Only You (Matty Healy/George Daniel)

30: Leave Me

Matty wants to break his self imposed solitude from his best friend so badly in that moment that he almost allows himself to crawl into George's bunk like he used to, even going so far as to pull back the curtain in an attempt to ascertain if George is awake, which he doesn't seem to be.

He's been doing better lately after all, so it couldn't really hurt anything, but honestly - Matty's scared to initiate any form of contact after they've gone so long without.

With a heavy swallow that sticks in his throat, Matty shuts himself away again, digging the tips of his fingers into the mattress to prevent himself from leaving the security of his bed.

It's not that he thinks George will reject him, not really, but the slim possibility that he might has Matty shivering in distaste.

The more he ponders it, he realizes that he actually has no idea if George is still willing to fool around with him occasionally anymore, or if he's reverted back to finding fans to do that for him.

Matty's noticed that George doesn't immediately come back to the hotel like he used to, but he's been too afraid to ask what he does when he's not with him, especially given how short he's been with everyone lately. He never smells like sex or anything, but Matty isn't sure what else he could be doing since he's usually with him if he's not getting laid.

And really, it doesn't matter either way. If George is sleeping with other people - that's fine. Matty's done it enough himself over the course of this tour, leaving him incapable of passing judgment.

Matty doesn't need George to get off either, or anyone really, and if he misses having something in his arse, that's a problem he can take care of on his own without subjecting his pride to any more battering.

Matty forces his mind to empty itself of all thoughts of George as he kicks off his pants ungracefully. He's tired of mulling this over every night, and right now he'd rather focus on his cock instead of George's sex life.

Matty shifts until he's situated on his hands and knees, his ears straining for any noise that will let him know that someone else is up, but all he hears is overlapping layers of soft breathing and the occasional creak of a bedspring when one of his bandmates moves in their sleep.

Matty fumbles for the bottle of lube that he's still got tucked into the side of his bunk although he hasn't used it in ages, his hand trembling slightly as he opens the cap and slicks up his fingers.

He's not really sure what he's doing here, but if he copies the motions George had used on him in the past, he hopes it will be enough to satisfy the burning ache pooling in his stomach.

Matty stretches himself wide with his thumb before rubbing over the sensitive skin of his hole tentatively, his arm flexing as he tries to find the most comfortable angle in which to do this.

He gasps at the initial contact, his thighs spreading as far as they'll go as he continues to push against the tense ring of muscles until it gives slightly under the pressure, allowing him to work one finger inside of himself, although it's not as easy as he thought it would be.

Matty huffs impatiently as he moves the digit around, trying and failing to find that spot inside of himself that George can always locate so easily. His cock pulses forlornly between his legs, begging for his attention since this doesn't seem to be working out.

Matty inches another finger in less carefully than the first, his eyes watering slightly at the sting, but he likes the feeling of being stretched like this, missed it even, but really - he misses George's fingers more than anything else.

Matty tries to remember how George does this, but it's difficult to recall the semantics since he's usually a moaning mess by this point.

Finally, he brushes against his prostate completely on accident, a startled cry escaping his lips that emits loudly in the cramped confines of his bunk.

Matty shoves back onto his hand roughly now that he's found that sensitive spot inside of himself, his arm aching as he moves it as much as he can in the small space.

A thin layer of sweat forms on his skin as he tries to muffle the sounds he's making by burying his face in his pillow, which has the added benefit of cutting off his airflow slightly, leaving Matty gasping wetly against the fabric as his nerve endings fire off sporadically, the heat in his belly reaching an unbearable level so quickly it's almost embarrassing.

Matty slips in a third finger when he thinks he can handle it, his body protesting the stretch still, but he ignores the pain in favor of chasing the pleasure that's flooding through his veins.

His muscles clamp down on the digits as if they're attempting to force them out, but Matty loves it. It reminds him of when he sunk down onto George's cock, how full he'd been, how he'd never wanted those sensations to end, of how flushed, and defeated, but most of all adored he'd felt in that moment.

Matty whimpers at the recollection, his body going tense and his cock throbbing heavily, almost as if the memory is getting him closer to the edge than his fingers in his arse.

Matty gasps weakly as he rubs over his prostate, his eyes squeezing shut instinctually, only for him to be met with an image of George instead of the darkness he usually finds.

Matty doesn't shake it away though, instead, he pretends that it's George doing this to him, that George is behind him, whispering about how gorgeous he looks and how much he loves seeing Matty this way.

It's that which has Matty shooting across the sheets suddenly as the rim of his arse clenches down around his fingers, his cock twitching in between his thighs as he comes untouched with an almost silent moan that leaves his throat raw and aching.

Matty cleans himself up quickly, tossing the blanket he's come on into the hallway partially to spite Adam, although he knows he'll regret that when he's woken up tomorrow by his yelling if he happens to find it.

Matty still struggles to find sleep even after his heart rate slows down and his limbs are languid and rubbery. This situation feels wrong without George curled around him, and Matty wonders how long it'll take him before he stops missing George every time he comes.

Matty's eyes finally begin to droop when he manages to pick out George's breathing pattern from the other soft sounds filling the bus, timing the rise and fall of his chest with the steady cadence George is maintaining, pretending that he's down there with him instead of alone in a stuffy bunk until he drifts off into an uneasy slumber.

~~~

Their next show is debatably the worst of the tour, and this time not so much because of Matty, it's actually George who is off tonight.

He's drumming like the kit has personally offended him, bringing his sticks down so hard that Matty's almost waiting for them to break on his next stroke.

George's rhythm is off too, he's either too fast or too slow the majority of the time, and no amount of adjustments from any of them is helping things.

Matty's so shocked by George's unusual countenance that he can barely focus on anything else. He sings almost entirely toward George for the first half of the show before he realizes that it's not doing any good, so he eventually gives up and faces front again, attempting not to visibly wince while he has so many eyes on him.

George storms off stage before anyone else can catch up to him, and although Matty searches for him everywhere, including the bus and the hotel that they're staying in, he's nowhere to be found.

Matty sleeps in Adam's room that night, mostly since he doesn't trust himself to be alone right now, but also because he refuses to let George find him in tears when he returns, which is how he spends most of the evening since he can't seem to close his eyes for more than a few moments without drowning in the storm composed of his fears and insecurities involving George that's overtaken his brain.