You're being crushed at the moment. Everything about the bloke who really is, physically flattening you to the worn-out couch here and now, is crushing. He's always so rough with his words, unflattering, rude and malicious little quips that make everyone around him frown even as his dry laugh reverberates around them; another little mocking thing he can do, laughing at other's expenses. His untasteful, disgusting habits leave others cringing in his presence. And on top of it, he is completely insufferably stubborn. He would never listen, or give one good goddamn fuck what anyone else wanted, he would only do as he saw perfectly fit. Yes, Murdoc Niccals was truly the most ostentatious being on earth.
Even so, the stupid bloke had managed to charm his way into the hearts of an entire fanbase consisting of thousands around the world, not to mention three really very random other people. There's no way he ever could have expected that his family would consist of a small eleven year old Asian girl, a massive(and possessed) black drummer, and... you. You're all shades of fucked up; even through your accident-addled brain you have managed to surmise this.
You can also figure out that family is not supposed to crush you into the couch unexpectedly no matter how hammered they claim to be. And you lost your page in the book you had been trying to read. At first, you didn't really react, you were just sort of annoyed about your book and that your personal space was being so rudely invaded. But when Murdoc literally climbed on top of you, breathing too-hot alcohol-smelling breath onto your face and straddling you to the creaking springs, you couldn't really ignore him and you started to feel very uncomfortable indeed. He was panting and his face was very, very red and he was touching you in too many places at once with his whole body. You now squirm under him and a low growl vibrates and fills the empty air, thrumming out his lips dangerously. His hands, his face is everywhere, looking at you from every direction at once, his lip is curling, and you can just barely see his sharp teeth. He shifts a bit, and stupidly brushes his fingers, too rough, over your chest. Light tints of a dull, ruddy orange are being painted into your world, and you blink slowly. He leans forwards now and you wince as his crotch presses into yours so deliciously.
"Listen 'ere, Tuss. You're going to do something for me toni-night, okay? An-and I don't want you to ye-yell or shout or make any noise at all, you hear me? If you make even a sqe-queak, I'll be-beat the livin' tar out of your sorry carcass... " He's a hiccuping, stuttering, muttering mess and so unsure of himself, you can barely make his words out.
And you're not exactly how to respond, so you just sort of nod your head in this idiotic small motion and he seems to relax a bit though you're still confused and frightened and maybe a little aroused.
Again, he's crushing you, his weight, his threat, his scent, his anger. He's so irritated right now. Is he in pain? Why is he always so mad all the time? You hope it's not you. Even though it's sick, you've probably just wanted his recognition and praise all along. If you want to make him happy, you suppose this is a good opportunity to start.
"Wh-what's wrong, D-" He asks sardonically, "-are you afraid to look me in the eye?" You realize then that you've been looking down at nothing in particular really, gnawing your bottom lip between your teeth.
You're not really sure how to respond to that so you just sort of reach up and touch his face in a small motion as if giving your approval. Just as you thought he would, he flinches away, and instantly looks like he hates himself for reacting in such a pitiful way. You suppose it works differently being touched than touching with him. He grabs your hand and you appreciate the roughness of his skin against yours.
"Now, now. Let me do the w-work. A fuckin' faceache can't orchestrate himself right anyways, you'd just screw it all up. " You frown, but shrug in a "whatever" kind of way. For a second, it's awkward when he rushes in and nudges the parting between your legs with his knee. But this has you gasping, and he takes the opportunity to kiss you at that moment. He's pressing tightly with his leg in a wonderful way and very soon you two are going at it, kissing sloppily like it's your first time again, but it's a definite part of the appeal.
Birds aren't like Murdoc, you find; he's such a rough wreck of a man you feel like you're comforting him instead of foreplaying. Not to say that it doesn't feel good. He's caressing your stupid, unproportional body underneath your sweater and the presses of his large thumbs against the bundles of nerves in your nipples is tortuously amazing. He starts to pull your top off, but you catch his wrist.
"It's cold. Please leave i-it on."
"Whatever, I don't give a damn, I guess." He kisses you again, and his entire body is pressed flush to yours. You hum appreciatively; you feel pretty good right now. He pulls back and looks at you, while moving his hips back and forth in small motions, and you bite your lip.
"Why'd you have to be so fuckin' pretty, Tuss?" He grins stupidly at this, and his tongue begins to slide out in this weird swaying motion. You squirm at this because its very uncomfortable of him to tell you so. Not that you aren't a little bit smug. No one's ever told you that before, and you like how it feels in your chest to know that someone thinks that of you. By now, the ruddy orange has now changed to a brighter shade. Pretty, like the sunset. There's a rising heat in your chest and the flames rise with the brush painting your world in different, brighter hues as he continues.
He traces a finger down your too-prominent ribs then kisses a spot under them a bit, and licks kind of grossly down the line of your pelvis to your buckle, which he fiddles with enough so that he can get to your zipper, but he doesn't even friggin' take it off all the way. Whatever.
Murdoc laps ungracefully in one fast motion up the very head of your dick through your boxers and you gasp in surprise. You watch with wide eyes as he starts to move down, almost in slow motion, to suckle at the very tip with his tongue.
"Mmm...!" You grip the hips of his shirt with your fingers as he works on it a bit more. You're still watching him, but you lie your head back onto the armrest and close your eyes as he licks in small movements. Hmmm... he's so warm. It feels nice to have him pressed up on you. Your body heat has made a nice little spot for the two of you here. Huh... anyone could walk in and see you two, going at it, like animals in heat. Kinda adds to the thrill though, you think.
Something scrapes over-sensitive flesh, and you tense; your eyes open to find Murdoc lightly brushing your hard-on with his gnarly teeth.
"Ow..." He looks up at you and grins. He really likes attention, huh.
You pant out a little "Heh" and he moves down to suck more of you into his mouth. Your pre and his saliva has utterly soaked the fabric of your boxers and it's starting to stick to your skin in cold globs where he isn't tugging. You squeeze your eyes shut and he chuckles as he takes your dick out of your pants. He presses his lips to it, and in one motion, envelops your dick in his heat. You gasp again- then whine, softly, drawn out. His head bobs and your fingers clench tightly into his soft hair. He works on your length for quite a while, licking, and palming you, finding the bundles of nerves that make your spine hunch up and tighten. He stimulates you, winds you up with his tongue and rough, scraping presses. Your legs probably wind up wrapping around his back at one point, and your fingers scrape his scalp as you tremble. You're making all sorts of obscene sounds to his fiddling and playing, and your thighs are just burning in pleasure. Shit, you've never felt this good before.
You gasp out a warning when the orgasm that's been building up rises to a terrifying peak, but the bassist just hums nonchalantly to this.
"Mmaight'" He leans up to kiss at your neck and while doing so pumps your dick with a fist and jacks you right off in a final sort of motion. Trembling against him, every muscle tense, you splatter his chest in your come. He looks down, a bit disgusted, but seems to write it off pretty quickly. He brushes your bangs out of your way in a manner that you deem to be rather affectionate, but even now he doesn't look you in the eyes.
"You moan like a fuckin' porn star, I hope you know that, D." You flush.
"Oh." He sighs, still not looking at you. Then, he gets up, the springs creaking and makes his way out of the room haphazardly. Just before exiting, he lies a hand on the door frame, and without looking back around, he spits out the last thing you'll hear from him that night.
"Next time, let's not do this in plain sight. Anyone could'a seen." He sways out of sight and you grin shamelessly. You can't wait.