Unspoken

by gahore_dm (luminec)

Summary:

If they talk about what's really going on between them, it would be over. If they talk about how it's more than just sex, it would destroy everything. And David doesn't want it to be over. He doesn't want anything to be destroyed. He needs it. All of it. And him. // Violator

Notes:

• A translation of Unausgesprochen by luminec

Important:
This is fan fiction. All actions, thoughts and feelings of the characters are a product of my imagination and do not represent reality.
Some elements are loosely based on the actual lives of the protagonists or on various statements from interviews, but have been interpreted, processed and altered by me for my own purposes.

Lumis note:
Hi :)
Some of you know me and know this story. It already exists here in German under ‘Unausgesprochen’.
Many of the readers have always translated my German texts into English themselves, so I have long wanted to make it easier for them, but I never had the courage to do so.
I am not fluent in English and I have tried to translate it as best I could. And I had great support from my dear friend Leah, who proofread it and eliminated a few mistakes.
I would also like to say a special “thank you” to MyLittleSoul, without whom I would not have dared to publish a translation of the story. You two are a wonderful and precious souls and I am grateful and happy to have met you. Love!!!

This little story takes place during the Violator era, in the summer of 1989. One important change from reality is that in this fan fiction, the band lives together in a house (I think they only did that during the SOFAD era).
Enjoy, and Suffer Well. :)

Lyrics used at the beginning of each chapter: ‘Enjoy The Silence’ by Depeche Mode

Chapter 1

“Words like violence
Break the silence
Come crashing in
Into my little world”

…

Sweat ran down David's back.
The sticky humidity of the Italian summer night weighed heavily on his drunken head. He squinted at the pool, longing to jump in and cool off in the lukewarm water, but he knew it wouldn't help. Because nothing could ever stop the hell inside him. It would just keep burning. Getting stronger and stronger.
Electronic music boomed and blared out of numerous stereo speakers that had been set up around the pool.
People were everywhere on the grounds of the house they had rented while recording "Violator": good friends, casual acquaintances, and a few fans.
They partied, danced, drank, chatted and trampled the withered grass beneath their feet to death. Hands were everywhere and tongues were wagging. The air smelled of fun, of alcohol, of drugs and of sex.
It was just another party night.

And at the heart of it all was Martin.
By now he was only wearing his underwear. His green eyes were glassy, his lips were red, and his blonde curls stuck out wildly in all directions. His body was covered in glitter, makeup, alcohol, sweat and saliva. He was surrounded by women who kissed him all the time and touched him everywhere.
And Martin liked it. He laughed loudly, threw his head back — completely drunk — kissed back, and gasped when a young woman unabashedly grabbed his crotch.
Martin let himself drift. He let himself be desired. He let himself go.
Why not? He was single. He was free. And he was attractive. And David had done the same to him last night.
When he'd been in her place. When he'd touched him. And so much more had happened between them.

They had had sex. Uninhibited, rough, hot sex. Not for the first time. And not the second time, either.
Because what had started a few weeks ago as a drunken accident had since developed into a recurring desire.
But not that night. No. Now it wasn't David who had Martin's cock in his hand, but an attractive woman who was perfect for him.
And he chose her. Of course he chose her.

"Fuck!" David exclaimed. The sight was driving him crazy, and making him angry. It rushed and throbbed mercilessly in his head.
He drew the smoke from his cigarette deep into his burning lungs, filling them with black smoke. He threw the empty beer bottle onto the pavement. The glass shattered, but no one heard.
He needed something strong. A small glass of straight vodka. Maybe better, two glasses. He downed them in seconds, as if his body were an empty barrel and the alcohol were water.
Why did it have such a profound effect on him? Why couldn't he stop staring at them? Why was he so upset?
It was probably because he wanted it again. Because he wanted him again.
And of course he did.
But why was there this constant pressure in his stomach? Why did it sting his heart so terribly? Why did he feel this bitter cold pouring through his body in addition to the miserable heat?

It was just sex, between he and Martin. Nothing more.

"Just keep fooling yourself, Dave."

Alan.
He knew about it. David had to confide in someone, and Alan would have found out sooner or later anyway.
At the very least, it would have been obvious to him after he and Martin had done it in the middle of the night on Alan's beloved mixing desk in the studio.
He had an antenna for everything that went on there.
For every vibration.
And…the next morning, he unfortunately found the used condom in the torn wrapper that David had left there.

"You're standing here like a beaten dog, getting drunk and crying because he's kissing some woman instead of kissing you. You're bursting with jealousy," Alan analysed accurately, placing a friendly hand on his back. David liked Alan and his straightforward manner, he was a good friend, but he couldn't stand him right now.
Him and his all-knowing, pitying gaze.

"I'm not crying!" David growled and shook him off. Tears ran uncontrollably down his cheeks and his eyes burned.
"And I'm not jealous!"
He kept wiping his face gruffly, scratching himself as he kept staring over at them - at Martin and this woman who was now sitting on his lap and couldn't stop kissing and touching him. Why couldn't they stop?
"He can fuck whoever and whatever he wants. After all, that's what I do too."
"Well. You're not doing that right now," Alan said calmly and offered David a joint after taking a drag himself. David tore his eyes away from Martin and accepted the offer.
"I'll give you half an hour and then you'll go crazy about it and hit the wood up ahead. It's more than just sex. At least for you. And I'm really no expert on these things, but if you ask me, you're in love with him and I mean really in love with him."
David would have liked to punch Alan in the face, but it wasn't Alan he was angry with, even if every word he'd just said had felt like a little knife stabbing all over him.
"As for Martin..."
Alan shrugged his shoulders.
"...Well, no idea what he's thinking, or feeling."
David had never understood Martin either. He had tried. He had tried to interpret his lyrics. To relate them to something or someone. To characterise him. But Martin was brilliant at saying everything and nothing with words and filling every millimetre between the obvious lines about suffering, love, fucking, faith and dying with his own secret message.
Sometimes it seemed to David as if Martin was writing about them. Or about him. Probably he wrote about all of them and yet about no one.
Martin was like a puzzle without a template. Like a riddle without a solution. Like a bouncing ball that bounced up and down so violently that you couldn't make out its colours.
He fascinated David. He turned him on. He always had.
And David had accepted that.
He had allowed Martin to take him and capture him.
His body and his soul.

But not his heart. Not his damn heart!
He wouldn't let anyone take his heart away from him.
Never again.
"That's ridiculous, Alan. I'm not in love with him!"
Deep down, he knew that Alan was right. But he was damn good at silencing that voice. Because it wasn't his truth. It couldn't be his truth. It didn't have to be his truth. Such a truth about such a feeling would destroy everything. It could do nothing else.
Life had taught him that many times before.
"I've got everything under control. You'll see..."
But the truth was that he had no control over anything. And, as Alan had predicted, he soon lost control.
It wasn't the wood, but several bottles of wine that he threw against the light-yellow wall of the house. They shattered, leaving wine-red stains everywhere. In the semi-darkness, the dirty liquid looked like blood.
It looked as if he had killed someone or something. Well, wasn't that exactly what he had tried to do?

The liquid dripped onto the grass and stained it. Just as the pain dripped into David's burning heart and etched a hole in it while Martin disappeared somewhere with the pretty woman and... it was obvious what they were going to do.
David screamed, but the loud music drowned out his cry and every word that left his throat.
It didn't matter anyway.
Because it was just sex. Between them.
Nothing more.

…

Chapter 2

Notes:

Wow. Thank you all!
I thank you so much for your support, for the kudos, and for the comments!

“Painful to me
Pierce right through me
Can't you understand
Oh my little girl?“

…

Lukewarm water poured down on them mercilessly, washing away the dirt of the night, the smoke and the alcohol from their bodies.
After they had all been out at a nightclub, David had intercepted Martin as he staggered towards his room, pulled him towards him, kissed him, ripped the last bits of clothing from his body, and dragged him into the shower with him. It had been a night similar to the one before, outside the house. And yet it was completely different.

David threw his head back with a groan and looked down. He loved this sight. Martin, hot and naked, kneeling in front of him, greedily taking his cock into his mouth again and again, trying to suck the hell out of him, and he could do it. He could do it damn well.
Martin was as beautiful and innocent as an angel, and at the same time as hot and sinful as the devil. He was the apple of Adam and Eve's tree. Or the snake. Or both.
He was driving him crazy. He was killing him. With his lips. With his tongue. With every inch of his body. And everything about David wanted him.
David dug his hands into Martin's wet, blonde curls, pulling them roughly, forcing Martin to let go of his cock. He pulled him up, turned him around and pressed Martin's body against the cold, wet, slippery tiles. His fingers wandered downwards.
He had to have him. He had to have him now.
David covered Martin's back with kisses and thrust a finger into him without warning. Martin gasped in shock, tensed up, only briefly, then relaxed his muscles and let David play.
David breathed hotly and contentedly into his ear, kissed the crook of his neck, pressed himself close to him and whispered in Martin's ear that he was going to fuck the life out of him.
And Martin didn't stop him. Why didn't he stop him? Because he wanted him just as much. Because he needed him just as much. Because his whole body was on fire, just like his.

David took his finger out of him, pressed his cock against Martin's entrance instead, took advantage of the brief moment of relaxation and thrust himself completely into him with one hard stroke. Martin cried out loudly.
Fuck! David bit his lip. Too fast. Too rough. Too hard.
He deserved the bite from Martin's teeth into his forearm, right into the ‘Dave’ tattoo. He felt the sweet pain that made the heat around his cock throb.
He wanted more of it. Much more. He lost control. They both lost control. Paradise turned into hell, and hell spewed fire into every corner of their minds.
Sometimes he needed that. Angry, rough sex. And he was damn angry. And Martin should feel it.
Martin had ignored him all evening. He had enjoyed himself without him. He had let others touch him. Let others take him. David felt betrayed. Cheated. And it hurt. It hurt so damn much.
David couldn't cope with this pain. He couldn't cope with it any more. The feeling was gnawing at him and there was hardly anything that could numb it.
And Martin was to blame. He was to blame for everything.

But at the same time, these scenes had challenged him.
He wanted to show Martin that he was everything he needed. That only he could satisfy his desire and give him pleasure.
He wanted him to be addicted to him, and he wanted this thing between them to never end.
David placed his hand on Martin's cock and pumped it while he continued to move inside him, deliberately thrusting against his prostate. He wanted Martin to come. Quickly and intensely.
And David knew the perfect angle, he knew Martin's twitches, he knew how to move his hand on Martin's cock so that it would be over in a matter of seconds. And he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer himself. Not today. Not with this rage in his gut. Not in this smouldering heat. Not with this fog in his head.
David felt Martin reach his climax as Martin's black-painted fingernails dug into his thighs, as he threw his head back against his shoulder, gasping his name loudly and hoarsely, and David thrust into him once more, hard, as if he wanted to pierce him.
Everything went black for a moment as he pumped his semen deep into Martin's perfect body.

Dizzy with pleasure, he let his forehead slap against Martin's back, held on to his hips, closed his eyes and whimpered as he let his cock slide out of Martin, as if it hurt, which it didn't, but suddenly it was cold, very cold.
They fell to the floor together.
Martin trembled against him and pressed himself against him. Their breathing was ragged, their hearts pounding against their chests. David could feel it.
Martin had his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. Then he looked at him. With his green eyes. With his beautiful green eyes.
And David kissed his cheek and his mouth, licked his lips, and fuck, he had hurt him.
He hadn't prepared him for long. He hadn't used any lubricant. Just soap and a finger.

"Did I hurt you?" David whispered, his lips trembling

"Not as much as I hurt you," Martin replied. Then he smiled away the pain. So dirty and so beautiful.
David's mouth fell open. It stung his heart and pulled at his stomach.
"I saw your eyes. You were so angry," Martin added, gently stroking his cheek with his index finger, his eyes looking through David's eyes as if they could see his soul behind them.
"Because I made out with them? Is that right?"

A fog immediately clouded David’s vision.
The world blurred. Had Martin provoked him on purpose? Had he seen through him? Did he know he had feelings for him? No! David looked away from him. He had to stop this. He had to stop feeling the deepest truth about himself. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. Anger crept back into his heart and poisoned it within seconds.
If Martin knew that he... felt, then he would... No! It couldn't be.
So he pulled Martin's hair, so hard that he whimpered. Then he kissed him. Wet and dirty and cold. His heart pounded hard against his temple. The lukewarm water still poured down on their bodies like thousands of tiny blanks.

Fuck.

"No," he replied to Martin's question and let him go. "I don't care what you do with anyone else..."
It was a lie. David could feel it. But he didn't want to feel it.
The lie was so much better than the truth. It was easier. It allowed him to remain in control. It concealed his weakness. It didn't change anything. And that was exactly what he wanted.
"...as long as you want this as much as I do. And you do, don't you? I saw it in your eyes. You want sex with me. I want sex with you. That's it. I was just angry because you made me wait, and I hate waiting."

And he looked into Martin's eyes. Just for a moment. Martin stared through him, then past him. He looked frozen.
David hated not knowing what he was thinking, what he was feeling, what he was wanting. But he didn't ask Martin. He didn't ask him for the truth. Because he was afraid. Afraid that he couldn't handle it. But he wouldn't admit that. Not at that moment.

"Good."

That was all Martin said before he broke away from him, stepped out of the shower cubicle, dry-rubbed himself, not hurriedly but quickly, and left the room without looking back at him.

David was left alone under the running water. It was cold there. Without him. He knew that Martin had left for good. He had done the only logical and right thing.
It was just sex between them. Nothing more. He had just told Martin so himself. And the sex was great. It was amazing. It was good. It was the best thing Depeche Mode had ever given him.
David's vision blurred. He slapped both palms against the tiles, followed by his forehead. Why?! Why wasn't it enough? Why couldn't it just be enough for him? Why did he feel so empty? So burnt out? So frozen? So damned?

Part of him wanted to run after Martin and tell him that he had lied.
That he actually hated it. When others touched him. When others kissed him.
That he couldn't stand it. Every minute he wasn't with him. Every second he didn't belong to him. He missed him.
He needed him.
But he couldn't move. He stood under the shower, shaking and crying, repeatedly hitting the tiles. The truth screamed at him and David beat the truth. He tried. He tried so hard. But he had hardly any strength left. How much strength would he have left?

The shower wall remained intact. And even the water couldn't wash away his pain.

It wasn't good.

Nothing was good.

...

Chapter 3

“All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here in my arms
Words are very unnecessary
They can only do harm”

…

It was the middle of the night. David couldn't sleep. His bed was big, empty and cold, and he didn't know where Martin was. But he knew that Alan was still working on the song ‘Policy Of Truth’ in the studio. So, he went to see him.

“You were right, Alan. I'm in love with Martin,” he said, sitting down next to Alan on the swivel chair and resting his head on Alan's shoulder.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was the first time he had said it out loud. The truth.
And it felt like there was an aching void inside him that he had uncovered, that he was looking into, and he wanted to close it, but he didn't know how...
Not after the last night he had spent with Martin.

Alan stopped working, glanced at him from the corner of his eye, tucked the cigarette between his teeth and replied sarcastically, but with a slight smile on his lips:
“Wow. And how many litres of bodily fluids did you exchange before the wave of realisation finally reached you?”

“It's not as easy as you always make it seem. It's really complicated,” David grumbled, burying his nose in Alan's shirt and holding on to him for support.
Alan's little dig had been justified. David knew that. He had suppressed the truth for far too long and refused to accept it. Alan had told him that hundreds of times before. And he was thankful to Alan for doing so and for being the friend he needed right now.

“Did you tell Martin?” Alan put his cigarette down on the glass ashtray, put his arm around David's shoulders and showed him he was there for him.

“No.” David sighed.

“Have you ever talked to each other, or do you just fuck?”

“We don't just fuck, we...”
David grabbed Alan's cigarette and took a drag.

He blew out the grey smoke forcefully and thought back to last night...

…

They had promoted the first single, ‘Personal Jesus,’ from their unfinished album on German television, and after the performance, Martin had secretly slipped a note with his room number into David's white trousers in the dressing room. When David showed up a little later, freshly showered, excited and hungry for contact, Martin immediately satisfied his longing by hugging and kissing him and telling him how happy he was to finally be able to touch him.
Then Martin took his hands, pushed him onto the bed, slid on top of him with a smile, pinned his hands to his left and right sides, put his index finger on his lips and made him understand that he should be quiet and relax. And David did. He closed his eyes and surrendered to him. Completely.

It had been different from the night outside the house. Or the night in the shower. Or the many other nights they had had sex. David hadn't been drunk. He hadn't been high on anything. He wasn't angry. He wasn't restless. He hadn't been desperate.
So there could only be one explanation for all the madness that had followed, for all the heat, for the intoxication, for all the vibrations:

Love.

Because there had been a tingling feeling. In his stomach. In his head. Everywhere.
While Martin had slowly stripped him of his clothes and kissed every inch of his naked body with his lips and tongue.

He had goose bumps. From head to toe.
While Martin's fingertips gently caressed his skin and Martin's curls, still damp from the shower, tickled him.

His fingers and lips had trembled and his knees had wobbled.
While Martin's voice had whispered the hottest and sweetest words in his ear.

He had felt queasy. Dizzy. Cold and warm.
While Martin had asked him to turn onto his stomach. And he had done so.

His heart had been pounding. Loud. Hard. Fast.
While Martin's hands had massaged his back and buttocks with gentle, firm kneading and squeezing movements, and he had taken his hand and intertwined their fingers.

His mouth whispered and moaned Martin's name. Again, and again.
While he had felt Martin's tongue, his breath and his lips between his buttocks, and he had pleasured him like no one had ever pleasured him before.

His head had been unable to form a clear thought.
It had felt good. And right. And natural. And real. Everything Martin had done to him. Everything he had triggered in him. Everything he had given him.
And even everything he had taken from him: his soul. His mind. His body. His heart.

And David didn't know if Martin had planned from the beginning to take his anal virginity that night, because up until then, David had always been the active part in sex. David never thought he would ever accept a cock in his ass, that he would ever want to be so intimate with someone, but at that moment, it was exactly what he had wanted. Him. And everything about him.
That's why he had asked Martin to take him and fuck him. He had wanted to feel him like this.
And he hadn't regretted it. On the contrary. It had been incredible. That feeling of Martin on top of him and deep inside him. The feeling of being united with him. Like so many times before, yet different and new.
Martin had given him the most beautiful and hottest first time he could have wished for.

And when he had come, David wanted to shout out loud: “I love you, Mart! I love you so much!”
But the words of truth had not passed his lips that night either.

Only for a moment, as he pressed down on the door handle, had it seemed to him that he heard Martin whisper:
“Dave... please don't go...”

But his heart was beating so loudly that he had probably just imagined it.

…

“You should tell him, Dave,” Alan said, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray after sharing it with David.

“And what's that supposed to achieve? We've made it very clear that this is just sex between us. And that's how it's going to stay. It has to stay that way.”

“And now you're the one acting like it's all so simple. But I've known you long enough to know that you're not the type of person who can just bottle these things up inside. That's more Martin's thing, although he often numbs himself with alcohol and pills. You both do that. And since you've been having sex with each other, you've been doing it even more.”
It stung David painfully. Alan wasn't entirely wrong. Sometimes the pounding of his heart and the pain drove him so crazy that he felt the urge to kill the feeling inside him. And alcohol and drugs could do that, at least for a while.
“So what am I supposed to wait for? For one of you to start taking even harder drugs?”
Alan looked at him accusingly and with concern. He wanted to help him. He wanted to help them both.
“There's no point in not talking about it anyway. Everyone here knows you're involved. Andy and I know, and Daniel, Jonathan and Flood know by now. Even Anton has suspected it since the last video shoot.”

“How...?” David's mouth fell open in surprise. Was it that obvious? How long had it been obvious?

“Because we all have eyes in our heads and we can see it. You sneak around Martin like a cat around a mouse, you constantly stare at him, you burst with jealousy when someone else flirts with him, and do you really think we don’t know what you two are doing when you disappear somewhere at the same time when we’re supposed to be recording your fucking voices? And then you come back, don't even tuck your shirts in properly, and grin your satisfaction in our faces. You two are really terrible actors.” Alan smiled gently.
“Besides, Martin stares at you just as much as you stare at him when he thinks no one is looking. I've noticed.”

“Really?”
David felt the warmth creeping into his head and his heart begin to beat a little faster. Could Martin be in love with him too?
The thought alone triggered an indescribable feeling of happiness in David; one he wanted to sink into.

“Yes. And it doesn't surprise me much. That kind of thing can happen when you end up in bed together all the time.”
Alan offered David another cigarette, already lit. David's fingers, trembling slightly from the sweet thought of Martin not only desiring him but loving him, gratefully accepted the cigarette. He took a deep drag and the pink clouds that had briefly appeared in his head were replaced by the colour of reality: black.
No. It wasn't good if Martin was in love with him too. It would make things even more difficult and complicated.
David bit his lip. Damn it. What was he supposed to do?
“Dave. Please don't get me wrong: No one here has a problem with it as long as it...”

“...doesn't affect the band. As long as we don't ruin anything with it. That's what you wanted to say, right?”
David exhaled the smoke. Actually, he knew it. Everything.

“And that's exactly the fact. It already has an impact, but it's minimal as long as it's just sex. Martin and I can't be lovers. We can't become lovers. It works in books or films, but not in our reality, “ he said unemotionally, his chest burning with pain. He couldn't forget this truth.

“That's why it doesn't matter whether we're in love or not, because ultimately, it's feelings or relationships like these that would ruin a band like us. They would ruin everything. Martin knows that and I know that, and neither of us can allow that to happen. Depeche Mode means everything to us, and as long as we just have sex behind closed doors, we're not hurting our business, right?”
Alan looked at him thoughtfully and didn't disagree.

“But as soon as I tell Martin that I have feelings for him, there would have to be consequences, and Martin would do the only logical and right thing in our situation: he would stop sleeping with me immediately. We’ll have to do that anyway at some point. Because we can’t be together. Because we can’t love each other. There’s just no other way out for us.”

And it hurt. It hurt like hell. David squeezed his eyes closed and felt them start to tingle. Tears welled up in his eyes. The thought of not being with Martin anymore felt like a little death to his heart. He didn't want to die that death. So there was only one way he could cope with the situation:

“But I can't stop until then. I don't want to stop. I'd rather love him secretly for a while and be allowed to touch him and kiss him and die in the process than have to stop tomorrow and die for real.”

It was a dilemma. A bittersweet, cruel dilemma. And it was too late for him to get out. A tear ran down his cheek.

“Call me selfish or self-centred, but I just need it. I need him. Just like I need the band. Do you understand, Alan? I can't and won't give up either one, and that only works as long as everything stays the same, as long as I keep my mouth shut and we don't get too caught up in any sentimental nonsense.”

David stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, roughly rubbed his face and wiped away the tears. He hated crying. He hated this weakness. The situation demanded the opposite of him. He had to be strong. And he would be strong.

“So don't demand or expect me to tell Martin the truth, because I won't. And if you really want to help me, then help me deal with the situation as it is right now. Then I promise you won't have to worry about me.”

David pressed his face against Alan's neck and dug his fingers firmly into Alan's shirt as a few last tears ran silently down his cheeks.
In the background, the almost finished sound snippets of ‘Policy Of Truth’ could be heard. He heard his own voice singing Martin's lyrics. The song rushed through David's head, mocking him, but the support Alan gave him helped him slowly calm his body and mind.

He needed to talk about it. Just not with Martin.

At some point, David had fallen asleep on the studio sofa and Alan had thrown a blanket over his huddled, exhausted body.
For a few hours, the painful hole inside him was covered up.

And Alan helped David from then on with his friendship. By letting David talk to him. By letting him tell him the truth. By letting him cry and scream. He prevented David from turning to harder drugs to numb the pain in his heart by listening to him.

And David said it over and over again: sooner or later, he would get over it.

Over Martin. And over his feelings.

Before anything or anyone got hurt.

It was a question of time, wasn’t it?

…

Chapter 4

“Vows are spoken
To be broken
Feelings are intense
Words are trivial”

…

Loud electronic music blared in David's ears. David spun around wildly on the dance floor among all the other party-mad people. Most of the time, he danced closely with Martin, rubbing his pelvis against Martin’s, pressing his lips fleetingly and deliberately into the crook of his neck, licking his ear, whispering dirty things to him and touching him everywhere.
He enjoyed flirting with him, he enjoyed the fact that Martin's attention was only on him that evening, and he enjoyed the fact that they were lost in the crowd and the dim light of the disco. No one here cared who they were.
People only cared about music, alcohol and sex.
It was perfect.

“You're going down, Dave, and I don't know how much longer I'm going to stand by and watch it happen.”

Alan.
Once again, he fired words like bullets, and once again, he hit the mark. And David was unable to avoid them. At that moment, he was only capable of getting drunk and forgetting.

“Yeah. I'm going down anyway. But better me than Martin or the band,” David roared back and drank the glass in his hand in one gulp.

“How heroic. Not.” Alan rolled his eyes. “You're an idiot, David Gahan.”

Of course. He knew that.
David just laughed shrilly and spun around, losing himself in the weightless feeling of the moment. He really didn't know what Alan wanted from him right now. They were having fun. They were doing well. Very well, in fact.

He glanced over at the bar, trying to find Martin, who had stepped away for a moment to get them another drink. Hopefully he would bring a glass for Alan too. The guy was still way too uptight and caught up in the harsh reality.

“And you, my friend, you definitely haven’t had enough to drink,” he called out with a laugh, poking Alan in the chest with his index finger and putting his arms around his neck, trying to get him to dance and relax by moving his hips against Alan’s. Finally, David took his hand and dragged him with him.

It had been a long night of partying.

Shortly before dawn, David and Martin staggered through the narrow hallway on the first floor of the house, after Alan, singing and giggling, had already stumbled into his room on the ground floor and hopefully made it to his bed.
They were all drunk, Martin a lot more than David, but even David could barely keep his balance when Martin bumped into him from the side while trying to walk straight ahead and pushed him against the wall, only to almost stumble forward over a non-existent hole in the floor.
David pulled Martin up off the floor, grabbed his arm and put it around his shoulders, trying to support him and help him walk. Martin could usually handle a lot of alcohol without it affecting him – apart from his sudden extroverted behaviour – but this time he seemed to have clearly overindulged.
It was a miracle that he was still wearing his clothes, and fuck... even dressed, this man was damn hot, David thought. In his transparent shirt, his skin-tight trousers, with his half-smudged make-up, his messy hair and his reddened cheeks. If Martin hadn't already given him the perfect blowjob in the club toilet, he would have pounced on him by now.

“Dave... I...” he heard Martin slurring. “…can't...”

“What can't you do? Walk a straight line? Hm...yeah...right.”
David wanted to sound amused, but Martin was in no good shape and somehow David sensed that the alcohol had opened a door that should have remained closed.

“No. I...” Martin wiped his forehead. Glitter stuck to his fingers. He almost tripped David with his legs.

“I have to…tell you…something,” Martin whispered, stopping his staggering and clutching his left breast. Oh fuck! Even David's drunk head understood the gesture, and suddenly he felt stone sober. This was not going in a good direction.

“Yes. But not tonight... Tonight you just need to sleep, darling,” David tried to sound calm in his equally slurred voice, but bit his cheeks tensely.
Hopefully they would reach Martin's room soon.

“But. I have... feelings... they're driving me... crazy...” Martin refused to be soothed for the time being.

David's heart crashed to the floor and bounced up and down like a bouncy ball.
‘Shit, he didn't even know what he was saying. To hell with it!’
David tried to kiss Martin to shut him up, but only met his lips briefly.

Martin threw his head back and almost lost his balance again, but didn't keep quiet:
“We...we really...really...really need to talk...my Davey.”

A strange mixture of fear, despair and anger spun in David's head and in his stomach. He felt sick. Really sick. Why did Martin always have to be so talkative and open when he had been drinking? Exactly. He was drunk. That's the only reason. David should stay relaxed.
Martin just needed to sleep, and once he was asleep, the amount of alcohol he'd had would cause him to black out anyway.

"I know. But right now, you're drunk. We'll talk tomorrow."
David knew they wouldn't talk. Especially not sober.

"Really? Because otherwise I'll die, you know?"
Martin giggled exaggeratedly and out of place, not realising in his drunken state that he had just stabbed David in the chest with an imaginary knife. He didn't notice how David flinched, how it hurt and throbbed inside him, because otherwise he probably wouldn't have continued talking, otherwise he would have stopped and not said:
"I go POOF! Like a balloon that someone pokes... and pokes... and pokes... it happens all the time... It's really funny, isn't it?" he whispered, repeatedly poking David's chest and stomach with his index finger.

No. It wasn't funny. It was awful. And the sick feeling in David's stomach grew. It was as if a violent hand was turning his stomach inside out.
All he could hear in his head was: 'Sex. In love. Not talking about it. Ruining something. Everything is over. Never again.‘
Why couldn't Martin stop talking? Why couldn't he just be quiet?
'Martin. Depeche Mode. Martin. Depeche Mode.’
There was a terrible noise in his ear, even though Martin wasn't speaking anymore, just saying:
"Promise me that we'll talk... Daveeeyy..."

'Feelings. Need to talk. Die otherwise.'
It was the loud fragments of images and words that rushed through his head and burst like balloons.
'Promise me.'

"All right, I promise you!" David shouted angrily and desperately, and Martin flinched.

'Asshole. Coward. Egoist. Liar!' he continued to scream inside his head, and when the last imaginary balloon burst, a violent jolt went through his stomach.

David let go of Martin, who almost fell over, and just managed to make it to the toilet. David fell to his knees in front of it, dug his fingers into the toilet seat and vomited, spewing out all the filth and all his feelings.
He gasped and trembled and sweated. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and ran uncontrollably down his cheeks. He felt miserable and terrible.
Martin made it to him a few moments later and lovingly stroked his neck and back, being there for him, which opened up the fresh wound inside him even more and healed it at the same time.
He needed him. They needed each other. And the noise in David's head slowly subsided.
Somehow, they made it to bed after washing and undressing as best they could.

"Please forgive me," whispered David, stroking Martin's hair and kissing his forehead gently after Martin had quickly fallen asleep in his arms and could no longer hear him.
"I love you."
Tomorrow, Martin wouldn't remember a thing. Not even the promise David had made him. It would continue to be just sex.
Nothing would change.

It was good this way. It had to be good this way.

***

"Dave..."

Martin's body was shaking. His wrists were tied above his head to the bed with a rope, his eyes blindfolded with a white cloth. He was breathing heavily. David's semen stuck to his chest and face. Martin had given himself to him. Again, and again. And it had been heaven on earth, paradise in hell, to... to have sex with him... to make love with him. Yes. That's what it was now.
David felt it more and more clearly. He was less and less drunk and high, but more in love.
Martin as a drug worked much better on him. Much more intense. And even after the climax, the feeling didn't go away. His whole body was still electrified and burning with heat.
And now… The way Martin lay there at his mercy. Insane, greedy, desperate and hot with lust and passion. The way he whispered his name. No one could whisper his name like he did.
What the hell was he doing to him? Just a moment ago, he had come hard on him, and now he wanted him again.

"...please...let me...come," he heard Martin whimper beneath him, half choking.
Martin lifted his pelvis. His cock was hard and twitching, begging for release. David had pulled away twice just before Martin came. He loved playing with him and his lust. Making him squirm. Watching him slowly lose his mind and throw all restraint and inhibition overboard.

"How much do you want it?" David whispered into his ear with a grin, tugging at his earlobe with his lips while pumping his own cock hard again.

"I want it..." Martin moaned and licked his lips. "...more than anything else in the world."

"And what would you do for it?"

"Everything."

"Tell me more."
David slowly ran a finger over Martin's chest, rubbing his cum on it, circling Martin's nipples, moistening his fingers with lubricant while Martin told him how much he wanted him. Then positioned himself between Martin's legs, pressing his cock against Martin's entrance but not penetrating him, kissing him passionately instead. Martin hungrily returned the kiss, pressing his body against David's, the rough fabric of the handcuffs cutting deep into the skin of his wrists, but when David let seconds of torture pass after the kiss ended, Martin hissed loudly:

"Shit, Dave! Just fuck me!"

"I will..." David was burning with desire. "...but I want you to look at me."

David took off Martin's blindfold, then wrapped his hand around Martin's cock and gave it the friction and pressure it deserved. This time he wasn't going to stop as he slid into Martin and immediately moved inside him, hard and fast, while Martin's eyes sparkled with satisfaction. His fiery, dirty, beautiful green eyes loved and desired him, just like the rest of his body.

Martin's orgasm, the violent jolt that went through his burning body, the expression in his eyes, and his stifled cry of relief almost knocked David over and made him come inside Martin again. He bit his lips so hard that he tasted blood.
Then a wonderful feeling of satisfaction washed over him, calming and relaxing him completely. This was all he needed. Not even on stage had he ever felt such happiness. And at the same time, it was killing him. It was tearing him apart. It hurt him.

David freed Martin from the handcuffs after they had both calmed down a little and tenderly stroked the red mark on his skin. He had tied it too tightly. At least it would be visible for a while that he had belonged to him.
David wanted to leave him chained up, or to chain him to himself. He wanted him to belong to him, to love only him, to sleep only with him. And he wanted the world to know.
But Martin didn't belong to him. He would never belong to him. The world couldn't know. It couldn't be. David hated this reality.

"That was fucking awesome. You're going to kill me one day, Mart." David smiled away the bitter reality and kissed Martin's lips tenderly, ruffled his curls and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Not if you kill me first, Dave," Martin replied, smiling back at the sweet kisses, wrapping his freed arms around him and tickling David's neck. Martin closed his eyes and visibly enjoyed the closeness. It hurt David deeply and he flinched. Was Martin aware of what he had just said? That he had already said something similar?

He thought of a balloon that was being pumped up with more and more air and of a needle, and he glanced at the sore marks on Martin's wrist. He was hurting him. He didn't want to hurt him. But the more he felt for Martin, the more he loved him, the more he would destroy him. David knew that. He felt it. It had always been that way. For a moment, he saw the sad and disappointed faces of his ex-wife and his little son before his eyes. The tears on their beautiful cheeks. The many promises he had broken. The feeling of failure and loss. The feeling of guilt.
He had ruined everything he had ever loved.
He had to stop. They had to stop. But how?
David knew he had to let him go to prevent him from dragging him down with him.

But he was afraid. So terribly afraid. Of letting go. But also, of holding on.
Of falling in general.

A small tear crept out of David's eyes and dripped onto Martin's skin. Martin opened his eyes. David quickly wiped his cheeks, but it was too late.
Martin looked at him, lovingly, hurt, catching him with his presence and his gaze, just like on the night Martin couldn't remember, when David had vomited all his filth in front of him and trembled and cried so pitifully, showing Martin all his weakness and inability to deal with their situation.
The night he had promised him something he hadn't kept.

"Dave... you..."
Martin wanted to start talking, but David silenced him by pressing his index finger against Martin's lips, then his palm.
Martin's eyes widened in surprise, but he understood the message, then David replaced his hand with his lips and stifled his pain and Martin's reaction to it with a kiss that left Martin breathless.

"I just had something in my eye," David whispered, stroking Martin's chest.
He could feel Martin's heart beating fast. Why couldn't they just tell each other that they loved each other? Why couldn't they just love each other and be happy? Why not? It was so fucking unfair!
David got out of bed, got dressed, kissed Martin tenderly on the cheek, told him he just needed a quick post-sex cigarette, and left.

And as he stood there outside in the cold, empty hallway, he thought about what Alan had said to him in that one brief, quiet, far too sober moment on the dance floor that night, just before David had managed to pull him away and detach him from reality:

"I'm not just worried about you, Dave. Have you ever thought that Martin feels the same way? That he feels the same and suffers just as much? That because of the way he is, he may find it even harder to talk about it? He's started drinking at lunchtime, and I don't mean the usual two or three beers we all enjoy. This isn't his normal 'I'll bottle everything up because I can' behaviour. He doesn't even talk to Andy anymore."
"Why doesn't he talk to Andy?"
"Because Andy's not doing well himself, remember? That's why he's not out partying today. He's been taking these new pills for his depression for a week and the side effects are strong. Martin is looking after him and I'm sure he doesn't want to burden him anymore. But he doesn't talk to me either. I've tried, but he's obviously lying. Maybe... he just can't help it, you know how he is... I think Martin would talk to you. Maybe he's just waiting for you to do so, and you don't have to confess your love right away, but maybe just ask him how he's doing before you sleep with him next time."
“Okay. I will remember.”

He hadn't.

‘Idiot. Stupid, cowardly idiot!’ he scolded himself.
'Heaven help me!'

But he wouldn't keep his promise that night either.

...

Chapter 5

“Pleasures remain
So does the pain
Words are meaningless
And forgettable”

…

 

"I want you! Now!"

That was all Martin had said before pulling him into the small, stuffy storage room of the recording studio. It was so cramped between the dusty technical equipment that there was barely enough room for a sheet of paper. Martin immediately started things off between them. His warm fingers and greedy lips were all over David's body. They tore his clothes off, kissed his skin, caressed him until he was dizzy and drove the heat into his groin. David closed his eyes, let himself fall, and gave himself over to the caresses. His stomach tingled and his heart raced with anticipation when he heard Martin tear open a packet of condoms after turning him around.
"Good boy. Let me dominate this time, then I'll give you everything I've got," Martin whispered to him, letting him know with his touch that he should stay still. Every sound that left this man's throat was perfect to his ears. David moaned as Martin's saliva-moistened fingers entered him and stretched him wide.
"I've wanted to do that with you all day."
David loved it when Martin showed him how much he wanted him.

"Then take me, Mart. Don't hold back. Please."
He wanted to belong to Martin. Completely and utterly. And Martin's cock, which entered him cautiously but firmly a short time later, gave him exactly that feeling.
Martin held David tight and moved inside him with all his passion, kissing his shoulders and neck and gasping his name over and over again. David poured this moment into his mind like quick-setting cement. He screamed in suffocating lust when he felt Martin's hand on his twitching cock and his thrusts became harder.
"That feels so damn good," David gasped contentedly. "Keep moving"
Suddenly, they heard footsteps and voices behind the locked door. 'Shit. Not now. Please not now.' If any studio staff caught them like this: 'Martin Gore fucking Dave Gahan into heaven', then... ‘Oh God!’
Martin's eyes flew open, but he didn't stop, instead increasing the rhythm of his thrusts and hitting David's spot with every stroke. He couldn't stop. Neither of them could stop.
Now David knew what Martin meant when he sang "The Sweetest Perfection." Martin had written the song during the album recording, after they had started sleeping together. For David, that song was undoubtedly about what was between them.
He grabbed Martin's hips and dug his fingers into them, throwing his head back.

"Oh fuck… I'm coming..." David moaned hoarsely, and Martin bit his neck lightly and pushed a finger into David's mouth to muffle the volume of his cry of pleasure as David came and spread his sperm over the old, dusty tape recorder in front of him.
Martin thrust into him one last time and came with David's name on his lips. He remained inside him for a few seconds, breathless, before letting his cock slide out.
Then he turned David around, embraced him and kissed his lips. Their heated bodies lay close together, their hearts trembling and their breathing coming in gasps. They held their breath for a moment.
The footsteps outside the room faded away. The voices fell silent.
They were lucky they hadn't been caught, and that their game hadn't been completely exposed.
Many knew what they were doing. And yet it only happened in secret.
It remained unspoken.
This bittersweet truth:

Martin Gore loved Dave Gahan.

 

***

 

Everything was spinning in David's head. Just like his body was spinning across the crowded dance floor. He saw Martin's curls. His glassy, lust-filled eyes. The face he made when he came to climax. His fingernails digging into his back and hips. His hot, stifled breath on his ear. His voice singing, whispering, lulling all his senses.
David didn't know how much alcohol he had already consumed. There were party drugs everywhere in this club, and David gave in to temptation. Whenever the realisation tormented him that he was just fantasising.
Martin wasn't here. Even though they had plans. Even though they wanted to go out together. He had simply flaked on him. He was probably with Andrew instead, and taking care of him.
Was Martin fucking him too? Just like he had fucked him in the small technical room of the recording studio? He could still feel Martin. His hands that had held him and seduced him. His heat. His passion. His perfect cock deep inside him.
David had always been jealous of Andrew. Of their friendship. Of their closeness. To every laugh between them. It was ridiculous! To hell with these ugly thoughts!
David just wanted to forget. All the feelings. All the pain. Everything.
He was in love. He was angry. He was jealous. He was lonely. He was sad. He was everything and nothing. He couldn't cope with his reality that evening. And he knew how he could escape the filth and frustration:
He just had to fall in love with a woman again.
Then his problems would be solved in one fell swoop. And this girl was cute. She slipped a pill into his mouth, then kissed him…

It worked. For many minutes. Perhaps even hours.
Who had thought it was a good idea that they should all live together in a house instead of a hotel while they were recording the album?

"Dave? Are you back already? I'm sorry I was late earlier, I..."

It was Martin who caught him there because David, in his intoxicated state, had forgotten to lock the door. With a woman in bed. Of course.
Martin stared at him. With wide, frightened eyes. The hurt in his eyes was obvious. Then he ran away. And it wasn't just the door Martin slammed that rattled, but also a heart that shattered like a piece of glass on the floor.

David was boiling with desperation. With madness. The night was ruined. Everything else too.

These feelings. This love.
Pain. Nothing but pain.
It destroyed everything. He destroyed everything.
Guilt. So much guilt.

David screamed as he threw a bottle of whisky against the wall, and if the girl - the sweet, innocent girl who had unexpectedly stumbled into this story - hadn't been there, he would have cut himself on the shards.

But that way, David's wounds remained invisible.
Just like Martin's.
And the bittersweet truth behind it:

Dave Gahan loved Martin Gore.

 

***

 

Since then, Martin had consistently avoided David, locking himself in his room, only showing up in the studio when necessary, disappearing somewhere else the rest of the time, and thus, much like on the night he had stood him up, confirming David's inability to deal with this kind of rejection.
The fear of having lost Martin because of his stupid action raged terribly inside him. He couldn't accept it.

So, after three days of complete silence, he followed Martin into the studio's bathroom, pulled him into an embrace, grabbed his head and pressed his lips firmly against Martin's.
Martin gasped in surprise and David could feel his horrified gaze, but he didn't let go and ran his tongue over Martin's lower lip. For a moment, David thought Martin would push him away, but Martin returned the rough kiss, allowing David's tongue into his mouth and clawing his fingers into David's dark hair.
Martin tasted bitter, of alcohol and cigarettes and coffee, and yet incredibly sweet.
Butterflies fluttered in David's stomach, and their kiss grew more deeper with every passing second. Only when David's fingers left Martin's upper body and wandered deeper down his back, and he pressed his hardened groin against Martin's, Martin abruptly ended the kiss and pushed him away with a blow to his chest.

"Why did you do that?" David asked, shocked and hurt.
"Are you still angry about that one thing?"
Martin didn't look at him. He had turned down the corners of his mouth and clenched his hands into fists.
"Oh, come on, Mart. That is stupid."

"Stupid?!" Martin barked, and an icy chill ran down David's spine.
"You know what's stupid? That I thought you'd wait for me. But why should you? You can find someone to fuck on every corner. I was a little late that evening because of that stupid phone call that..." Martin squeezed his eyes shut. For a brief moment, he looked like he was in pain, then he growled angrily.
"...it doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything anyway."

"It was just sex," David tried to appease him in all his desperation. He tried to be strong, even though he was already emotionally devastated.

"Just sex?! Like this?!"
Suddenly, Martin was standing close in front of him again and ran his hand over David's softened crotch. David gasped sharply. Damn it! No. Not like this. This meant something to him. It meant everything to him.
He could hardly bear Martin's anger. It attacked him. It cut into his heart. It scared him. And the fear inhibited him. Again.

"I don't understand why you're so upset. How many girls have you had in your bed in the last few weeks? I never made a scene like this. You had just as much fun as I did," he mirrored Martin's hurt with his own.

"Oh yes. I had a lot of fun..." Martin sneered and grabbed him roughly again. David gasped, but not with pleasure. He didn't want them to have this argument.
"...and maybe I wish you had made a scene, David. Why did you follow me just now? To fuck me?"
Martin's hand was ice cold. So was his gaze. He waited. And he trembled. He waited. And David had so many words in his head. Too many. He felt something wet pressing against the corners of his eyes. Not much more, and he would burst into tears.
Martin should stop doing that. Looking at him like that. It hurt. He wanted more than just sex. He loved him.
"Or did you want something else?"

"Martin... I..." David's lips trembled. "...I just wanted..."
He had never seen Martin so angry. Never so rough. Never so cold. David knew that Martin wasn't really like that. It was obvious that he had already had a lot to drink. His pupils were unnaturally dilated. He might have had other substances as well.
Martin let go of his crotch after David still couldn't find any more words. Then he turned around. David saw him wipe his face with the back of his hand and heard Martin sobbing before he disappeared. And he didn't come back for several days.

Martin continued to bottle up all his shit inside. He numbed himself with alcohol. And David hated him for it. And he hated himself for it, because he was just the same, because he himself had drunk so much that evening that he ended up hanging over the toilet bowl vomiting. He hated himself for not going after him, and for the fact that they hadn't talked to each other again.
About their truth. About their feelings.

Dave Gahan and Martin Gore loved each other.

 

***

 

"Dave!" Alan roared after Martin showed up at the recording studio right on time for the vocal recording session.
"What happened between you and Martin?"

"Nothing," David replied emotionlessly, stubbing out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray and reaching for the bottle of tequila.

A kick in the arse from Alan was the last thing David needed. He was late. Alan had been so busy in the studio over the last few days that he hadn't noticed that things had escalated between Martin and him. To be fair, David hadn't sought comfort from him either. He hadn't been able to do anything.
And now they were both sitting here. In separate rooms. Getting drunk and ignoring each other, looking like death warmed over. And in a few minutes, they were supposed to sing the last song on the album together. The devil was laughing at them both.

"Don't mess with me! Have you even looked at him?"
Of course he had. And the sight of him had sent a thousand swords through his heart.
"It's ten in the morning and he's drunk, or on drugs, I don't know what he took or drank. He's really pissed off, almost aggressive. He's not usually like that when he's drunk. He looks like he hasn't slept for days," Alan described, his voice a mixture of despair, anger and concern.

"What do you think of me? That I gave him drugs?!" David hissed indignantly and downed the glass of tequila in one gulp.
"Ask Andy, he's always with him."

"Are you jealous of Andy now? Seriously?" Alan rolled his eyes and took the bottle of alcohol away from him. David growled.
"Andy is just as shocked as you are about Martin's condition. He's trying to talk to him right now. And I'm trying to talk to you. So, spit it out, Dave."

"Fine. I had sex with a woman recently and he caught me," he admitted in a low voice.
Alan looked as if he had been struck by lightning. He sank into the chair and buried his face in his hands. Then he reached for the bottle of tequila himself and took a few swigs. Finally, he understood him.
"I was drunk and angry and had taken something. I would have fucked anyone that night. Also, him. I actually wanted to do that, but he wasn't there. He just flakes on me and, I mean, the sex wasn't even good with that chick. Why does this have to ruin everything now?"

"Do I really have to explain this to you? Did it feel okay to you when he was having fun with women?"

"No, but I didn't act like an offended wife."

"Oh, right, I forgot: You behaved like a jealous thug."
David breathed and cursed. And now he felt that anger towards himself rising again.
"So tell me… When was the last time Martin had anything with a woman, or with anyone other than you?"

"I don't know."
When David thought about it, he couldn't think of much. It had probably been weeks. So Martin had only been with him lately. Of course. He had feelings for him. He had almost told him. That drunken night. He had asked him to talk about his feelings. He had asked him for help. And David had made it clear that he didn't want to talk. Several times. He hadn't helped him. Martin must feel terrible.
David ran his fingers desperately through his hair, whimpered, banged his fists on the table, buried his face in his palms and sobbed loudly.

Alan stood up and placed his hands sympathetically on David's shoulders, waited until David had calmed down, looked at him intently and said:
"You have to talk to him. Tell him the truth. Find a solution together. Neither of you can handle this alone."

Alan was right. He had to do it.
David had to start keeping his promises. He would talk about his feelings and he would allow Martin to talk about his feelings too.
Even if it made him feel sick with his heart pounding.

...

Alan and Flood asked Martin, who seemed weak and distracted, if he was able to record the vocals for "Waiting for the Night," and Martin defiantly said yes. Knowing that Martin had always been able to deliver musically, no matter how much he had drunk, and that they were already behind schedule, they decided to give it a try.

The atmosphere in the small, semi-dark room where David and Martin stood side by side at the microphone was charged. There was an invisible crackling and flashing in the air. A lump formed in David's throat. Goosebumps spread across his body. Right after the recording, he would grab Martin and talk to him. He couldn't wait any longer.
He nervously peered through the small window into the next room, where Alan and Flood sat at the mixing desk wearing headphones. Then the signal came. It was time. They heard the melody of the song through their headphones. David stared at a spot in the room, took a deep breath, summoned all his professionalism and began to sing.
When it was Martin's turn, he supported David's voice as always, singing clearly and soulfully despite his condition, but on the last chorus, on the word "reality," his voice suddenly choked up in the middle of the word.

Martin collapsed. He just fell over. David saw it out of the corner of his eye, but he saw it clearly. Martin's head hit the studio floor hard.

"Martin!" David cried into the microphone in horror, his voice reaching Alan and Flood's ears. He immediately dropped to his knees beside him and reached for him. Blood was sticking to his fingers. Martin's blood.
The door to the recording room was thrown open.

David screamed.

...

Chapter 6

“All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here in my arms
Words are very unnecessary
They can only do harm“

…

It was as if David could hear himself screaming behind a glass wall. Again, and again. Louder and louder. Until he couldn't breathe for a few seconds. An ice-cold, dark tunnel enveloped his field of vision and a sharp, violent flash of lightning shot through him, sending pain to every corner of his body.
He was paralysed. He was aware of Alan and Flood, he could hear their voices, he could see their horrified faces and desperate gestures, but he didn't understand them. Everything happened incredibly fast and yet in slow motion.

"Call an ambulance immediately!"
Alan. What? Why? What was he doing? Quick-thinking, he bent one of Martin's legs, turned him onto his side, put him in the recovery position and placed two fingers on his neck.
"Shit! Shit!"
Alan yelled, frantically searching for a pulse. What was happening? What had happened?
Martin!
He was lying there. His face was completely white. Blood was running from his temple into his ear. He wasn't moving. Why wasn't he moving?
"Come on!"
Alan's powerful voice again, and Flood ran to the phone.

David grabbed Martin’s face. His fingers were shaking violently. He could smell blood. Martin's blood. Oh God!
An iron ball bounced up and down in his stomach. It hurt. Everything hurt so much. And he felt sick. So incredibly sick. A jolt went through his body. As if controlled by someone else, he reached forward again, pushed Alan aside, grabbed Martin's shoulders, dug his fingertips into his skin and shook him.
"Mart! Wake up! Please wake up!" he pleaded and screamed desperately, but Martin didn't respond.
"What's wrong with him, Alan? Why won't he wake up?! He has to wake up!"
David felt his vision blur rapidly as his eyelids filled with a heavy, salty liquid.

"Calm down, Dave!" Alan's hands reached out for him. "Stop! Calm down!"
But he couldn't calm down. Tears streamed down his reddened cheeks, but he didn't care.
He had to talk to Martin! He had to talk to him right now!
He continued to shake Martin until Alan finally caught his hands. He pulled him roughly away from Martin's body and squeezed his hands so hard that they hurt. David whimpered and sobbed.
Then David felt arms wrap around him from behind. Flood. He pulled him up and further away from Martin.
"No!" What were they doing?! "Let me go!" They wanted to take him away from Martin. They couldn't do that! "I have to wake him up!"
He wanted to fight back. He kicked out, but his feet hit nothing. Alan helped Flood. Why wasn't he helping Martin? Instead, the two men pushed him down onto the sofa next to the mixing desk.

"No! No, you'll kill him that way, Dave!"
Alan hissed sharply, and the words were like another flash of lightning that shot through him.

He will kill him. He killed him. He killed...

David's body shook and trembled, yet did not move.
Through a haze, he saw the ambulance arrive. Two figures immediately took care of Martin, fiddling with him, tearing his shirt, jamming a syringe into his arm, bandaging his head and hooking him up to an IV. They spoke in a different language. Quickly and loudly, as if they were yelling at each other. Then they asked in English what Martin had taken. What drugs. What medication. How much he had drunk.
David didn't know. Why didn't he know? How could he not know what Martin had done to himself? What he had done to himself because of him.
David saw Martin's face in his mind's eye. Drunk and beautiful. His glassy eyes, his wet lips and the tear-smeared kohl on his cheeks.
He heard him say, "You promised me we'd talk, Dave."
David hadn't done it. Why? Why hadn't he done it?!

"I didn't want this. It's all my fault."
He whispered these words over and over like a mantra and couldn't move.

Only when the paramedics carried Martin past him on a stretcher did he jump up and grab Martin's hand. It was ice cold. Pale. Blue. As if he were dead. As if it were too late.
"I believed you, Dave. I trusted you."
He couldn't hold him.
"You knew I would die, and you still didn't help me."
Martin's voice in his ears was replaced by a rushing sound.
"Why?"
Then a shrill beep. It was a long, gruesome sound. His ears hurt.
Panic crept into him like a demon trying to kill him. He was losing it. He didn't want to hear that. No.
Beeeeeep.
He didn't hear it. Or did he? He pressed his hands against his ears. The beeping was gone, but his heart was pounding against his chest like a jackhammer.
Martin wasn't dying. He couldn't die. Not here. Not now. Not before he told him he loved him. He was so scared.
The men took Martin away.
Where were they taking him?
Then he felt hands around him again. It was people talking to him. They asked if everything was okay. No. How could they ask that? No, damn it, no!
Couldn't they see that he was losing his mind from the pain and fear?

Next, he felt a hard fist hit him in the face, ending his mental turmoil.
"You asshole!" someone yelled at him.
It was Andrew, who had picked up their dinner at a restaurant three streets away while all this was happening. He knew what Martin had been drinking and had passed on the information. He knew, just like everyone else, why this had happened in the first place. Because the truth behind this story was still unspoken.
And David realised at that moment, and actually he had always known, that there were worse things than the truth. That there could be a more final end than the end he had feared so much.
Destiny was a merciless teacher.

"Is this what you wanted, David?! Was it worth it?!" Andrew snarled angrily.
He dragged David, who instinctively held his bruised cheek, off the sofa, roughly grabbed his collar and pressed him hard against the nearest wall. He slightly injured David's shoulder when his upper body grazed a stereo speaker.
"You fucked Mart just for fun! You should have stopped as soon as you realised, he was in love with you, but instead you kept using him over and over again! How could you do that to him?!"

Andrew pressed his hands so hard against his collarbone and throat that David had difficulty breathing.
"No, I..." David whimpered in fear, his vision blurring again behind a foggy, semi-dark curtain. "I didn't want..."

"What didn't you want…?!" Andrew stabbed him with his cold, blue eyes. He looked at him as if he wanted to kill him. And maybe he did. No one would blame him.

"It wasn't just fun." David closed his eyes and bitter tears slid down his cheeks again. His face and chest burned with tightness and pain.

"What was it then?!" Andrew briefly released the pressure on his upper body.

"I did it because I..."
David gasped again as Andrew put the pressure back on and cut off his air even more. But David knew he had to say it anyway. Even if it was the last thing he ever said.

"Because what, you bastard?!" Andrew spats mercilessly.

David gathered all the air he had left and shouted, "Because I love him!"
Then Andrew finally let go of him.

David gasped wildly, clutching his throat, and slid down the wall to the floor, but it felt like he was falling straight down into a burning hell.
Andrew knelt down in front of him. And when David opened his eyes and looked into Andrew's face, he saw that he was crying too. That he was shaking too. That he was suffering too. Because he loved Martin too. He was his best friend.
David felt Andrew's fingers again, but this time on his shoulders, left and right. He wasn't hurting him anymore. He was just holding him lightly.

"Why didn't you tell him, Dave? Why didn't you talk to him? He asked you to. He trusted you!" Andrew sobbed.
"How could you let him break down like that? I don't understand!"

Every word cut deep into David's heart, and every tear was like a drop of acid on his skin.
He couldn't take it anymore. He just couldn't.

David couldn't remember the minutes that followed.
Someone must have taken pity on him and given him a sedative or sleeping pill that finally numbed all his senses and pain, allowing him to wake up hours later.

...

When David woke up, he felt his heart racing, his mind immediately wide awake and agitated, and his body shaking with fear and cold. He wanted and needed to see Martin right away, but Alan, who had stayed with him, told him that Martin had been taken to the intensive care unit of the local hospital for observation and to sober up. No visitors were allowed there.
There was nothing they could do. Just wait. Wait for another call from Martin's mother, who would hopefully tell them that everything was fine under the circumstances and that Martin had been transferred to a regular ward. But for hours, the phone remained silent and time crept agonisingly slowly across the clock face.
David couldn't take it anymore.
He jumped up, went to the cupboard and grabbed a full bottle of schnaps. With nervous fingers, he opened the bottle and started to drink, but:

"Forget it!" Alan snatched the bottle from his hand. "Martin is sobering up and so are you! Learn to deal with your fucking life and your feelings! I'm never calling a doctor for one of you again!"

David growled and glared at him because it was wrong to use Martin as an argument, but he knew Alan was right. He had to learn to accept his truth and all its consequences. And he wanted to learn. He wanted to fight. No matter what it cost him.
At least Alan allowed him to smoke. And that's what David did. Cigarette after cigarette.

Andrew had stayed away from them after they had argued. But finally, the door opened, Andrew entered the room and sat down opposite David without saying a word.
Their eyes met briefly and a cold shiver ran down David's spine. But the piercing coldness in Andrew's gaze lasted only a moment, and after a deep sigh, there was something else in his eyes. David couldn't say what it was exactly.

"Listen, Dave..." Andrew said, crossing his arms. David didn't dare look at him. He was afraid of what he might say. He was afraid that his words might hurt him. Much more than his past stranglehold.
"...while you were asleep, Alan and I talked. He told me about your conversation the other day, about your worries and fears, and I think I can understand a little bit now why you couldn't talk to Martin about your feelings, which doesn't mean I've forgiven you. But I know that Martin has similar fears, so Alan and I have decided that as soon as Martin is well again, you will talk to him. You will tell him that you love him and that you want to be with him. And if he still wants you, I expect you to make him happy every day of your life. If you dare not do so for even one day, or if you ever stick your fucking dick in any other hole again, I will kill you next time!”

It felt like an eternity before David truly realised what Andrew had just said. At first, he just stared at him with his mouth open, or rather half past him, forgetting the glowing cigarette in his hand, which continued to burn until the ash fell onto the table. Gradually, the words pieced themselves together in his head and he realised their meaning.

"But if I tell Martin that I...," David muttered, overwhelmed. He could hear his own heart pounding against his chest. Could that really mean that...? Had he understood correctly? He looked to Alan for help.
"...what about the band?"

"Andy and I agree that it would be much more damaging to the band if you two weren't together," Alan explained. "We're not going to put up with this farce any longer. We'll support you and your relationship as a group. Let's just see what happens."

"Are you serious?" David still couldn't believe it.

"We're completely serious," Andrew confirmed, shrugging his shoulders. "We're a band with a gay couple. So what? We've always been special and different from other bands, and we always will be. I like it. And the next time we get beaten up by some guys who think we're gay, at least they'll be half right."
Andrew smiled conciliatorily. "We've been through a lot together and we'll get through this together too."

David's eyes widened. He couldn't find the words. Something exploded inside him. But this time it wasn't a destructive explosion. It was like an inner sun sending waves of warmth through his cold body and filling some deep holes inside him with friendship and happiness.
He jumped up and hugged Andrew and Alan, squeezing them tightly, kissing their cheeks, and the only word that came out of his trembling lips was:

"Thank you!"

 

***

 

The relieving call from Martin's mother had come after several more agonising hours, and David's stomach knotted uncomfortably as he entered the small, sterile hospital room where Martin now lay, still asleep. David took a deep breath and exhaled.
The walls were white and there was a strong smell of disinfectant. Fluid from an IV drip flowed into Martin's body through a vein in his wrist, his bare chest rose and fell evenly, and a thin bandage was wrapped around his head.
David placed a bag on the table. He had brought Martin some fresh clothes, his favourite items from the bakery and some fruit.
He took a chair and sat down next to Martin's bed.

"Hello, Martin," he whispered softly so as not to wake Martin, and smiled nervously. "I'm sorry you had to wait so long for me."
David took Martin's hand and stroked the soft back of his hand with his thumb. He felt his fingers trembling slightly.
Despite his joy that Martin would make a full recovery from his severe alcohol and drug intoxication and concussion, he couldn't deny that he was also afraid of their next encounter.
How would Martin react when he woke up? Would he even want to see him? Would he be able to forgive him? Would he still be able to love him?
David hoped so. He hoped so much. He wanted to be with him. He wanted to finally be able to love him. He wanted to be the man by his side.

"Dave?" Martin whispered, opening his eyes. David's heart sank into his queasy stomach at that moment. It continued to pound wildly and excitedly when their eyes met. Martin blinked questioningly at him.

"Yes. I'm here," David replied gently, moving closer to the bed, as close as the chair would allow, intertwining their fingers and brushing a blond lock of hair from Martin's face with his other hand.

"You've got..." said Martin, raising his hand and pointing to David's face. "...a black eye."

"Um... oh, that." For a moment, David was overwhelmed by Martin's tender and concerned gaze, as if he were caressing his black eye with his eyes, but maybe he was just tired and David was reading too much into it.
“...yes, Andy punched me pretty hard. The man has incredible strength in his arms.”
He smiled sheepishly and felt a tingling warmth creep across his cheeks.
"I deserved it. Actually, he should have hit me even harder."
He was ashamed that he had been jealous of Andrew and the friendship between him and Martin. But he now understood that this friendship had never stood in the way of their love, but was a valuable support for them.
"How do you feel, Mart?"

"A little headache. And still tired."
Martin yawned heartily and touched the bandage wrapped around his forehead and head with a slightly irritated look.
"The doctor told me earlier, when I was awake, that I collapsed in the studio. I really drank too much this time, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," whispered David, biting his lip. "I was standing next to you when it happened and I was so scared for you. Just the thought that I could have lost you..." David swallowed hard. A bitter lump hung in his throat.
"...there's no greater pain for me."

"I'm sorry," Martin whispered, deeply affected.

"Mart..." David shook his head. "...you don't have to apologise, I..."
David wanted to pour his heart out to him right then and there, but he had to hold back. He didn't want to pressure him. He didn't want to overwhelm him. He wanted to do everything right.
"...I have so much to say to you. I need to tell you so much. But right now… rest, get well, and then we'll talk about everything. About us and our feelings. You don't need to be afraid. I promise."

Martin reacted to the words by jerking his hand away from David's, which was still clasped tightly around it. His eyes were now wide open and staring past David. David flinched. Had he said something wrong? Had it been too much after all? Damn it!
David clenched his hands into fists, dug his fingernails hard into his palms and wanted to punch his own eye.
There was a terrible silence between them for a few seconds.

"Do you want me to leave?" David's voice sounded fearful and broken.
His words had undoubtedly stirred up all kinds of emotions in Martin. David could literally see the thoughts racing through Martin's troubled mind.
He didn't want him to suffer because of him again.

"No..." But instead of sending David away, Martin broke out of his stupor and jerked his upper body up from the bed. However, once he was sitting up, he clearly had problems with his circulation. He grabbed his head and muttered incoherently:
"Shit, I feel so dizzy," and let his body slump forward slightly.
David reacted instinctively and quickly moved his buttocks to the edge of the hospital bed, wrapping his arms around Martin to support him so that he could remain in an upright position and not tip forward or backward.
Martin rested his head on David's shoulder, breathed against David's neck, brushed his lips against the skin there and let him hold him.
"Please...Dave..." Martin wrapped his hands around David's hips and dug his fingertips firmly into David's waistband. A queasy feeling wriggled through David's stomach. He briefly forgot to breathe when Martin's moist lips pressed briefly against the skin of his neck, as if they wanted to kiss him there.
"...don't go. Stay with me."

David's heart leapt into the universe, stopped, and then raced on at double speed. Martin wanted him to stay. He didn't want him to go. He...
David had goose bumps. Everywhere. He breathed deeply in and out, intensified the embrace, stroked Martin's back and through his curls with his fingertips.
Martin let him, letting himself fall completely into him, sighing contentedly and closing his eyes. He trusted him. Still. After everything that had happened.
Tears ran silently down David's cheeks again. Tears full of love and emotion and healing. He felt it. He felt it so much. Here. In his arms. He had everything he wanted and needed.
Martin was the love of his life. And he was here. With him. He could feel his heartbeat. He was alive. He hadn't lost him. He was warm and beautiful and perfect.
And David enjoyed the silence between them, because he knew it wouldn't be silent forever.
He would never make the mistake of not talking to him again. He would never let Martin down again. He would make the most of this second chance.
He held Martin tight and gave him all his tenderness and warmth without saying a word until Martin fell asleep in his arms. Then he carefully laid him back in bed, covered him up and kissed his soft lips.

“I will stay with you forever, my love.”

And the next time Martin opened his eyes and was discharged from the hospital, they talked.
About how they felt about each other. About what had happened to them. About what it meant to them. And about how they would deal with it in the future.
Finally.

And nothing was over.
Something new was beginning.
From then on, David kept all his promises. The old promises and the promises he would make to Martin in the future.

And the truth that had remained unspoken for so long was spoken again and again. By both of them. By their friends. By their families. By some of their colleagues.
And finally, by the media. And by all their fans.

Dave Gahan and Martin Gore loved each other.

Everything was good. And everything stayed good.

...

The end.

Notes:

Thank you so much for your support. I am overjoyed that so many of you enjoyed the translation and read the story again, even though you already knew the plot and the ending. I'm not sure if there are/were any new readers among you, but I would like to extend a warm welcome to you too and thank you for being here. I will gradually translate all my stories and I would be delighted if you would accompany me on this journey. Of course, I will continue to write the ongoing fanfiction and these will initially be published in German as usual, but at some point they will also be translated. (at least that's what I plan to do)