Love is Blindness
Title: Love is Blindness
Author:
darkshining
Pairing: belldom
Rating: NC-17
WARNINGS: mention of alcohol/drug use
Summary: We chose darkness.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse. It's all fiction.
Author's note: so, this is set in the mid 60s. As I only set some era in one point of the story, I think it's needed to say this. Something like the beat generation of poets, you know, Kerouac and Ginsberg. I've been watching Kill Your Darlings. hmm, I guess that's it. It's kinda angsty and the ending leave it open for possible continuation. Hope you enjoy and review is welcome <3
“Do you mind if I turn the lights out?” he asked softly from the other side of the bedroom, where he has been studying for the last hours. I looked at him to catch his eyes looking apologetically at me. I smiled and nodded, as the last breath of white light left our room. I was still lying in my bed in the same way I was four hours ago, reeking of cheap alcohol, cigarettes and sadness. The only thing I was remotely able to do was removing my shoes by the door, like I was asked to by my roommate, but the cold fabric of my black satin shirt and the tight trousers still remained, as it was too much trouble to take those off.
“Are you alright, Matt?” I heard his voice ripping through the heavy silence ever so softly, almost shy. By the dim light that the window allowed in, I saw him lying on his side, facing my bed and waiting for an answer. I could feel his eyes looking at me, examining every detail in my figure. I would gladly be doing the same, if I hadn’t been trying to flee from the grip he mentally had in me.
“Yeah.” my answer came short and dry. I didn’t mean to sound rude, and even if I didn’t feel like holding a conversation, I would never be rude to him. “I… I’m just tired, I guess.” I rectify. “Things are rough.” I heard him chuckle and ruffle his pillow, adjusting his body even further in the mattress.
“We, artists, always having it hard.” He sighed dramatically and I simply chuckled in response. I was on my last year in Arts, while he was still on his second. I met him when he first moved into this little room, complaining he didn’t have enough money to go somewhere bigger. He had stormed inside looking quite crossed while I was in the middle of trying to do something for my exams. In the moments that he smiled at me and shook my hand, he said the most gorgeous name I ever heard: Dominic. The name ran through my mind, gathering the most beautiful words I had stored and allowing me to create one of the most beautiful poems I’ve ever written.
I often wonder why on Earth I chose that man to be the figure of my every work of art. Every rule, law and tradition told me I should be in love with a woman, but here I was, in love with this beautiful male specimen, with every outrace of his manhood, the tiny parts that made him unique and the bigger picture that made him one of the most desirable persons I’ve ever met. I was cursed with this love, and not even art or alcohol could help me through it.
“Don’t we always?” I sighed looking at the shadowy ceiling and hearing him mirroring my position. I could close my eyes and see exactly how he looked like right now, probably a lazy smile stamped on his face, his legs spread across the bed and arms behind his head. His chest was probably outlined by some old white shirt, his hipbones traced with the elastic band of his black boxers. I wouldn’t dare to look at my muse that stood right beside, I had to focus on something else, anything else, and drift off to dream land as soon as possible. There I could have him beside me, close to me, under my touch and my skin.
The room was suddenly pitch-black when the curtains were shut in the window in the middle of the wall. My eyes took their time to get used to it, and I wouldn’t question why Dominic decided to do that; his mind was probably not restless as mine and needed time to sleep. I rattled in my own bed, getting the numerous written paper sheets out of the way and trying to get myself ready to an attempt of slumber. A firm hand fumbling in the dark found its way to my shoulder, and stopped my motions.
“Dominic?” I asked, as if it was needed. I felt his knees sinking the mattress where they stood, as he slowly climbed in my bed, carefully, in a way a child would. His movements were slow and scared. A second knee was soon digging the other side of my body, making my torso straighten up in the bed. I didn’t know if I was already dreaming about what was happening, or if it was the Absinthe making me wonder, or if it was actually happening. I realized I didn’t want to know.
“Artists don’t deserve to suffer.” A voice hovered over me, closer than I expected. “We create the most beautiful things. We deserve beautiful feelings.” I felt two hands being placed beside my head, almost in the same line as the knees. His knees, his hand, Dominic’s body, hovering over my own. It felt too right to be designated as a crime.
“I agree.” I managed to say under my breath, as I felt hot puffs of air closer to my face. His soft hands were now cupping my cheeks, his fingers tracing my features in the dark. His thumb traced my cheekbones and moved blindly to the corner of my mouth. I stood still as his index finger traced my lips, recognizing and placing them, shivers running down my whole body with every single shift in the air was suspended between us. His upper body crashed into mine, and his lips found the place his fingers had marked with an invisible burn to my skin. Our lips locked in the sacred duty of fouling our souls with sin and my hands had been awaken from the trance, starting to look for his body in the dark.
I held onto his arms as if they were the cliff to my downfall, but there was no backing now. His tongue moved to soothe me from every worry, tracing my lips and begging for entrance. As I allowed, we started to move synchronically and breathlessly. I felt hips moving forward into my lower parts, that friction was enough to make guttural sounds come from my throat and resonate directly into his open mouth. I felt embarrassed for a few seconds, until he repeated the motion and answered my moans with his owns.
“Dominic…” I said when the most blissful moment of my life came to an end.
“Don’t say my name.” he answered. His hands had moved to my chest, both of them weighting me down. The air in my lungs was expelled but I didn’t really mind the short breaths I took; all the oxygen I needed Dominic could give me. “Let's be strangers tonight. Entities. Forces of nature." his every word was being written in my skin as I memorized my parts for that night. I soon agreed with his play, and took his wills as my own.
"Why is it so dark?" I asked when I felt his hands trying to find a way through my body, or just relentlessly exploring it.
"We don't need light." his voice was lower and shy. I understood in some point why we didn’t need the lights, if we wanted to continue playing those roles. We didn’t need names or faces for that matter, we needed bodies. We only needed the blind contact that darkness gave us. "I don't need it at all."
I felt the shame in his voice, the feeling that these actions could have disastrous effects on our lives. We felt like the embodiment of every wrong that our mothers and fathers tried to prevent but eventually failed. We were raised to marry women, to procreate and to be the men that bring the money home; but here we were, children of a generation that too self-absorbed in their genocides. We wanted to live more than they did; we wanted our freedom and our love. I needed to feel this was more than nature's mistake.
"Talk to me." the hoarse sound that came out of my mouth commanded the body above me, and I felt that friction on my lower parts again. He was teasing me, and it was getting more insistent when he realized how responsive my body was.
"What do you want me to say?" the sound waves hit the column of my throat softly, reverberating through me. "Should I talk about how much I admire you since I've met you?" the voice moved lower, now hitting my ribcage. His lips were curiously making their way through my body, skillful hands following them down my body. Every touch made me more vulnerable to the man on top of me. "Maybe about how much I desire you..." he continued, going further down. “How you are the first man I ever wanted to fuck."
I felt his breath dangerously close to my groin, my body temperature rising while his short fingernails scratched me through the thin fabric of my shirt. Every muscle in my body tensed up when his fingers traced the growing bulge in my pants, and then proceeded to find the zipper in my pants to open them. He did everything painfully slow, my body aching for his skin-to-skin contact more than I ever thought it would, but he didn't mind. His palms were always looking for the best angle to feel me, and every touch felt electric; the darkness that surrounded us only enhanced the experience of his touches.
"May I...?" he asked, when his fingers gripped the elastic band on my underwear along with the hem of my jeans. I couldn't speak as I was in trance, but bucking my hips upwards was enough answer. The hands pulled my clothing down to my ankles, but I still felt I needed more.
"Can I... I want both of us... Naked." I felt my cheeks burn with heat as I said those words, and I was really glad he couldn’t see my face. As much anonymity that the darkness brought, I couldn't shake off the feeling that the body glued to mine was the man I loved for years and I needed to feel him right now, completely given to me. It didn’t matter if I would have to look in the eyes in the next day and pretend nothing happened; I wanted to feel the moment at its fullest.
"Take off your shirt, then." he said, as I felt him shift, complying with my wish as quick as I hoped. I did as he said and all of our clothes were lost in the darkness, probably thrown in the floor. I could feel every inch of his skin touching mine, the palms of his hands burning my chest, his thighs straddling me and his cock brushing against mine. I could feel he was as hard as me at this point, holding onto my shoulders for dear life as he rubbed himself on me.
"I want you to fuck me." he said between needy moans. He sounded like a horny teenager, and I was ready to fulfill every wish he had.
"We'll have to move a little." I said, trying to get up to least a sitting position. The part of me that didn't believe this was happening was overpowered by lust, and I only cared about claiming him as mine.
"Just... don't let me go." my brain was set on taking those words as more than what they meant, but I pushed that thought aside. He adjusted himself on my lap, our erections creating that lovely friction again and a synchronized moan leaving our lips. I wish I was able to see his face in that exact moment, the blown pupils, the flushed face and sweaty forehead; I would capture every breath he took and make it eternal; but we had chosen blindness over the crippling guilt of looking each other in the eye.
I held him in my arms as tenderly as it was possible in that moment, but his movements made that harder for me. He spat on his own hand before finding my cock and starting a handjob, or maybe a preparation to fuck him. I think tenderness was left far behind in the dark. My middle and index fingers ran through his face, feeling the sweat running through near his temple, his cheeks burning hot, and two slightly parted lips; lips that welcomed my fingers, coating them with his saliva, a skilled tongue making me moan at the thought of how he looked like doing this.
My hands slid from his back to his ass, spreading it slightly, and my wet finger meeting his entrance. I wanted to be gentle with the
man in front of me, I wanted him to know that it was beyond the part I was playing that night; I didn't think twice before kissing him when one of my digits entered him. It felt disconnected at the beginning, but my lips soon found a way to win his insecurities and he let himself go under my touches.
"Fuck..." he said between his breathy moans. "Fuck me now." he demanded, guiding my dick to where my finger was already occupying. I removed it from him, parting his cheeks even more apart. I didn't think he was ready, but it took seconds before he lowered himself on me, going up and down in a slow pace. After he was sure I was inside him, he let go of my cock to hold onto my shoulders and pull me closer to him. Our chests were glued and our heartbeats were as one; I felt like I could write a thousand Iliads about the feeling of his heart against mine in that moment. One of my hands held his hips, while the other roamed free through his body, finding the hair I knew to be blond atop his head. He made the same movement through my own hair, and I melted into his hand, moaning probably louder than I should.
"I..." he moaned, burying his lips into my collarbone, and biting it hard. That had to be the best feeling in the world. "I’m going to come..." I guided the hand that was on his hips to his cock, urging to be taken care of properly. As I took him in my hands, smearing precome through his whole length and fisting him in a fast pace, I was taken by surprise by his size. His weight felt amazing in my hands and he would probably taste even better in my mouth. But I couldn’t focus on future and impossible fucks, as I was almost coming myself. We fucked in almost silence, only broke by the moans that we let escape occasionally.
His load was blindly shot between our bodies after a few moments, as I felt it hit my chest and stomach. I pointlessly tried to warn him as well, but reached my climax buried deep inside him. We sat in that exact position for minutes, sharing the same heavy and sex infected air, as we came down our respective highs. He was the one to make the first move, getting out of my lap and lying beside me. It was still the same pitch-dark as it has been for the past time, but I was sure I could see the outline of his naked body in display, in my sheets.
"Was this a beautiful feeling?" he finally asked. I almost didn't know how to answer; I felt it was too obvious.
"It was the most beautiful feeling I ever felt." I smiled to myself and imagined him smiling back at me. I imagined him pulling me down to kiss him, cuddle him and spend the rest of our days there. I'm quite used to imagining.
"I wish... this was right." he said and abruptly got up from my bed, bumping into my legs and leaving the saddest space to ever inhabit my side. "I wish I didn't have to choose blindness to love you."
Author:
darkshining
Pairing: belldom
Rating: NC-17
WARNINGS: mention of alcohol/drug use
Summary: We chose darkness.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse. It's all fiction.
Author's note: so, this is set in the mid 60s. As I only set some era in one point of the story, I think it's needed to say this. Something like the beat generation of poets, you know, Kerouac and Ginsberg. I've been watching Kill Your Darlings. hmm, I guess that's it. It's kinda angsty and the ending leave it open for possible continuation. Hope you enjoy and review is welcome <3
“Do you mind if I turn the lights out?” he asked softly from the other side of the bedroom, where he has been studying for the last hours. I looked at him to catch his eyes looking apologetically at me. I smiled and nodded, as the last breath of white light left our room. I was still lying in my bed in the same way I was four hours ago, reeking of cheap alcohol, cigarettes and sadness. The only thing I was remotely able to do was removing my shoes by the door, like I was asked to by my roommate, but the cold fabric of my black satin shirt and the tight trousers still remained, as it was too much trouble to take those off.
“Are you alright, Matt?” I heard his voice ripping through the heavy silence ever so softly, almost shy. By the dim light that the window allowed in, I saw him lying on his side, facing my bed and waiting for an answer. I could feel his eyes looking at me, examining every detail in my figure. I would gladly be doing the same, if I hadn’t been trying to flee from the grip he mentally had in me.
“Yeah.” my answer came short and dry. I didn’t mean to sound rude, and even if I didn’t feel like holding a conversation, I would never be rude to him. “I… I’m just tired, I guess.” I rectify. “Things are rough.” I heard him chuckle and ruffle his pillow, adjusting his body even further in the mattress.
“We, artists, always having it hard.” He sighed dramatically and I simply chuckled in response. I was on my last year in Arts, while he was still on his second. I met him when he first moved into this little room, complaining he didn’t have enough money to go somewhere bigger. He had stormed inside looking quite crossed while I was in the middle of trying to do something for my exams. In the moments that he smiled at me and shook my hand, he said the most gorgeous name I ever heard: Dominic. The name ran through my mind, gathering the most beautiful words I had stored and allowing me to create one of the most beautiful poems I’ve ever written.
I often wonder why on Earth I chose that man to be the figure of my every work of art. Every rule, law and tradition told me I should be in love with a woman, but here I was, in love with this beautiful male specimen, with every outrace of his manhood, the tiny parts that made him unique and the bigger picture that made him one of the most desirable persons I’ve ever met. I was cursed with this love, and not even art or alcohol could help me through it.
“Don’t we always?” I sighed looking at the shadowy ceiling and hearing him mirroring my position. I could close my eyes and see exactly how he looked like right now, probably a lazy smile stamped on his face, his legs spread across the bed and arms behind his head. His chest was probably outlined by some old white shirt, his hipbones traced with the elastic band of his black boxers. I wouldn’t dare to look at my muse that stood right beside, I had to focus on something else, anything else, and drift off to dream land as soon as possible. There I could have him beside me, close to me, under my touch and my skin.
The room was suddenly pitch-black when the curtains were shut in the window in the middle of the wall. My eyes took their time to get used to it, and I wouldn’t question why Dominic decided to do that; his mind was probably not restless as mine and needed time to sleep. I rattled in my own bed, getting the numerous written paper sheets out of the way and trying to get myself ready to an attempt of slumber. A firm hand fumbling in the dark found its way to my shoulder, and stopped my motions.
“Dominic?” I asked, as if it was needed. I felt his knees sinking the mattress where they stood, as he slowly climbed in my bed, carefully, in a way a child would. His movements were slow and scared. A second knee was soon digging the other side of my body, making my torso straighten up in the bed. I didn’t know if I was already dreaming about what was happening, or if it was the Absinthe making me wonder, or if it was actually happening. I realized I didn’t want to know.
“Artists don’t deserve to suffer.” A voice hovered over me, closer than I expected. “We create the most beautiful things. We deserve beautiful feelings.” I felt two hands being placed beside my head, almost in the same line as the knees. His knees, his hand, Dominic’s body, hovering over my own. It felt too right to be designated as a crime.
“I agree.” I managed to say under my breath, as I felt hot puffs of air closer to my face. His soft hands were now cupping my cheeks, his fingers tracing my features in the dark. His thumb traced my cheekbones and moved blindly to the corner of my mouth. I stood still as his index finger traced my lips, recognizing and placing them, shivers running down my whole body with every single shift in the air was suspended between us. His upper body crashed into mine, and his lips found the place his fingers had marked with an invisible burn to my skin. Our lips locked in the sacred duty of fouling our souls with sin and my hands had been awaken from the trance, starting to look for his body in the dark.
I held onto his arms as if they were the cliff to my downfall, but there was no backing now. His tongue moved to soothe me from every worry, tracing my lips and begging for entrance. As I allowed, we started to move synchronically and breathlessly. I felt hips moving forward into my lower parts, that friction was enough to make guttural sounds come from my throat and resonate directly into his open mouth. I felt embarrassed for a few seconds, until he repeated the motion and answered my moans with his owns.
“Dominic…” I said when the most blissful moment of my life came to an end.
“Don’t say my name.” he answered. His hands had moved to my chest, both of them weighting me down. The air in my lungs was expelled but I didn’t really mind the short breaths I took; all the oxygen I needed Dominic could give me. “Let's be strangers tonight. Entities. Forces of nature." his every word was being written in my skin as I memorized my parts for that night. I soon agreed with his play, and took his wills as my own.
"Why is it so dark?" I asked when I felt his hands trying to find a way through my body, or just relentlessly exploring it.
"We don't need light." his voice was lower and shy. I understood in some point why we didn’t need the lights, if we wanted to continue playing those roles. We didn’t need names or faces for that matter, we needed bodies. We only needed the blind contact that darkness gave us. "I don't need it at all."
I felt the shame in his voice, the feeling that these actions could have disastrous effects on our lives. We felt like the embodiment of every wrong that our mothers and fathers tried to prevent but eventually failed. We were raised to marry women, to procreate and to be the men that bring the money home; but here we were, children of a generation that too self-absorbed in their genocides. We wanted to live more than they did; we wanted our freedom and our love. I needed to feel this was more than nature's mistake.
"Talk to me." the hoarse sound that came out of my mouth commanded the body above me, and I felt that friction on my lower parts again. He was teasing me, and it was getting more insistent when he realized how responsive my body was.
"What do you want me to say?" the sound waves hit the column of my throat softly, reverberating through me. "Should I talk about how much I admire you since I've met you?" the voice moved lower, now hitting my ribcage. His lips were curiously making their way through my body, skillful hands following them down my body. Every touch made me more vulnerable to the man on top of me. "Maybe about how much I desire you..." he continued, going further down. “How you are the first man I ever wanted to fuck."
I felt his breath dangerously close to my groin, my body temperature rising while his short fingernails scratched me through the thin fabric of my shirt. Every muscle in my body tensed up when his fingers traced the growing bulge in my pants, and then proceeded to find the zipper in my pants to open them. He did everything painfully slow, my body aching for his skin-to-skin contact more than I ever thought it would, but he didn't mind. His palms were always looking for the best angle to feel me, and every touch felt electric; the darkness that surrounded us only enhanced the experience of his touches.
"May I...?" he asked, when his fingers gripped the elastic band on my underwear along with the hem of my jeans. I couldn't speak as I was in trance, but bucking my hips upwards was enough answer. The hands pulled my clothing down to my ankles, but I still felt I needed more.
"Can I... I want both of us... Naked." I felt my cheeks burn with heat as I said those words, and I was really glad he couldn’t see my face. As much anonymity that the darkness brought, I couldn't shake off the feeling that the body glued to mine was the man I loved for years and I needed to feel him right now, completely given to me. It didn’t matter if I would have to look in the eyes in the next day and pretend nothing happened; I wanted to feel the moment at its fullest.
"Take off your shirt, then." he said, as I felt him shift, complying with my wish as quick as I hoped. I did as he said and all of our clothes were lost in the darkness, probably thrown in the floor. I could feel every inch of his skin touching mine, the palms of his hands burning my chest, his thighs straddling me and his cock brushing against mine. I could feel he was as hard as me at this point, holding onto my shoulders for dear life as he rubbed himself on me.
"I want you to fuck me." he said between needy moans. He sounded like a horny teenager, and I was ready to fulfill every wish he had.
"We'll have to move a little." I said, trying to get up to least a sitting position. The part of me that didn't believe this was happening was overpowered by lust, and I only cared about claiming him as mine.
"Just... don't let me go." my brain was set on taking those words as more than what they meant, but I pushed that thought aside. He adjusted himself on my lap, our erections creating that lovely friction again and a synchronized moan leaving our lips. I wish I was able to see his face in that exact moment, the blown pupils, the flushed face and sweaty forehead; I would capture every breath he took and make it eternal; but we had chosen blindness over the crippling guilt of looking each other in the eye.
I held him in my arms as tenderly as it was possible in that moment, but his movements made that harder for me. He spat on his own hand before finding my cock and starting a handjob, or maybe a preparation to fuck him. I think tenderness was left far behind in the dark. My middle and index fingers ran through his face, feeling the sweat running through near his temple, his cheeks burning hot, and two slightly parted lips; lips that welcomed my fingers, coating them with his saliva, a skilled tongue making me moan at the thought of how he looked like doing this.
My hands slid from his back to his ass, spreading it slightly, and my wet finger meeting his entrance. I wanted to be gentle with the
man in front of me, I wanted him to know that it was beyond the part I was playing that night; I didn't think twice before kissing him when one of my digits entered him. It felt disconnected at the beginning, but my lips soon found a way to win his insecurities and he let himself go under my touches.
"Fuck..." he said between his breathy moans. "Fuck me now." he demanded, guiding my dick to where my finger was already occupying. I removed it from him, parting his cheeks even more apart. I didn't think he was ready, but it took seconds before he lowered himself on me, going up and down in a slow pace. After he was sure I was inside him, he let go of my cock to hold onto my shoulders and pull me closer to him. Our chests were glued and our heartbeats were as one; I felt like I could write a thousand Iliads about the feeling of his heart against mine in that moment. One of my hands held his hips, while the other roamed free through his body, finding the hair I knew to be blond atop his head. He made the same movement through my own hair, and I melted into his hand, moaning probably louder than I should.
"I..." he moaned, burying his lips into my collarbone, and biting it hard. That had to be the best feeling in the world. "I’m going to come..." I guided the hand that was on his hips to his cock, urging to be taken care of properly. As I took him in my hands, smearing precome through his whole length and fisting him in a fast pace, I was taken by surprise by his size. His weight felt amazing in my hands and he would probably taste even better in my mouth. But I couldn’t focus on future and impossible fucks, as I was almost coming myself. We fucked in almost silence, only broke by the moans that we let escape occasionally.
His load was blindly shot between our bodies after a few moments, as I felt it hit my chest and stomach. I pointlessly tried to warn him as well, but reached my climax buried deep inside him. We sat in that exact position for minutes, sharing the same heavy and sex infected air, as we came down our respective highs. He was the one to make the first move, getting out of my lap and lying beside me. It was still the same pitch-dark as it has been for the past time, but I was sure I could see the outline of his naked body in display, in my sheets.
"Was this a beautiful feeling?" he finally asked. I almost didn't know how to answer; I felt it was too obvious.
"It was the most beautiful feeling I ever felt." I smiled to myself and imagined him smiling back at me. I imagined him pulling me down to kiss him, cuddle him and spend the rest of our days there. I'm quite used to imagining.
"I wish... this was right." he said and abruptly got up from my bed, bumping into my legs and leaving the saddest space to ever inhabit my side. "I wish I didn't have to choose blindness to love you."