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Hotel California
Nov. 6th, 2012 06:29 pmTitle: Hotel California
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom, kind of.
Summary: You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.
Rating: 18/NC-17
Disclaimer: Faker than a fake thing that's just completed a course of anti-real tablets.
... Matthew opens his eyes. The stain on the ceiling is spreading and the couple in the next room are having sex. He lies there, staring up into space, listening to the moans and the protests of the headboard as it is slammed against the wall. The sounds die away and Matthew gets up and shuffles to the bathroom, kicking a path through the empty bottles and discarded syringes. He washes his face, doesn't bother shaving, goes back into the bedroom to dress.
The carpet in the hall outside is sticky. It sucks at the soles of his shoes as he walks. Matthew steps into the elevator, shuts the gate and pulls the lever. When Matthew first checked in, he found the old-fashioned elevator charming. But not anymore. The elevator creaks and rattles and Matthew taps an impatient foot as he waits. The outdated contraption finally shudders to life and delivers him to the huge, Art Deco lobby.
The man behind the front desk straightens up at Matthew's approach.
"Good morning, Mr. Bellamy."
"Christopher. Is it morning?"
"Nine-thirty in the AM, sir."
"I hadn't noticed."
Matthew lays a key on the desk.
"I want to check out, Christopher."
"As you wish, sir."
Christopher slides the bill across the desk and Matthew can see blood on the other man's cuffs, under his fingernails, grimed into his knuckles. Matthew signs the bill, hands it back. He goes to the front door and looks at the storm raging outside. He can't leave like this, can't walk out of here.
"Get me a car, Christopher."
"I can't do that, sir."
"You don't have cars?"
"We have cars."
"Why can't I have one?"
"They are not available, sir. Not for you, not at this time."
Christopher holds out the key.
"Your room is waiting, sir."
A maid is on her knees outside his room, scrubbing blood and brains off the wall. But Matthew's room is pristine, all mess gone. Was it ever really there?
Matthew sits at the table in the corner, gets a pen and paper and begins to write. The words pour directly out of his brain and onto the page: a song, a story, a poem, ransom note, suicide note. He writes until his eyes water and his fingers are numb. He flexes his hand until the feeling returns. When it does he picks up the phone and orders dinner. They tell him it'll be about twenty minutes, so he goes to the bathroom to shower and shave.
Matthew's standing at the sink, towel around his waist, washing away the last traces of shaving cream when he hears the bedroom door open and the rattle of the bellboy's cart. He doesn't react when the bellboy opens the bathroom door, or when the blond pulls his towel away and shoves three fingers inside him, or when the fingers are replaced with something much larger. Matthew braces himself against the sink as the bellboy fucks him, staring at his own reflection with dull disinterest. He finally experiences a joyless, rubbery spasm, the closest he can get to orgasm these days. The blond finishes, pulls out, leaves. Matthew takes another shower, washing the bellboy away.
Dinner is on a tray by the bed. Matthew chews his way through the food, not looking at it, not tasting it. He turns his attention to the syringe beside the plate. The needle slides into the vein and Matthew presses the plunger. The heroin is one hundred percent pure and it hits his bloodstream like a runaway freight train, sending him out of the blue and into the black...
... Matthew opens his eyes. The stain on the ceiling has gotten bigger and the couple in the next room are fighting. He lies on the bed and listens to the screams and the flat sound of fists hitting flesh.
The man in the elevator has no face. Matthew pays him no mind as he shuts the gate and pulls the lever. Fingers claw at his shoulder and he shrugs them off.
The man at the front desk smiles at Matthew.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Bellamy."
"Christopher. I'm checking out."
"Very good, sir. Your bill, sir."
Matthew signs it and drops his key on the desk. The door to the inner office is open. Christopher moves to block his view, but it's too late, Matthew has already seen: the blond bellboy, naked, chained up like a dog, bleeding from dozens of cuts. Christopher thrusts out his chin, daring Matthew to say something about it. Matthew shrugs and lets it go.
"Call me a cab, Christopher."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, sir."
"Why not?"
"The phones won't work. The outside lines are down."
"When will they be fixed?"
"I really couldn't say, sir. But don't worry, the inside lines still work. They always do. You'll always have room service."
Christopher holds out a key.
"Your room is ready, sir."
Matthew takes the key and the other man turns away and goes back into the inner office. Matthew walks across the lobby to the elevator. The blond screams - is it pain that makes him scream, or pleasure? Who can say?
Matthew returns to his room and crawls into bed. He wakes up at dusk, picks up the phone and orders dinner. The blond bellboy brings it in. He sets it on the table and kneels before Matthew. Matthew closes his eyes and drifts away as the bellboy takes him in his mouth.
The blond sucks him dry, but Matthew doesn't really notice. The bellboy finishes, tries to stand. Matthew grabs his shoulder, arresting his progress.
"Listen to m-"
The bellboy hisses at him, eyes wide and feral, and Matthew lets him go. He stares at the bedroom door for awhile, thinking of nothing in particular. The food on the tray has gone cold by the time Matthew snaps out of his fugue, but he eats it anyway. When he's done he sits on the floor and plays solitaire 'till dawn with a deck of fifty-one.
Early morning light streams through the window and Matthew gets up and goes to the bathroom. He washes his face, applies shaving cream, picks up the old-fashioned straight razor. Matthew shaves and shaves and shaves, not stopping until the mirror and sink are drenched in gore. He runs a thoughtful finger over the ruin of his face, then whips the razor across his throat, slashing himself right down to the windpipe ...
... Matthew opens his eyes. The stain on the ceiling is gone and the woman in the next room is sobbing. The lobby is empty, nobody at the front desk. The door to the office is half-open and Matthew can see them, naked, writhing together on the floor. Matthew leaves his key on the counter.
He opens the front door and ... the ground outside is gone. The world is gone. Only a black void remains. Matthew takes his key and goes back to his room. He spends the - day? night? - staring at the nothing where the world once was. The blond bellboy brings his dinner. He drops the tray on the floor, pulls Matthew close and stabs him three times, gutting him quickly and efficiently. Matthew looks down at his intestines, wet and steaming ...
... Matthew opens his eyes. The stain on the ceiling is spreading and the couple in the next room are having sex.
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom, kind of.
Summary: You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.
Rating: 18/NC-17
Disclaimer: Faker than a fake thing that's just completed a course of anti-real tablets.
... Matthew opens his eyes. The stain on the ceiling is spreading and the couple in the next room are having sex. He lies there, staring up into space, listening to the moans and the protests of the headboard as it is slammed against the wall. The sounds die away and Matthew gets up and shuffles to the bathroom, kicking a path through the empty bottles and discarded syringes. He washes his face, doesn't bother shaving, goes back into the bedroom to dress.
The carpet in the hall outside is sticky. It sucks at the soles of his shoes as he walks. Matthew steps into the elevator, shuts the gate and pulls the lever. When Matthew first checked in, he found the old-fashioned elevator charming. But not anymore. The elevator creaks and rattles and Matthew taps an impatient foot as he waits. The outdated contraption finally shudders to life and delivers him to the huge, Art Deco lobby.
The man behind the front desk straightens up at Matthew's approach.
"Good morning, Mr. Bellamy."
"Christopher. Is it morning?"
"Nine-thirty in the AM, sir."
"I hadn't noticed."
Matthew lays a key on the desk.
"I want to check out, Christopher."
"As you wish, sir."
Christopher slides the bill across the desk and Matthew can see blood on the other man's cuffs, under his fingernails, grimed into his knuckles. Matthew signs the bill, hands it back. He goes to the front door and looks at the storm raging outside. He can't leave like this, can't walk out of here.
"Get me a car, Christopher."
"I can't do that, sir."
"You don't have cars?"
"We have cars."
"Why can't I have one?"
"They are not available, sir. Not for you, not at this time."
Christopher holds out the key.
"Your room is waiting, sir."
A maid is on her knees outside his room, scrubbing blood and brains off the wall. But Matthew's room is pristine, all mess gone. Was it ever really there?
Matthew sits at the table in the corner, gets a pen and paper and begins to write. The words pour directly out of his brain and onto the page: a song, a story, a poem, ransom note, suicide note. He writes until his eyes water and his fingers are numb. He flexes his hand until the feeling returns. When it does he picks up the phone and orders dinner. They tell him it'll be about twenty minutes, so he goes to the bathroom to shower and shave.
Matthew's standing at the sink, towel around his waist, washing away the last traces of shaving cream when he hears the bedroom door open and the rattle of the bellboy's cart. He doesn't react when the bellboy opens the bathroom door, or when the blond pulls his towel away and shoves three fingers inside him, or when the fingers are replaced with something much larger. Matthew braces himself against the sink as the bellboy fucks him, staring at his own reflection with dull disinterest. He finally experiences a joyless, rubbery spasm, the closest he can get to orgasm these days. The blond finishes, pulls out, leaves. Matthew takes another shower, washing the bellboy away.
Dinner is on a tray by the bed. Matthew chews his way through the food, not looking at it, not tasting it. He turns his attention to the syringe beside the plate. The needle slides into the vein and Matthew presses the plunger. The heroin is one hundred percent pure and it hits his bloodstream like a runaway freight train, sending him out of the blue and into the black...
... Matthew opens his eyes. The stain on the ceiling has gotten bigger and the couple in the next room are fighting. He lies on the bed and listens to the screams and the flat sound of fists hitting flesh.
The man in the elevator has no face. Matthew pays him no mind as he shuts the gate and pulls the lever. Fingers claw at his shoulder and he shrugs them off.
The man at the front desk smiles at Matthew.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Bellamy."
"Christopher. I'm checking out."
"Very good, sir. Your bill, sir."
Matthew signs it and drops his key on the desk. The door to the inner office is open. Christopher moves to block his view, but it's too late, Matthew has already seen: the blond bellboy, naked, chained up like a dog, bleeding from dozens of cuts. Christopher thrusts out his chin, daring Matthew to say something about it. Matthew shrugs and lets it go.
"Call me a cab, Christopher."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, sir."
"Why not?"
"The phones won't work. The outside lines are down."
"When will they be fixed?"
"I really couldn't say, sir. But don't worry, the inside lines still work. They always do. You'll always have room service."
Christopher holds out a key.
"Your room is ready, sir."
Matthew takes the key and the other man turns away and goes back into the inner office. Matthew walks across the lobby to the elevator. The blond screams - is it pain that makes him scream, or pleasure? Who can say?
Matthew returns to his room and crawls into bed. He wakes up at dusk, picks up the phone and orders dinner. The blond bellboy brings it in. He sets it on the table and kneels before Matthew. Matthew closes his eyes and drifts away as the bellboy takes him in his mouth.
The blond sucks him dry, but Matthew doesn't really notice. The bellboy finishes, tries to stand. Matthew grabs his shoulder, arresting his progress.
"Listen to m-"
The bellboy hisses at him, eyes wide and feral, and Matthew lets him go. He stares at the bedroom door for awhile, thinking of nothing in particular. The food on the tray has gone cold by the time Matthew snaps out of his fugue, but he eats it anyway. When he's done he sits on the floor and plays solitaire 'till dawn with a deck of fifty-one.
Early morning light streams through the window and Matthew gets up and goes to the bathroom. He washes his face, applies shaving cream, picks up the old-fashioned straight razor. Matthew shaves and shaves and shaves, not stopping until the mirror and sink are drenched in gore. He runs a thoughtful finger over the ruin of his face, then whips the razor across his throat, slashing himself right down to the windpipe ...
... Matthew opens his eyes. The stain on the ceiling is gone and the woman in the next room is sobbing. The lobby is empty, nobody at the front desk. The door to the office is half-open and Matthew can see them, naked, writhing together on the floor. Matthew leaves his key on the counter.
He opens the front door and ... the ground outside is gone. The world is gone. Only a black void remains. Matthew takes his key and goes back to his room. He spends the - day? night? - staring at the nothing where the world once was. The blond bellboy brings his dinner. He drops the tray on the floor, pulls Matthew close and stabs him three times, gutting him quickly and efficiently. Matthew looks down at his intestines, wet and steaming ...
... Matthew opens his eyes. The stain on the ceiling is spreading and the couple in the next room are having sex.
