Put here from the peer pressure of a friend. (; Originally a g-slash exclusive, but she wanted to comment, so why the hell not. This is to you, SoS! So yeah, this will have my first mature scenes as a fanfiction writer. Definitely would love comments, whatever they may be, sweet or not since they are always appreciated and I am a new writer to this genre. Of course, thank you to my beta reader, Kinara (hope you don't mind the name drop!).
Warning: Murdoc/2-D; drug use; mentions of sex (will get steadily more graphic); stuff. Please, if this really makes you uncomfortable, I wouldn't suggest reading it.
Genres: General/Romance/Angst
Full Summary: With Murdoc at the helm of the next Gorillaz CD, 2-D is unwillingly shipped to Plastic Beach but as always faithful to his commanding band leader. Murdoc has only seemed to fall more crazed and outlandish in his ideas, his sanity and sobriety seeming to deteriorate like his health. Murdoc's lies continue at a steady pace, 2-D unsure how to separate the fibs from the truth. Will it be Murdoc who wraps 2-D around his finger, or the other way around?
Onyx eyes opened to reveal nothing, seeing everything surrounding him layered in a thick inky, black. The young man's mind went from standstill to frantic as his fractured pupils rolled about wildly, despite knowing with his impeded eye site it was a lost cause in zero lighting. The worry crept in on his usually slow, and about only a few minutes ago, dormant mind as he realized he was stuck in a small, tight space.
A large hand reached forward to feel around, to get a slight grip on his environment; they came to a stop with a small extend of his arm, feeling splintering wood beneath his hands. He could swear he was surrounded by something soft, something oddly familiar as his breathing began to quicken. 'Where the hell am I?' thought Stu Pot, '2-D', the singer of the world famous Gorillaz.
He could barely move, like he was enclosed in a cubby hole of some sort. 2-D couldn't figure out for the life of him why. He searched the last of his memories, which only granted him the thought of his last phone call with his recluse bassist, Murdoc Niccals. The man he had known for basically half of his life, who had taken off after a quick blood transfusion given by 2-D himself, had called him to finalize their meeting in London.
"You sure you don't want to check out the new place?" 2-D heard his drawling voice through the receiver, his own thick high-pitched Crawley accent answering back.
"I'm sure; I told you Muds, jus' finkin' of that place gives me the willies!" the frown could be heard in his voice, to which Murdoc gave a hearty laugh
"Fine, 2-D―your loss, I know you would have definitely loved it here; private beach, new recordin' studio; s'like a dream come true. Mmmm," he voice trailed off and 2-D rolled his eyes at the Satanist, but nodded despite him not being able to see it.
"I'll live―I fink it would do you some good comin' back here, anyway. Where am I meetin' you again?"
"Oh, don't worry, that's all being arranged. You don't need to know a thing, aheheh..."
"Wot are you—mmmmm!" 2-D's voice was muffled by a hand clutching a stark white towel, and he could tell by the consistency of the cloth that it was soaking wet. He was about to struggle, bite the man with his gapped teeth if he had to, his phone forgotten as he looked around desperately; of course, the heavy bustle of London decided to now be missing. Before his phone hit the ground, 2-D was passed out in the man's arms after a few forced inhales, the pungent smelling liquid causing him to completely black out.
"Murdoc," 2-D spoke out loud in his wooden prison, knowing he was the sole reason behind this. He continued to try and remain calm, wondering what in the hell his band mate had in store, just where the hell had he placed him. Though in the past he thought it was entirely impossible, it appeared as though Murdoc Niccals had gotten even crazier.
2-D could only twist his body slightly since his head had been stuck skimming the top of the box. He could tell he had been in here for quite some time due to his sore shoulders as his skull was forced to lean downwards at a painful angle. He knew his sight was no use and his touch did little, so the next idea of moving his feet had brought some results. After a small shuffle of his sneakers, the singer could tell there was something below him within the same crate. One small stomp of his leg brought the sound of clinking glass; bottles, 2-D could immediately identify, which put the young man in a further twist. 'Fanks for packing me beer, when I can't even reach them!'
As his focus began to return, so did the notice of a small headache beginning to form at the side of his head. He closed his eyes as he sighed in annoyance, happy to at least have enough movement to raise his digits to rub his temple. His fingers paused as they slipped through his messy locks; although the mess was the norm, the greasy consistency was not. Just how the hell long was he knocked out for!
His finger tips graced past his chin, feeling obvious prickles from a lack of shave. 'Feels like a day or two…or three…' snorted the Brit to himself, which did not help quell his anger towards the older man.
Stu Pot was in need of his pills, a cigarette, and by the feeling stinging through his shoulders, a damn back rub. Just what was running through Murdoc's head, 2-D would never know. Murdoc's behavior had been noticeably stranger than usual―and that was saying a lot. The former speed addict had always been eccentric, living proudly up to his titles of 'uncouth', 'alcoholic', and 'womanizer'. He was filthy and full of lewd comments, and his cleaning habits were more than questionable. But now he had appeared to have reached new levels of sick thoughts as he proved he had the balls to mail 2-D in a wooden box.
After Demon Days, 2-D hadn't heard back from him for over a half a year, nothing, not even checking in to remind Stu he was alive. 2-D had picked only the necessary things from Kong before he left for his mother's home to follow his dreams of law school, Murdoc missing from the decaying walls of Kong Studios. At their ordeal in the city, the bassist simply stated he had 'other things to do,' and 'would see 2-D real soon.'
Finally, a few weeks or so since his final visit to Kong, 2-D received a phone call starting with a wet cough from his seemingly ailing friend.
"D, my liver is actin' up again," 2-D could hear the hesitance in his strained voice. "I need you to come back to Kong." 2-D imagined the 'please' that hung from his chapped lips, but it never came. Of course the ever loyal 2-D left his mother despite her complaints and wandered up to the steps of their recording studio, amazed at how fast the building had decayed since his leaving.
The skinny man entered the car park and soon after the Winne, Murdoc hooked up to an array of machines in only his skivvies, yet the smirk never wavered off his unshaven and now gaunt face.
"Ever given blood before, 2-D?" 2-D went as pale as his sickly comrade at the site of the medical components, eyes switching up to the attractive nurse at Murdoc's bedside. 2-D was a perfect match for the older man, reluctantly sitting on a stretcher before passing out from the blood loss and his nerves. He awoke to a much healthier sounding and appearing Satanist, who puffed away on a cigarette despite the IV still in his vein.
"Thank God for your sweet blood, dullard. I thought you went and shat yourself though, but you jus' passed out like some frightened possum." All 2-D desired was a Gatorade and to leave the makeshift hospital bed, Murdoc already up and moving since the transfusion. "God damn nurse gave me a diuretic, peein' every five minutes…" 2-D watched as he and his IV moved towards the Winnebago's bathroom, now stuck with his shirt off and his own intravenous needle.
2-D and Murdoc caught up for a few moments, the bassist elusive on his information on where Noodle was other than she was safe and enjoying the Maldives. Murdoc already had a drink even with the IV in his arm, ignoring the nurse's warnings on the danger of drinking, which landed his liver in this whole mess. "Eh, she's jus' here to look at―ignore her."
Other than that, Murdoc sent 2-D back on his way, with more promises to speak to him soon, that he would let him know about his future 'masterpieces', and of course told him to keep his vocals in top shape.
2-D figured he wouldn't hear from Murdoc anytime soon, so when his phone was ringing off the hook one night, he didn't rush to pick it up. Ignoring it the first few times, 2-D didn't bother looking at who was calling as he continued to try to sleep through the noise. Finally, the singer turned over with a growl and picked up, his annoyance instantly evaporating when hearing Murdoc on the other line.
It was a small message, Murdoc speaking quickly and unusually nervous as soon as 2-D answered. He frantically explained the situation of Noodle being whisked away to Hell and assured he was going in to retrieve her, before hanging up and never calling 2-D back with an answer on how it went.
The singer remembered sitting next to his phone for days, only able to admit to his self how sick the worry was making him. He sat in his mother's living room, the temporary office to 2-D's studies of law, unable to read the curriculum's thick text books as he stared at his old, flip cell phone (now replaced with a handy iPhone). It was the he who called back Murdoc after it became too unbearable, who picked up sounding disheveled as ever.
"Huh? Wot are you―Oh. OH! Oh, that. Oh, she's fine, dullard. Jus' needed to give Beelzebub a quick reminder, y'know? Wasn' given' him any part of my guitarist," it was followed by a throaty chuckle and the dial tone, the older man hanging up without another word.
The promise of seeing 2-D 'real soon' never was fulfilled, proof to why 2-D was so surprised to receive a phone call around the summer months of 2009. Murdoc gave him a call around early June, and all 2-D could do at first was stare down at the vibrating Mac device. His iPhone shivered in his long fingers a few times before he finally picked up, Murdoc's raspy yet strangely enticing voice slipping into 2-D's ear and out the other.
"Hello faceache," the greeting caused the singer to shutter to himself as he immediately identified the voice. "2-D, it's been a while. I have a few surprises, which are in need of your voice." 2-D was about to speak before Murdoc interrupted him. "Remember, you owe me your soul, 2-D, no 'ifs', 'ands', or 'buts'. I want you on my island in the next few days."
"Island?" repeated 2-D, a bushy eyebrow rising as he walked towards his home from the bus stop, a way he usually took to arrive to the University on time.
"Plastic Beach, dullard. I'll be sending you a ticket and a map. A picture will arrive as well. Let you see a look at our new home."
"New home, on an island!" Murdoc obviously had chosen the right words to say, Stu Pot always enjoying the Caribbean more than any other spot their band had visited.
"Mmm, you could say that. Got a private beach, lighthouse; Oh, D, you're goin' to love it." And with that, the bassist hung up, leaving 2-D to wonder if this was just a bluff. A few days had gone by without another word, until a knock on the door had sounded through the Pot's home. His mother Rachel had approached the door as she dried her hands with a towel, signing for the envelope that appeared to be covered in an array of stamps.
2-D approached his mother as she shut the door in only his boxers, the older woman slipping on her reading glasses as she read the address of the sender.
"Murdoc Niccals; from 'Point Nemo, Africa'?" she scoffed as she handed her son the envelope, returning to her job in the kitchen. "I tell you, Stuart, he's a cretin."
2-D read the small tag centered on the brown envelope himself before he sat upon his den's couch and cracked open the seal. He first pulled out the promised ticket, with a transfer from France to Bangui in central Africa. He studied the average looking plane pass as if it was the Chocolate Factories famous golden ticket, to which Bangui M'Poko International Airport beckoning 2-D to arrive and then depart towards Murdoc's new abode.
Not only Murdoc's abode it seemed, but his. Was this to be his new home? It never occurred to him as he packed, his mother looking over his shoulder as he attempted to gather everything he felt important. He wondered if he was moving all his possessions with him to Africa, looking back to his only living parent with his opaque eyes.
"Mum, I'm leavin' for Africa tomorrow. Muds needs me to record, he got a new place, on a beach!" he stated excitedly, revealing his two missing front teeth in a smile to his suspicious mother.
"Is that so?" she asked, frowning. "Where exactly is this, 'beach', he claims to have?"
"I dunno, it's private, but here's a picture." He dug into the brown envelope to pull out a Polaroid, studying it himself for a moment before he handed it to his mother. Rachel Pot raised a thin eyebrow as she studied the said picture, noticing the large rock formation that sprouted out the ground and lifted the new 'Kong Studios' into the air. The building was huge and modern, with both square and circular windows which were frosted heavily enough to not allow view within the structure. The lighthouse was heavily complimented by the green, leafy palm trees and small quaint buildings surrounding it; the rest of the island looked sunny and beautiful, appealing to the Gorillaz singer enough for him to trust Murdoc's enticing offer.
"May I borrow this before you leave, Stuart?" she asked, flashing the picture upwards before tucking it into her blouse.
"Of course, mum, I ain't goin' yet." He kissed her cheek before walking past, excited about the whole prospect of what was to happen in the near future. He didn't watch his mom creep over to the aged computer sitting in sleep mode on his desk, walking to the restroom as he looked over his features in the mirror.
Long, thin pianist fingers ran through his messy, azure locks, which still remained as untidy and thick as ever. Charcoal, indented eyes remained pushed back into his youthful face, which was still wrinkle free despite the many cigarettes he inhaled and headache pills he popped. 2-D studied his face, hands tracing the bags under his eyes which had always strangely been there despite the amount of sleep he gained. 'Thirty–one' rang through his brain, unable to believe it had been twelve years since he was nineteen, the way fate had strangely thrown together Stu Pot and Murdoc Niccals with not one but two car accidents.
The thought of Murdoc entered 2-D's frazzled brain, his eyes looking deep into his reflection as he thought about his older band mate. The man was cynical, loud, and particularly cruel towards Stu; yet 2-D never deterred on his faithfulness to the man who had given him a musical career. Suddenly 2-D avoided his reflection's eye contact, which in return looked down to his nervously twitching fingers in the sink below.
2-D needed to be careful as he day dreamed about Murdoc, because things he attempted to lock away from his subconscious threaten to taint his thoughts. Thoughts that Muds himself had warned him against after that one night in—
'No.' 2-D said firmly to what he assumed to be his feelings, ignoring the pit in his stomach the moment produced. He tore away from the bathroom as he entered his bedroom, speaking to his mom as he began to open a new suitcase, throwing in a mix of clothes, instruments, and other possessions as he began to go on.
"Murdoc says there are loads to do on the island, there is even some type of submarine of some sort…" the excitement in the young man's voice was evident as he scratched his chin in recollection.
"Is that so, Stuart?" 2-D did not expect such a stern reaction from his mother, giving a deadpan blink before gazing over to her. He walked over calmly towards Rachel, giving her a bit of an upset look.
"You aren't happy? Mum…it's for the band. Y'know this is what I do for a livin', even before law and everyfing."
"That's not the problem, Stuart. It's this." A long, painted nail had pointed at the screen towards what his mother had been looking for, 2-D's large eyes going even wider. His mother had searched the coordinates of Murdoc's mansion, forty–eight degrees south and one–hundred–and–twenty–three degrees west on the wonders of the internet, displaying a picture which painted a completely different story to 2-D.
"Murdoc," 2-D shouted at his iPhone, taking both Murdoc and his mother listening in on the phone call by surprise. "I don't know where you sent that picture from, but I should have known you were tryin' to trick me!"
"Trick you?" asked Murdoc, and 2-D could almost hear the mock that seeped through his hurt tone. "Now how did I go and do that?"
"Oh, let me tell you," 2-D was using an angry tone when speaking, one which was rare for the usually even-tempered singer. "Points forty–eight degrees and one–hundred–and–twenty–three degrees; two–thousand–five–hundred–and–ninety–two kilometers from land; prone to tropical cyclones, typhoons, mudslides, torrential rains, tornadoes, gale winds, major lightning and thunder storms? Not to mention the heavy fog and the common occurrences of pirate attacks," Before Murdoc could speak, 2-D continued. "Pirates! I didn' even know those existed anymore!"
"Oh, dullard, you are overreacting. I'm here, and so is Noodle, and trust me, she's been―"
"Noodle," 2-D blinked, not hearing from his female cohort in years. "Noodle is really wiff you?"
"Weeeell," as 2-D heard Murdoc extend the word suspiciously, his eyes narrowed. "Well, sort of. Jus', wot the hell D, you need to come here and record my album, pronto. Don't be such a wuss!"
"I am not being a 'wuss'; if you want to record YOUR album so bad, you can come here!" And with that, 2-D slammed his phone down and began to ignore the many rings that followed in pursuit. He walked past his eavesdropping mom and threw open the refrigerator door, grabbing a can of White Light as he refused to look her way.
"Stuart," she sounded concerned, to which 2-D shrugged off.
"It's fine, mum. Don't worry about it." He took off back to his room, where almost all of his possessions were packed away and ready to be shipped, sitting on the bed he had inherited since a teenager. He sighed deeply, looking down at his large, pale feet. 'I should've known he would lie like that'. Of course Murdoc would lie to get what he wanted, the Satanist thought nothing of it.
2-D looked to the pocket of where the actual photo of 'Point Nemo' was hidden, reaching in and pulling out the crumpled picture. He stared at the building, which looked exactly like the one in the first photo, but now with a thick, green fog and scorching lightening behind it. The waves looked wild and vengeful, and the trees looked like they were shaken like ragdolls.
2-D looked to the plane ticket further up on his bed, turning towards it as he picked it up. He contemplated taking it and throwing it in the trash, but thought against it as he picked up the map Murdoc had sent. It had trailed from England all the way down to Central Africa, but noted there were multiple markings written and erased across the map as he lay back in bed.
It hurt him when Murdoc lied to him like this, just so the bassist could record 'his' record. 'His' record? What happened to Gorillaz? The, 'B.E.S.T. ™©'? 2-D had barely given thought to how Murdoc even started this new CD, now unconfined from the bowels of the Mexican prison system. Noodle had dictated the last album; it did not surprise Stu that Murdoc had jumped right back into the reigns. Speaking of his guitarist, she was with Murdoc? I guess things really did go well when retrieving her back from Hell. He felt sad he wouldn't be able to see the nineteen year old, but knew he had to stay strong. Plus, that place really did scare the hell out of him!
Zombies are one thing, but pirates? 2-D needed to draw the line somewhere.
"Stuart!" hollered his mom from their kitchen. "If you're not goin' to pick up your phone, at least turn it off!" 2-D frowned, taking a sip of his beer before bringing it with him downstairs. He approached his cell phone, which was still vibrating on his living room's coffee table, picking it up with a glare.
"Murdoc, stop callin' me―"
"Stuart," 2-D froze, and he couldn't help the small blush that graced his cheeks. Murdoc knew 2-D all too well; it was rare for the bassist to call him by his full name, and knew it worked well to lure 2-D into what he wanted him to hear. 2-D cursed his body and its reactions. "Listen to me."
2-D sighed in annoyance, knowing a headache was soon to come. "Well, Murdoc; I'm listenin'." He sipped his beer as he sat upon the couch, running his fingers through his hair.
"I will come to London, and we'll speak there. Happy?" 2-D could detect the annoyance in his voice, following with the mumble, 'such a baby'.
"Fine, we'll talk in London, but you will not get me to go to that island. Murdoc," 2-D swallowed. "Somethin' about the place scares me, I'm sorry; got a bad feelin'." He spoke quietly, and hoped Murdoc got the sad and frightened vibe he was trying to convey.
"Wotever, 2-D. You better just be the amazin' singer you always were―you are essential to Gorillaz, I'll give you that. I'll call you tomorrow with details, dullard." After a small click, Murdoc had hung up.
'Essential to Gorillaz' thought 2-D, stroking the soft skin of his throat with a bit of grin. 2-D had found it surprisingly easy to talk Murdoc into changing his mind, which was unusual for the infamously stubborn Satanist. But he was glad to receive the phone call the next day to verify their meeting, already in London and excited to show him the new flat he recently purchased for he and his mate to reside in. He figured Murdoc would find a way for him to record over here in the UK, and everything would work out fine and dandy. Besides, 2-D thought, how long had Murdoc been residing on that island?
But here was 2-D after being gassed, trapped in whereabouts unknown, feeling hungry and in pain for being cooped up so long. God knows how long he had been in here, and he wondered if his mother was worried sick about him. More than likely Murdoc had figured out that too, probably calling his mother and attempting to sweet talk away her distress. 2-D frowned at the thought of his bassist, his knuckles cracking as his tired fingers formed into a fist.
Unable to see the ball his hand formed, he desperately smacked it into the thick wood. He bit back a yelp of pain, his fingers gaining a few splinters. 'That's not a good idea,' So, if 2-D couldn't break out, he would continue being forced to wait? Murdoc packed him beer; did he also pack him food? Not that it mattered, considering the singer couldn't reach either. So he was stuck here, for who knows how much longer, lowering his blind eyes as he controlled his breathing in even breaths.
These were the times 2-D questioned his loyalty and other affections he held for Murdoc Niccals. Murdoc was never particularly nice to 2-D, usually calling him demeaning names, despite if other people were around to behold the spectacle. He also enjoyed being vicious and abusive, Stu Pot's lanky form seeing an array of bruises and wounds when Murdoc directed attacks on him.
Yet 2-D continued to follow him blindly, able to admit to everyone that he hung on every word and gesture the bassist would do. If one watched closely enough, they could detect the way 2-D stared at him a little too long, a little too enamored, a little too 'involved'. 2-D tried his best to hide such displays, but found it futile when alone with his aging band mate.
2-D could only say to himself how much he truly loved Murdoc. Not just loved Murdoc; how much he loved Murdoc.
It crept on him early in their career, his fascination for Murdoc growing like their number of fans and singles. He began to realize just how woman found the sordid and gross native of Stoke–on–Trent attractive, how his dark chuckle and humor were alluring. The singer had kept these feelings locked away and did well hiding them by luring in his own female cohorts, and with such pretty looks he harbored since a young age, had no issues doing so. Both Murdoc and 2-D made an excellent team with picking up the ladies, the other man never questioning just how much 2-D cared about him.
2-D never really dwelled too much of them, to be honest. He just thought it was a passing phase, an infatuation for the man who had cared for his comatose form for months until he woke him by carelessly crashing him through his Astra's window. He knew this changed nothing between him and his band leader, that such feelings were highly unlikely to be returned, and that the man abused him far too much to even fathom it.
Yet it did happen when the two men least expected it, on a fateful evening during the early recordings of Demon Days, on a night as dark as 2-D's current surroundings.
Stewart had been looking for Murdoc throughout the building of Kong, before it became decrypt and decaying after their second album. He found the older man none too surprisingly residing within the Winnebago, 2-D hesitating before giving a knock on his door.
Murdoc answered, cigarette hung loosely between his lips, shirtless with only a pair of dirty and stained jeans. He also sported his classic Cuban heels and inverted cross, which hung glinting on his neck as he stared down at his timid singer.
"Wot?" he asked, not hiding the attitude in his voice.
"I dunno. Where are Noodle and Russ?" asked 2-D, as if he completely forgot why he wanted to speak to Murdoc in the first place. He knew secretly he had just missed the tough, older man, the two returning only a few days before. 2-D was barely able to speak to him, only seeing him once or twice in the recording studio. "May I come in?"
"Hell if I know, he probably wanted somethin' to eat and she tagged along." He rolled his eyes, pausing in his facial expression as he raised a brow at the last question. "'Come in'? Why?"
2-D shrugged. He took a deep breath. 'You promised yourself; be more assertive, grow a pair, D!' 2-D had desperately thought of ways to impress his older cohort during their break, to move past the names of 'dullard' and 'imbecile' the man enjoyed calling him so much.
"Um," he searched his brain for a good answer. "I wanna drink?"
"You wanna drink," Repeated Murdoc, giving a snort. "Okay, do you have anythin'?"
"Well, I don't have any booze," Murdoc was about to show him his back. "But I have this!" 2-D reached into his pocket and produced a good sized Ziploc bag, half of it filled with thick green buds known as marijuana. Murdoc looked at it hungrily, licking his lips with his inhumanly long tongue.
"2-D, you know exactly how to seduce me." 2-D desperately fought off the flush on his face, trying to banish such an idea. "Alright, I'm sold." Murdoc pulled away from the door frame and allowed 2-D entrance, to which the singer followed with sunny thoughts.
"Don't touch anythin'―you'll probably break it." Grunted Murdoc as he sat in a ruby velvet chair, 2-D gazing at the ceiling's array of air fresheners before looking to the other.
"Do you ever change those?" pondered 2-D out loud as he sat upon Murdoc's couch, getting comfortable besides the speakers.
"If I remember to, sure," Murdoc pulled heavily on his cigarette, reminding 2-D of his own addiction as he pulled out his own. "So, wot are we smokin' out of tonight?" it had been ages since both 2-D and Murdoc smoked together, not since the recordings of their first album.
"I dunno, got any papers?"
"Nah," Murdoc grunted. "Been drug free since my stint in the big house." He scratched himself inappropriately, eyes turning upward as he thought. "But look in between those speakers, if I remember correctly…"
2-D blinked as he reached between the said electronics, feeling around as he felt a small, glass piece. The pipe was pulled out from a joyous 2-D, Murdoc smirking as he got more comfortable in his spot.
"Perfect," Murdoc contently sighed, propping and crossing his feet besides 2-D. The singer looked to his thick leather boots then back to the other, who stared at him stoned face in return. "Are you goin' to pack it?"
"Oh!" 2-D smiled sheepishly as he began to move, reaching into his pocket and ignoring the older man's comment of, 'idiot'. "Was it scary?" asked a curious Stu Pot, packing the weed within the smoking device.
"Was wot scary?" Murdoc pulled out a cigarette from his pack, sick of watching 2-D smoke his own after the first was finished. 2-D pulled on his own fag and a thick wisp of smoke leaked from his spaced teeth.
"Jail," 2-D stated bluntly, handing Murdoc the bowl and offering him first hits. Murdoc took it happily, lighting it up with a smile and taking a deep inhale before speaking. The older man threw his head back and allowed the smoke to trickle from his lips before he answered. He closed his eyes contently as he finally spoke.
"Nah," he shrugged, finally raising his head again before continuing. "It was nothin' special, that's for sure. Actually, eveythin' I expected. You met my boys, Pedro and Carlos―took real good care of me. Y'know, no one realized who I was, except for one or two guys who had been to that fiasco of a show," Murdoc's spiky smirk caused smile lines on his face. "Yeah, wot a pissa that was…"
Murdoc handed 2-D the piece and the singer took a large puff, his shoulders going lax as he breathed out the smoke. "Wot did you do there?"
"Pfft, I dunno, wot you think? It was fuckin' borin'. But," Murdoc took the pipe and hit it again, a grin on his visage. "Take a look at this." He handed the younger man the glass, heading towards the Winne's bedroom as 2-D watched. 2-D shrugged and hit the bowl again, holding in the smoke before letting it vacate his nose. Murdoc returned with what appeared to be a thick sheet of paper as well as a hefty bottle of Jägermeister. "Here,"
2-D and Murdoc switched, the singer studying the slice of parchment before fully identifying what it was as Murdoc smoked. "Is this a diploma?"
"Dr. Niccals, general practitioner, at your service," He said with his fanged beam, walking towards the front of the Winne and returning with two glasses. "Can get you those headache pills with a snap of my fingers."
"Wow, Muds." He blinked as he read it over. "I wish I had somethin' like this."
Murdoc took a hit before giving a snicker, reaching forward and snatching the diploma from his grasp. "Need a brain for that, dumbarse." 2-D frowned and was about to retort as bravely as possible, but was cut off from his loud-mouthed house mate. "I know it's so hard, but enough about me―let's cut to the drinkin'."
"Muds, that stuff is way too strong! I know you have a beer." 2-D pouted, to which Murdoc ignored as he poured them both a shot.
"Shaddup, you're such a faggot sometimes." 2-D's pout only intensified, the older man rolling his eyes. "Drink this, and I'll get you a beer. Promise," Murdoc flashed his usually untrustworthy smile, but 2-D guessed the marijuana loosened him up a bit as he gave in.
"…Fine." 2-D took the last hit off the pipe, taking a deep breath. "I'll drink it." He took the cup in his hand and Murdoc looked as happy as a pig in shit.
"Far out, dullard, that's what I like." The pair cheered, the more cynical of the two looking delighted and the other with a worried frown as they sipped down their shot. 2-D sputtered and wiped his mouth on the back of his arm, Murdoc giving a chuckle. "It's not that bad, it's Jäger!"
"Says you," 2-D snorted and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "May I have that beer?"
"Did I say one shot? I meant two." 2-D eyes went wide as Murdoc poured another, the bassist feigning a look of pain. "2-D, my oldest and most trusted friend, will you not take a shot with me? How long did we go on without speakin'?"
"'Bout a year an' a half," Murdoc had not expected an actual answer, but shrugged as he looked modestly down from the shots to 2-D. 2-D sighed and took his glass again, Murdoc giving a bit of a playful bounce. "Awright, if you put it that way."
"That's a boy!" they crashed their glasses together again and took another shot, 2-D happy to taste that it was slightly more bearable the second time around. Murdoc didn't look or act phased one bit, standing up and moving towards the fridge. "Pack another bowl, dullard. The night has just begun."
2-D took the offered bottle of White Light and the two began drinking heavier, and one beer turned to about five or six. The two men took a few more shots before 2-D was left slouching against the couch, his eyes half-lidded from the buzz and laughter as Murdoc swayed and took a shot by himself.
"…And me and Shane look at this girl and we're like, 'No we're not from 'N Sync, wot type of music do you fink we make?'" Murdoc nearly coughed up his drink, picking up his beer to wash it down the right pipe. 2-D laughed as well as he took another hit from the bowl, the two men making a noticeable dent on the amount of beer, weed, and Jägermeister. "But I've had a few other girls recognize me at the fair."
"Oh really," Murdoc took the pipe from him, puffing his cigarette before the smoking device. "How was your stay back in Eastbourne?" he sipped his beer, the older man feeling as intoxicated if not more than the man across from him.
"Oh Muds, it was like I never left! I was back on the funfair―meetin' plenty of chicks." He said with a smirk, intentionally rubbing it in Murdoc's face. If he was to impress him some way or another, why not with the ladies?
"Oh, birds were nice?" Murdoc could at least admit to himself deep down that 2-D really did have a thing with girls, his fair features and looks pleasing to the eyes. "Oh man, imagine; I hadn' gotten laid in God knows…"
"Still?" asked a surprised 2-D before giving a hiccup.
"Pfft, nah, as soon as I busted out, I went right back to the coop that sold me in! Gave those chickies at 'The Chicken Choker' somethin' to remember." He chuckled darkly, stroking his chin as he remembered and sipped his beer.
"'The Chicken Choker'?" repeated 2-D with a shake of his head.
"Yeah, wot of it?" Murdoc looked at his talons before glaring back at 2-D, raising a bushy eyebrow.
"Sounds," 2-D hesitated as he thought of a polite way to say it. "…Nice." 2-D decided to lie instead.
"Oh, I forgot. Prostitutes aren't your 'fing'," Murdoc rolled his eyes. "You aren't a real man until you sleep with a hooker, 2-D." Murdoc pointed with his beer as he spoke, leaning lazily in his chair as he burped before speaking. "They know how to fuck better than anyone―well, except me of course," he laughed lightly before giving a small hiccup himself. "We both do it for a livin'."
2-D shook his head, finishing his beer before standing up. "I'll fink I'll manage," 2-D wobbled a bit to which Murdoc sniggered at, the thin man walking towards the fridge as he grabbed another ale. "You want one?"
"Of course, dullard. Wot type of question is that?" Murdoc stole his spot on the couch and let out a relaxed sigh, lying down with his legs crossed. "I like the idea of a song called, 'White Light'―wot a tribute."
2-D chuckled and turned back to Murdoc with two bottles, his grin fading as he saw his spot taken. "Muds, you took me seat!" he frowned as he began to sway; 2-D was definitely feeling intoxicated and standing did not help matters.
"Too bad; shouldn't have got up," Murdoc hit the bowl, his eyes bloodshot from the combination of pot and liquor. He lit a cigarette, scooting further into the couch, taking a deep inhale before blowing smoke in Stu Pot's face. "My Winne, my spot."
2-D frowned and set the two bottles down, and Murdoc did not expect him to literally push his feet off the couch. Murdoc instantly sat up and his face turned happily brooding to angered, grabbing 2-D by the collar of his shirt.
"Are you kiddin' me?" Murdoc turned and slammed him down to the couch, 2-D all the sudden not feeling as courageous when his back hit the sofa. "Don't tell me you forgot your place, dullard. You know better," 2-D remained frozen as Murdoc glared deeply at him, the scent of booze and cigarettes filling his senses. He felt Murdoc's harsh grasp barely glimpse his skin, the smell of thick cologne creeping in on him as well.
"Um," 2-D answered with a crack of his voice, flinching. "I'm sorry, Muds; it will not happen again."
Murdoc did not move his hold on 2-D, the younger man giving a 'gulp' as Murdoc suddenly smirked down on him. "Stuart," he chuckled. "Silly, silly Stuart."
'Oh. No.' the way the bassist spoke his name, 2-D couldn't hold back the visible shudder that suddenly overcame him. Murdoc's smile faltered as he took notice easily, at first staring deep into 2-D's indented gaze. The onyx was unusually bright at the moment, and a small pink was forming underneath the bags that afflicted the youth. Murdoc finally looked downward to 2-D's lap, which was currently hidden below long fingers twitching nervously.
Murdoc's two-toned gaze switched upwards as his lips moved to speak, but was cut off by a shocking move from 2-D; 2-D kissed him on the mouth, lingering for a moment before pulling away slowly. 2-D froze as he stared at Murdoc in shock, trying to process the action he just committed with his best mate as his head hit the sofa with a 'thud'. Murdoc stared back, still and blank except for a light twitch of muscles below his crimson eye.
2-D and Murdoc never acknowledged if the next move was out of wanton feelings or intoxication; the two men crashed their lips back together with such force it sent 2-D's head to the wall, Murdoc taking full control as he kissed the younger man hungrily. Fanged teeth nipped 2-D's thin bottom lip before giving a gentle tug, his long inhuman tongue slithering between eager lips. Murdoc invaded 2-D's mouth as the singer let out a muffled moan, the two sliding down to lay across the couch. Murdoc let out a throaty purr as 2-D tangled hands into his oily shag, the dominant of the two pushing his way between his long legs.
The rest was in a drunken blur, the two men kissing their way to the Winne's bedroom accompanied by feverish touches and the shedding of clothing. 2-D allowed Murdoc to take him as he pleased, not thinking twice as Murdoc ripped off his tight jeans, 'T―virus' shirt, and trainers, allowing him to touch him in places that he never fathomed before.
2-D felt the crate he presently inhabited get warmer as he remembered the way the two consummated such unspoken, locked away passion, not just keeping it in the bedroom as they found other places within the Winne to clear off and shag wildly. 2-D had climaxed so hard he saw stars, the older man finishing inside him with a heavy shudder and the sound of his singer's name coming from his own mouth.
The next morning was a hard one for the both, the two waking up hung over and confused as they found their naked bodies entwined upon the stained Egyptian silk sheets. The men at first said nothing, sitting in the stale scented environment of Jägermeister, weed, and beer with wide, incredulous eyes. Murdoc didn't hold back as he pushed 2-D to the floor, the singer scrambling to stand up and run before the Satanist grabbed his bare ankle, his other hand taking a hold of his hicky painted neck as he slid him underneath his stronger form.
"You little faggot," 2-D wheezed underneath him, trying to find air to collect as it felt awfully familiar, thinking back to the day Murdoc last choked him before fleeing to Mexico. "You planed this, didn't you? You just couldn't help yourself!" Murdoc shook 2-D in his grasp, the older man forgetting their intimate act only hours before as he handled him brutally.
Murdoc took a deep breath and to 2-D's surprise, let go, standing up and backing away as he reached for a cigarette. "Get the fuck up and out―take your clothes, your fuckin' weed, and get!" he threw a bottle at 2-D, just missing the singer's head as it hit the floor besides him with a smash. 2-D took a few deep breaths before gathering his belongings, not looking at the bassist who remained comfortably bare yet seething in his spot, avoiding looking at 2-D as well.
Finally 2-D spoke, his lips trembling as he held his clothes to cover his groin. "Muds," his voice shook with the mouth that just teased the bassist's olive skin. "I'm sorry." Before Murdoc could say a word he fled, bare ass and shivering as he ran to his room and slammed the door shut.
2-D dropped all his possessions and fell to his knees, fingers kneading through his hair as his head began to ache. He was dizzy, and almost positive that he would pass out before he reached his pills. The said medication stood on the nightstand besides his bed, calling to 2-D as he basically dragged himself there by his hands. He reached for it and finally took a hold, ripping off the child safety lock cap with shuttering fingers. He popped three pills and sealed his prescriptions into the nightstand, curling up on his clothes strewn floor as he thought back to last night.
He eventually snuck out, his eyesight back to normal and feeling much better. His backside and thighs were sore, as well as other muscles he used during the pummeling sex. 2-D blushed at the recollection as he checked to see the Winnebago from the crack of his door. He could hear the rumbling and obnoxious snoring of its owner from his room's location, sneaking out to catch a quick shower before Murdoc could awaken.
2-D relished the warm water, the shower making his sore muscles feel slightly better. He just guessed he'd have to up the dosage on his meds, since the hickies on his body were even beginning to sting. He studied his pale form, now marred by dark gashes made from Murdoc's long claws. He once again flushed, shaking water and lather from his hair as if trying to rid of the memories fresh with Murdoc's grunts and moans, as well as his own.
"How," whispered 2-D as he turned off the taps, as if searching his memory on what gave him the bollocks to even attempt that last night. But what made it even more ridiculous was the way the bassist reacted and returned his kiss, the one who chose to deepen it with his tongue as well as bring 2-D to bed. It was him who first unbuttoned his pants, it was him who―
2-D's thoughts came to a halt when the door to the showers crashed open, hitting the back of the wall with a 'slam'. Heavy footsteps boomed through the tiled floor as 2-D scrambled to cover himself with a towel, shivering from the threat those sounds entailed.
The next thing he knew the stall had been forced open, 2-D just avoiding the door as it hit into the plastic siding besides him. He was curled in the corner of the shower, trapped between two walls as Murdoc sauntered in only wearing y-fronts, with a look like knives stabbing into 2-D as he moved in on him.
"Good to see you decent," stated Murdoc, cracking his knuckles as he inched closer. 2-D shivered from Murdoc's icy glare and the drops littering his skin, cowering as his eyes begged mercy. Murdoc stopped when he stood about a few inches away, his hand extending outwards and taking 2-D by the neck again. The singer outwardly cringed, yet his grip wasn't nearly as strong as the last time, just hard enough to remind 2-D that his thumb lingered over his pulse. "We need to talk. Don't think I didn't expect you to avoid me, dullard."
2-D finally made eye contact with his own hallow eyes, swallowing before he worriedly spoke. "Look, I know you don't believe me, but I didn' plan nothin'―"
"Oh, but you did; don't think I've never noticed the way you stare at me, Stuart." Murdoc slammed 2-D's head into the tiled wall as the singer suppressed a shudder, choosing to yelp out instead. "It was my mistake to even dare to appease you; you will not let this happen again."
"Why me?" he asked, trying his best to glare back at him. He got a bad chill as Murdoc smirked, the devilish man looking even more evil than usual as he brought himself close. His lips barely glimpsed 2-D's own, the young man openly shaking as he felt the other's warm breath.
"Because you know it won't be me bein' able to control myself," he paused. "You will never tell a soul, and if you're smart, you'll be better at choosin' who you fall for dullard because I'm your worst choice yet." His smile remained cruel. "Oh sure, I see why; if it's not my smooth talkin', it's my good looks right?" he gave a half-hearted laugh, 2-D unsure if he was being serious or sarcastic. "Take my advice; I'll never give you what you want. I won't change, not for anyone," he brought his lips to his neck before pulling away a final time. "Not even for someone as gorgeous as you."
Before 2-D could say word, Murdoc turned away and showed him his back, which was even more afflicted than 2-D's own. 2-D studied the dipping trail of scars he himself made until the man left him alone in the bathroom. The singer was so frustrated; unsure if from his heart feeling broken or just how the situation seemed to get progressively worse, tears welling in the corner of his eyes as he felt pathetic standing alone in the chilly wash room.
2-D had always regretted not assuring Murdoc, for not even speaking up as the bassist put himself and his younger band mate down. 2-D wished he had told him he wasn't searching for change, just to give Murdoc the happiness he thought he could provide him. Such thoughts dawned on him that his feelings for Murdoc were just that, deep emotions that were much more than a passing infatuation.
Things had gone on exactly the same, the bassist at first throwing him glares when 2-D would stare over at him, the pianist able to read the words, 'back off' in his eyes. 2-D more than ever kept himself in check around Murdoc, happy to have kept up on his vocal practice during break as he sang beautifully on the new tracks. Noodle was impressed and Murdoc began to loosen up again, beginning to treat 2-D with his usual mix of abuse and even rare friendly comments he'd dish out at his, 'best mate'.
But 2-D could swear that neither man forgot and that he wasn't the only one who didn't think back to it from time to time. 2-D had memories of catching the bassist staring at him, before the older man would either revert his eyesight or even turn his stare to a death glare. 2-D never brought it up, keeping his promise of never speaking of the ordeal to anyone, not even to the man it happened with.
There had been one or two close calls when Murdoc would be intoxicated; a wink here or there or a passing comment 2-D would laugh off with a flush. The two fully slipped one evening as 2-D remembered drinking heavily together at a saloon, smoking spliffs and flirting with local girls. Murdoc had drunk himself sick, 2-D carrying the mumbling man towards the Winnebago alone.
"I dunno," Murdoc hiccupped. "I dunno if it's a good idea you come in." he was attempting to support himself on the mobile home's door frame, a conniving smile growing on his face as an equally drunk 2-D raised a brow.
"Why is that? I'll leave right after, I won't touch anyfink!" he frowned as he took Murdoc by the arm again, but the older man yanked it out of his grasp. He took 2-D by surprise as he placed his hand instead on his lower back, leaning in to whisper in his ear as he stumbled a bit.
"You'll be touchin' somethin' awright…" he chuckled as his voice trailed like his fingers, 2-D giving in as he gave his backside a squeeze. Murdoc brought himself close, enjoying the sweet scent that 2-D usually smelt of. "Mmm, 2-D, you're right, come in."
2-D blushed heavily, placing his hands on Murdoc's shoulder as he tried to push him off. "Awright, don't Murdoc; don't do somethin' you'll regret."
"Dullard," he only brought himself close again, nipping at his neck as his other hand grasped the next cheek. "Bring us to the bed."
2-D shook his head and let him hang on as he forced the other up the stairs, the older man continuing to assault his neck before finally finding 2-D's lips, trying to move himself past his gapped teeth and into his mouth. 2-D whimpered as he tried to fight back, but found it futile with his own lowered ambitions and desire for the aging man.
The two crashed down to the bed, the kiss becoming quickly aggressive as 2-D forced his shorter tongue into Murdoc's mouth. The Satanist tongue fought back with a playful growl, kissing 2-D as his hands remained rubbing his firm backside. 2-D had wriggled away for a moment and went to work on Murdoc's belt buckle, kneeling between the other man's legs as he worked open his pants. He moved to kiss him again but immediately stopped when he got a lack of response, pulling away as Murdoc below him began to snore.
He actually fell asleep! 2-D sat above him speechless, unsure what to do as Murdoc's hands' were still clutching his bottom. He blushed as he realized what type of mess he had gotten himself into again, relieved he could easily pull out of Murdoc's limp grasp and rush out past a staring Cortez, who watched him leave from his perch on the couch.
Murdoc awoke for their photo shoot a half an hour late, walking in as he attempted to rub away his blood shot eyes. "How did I get in the Winne?"
"I dunno," stated 2-D as he tried to hide the single hickey the bassist managed to leave for the time being, the other's attending the photo shoot teasing him before Murdoc appeared. "I dropped you off at the door, you went in by yourself."
"Oh, thanks," Murdoc paused for a moment as he craned his head, spotting the mark the singer tried to hide before teasing him. "Wow dullard, nice hickey." he winked at him before laughing, 2-D stewing in anger he couldn't express.
Of course, those photos were used for the Demon Days album, the three other members to this day unaware that one of their own caused it.
Since then, there were no further intimate connections between them. With the hype and successful turnout the record caused, all four members were busy with the highlight of their triumph and spoils. 2-D never told him of their last encounter, figuring it the night was better left unsaid. Things went on as usual, the band separating after their appearance at the Apollo, which leads to the present day of 2-D shivering in a wooden crate.
"How long will I be stuck in here?" pondered 2-D allowed, trying to get more comfortable in the pile of clothing surrounding him, now recognizing it as just that. Murdoc must have just shoved a bunch of his possessions in with him, 2-D hoping he at least brought his instruments if he was expecting to make music.
There was reserve following with only more silence, the young man closing his eyes tight as he began to feel withdrawal from his meds, his head pounding as he was in need of his medication as soon as possible. The singer willed himself to sleep, knowing it was the quickest cure to take care of his migraine. How could his 'friend' be so cruel, whisking him away to where some place 2-D just the other night had nightmares of?
2-D cursed; he was on his way to Point Nemo, Plastic Beach. No Man's Land.