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Five Finger Death Punch	By : mmarc56 Category: Celebrities - Misc > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1552 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Five Finger Death Punch or any of its members, this story is a work of fiction, and I made no money writing it.

Chapter List
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Chapter Twenty-One: The Breakdown

Chris Kael didn’t speak to Ivan much for the rest of the tour. He didn’t go far enough to purchase his own hotel room, but cuddling in bed with him was a cold and unfulfilling experience. He never held the singer, leaving him to be the big spoon each time he desired contact with him, and he never attempted to kiss him goodnight; Ivan always had to approach him for it and when he kissed his moustache-framed mouth he would never kiss him back. Ivan’s mood declined each day, but no matter how sweetly he tried to interact with the bassist or how angrily he tried to get him to say why he was upset with him, Chris wouldn’t speak to him. He even attempted to hold his hand on one of their airplane rides, but Chris kept his fingers loose until he removed them from the singer’s and placed them in his lap.

Ivan transmuted his depression into anger and decided that if he wanted to be an asshole he’d let him. He pulled away from him too and made his enmity towards him very clear nonverbally. Chris noticed this and in return went from be being bitter towards him to being hostile. Eventually neither of them wanted to cuddle, neither of them wanted to kiss, and neither of them wanted to hold hands. Ivan didn’t try to receive any empty goodnight kisses from him and they slept on opposite sides of the bed from each other facing different directions.

Ivan knew why he was upset but he didn’t understand it. He had said he didn’t love him to their bandmates to hide their secret, and Chris should’ve known that – he should already know that he loved him. That was a mutual understanding they had with each other even though they never said it. Ivan thought up a million curse words to mentally throw at the bassist, hating him for being so ignorant about their love. It already hurt enough not being able to say it, so why’d he have to make it so damn hard?

Ivan’s heart had fallen down into the pit of his chest and he could feel it breaking more and more every day. He wondered if Chris felt the same. What if Chris hated him? Even worst, what if he had fallen out of love with him? What if he didn’t love him anymore because he didn’t tell Zoltan and Jason the truth? Why would he want him to tell the truth though? It didn’t make any sense!

The tour was coming to end, though, and Ivan was running out of time with Chris; once they got home the older man had no obligations to spend time with him, so he had to act quickly. He couldn’t force his depression to be anger any longer because it was a force stronger than his own will and self-control, and he felt it begin to stomp the broken pieces of his heart laying at the bottom of his chest into tiny granules like grains of salt. Their last night together in the hotel, he cautiously approached him and touched his shoulder and he turned around, undoubtedly surprised that Ivan was about to speak with him.

“We need to talk, Chris,” he said gently, his blue eyes delicate and meek.

Chris stared back at him with an oddly curious and imploringly soft gaze. “Alright.”

He took a breath in. “What’s going on with us?” His shoulders fell and his eyes fogged over destitutely as he looked into the other man’s face.

The bassist’s eyes switched emotions to something Ivan couldn’t pick up on – something that bizarrely struck him as somewhat infantile – and he looked downward and away.

“I—I know why you’re upset with me,” he said, but Chris continued to look to his right. “You’re upset that I didn’t tell our bandmates about us, aren’t you?”

His moustache twitched and he mumbled, “Didn’t have a nicer way to say it?”

Ivan exhaled, “I’m sorry, okay?” He waited, but the other man didn’t move or speak. “Come on, crab cake,” he feigned a smile and opened his arms at his sides, “can’t we get along?”

He didn’t respond.

It was over. Ivan knew it. Nothing he could say or do could bring Chris back to him or be reassured that he was still loved. He was right: Chris fell out of love with him.

The back of his throat began to ache and his bottom lip started to quiver. His eyebrows furrowed and he spoke using all his effort to prevent his voice from shaking, but it wasn’t very affective. “You’re such a selfish man, Chris,” he said through his teeth. The bassist looked up at him, his eyes stony like they had been on the tour bus after their conversation with their bandmates. Ivan’s voice rose and cracked as he lost control of it, “You only care about yourself! You don’t care about my emotions, or the hell you’ve been putting me through!”

He didn’t respond. He just stared at him with his dead eyes. It was like he wasn’t even the same person anymore.

Ivan’s face burned crimson and he fought back tears with anger. “You think you’re such a big, important man, don’t you?! With your fucking t-shirt lines and custom bass straps! You’re just a waste of MY TIME!” His voice jumped in pitch on the last two words and his whole body shook with his uncontrollable emotions.

Still, Chris just stared at him.

He had to say something to break him, so he began spewing shit about him – anything he believed could offend him and make him yell back. “You think you’re so handsome, too, don’t you? Like your better than everyone because of your shitty beard! IT’S FUCKING DISGUSTING! AND IT DOESN’T MEAN A DAMN THING THAT YOU’VE GOT IT!”

Nothing.

“You ain’t good-looking and you don’t ‘positively affect lives’ like you hashtag all the stupid shit you put on Instagram! NOBODY FUCKING CARES, CHRIS! NOBODY FUCKING CARES! You ain’t a man because you’ve got a long beard or a big dick or… or w—work out…” He was losing it. Chris wasn’t breaking, but he was falling apart. “You ain’t a man! You’re just a pussy! A pussy who ain’t got the balls to apologize f—for… for…” He couldn’t keep going, but there was nowhere to run so he put his face in his hands. “Y—you ain’t a man…”

Chris didn’t respond.

Ivan’s body fell still as fat tears slid from his eyes silently and into his hands where he wiped them away, rubbing his puffy eyes red. After some time standing there, Chris went back to what he had been doing. He plugged his phone into its charger, set the alarm, and then threw back the blankets.

“Just say it,” Ivan said softly through his hands. “Tell me you don’t wanna do this anymore.”

Chris paused for a second before he got in bed, but then carried on and covered himself with the doughy comforter.

“Chris…” Ivan moaned, turning to face the bed. “Please… I’m here,” he gestured at the floor under his feet. “Talk to me.” When he didn’t respond, Ivan’s face suddenly contorted into a violent, unrecognizable mask. “TALK TO ME!” He shouted with such an alarmingly loud volume that the bassist’s facial expression became fearful as he was sure everyone, including those downstairs in the lobby, could hear him. “FUCKING TALK TO ME!” After this, his voice dropped to a volume that was only slightly more acceptable as he yelled, “You’re an asshole! Why am I always the one to apologize? You’re the asshole here! Not me! I don’t care what I said; you’re being a FUCKING CHILD ABOUT IT!”

He lost hold of the last line he had to sanity and ran at Chris in the bed and began striking him as he grunted in between hits, “Fuck—ing—talk—to—me! TALK TO ME!”

After a particularly brutal strike to the face, Chris fought back by grabbing his fists and pulling him into a submissive position on the bed. “Stop it!” he commanded. He pinned him down until he stopped struggling and then got out of bed and stood above him.

“What did you want me to say?!” Ivan shouted at him from his position on the bed, “Did you want me to confess our secret? Huh? Is that what you wanted?”

“Ivan! Calm the fuck down! You’re fucking hysterical!”

“What do you want from me?” He cried out, “What do you—”

“I want you to quiet down!” Chris put a knee into the mattress and grabbed the younger man’s shoulders. “Let’s talk, okay? You wanna talk? Let’s talk.”

“Just say it…” Ivan groaned, “Say you don’t wanna do this with me anymore.”

“What are you—?”

“If you wanna break up with me just do it, okay?! Just do it!”

“Ivan, I don’t,” he paused, shaking his head, gripping his shoulders tighter, “I don’t wanna break up with you.”

“Why do you…” his voice faded away and he covered his face again.

“Fuck, Ivan…” Chris urged him to stand up with him and when Ivan was on his feet he opened his arms as an invitation. Unable to resist the now unfamiliar comfort of his embrace, he stepped into his open arms and hugged him, laying his head on his shoulder against his beard. The feelings that rushed back to him were overwhelming and he slowly fell apart in his partner’s arms, gradually shivering and shaking more and more until he was sobbing into his t-shirt. It hurt – it all hurt. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he had felt the comfort of his companion’s loving embrace until he was in it again, breaking into pieces as his back was patted and rubbed.

He pulled back some, but did not look into the bassist’s eyes out of embarrassment as he said softly, “Why am I always the one to cry?”

Chris smiled. “Because you’re an emotional man.” Ivan’s eyes shot up to look at him fiercely. “I mean to say that you care about things a lot, is all. You’re real passionate and sensitive.”

“I ain’t sensitive,” he grumbled, resting his head on his shoulder again.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with being sensitive.”

They held each other a while longer until Chris stepped back. Their bodies repined at the loss of contact, but they both swallowed hard and looked at each other as if they were cautiously observing a machine with the potential to explode. Ivan looked down and sighed. “I’m sorry… about screaming at you and,” he hesitated, “everything else.”

“I—I’m sorry too – about being a bitch.”

The singer smiled and then looked up with soft eyes. “Can we cuddle together tonight? Please?”

Chris’s face softened and then he nodded. “Yeah. We can talk more about this later.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Come here.” He stepped towards the younger man and leaned in. They kissed for the first time in a long time and it was deep and passionate – so much so that it required them to step into each other and embrace again. Ivan felt his beard and his moist tongue and felt at peace again, but the peace was somewhat imaginary because he could still sense the underlying hostility between them that couldn’t be settled in a night.
For that moment, though, he tried to rekindle their love as much as he could in that one, single, overdue kiss.
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Five Finger Death Punch