ...

...he's there.


Here they are, face to face, for the first time in over a year. Chris makes his excuses and leaves. They don't see him leave, don't hear the boat engine start up. They're too busy drinking in the sight of each other. The moment stretches, longer and longer. Then Dom jumps and Matt catches him. They sway in place until Matt, the smaller, lighter man, goes down on his back, Dom landing on top of him.

Neither man acknowledges or even notices the fall. They're too busy devouring each other. Cloth rips, buttons pop off and fly across the room and hands clutch and grope and squeeze whatever they can grab hold of. Matt pulls free, gets on his hands and knees, offers himself up.

"In me," he whines.

Matt's whole body spasms as Dom invades him and their moans mingle to produce a single, blissful note. The smaller man pants and claws the floor as Dom pounds into him. This pleasure is so close to pain, but Matt doesn't care. He needs this - they both do. There's no room for tenderness, not here, not now. They've both been reduced to their most primal level, animals in heat.

Matt's orgasm undoes him, turns him to jelly. His upper body goes limp, flops to the floor But Matt is is still holding his lower body up, still moving inside him,. His orgasm, when it finally comes, is the single most intense experience of his life.

Utterly spent, he falls forward, covering Matt. They pant and wheeze like old men as they lie there, still joined at the core.

"Dom?" Matt's voice is muffled, "I hate to ruin the moment, but you're crushing me."

"I'm sorry."

Dom pulls out and turns onto his back. Matt moves closer and they share a tender kiss.

"Hi," Matt says when they part.

"Hi, yourself."

"Uh," Matt bites his lip, "I kind of pictured a more romantic reunion."

Dom laughs in agreement. Matt touches his lover's face, fingertips scratching through his stubble.

"You're here," he says, voice soft with wonder, "you're really here."

"All thanks to you."

"But I'm the reason you were - "

"Shh, none of that. It doesn't matter now. We're together, that's all that matters."

A tear slides down Matt's cheek. Dom brushes it away, his own vision blurs and then they're crying in each other's arms.

Yeah. It's that kind of day.

Their tears taper off, then stop. Matt gets up, pulls Dom up with him.

"Come on, time to get cleaned up."

In the bathroom, they remove what's left of their clothes and step into the shower together. Dom closes his eyes as Matt lathers him up and sponges him off. And then he presses his hands against the tiles, bracing himself as Matt treats him to a slow, tender fucking. When they're done they dry off, Dom shaves and Matt leads him into a bedroom - their bedroom - and shows him a closet full of new clothes and shoes, all in Dom's size.

After all the excitement of the morning and afternoon, the evening is a calm, cozy affair. Matt makes dinner and builds a fire. Dom is not allowed to help. They cuddle up on the couch and watch TV. Dom's break out is the top story on all the news channels. Dom soaks it up, all the chaos Matt unleashed while Dom slept in the back of a car. It's truly epic. Anderson is interviewed and denies all responsibility, even though it was his idea to remove Dom from the prison, his vehicles that got ambushed, his guards who surrendered without firing a shot. The governor looks pale and sweaty and Matt clucks in mock sympathy.

"Poor Anderson. Something tells me he'll be looking for a new job soon."

"You knew he'd have me removed. That's why you called that show."

"I knew Anderson would be Anderson. Anything looks like it might cause a problem, he has it removed. He really believes in out of sight, out of mind."

The news ends and Matt channel surfs until he finds a station showing a couple of sci-fi movies from the '80s. By the time the credits roll on the second movie, the fire has dwindled away to nothing and they're half-asleep on the couch, dribbling on each other. Matt wakes up enough to drag Dom upstairs and into bed.


Dom's body is still on prison time and he wakes at 5:30 exactly, his mind trying to process these mixed signals; darkness where he's expecting harsh, flourescent light. A big bed, not a narrow bunk. And no Trevor, yawning and farting as he wakes. But there is Matt, spooning him, keeping him warm.

Not in prison, not anymore. He's free.

Dom smiles, closes his eyes, sleeps.

When he wakes again, he hears rattling crockery. He opens his eyes and sits up as Matt carries a tray into the room.

"Breakfast in bed? You're spoiling me, Matt."

Matt puts the tray on Dom's lap.

"You'd better believe it. I got you back, now I get to spoil you for awhile."

Dom digs in and Matt sits on the edge of the bed.

"It's a nice morning," he says, "fresh. How about a walk after breakfast?"

The blond stops eating.

"Is that safe?"

"Of course, nobody's looking for us here. I made sure of that."

"Do you own this cabin?"

"it's in Kelly's name, but yes, I do."

"How long do you think we can stay here?"

"A month, six weeks at most."

"What happens when we leave?"

"That's for you to decide. Do you want to go to that tropical paradise, leave all this begind?"

Dom thinks about it.

"Some day, maybe. But not now."

"Then what do you want to do?"

Eight months later....

Matt looks around the van.

"Everybody ready?"

They all answer in the affirmative. Matt faces Dom.

"And you? Ready for this?"

Dom smiles and cocks his gun.

"Oh, yeah."

They exchange one last, passionate kiss before putting on their masks.

"Alright," Matt's voice slightly muffled by his mask, "let's do this."

They burst into the bank and Dom shouts at the customers.

"Everybody on the floor! This is a robbery!"

hannah_chapter1: (Bender)
Title: Brief Encounter (3/3)
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom.
Summary: Have you ever had sex with a complete stranger in a public place? Would you like to?
Rating: 18/NC-17
Feedback: Always happy to have it.
Disclaimer: Don't own them, never did, never happened.

Someone's touching me.

It's the middle of the night and when I fell asleep, I was alone, naked and sweating in the furnace that is my bedroom. Now someone's touching me, running cool hands over my chest and stomach. I open my eyes and all I see is black. I try to touch my face, but my hands have been hoisted above my head and tied to the headboard. I tug at the ropes, turn my head and rub my face against my arm, try and dislodge my blindfold, but it's hopeless. I've been restrained by an expert.

"Who - " I croak, and a tongue flicks my ear.

"Who do you think?" he whispers.

Him, oh God, it's him. It's been so long since our last encounter and I thought he'd forgotten me.

"Did you think I'd forgotten about you?" he reads my mind.

"Can you blame me? It's been so long."

"I know, I'm sorry. I had to go away for awhile. But now I'm back and I'm here to please you."

He strokes my chest and stomach again, his cool hands feel like heaven on my overheated flesh.

"How can your hands be so cool?"

Something rattles beside the bed and an ice cube is pressed against my throat. I moan, a long, low expression of bliss and the ice cube melts its way down my body, sliding over my nipples, moving in slow circles around my bellybutton. It melts away to nothing, I hear the rattle of the ice tray and a strange, crunching sound. And then his lips are on mine, his tongue, cold as the ice cube he just ate, invading my mouth. I want to scream, I want to pull him closer, I want to throw him down on this bed and ride him until the sun comes up. But all I can do is lie here, feeling my cock stiffen as he tongue-fucks my mouth.

"You like that?" he asks when he finally lets me go.

"Do you ... even ... have to ... ask?" I gasp.

He chuckles and flicks a finger over the head of my throbbing cock.

"No, I don't suppose I do."

The finger flicks my cock again.

"Tell me what you need. Anything you want, I'll do it."

I open my mouth and he puts a finger on my lips, shushing me before I've even said anything.

"Removing the blindfold isn't an option," he reads my mind again, "and I won't untie you. But anything else you want, ask and it's done."

What do I want? I think about it - and suddenly, I know.

"I want your mouth on me," I say, "I want you to lick my nipples, and then I want you to go down on me."

I say the words and his mouth is on me. I sigh and relax into the mattress as his tongue licks and stabs at my nipples, first one, then the other. At my command he moves lower, kissing and biting my stomach, dipping his tongue in my bellybutton. He licks my balls, then turns his attention to my shaft, kissing it, licking from base to tip. I tell him to take the head in his mouth and he does. I float for awhile, enjoying the sensation. It's so good, so unbelievably good - but it's not enough.

"More," I say, "take me all the way in."

He takes me, takes me so deep, I can feel myself, sliding in and out of his throat. Too slow - he's holding back.

"Enough," I buck my hips impatiently, "harder, faster, I want to come in your mouth."

He obeys and it's hard and fast and just perfect. I'm on the brink when I feel his hand slide between me and the mattress, feel his finger slip between my cheeks to brush my entrance. That touch, brief as it is, is all I need. I scream as my lower body jerks up off the mattress. He's right there with me, swallowing all I have to give. the flood slows to a trickle, then stops altogether and I flop back on the bed, dazed, white stars twinkling against the black of the blindfold. He release me and moves up my body, rubbing soothing circles on my chest. My head clears a little and I strain up to where I think he is.

"Kiss me," I demand, and he does. We kiss and kiss, slow, thorough kisses and I taste myself in his mouth suck my essence from his tongue. I can feel his cock, hard and ready against my hip, yet he makes no move. I really am in control tonight, it seems.

"What now?" he asks when we finally come up for air.

"Rim me," I tell him.

"Yes," he agrees eagerly.

He uses the second pillow to raise me up. Arse in the air, legs spread wide - I feel so open and exposed. And I love it.

And I love his tongue. I love the way it laps at my hole, over and over again. I love how it invades me and tastes my most intimate parts. Some other night, I would be happy to let him do this for hours, forever. But tonight, I have other needs.

"Stop, no more of that. Prep me and fuck me."

He pulls his tongue out and I feel so empty. But I'll soon be full again.

"Do you have any lube?"

"In the bathroom, in the cabinet."

He takes the pillow away and then he opens me up, makes me ready. I almost swoon when he pushes inside me. It's been so long since I've had him inside me and, if I'm being honest, it hurts a little. But the pleasure, the sheer joy of having him inside me again, makes the pain small, irrelevant.

"How do you want it?"

He lies on top of me, perfectly still even as his cock twitches inside me. I laugh.

"I think you know the answer to that one," I tell him.

And he does - oh God, he does! His first few thrusts are cautious, breaking me in gently. It's been a long time for me and we both know it. But the slow and careful approach doesn't last for long. I really didn't think it would. He jackhammers into me, giving me everything I need. Every thrust delivers, hits just the right spot and I buck and moan beneath him. I can't wrap my arms around him, so I wrap my legs around him instead, forcing him deeper inside. Almost, almost ... and I'm there, coming so hard, and this time I don't just see stars, I see constellations, whole galaxies. He drapes himself over me, spent, and we pant into each others' mouths.

It's even hotter in here than it was before I went to bed, but I don't care. The temperature is the last thing on my mind as he fucks me again, long and slow and sweet. And I damn near lose my mind when he lowers himself onto me and moves on my cock with all the grace of a dancer.

When I wake the blindfold is gone, and so are the ropes. But I'm not alone, as I expected to be. I roll onto my side and get my first real look at him. He ....

"You!" I exclaim.
hannah_chapter1: (Invasion)
Title: Enemies Part Eight
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: PG
Summary: A cop. A bank robber. Some sex. What else do you need?
Feedback: Please do.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse, this is fiction.

It's over.

It's all over and it's all Dom's fault.

He should have thought faster, moved faster. He should have taken Matt up on his offer while there was still time.

Now it's too late.


"We got him!"

Matt's on his knees, hands on his head, surrounded by a ring of loaded guns. His unlucky day came, just like he said it would. Although, if you want to get technical, it was loyalty, not bad luck, that proved his undoing: they were coming out of the bank, all but one of his crew in the van, ready to go. But the last man was brought down by an over-zealous bystander. Matt, loyal to a fault, went back for him and that was that. The rest of the crew got away, but who cares about a bunch of little fish when you've got the prize-winning salmon in the net, just waiting to be gutted and cleaned?

His squad are laughing and high-fiving each other, but Dom just stands there, looking at his lover, throat swollen with the tears he doesn't dare shed.

Not right, damn it all, this is not right. This is not how it happens!

"Lieutenant Howard?"

The over-ambitious pipsqueak whose name Dom can never remember is suddenly in his face, holding out some bracelets.

"Sir, we thought you'd like to do it."

The pipsqueak smiles and Dom is seized by an almost overwhelming compulsion to kick the cuffs right down the smug little fuck's throat. But he forces a smile and takes the handcuffs. The gun circle opens for him and then he's standing in front of the man he loves. Dom grabs Matt's arm and pulls him to his feet. They face each other and the love and acceptance shining in Matt's eyes is too much for Dom. The cop looks down, spins Matt around. Matt puts his hands behind his back like the pro he is, doesn't wait to be told. Dom cuffs his lover and, as the second bracelet snaps shut, Matt's finger brushes Dom's. The contact is brief, but it speaks volumes.

They hustle over to a squad car and Dom stashes Matt in the back. He rides shotgun and the pipsqueak drives. Dom ignores the flood of chatter from the driving seat and spends the journey staring at Matt's reflection in the rear view and thinking, thinking, thinking.

It can't end like this.

He has to do something.

He takes one last look at Matt, makes his decision.

"Stop the car."

This shuts the little shit up. But he keeps driving.

"Are you deaf? Stop the car!"

"What? Why would I stop?"

"Because I told you to and, last time I looked, I was your superior."

"Oh, I get it," the pipsqueak looks at the backseat and smirks, "an old-fashioned interrogation."

He pulls over, jumps out and opens the back door before Dom's even had time to unfasten his seat belt.

"Let's go, Bellamy. Time to play."

Matt's dragged out of the car, thrown to the ground. He doesn't resist. The younger cop steps back and waits for the fun to start. Matt blinks up at his lover.

"Don't do this," he says, voice pitched low so the other cop can't hear.

Dom shakes his head.

"Please," Matt, begging now.

Dom sighs.

"But I have to."

The pipsqueak's expression, when Dom spins on his heel, and sticks a gun in his face, is priceless.

"Lieutenant? I don't understand."

"You don't need to. All you need to do is put your gun on the ground."

He's frozen to the spot, eyes flicking between Matt and Dom, trying to make sense of the situation.


The gun comes out of the holster, hits the ground.

"Get over here, cut him loose."

Matt's pulled to his feet again and set free. Dom cuffs his colleague and throws him down, treating him the way he treated Matt. The younger cop glares up at him.

"Sir, why are you doing this?"

"I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Dom joins him and gives him the other cop's gun. Matt takes it and tuts.

"You just threw your whole life away, you know that, don't you?"

"I know. But you're worth it."

They kiss, a deep, passionate and very public kiss. Then Dom breaks away and gestures at the squad car.

"I think we should get out of here," he says.

"I think you're right."

They get in the car, Dom turns the key, the engine roars to life.

And then a bullet shatters his window.

"Out of the car!"

Ears ringing, half-blinded by broken glass, Dom wipes his face, twists in his seat and looks into the face of the now-furious pipsqueak.

"How-" is all Dom can manage.

The pipsqueak hold up the empty cuffs.

"Big Harry Houdini fan."

He shoves his gun in Dom's face.

"And I always carry a back-up piece. Now, out of the car!"

Dom gets out, moving slowly, brain ticking furiously, searching for a way out. Two of them, one of him, they could ... but now other squad cars are arriving and uniforms are on the scene. No way out. Unless...

Dom looks back at Matt, still in the passenger seat. One choice, one chance.

"What the hell is that?"

The pipsqueak is only distracted for a couple of seconds, but that's all Dom needs. He lowers his head and charges, knocking the other man to the ground. They fight for control as the uniforms look on, trying to make sense of what they're seeing. And then the pipsqueak, who's both younger and heavier than Dom, gains the upper hand. He shoves his lieutenant onto his back and cracks him a good one, right in the face. Dom grunts as he hears and feels his nose break. He flops back, dazed, all the fight smacked right out of him. Now it's his turn to be cuffed and shoved around. But it doesn't matter, none of it really matters. Because the pipsqueak is dragging Dom past their squad car and it's empty. It played out the way Dom hoped it would. He hoped the uniforms would be too distracted by the fight to take any notice of Matt and they were. He hoped Matt would be smart enough to take a chance when it was offered and he was.

In the back of a different car, Dom leans forward, closes his eyes and waits for the machinery to take over.


Their arrival at the station causes quite a stir. Heads turn, coffee is spilled and voices are raised in protest. The pipsqueak marches Dom through it all, bellowing like an Olde-Worlde town crier, announcing Dom's sins to anyone who cares to listen. He takes Dom to an interrogation room, shoves him into a seat. He sits across from Dom and folds his arms.

"You've got a lot of explaining to do, lieutenant."

"I do, I most certainly do. But not to a jumped-up little shit like you."

The young cop tries and tries to get Dom to talk. But Dom clams up and waits for someone higher up the food chain to put in an appearance. His patience is rewarded when Tom Kirk walks into the room. He's brought coffee, aspirin and an ice-pack for Dom's nose. He nods at the pipsqueak.

"I'll take it from here, son."

"But I caught him!" the pipsqueak protests, "it's my collar, it's my case!"

"Yes, you caught him, but I outrank you and this interrogation is mine. Now, run along, the grown-ups need to talk."

He goes, bitching all the way. Tom pays him no mind. He unlocks Dom's cuffs and gives him the ice-pack. It feels like heaven against Dom's poor, abused nose. The pain fades to a dull throb and Dom takes the aspirin, washing it down with coffee. Good coffee, brought in from outside, with just the right amount of cream and sugar. He leans back in his chair and regards Tom thoughtfully.

"They thought I'd open up to a friendly face?"

"They thought it was worth a shot."

Tom reaches for his own coffee.

"You let Bellamy go."

"I did."

"You're screwing him, aren't you?"

"I'm in love with him."

Dom laughs at his friend's thunderstruck expression.

"I know, it's crazy. But it happened, Tom. Now, start the tape, get comfortable and I'll tell you all about it."

Tom hits the button and Dom starts talking. He lays it all out, omits nothing. Every last, sordid detail, recorded for posterity. He finishes and Tom turns off the tape.

"I don't know what to say, Dom."

"Nothing to say. I fucked up, fucked up big time, and now I'll pay for it. You've got my statement. Type it up, bring it back and I'll sign it."

"I wish it didn't have to be this way."

"I know."

Tom leaves and returns almost an hour later with a fistful of typed sheets. Dom reads his statement, signs it, then stands and puts his hands behind his back.

"Now, take me to a cell."


The story breaks and it breaks big. Locked away in his cell, Dom has no access to internet, television, or even radio, but they do give him newspapers. The tabloids go crazy: a high-ranking cop, a master criminal, a sex scandal, what's not to love? They print pictures of Dom's house ("the den of sin!"), they even break in and take pictures of his bedroom. Everyone Dom has ever known is pestered by reporters and, while some people are loyal to Dom, most are more than happy to spill the beans. Dom's ex, Peter, is in this latter camp. His interview takes up five pages. Reporters interview Dom's parents, or try to. Dom's father tells them he has no son, then slams the door in their faces.

When they run out of people to annoy they run polls, inviting people to write in and guess Matt's rescue plan. He must be planning a rescue; he invaded a station full of cops to rescue one lowly member of one of his crews, what will he do for the man he loves? Dom's captors worry about that, too. They bury him deep, surround him with itchy trigger fingers and wait for Matt to make his move.

But he doesn't make a move. He roams free, taking down scores, while Dom cools his heels and reads newspapers and his mail. He gets a lot of mail. Homophobic hate mail, that was expected. Love letters, marriage proposals and pornographic propositions, not so much. Dom's no innocent, but the things some men want him to do to them make his eyes pop. He pities the poor saps forced to go through his mail before he receives it, looking for secret messages from Matt. But there are no messages from Matt. Well, maybe one: Dom opens a newspaper one morning and finds an article on his ex. Poor Peter, mugged on the way to work one day and beaten to a bloody pulp. He'll live, but he'll spend the rest of his life pissing through a catheter.

Dom's day in court arrives. The security detail take no chances. Dom's chained and chained and chained some more and at least half a dozen guns are trained on him at all times. Any false moves, any attempts to bust him out and bang, no more Dom. He'll disappear from the waist up. Dom sees some of his colleagues - ex-colleagues now, he needs to remember that - in the crowd. He wishes they would curse him, spit on him, something. But all they do is stare and the pain and confusion in their eyes cuts Dom to the quick. These were his people, good people and he let them down.

They read out the charges and it's a long list. Dom pleads guilty. To everything. Guilty, guilty, guilty. No pleas for leniency, no attempts to explain it all away. The judge reads out the sentence. So many years for this, so many years for that. Dom's going to jail for a long, long time.

On the steps of the courthouse, reporters surround Dom and his guards. The guards look nervous and they drag Dom through the sea of cameras and microphones.

"Why did you do it, Dom? Why did you throw your life away?" a reporter yells.

Dom digs his heels in, locks himself in place for a few, precious seconds. He smiles into the camera and his voice rings out, clear and true:

"Love. I did it for love."

Then he's bundled into the armored car. The car takes off and doesn't stop until it reaches the state prison. The guards grab Dom's chains and drag him out of the car.

"Welcome to the rest of your life, lover boy."

The gates open and Dom's taken inside.
hannah_chapter1: (Fatrix)
Title: Yes Sir Part Eleven
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: 18/NC-17
Summary: AU. Victorian England. Matthew is the son of a lord, Dominic is a young and innocent servant: "The moment Matthew laid eyes on the boy, he knew he had to have him."
Feedback: Makes me do the dance of joy.
Disclaimer: Fake as fake could be.

A heart, beating steadily beneath his ear.

A chest, rising and falling.

Voices, soft, low voices, speaking of unfamiliar people and unfamiliar places.

These are Dominic's first impressions upon waking.

The servant opens his eyes and his fingers twitch. Matthew feels him stirring and runs long fingers through his hair.

"Hello, my sweet," he says, did you sleep well?"

"I did."

They kiss and Christopher laughs, startling Dominic, who had almost forgotten the third man sharing a bed with them.

"My my, but you are just too adorable for words," he drawls.

Matthew and Dominic ignore him and Christopher pouts, unused to such treatment.

"Well then," he says, "the afternoon is not yet over. Shall we go out and have some tea?"

This gets Matthew's attention. He sits up and smirks at his old friend.

"We shall," he says, "but not quite yet. You have had your fun with us, Christopher. I think it only fair that we should have some fun with you."

Christopher considers the proposal.

"You are right, Matthew," he agrees, "what would you have of me, then?"

"Oh, I think Dominic should decide. Which would you prefer, Dominic, the mouth or the arse? I can recommend both."

It takes several minutes for Dominic to regain the ability to speak.

"I think ... perhaps ... I would like to try the arse."

"Arse it is, then, " Matthew says, "Christopher, would you be so kind?"

"But of course."

Christopher gets on his hands and knees. And now it is the tutor's turn to be shared by two men. Dominic looks down, enraptured by the sight of his own prick moving in and out of an unfamiliar arse. Then high, breathy moans cause him to gaze into Matthew's face and watch his master's ever-changing expression as he is given oral pleasure.

And when it is all over, and they have rested themselves and recovered somewhat from the exertions of the afternoon, they wash and dress and return to the drawing room. Christopher summons the servant and has tea brought in. This is, in many ways, the strangest part of the afternoon, or so it seems to Dominic. While it is true he has, on occasion, taken tea with Matthew in the master's rooms, they remain painfully aware of their respective roles when out in public. Dominic waits in the servants' quarters if there are any, outside if there are none, while his master eats and drinks and conducts business. To sits at a table and be waited upon as though he were any other gentleman - it is beyond Dominic's comprehension.

They finish their tea and take their leave of Christopher. Silence reigns supreme in the carriage in the journey home, the occupants lost in their own thoughts. Dominic watches his master, notes the furrowed brow and unconscious flexing of the fingers. He has seen this before, it happens when Matthew is preparing himself for an unpleasant, yet necessary, task. The carriage comes to a halt and the servant follows his master into the house and all the way to Matthew's private sitting room. Matthew drops onto the sofa. The evening is drawing on, so Dominic lights the lamps. He waits for orders, but there are none. Matthew gazes into the middle distance, unmindful of his surroundings.

This uncomfortable moment stretches, and stretches and Dominic wants to scream. Then Matthew sits up and blinks, like a man startled out of a dream. He sighs and pats the seat beside him.

"Sit with me, Dominic. We have much to discuss."

Dominic joins his master, heart hammering in his chest. Matthew's hand comes to rest on top of his, before enfolding it in a tight, almost painful, grip.

"This afternoon," Matthew falters, "I did not ... I never ... to force you into such an awkward position ... never my intention ..."

Matthew stumbles on and, nervous as he is, Dominic still has to choke back a laugh. He has seen Matthew happy, calm, in the throes of passion, in a towering, pain-filled rage. But he has never seen his master so hesitant, unable to express himself.

"Matthew," he interrupts, "there is no call for this. You did not force me to do anything. I was a willing participant in the events of the afternoon and, while I would not care to recreate the experience, I do not regret it."

Matthew's expression slides from worried to relieved.

"You know Christopher was my first lover," he says, "as I am yours. My body still responds to his touch. But that is as far as his influence goes. He has no claim upon my heart. That belongs to you, Dominic, and you alone."

Joy renders Dominic mute as Matthew pulls him onto his lap, into his arms.

I love you, Dominic, I will always love you."

Dominic clings to his master, almost weeping with joy. How he has longed for this day, longed to hear those words. Matthew indulges him for a few precious moments. But then he sets Dominic aside and his expression is grave.

"You know I cannot acknowledge you, Dominic. This is something I can never do."

"I know. I do not care. This is all I need, Matthew."

"But it cannot always be like this, Dominic. You know I cannot remain a bachelor. I am not quite thirty and, in society's eyes, a freak of nature. I should have been wed long ago."

"I see."

"Of course, nobody cared about me when I was the second son, adrift in Europe. But now I am the heir and people have already begun to remark on it. I must still wagging tongues, but that is not my only concern. I must have children. The Bellamy line cannot end with me."

Matthew reaches out and links their fingers together.

"I should have told you about this, and please believe me when I say I wanted to. But I could not, for the life of me, think about how to go about it."

Cold dread rises inside Dominic.

"You are engaged?"

"No, not quite. But that is a detail. The bargain has been all but struck."

"Who is she?"

"Her name is Margaret and she is the daughter of my father's oldest friend. She was engaged to my brother, but no man in full possession of his faculties would abandon his daughter to Paul's tender mercies and the engagement was soon called off. But my father will not abandon this, he has long cherished the idea of binding our families together. And, I must confess, I find it all rather apt. I have already taken my brother's title, why not take his bride, too?"

"The engagement will be announced soon?"

"I expect it will. Lord Granville, having been scalded once, was by no means eager to hand his only daughter over to another Bellamy son. I have spent months, oh so many months, charming the man. I have expended more energy upon wooing him than upon his daughter."

"And your wooing has been successful."

"It has. We are now haggling over dowries but that is, at most, a minor obstacle, soon overcome."

"Have you met your intended?"

"Yes, we have met, even taken tea together, with her mother and several maiden aunts to chaperone, of course."

"Do you like her?"

Matthew shrugs.

"I suppose I do. A pleasant young lady, but also possessed of a keen mind and a strong will. She will make a wonderful Lady Bellamy."

The master pauses and regards his servant. Dominic's hand has grown clammy and his complexion has taken on a greenish tint.

"It upsets you, Dominic, all this talk of my marriage."

"You are mistaken, Matthew."

"No, I do not believe I am. You hate the idea, as do I. But we both know it must be done."

"Yes, I know."

"It will be unpleasant for you, most unpleasant. But what if another path were open to you, Dominic? A way out of this awkward situation?"

"I do not understand."

"We had a long talk, Christopher and I, while you slept. He could take you back to Vienna with him."

He knows it is only his imagination, but Dominic would swear the ground is shifting beneath his feet, falling away from him. When he speaks his voice is a high, wounded thing.

"You would cast me off so abruptly? Is this how you express your love, Matthew? Assuring me of your everlasting devotion and, in the same breath, giving me away to your friend?"

"Dominic, you do not understand-"

"I understand, I understand perfectly. You mean to put me aside, as you put aside all things that might inconvenience you."

"That is not true."

"It is, it is true. Milly got in your way and you had her removed. I know of your plans to send your mother to the North upon your father's death, you have told me of them often enough, and now you want to be rid of me, too!"

Dominic stops, flustered. He has never raised his voice to his master before. But Matthew is not angry. Unhappy, desperately unhappy, but not angry.

"Please listen to me, Dominic, and try to understand. I love you and I do not want to send you away. The very idea is more than I can bear. I want you to stay. But do you really think you can?"

The servant tries to speak but his master sweeps over him.

"Let me finish. Could you live here, Dominic, could you share this house with my wife? Could you see her every day, knowing she has, in public at least, taken the place that is rightfully yours? Could you endure my visits to her bed, even though these visits would be purely for the purpose of procreation?"

Dominic absorbs Matthew's words. These things Matthew has spoken of - these are the questions Dominic has turned over and over in his mind, late at night, when he cannot sleep. The master brings their foreheads together for a moment before continuing.

"You can stay here and suffer through my marriage, or you can go with Christopher. You have no cause to trust him, but you can trust me and I tell you now, his intentions are good. He does not want to take you off my hands, like an unwanted pet or plaything."

"What does he want, then?"

"To help you. Go with him and you will see. You will receive a fine education and you will never want for money, not so long as I live. You could have a good life, a better life. It is all within your grasp, Dominic, all you need to do is reach out and take it."

"A better life, you say. How can you be so blind, Matthew? There is no life for me without you, you must know that, see that."


"No. You have said your piece, Matthew, now let me say mine. I know it will be difficult for me when you marry, I have always known this. It will be painful, but I can bear the pain."

"Oh, you say that now, Dominic, but you may change your mind when the events we have been speaking come to pass."

"I will not. I can endure the pain, I can endure anything, if it means I remain here, with you."

"This is what you want, then, Dominic? What you really, truly want?"

"It is. I want to be with you, Matthew, always. I never want to leave your side."

The master holds him tight.

"Then you never will, Dominic, you never will."

Footfalls, heavy, urgent footfalls, in the hall outside Matthew's rooms. Master and servant have just enough time to disentangle themselves and move to opposite sides of the sitting room. And then Gregory wrenches the door open and bounds into the room, flush of face and wild of eye.

"Sir," he addresses Matthew, "my lord, I mean to say ... I found ... he has ... your father is dead."
hannah_chapter1: (Leo)
Title: Enemies Part Seven
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: 18/NC-17
Summary: A cop. A bank robber. Some sex. What else do you need?
Feedback: Please do.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse, this is fiction.

Dom glares at the uniformed cop on his doorstep.


"We got a call, sir. Someone reported a disturbance at this address."

"They were mistaken. Everything's fine, no disturbance here."

"You're bleeding," the cop notes, his tone flat and matter of fact.

Dom looks at his hand, wipes it on his shirt.

"I cut myself."


"On some broken glass."

"Broken glass?" the uniform rolls his eyes in disbelief, "I've heard that one before. I think I should come inside, take a look around."

The blond blocks his path.

"You can't do that."

The uniform taps the badge at his breast.

"This says I can, and it's never wrong."

"Nice badge," Dom holds up his uninjured hand, "but it's not as nice as mine."

The other cop looks at the gold shield in Dom's hand. He steps back, swallows audibly.

"I'm so sorry, lieutenant," his tone now soft and respectful, "I didn't know you."

"It's okay, you were just doing your job."

"You're sure you're alright, sir?"

"I am. I dropped some glasses, cut myself trying to pick them up, that's all."

"Well, if you're sure - "

"I am. Have a good night."

"Thank you, sir. You too."

Dom shuts the door and goes back to the mess. He was calm when he left Matt bleeding on the floor. Calm as he climbed out of the brewery. Calm on the drive home - and if his vision was sometimes blurred as he drove, well, that was just stress. He wasn't crying, no, he most definitely was not crying.

He was calm, calm, calm ... right up until the moment he smashed every plate, cup, bowl and glass in his kitchen.

Dom kicks a path to the sink. As he washes the blood off his vision begins to blur again. He wipes the tears away and goes in search of a bandage for his hand and a broom for the mess.


Dom stumbles through the next two weeks. He can't stay in his bedroom, too many memories of Matt, so he moves to the spare room. He gets up, goes to work, says and does all the right things. He even takes couple of coffee cups and some paper plates from the station to replace the ones he broke. But he's barely holding it together, just one wrong word away from a four-alarm meltdown. An argument with the guy he hired to change his locks almost ends in a fistfight.

He can't go on like this. A break, some time to himself, that's what he needs. He takes five weeks worth of vacation and sick days. He comes home on his last day, sits on his couch ... and wonders just how in the hell he's going to fill five weeks.

He could go see his parents. It's been a long time and it would be good to spend some time with them. It would be good for all of a day, two at the most. Then it would start, all his father's jabs at his chosen profession, the lectures about how he's wasting his life on a career that's beneath him. Those are bad, but his mother's routines are even worse. When is Dom going to settle down with a nice girl and give them grandchildren? Well, he could try being with a girl, it never hurts to try. And, of course, the ever popular, "have you tried not being homosexual?"

No, visiting his parents never ends well. Better to stay where he is. And that's just what Dom does. He spends three weeks lying around his house, not answering his phone, only going out when he needs food. He lies on his couch, drinking wine and listening to the music of pale young men who died far too young: Nick Drake, Elliott Smith, Jeff Buckley.

He drinks, he listens to music and he aches for Matt. Nothing has ever hurt like this, not even his split with Peter. Oh, that one hurt - but it was also kind of a relief, like having a rotten tooth pulled. But this thing with Matt is a pain like no other. No amount of alcohol can numb it.

The fourth week of his vacation rolls around and a virus pays a visit. Dom lies in bed, sweating and moaning as everything that isn't nailed down comes out, one way or the other. Four days' worth of this finishes him. He lies in his own filth, too weak to even contemplate rolling away from the worst of the mess.

Lying there helpless, he begins to hallucinate. His fever-fried brain imagines Matt, leaning over him, pressing a cool hand against his brow, giving him water. Then dream-Matt is lifting him and carrying him into the bathroom.

The cold tile against his cheek brings him halfway back to reality. There's a click and then a thousand hot, sharp needles are piercing every last inch of his skin. Dom shrieks and tries to twist away from the water, but Matt climbs into the shower and holds him in place. The cop's pleas are ignored. Matt holds him down and washes away the mess. He even squirts some shampoo into his hand and washes Dom's hair.

Matt takes him out, dries him off and wraps him in a couple of dry, fluffy towels and a bathrobe. He deposits Dom on the toilet seat and goes back to clean up. Dom runs his tongue over his teeth and grimaces. His mouth feels like an open sewer. When Matt comes back he finds the cop clinging to the sink, fighting for balance. He catches him just as he loses his grip.

"What were you trying to do?" Matt asks in a worried, scolding voice.

"I need to brush my teeth."


Matt holds him steady as he brushes his teeth, washing away the foul taste. Then he's brought back to his room - not the spare room, his bedroom - and slipped between cool, clean sheets. Matt lies down beside him and strokes the back of his neck. It feels good, but Dom twists away from it.

"What are you doing here, Matt?"

"You've been in here for nearly a week without so much as a beer run. I was worried."

"So you're stalking me, now?" Dom winces at the memory of his changed locks, "and breaking into my house?"

"There's just no end to my awful crimes."

"That would be funny if it wasn't true. What's all this for? Did you run out of pictures to laugh over with your friends? I hope you got some good ones before you cleaned me up."

"I lied."

"About what?"

"I never told my friends about us. I never told anyone about us. Everything I said that night was a lie."

"I want to believe that, but how can I? How can I trust a single word you say? You could be lying to me right now."

"I could, but I'm not. What we had was real and we both know it. I couldn't fake what I felt for you, what I still feel for you. I'm just not that good an actor."

Dom sighs, a sad, hurt sound.

"So why did you do it, Matt?"  he looks back over his shoulder, "why would you hurt me like that?"

Matt is silent for a long time. Dom has almost drifted back to sleep when the criminal finally explains himself.

"I'm good at what I do, very good. But I'm not an idiot and I know that just being good isn't enough. Half my success is based on luck, and all that stands between me and a prison cell is one false move, one bad day. I had a bad day once and it cost me eight years of my life. I have another one, it'll cost me the rest of my life. And I love you and I don't want to drag you down with. So I drove you away."

"But you came back to me."

"I couldn't help myself. I tried to stay away, but I just couldn't do it. I had to be near you."

"So we've both been lonely and miserable and fucked up for over a month."


"And it was all for nothing."

"Right again."

Dom makes a rude sound.

"You really are an idiot, you know that, don't you?"

"I do," Matt agrees.

The cop's stomach growls, the sound loud enough to fill the room. Matt giggles for a few seconds before he can get himself under control.

"When did you last eat?" he asks.

"Uh..." Dom tries to think, "I don't know. Couple of days?"

"If I made you some broth, do you think you could keep it down?"

"I could try."


Matt gets off the bed and Dom squints up at him.

"Are those my clothes you're wearing?" he asks.

"Do you mind? Mine got dirty when I carried you to the bathroom."

"Of course not. What's mine is yours."

Matt smiles at that, then leans down and kisses Dom's temple.

"Try and rest. I'll be back before you know it."

"There's no food in the kitchen."

"There never is. I'll go to the all-night market."

He leaves and Dom drifts. He doesn't sleep, but he does doze until he hears Matt, coming upstairs. He sits up as his erstwhile lover comes in with a towel slung over one shoulder. Matt holds up a plastic tupperware box and Dom can see a spoon sticking out of it

"This was all I could find. What happened to all your plates and bowls?"

"I smashed them."

"Smashed them?"

Dom shrugs.

"I was in a bad mood. I needed to break something."

"Breaking my face wasn't enough?"

"Apparently not."

Now it's Matt's turn to shrug. Then he smiles.

"No great loss, you never used them, anyway."

"You saying I'm no good in the kitchen?"

"Well, put it this way, I'm surprised you didn't die of scurvy before I came along."

"I can cook," Dom protests.

"Hate to break it to you, Dom, but throwing things in the microwave and pushing a button doesn't count as cooking."

"I don't just use the microwave."

"Ordering pizza doesn't count as cooking, either."

"I know that. But I cook, I cooked us that steak that time."

"Oh, that had been cooked? I thought it had been beaten into submission."

Dom pouts.

"Go ahead, make fun of the sick man."

Matt laughs.

"I'm sorry."

He spreads the towel on Dom's lap and gives him the box. Dom takes one cautious spoonful of broth. His stomach sits up and begs for more. And Dom is happy to give it, spooning broth into his mouth in a frenzy until Matt puts a restraining hand on his arm.

"Slow down, you'll make yourself sick."

"Sorry. I'm just so hungry and it's so good."

"Just take it slow."


Dom looks down at the box, which is already half-empty.

"How did you get to be such a good cook, Matt?"

"My mother taught me."


"Yes, Dominic, my mother. I do have parents, you know. I wasn't raised by bank-robbing wolves."

"I never said you were. But I've read your file, many times. Your parents are never mentioned. It's like they don't exist."

"Technically, they don't. Not anymore. Not since my arrest."

"I don't follow."

"My crew took care of it. New names, new lives, far away from me."

"Do you ever see them?"

"No, it's too risky. I don't want to mess up their lives anymore than I already have. It's better this way, better for all of us."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I do. I'm just no good for the people who love me. Why do you think I tried so hard to drive you away?"

"And look how that turned out."

"What can I say, I lived through one heart-breaking separation, I thought I could live through another. I was wrong."

"Yes, you were."

"That's been known to happen from time to time," Matt sniffs, "finish your broth before it goes cold."

Dom finishes it and Matt brings him some water in one of his stolen coffee cups. The cop finishes it and yawns.

"Think you could sleep now?" Matt asks.


"Then I'll leave you alone."

Matt walks to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll be on the couch. Call me if you need anything."



"Don't go. Stay," Dom pulls back the covers, "stay with me, Matt. I sleep better with you beside me."

Matt smiles softly.


He strips, turns out the light and climbs into bed. Dom sighs, content, as Matt spoons him. He reaches down and squeezes Matt's hand.

"I love you, too, Matt."


Three weeks later Dom's standing on the street as night comes down, waiting for Matt. He sees himself reflected in the window of a passing car and he wants to laugh: who is this stranger in the tuxedo?

The tux arrived this morning. It had a note pinned to it, telling him to be at this very spot at this very time. Dom had his doubts, but finally decided to just go along with whatever Matt's got planned.

Dom is checking his watch for the second time when a limo glides up and stops beside him. The window slides down and Matt smiles out at him.

"Get in."

"Dom stays where he is.

"What's going on?"

"I'm treating you to a night out. Come on, Dom, trust me."

Dom still has doubts, but gets in the limo anyway. He rubs the seat, the leather softer than he ever could have imagined. He looks at Matt, clad in a tuxedo of his own.

"What are we doing, Matt?"

Matt hands him a glass of champagne.

"I told you, I'm treating you."

Dom sips him champagne thoughtfully.

"Okay. But what's with the fancy clothes, the fancy car?"

"We've done a few of my fantasies, I thought it was time we tried one of yours."


"Yeah, you remember how we watched that movie, No Way Out? And you said you'd like to try the limo scene sometime?"

Matt gestures at his tuxedo.

"I know I can't rock an evening gown like Sean Young, but ..."

The cop licks his lips, his pants already getting uncomfortably tight.

"You look great, good enough to eat," he says, voice husky.

Matt smiles, scoots closer and plucks the champagne glass from Dom's fingers.

"Well then," he purrs, "I think it's about time we had some mind blowing make-up sex, don't you?"

They've spent every night of the last three weeks together, sleeping in the same bed. But all they've done is cuddle and exchange chaste kisses without so much as a hint of tongue. They haven't gone any further and Dom was beginning to think they never would, that they'd lost that spark forever.

He's never been so happy to be proved wrong.

Oh, how he's missed the taste of Matt. They lick and bite at each others lips and paw at each other like a couple of hormone-addled teenagers in the back seat of Daddy's car. Dom throws his head back as Matt pulls apart both halves of his open shirt and goes to work on his bare chest.

"Tell me what you want," he mutters into Dom's nipple.

"I want your mouth on me," the cop gasps.

Matt smiles up at him.

"Your wish is my command."

He opens Dom's pants and pulls them down. And then his mouth and tongue are on the cop, all over him, doing all the things he knows Dom likes. Dom's sweaty palms skate over the seat as he watches Matt's head move up and down. He can feel himself approaching the point of no return, and it takes every last scrap of his self-control to pull Matt off him.

"Not ... like ... this," he pants, "want ... need ... to be inside you."

Matt licks his lips and smiles.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Matt is soon lying on his back, naked from the waist down. Dom looms over him, all lubed up and ready to go. The tip of him nudges Matt's entrance.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Yes, God, yes," Matt moans, "fuck me, Dom."

They both gasp as Dom slides in. Matt looks up at his lover, eyes dark with desire.

"Hard," he begs.

"Hard," Dom agrees.

Hard it is, hard and fast and rough. It couldn't be any other way. It's fast and rough and utterly perfect. Dom watches Matt's face as the crook shudders through his orgasm and he knows, this is it. This is the only man he could ever want.

It ends, as every good thing must and they hold each other and listen to the purr of the limo's engine as the driver guides it through the city streets. Dom kisses Matt's sweaty hair.

"What now?" he asks.

"Now we get dressed."

They clean themselves up as best they can and pull on their rumpled tuxedos. Matt pushes a button, the partition separating them from the front seat slides down and Matt speaks to the driver, telling him their ready for dinner.

Dom is expecting a restaurant, but when the limo stops and Matt guides him out he finds himself in front of what is easily the most expensive and exclusive hotel in town.

"You can't be serious, Matt."

Matt takes his lover's arm.

"I can. I am. Let's go, dinner's waiting."

The crook leads the cop through the hotel lobby and into the elevator. Matt pushes a keycard into a waiting slot and the elevator begins to rise. Matt looks up at the camera and turns to Matt, worried.

"Are you sure this is safe, Matt? Us, together in public?"

"It's safe, I've got someone on it. He can do things with technology you wouldn't believe. That camera can't see us. We're not here. We never were."

The elevator stops and Dom follows Matt into the penthouse, which is at least three times bigger than Dom's house, and a hell of a lot fancier. A table has been prepared and a cart full of food stands beside it, all the things Dom loves.

"This is too much, Matt."

"No, it's not. Come on, let's eat."

They sit down to dinner and Dom eats more than he ever has at one sitting. When they're finished Matt tugs him to his feet and begins to undress him. Dom protests weakly.

"I can't have sex now, Matt, I'll explode!"

"Who said anything about sex?"

Matt finishes with Dom's clothes and quickly sheds his own. He takes Dom out onto the terrace, where a hot tub and another bottle of champagne await them.

Dom doesn't even try to protest. He gets into the hot tub and Matt settles behind him. They sip champagne and Dom hums as Matt's free hand strokes up and down his chest and stomach.

"You know, it could always be like this," Matt says.

"What are you talking about?"

"We could quit. No more cops and robbers. Just you and me. Together, the way we should be."

"How would we live?"

Matt giggles.

"Has the champagne rotted your brain? How do you think we'd live? I've got plenty of money, more than we could ever want."

"Where would we go?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere. I don't care. I just want to be with you."

"But you love robbing banks. You live for that thrill. Could you really give it up?"

"I don't know, but I'm willing to give it a try. For you."

Dom empties his glass.

"I need to think about this."

"Don't take too long," Matt warns, "the clock's ticking, Dom. For both of us."
hannah_chapter1: (Frog)
Title: Yes Sir Part Ten
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: 18/NC-17
Summary: AU. Victorian England. Matthew is the son of a lord, Dominic is a young and innocent servant: "The moment Matthew laid eyes on the boy, he knew he had to have him."
Feedback: Makes me do the dance of joy.
Disclaimer: Fake as fake could be.

Dominic passes a hand over his new winter coat, the fabric impossibly soft beneath his fingers.

"Do you like it?" his master asks.

Of course I do. But you did not need to do this, Matthew."

Matthew dismisses his servant's complaint with a casual flick of his fingers.

"I wanted to do it. You needed a good winter coat, Dominic."

"Yes, but," Dominic touches his coat, then gestures at the scarves and gloves that accompanied it, "this is too much."

"Nonsense. When it comes to you, Dominic, nothing is ever too much. You should know that by now. You know I like spending money on you."

He dresses you in pretty clothes and pets you when it pleases him.

Matthew touches Dominic's cheek.

"What is the matter, Dominic? What troubles you?"

"Nothing troubles me. I am fine."

"Now, we both know that is not true. Something is troubling you and has been for some time," Matthew's thumb traces small circles near Dominic's mouth, "I see this look on your face so often these days, Dominic, and it worries me."

The master places both hands on Dominic's shoulders.

"Look at me, Dominic."

Dominic obeys his master's command and the warmth and love - yes, he would swear to it, love - in his master's eyes makes him tremble.

"You can always come to me, Dominic. You can talk to me, ask for my help. It will always be given. There is nothing I would not do for you, nothing I would not give you. Ask, and whatever you need will be yours."

"I ..." Dominic hesitates, then falls back upon a half-truth, "I am worried about my sister."

"Your sister? Is she unwell?"

"No, but I worry about her all the same."


"I do not like her husband. He is a rough, unpleasant man and I fear for her. I think he mistreats her."

"Do you have any proof?"

"No, and she denies it. My parents tell me I cannot interfere, that what happens between a man and wife is their business, and theirs alone."

"Your parents are right, Dominic."

"I know they are. But standing by and doing nothing - what kind of brother does that make me?"

Matthew sighs.

"You are a good brother, of that I have no doubt. All I an suggest is that you watch and wait and, if you think you need my help, do not hesitate. Come to me at once."

"I will."

Dominic takes one of Matthew's hands in both of his and kisses it.

"Thank you, Matthew."

Matthew smiles and pulls his servant into an embrace. Then he catches sight of the clock on the mantelpiece and curses.

"Damn it all! I must go out and meet with some of my father's friend's and it is later than I thought."

"Is there anything you need me to do?"

"I do not think so. Attend to your reading and we will have a lesson when I get back."

"Yes, Matthew."

The master leaves and Dominic gathers up his things and repairs to his bedroom. He tries to read but cannot focus, mind too full of the conversation he just had.

He did not lie, not exactly. He is worried about his sister, but that is a vague feeling, an ill-defined sense of something being wrong. It comes and goes. What really concerns him, what keeps him awake at night, is his relationship with Matthew.

He loves his master, loves him completely. When he is with Matthew, in or out of bed, he is happy. But when he is here, alone, the doubts begin to creep in. Dominic loves his master, but he is not a fool. He knows that what they have - whatever that might be - cannot last. Ellen was wrong about a lot of things, but she was right about that. Matthew must marry, will marry, and what will he do, then? Will he keep Dominic by his side? Or will he cast him off, leaving him with nothing but memories and pretty clothes, both of which will become dirty and threadbare as the years go by?


"Good news?"

"Hmm?" Matthew glances up from the letter he is reading, "did you say something, Dominic?"

"You were smiling. Have you received some good news?"

"I suppose I have, at that. My old tutor, Christopher, has returned to England."

"To stay?"

"Alas, no. He is here for two weeks, no more than that."

"You will visit him?"

"I will. And you will accompany me, Dominic. I want you to meet him."

Dominic swallows, his throat suddenly dry.


"The day after tomorrow, I should think," Matthew reaches for ink and paper, "I will write to him at once and arrange it."


Dominic stares out of the carriage window, seeing nothing, stomach pulled into a small, painful knot. He slept not a wink last night. He just lay in his bed, guts throbbing, thinking about this meeting with Matthew's former tutor - and first lover, he cannot forget that detail, no matter how hard he tries.

They arrive at Christopher's lodgings and are ushered into a small drawing room. Dominic hears Christopher before he sees him, a loud, confident voice booming in the hall outside, dismissing the servant who showed them in. And then Matthew's tutor is in the room.

So this is Christopher. Taller than Matthew and Dominic and broad with it, Christopher looks more like a fighter than a scholar, a real bare-knuckle, back-street bruiser. Christopher bounds across the room to Dominic's master. Ignoring the offered hand, Christopher pulls Matthew to him and kisses him, a long, deep tongue-kiss.

Rage, pure, jealous rage consumes Dominic. It is like the night Milly presumed to try and touch Matthew, magnified a thousand times. He advances on Christopher and Matthew, hands balled into tight little fists. His approach does not go unnoticed. Christopher releases Matthew, cocks his head to one side and smiles.

"We are upsetting your servant, Matthew," Christopher says, "this is the servant you spoke of in your letters, is it not? Dominic?"

Matthew raises a hand in invitation.

"Come and join us, Dominic."

Dominic obeys, as he always does. He takes Matthew's hand and is drawn into a kiss. Christopher cuts in, claiming Matthew's mouth for his own before passing him back to Dominic. And so it goes, back and forth, the future Lord Bellamy shared like a communal cup of ale.

"You see, Dominic," Christopher murmurs, "there is no need for worry. I do not wish to take your master from you. All I want is to share him for a little while."

He slips a hand beneath Matthew's shirt and the master moans and reaches out, palming Christopher's prick with one hand and Dominic's with the other.

"See how he wants us," Christopher says, "see how he wants us both. Your master may look and sound like a gentleman, Dominic, but, in truth, he is little more than a common whore."

Matthew jumps and moans at this and Christopher chuckles softly. He guides them out of the drawing room, across the hall and into a bedroom. Servant and tutor work together, removing Matthew's clothes, then their own. They take him to bed and share him, as Christopher promised they would. Dominic touches and kisses Matthew's neck and chest, tongue and fingers teasing nipples. Christopher busies himself between Matthew's legs, kissing and licking the master's stiff prick.

Dominic watches Christopher finger Matthew's arsehole. The sight of the master being pleasured by someone else is strangely compelling. Matthew pulls Dominic's face to his and their tongues join in the old, familiar dance. Then Christopher is nudging Dominic away, his touch gentle, yet insistent. The tutor covers Matthew and enters him in one smooth, efficient movement.

Matthew's eyes roll back in his head as he is fucked, Christopher's first, slow, gentle thrusts quickly giving way to something more primal. He reaches out blindly, searching for Dominic and Dominic is there. He takes Matthew's hand in his and squeezes as he watches his master receive a hard and thorough pounding.

The servant's prick is throbbing, aching for attention and Dominic slides his free hand between his legs. Just as he begins to stroke himself, though, Christopher groans, a low sound halfway between pain and pleasure, and pours himself into Dominic's master. He pulls out and rolls off, leaving Matthew unsatisfied, panting for more. Christopher laughs at Matthew's predicament.

"Need more, do you, Matthew? One prick not enough for you? What a greedy little slut you are."

Christopher crooks a finger at Dominic.

"Your master needs you, Dominic."

The servant mounts his master and pushes inside a back passage already slippery with another man's juices. He moves carefully at first, acutely aware of the third man avidly watching his performance. But then master and servant  fall into their old, familiar pattern and the world around them ceases to exist. Dominic does not feel Christopher's eyes upon him or take note of how the other man's prick is already becoming stiff. All he sees and feels and hears is Matthew. The way is always has been, the way it always should be.

When it is over all three man adjourn to a nearby bathroom, wash themselves and, when they are clean, they go back to bed. Dominic winds up in the middle, a naked man on either side. Christopher reaches over and flicks Dominic's nipple, making the boy jump and gasp.

"You really are a perfect specimen, Dominic," he says, "will you let me have you? Just this once?"

Dominic looks to his master for guidance. Matthew smiles.

"You do not need my permission. The decision is yours to make, Dominic."

The servant thinks about it. One part of him wants to say no, wants nothing more to do with this strange man. But a larger part is curious, wonders how it would be with someone other than Matthew. He looks at Christopher and nods, giving permission. Before he can even begin to have second thoughts, Christopher's tongue is in his mouth. Any doubts Dominic might have are soon melted in the fire of the other man's passion.

Dominic is soon lying on his side, facing Matthew. He feels Christopher's fingers pulling his cheeks apart, feels the other man's breath, hot and heavy, at his entrance. He moans and lifts his leg slightly, giving Christopher better access.

"Oh, you have been thoroughly corrupted," Christopher marvels.

He slides his tongue inside Dominic and, at the same time, Matthew reaches down and takes his servant in hand. The boy wails, overwhelmed. He has never felt anything like this, the experience so intense it makes him light-headed. But then Christopher's prick takes the place of his tongue, Matthew's mouth replaces his hand and Dominic and any semblance of coherent thought. He is lost, floating in the fog of pure sensation as the two men share him. He floats, floats...

When Dominic comes to his senses he is in Matthew's arms. Christopher has fetched a damp cloth from the bathroom and is cleaning the mess between Dominic's cheeks. Dominic pays no attention to the tutor and his actions. He clings to his master and Matthew cuddles him and croon softly. Dominic yawns and then he is falling into a deep sleep, his sleepless night and the exertions of the afternoon finally catching up with him. Matthew pulls the sheet around him and holds him tight. Christopher props himself up on one elbow and watches Matthew fuss over his servant.

"Why Matthew, I do believe you are in love with this boy."

Matthew's arms tighten around his servant.

"Yes, Christopher, I love him. What of it?"

"Foolish, Matthew, very foolish."

"Who are you to speak of foolishness? I bring my servant to our meeting and you take it as an invitation to a threesome!"

"I heard no objections from you."

"That is beside the point. You had no way of knowing Dominic and I were ... intimate. He might have been nothing more than a servant."

Christopher laughs softly.

"Come now, Matthew. I knew you were much more than master and servant. I have always known."

"How did you know? How could you know?"

"I read the letters you sent to me. A brief mention of a new servant in one letter would be one thing. Devoting at least half a page to him in every single letter you send me, well, that is something else entirely."

Matthew blinks and Christopher laughs again.

"You did not even know you were doing it, did you?"

"No, I did not."

"You see? Foolish. More than foolish, reckless, to foul your own doorstep in such a manner. A servant in your father's house. For shame, Matthew."

"I know, but," Matthew pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts, "I had been home for three weeks. On my best behaviour, trying to be the good son, the dutiful one, ignoring my mother and her frosty silences and spiteful remarks. And when I saw Dominic, when he came into my room that day, well, I simply could not resist."

"i can understand that," Christopher runs a hand over Dominic's flank, "yes, I most certainly can understand that. But you should have exercised a little restraint. Allowed yourself one brief dalliance and then sent the boy on his way, threatened or bribed him into holding his tongue."

"I confess, that was my original intention. But I could not do it, could not simply have him once and then never lay eyes on him again. I needed to have him by my side."

"And now you are in love with him."

"I am."

"Well, Matthew, you know what I would advise."

"Yes, I know."

Dominic whimpers and shivers in his sleep. His master strokes his hair and croons to him until he settles. Matthew looks at his tutor and sighs.

"I will not give him up, Christopher. I am weighed down by other people's expectations. My father and his associates need me to restore the family reputation, repair all the damage done by my brother. Charlotte and Emily want the brotherly affection they never received from Paul. And my mother wants me to step aside and let Paul take what she believes to be rightfully his. Everyone wants something from me."

Matthew looks down at his servant, his expression soft and loving.

"But not Dominic. I would move Heaven and Earth to make him happy, and he asks for nothing."

"Well, what did you expect?" Christopher is amused, "he is a servant, Matthew. He was raised to serve his betters, not to have them cater to his every whim."

"You may be right, but that does not change anything. I cannot give him up. I need him, Christopher. He is my light."

"You will keep him, then?"

"I will. I want him by my side, until the day I die."

"How romantic. You and your sweet boy. So tell me, Matthew, will you have Dominic serve food to the guests at your wedding? Will he wait for you in your bedroom while you visit your wife's?"


"You had not thought about this?"

"I did not want to think about it."

"I am sure, but ignoring it will not make it go away."

Matthew passes a hand across his eyes.

"It is an impossible situation, Matthew, " Christopher says gently, "you must see that. If you really love him, you will send him away."

"What would you have me do, Christopher? Discard him like an old coat? Throw him out onto the streets to starve?"

"No, of course not."

"What would you have me do, then?"

"Give him to me."

Matthew's hold on his servant tightens and his expression turns sullen and greedy, the face of a child who wants all the cake for himself. Christopher makes a placatory gesture.

"I did not mean it like that, Matthew. I do not want your servant for myself. But I could help him take the first steps on the path to a better life. He looks like a bright little chap. Can he read and write?"

"Yes, he can."

"Excellent. I could take him back to Vienna with me. He could be tutored until he is ready for a place at a university. You would support him, pay for his education?"

"You know I would."

"Then do it. If you really love him, Matthew, set him free."

"I need to think about this, Christopher, and speak with Dominic."

"Do that, Matthew, and do not delay."
hannah_chapter1: (Calm)
Title: Hungry Like the Wolf
Author: hannah_chapter
Summary: I'm on the hunt, I'm after you.
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: 18/NC-17
Feedback: Hit me.
Disclaimer: Not real. I don't own Muse or the songs of Duran Duran.

It's tonight, it has to be tonight.

I've been watching you for weeks. Longing for you. Aching for you. There's a hunger deep inside me, a hunger only you can satisfy.

You're on the far side of the bar, talking to a stranger. You charm him, you smile for him, laugh at his jokes - or pretend to. But when he tries to buy you a drink, you refuse him.

He lumbers off, face dark as thunder and I take this as my cue to approach. You see me coming and you smile and lean back on your stool, putting yourself on display. You're dressed all in red tonight: red silk shirt and tight red trousers. These clothes cling lovingly to a body I've become obsessed with, a body I'd sell my soul to see in all its full, naked glory.

You pat the empty stool beside you and I don't have to be told twice. I tell you my name, you tell me yours. I offer you a drink and, this time, you accept. We sit and drink and talk of everything and nothing and, all the while, your thigh brushes against mine and, when I look in your eyes, I see my own desire reflected back at me.

I finish my drink and ask you to dance. You push your glass away, take my hand and let me lead you to the dance floor. A slow set starts and you waste no time, looping your arms around my neck and pressing against me. I can feel you, the heat burning at the very core of you. I ask if you're bare beneath your trousers - it certainly feels that way to me - and you laugh and tell me you are. I call you a slut and you laugh again and agree. Yes, you say, such a slut - a slut for me. Only for me.

The slow set ends but we stay where we are, holding each other, not wanting to let go.

I ask if I can buy you another drink and you say no.

I ask if I can take you back to my place and fuck you, hard and rough, all night long, and you say yes.

In a taxi, side by side, my hand in your lap, teasing you through your trousers. You want more than just my light touch and you thrust up in an attempt to make me move my hand. But I turn my face away and stare out the window, ignoring your soft, desperate sounds. It's not for you to dictate the pace.

I lead you into my flat, into my bedroom. I pin you to the wall and you moan and thrust against me as I devour you. My tongue in your mouth, yours in mine, it's so good - no, better than good. Perfect. Divine. But it's still not enough.

I guide you over to the bed. I need to see you, need to feel your bare flesh against mine. The buttons on your shirt conspire against me, actively resist me. I growl, frustrated, I have no time for this. I take hold of the silky fabric and tear the offending garment right off your body. You squeal and slap my arm, call me a savage. You're not fooling anyone, you know. You like it rough and we both know it. You certainly don't protest when I push you onto the bed and do the same thing to your trousers.

You. Naked. In my bed. I've dreamed about this moment, longed for it and I now I find it's better than I ever could have imagined. Your beauty exceeds my wildest dreams.

I take the very tip of you in my mouth and you sigh. I suck you, but only for a few precious moments. You taste divine and I would so dearly love to spend a night with my head between your legs, tasting you, teasing you, bringing you to the very brink of ecstasy, again and again and again.

But not now. We both want more, need more tonight. I get up and tear my own clothes off. Then every part of me is touching every part of you. We kiss and kiss and kiss as our raw, rigid cocks grind together.

You grab my head and force me lower. I hear your voice, tight with need, begging, pleading. You want me to bite you, mark you as mine and I'm happy to oblige. My mouth moves over your chest and stomach, leaving a trail of red-purple bruises that form the first initial of my name. I take a moment to admire my handiwork before turning my attention to more pressing matters.

A long, low wail issues from your lips as I sink my cock into your tight little hole. I take both your hands , bring them up over your head and hold them there. You wrap your legs around my waist, forcing me deeper inside you. We stare into each others eyes for a long moment. Then we take the ride of our lives.

I lick your throat, your Adam's apple. I taste the salty-sweet sweat, the very essence of you as I fuck you fast and rough, just the way you like it. You jerk your wrists out of my grip and rake your nails down my back, drawing blood. The pain is a spur, urging me to go harder, faster, deeper. And then it happens: you shriek, your back arches and I feel your seed, hot and thick and wet, on my stomach.

I halt my movements, wait until you've ridden out last waves of your pleasure. Then I start to fuck you again. Because I'm not done with you, not even close to being done with you. We lick and bite at each others lips as I move, lost to you, lost in you.

Your cock is stirring again, half-hard again when I lose control, surrender myself to my own pleasure. We separate for the briefest of moments and then I gather you to me. We curl into each other, a sticky, contented ball.

When I wake you're worshipping me, peppering my chest with soft, sweet kisses. We go again, you're on top this time. I hold your hips, my nails digging into your skin as you move. You're the one on top but I set the pace. I take you slow this time, watching the expression on your face change with every thrust. At my command you begin to touch yourself, milking yourself in time with my thrusts.

It ends, as all good things must, and you lie in my arms, humming softly. You ask if we can do it all again and I say yes.

Because I haven't had my fill of you yet.

I'm still hungry for you.
hannah_chapter1: (Daria)
Title: Corporal Punishment
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: 18/NC-17
Summary: Spare the rod, spoil the child.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse, never did, this is fiction and all that jazz.
Warning: Hints of underage sex.
Feedback: Always welcome
Notes: A gift for easilyglorious. Happy birthday!

Matthew is writing a letter when a sharp tap on the door causes him to raise his head.

"Come in," Matthew's voice rings out clear and strong.

A student enters the headmaster's study, a blond boy with an angelic visage. The picture of innocence, or so he appears to those who do not know any better. But Matthew knows him - oh, how he wishes he didn't! - and he knows this boy is a demon in human form.

"You wanted to see me headmaster?"

The boy says all the right things and his tone is perfectly polite. But the gleam in his eyes, the set of his jaw, his posture: all  testament to his unbridled arrogance.

"Yes, Dominic, I did. Sit down."

Dominic slumps into the nearest available chair and gifts his headmaster with a dazzling smile.

"Can I help you with something, headmaster?"

"You can tell me about last night and what you were caught doing, you and Kirk and Wolstenholme."

"Oh, nothing much. Just a bit of fun."

"Just a bit of fun, I see. How old are you now, Dominic? Seventeen, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir, seventeen, almost eighteen, actually."

"Old enough to know better, then."

Matthew pinches the bridge of his nose as he tries to summon the right words, the correct phrasing.

"I'm not a fool, boy, I know what goes on in the dormitories at night. Boys on the path to manhood will experiment, try new things. I tolerate it because I know they will grow out of it. But not you, Dominic. You grow worse with every passing year. You are corrupt and you rejoice in corrupting others."

Dominic smiles, the headmaster's words reminding him of last night's revels. The boy shivers as he remembers how it was, how he encouraged the two other boys to strip and suck each other while Dominic watched and tugged himself to a delightful orgasm.

"Are you even listening to me, boy?"

Dominic drags himself back to the present.

"Of course I am, sir."

Matthew tuts.

"No, you're not. A wicked pervert and a liar, too. Oh dear, what am I to do with you?"

"You could expel me."

"I would love to, but I can't, and we both know why."

"My father."

"Your father. I cannot afford to upset such a rich and powerful man. He could destroy me and my school in a heart beat, if he were so inclined."

The headmaster gets up and walks over to the cabinet on the far side of the room.

"But I must do something, must try and curb your sinful behavior. I do not think your father will object to some good old-fashioned discipline."

He opens the cabinet and Dominic's eyes widen when he sees the cane clenched in the headmaster's fist.

"But sir, you don't believe in corporal punishment. You said it was nothing more than an excuse for brutality on the part of the person doling out the punishment."

"And I meant every word. But desperate times call for desperate measures. Now, get up and bend over!"

The boy does as his headmaster commands. He waggles his arse in what could be construed as an inviting manner - but surely not. The boy cannot be that depraved. Can he?

Matthew positions himself, takes aim and strikes. The crack of the cane as it connects with Dominic's backside is shockingly loud in the quiet office. The impact travels all the way up Matthew's arm, making him tremble. But he clenches his jaw and brings the cane down again. He started this and now he must see it through. Ten strokes, no more, no less.

But, on the eight stroke, Matthew falters, then stops. The sounds Dominic is making, they are not the pain-filled cries he was expecting. These are soft sighs and coos of pleasure. Matthew drops the cane and reaches between Dominic's legs. He pulls his hand away and hisses as if scalded.

"Fiend! Filthy boy! This is exciting you!"

Dominic looks back over his shoulder, his expression smug.

"It is, but I'm not alone in that, now, am I?"

Matthew looks down and groans as he catches sight of the bulge that, up until now, he wasn't even aware he was sporting.

"Really, Dominic, you are too much! You even corrupt the person trying to correct you!"

"Don't blame me for your own shortcomings, headmaster," Dominic's expression changes, going from smug to lascivious, "well, your old-fashioned discipline has failed. What will you do now?"

"I think there's only one thing I can do."

Matthew grabs the back of Dominic's trousers and pulls, a quick, savage gesture that sends the boy's trouser buttons flying and reveals his red and raw backside. The headmaster sinks to his knees and Dominic gasps as he feels the older man's lips and tongue moving over his tender flesh, kissing it better.

"More," he moans.

Matthew is happy to oblige, pulling the student's cheeks apart and delving inside. Dominic tugs on his prick as he's rimmed, then fingered. Not too fast, not to hard, he wants to make this last. But his headmaster is not content to simply finger Dominic's arsehole. He wants, needs, more than that.

The older man stands, drops his trousers and spits in his hand, again and again, then rubs the fluid all over his prick, making sure he's nice and wet. He presses the tip of his organ against Dominic's entrance, pushes it in and stops.

"You're tight, Dominic, very tight. Have you ever actually been fucked? Ever been on the receiving end of a good, hard pounding?"

"Yes, but not for a long time. I prefer to be the one in charge."

"I'm sure you do. But not today."

Matthew pushes a little more of his prick inside and stops again.

"Oh headmaster, please ..."

Dominic's words are lost in another desperate cry as Matthew graces him with another inch.

"Yes, Dominic, do you want something? Come on, out with it, boy. Tell me what you want."

"I - I want you to fuck me, sir."

"Do you, now?"

"Sir, oh yes sir, fuck me sir, fuck me hard!"

"As you wish."

The boy screeches as Matthew snaps his hips forward, ramming his prick all the way home. The headmaster grabs the boy's hips, fingernails gouging flesh as he moves, giving the boy the hard and thorough pounding he promised him. Matthew looks down, sees his prick moving in and out of the boy's arse and moans - it has been so long, he has not buggered anyone since his own schooldays. Dominic has lost the ability to speak, all he can do is moan and cry and Matthew takes pleasure in that, too. So many years of Dominic's insolence, his demands, and now Matthew has finally found a way to shut the entitled little shit up.

But it is soon over, far too soon for Matthew's liking. His seed gushes into the boy and, well and truly spent, Matthew drapes himself across his student's back, mind shrouded in a warm fog. But then something brings him back to the present: Dominic's hole clamping down on his spent prick as the boy tugs himself off. Matthew slaps Dominic's hip.

"What is this?" Matthew's tone is harsh, "did I say you could come, Dominic? Well, did I?"

"No, no sir, you didn't."

Matthew strokes the area he just slapped and shakes his head sadly.

"Oh Dominic, insolent and disobedient as ever. I think I'll have to punish you again tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that."

"Yes, headmaster, I'm afraid you will. I'm a very slow learner."
hannah_chapter1: (Sparta)
Title: Proposal (1/?)
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: wobell, belldom
Rating: PG/PG-13 (for now, later chapters will vary)
Summary: Chris and Matt are a married couple with money troubles. Dom is a billionaire with a unique solution.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse or any films Demi Moore may or may not have starred in and none of this is real.
Feedback: Talk dirty to me.
Notes: This was inspired by a 1990s film. Which one should soon become obvious.
More Notes: This was written for ashamedbliss. The sex addiction fic I promised has stalled (for now), but I said I'd write something for her, so I did.

The couple walk through the casino. The smaller man clutches his husband's arm as his eyes dart around, trying to take in everything at once.

"Oh, Chris," he gasps, "isn't this amazing?"

"It sure is," Chris smiles and drops a kiss into Matt's hair, "but not as amazing as you."

Matt returns the smile, but only for a moment.

"Baby," he says, suddenly serious, "can we afford this?"

"Hell no," Chris reaches down and gives Matt's ass a firm squeeze, "but I promised you a honeymoon in Vegas, and I keep my promises. I know a weekend isn't much of a honeymoon, but - "

"It's perfect," Matt interrupts.

He stops, pulls Chris around to face him and stands on tiptoe to loop his arms around his husband's neck.

"You're perfect."

They kiss for an eternity, open-mouthed, full-bodied kisses, ignoring the stares and crude comments. Their mouths finally disengage but they remain as they are, locked in a tight embrace.

"I love you," Matt whispers.

"Love you more," Chris whispers back.

They separate and Chris tugs Matt towards the tables.

"Come on, I'm feeling lucky."

"Careful, Chris," Matt warns, "we can't afford to lose too much."

"Don't worry, baby. We're not gonna lose, we're gonna win."

They don't see the blond man in the expensive suit, but he sees them. He licks his lips as he watches them go, a predatory gleam in his eye.


Three hours later and the happy couple isn't happy anymore. Matt stalks across the hotel lobby, Chris trailing in his wake.

"Matt," he pleads, "don't be like this."

"How should I be? Happy? Should I pretend tonight never happened, act like you did nothing wrong?"

"But baby - "

Matt stops and spins on a heel so abruptly Chris very nearly tramples him underfoot.

"Don't you 'baby' me," Matt snarls, "you lost all our money, you lost our car, you even lost our house. Our house, Chris! How could you do that? Why would you do that?"

"I - "

"Excuse me," a voice interrupts.

Startled out of their argument, the couple turn to confront the owner of the voice, a neat, elderly man.

"What do you want? We're kind of the middle of something here," says Chris.

"Yes, I can see that. So sorry to interrupt your little ... discussion, but I was sent to find you."

Matt and Chris exchange a puzzled glance.

"Do we know you?" Matt ventures.

"No, but I was sent to find you."

"Who sent you?"

"Mr. Howard."

"Mr. Howard, says Chris, "and who is Mr. Howard, might I ask?"

"My employer. He owns this hotel."

Chris frowns.

"Why would Mr. Howard want to see us?"

"I don't know, sir. I was just told to find you and bring you to Mr. Howard's office."

Matt looks at his husband.

"What should we do, Chris?"

Chris mulls it over, then shrugs.

"Let's go see what this guy wants. What have we got to lose?"

Nothing you haven't already lost, Matt thinks. He chokes off the unwelcome thought before his mouth can articulate it.

They follow the older man into an elevator. Their guide produces a key and shoves it into a slot just above the double row of buttons. Chris takes his husband's hand as the elevator carries them to the top of the hotel. They're ushered into an office, an office that is huge, opulent and ... empty. Completely empty. Chris looks back, hoping to question the man who brought them here, but he's already disappeared.

A door behind the desk opens and a man steps through.

"Matt. Chris. Thank you for coming."

Matt blinks. For some reason, he thought Mr. Howard would be an old man, a real-life Mr. Burns. He wasn't expecting this young, handsome blond. Howard crosses the office in three quick strides, shakes their hands, ushers them into chairs directly opposite his desk. Matt presses a hand against his brow, trying to calm himself. There was a moment, when the blond took his hand in both of his - and such soft hands, such exquisitely manicured nails! - and their eyes met ... he can't describe it, exactly, but something stirred in Matt, something deep inside. That's never happened with anyone, not even Chris.

"Would either of you like a drink?"

They shake their heads.

"Well then," the blond settles in behind his desk, "let's get down to business,"

He steeples his fingers beneath his chin and turns his attention to Matt's husband.

"Not having a good night, are you, Chris?"

Chris stares at the floor, his expression sullen.

"I had some bad luck."

"I'd call it more than just bad luck. I'd say you fucked up but good. You had so many chances to quit, you didn't take any of them."

"I thought I could turn it around. I didn't think I'd lose everything."

"Losers never do. And you are a loser, Chris, a very big loser."

Chris raises his head and fixes the other man with a baleful glare.

"I left some money in our room. I can cover our bill, if that's what you're worried about. I'm no deadbeat."

Howard makes a quick, dismissive gesture.

"I don't care about that."

"What do you care about?" Matt asks.

"You, your plans for the future. What will you do when you leave Vegas? Where do you go from here?"

"Home," says Matt, "we can stay with my parents until can afford another place of our own."

"I see. But what about the sharks?"

"Sharks? What sharks?"

"Loan sharks, Matt, the ones who financed this little jaunt of yours. You didn't know about this?"

Matt shakes his head, struck dumb with horror. He looks at Chris, expecting, needing him to deny it, but Chris is staring intently at the blond behind the desk.

"How did you know?" he asks softly.

Howard smiles.

"One advantage of wealth is being able to find out anything about anyone, in less time than it takes to order a cup of coffee."

"Alright, but why are you so interested in us?"

"I saw you come into the casino and you looked so happy together and so I kept an eye on you. When I saw you starting to lose, I made some calls. I wanted to know if you could afford to lose so big."

The couple are silent as Howard continues.

"The men you borrowed from are going to want their money, and soon. If you don't have it, they'll take something else, something of Matt's"

"What will they take?" Matt's voice is a hoarse whisper.

Howard shrugs.

"Fingers, toes, eyes. It varies from shark to shark."

Matt feels like he's about to vomit. Howard throws a sympathetic look his way before turning a much colder gaze upon Matt's husband.

"Really, Chris. How could you let this happen? How could you be so fucking stupid?"

Chris bounces up out of his chair.

"Fuck you! What gives you the right to talk to me this way? Just who in the hell do you think you are?"

Howard sneers up at Chris.

"I think I'm a fucking billionaire, a man so obscenely rich, he can use hundred dollar bills as toilet paper if he so chooses. You, on the other hand, are a waste of space, a degenerate gambler who doesn't have a pot to piss in because he just lost it in a poker game and I'll talk to you however I damn well please."

Chris's face is dark, swollen with blood.

"That's it," he growls, "we're leaving. Come on, Matt, let's get out of here."

"Go ahead," Howard jeers "run away, throw away your one chance at making this right."

Chris stops and returns to his chair.

"What chance?"

Howard puts both palms flat on his desk and leans forward.

"I'll pay your debts. You can have your house, your car and more money than you could ever dream of."

"How much money, exactly?" Matt asks.

"Five million dollars."

Matt suddenly feels faint.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I don't think I heard you. Did you just say five thousand dollars?"

"No, Matt. I said million. Five million dollars."

"And what do you want in return?" Chris asks.

"Your husband, Chris. I want to spend one night with your husband."
hannah_chapter1: (Sparta)
Title: Happiness in Slavery
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Matt/Dom/Chris. Oh yeah, I'm going there.
Rating: 18/NC-17
Summary: A master and his slaves: "Bow down before the one you serve. You're going to get what you deserve."
Feedback: I'd love to hear from you.
Disclaimer: This is fiction. I don't own Muse and or the lyrics of Nine Inch Nails.
Note: A disgusting lump of filth with no redeeming qualities whatsoever, this was inspired by the lyrics of one Nine Inch Nails song (Head Like a Hole) and the title of another (self-explanatory).
More Notes: This chapter is in celebration of the always awesome millionstar's birthday. She hoped for a sequel and so I made one, just for her.

M lies on his side, using one hand to fondle his cock and the other to finger his arsehole, keeping himself ready for the ploughing he will soon receive. Beside him the mattress groans and squeals, the sounds mixing with and complimenting D's cries as the other slave receives his.

M's turn comes. The master finishes D off, pulls out and, without missing a beat, rolls onto his back, pulls M up and over and spears him quickly and efficiently. M's limbs twist and flop about like a broken string puppet's - but this puppet is drilled from below, not dangled from above.

Touch yourself," the master's command cuts through the pleasure fog in M's brain, "and keep your eyes on me at all times, M. I want to see how much you enjoy my fucking."

M is a good slave and he always does as he's told. His arms and legs soon become numb, all sensation flowing to his cock and core. The experience is so intense M cannot help but sob aloud. He keeps his eyes on the master, sees the sweat glisten on his neck, his upper lip, sees his face contort and darken with pleasure. The slave's orgasm suddenly upon him, his seed raining down on his master's chest and stomach. The master's thrusts don't falter, the iron grip on M's does not relax.

M is straddling the dividing line where pleasure turns to pain when the master finishes. He surges up on his final thrust, his hot seed bathing M's insides. The master collapses back onto the mattress, taking M with him. He gathers both slaves to him and they cuddle into his chest, enjoying the attention. The master hasn't used either slave in six weeks and they were beginning to feel neglected.

The phone rings. The master wipes a sticky hand on the sheets and answers it.

"I'm with a couple of slaves. Which ones?" he smiles down at D and M, "the blond you fucked last time you were here and the one you're so desperate to buy. No, I told you, you can't have him, I don't care how much you're willing to pay."

He pushes his slaves off and takes the phone into the bathroom. D and M take the opportunity to exchange a few chaste kisses, but nothing more than that.


"Are you enjoying the show?"

M is in the master's bedroom again, but D isn't with him this time. Except he is, in a way: M and his master recline on the master's bed and watch the live feed piped in from another bedroom, watch D sporting with two of the master's business partners - make that potential business partners. They're taking turns with D, each competing to fuck the slave in the showiest way. M tears his gaze away from the screen and smiles up at his master.

"Of course I am, Master. I love being with you, I've missed you."

The master taps M's cheek.

"Feeling left out, were you?"

"A little bit."

His master smiles and strokes his cheek.

"Don't worry, you and D are still my favourites. But I had to take you both out of rotation for a little while, and here's why."

He ticks off points on his fingers.

"One, you all need time to rest, you should know that by now. Two, while you and D are my favourites, I have twenty-four other slaves. Should I just let them sit around, eating and watching television while I spend all my time fucking you? Three, the others would get jealous if I did that. And, finally, I need variety. If I spent all my time with you and D I would get bored with you. I might even consider accepting one of those tempting offers."

The explanation satisfies M and the subject is dropped. Master and slave turn their attention back to the screen and the exploits of D. M's fellow slave is on his hands and knees now, both holes filled up. The master takes M's hand and places it on his cock. M needs no further prompting. He begins to stroke and almost swoons with happiness when he feels the master's hand on his own cock. They soon find a rhythm that suits them, syncing up with each thrust into D.

"You'll be in that room soon, with those men," the master gaps.

"I will?"

"Yes M, you will. We're close to signing a contract, but we're not quite there yet. I want to keep them happy, keep them interested, so I gave them some time with D, as a goodwill gesture. When we finally seal the deal, I'll give them the star prize. I'll give them you."

D is coming. He can't scream, not when his mouth is ... otherwise engaged, but M and his master have seen him in this position several times, and they both know the signs. So D comes, and his master and fellow slave are not far behind. They lie together in a sticky, contented heap. The master is happy, the time is right: M licks his lips, gathers his courage and plunges ahead.



"I need to ask you something."

"So ask."

"D and I were wondering if we could sleep in each other's beds sometimes."

His master sits up abruptly.

"No, you can't fuck in your free time, you know that. We've already talked about this."

"We don't want to fuck, Master. We just want to sleep in the same bed sometimes. And maybe ... cuddle?"

"Cuddle? You want to cuddle?"

"Yes, master, we do."

The master taps his chin thoughtfully.

"I don't know, M. I'll have to think about this."

"Of course. It's up to you, Master, it's always up to you."

The master smiles.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?"

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Aug. 6th, 2013 02:09 pm
hannah_chapter1: (Dunecat)
Well, it's happened.

I finally cracked and got myself a Twitter account.

Anyone who cares to listen to me bang on (mostly) about tea and whatever I'm currently watching/reading/writing/listening to can find me here:

Hannah Chapter  @ HannahChapter1

I might even post pictures of my dog if I can work out how to do it. Which I probably can't, since I'm a techno moron
hannah_chapter1: (Sparta)
Title: Private Dancer 2: Electric Boogaloo
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: 18/NC-17
Summary: "I'm your private dancer/ A dancer for money/ I'll do what you want me to do." Although I don't think this is what Tina Turner had in mind when she sang that. Now remember: you can look but you can't touch....
Feedback: Take your passion and make it happen.
Disclaimer: Fake, fake, fake. Did I mention this was fake?
Notes: This is a birthday gift for the amazing ashamedbliss. Happy birthday, Em!




Dom winces, trying to remember what he did last night. Then the bed moves, someone sighs and it begins to come back to him, his lapdance and all that followed. They started in Dom's chair, then moved to the coffee table, the floor and, finally, to Dom's bed, where they panted and held each other and Dom wondered if it was possible to coax another erection from his startled penis.

As a matter of fact, it was.

Matt sighs and rolls over to face him, blue eyes sparkling in the morning sun. Dom risks a smile, Matt returns it, leans forward and they share a long, slightly sour, utterly glorious kiss. But the tender moment is over all too quickly as Matt pulls away and curses softly.

"Fuck, I'm late for college. I need to go home and change."

"You're a student?"

"Yep. Student by day, stripper, dancer and high-octane sex machine by night."

Matt hops out of bed and groans as his legs wobble.

"Oh God, look what you've done to me! I may never dance again."

Dom giggles, feeling absurdly pleased with himself as Matt leaves the bedroom to search for the clothes he was so quick to throw off the night before. He returns wearing his shirt and briefs, his ripped up trousers in his hand. He sits on the edge of Dom's bed and puts them back together, re-sealing the velcro strips. Dom clears his throat, suddenly nervous.

"Do you want some breakfast before you go?"

"Sorry, no time."

"Can ... can I see you again?"

Matt looks up from his task, a teasing glint in his eye.

"Are you asking for a date, or an appointment?"

Dom opens his mouth, then closes it again as Matt laughs.

"Joke, Dom, it was a joke. Of course I want to see you again."




"I've got tonight off, we could go for a drink."

"Okay, where?"

"Do you know the Organ Grinder pub?"

"Yeah, I know it."

"I'll meet you there at eight. Okay?"

Dom smiles, happier than he's been in a long time.


The dancer puts on his trousers, graces Dom with one last kiss and leaves, picking up his shoes and CD player on the way out. Dom sighs, stretches and rolls out of bed. He needs to get ready for work.


Dom floats through his day, a smile permanently plastered to his face. His friends take note of his new, improved mood. The dancer they clubbed together to hire was expensive, but he was obviously worth it. He certainly seems to have put the spring back in Dom's step.

Eight in the evening and Dom is in the Organ Grinder, propping up a table and waiting for Matt. And waiting. And waiting. Twenty minutes and one beer, forty-five minutes and Dom's had three beers and is feeling like an idiot. Did something happen to Matt? Was the dancer's interest in him genuine, or just part of some elaborate practical joke?


And, just to make matters even worse, here's Dom's ex, in all his muscle-bound, hairy-backed glory.

"Fancy seeing you here," he drawls.

Dom looks up briefly.

"Hi, Clive."

Dom sips his beer, keeps his eyes on the table. He fiddles with his beer mat, hoping Clive will take the hint and leave. But his ex, obnoxious arsehole that he is, can't resist an opportunity to twist the knife.

"You look good, Dom," he says, "well, as good as you can look, anyway."

Dom tries to ignore the other man, but Clive pulls up a stool and settles in.

"So, out on the prowl again, are we? You won't get lucky this way, hiding away in a corner where nobody can see you."

The blond tears his beer mat right in half.

"Fuck yourself, Clive."

"No need to be rude, I'm just trying to be friendly."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to be friends with you, not after the way you treated me."

Clive shrugs and takes a swig of Dom's beer. He never could keep his hands off Dom's food and drink. Dom snatches the glass away.

"Fine, we won't be friends, then. Wait a minute," he looks Dom up and down, taking in the clothes, the freshly-shaved skin, the gelled hair, "you wouldn't go to all the trouble for a random pickup. Do you have a date?"

"That's none of your business," Dom snaps, patience wearing thin.

"You do, don't you?" Clive looks around, "where is he then?"

"On his way."

"Hmm, is that a note of desperation I detect in your voice, Dom? You haven't been stood up, have you?"

"No, I haven't!"

Clive laughs and slaps the table, causing some of Dom's beer to slip out of the glass and onto the floor.

"You have, you've been stood up! Poor Dom, lost another one."

Dom is about to reply, but is suddenly distracted by someone landing on the stool beside him. Dom gets a quick, blurred impression of blue eyes and expensive cologne before Matt grabs him and tries to suck the tongue right out of his mouth. The kiss ends and Dom gasps for air as the dancer kisses Dom's cheeks and chin.

"I'm so sorry," Matt says between kisses, "I didn't mean to be so late. God, I've missed you, been thinking about you all day ..."

Matt finally deigns to notice Clive.

"Oh, hello," he says, "and who's this, then?"

Dom makes the introductions.

"So you're the ex I've heard so much about," Matt says, "and what, now you've come crawling back, hoping Dom'll give you another go? Well I'm sorry, you had your chance and you blew it. Dom's with me now, and I'm not giving him up. So jog on."

He kisses Dom again as Clive stares at them, mouth open. When it ends Matt gives Clive a critical once-over.

"I know it's none of my business," Matt says, "but I've heard prolonged steroid use can seriously shrink your willy."

Clive bristles. He's proud of his physique and the effort to took to gain it.

"I don't use steroids."

"Of course you don't," Matt says, sarcasm dripping from every word.

And, with that, Clive is dismissed, dropped off Matt's radar, Matt too busy snogging and groping Dom to even glance in his direction. Clive stands and flounces off with an angry sniff, leaving Matt and Dom alone. Matt stares at the empty stool with a thoughtful expression.

"So that's the ex."

Dom sighs.

"Yeah, that's him."

"A bad boyfriend?"

"Bad boyfriend, bad breakup, bad everything."

Do you want to talk about it?"

Dom takes a drink.

"He was always picking at me, finding fault with everything. The way I dressed, the way I walked when we were together in public, my weight, everything."

"Why did you stay with him?"

"Because being with him was better than being alone. But then he dumped me."

"Yeah, he did. But you're not alone, you've got me now. Clive must have been mad to let a gorgeous, dynamite shag like you slip through his fingers. I won't make that mistake."

Dom blinks.

"You think I'm gorgeous?"

"Yes, Dom, I do."

"And a dynamite shag?"

"What, you think I'm just saying that to make you feel better?"

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"Trust me, Dom, I wouldn't be here if last night hadn't been the best sex I ever had. And last night wouldn't have happened if I didn't find you attractive. My dances don't usually end like that, it's not a bonus round."

Dom sits there, digesting Matt's words as the dancer goes to the bar to get them both another drink.


They stumble into Matt's bedroom, fused together at the mouth. Dom lets out a soft squeak of protest as Matt pushes him away. The dancer turns on all the lights, pulls the curtains and leads Dom over to the far corner, where three big mirrors have been welded together. Dom giggles, a drunk, nervous sound.

"What are you doing, Matt?"

"I want to show you something. Trust me?"

Dom swallows thickly and nods.

"I trust you."

Matt's hands move over Dom, removing the clothes so carefully chosen earlier in the evening. When Dom is naked Matt reaches around, lifts Dom's chin.

"Open your eyes, Dom. Take a good, long look at yourself."

Dom does. Matt's fingers slide over his flesh, pausing to tweak a nipple here, to tease a bellybutton there.

"Forget Clive," Matt says, "forget him and all the things he said. He doesn't have a clue. You're beautiful, Dom. Everything about you is beautiful. This is beautiful - "

Fingers stroke the hollow of Dom's throat, brush over his Adam's apple.

"These are beautiful."

He tweaks and flicks Dom's nipples.

"And this, this is so, so beautiful."

Dom gasps and arches his back as Matt's hand grips his cock.

"Don't close your eyes, Dom, don't look away. Watch this, watch yourself come, try and see yourself the way I see you."

The blond nods, then jumps and whines when a long, wet finger eases its way inside him. Matt is a marvel of multi-tasking. He is somehow able to kiss and lick Dom's neck and shoulders, an operation that should capture all his attention, finger Dom's arsehole and stroke Dom's cock, hand and fingers moving in perfect sync.

Dom wants nothing more than to close his eyes and lose himself in sensation. But he made a promise and so he watches himself, watches the way sweat blooms on his body like early morning dew blooms upon a rose, sees his chest rise and fall rapidly as Matt brings him higher and higher, to a place Clive could only dream about.

And then it happens, his climax taking him over, filling his mind with white noise. But he keeps his promise and keeps his eyes open, sees his mouth drop open in a scream as he squirts all over two of Matt's mirrors. He sees his knees begin to buckly and Matt's reaction, the dancer wrapping an arm around him and catching him before he can fall. Matt nuzzles his ear.

"You're beautiful, Dom. Never forget that."
hannah_chapter1: (Sparta)
Title: Enemies Part Six
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: 15/R
Summary: A cop. A bank robber. Some sex. What else do you need?
Feedback: Please do.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse, this is fiction.

It had to happen. They were bound to reach a point of no return, a point where their true feelings could no longer be hidden, or denied with any real conviction. And trouble was sure to follow.


Matt tiptoes into Dom's bedroom. It's late, past midnight and he doesn't want to wake the cop. Dom is asleep on his back, the book he was reading half-open by his hand. His face, illuminated by the bedside lamp, is soft and open and innocent. The sight takes Matt's breath away.

Matt takes the book away, undresses and turns out the light. He climbs into bed and his hip bumps Dom's. A brief touch, but it's enough. The cop snorts, rolls over and butts his head against Matt's arm, a silent demand. Matt laughs and raises his arms.

"Come on."

Dom doesn't need to be told twice. He cuddles into Matt's chest and sighs as the crook's hands stroke up and down his back. He growls something into Matt's chest. Anyone else would dismiss it as gibberish, but Matt has become quite adept at deciphering Dom's sleep ramblings.

"I know it's late, I'm sorry. I had to take care of something."

More muttering from the direction of Matt's nipple, a question.

"You don't want to know."

Matt yawns and looks down at Dom.

"You working tomorrow?"

A brief, soft sound, Dom's half-asleep version of no.

"Good, that's good."

Matt smiles and closes his eyes. He kisses the top of Dom's head

"I love you."


Matt's eyes snap open. He couldn't help himself, the words tumbled out before he could stop them. He waits for a reaction, any reaction, from Dom. But there's nothing, the cop's gone back to sleep. Matt relaxes,

But it's a long time before he can relax enough to sleep.


In bed together on a cold Sunday afternoon, Dom on his back, Matt inside him, so deep inside him. Good, so, so good, but Dom wants, needs, more. He reaches up and cups Matt's cheek. They look into each other's eyes and are stunned by what they see, their real feelings finally exposed.

This isn't just sex.

It's love.

They finish together, sobbing and moaning into each other's mouths. Matt pulls out and flops over onto his back. They lie side by side, staring up at the ceiling.

And neither one can think of a single thing to say.


"Come with me."

Dom shakes his head, trying to clear the sleep from it. It's been almost two weeks since he last saw Matt, twelve long, mostly sleepless nights, and now he's in the cop's kitchen, making demands. Dom sets his coffee cup down with a bang, spilling some.

"Asshole! You disappear for two weeks, don't bother to call or text so I'll know you're okay and then you just walk in here, in broad daylight, when anyone can see you? What's wrong with you?"

Matt smiles, a soft, friendly smile. But his eyes are cold, so cold.

"Come with me, Dom."

"Go fuck yourself."

"You don't get it, do you?" Matt pulls a gun from his jacket, "it wasn't a request. Refusal isn't an option. Come with me, Dom. Now."

Dom looks at the gun, then back up at Matt.

"You can't be serious."

Matt's not smiling now. He raises the gun and puts it to Dom's head.

"Serious as a heart attack. If you want to keep what passes for a brain inside that skull of yours, you come with me now."

Dom licks his lips, acutely aware of the cold metal pressed against his temple.

"Alright, you win."

Matt puts his gun away and grabs Dom's arm. The cop just has enough time to snag his keys before he's hustled out of his house and into Matt's car. He scowls at the other man.

"You know this is the second time you've kidnapped me."

"I know. But look on the bright side, you're not in the trunk this time."

Where are we going?"

Matt's lips twist into a cruel smirk.

"You'll see."

And that's all Dom gets. Matt keeps his eyes on the road, won't look at Dom, won't answer his questions. Dom gives up and spends the rest of the journey staring out the window, a tight knot forming in the pit of his stomach. Matt parks beside a warehouse. He crawls into the back seat, grabs a bundle and thrusts it at Dom.

"Here, put these on."

Dom examines the bundle. A boiler suit, a hockey mask, gloves. He drops the bundle in disgust.


Matt's struggling into a boiler suit of his own.


"I can't do this."

"You can. You will."

"I won't. You can't make me."

"I can't?"

Matt leans over Dom's seat, grabs a fistful of hair and pushes his gun into the tender flesh beneath the cop's jaw.

"Listen up, 'cause I'm only going to say this once. You're in my world now. You do what I say, when I say. You don't, you won't survive the day. Understand?"

Something tells Dom that trying to argue the point would be a serious mistake.

"i understand."

Matt lets him go.

"Good. Now, suit up."

Dom does it. Matt grins at him, gun in one hand, his own hockey mask in the other.

"Very sexy."

Dom follows the crook out of the car and over to the door of the warehouse. Matt opens it, sticks his head through and shouts something, Dom doesn't catch all of it. Something about masks. Matt steps back out and looks at Dom.

"Okay, keep your mask on and your mouth shut. I'm serious, don't say anything to anyone. Keep a cool head, follow my lead and everything will be fine. You ready?"

Dom nods, afraid to speak.

"Alright, come on."

The cop follows the crook into the warehouse and comes face to face with five men in boiler suits and hockey masks: Matt's latest crew, or maybe just a Jason Voorhees fan club. They stare at Dom. He stares back, feeling about as welcome as a fart in a space suit.

"We're taking an extra man along today," Matt announces.

Dom can't see the crew's facial expressions but, if their loud and, in some cases, profane protests are anything to go by, this doesn't sit well with any of them. The biggest member of the crew speaks up.

"Why do we need an extra man?"

"Because we do."

"But you always go with a six-man crew."

"I do. But not today."

"A seven-way split is messy."

"We're not splitting it seven ways. Our new boy isn't getting a cut. He's just along for the ride."

"Who is this guy, anyway?"

Matt smiles, reaches out and slaps Dom's ass, making the cop jump.

"This is my boy. I thought it was time I showed him what Daddy does for a living."

This does not go down well.

"A civilian? He's a fucking civilian? You expect us to put out lives in the hands of an amateur, risk some serious jail time, and for what? Just so your latest cum dumpster can get a cheap thrill? I won't stand for it, Matt."

Matt moves up to face the giant. Dom can't see either man's face, but he can read their body language just fine, can sense the waves of barely chained anger emanating from Matt, see the big man shrivel up beneath Matt's stare.

"You're giving the orders now?" Matt's voice is soft, cold, deadly, "you're telling me what to do?"

"No Matt, I just - "

"Because last time I looked I was the boss. I make the plans. I say what we do and how and when. Anyone got a problem with that?"

Matt turns on the rest of his crew and they cower before him.

"I say he's coming with us, he's coming with us. He'll be an extra pair of hands on crowd control and he won't fuck up. There's no risk. Everyone does what they're supposed to do when they're supposed to do it and everything will be fine."

His crew are silent, nobody else rises to challenge him. Matt smiles, all sweetness and light again.

"Good, that's settled. Somebody get our new boy a gun."

The giant stalks over, hands Dom an automatic.

"Do you even know how to use one of these?" he asks.

Dom takes the gun, pops the clip, checks it and slaps it back in, checks the safety a couple of times, hands moving with an efficiency born of years of experience. The rest of the crew trade urgent whispers as they take in his performance. Then Matt laughs.

"Isn't he precious," he drawls, "a few trips to a shooting range and he thinks he's a gunslinger."

They laugh with him, the bubble of tension popping before it's even had a chance to form. And then Dom is swept along with the rest of them, out of the warehouse and into a van and he's on his way to commit the very crime he's paid to try and stop. As they approach the bank Matt squeezes Dom's hand, tells him he'll be fine. They get out of the van and the giant is suddenly beside him, clamping a huge hand down on his shoulder and offering his own unique words of encouragement:

"Don't fuck this up. You do and I don't care what Matt says, I'll gut-shoot you and leave you for the cops."

Message received and understood.

Now it's happening, now it's on. They burst into the bank, waving their weapons and scaring the shit out of everyone. Dom casts a worried eye at the security camera, then remembers how Matt's people always kill them before they hit a bank and is almost giddy with relief. It just wouldn't do to have a cop - and not just any cop, but the boss of the bank squad - filmed robbing a bank, mask or no mask.

Matt's crew go about their business, each member performing his assigned task with quiet efficiency. One man takes care of the guards, Matt and the giant go for the money and Dom helps the others, covering them as they get the customers on the floor and destroy all cellphones. As he stands over the customers with a gun in his hand, Dom is forced to admit he's enjoying himself. He thought he knew all there was to know about bank jobs. But there's a big difference between the cold, hard facts as set down in witness statements and caught on camera and the altitude sickness-inducing high of actually participating in a job.

They get the money, pile into the van and take off in a rush of squealing tires. If the ride to the bank was quiet and intense, the ride back is anything but. Lots of backslapping, laughs all round - but the others still don't drop their guard around Dom. They don't use any names and Matt's the only one feeling secure enough to take off his mask. He pats Dom's thigh.

"You did good in there."

His hand moves higher. Dom squirms and tries to shove it away.

Matt giggles and cups him through his suit. He's deaf to Dom's pleading and Dom doesn't want to start a fight,  not here, not in front of these men. Better to keep quiet and let Matt do what he wants. Matt's gang are giggling and elbowing each other as they watch. Dom closes his eyes, cheeks burning with shame, cursing Matt even as he responds to his touch. He tries to keep quiet, to take his humiliation in silence, but he can't help but give voice to a long, low moan as he comes.

They get back to the warehouse, the others deal with the cash and Matt leads Dom back to the car where the cop is finally allowed to remove his mask and suit. Dom sits in the passenger seat, limp and mute, mind scrambled by the events of the last couple of hours. He's still trying to process it when Matt dumps him at the end of his street and leaves him there.


Matt is sprawled on the couch on the top floor of his brewery, waiting for Dom to come to him. The cop will come, there's no doubt in Matt's mind, it's just a question of when. He hears footsteps and smiles, but doesn't get up. Dom picks his way through Matt's living area, he hasn't been here since the night he cuffed Matt to a rail and fucked him senseless. He glares down at Matt.

"Know where I spent the afternoon?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."

"At a crime scene, working my way through a bank that got robbed this morning. But I'd already been there, I was one of the bank robbers!"

"Yeah, you were," Matt smiles up at him, "what's the problem? You want a cut, is that it? You can have some of mine, if it's that important to you."


"What, then?"

"I ..." Dom pinches the bridge of his nose, "you ... why did you take me there? I wasn't supposed to be there! I'm a cop!"

"A pathetic excuse for a cop. A real cop would have done his job and locked me up long ago."

The pain and confusion on Dom's face tears at Matt's heart, but he keeps smiling.

"We had an understanding."

"And you trusted it? You trusted me?" Matt laughs, "you really are pathetic. Did you really think you could trust me? That I could care about someone like you? Maybe even love you? Please, the very idea."

"Stop it, Matt!"

Dom's hands are pressed against his ears, trying to block it all out. Oh, how Matt wants to taker it back, all the lies he just told. But he can't. He has to do this, has to make Dom believe the lies, drive him away. It'll take just one last thing to push Dom over the edge. Matt summons up a look of pure contempt and plunges ahead.

"I can't believe you fell for that."

"What? Fell for what?"

"This morning. You really think they didn't know who you were? They knew. All my crews know. I told them all about you, the sad, lovesick cop I've been stringing along. I told them everything, every single thing we've done. I've even shown them pictures and we've laughed at you, oh, how we laughed - "

That does it. Dom grabs the front of Matt's shirt and pulls him off the couch. Now it's Matt's turn to be held at gunpoint as Dom swipes the pistol from the holster at his back and forces the barrel between Matt's teeth. There's a long moment where Matt fears he's done his job too well and that his reward will be to have his brains blown out by the man he loves. Dom wants to do it; Matt can see it in his eyes, in the way his hand tightens on the gun. But then Dom screams, a high, inarticulate sound, full of pain and rage. He pulls the gun out of Matt's mouth, reverses it and whacks the crook across the face with the butt, putting all his strength into the blow. Matt hits the floor, seeing stars. Dom stands over him, breathing hard.

"Stay away from me, Matt. Next time I see you, I will pull the trigger."

Matt watches him go. His mouth is full of blood and he touches a finger to cheek and winces. His cheekbone's broke for sure.

But it's not the pain in his face that makes him cry.
hannah_chapter1: (Bender)
Title: Sixty Seconds (2/?)
Author: hannah_chapter
Rating: PG (for now)
Pairing: Belldom
Summary: Sixty seconds. One minute. That's all it takes to change your life forever.
Feedback: Would be lovely.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse, this is fiction.

The pen makes a soft, scratching sound as it travels across the page. The old man frowns, draws a heavy black line through his last sentence. He doesn't raise his eyes from the paper, even when he addresses the man standing before his desk.



"Do you have something you want to tell me?"

"We had an incident."

"What kind of incident?"

"A suicide attempt."

"Another one?"

"Another one."

"Why wasn't he sedated? I've made my feelings on this matter very clear."

"But he was sedated, sir. The dosage isn't strong enough, not anymore."

"His current dosage is enough to kill a normal man. Three times over."

"But it's not enough."

The old man sighs.

"Fine. Increase the dosage."

"Already taken care of."

"A suicide attempt," the old man scowls, "how did that happen? You removed everything he could stab or hand himself with."

"He chewed through his wrist."

"Hmm. Well, he's inventive, I'll give him that. The attempt triggered a change?"

"It always does."

"Did he get out?"

"Yes. But he's back now. We've got him downstairs, strapped down, drugged up."

"Collateral damage?"

"Four of our people are dead. A fifth won't survive the day."

The old man dismisses these dead men and women with an airy wave and a sneer.

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad. But what about the real world?"

"One victim, just one," DeVries consults a clipboard, "a man, Matthew Bellamy."

"Well then, we were very. very lucky. Better one dead man than fifty."

DeVries shifts from one foot to the other, uneasy.

"Bellamy's not dead, sir."

That gets the old man's attention. His head snaps up.


"The victim survived. The subject was chased away before he could finish."

"Where is this Bellamy person now?"

"In hospital."

"He's been infected."

A statement, not a question.

"Almost definitely. We need to move, and fast. I've got a team ready to go. The second he's discharged, we'll scoop him up."



"Don't take him in."

"But we can't leave him out there."

"We can. We will. This is a unique opportunity. When our subject has his first ... episode we scooped him up, to use your phrase, and cleaned up the mess he left behind. We study him, we do our best to keep him contained. But now we've been given this gift, a second subject. I want to see what he'll do, how he'll cope with his condition, out there in the real world."

"He'll kill people."

"Yes, he probably will. But progress demands sacrifice," the old man taps his pen against his bottom lip, "does this Matthew Bellamy have a family, a wife and children to hurt?"

"No. He lives with a boyfriend," DeVries consults the clipboard again, "Dominic Howard."

"Oh, he's one of those," the old man sniffs, "alright, I've heard all I need to. Have Bellamy watched, have his boyfriend watched, the doctors treating him, the witnesses to the attack, the officers investigating the attack. Watch them all and if anything should happen, well, you know what to do."

"Yes, sir, I do."

"Then what are you waiting for? Get to work."

DeVries tucks his clipboard under his arm and walks away, mind already ticking over the details of this new assignment.
hannah_chapter1: (Sparta)
Title: One Night of Sin
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: 15/R
Summary: Is it worth your soul?
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse, this never happened, you know the drill.
Feedback: Talk dirty to me.
Note: This is a birthday gift for easilyerased, our wonderful moderator, the queen of museslash. All hail.

"Come and have lunch with us, Dom."

Dom shakes his head.

No, thank you, but no. I think I'll sit with Matthew."

Dom's friend wrinkles his nose in disgust.

"He's a freak, Dom, a fucking weirdo. Why do you waste your time?"

"He's not that bad."

His friend shrugs.

"You're a better man than me, Dominic Howard. A saint, that's what you are."

"I'm no saint, I just like helping people."

"Like I said, a saint."

Dom's friend goes back to his group and Dom walks to the last table in the canteen. The small, hunched figure doesn't look up as Dom sits across from him, just keeps shoveling food into his mouth. Dom smiles at him, trying to ignore the greasy hair, dirty fingernails and the faint pong of unwashed feet.

"Hello, Matthew."

"What do you want?"

Polite as ever.

"What's happening?"

"Lunch," Matthew sprays tiny bits of food across the table as he speaks, "lunch is happening. Obviously."

"What are you eating?"


A lesser man would give up at this point, but Dom pushes on.

"What are you doing this evening, Matthew?"

"What's it to you?"

"Well, I'm helping out at the old folks home tonight, but I've got a free hour after work, maybe we could go for a drink?"

Matthew finally looks up.

"Why do you do this?"

"Why do I do what?"

"Why are you always so nice to me? Why do you keep trying to get me to come out with you?"

"I think it would be good for you."

"Maybe, maybe not. But why do you care?"

Dom toys with his fork.

"I like helping people."

"You do, don't you," Matthew smirks, "you're such a good person. Such a pure soul."

Dom blinks. All the usual canteen sounds - the conversations, the clink and rattle of cutlery - have stopped. He looks around and ... everything's gone. The people in the canteen, the canteen itself, all gone. He turns back to Matthew and freezes. Matthew is still here, but what a change! There's no trace of the squat, unkempt figure Dom has spent so many futile months trying to befriend. The man standing before him is trim and clean, dressed in a neat, dark suit.

"Who are you?" Dom asks.

Matthew laughs.

"Oh, I have many names," Matthew's eyes change, becoming yellow, snakelike, before returning to their usual blue, "serpent, Prince of Darkness, Father of Lies. They all boil down to the same thing."

Dom can't believe what he's hearing.

"You're the Devil?"

Matthew licks his lips, offering Dom a brief glimpse of a long, forked tongue.

"The one and only. The original and best."

"What do you want with me?"

"I should think that's obvious, Dominic. I want to tempt you, I want to corrupt you. I want your soul."

"But why waste your time with me? Shouldn't you be bringing down governments, starting wars, that kind of thing?"

"There's no need. You people already have that covered. If there's one thing you excel at, it's destroying yourselves. This world, and everyone in it, is already on the road to Hell."

"If that's true, why are you even here? Why bother corrupting individuals if the whole race is already doomed?"

"Everyone needs a hobby. Sitting on a throne of skulls gets boring after a few centuries."

"And so what, you've been here all these months, just watching me?"

"Yes, well, most of the time."

"So what do you do when you're not watching me?"

"I'm glad you asked."

Matthew snaps his fingers and now they're on a busy city street, sometime after the sun has gone down. Matthew leans against a wall, his smart suit exchanged for a much trashier outfit: a red, fluffy coat, sunglasses, tight, colourful leggings. Dom watches the passing cars, sees the drivers' heads turn as they go by.

"What are we doing here, Matthew?"

"This is my patch."

Dom is appalled.

"You work as a rent boy? You sell yourself?"

"I do, and for a very good price, too."


"Why not? Lust has always been my favourite sin."

They're in a bedroom now, watching a second version of Matthew with another man.

"The world's oldest profession is a perfect tool for me. I can corrupt men, seduce them away from their nice, sheltered lives and into a world of sin. I've broken up so many happy marriages."

"You're proud of that?"

"Of course I am," Matthew is honestly puzzled, "why wouldn't I be?"

The Matthew on the bed squeals as he's fucked, the sound stirring desires Dom has worked so hard to suppress. He blushes and turns away.

"You came here to tempt me, Matthew."

"I did."

"Get on with it, then."

"If you insist."

They're back in the white space. Matthew's still wearing his tart's outfit, though.

"This is how it works, Dominic. I give you one night of sin, one night to do anything you want, free from repercussions."

"And when the night is over?"

"You go on to live a nice, long life, full of charity and good works. But when it ends, you're mine."

"What if I say no, what if you can't tempt me? What happens then?"

"Then I shake your hand and send you on your way."

Matthew's tone becomes brisk, businesslike.

"Okay Dominic, let's get to it. What can I tempt you with? Would you like to be a criminal? A bank robber, maybe?"

Dom sees himself in a bank, dressed in leather, wielding a shotgun. He laughs at the image.

"No? Well then, how about some good old-fashioned substance abuse?"

Now Dom sees himself taking pills, snorting coke, reaching for a syringe.

"What do you think? All the benefits, none of the side effects?"

Matthew's eyes search Dom's face.

"No, this isn't for you. But there's something, there's always something. Alright, let's try my favourite sin."

Sex is the theme now. Dom watches himself with women, so many women. Matthew studies Dom's expression carefully, looking for evidence of interest. He smiles, pleased with what he finds.

"Now we're getting somewhere. But I don't think you care much for women. Let's try something else."

Men this time, Dom with men of every age, every body type. He gasps and Matthew laughs. Dom shuts his eyes, wraps his arms around his head.

"No no no, I won't give in, you won't win me over, no ..."

Matthew's hands on his arms, prying them away, his touch gentle.

"Alright, Dominic. One last temptation, one last roll of the dice. If you can resist this, I'll let you go. Now, open your eyes."

Dom does and his mouth drops open. Matthew stands before him, naked.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm making you an offer. I saw how you reacted to that vision, me in bed with another man. You liked it, didn't you?"

Dom blushes.

"I didn't think you'd pick up on that."

"But I did, Dominic. No potential for sin escapes my eye. This is the deal. You get one night with me, and please believe me when I say it will be the best night of your life."

Dom is suddenly confronted with visions of the two of them. So many possibilities, so many dark desires ... leather, rubber, whips, chains, vibrators ...

"Nothing is too depraved for me, Dominic. I'll do anything, I'll do everything. I can turn you inside out with pleasure, or with pain. Here, have a quick preview."

Dom is assaulted by raw sensation: hands and tongues caress every last inch of flesh, a hot mouth engulfs his cock even as another cock slides up and into him. The experience is brief, but it's enough to send Dom to his knees. Matthew stands over him.

"Time to decide, Dominic. Do you want one night of sin or do you want to walk away from me? Sin or sainthood, what's your answer?"

Dom looks up at the Devil, choice already made.

He opens his mouth to speak.
hannah_chapter1: (Sparta)
Title: Sixty Seconds (1/?)
Author: hannah_chapter
Rating: PG (for now)
Pairing: Belldom
Summary: Sixty seconds. One minute. That's all it takes to change your life forever.
Feedback: Would be lovely.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse, this is fiction.

Sixty seconds.

One minute.

That's all it takes to change your life forever.


Five seconds, Matt's on the ground, hands scraped and bleeding, his phone skidding away across the concrete.

Ten seconds and the thing that knocked him down jumps on his back, forcing all the air out of his lungs

Fifteen seconds, Matt's trying to get up, trying to catch his breath and failing at both.

Twenty seconds, he can smell the creature's breath, feel its saliva on his neck. It burns like acid.

Thirty seconds, the creature moves off him for a second and Matt can finally breathe, but it is a brief respite.

Thirty-five seconds and the creature is on him again and it's biting him, biting with impossibly large, impossibly sharp teeth.

Forty seconds and it savages him again, infecting him, changing his life forever.

Fifty seconds and people are coming to Matt's aid, driving the creature away.

Sixty seconds, the creature is gone, hands are examining Matt's injuries, voices are reassuring him, telling him the ambulance will be here soon.

But it's too late.

The damage has been done.
hannah_chapter1: (Ale)
Title: Tender Loving Care
Author: hannah_chapter
Summary: AU. Office series. Two office workers go to hospital.
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: 18/NC-17
Feedback: When you hit me, hit me hard.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is fiction.
Notes: It's been a long time, but I finally had an idea for another one of these.

There's a new stud in town and he's causing quite a stir.

"Just look at that arse," Dawn sighs as the stud in question saunters out of the breakroom.

I'm adding sugar to my coffee, glance up for a second before returning to my task.

"It's alright I suppose."

She smacks my arm and the sugar packet falls into the coffee. I hate it when that happens.

"You weren't even looking! Honestly, Matt, you're hopeless."

I find a plastic spoon and scoop the now-soggy packet out of my coffee and drop it in the bin.

"Sorry, but I just don't see what all the fuss is about."

"Well, you're lucky. You've already got a gorgeous blond with a fine arse to warm your bed at night."

"A gorgeous, well-hung, sexually creative blond with a fine arse," I correct.


"Very well-hung."

"What, like a baby's arm?"

"More like a bricklayer's arm with an apple in its fist."

"Fucking hell. How do you walk, or even sit down, without splitting in two?"

"I don't know. I might need to avoid barstools and bicycle seats in later life."

She shivers and changes the subject. We finish our coffee and go back to work. I meet the new boy at the end of the day. He spots me waiting for the lift and wanders over for a quick flirt. I should be flattered, I know I should, but I've seen him try this routine on about half a dozen men and women already.

"Hello, beautiful. Have we met?"

"We're meeting now."

"We certainly are."

He smiles and offers his hand. I reach out and give it a token squeeze. Hot and a bit sweaty, yuck.

"I'm Ian."


"Your eyes are like spanners, has anyone ever told you that?"

"They - what - did you just say my eyes are like spanners?"

I have no idea where he's going with this.

"Yes, spanners. I looked into them and my nuts tightened."

I burst out laughing.

"That's either the best chat-up line I've ever heard, or the worst."

"Any reason why it can't be both?"

His smile widens as he dazzles me with his charm, or tries to. This approach might work on others, but not on me. I look at this guy and all I see is a weak, oily imitation of Dom.

Ian takes a step forward and I take a step back. This doesn't put him off, as I hoped it would.

"So, Matt, do you have a girlfriend?"


Not that it's any business of yours, I think but do not say.


"As a matter of fact - "

I don't hear him approach but Dom is suddenly there, snaking a possessive arm around my waist and pulling me to him.

"Hello there!" Dom smiles brightly at the other man, "it's Ian, isn't it? The new boy in my section. I think we met at your interview."

All the blood drains from Ian's face as the penny drops: he's just been hitting on his boss's boyfriend. He mutters something, it might be an apology but it's too indistinct to say for sure, and scuttles away. I turn to face Dom and bite my lip to supress a giggle. All puffed up and radiating testosterone, I half-expect him to pee a circle around me to mark his territory.

"What's so funny?" he asks as we get in the lift.

"Well, you've driven away the competition and proved you're the leader of the pack, so what's next? Bashing me over the head with a rock and dragging me back to your cave?"

He grabs my tie.

"Actually," he purrs, "I was thinking I'd take you home, bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you until you can't see straight."

Well, that shut me up.


"That was .... I ... ugh."

I think he broke my brain. Face-down on the kitchen counter, the weight of Dom's upper body pinning me there as he pants in my ear. The fog begins to clear as Dom straightens up and pulls out.

"Matt? You okay?"

I push myself up and off the counter and shuffle around to face him.

"Better than okay. You should get jealous more often."

"I wasn't jealous."

"Yes, you were. But you've got no reason to be. Ian does nothing for me and anyway, I doubt he's even a real bisexual."

"I doubt he's even a real blond."

The bitchiness of Dom's comment, coupled with the sudden realisation that we're still in our work suits and our trousers are around out ankles, sends me off into gales of uncontrollable laughter. Dom smiles, shrugs and pulls his trousers up.


"Are you alright?" I ask Dom as we walk through the lobby.

"Of course I'm alright, why wouldn't I be?"

"You barely touched your breakfast."

"I wasn't hungry."

"You didn't sleep much last night either, did you?"

"No," he admits, "I couldn't get comfortable."

We step into the lift and I reach out and touch his forehead.

"Your skin is hot. You might be coming down with something."

"Maybe I am."

"You should go home. Take the day off and go home."

"I can't. I have meetings today and I can't skip therm."

"Dom - "

He touches a finger to my lips, shushing me.

"Just let me get through today, Matt. If I still feel bad tomorrow, I'll take the rest of the week off. Deal?"

I sigh.


I spend my morning typing up reports and listening to Dawn's personal, highly entertaining and unbelievably bitchy phone calls. She rips into a massively popular, best-selling erotic trilogy. It's not a book series, she says, it's a flaming turd direct from Satan's own arsepipe. There's a blut of movement to my left, I turn and -

What the fuck?

Did I just see two guys carrying a stretcher or did I just imagine it? People around me are standing, staring and Dawn's conversation comes to an abrupt halt. I didn't imagine it, then.

But what's going on?

The ambulance guys come back through the main floor of the office, their stretcher full -


I run to his side. They try and shoo me away but I'm having none of it.

"He's my boyfriend, I go where he goes."


The ride to the hospital is one long, nighmarish blur. I spend most of it staring at the oxygen mask covering Dom's face. How did this happen? How did he go from feeling a bit sick to collapsing in the middle of a meeting?

We get to the hospital, Dom's whisked off for some emergency surgery and I'm left to pace the halls and drink bad coffee while I wait for news. In between cups of coffee I call work. They put me through to Dom's boss, he asks for an update and I tell him what I know, which isn't much. He asks me to keep him posted and this I promise to do. I call Dom's parents and get no answer. I try their number a few times before remembering they're not around. They've gone to Thailand for five weeks.

I'm on my fourth cup of coffee and my third pee break when I hear a familiar voice, look up and see the legend that is Thomas Kirk, limping up the hall towards me.

"Tom! I forgot you were here."

"Only just. I checked myself out ten minutes ago. But why are you here, Matt?"

I spill out my story, Tom lends a sympathetic ear and offers to stay with me, an offer I gratefully accept.

"So, he's in surgery now?"

"I think so."

I'm suddenly grateful Dom opted for plain boxers this morning, instead of the Kermit the Frog ones I got him for his birthday. Tom kneels on the chair beside me. I look at him and, even though I'm so worried about Dom I'm almost sick, I can't help smiling as I remember just how Tom got here and why he can't sit down. He pouts, reading my mind.

"It's not funny, Bellamy."

"Yes it is. You, Tom, only you could get stabbed in the arse by your own sister."

"Bloody woman is insane."

"She's going through a rough patch."

"I know, and yeah, getting dumped the night before your wedding can't be fun. But there was no need to take it out on me."

"You brought it on yourself."

"I was trying to be nice."

"You call walking up to her in the middle of a crowded restaurant and shouting 'so he gave you the push, then, did he, Liz?' being nice?"

Our conversation is interrupted by a woman's voice, calling my name. Dawn, fresh from work. I introduce her to Tom, they shake hands and, even from here, I can see the spark between them jump. Then the surgeon is there, leading me into a quiet corner. He introduces himself as Doctor Conners.

"Will Dom be okay?"

"Fine, he'll be fine."

"What happened?"

"It was his appendix. But we were lucky, I managed to get it out, and just in time, too. It burst between my fingers as I was lifting it out."

The thought makes me feel faint. The surgeon grabs my elbow, steadying me.

"It didn't burst inside him, that's the important thing. We've got him on morphine so he'll be groggy, maybe even a little cranky, for a few days."

"Can I see him?"

"Of course."

I take a couple of minutes to tell Tom and Dawn the news. They hug me, then Tom invites Dawn for a drink. She accepts and they leave together. I watch them go. Why do I feel like I've just introduced Bonnie to Clyde?

The surgeon brings me to Dom's room. I sit beside his bed and hold his hand in mine. I don't expect him to wake but, after about an hour and a half, he begins to stir. His eyes open and lock onto me.

"Where ....?" he whispers.

"Hospital. You really were sick."


A nurse comes in and Dom brightens, giving her a happy, doped-up smile.

"Hi, I'm Dom. This is Matt. Matt's my boyfriend. He comes like a banshee."

My face heats up and I stare at the floor as Dom prattles on, telling the nurse everything she could want to know about our sex life. Every position, every location, every kink. I don't how he's managed to go from a couple of weak, whispered words to this filth-filled soliloquy, but I'm seriously considering holding a pillow over his face to shut him up.

He finally stops talking and, just like that, he's asleep again. I sigh, relieved ... and then the sheet just below his waist begins to rise and the nurse, who's kept an admirably straight face until now, giggles. Oh, for Christ's sake! How is that even possible?


Three days pass and Dom's looking better. Still in hospital, though, still on morphine, and still getting erect every five seconds. He's scowling and cursing when I come in for my afternoon visit.

"Go down, you stupid fucking thing, why won't you go down?"

I kiss his cheek.

"What's the hurry? It'll go down, in its own time."

He looks at me with mournful eyes.

"The nurse will be here in a few minutes. She's giving me a sponge bath."

"So what? It's nothing she hasn't seen before."

"It's embarrassing. Can't you do something about it?"

"Like what?"

"You know."

He makes a univerally recognised hand gesture.

"Are you serious? A handjob, here, now?"

"Or a blowjob, whatever works. Please, Matt, just help me get rid of it."

"What about your stictches?"

"Fuck my stitches."

"Fine. But don't come crying to me if they have to wheel you right back into surgery after this."

i pull back the sheet, lift his gown and wrap my hand around him. Dom's head falls back against the pillow and he moans, the sound shockingly loud in this quiet room. I stop.



He clamps his lips together and I continue. But it's not happening. All my usual tricks are failing. It doesn't matter what I do, how hard or how fast I stroke, the bloody thing won't spurt. Time for plan B. I take him in my mouth, sucking the very tip of him, fingers stroking his balls. Can I hear the nurse's heels clicking their way down the hall, or is it just my imagination? Come on, Dom, come on ...

A strangled cry above me and my mouth is suddenly overflowing. I swallow frantically to keep from choking. When he's finally empty I let him go and tidy him up. And just in time, too  - it wasn't my imagination, the nurse really is on her way. My bum has barely touched the hard plastic chair beside Dom's bed when she enters the room. She smiles at Dom.

"How are we feeling today, Mr. Howard?"

Dom returns the smile.

"Better, nurse, much, much better.


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August 2016

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