Adult-FanFiction.org : Celebrity

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
- 23
- 24
- 25
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Final Confrontation

Ivan Moody had always struggled with alcoholism, but during the tour, when he was upset with Chris, he had an image to uphold; he couldn’t let Chris know he was getting to him as much as he had been. He was sure the need to drink had been swirling around in the pool of mixed emotions he had been feeling, but it was diluted by everything else. At home, however – his own home, away from the bassist – he had no image to uphold for anyone. Therefore, he drank and drank and rotted away in his living room recliner.

Chris was still upset with him. The unforgiving bastard…

Ivan showed up to the studio for band practice drunk, having driven there under the influence. The smell of liquor was detected by his bandmates’ noses before their eyes picked up on his presence and all of their mouths fell open.

“What?” the singer snapped, panning his glazed eyes around the room at all of their concerned expressions. He swayed some on his feet as he stood there. “Are you all ready to practice or what?”

“We’ve been ready,” Zoltan responded, “You’re late.”

“I’m fucking on time,” he slurred, “You guys are fucking early.” He gestured at nothing and stumbled forward to the mic stand. “Where the hell is my mic?” he said angrily.

“You usually set it up,” Jason said.

Ivan turned around and spit in his direction. Everyone flinched. “You guys are useless!” he paused as his eyes rolled in his head before he shouted, “I gotta do fucking everything!” He lumbered across the room looking for the microphone, sweeping things off the shelf above the one it was resting on.

Chris approached him and whispered his name softly above his shoulder, “Ivan.” When he touched his arm, Ivan turned back and slapped at the air, managing to only hit his bicep with the tips of his fingers.

“Get away from me, asshole!” Chris stepped back. “Yeah, that’s right – you’re an asshole!”

The bassist glanced over his shoulder at Jason, Jeremy, and Zoltan looking on quietly, and his cheeks flushed. He turned back. “Ivan, why are you drunk?” he hissed through his teeth.

“I ain’t drunk!” Ivan said loudly in his face. “I’ve only had a couple…”

“A couple what?”

“A couple of none your damn business!” He shoved the older man in the chest. “Step off, asshole!”

Chris grabbed his arm. “C’mere,” he said sharply, pulling him away. Ivan immediately began fighting him and he realized it wouldn’t work. Desperately trying to get out of there with him so his bandmates wouldn’t be involved in it, he looked around quickly and made a daring decision. He swept Ivan up onto his shoulder by his knees and started walking out of the room with him into the hallway.

“Whoa, man,” he barley heard Jeremy say as he walked by him with Ivan kicking and screaming. It was extremely difficult to keep him positioned on his shoulder and he had to drop him a lot closer to the door than he would’ve liked once they were out in the hallway, but Ivan couldn’t stand on his feet very well once he was reconnected with the floor, so he fell into him. Chris was very unwilling to support him as he tugged at his t-shirt, especially when he started hitting him in the torso.

“You fucking… little… BITCH!”

“Ivan!” He grabbed his arms to cease his insistent abuse and ended up wrestling him to the floor.

“DON’T YOU EVER TOUCH ME LIKE THAT!”

“Ivan!”

“YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! I’LL KICK YOUR—”

“IVAN!” Chris slapped the singer across the face causing him to fall quiet and then spit on his lap. “What is wrong with you?!” The two men were on their knees, facing each other, looking fiercely into each other’s eyes, and Chris held him by his shoulders. He shook him. “Huh?!”

“I hate you…” Ivan mumbled, looking him dead in eyes with his icy, blue stare. Chris’s face twitched into a questioning glare. “I really do…”

He let go of his shoulders.

They looked at each other in thick silence.

“What?” he eventually asked.

“I don’t love you, Chris. I hate you… So much…”

“You don’t mean that.”

They continued to stare at each other.

“Ivan,” Chris sighed, shaking his head and looking off to the side, “We haven’t talked yet. We haven’t talked about our problems—”

“You never want to talk to me!” Ivan said intensely, “You never talk to me!”

“Why don’t we?”

“You don’t! You don’t wanna make this work!” The singer’s speech was still painfully slurred and he swayed where he kneeled. He was out of it – completely out of it. “You’re an asshole… and I’m too drunk for this.”

“Yeah,” the bassist said curtly, “You’re drinking again. Never cared to deal with your addiction, did you?”

“Suck my dick.” Ivan spat onto his lap again.

“Yeah, that ain’t happening ever again.” Chris stood up and spit on his head. “You can talk to me when you get your act together.”

“You’re the own who needs to – you’re the one with the fucked up life!” he called at him as he walked away, running a hand over the salvia in his pale blonde Mohawk. “This is your fault, you big pussy,” he spat the last word, but Chris was already entering the door to the practice room, leaving him alone in the hall.

Once away from the singer, he walked quickly through the room and packed up his equipment without answering his bandmates’ questions of where he was going. There was obviously something wrong with him and he swallowed hard and fought back tears as he stormed out the door and into the parking lot with his bass guitar swung over his shoulder.

“What the hell is going on with them?” Zoltan asked.

“I dunno,” Jason mumbled.

From behind them, Jeremy threw his drumsticks at the ground. “Great!” he said angrily, “How are we gonna practice with no bassist and a singer who’s drunk off his ass?! Fucking wonderful!” He stood and purposely knocked one of his cymbal stands to the floor, where it landed with a suspended crash. “I don’t care!”

“Yo, cool it,” Zoltan snapped, “Don’t be such a bitch.”

“No! I’m pissed off! Ivan and Chris’s bullshit is probably gonna break up the band and then I won’t be making money!” he carried on dramatically, “Fucking wonderful! I just love dealing with other people’s bullshit.”

“Shut your ass, Jeremy!” Jason flared, “Goddamn!”

Ivan slowly stumbled up to the door and looked inside, and the band fell silent right as Jeremy was about to continue bitching.

Zoltan’s voice softened when he spoke to him as if he was addressing an irritable, wild animal. “Hey man, did you drive here?” Ivan nodded. “Well you ain’t driving home.” He pulled his car keys out of his jeans. “Just let me pack up, then I’ll drive you.”

“So no practice?” Jeremy asked, spreading his hands out and leaning back.

“I swear to God, Jeremy,” Jason mumbled, pulling his guitar off over his head.

Ivan leaned against the door frame and then slid down it into a sitting position where he cradled his headache in his hands. Tears were welling up on the inner edges of his eyelids as he picked up on Chris’s absence. They weren’t in love anymore: he was gone. He was starting to realize just how much he didn’t mean what he had said, but it was too late to tell him the truth now. He’d never believe him.

Zoltan stood over him. “Hey, are you ready to go?” Ivan looked up and the guitarist pointed over his shoulder at the door. He nodded. Before they left, Zoltan pecked Jason on the cheek and Jason called him nasty, but it was obviously in good spirit and it made the singer’s stomach churn.

As they drove home in Zoltan’s sleek black car he asked the singer tactlessly, “So how did Chris get that bruise on his face? I noticed it a week ago and it’s fading now, but I was just wondering.” Ivan glared at him. “Alright, alright. Sorry. It’s none of my business, I understand.” He waited. “So are you guys alright? I’m guessing no, but I was just wondering what’s been going on with you two. You’ve been fighting for, like, forever now so it must be a big deal.” Ivan didn’t have the strength or motivation to punch his arm so he remained where he was, leaning against the car door, half passed out. “Jason and I have been doing better, you know. We talked some and I think he’s given up on you and Chris, but, like, I’m not saying we’re in love or anything – of course not. I mean, fucking is one thing and love is another – but, um,” he breathed in, “yeah, we still ain’t fucking either… We’re better though, like I said. We ain’t pissed at each other. We’ve kind of come to terms with just letting things between us go as they please, you know, go with the flow.” God, Ivan wanted to punch that gauche, tactless bastard of a guitarist. He needed to shut up. “So yeah, I think that conversation between us and the band really helped us out. I still think you’re right, though. I think there’s a lot of sexual tension between us, but, again, we’re just gonna go with the flow. Just go… with the flow…” He leaned forward into the steering wheel as he turned into Ivan’s driveway and once they were parked, Ivan stumbled outside and barfed on the pavement. “Are you alright, man?” The guitarist asked from the driver’s seat, leaning over the passenger’s side some.

“Get out of here,” Ivan slurred, and Zoltan didn’t argue with him.

The singer stood around in the painfully bright sunshine as his bandmate left without even bothering to see if he made it inside safely or not.
- 23
- 24
- 25
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Five Finger Death Punch