Little Red Corvette: 1/2
Mar. 22nd, 2011 02:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lalalive23Title: Little Red Corvette
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lalalive23
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Sarcasm and sexual content
Summary: London, 1984. Matt meets Dominic in a dingy night club after weeks of watching him intently. Dominic is sexually insatiable, drives a corvette, and thrives on pleasure. Essentially pwp, and there is nothing wrong with that.
Feedback: It's my Kubrick, it's my Jesus
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse. Something went horribly wrong in my life, I know. I'm still trying to figure it out.
Note: I've been planning on writing this for about a month now. I love Prince. Those of you who follow me on Twitter have been witnessed my tendency to shout Prince lyrics at random. I also love cars. Bet you didn't know that about me! Prince and cars = OH GOD OH YES OH GOD. So, really, it was only a matter of time before I wrote this. HOWEVER, I had no idea it would be this long, jfc. So I'm splitting it in two. If it gets any longr than this, feel free to slap me. I give a special shoutout tomillionstar , who loves Prince just as much as I do <3 To sheerpoetry for looking this over, kind of, because she is an angel. And, obviously, to my plot penguin sunshine_173 for reminding me that I have a fucking blast writing in Maffew's POV. And to all my readers, commenters, and lurkers (yes! I am talking to you <3) I LOVE ALL OF YOU SFM <3
The nightclub always smells like piss and vodka, though for some reason it hasn't deterred me from coming every Saturday for the past two years. Old habits die hard, I guess. Sonia used to drag me here during her days as a bachelorette, convinced that she would find her soulmate in this dump. I always wondered how she could, it's so dark inside you can barely tell your arse from your elbow, so she could have been hanging off a street urchin for all she knew. She hardly cared, really, and I only came along to keep her company until she was too drunk to notice I was there.
Only after she met Anthony did she stop begging me to go out with her, and I guess I kept coming in the hopes that I would run into her. I ask you, what the fuck is a gay man supposed to do once his wing woman gets engaged? I'm not the fabulous type, and I can't tell a bottle of hair gel from a bottle of moisturizer. Though, if I'm being honest, I'm pretty sure I look a hell of a lot better than some of the trash that drags itself out here every weekend. Fucking hell.
If it's so fucking disgusting, why am I here? Let me tell you.
Him.
I would have stopped coming to this place months ago if he hadn't been coming every weekend. I was floored the first time I saw him just because he looked so out of place, hell, he always looks out of place. He's a goddamn magnificent creature, and I always half expect him to sprout wings and fly. He never does though, he really just sits the whole night. I don't blame him either, the DJ is always proper shit.
Remember how I said it's so dark you could be talking to a wall and you wouldn't be able to tell the difference? Well, this bloke fucking glows. I'm not an eloquent author either, so I'm not using some ridiculous metaphor about how he glows in the light of the club. I'm telling you, you'd have to be blind not to notice him, and you know what? He fucking knows it to.
After the first night he came here, I was pretty sure he would never come back. I've seen people like him before, the classy types, the wealthy teenagers all done up and looking for a story to tell Monday morning. Pretty young things who come in looking for a good time, only to spend the rest of their night challenging themselves not to look at the clock, challenging their willpower to see how long they can last. You have to remember, I'm a regular at this place. I sit in the same spot every weekend, and I've been here so often my arse print is practically burned into the PVC. So when he came in a few months ago, I looked my fill. I studied every corner of his face and memorized it so he could take the place of the blank image in my wet dreams.
I'm pretty sure he saw me staring, he kept looking at me over the rim of his aviators and I was too tipsy on my rum and coke to give a shit.
There's a few things in that recollection that I want to clarify. Yes. I drink rum and coke. It's better than a sex on the beach or a margarita. I'm fairly certain if I asked Ross, he's the bartender by the way, to make me either of those, he wouldn't even know where to start. Secondly, don't ask me why the guy wears aviators in the club. He probably doesn't want to even be vaguely aware of his surroundings so he just pretends he's somewhere else.
Anyway, I looked my fill and even got a bit daring in the way I held his stare. I won't deny that just to have him looking at me got me hard. It didn't help that he licked his lips and smirked.
But that was it. And I left certain of two things: I was unbelievably hard, and I would never see him again.
Fate is a twat, let me just say. Because it's been 7 weeks and he's been here each Saturday in the same spot, letting this hell cave turn him into a regular like me.
And he's here again, watching the awkward way I fondle the white braces Sonia suggested I wear. I can make out the seams on his black leather jacket, what small lighting there is hitting his face in a way that makes him look like Nosferatu emerging from the shadows. That's a shitty analogy - Nosferatu belongs in this shit hole. This bloke doesn't belong, and you would definitely want him sucking on your neck until you couldn't fucking move.
Shit.
I shouldn't have thought about that.
But really, I've looked at this bloke enough times to know that his bottom lip is fuller than his top, and he's got the most fantastic goddamn teeth you will ever see. Seriously, he his dentist must beg to be blown by that pretty mouth of his. I know that his hair is blonde, and thick, and yeah, I want to have fistfuls of it in my hands, I'm not apologizing for that. I've seen flashes of his hands, and his forearms - the only thing I could possibly say about his arms is fuck me.
Over the past seven weeks, I've seen pieces of his body in random order. Never the whole thing, but just enough to add more to the puzzle. But I haven't seen enough, and frankly the part I haven't seen is always kept away because he's busy pretending he isn't actually here.
His eyes.
Yeah, he looked at me over those aviators but what the fuck makes you think I could see their colour? No, I have never seen his eye colour, and it was the final piece in my erotic Adonis puzzle.
But if you're an intelligent reader, which I hope to fuck you are, you'll understand that if I want to get close to him, I'd actually have to leave the seat that has become my comfort zone, which in itself is a pathetic thing to say. And, again, if you're an intelligent reader, you'll have realized that I am a pathetic person. That for all my attitude and smart talk, the number of times I have left this booth, not to get another drink from Ross, can be counted on one hand. And, honestly, all of those times were to stop Sonia from getting impregnated by Cousin It.
So, yeah, I want to see those eyes but I can't imagine a spark of motivation coming any time soon. I could will him to come over to me, but you have to realize, blokes like him approach blokes like me, and, if they do, it's probably because they want me to lean over so they can see whomever is behind me. Such is life.
I'm content with this, really. The back and forth glances as I look from my drink back to him. It's a dance that I'm used to, I can do this part well. When it comes to conversation I crash and burn, so as long as this as far as it goes, I am content to make him think I actually know what I'm doing.
Except he's standing now, and my heart rate is increasing and the fucking void of this club is trying to asphyxiate me and where the fuck is the exit?
I can't tell which direction he's moving in, but I can see there's a swagger in his hips when he walks. Fucker has some gorgeous hips. I can't take my eyes off him, the way he walks is like he's gliding, though I don't know what I was expecting. No one this gorgeous could move as awkwardly as I do, so I certainly I don't even have the right to be surprised.
He gets sidetracked when he tries to cross the dance floor, which isn't exactly a 'dance floor,' but more a square section where people stand and sweat in close proximity to one another. Some anonymous girl is rubbing herself against him like a cat in heat, and I'm pretty sure she's purring by the look of her. Yeah, she's purring. Who wouldn't purr if they got to touch him? For a second I'm sure that was his final destination, but he pushes her away like she's an infection he doesn't want to catch.
Now he's heading straight towards me and I don't know if I should laugh or cry or do anything until I'm certain any of his actions are meant for me.
He slides into my booth in one fell swoop, all grace and perfection, and before I can even breakdown his movements so I can try them out later he's speaking to me.
"You come here often." It isn't a question, it's a statement. He's looking at me with his gray eyes and now that I've gotten what I wanted, I almost tell him to leave. But then I remember the polite thing to do is to respond, and in my delirium I somehow manage to do it.
I nod.
What? I'm not a magician, cut me some fucking slack. Two minutes ago I was pretty sure I was going home to have an exceptional wank and now I can't even breathe. Jesus.
"I'll be honest, I've been coming back just to see if you would."
I could come up with a billion smart responses to this, I could also call him a creep because he basically admitted to watching me for seven weeks. I've been doing the same thing, but he doesn't actually need to do this. Besides, I was here first.
And now I'm getting possessive over the shittiest club in Camden, and I still haven't responded to him and this is exactly why I do not fucking go on dates.
"Really?" Shit, at least I managed a word.
He just smiles and takes a sip of his drink. It's clear and I'm pretty sure it's vodka on the rocks. Even his drink has class.
"I'm Dominic." He doesn't reach out his hand. I probably would have. This is why he is cooler than I will ever even conceive of being.
"I'm Matt." At least introducing myself isn't difficult.
That's a lie. He' still smiling and I'm fucking blinded. Seriously, they should just strap him to the ceiling and make him smile all night. He'd light this club up like it never has been before.
I really should stop imagining him bound and strapped to surfaces.
Fuck.
"Do you want to...leave?"
What kind of question is that? Of course I want to leave. The only reason I'm here is because of you. Of course I don't actually say this out loud. Instead I just sit there, because, like I said, I'm proper shit at conversation.
"Like...leave with me," he clarifies.
"Why?"
Do you need any more proof about why I should never be allowed to speak? Who asks that kind of thing? Me. I do. Matt Bellamy asks the dumb questions. Who cares, why, you dumb fuck! He want's to go home with you! What sad arse do you have to be to refuse him? Fuck's sake.
"Because your braces turn me on."
Well. That was one answer I was not expecting.
I am...sufficiently hard now, thank you very much Dominic.
"Come home with me." Once again, this is a statement not a request. I'm pretty sure he isn't used to being told no. I'm pretty sure I could get used to giving him exactly what he wants.
"Ok." I nod and grant him his wish. Why? Because I really don't have the strength to say no. I've still got time to think about how to deal with everything else he'll want from me, but you know what? One step at a time.
One fucking step at a time.
That's a really good mantra, you know? I keep repeating it to myself as we exit the club. My eyes burn in the streetlights, which is ridiculous. It's nearly 2A.M. and I'm finding it to be bright outside. How's that for perspective? Anyway, I have to remind myself to move one step at a time because he's standing next to me and, fuck me, does he smell good.
He walks me to his car, and we don't actually say another word until we get there. In his pocket I can hear his car keys, which on him sounds positively erotic. I get off on cars, in case you were wondering. I can't fucking afford my own, but I know a good one when I see it. The same with cocks. You can always tell, can't you?
If Dominic's dick is anything like his car, my birthday has come three months early. He drives a Corvette, a red one with black interior and red piping along the seats. I swear to god I could come just from the sight of it. But I don't just because I don't want to ruin the expensive leather.
Because I'm a wise ass, I get a little pissed that Dominic wants to take me to his house. If he had any respect at all he would bend me over the enormous hood of this fucking exquisite machine and fuck me so hard I could melt into the paint. That's what a real gentleman would do. But here again we see my twisted views of the world, and it isn't hard to understand why I'm the one going home with him, and not the other way around.
I can name the make of this car to the year, and I do as we get in.
"1980 Corvette. Fucking perfect"
He looks extremely impressed, nodding as he strokes the wheel like he's petting the hair of his lover.
"Her name is Natasha." He looks proud as he says her name. I would, too, if she were mine.
"Good name." I mean it. Seriously, it's like Chevrolet designed this car with him in mind. A name like Natasha is just the icing on the cake. Sassy as fuck, I tell you.
I mentioned before I am not an eloquent author, so I'm not even going to try to describe the way Dominic looks when he's driving. One hand on the wheel, the other on the gear shift, I swear he positively smolders in this thing.
I can hear myself panting a little, but to be honest I don't give a fuck. I literally am not physically capable of looking away from him. He chews his bottom lip, sucks it like it's candy, and he wears a smile just because he likes the way the car purrs for him.
I'm back to fondling my braces, just because I need to occupy my hands with something to distract myself from the urge to palm my dick with a vengeance. I swear just being in this car with him is making me hard. The stubble on his chin is making my heart race, the way he shifts gears makes me want to whine, the way he speeds like he just doesn't give a fuck makes me want to scream. If I knew him better I would crawl over him and blow him while he drove because, fucking hell, this car was made for that kind of thing.
"Why do you go to The Blitz every weekend?"
I almost forget to answer his question because the way his lips move is practically an art form.
"Out of habit, I guess." I don't say I like it, because I don't. And I don't see the point of flowering my speech to impress him. We got this far without it, why start now?
"It's a shithole."
I snort. "Yes, it is. But you still go, don't you? Pot calling the kettle black."
Bravo, Bellamy! Look at you conversing like a star.
"Just to see if you're there, really."
His statement catches me off guard. And then the bastard looks away from the road to wink at me.
To fucking wink at me.
I'm feeling bold, though I have no fucking clue where it came from. I'll blame it on the car. "I doubt you've been waiting to see me in braces for seven weeks. Mind sharing why you picked me?"
"You've been counting?"
Bastard. Might as well be honest then, aye Bellamy?
"I've been watching you, too."
"I noticed."
Well, Jesus, I should have just mentioned this in the club. I noticed him looking at me, sure, but now I feel like a prat cause at least he can vocalize it.
He turns off onto a road and pulls into the driveway of a nice house. It's separated from the others, a nice circular drive, which is rare in England, gravel driveway too, which is expensive. It doesn't take much to notice that Dominic is wealthy, judging by his dress, his car and his house.
Of course I panic, simply because there is no way this isn't a joke. He must be a murderer and this is the part in the movie where I die. If it is, it's too late for me to give up and run away. And death at his hands doesn't sound like too bad of a way to go. We walk to the door without saying anything. I secretly marvel at the way he twirls his key ring on his finger, grabbing the bunch in his hand, silencing the metal. He has his key in and the door open in the same kind of swift motion as when he slid into the booth at Blitz.
Dominic's house is even decorated to make your dick throb. Every surface is smooth, every item of furniture plush. It's clean, definitely cleaned by someone other than him. Trust me, he can afford a cleaning lady. He's got picture frames of him all over the world, white carpets and snapshots with friends.
We're lucky we didn't go to my place. That would be one fucking depressing description.
I stand in the living room, hands in my pockets just because I'm too afraid to touch anything. He doesn't seem to mind though cause his hands are on my hips, pulling me to him and I can feel his warm breath on my neck. This is when the panic starts.
Now I'm thinking Dominic is psychic because he fucking senses it.
"Just relax." He's fucking nuzzling me. Nuzzling. Oh, bloody hell. "Fuck, your braces."
If he wants me to relax, he's gonna get my mouth, as well. "I'm starting to think I should leave you alone with them."
"I much prefer the man in them, to be honest."
"Oh, fuck." I can't even apologize for the whimper I released, so I'm not even going to try.
"Eventually, I promise."
People shouldn't feel like they're being lit on fire when someone whispers in their ear. That isn't a normal reaction, but that doesn't seem to stop my body from going ahead with this course of action. I don't think I need to explain how long it's been since someone has touched me the way he is, and if you need any clarification of what he's doing, I'll tell you.
I can feel him behind me, guiding his hips into me, like he's trying to dry hump me but not really. I guess the best way of describing it is like he's dancing to music only he can hear. His hands are under my shirt and scratching at my navel like I'm a piece of wrapping paper he wants to tease between his fingers. And I haven't even mentioned that mouth of his. It's right under my left ear, just exhaling on my lobe. I'm doing my best not to shiver, but I'd like to see you try if he was doing this to you. I'm giving myself a tank full of credit for even making it out of that car without wading through an ocean of come in my pants.
I take this opportunity to lean into him and, yeah, I sigh. It feels really fucking nice to be touched like this. I can't remember the last time I felt this good, and I'm not dumb enough to stop him. Remember how I said that anyone would want him to suck on their neck? It's actually all I can think about, his lips are so close to my pulse I swear I can almost feel them.
"Bedroom."
Shit. The panic is happening again. At some point I had closed my eyes, but they're open again and suddenly everything in this room is really fucking clear. I'm hyper aware of everything, particularly my heart rate, which is going so fast I'll probably faint in a few seconds.
I just nod, because using words at this point would entail controlled breathing, and he takes my hand to lead me to the stairs. The more I see of this house, the more I realize that I don't actually deserve to be here at all. He oozes sexuality, and I'm just an awkward, rail thin....bloke. Try as I might to make my shoulders look prominent in this white t-shirt, all it does is make my waist look slim and my nipples stand out. Sonia says that's a good thing, but you know what? Fuck her. Dominic doesn't even need to rely on nipples to make people want him, and, yet, apparently that's all I've got going for me. Oh, and braces. Nipples and braces.
His bedroom is huge, a large four poster bed right in the center. Those sheets are fucking black. Black, satin sheets on his enormous bed. Why? Because he fucking can, and I am not complaining. In front of me, he starts taking off his jacket, standing before me in a black v-neck shirt and skinnies. I think he expects me to move, but I don't actually know what to do with myself so I just stand there because I'm waiting for him to take off the sunglasses.
I'm actually trying to convince myself that's the reason: because I want to see his eyes. The reality here, is that I'm over fucking whelmed, ok?
He tosses his jacket to the floor, (I told he had a cleaning lady!), and fucking finally takes off the sunglasses. That addicting smile returns as he rests them on his night stand, and he just looks so at ease I want to cry. He's done this before, invited strangers home with him. I don't bother to think about how many or who came before me, because what matters is that, for some inexplicable reason, tonight he chose me.
I'm pretty sure he's sexually insatiable, judging from the look he's giving me. The light from the moon is shining through his huge bay window and, again, he looks like he's glowing. He's seducing me, I can feel it. My cock doesn't seem to my mind but every other part of me is terrified of failing. Normal blokes think with their cock, so why can't I? I guess I'm a bit more gay than I thought.
"Come here." Fuck, that voice. "I want to see those braces hanging from your hips. And I want to be the one to take them off."
It's the way he pronounces his 's' that has me taking huge steps towards him just so I can have him hold me and whisper to me again. There's something about his voice that is the most arousing thing I have ever heard in my entire life, but I can't explain it to you because his hands are at my chest, running up and down the length of my braces, and, oh fuck yes, it feels good.
He pushes them off my shoulders with a grin, and I'm suddenly aware that he is a few inches taller than me. I find that to be extremely attractive, though I am not even sure why.
Suddenly he's breathing over my lips, and my eyes flutter shut. The fun part about being kissed is that you can just wait for it, though I'm not prepared at all for whatever Dominic wants to do to me. His tongue is tracing my bottom lip and I shiver. There went my self control, aye? I bring my hands to reach around his neck, because I am fucking sick of being teased, and I seal our lips together. The tongue that had been teasing me continues it's tirade inside my mouth, but if there's one thing I can do aside from eye fuck, it's snog and from the noises Dominic is making I haven't lost my touch.
His hands reach to cup my arse, and that's almost the end for me. He isn't merely just holding me there, he's massaging me, and my already closed eyes roll back a little further into my head. I'm going to take this moment to say he's fucking perfect with his tongue. It's like he knows exactly where to stroke my mouth, where to lick and where to taste. The blond hair I wanted to grab earlier than evening is fisted in my hands, and even if he wanted to stop here I'd be perfectly happy.
But he doesn't show any sign of stopping.
No, he simply pulls back and rests his forehead against mine, panting like a whore with swollen lips. I did that. And yes, I'm letting myself feel proud.
"Suck me, Matt. I want you to suck me."
Author:
lalalive23 Pairing: Belldom
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Sarcasm and sexual content
Summary: London, 1984. Matt meets Dominic in a dingy night club after weeks of watching him intently. Dominic is sexually insatiable, drives a corvette, and thrives on pleasure. Essentially pwp, and there is nothing wrong with that.
Feedback: It's my Kubrick, it's my Jesus
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse. Something went horribly wrong in my life, I know. I'm still trying to figure it out.
Note: I've been planning on writing this for about a month now. I love Prince. Those of you who follow me on Twitter have been witnessed my tendency to shout Prince lyrics at random. I also love cars. Bet you didn't know that about me! Prince and cars = OH GOD OH YES OH GOD. So, really, it was only a matter of time before I wrote this. HOWEVER, I had no idea it would be this long, jfc. So I'm splitting it in two. If it gets any longr than this, feel free to slap me. I give a special shoutout to
millionstar , who loves Prince just as much as I do <3 To sheerpoetry for looking this over, kind of, because she is an angel. And, obviously, to my plot penguin sunshine_173 for reminding me that I have a fucking blast writing in Maffew's POV. And to all my readers, commenters, and lurkers (yes! I am talking to you <3) I LOVE ALL OF YOU SFM <3The nightclub always smells like piss and vodka, though for some reason it hasn't deterred me from coming every Saturday for the past two years. Old habits die hard, I guess. Sonia used to drag me here during her days as a bachelorette, convinced that she would find her soulmate in this dump. I always wondered how she could, it's so dark inside you can barely tell your arse from your elbow, so she could have been hanging off a street urchin for all she knew. She hardly cared, really, and I only came along to keep her company until she was too drunk to notice I was there.
Only after she met Anthony did she stop begging me to go out with her, and I guess I kept coming in the hopes that I would run into her. I ask you, what the fuck is a gay man supposed to do once his wing woman gets engaged? I'm not the fabulous type, and I can't tell a bottle of hair gel from a bottle of moisturizer. Though, if I'm being honest, I'm pretty sure I look a hell of a lot better than some of the trash that drags itself out here every weekend. Fucking hell.
If it's so fucking disgusting, why am I here? Let me tell you.
Him.
I would have stopped coming to this place months ago if he hadn't been coming every weekend. I was floored the first time I saw him just because he looked so out of place, hell, he always looks out of place. He's a goddamn magnificent creature, and I always half expect him to sprout wings and fly. He never does though, he really just sits the whole night. I don't blame him either, the DJ is always proper shit.
Remember how I said it's so dark you could be talking to a wall and you wouldn't be able to tell the difference? Well, this bloke fucking glows. I'm not an eloquent author either, so I'm not using some ridiculous metaphor about how he glows in the light of the club. I'm telling you, you'd have to be blind not to notice him, and you know what? He fucking knows it to.
After the first night he came here, I was pretty sure he would never come back. I've seen people like him before, the classy types, the wealthy teenagers all done up and looking for a story to tell Monday morning. Pretty young things who come in looking for a good time, only to spend the rest of their night challenging themselves not to look at the clock, challenging their willpower to see how long they can last. You have to remember, I'm a regular at this place. I sit in the same spot every weekend, and I've been here so often my arse print is practically burned into the PVC. So when he came in a few months ago, I looked my fill. I studied every corner of his face and memorized it so he could take the place of the blank image in my wet dreams.
I'm pretty sure he saw me staring, he kept looking at me over the rim of his aviators and I was too tipsy on my rum and coke to give a shit.
There's a few things in that recollection that I want to clarify. Yes. I drink rum and coke. It's better than a sex on the beach or a margarita. I'm fairly certain if I asked Ross, he's the bartender by the way, to make me either of those, he wouldn't even know where to start. Secondly, don't ask me why the guy wears aviators in the club. He probably doesn't want to even be vaguely aware of his surroundings so he just pretends he's somewhere else.
Anyway, I looked my fill and even got a bit daring in the way I held his stare. I won't deny that just to have him looking at me got me hard. It didn't help that he licked his lips and smirked.
But that was it. And I left certain of two things: I was unbelievably hard, and I would never see him again.
Fate is a twat, let me just say. Because it's been 7 weeks and he's been here each Saturday in the same spot, letting this hell cave turn him into a regular like me.
And he's here again, watching the awkward way I fondle the white braces Sonia suggested I wear. I can make out the seams on his black leather jacket, what small lighting there is hitting his face in a way that makes him look like Nosferatu emerging from the shadows. That's a shitty analogy - Nosferatu belongs in this shit hole. This bloke doesn't belong, and you would definitely want him sucking on your neck until you couldn't fucking move.
Shit.
I shouldn't have thought about that.
But really, I've looked at this bloke enough times to know that his bottom lip is fuller than his top, and he's got the most fantastic goddamn teeth you will ever see. Seriously, he his dentist must beg to be blown by that pretty mouth of his. I know that his hair is blonde, and thick, and yeah, I want to have fistfuls of it in my hands, I'm not apologizing for that. I've seen flashes of his hands, and his forearms - the only thing I could possibly say about his arms is fuck me.
Over the past seven weeks, I've seen pieces of his body in random order. Never the whole thing, but just enough to add more to the puzzle. But I haven't seen enough, and frankly the part I haven't seen is always kept away because he's busy pretending he isn't actually here.
His eyes.
Yeah, he looked at me over those aviators but what the fuck makes you think I could see their colour? No, I have never seen his eye colour, and it was the final piece in my erotic Adonis puzzle.
But if you're an intelligent reader, which I hope to fuck you are, you'll understand that if I want to get close to him, I'd actually have to leave the seat that has become my comfort zone, which in itself is a pathetic thing to say. And, again, if you're an intelligent reader, you'll have realized that I am a pathetic person. That for all my attitude and smart talk, the number of times I have left this booth, not to get another drink from Ross, can be counted on one hand. And, honestly, all of those times were to stop Sonia from getting impregnated by Cousin It.
So, yeah, I want to see those eyes but I can't imagine a spark of motivation coming any time soon. I could will him to come over to me, but you have to realize, blokes like him approach blokes like me, and, if they do, it's probably because they want me to lean over so they can see whomever is behind me. Such is life.
I'm content with this, really. The back and forth glances as I look from my drink back to him. It's a dance that I'm used to, I can do this part well. When it comes to conversation I crash and burn, so as long as this as far as it goes, I am content to make him think I actually know what I'm doing.
Except he's standing now, and my heart rate is increasing and the fucking void of this club is trying to asphyxiate me and where the fuck is the exit?
I can't tell which direction he's moving in, but I can see there's a swagger in his hips when he walks. Fucker has some gorgeous hips. I can't take my eyes off him, the way he walks is like he's gliding, though I don't know what I was expecting. No one this gorgeous could move as awkwardly as I do, so I certainly I don't even have the right to be surprised.
He gets sidetracked when he tries to cross the dance floor, which isn't exactly a 'dance floor,' but more a square section where people stand and sweat in close proximity to one another. Some anonymous girl is rubbing herself against him like a cat in heat, and I'm pretty sure she's purring by the look of her. Yeah, she's purring. Who wouldn't purr if they got to touch him? For a second I'm sure that was his final destination, but he pushes her away like she's an infection he doesn't want to catch.
Now he's heading straight towards me and I don't know if I should laugh or cry or do anything until I'm certain any of his actions are meant for me.
He slides into my booth in one fell swoop, all grace and perfection, and before I can even breakdown his movements so I can try them out later he's speaking to me.
"You come here often." It isn't a question, it's a statement. He's looking at me with his gray eyes and now that I've gotten what I wanted, I almost tell him to leave. But then I remember the polite thing to do is to respond, and in my delirium I somehow manage to do it.
I nod.
What? I'm not a magician, cut me some fucking slack. Two minutes ago I was pretty sure I was going home to have an exceptional wank and now I can't even breathe. Jesus.
"I'll be honest, I've been coming back just to see if you would."
I could come up with a billion smart responses to this, I could also call him a creep because he basically admitted to watching me for seven weeks. I've been doing the same thing, but he doesn't actually need to do this. Besides, I was here first.
And now I'm getting possessive over the shittiest club in Camden, and I still haven't responded to him and this is exactly why I do not fucking go on dates.
"Really?" Shit, at least I managed a word.
He just smiles and takes a sip of his drink. It's clear and I'm pretty sure it's vodka on the rocks. Even his drink has class.
"I'm Dominic." He doesn't reach out his hand. I probably would have. This is why he is cooler than I will ever even conceive of being.
"I'm Matt." At least introducing myself isn't difficult.
That's a lie. He' still smiling and I'm fucking blinded. Seriously, they should just strap him to the ceiling and make him smile all night. He'd light this club up like it never has been before.
I really should stop imagining him bound and strapped to surfaces.
Fuck.
"Do you want to...leave?"
What kind of question is that? Of course I want to leave. The only reason I'm here is because of you. Of course I don't actually say this out loud. Instead I just sit there, because, like I said, I'm proper shit at conversation.
"Like...leave with me," he clarifies.
"Why?"
Do you need any more proof about why I should never be allowed to speak? Who asks that kind of thing? Me. I do. Matt Bellamy asks the dumb questions. Who cares, why, you dumb fuck! He want's to go home with you! What sad arse do you have to be to refuse him? Fuck's sake.
"Because your braces turn me on."
Well. That was one answer I was not expecting.
I am...sufficiently hard now, thank you very much Dominic.
"Come home with me." Once again, this is a statement not a request. I'm pretty sure he isn't used to being told no. I'm pretty sure I could get used to giving him exactly what he wants.
"Ok." I nod and grant him his wish. Why? Because I really don't have the strength to say no. I've still got time to think about how to deal with everything else he'll want from me, but you know what? One step at a time.
One fucking step at a time.
That's a really good mantra, you know? I keep repeating it to myself as we exit the club. My eyes burn in the streetlights, which is ridiculous. It's nearly 2A.M. and I'm finding it to be bright outside. How's that for perspective? Anyway, I have to remind myself to move one step at a time because he's standing next to me and, fuck me, does he smell good.
He walks me to his car, and we don't actually say another word until we get there. In his pocket I can hear his car keys, which on him sounds positively erotic. I get off on cars, in case you were wondering. I can't fucking afford my own, but I know a good one when I see it. The same with cocks. You can always tell, can't you?
If Dominic's dick is anything like his car, my birthday has come three months early. He drives a Corvette, a red one with black interior and red piping along the seats. I swear to god I could come just from the sight of it. But I don't just because I don't want to ruin the expensive leather.
Because I'm a wise ass, I get a little pissed that Dominic wants to take me to his house. If he had any respect at all he would bend me over the enormous hood of this fucking exquisite machine and fuck me so hard I could melt into the paint. That's what a real gentleman would do. But here again we see my twisted views of the world, and it isn't hard to understand why I'm the one going home with him, and not the other way around.
I can name the make of this car to the year, and I do as we get in.
"1980 Corvette. Fucking perfect"
He looks extremely impressed, nodding as he strokes the wheel like he's petting the hair of his lover.
"Her name is Natasha." He looks proud as he says her name. I would, too, if she were mine.
"Good name." I mean it. Seriously, it's like Chevrolet designed this car with him in mind. A name like Natasha is just the icing on the cake. Sassy as fuck, I tell you.
I mentioned before I am not an eloquent author, so I'm not even going to try to describe the way Dominic looks when he's driving. One hand on the wheel, the other on the gear shift, I swear he positively smolders in this thing.
I can hear myself panting a little, but to be honest I don't give a fuck. I literally am not physically capable of looking away from him. He chews his bottom lip, sucks it like it's candy, and he wears a smile just because he likes the way the car purrs for him.
I'm back to fondling my braces, just because I need to occupy my hands with something to distract myself from the urge to palm my dick with a vengeance. I swear just being in this car with him is making me hard. The stubble on his chin is making my heart race, the way he shifts gears makes me want to whine, the way he speeds like he just doesn't give a fuck makes me want to scream. If I knew him better I would crawl over him and blow him while he drove because, fucking hell, this car was made for that kind of thing.
"Why do you go to The Blitz every weekend?"
I almost forget to answer his question because the way his lips move is practically an art form.
"Out of habit, I guess." I don't say I like it, because I don't. And I don't see the point of flowering my speech to impress him. We got this far without it, why start now?
"It's a shithole."
I snort. "Yes, it is. But you still go, don't you? Pot calling the kettle black."
Bravo, Bellamy! Look at you conversing like a star.
"Just to see if you're there, really."
His statement catches me off guard. And then the bastard looks away from the road to wink at me.
To fucking wink at me.
I'm feeling bold, though I have no fucking clue where it came from. I'll blame it on the car. "I doubt you've been waiting to see me in braces for seven weeks. Mind sharing why you picked me?"
"You've been counting?"
Bastard. Might as well be honest then, aye Bellamy?
"I've been watching you, too."
"I noticed."
Well, Jesus, I should have just mentioned this in the club. I noticed him looking at me, sure, but now I feel like a prat cause at least he can vocalize it.
He turns off onto a road and pulls into the driveway of a nice house. It's separated from the others, a nice circular drive, which is rare in England, gravel driveway too, which is expensive. It doesn't take much to notice that Dominic is wealthy, judging by his dress, his car and his house.
Of course I panic, simply because there is no way this isn't a joke. He must be a murderer and this is the part in the movie where I die. If it is, it's too late for me to give up and run away. And death at his hands doesn't sound like too bad of a way to go. We walk to the door without saying anything. I secretly marvel at the way he twirls his key ring on his finger, grabbing the bunch in his hand, silencing the metal. He has his key in and the door open in the same kind of swift motion as when he slid into the booth at Blitz.
Dominic's house is even decorated to make your dick throb. Every surface is smooth, every item of furniture plush. It's clean, definitely cleaned by someone other than him. Trust me, he can afford a cleaning lady. He's got picture frames of him all over the world, white carpets and snapshots with friends.
We're lucky we didn't go to my place. That would be one fucking depressing description.
I stand in the living room, hands in my pockets just because I'm too afraid to touch anything. He doesn't seem to mind though cause his hands are on my hips, pulling me to him and I can feel his warm breath on my neck. This is when the panic starts.
Now I'm thinking Dominic is psychic because he fucking senses it.
"Just relax." He's fucking nuzzling me. Nuzzling. Oh, bloody hell. "Fuck, your braces."
If he wants me to relax, he's gonna get my mouth, as well. "I'm starting to think I should leave you alone with them."
"I much prefer the man in them, to be honest."
"Oh, fuck." I can't even apologize for the whimper I released, so I'm not even going to try.
"Eventually, I promise."
People shouldn't feel like they're being lit on fire when someone whispers in their ear. That isn't a normal reaction, but that doesn't seem to stop my body from going ahead with this course of action. I don't think I need to explain how long it's been since someone has touched me the way he is, and if you need any clarification of what he's doing, I'll tell you.
I can feel him behind me, guiding his hips into me, like he's trying to dry hump me but not really. I guess the best way of describing it is like he's dancing to music only he can hear. His hands are under my shirt and scratching at my navel like I'm a piece of wrapping paper he wants to tease between his fingers. And I haven't even mentioned that mouth of his. It's right under my left ear, just exhaling on my lobe. I'm doing my best not to shiver, but I'd like to see you try if he was doing this to you. I'm giving myself a tank full of credit for even making it out of that car without wading through an ocean of come in my pants.
I take this opportunity to lean into him and, yeah, I sigh. It feels really fucking nice to be touched like this. I can't remember the last time I felt this good, and I'm not dumb enough to stop him. Remember how I said that anyone would want him to suck on their neck? It's actually all I can think about, his lips are so close to my pulse I swear I can almost feel them.
"Bedroom."
Shit. The panic is happening again. At some point I had closed my eyes, but they're open again and suddenly everything in this room is really fucking clear. I'm hyper aware of everything, particularly my heart rate, which is going so fast I'll probably faint in a few seconds.
I just nod, because using words at this point would entail controlled breathing, and he takes my hand to lead me to the stairs. The more I see of this house, the more I realize that I don't actually deserve to be here at all. He oozes sexuality, and I'm just an awkward, rail thin....bloke. Try as I might to make my shoulders look prominent in this white t-shirt, all it does is make my waist look slim and my nipples stand out. Sonia says that's a good thing, but you know what? Fuck her. Dominic doesn't even need to rely on nipples to make people want him, and, yet, apparently that's all I've got going for me. Oh, and braces. Nipples and braces.
His bedroom is huge, a large four poster bed right in the center. Those sheets are fucking black. Black, satin sheets on his enormous bed. Why? Because he fucking can, and I am not complaining. In front of me, he starts taking off his jacket, standing before me in a black v-neck shirt and skinnies. I think he expects me to move, but I don't actually know what to do with myself so I just stand there because I'm waiting for him to take off the sunglasses.
I'm actually trying to convince myself that's the reason: because I want to see his eyes. The reality here, is that I'm over fucking whelmed, ok?
He tosses his jacket to the floor, (I told he had a cleaning lady!), and fucking finally takes off the sunglasses. That addicting smile returns as he rests them on his night stand, and he just looks so at ease I want to cry. He's done this before, invited strangers home with him. I don't bother to think about how many or who came before me, because what matters is that, for some inexplicable reason, tonight he chose me.
I'm pretty sure he's sexually insatiable, judging from the look he's giving me. The light from the moon is shining through his huge bay window and, again, he looks like he's glowing. He's seducing me, I can feel it. My cock doesn't seem to my mind but every other part of me is terrified of failing. Normal blokes think with their cock, so why can't I? I guess I'm a bit more gay than I thought.
"Come here." Fuck, that voice. "I want to see those braces hanging from your hips. And I want to be the one to take them off."
It's the way he pronounces his 's' that has me taking huge steps towards him just so I can have him hold me and whisper to me again. There's something about his voice that is the most arousing thing I have ever heard in my entire life, but I can't explain it to you because his hands are at my chest, running up and down the length of my braces, and, oh fuck yes, it feels good.
He pushes them off my shoulders with a grin, and I'm suddenly aware that he is a few inches taller than me. I find that to be extremely attractive, though I am not even sure why.
Suddenly he's breathing over my lips, and my eyes flutter shut. The fun part about being kissed is that you can just wait for it, though I'm not prepared at all for whatever Dominic wants to do to me. His tongue is tracing my bottom lip and I shiver. There went my self control, aye? I bring my hands to reach around his neck, because I am fucking sick of being teased, and I seal our lips together. The tongue that had been teasing me continues it's tirade inside my mouth, but if there's one thing I can do aside from eye fuck, it's snog and from the noises Dominic is making I haven't lost my touch.
His hands reach to cup my arse, and that's almost the end for me. He isn't merely just holding me there, he's massaging me, and my already closed eyes roll back a little further into my head. I'm going to take this moment to say he's fucking perfect with his tongue. It's like he knows exactly where to stroke my mouth, where to lick and where to taste. The blond hair I wanted to grab earlier than evening is fisted in my hands, and even if he wanted to stop here I'd be perfectly happy.
But he doesn't show any sign of stopping.
No, he simply pulls back and rests his forehead against mine, panting like a whore with swollen lips. I did that. And yes, I'm letting myself feel proud.
"Suck me, Matt. I want you to suck me."
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Date: 2011-03-22 06:28 am (UTC)Also, this quite nearly sums up my love of cars: Because I'm a wise ass, I get a little pissed that Dominic wants to take me to his house. If he had any respect at all he would bend me over the enormous hood of this fucking exquisite machine and fuck me so hard I could melt into the paint. That's what a real gentleman would do. But here again we see my twisted views of the world, and it isn't hard to understand why I'm the one going home with him, and not the other way around.
Many times I have just blurted out OH GOD FUCK ME ON THAT HOOD. And my friends are like "jesus Heather, your mouth!"
Thank you for the driving porn. I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to write some to fill the void.
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Date: 2011-04-01 10:36 pm (UTC)I'm debating adding a third part to this...we shall see
THANK YOU SO MUCH BB <33
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Date: 2011-04-01 10:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-22 07:02 am (UTC)Great start, and I'm so sorry the car wasn't used for more filthier pursuits. I'm sure whatever you have in mind will compensate for that - those boys are too attractive for their own good!
Wonderful way to wake up today, can't wait to read more!
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Date: 2011-03-22 07:35 am (UTC)I love their little game. And gosh, the way Matt thinks and does stuff differentially than he was thinking it's just aww. ^^
Now I want to know what happens next. :3
<3
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Date: 2011-03-22 07:50 am (UTC)Seriously, they should just strap him to the ceiling and make him smile all night. He'd light this club up like it never has been before.
Loool
And braces. Braaacesss. Braces are hot. Can't blame Dominehkins, braces on a hot person make that person even sexier.
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Date: 2011-03-22 09:57 am (UTC)Cheers! :)
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Date: 2011-03-22 10:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-22 11:45 am (UTC)Those sheets are fucking black. Black, satin sheets on his enormous bed. Why? Because he fucking can, and I am not complaining.
You can't just do this, sentences like this, and expect us not to drool all over the place. The descriptions you're using; the club-scene, the glances, DOMINIC, the CAR, the HOUSE. Jezus... I just can't find the right words to express myself, it's honestly too much. This could very well be my most favourite one-shot already.
That last sentence.... I'm dead.
GIEF MOAR. NAO!
Thanks so much for sharing this!! <3
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Date: 2011-03-22 12:17 pm (UTC)I can't.
I can't.
My loins and I
not sopatiently await the second part of this deliciousness.<3
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Date: 2011-03-22 01:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-22 04:30 pm (UTC)CURSE YOU, WOMAN.
Anyway, I think my favorite thing about this is Matt's incredibly accurate and entertaining inner-monologues. Oh God, I was dying giggling the whole time, it was awesome...
I can make out the seams on his black leather jacket, what small lighting there is hitting his face in a way that makes him look like Nosferatu emerging from the shadows. That's a shitty analogy - Nosferatu belongs in this shit hole. This bloke doesn't belong, and you would definitely want him sucking on your neck until you couldn't fucking move.
EXCELLENCE.
So, yeah, I want to see those eyes but I can't imagine a spark of motivation coming any time soon. I could will him to come over to me, but you have to realize, blokes like him approach blokes like me, and, if they do, it's probably because they want me to lean over so they can see whomever is behind me. Such is life
I like characters who make their points by describing things six degrees outside of their current situations. I wish I was clever enough to do it on the spot more often, lol.
Also, braces. That is all.
XD
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Date: 2011-03-22 05:23 pm (UTC)Really, that's all this is. Just one big unf.
I love smoooooth Dominic probably more then I should. But DAMN!
Can't wait for part two.
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Date: 2011-03-22 05:44 pm (UTC)Loving the car fuck there, its a shame matts fantascies werent put into practise... maybe another time :)
So sexy, evil cliffhanger, but Im positive you will not disappoint :)
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Date: 2011-03-22 05:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-23 03:15 am (UTC)Oh wow this is already so fucking hot and they haven't done anything more than kissing yet *drools*
I love those characters, I love that Matt, to me he's kinda like Matt's version of Hurricane!Dom who I love to bits. Dunno I have a thing for awkward characters, I love reading fics from their POV, they're always hilarious and spot on in their descriptions.
And that Dom JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, he's so hot, I cant even. I was drooling and making erm weird noises every time Matt described something about him.
I mentioned before I am not an eloquent author, so I'm not even going to try to describe the way Dominic looks when he's driving. One hand on the wheel, the other on the gear shift, I swear he positively smolders in this thing.
I can hear myself panting a little, but to be honest I don't give a fuck. I literally am not physically capable of looking away from him. He chews his bottom lip, sucks it like it's candy, and he wears a smile just because he likes the way the car purrs for him.
I'm back to fondling my braces, just because I need to occupy my hands with something to distract myself from the urge to palm my dick with a vengeance. I swear just being in this car with him is making me hard. The stubble on his chin is making my heart race, the way he shifts gears makes me want to whine, the way he speeds like he just doesn't give a fuck makes me want to scream. If I knew him better I would crawl over him and blow him while he drove because, fucking hell, this car was made for that kind of thing.
All of this just UNFFF
Can't wait for the next part *shakes fist at cliffhanger*
<3
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Date: 2011-03-23 05:21 am (UTC)This is sassy, and classy, and I want it in the assy.
Sorry, cheesy.
But, the prose. I could just fap on the way you use words to describe things. So hot, so so hot, girl. <333
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Date: 2011-03-23 11:27 pm (UTC)Amazing the way you describe!
I'llbe waiting for the next chapter...
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Date: 2011-03-24 12:50 am (UTC)DOMINIC JAMES HOWARD IN A CORVETTE. GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY.
Seriously, that fulfills like every fantasy I could ever have. (Well, if it was a 1970 in Laguna Grey, anyway. *whistles* Dom's 64s aren't too bad, either.)
Erm. Anyway:
Fucker has some gorgeous hips.
Fucker has gorgeous everything, but yeah. ;)
If he had any respect at all he would bend me over the enormous hood of this fucking exquisite machine and fuck me so hard I could melt into the paint. That's what a real gentleman would do.
UNF. Yeah, that'd be good, too... *wipes up drool*
Seriously, it's like Chevrolet designed this car with him in mind.
Honestly, how many cars could they sell with Dom in the driver's seat, aviators and leather jacket, with girls draped all over him and the car? TAKE NOTE, CHEVROLET.
One hand on the wheel, the other on the gear shift, I swear he positively smolders in this thing.
Hey, I drive like that.He could just SIT in it and it'd be the sexiest thing on the planet, but hot men driving hot cars...People shouldn't feel like they're being lit on fire when someone whispers in their ear. That isn't a normal reaction...
Considering who's doing the whispering, I find that perfectly normal.
There's something about his voice that is the most arousing thing I have ever heard in my entire life...
Seconded! He should not be that all-around attractive.
No, he simply pulls back and rests his forehead against mine, panting like a whore with swollen lips. I did that. And yes, I'm letting myself feel proud.
Gorgeous. Just gorgeous.
I think I'll go sit in the C5 to read part 2. :D
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Date: 2011-03-26 09:31 pm (UTC)oh my poor, poor knickers. damn, have you any idea how hot this is? well DO YOU? i'm not even going to bother qouting because them qoutes will most likely only be followed by unintelligent words like "UNF" and "GUH" and "FUCK". which are the exact words i choose to use to summarize this. plus:
AMAZING.
do I make any sense? any at all? do i care? FUCK NO
*rushes to next part*