"Maelstrom" - written for museslash fic challenge

[filthgoblin]

I wrote this in response to the museslash Challenge. It's my first piece of Muse-related fiction...

Title: "Maelstrom" - Response to Challenge #4 (word count 1,063)
Author: filthgoblin

Pairing: Belldom
Rating: PG-13 for language. Everything else is all in your mind.
Summary: Surely this wasn't what he thought it was, was it?
Feedback: First time Muse fic, but long time slasher so no need to go too gentle with me. Concrit always welcome. Comments will be given a loving home with fluffy cushions and saucers of milk.
Disclaimers: Written with love, not for profit. No offence meant, no truth implied.
Author's Notes: Beta'd by the awesome silvaa and licklepickle for coherence and Muse-sense respectively.

Not terribly filthy to the naked eye, which came as a great surprise to me I can tell you. I just thought I'd give a little reminder of the pic, as I kept referring back to it to get a sense of how this was going to work out, then it pretty much wrote itself.

Another day, another press junket. Chris hated these things: he wasn’t much for the talking, particularly to virtual strangers who ask the same banal questions day in, day out. He was too polite to deploy the sarcastic barbs favoured by Matt in these situations and lacked Dom’s easy charm, so he usually just sat back and let that pair deal with the pretentious twats from Q or NME whilst he counted down the minutes until they could go and do what they got paid for. What he really enjoyed.

 

He shifted uncomfortably in the obscenely overstuffed hotel-room sofa that he’d slumped onto and scowled at his watch. Where the fuck are they? He could picture stroppy music journalists fidgeting in adjoining rooms as they were made to wait. The last thing they needed was to give them any encouragement to let rip with their pissy comments. They needed very little provocation to make them out as poncey arseholes as it was…

 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Poppy, the slight, dark-haired girl from the label, wince. “Uh, I’m sure they’ll be here in a minute… When I called the office, they said the driver’d dropped them off already. I’ll go check with reception…”

 

“Nah, don’t worry” Chris interjected, switching on what he hoped was a reassuring grin to mask his growing irritation. “I’m getting twitchy sat here anyway. I’ll go see if I can find ‘em.” He pushed his tall frame up from the low sofa. “If they turn up before I see ‘em, tell ‘em they’re in trouble” he said with a half-smile as he headed for the door.

____________________

Chris stepped out of the lift into the lobby, right opposite reception. As he approached, a handsome receptionist looked up and met his eye with a smile. “Can I help you, sir?” he intoned pleasantly when Chris was a few paces away. Chris placed the heels of his hands on the desk, bending his elbows to lean in towards the man behind the counter. “I’m looking for my friends – I’ve been told they’re here but I can’t find them. Don’t suppose you’ve seen them, have you?”

 

“What do they look like?” asked the receptionist.

 

“Well, um, one’s skinny – really skinny – dark spiky hair, about so high, probably wearing all black. Other one’s a bit bigger, sandyish hair, most likely in some outrageous coloured jeans and a t-shirt…”

 

“I think I might have seen them” said the receptionist, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. “Arrived about 10 minutes ago I think. They came to the desk to ask where the press event was for the album launch or something? I didn’t speak to them, though – I was dealing with another guest”

 

“Yeah, that’d be them. Do you know if they were sent up?” asked Chris.

 

The receptionist looked around for assistance, but found he was alone. “I don’t know what they were told, sir, but the last time I spotted them they were headed in the direction of the gents, just over there…”

 ____________________

Chris thanked the receptionist and stalked off in the direction of the toilets. Ten minutes is ages he thought to himself. What the fuck are they playing at?

 

He pushed open the heavy pale wooden door into the toilet, swinging silently on well-oiled hinges, and paused. There was no sign of anyone at the urinals or lurking by the mirror. Well that’s fucked that idea, thought Chris grumpily. It’s not that Dom needed a little extra time with his hair. He turned to leave then paused, hearing a shuffling in the far cubicle. He took a breath to call out, the words crumbling to dust on his tongue as he heard a low groan and, as he tuned his ears to listen more closely, a familiar soft wet sound that made his stomach flip over. Well, well thought Chris, grinning to himself. Never had this pegged as *that* kind of place. He smirked as he turned to leave the mystery lovebirds in peace, stopping in his tracks as he heard a familiar voice, ragged and hoarse with desire.

 

“Oh, oh, oh… Dom…”

 

Chris’s stomach flipped again and his head span. Surely this wasn’t what he thought it was, was it? Transfixed by the sounds from the far cubicle that now seemed to be amplified a thousand fold and unable to will his feet to move he wrestled with a maelstrom of different emotions at once. He wished he could leave now and preserve at least an element of doubt so that he could push out the unbidden images that were flooding his mind, but at the same time he wanted to stay – maybe his mind was playing tricks on him?

 

Noises in the tiled, echoey room seemed to reverberate inside Chris’s head: rustling fabric; catching of air in the back of a throat; a keening sound as a gag was suppressed; a long, breathy moan; a familiar chuckle. Dom’s chuckle.

 

Chris heard the sound of someone – of Dom – getting up from the floor, and beat a hasty retreat. He needed air. Rather than risk being seen by them in the lobby, he darted outside and sucked in traffic fumes like a half-drowned man.

 ____________________

Chris took a deep breath before he opened the door, trying to still his churning stomach. He pushed open the door and peered around, clocking Matt sitting in a high-backed chair talking to Poppy whilst Dom stood behind him, almost too close. It was a gesture that Chris wouldn’t have paid any attention to if it had been an hour earlier, but now…

 

“Hey!” said Poppy cheerfully. “You guys must’ve crossed in the lobby – apparently there was a misunderstanding with the driver…”

 

“Yeah, caught up in traffic” quipped Dom, lips curling into a secret smile as he clearly heard Matt snort almost inaudibly. Chris was almost pleased their self-absorption meant they hadn’t noticed his inability to speak, the discomfort that must be showing on his face.

 

“Right, best not keep our public waiting any longer, eh?” I’ll go on ahead and warm ‘em up, shall I?” chirped Dom, brushing his hand on Matt’s shoulder as he turned to leave, grinning smugly and fussing with his tie.

 

“Be right there” replied Matt, turning to finish his conversation with Poppy leaving Chris stood holding the door open between the two of them, crestfallen, full of questions and afraid of the answers.