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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-Five: Melt

Chris let him come over. He had called him and drunkenly pleaded for a chance to speak with him, and he easily gave in. There was no point in arguing it anyways. They needed to talk and he knew it.

There was alcohol on the singer’s breath when he greeted him, but he didn’t appear to be drunk, which surprised him. He had sounded like it over the phone. They sat almost facing each other in the living room, Chris on the couch and Ivan in the recliner, a type of chair he had gotten used to rotting away in. He felt that familiar decaying feeling coming over him then as he looked at the older man – not in the eyes, but in the body – and he sunk into the seat.

“Can we talk about us?” he asked in a sort of timid grumble.

“Sure,” Chris responded. “What do you got?”

Ivan looked up briefly, attempted to sit up in the recliner he was sinking into, and directed his attention to the turned off television where he saw the reflection of their conversation in its distorted, black screen.

“I,” his mouth paused slightly agape as he watched himself and Chris’s still body in the reflection, “think we should change some things in our relationship. At least set some rules.”

Chris noticed him watching him through the screen, but he spoke directly to him anyways. “Alright,” he said, “Like what?”

“No more hitting each other,” he said with a rich, dark tone in his voice, “We wouldn’t hit women and we shouldn’t hit each other.” He saw the bassist’s mirrored image nod and scratch its beard.

“I agree. I think part of our problem is that when we’re upset with each other we treat each other in relationship like we used to treat each other as friends. With guys, you know, they can have a fist fight and then be cool with one another the next day. It ain’t like that between us though, because, we’re… you know.” He circled his hands and Ivan knew he was trying to express the idea that they were in a homosexual relationship, so he acknowledged him.

“Yeah, I get you.” He nodded and went on, “And, ah, no more spitting either.”

Chris felt like a flamethrower had blasted away a chunk of the ice encasing his heart. “Yeah. No more spitting,” he agreed.

“And you know if we got a problem with each other, we need to communicate like we’re doing now, okay? I mean, this is good.” Ivan looked directly into his face for the first time. “I know that’s something I’ve gotta work on, and I think that you should too.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I—I feel like this whole thing we’ve had going on could’ve been handle a lot sooner if I had just been willing to talk to you, but, ah…” he threw his hands up a bit and let them hit his lap, “I was being a child about it.”

“It’s my fault too. I’m always so angry all the time—”

Chris laughed and startled him. “It’s good for the stage,” he said with a smile, “but not so good here.”

“You get angry easily too! You just express it differently – I guess,” he added, going back in his memory to fact check himself on Chris’s behavior when he was infuriated and what had caused it, and he remembered the time his hard cock pressed against his ass and he was told off. Maybe he would’ve minded back then, but thinking about it now Ivan didn’t understand why he had gotten so upset about that, but oh boy did Chris get pissed. He stopped focusing on the negative times and came back to reality when the bassist spoke.

“I know, I know! We’ve both got tempers.”

“I—I just feel sometimes that anger is, like,” his voice fell below the lightness in the air to the melancholy on the floor, “is, like, the only emotion I’m comfortable expressing, and then I hate myself so much when I can’t get all my emotions out with rage and I start crying, I—I’m…”

“You’re an emotional man, Ivan,” Chris said with a comforting tone, “Cut yourself some slack.”

He put his face in his hands. “And then I drink because I don’t deal with my emotions like I should, a—and I’ve done so much stupid shit in the past with… with…” His voice started cracking and he bit his lip and hid his face even more. Chris kept quiet and let his feelings take their course. “I—I’m sorry Chris…” he apologized as his shoulders started shaking and he began making small whimpering sounds. He brought his hands down and breathed in deeply before he went on with a steadier voice, “M—my dad was just such an angry man and I really think I picked it up from him, and now I just push people away from me with all my bottled-up rage,” his voice rose, “but no matter how much I try to express it I can’t seem to un-bottle it! I can’t get it out and I don’t know why!”

“It’s okay, baby…” Chris’s voice was soft and sweet and his eyes were gentle and reassuring.

“I—I just need to – to let myself be,” he thought for a second, “be sad when I’m sad, stressed when I’m stressed, and just – just not turn everything into anger, even when I’m confused about my emotions I just need to,” he looked the older man in his soothing, hazel eyes, “talk about it…” Chris nodded.

Ivan felt the pool of mixed, undefinable passions inside of his chest overflow and swallow his heart with a lukewarm liquid. He needed to say it. If he didn’t say it now he’d never be truly happy with this man – this man who used to just be his bassist after Matt Snell moved on. This man who slowly became his friend over the years they played together as they hung around each other and discovered their shared interests and personality traits. This man he knew so casually in friendship and brotherhood until he got drunk with him one fateful night. This man he knew so casually until he kissed him in a men’s bathroom and frotted him against a wall and slept in his bed and spit on him and hit him and yelled at him and then fucked him drunk before they sat down together and spent a romantic evening followed by making love to each other and the hotel and the tour bus and the weeks of heartache and now this: this man here. This sometimes gentle, sometimes ferocious grizzly bear of a man who was once just a bassist but was now his whole world.

How’d it come to this?

“And there’s something I’ve meaning to tell you, Chris,” he told him, his lips barely moving. His eyes were locked on his and his lips were slightly parted as he waited for the words to flow naturally out of his mouth. He could feel cotton in his ribcage, tickling his heart, and he breathed in lightly before he said in a distant, weighty voice, “I love you.”

A very subtle change took place in the older man’s eyes and all the rough edges of his posture appeared to smooth out into something silky and visually pleasing. “I love you too, Ivan,” he said tenderly and Ivan’s heart exploded with an amorous sensation. Chris must have noticed this breakdown take place inside of him because he opened his arms and mumbled, “C’mere.” The singer pulled himself out of the compost-pile recliner, floated towards him, and sat in his lap, wrapped in his arms.

And they kissed. They kissed and Ivan didn’t have to try to rekindle their love because it was already burning, brighter than ever now that the cover of pride had been stripped away. Every cell in their bodies was connected through their mutual energy and the singer gripped his partner’s beard as they kissed so passionately.

The passionate embrace of their mouths broke and Ivan hugged him tightly, nuzzling his face into his facial hair. Chris squeezed him and kissed his ear and rubbed his back, and Ivan began shivering in his muscular arms. The bassist shushed him, but Ivan started crying and cursed at himself under his breath. “I—I’ll try to stop drinking, I promise. I’m sorry…”

“Shh… You just need to take care of yourself, crab cake. It’s okay.” He rubbed his back with wide circular motions and rested his head on his.

“Fuck! Why am I always crying?!” Ivan tried to sit up, but Chris pulled him back in.

“Shh… It’s okay. I ain’t gonna judge you. Just let yourself be sad.”

“I don’t know what I’m feeling…” he murmured.

Chris kissed his head again, cradled him, and then wiped his eyes with his thumbs as he started to calm down. As Ivan sat in his lap, occasionally jolting with leftover sobs, and he wiped his tears from his downcast eyes, Chris felt an overwhelming sense of protection for the younger man. Ivan was his and he loved him. They’d take care of each other and keep each other happy and comfort one another when they were upset.

Once his face was finished being gently caressed and cleared of its salty tears, Ivan kissed his lover once again, softly and deeply, taking in the scratchy roughness of his beard of dreadlocks and relishing the fact that he could kiss him again – kiss him and have it mean something, cry around him and not have to be ashamed, and talk to him and know he was loved like he used to know so confidently back before it was ever said out loud. After weeks of coming to understand how Chris could’ve been unsure of their love, he now felt that old confidence, but this time it was backed by the truth.
Yet as Ivan mused over all of this, all Chris could do was enjoy the feeling of Ivan’s warmth melting his frozen heart.
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Five Finger Death Punch