He knew exactly how to play you. Sometimes, you thought he had practice this, just like he had done with his own bass. Maybe, he played you even better than that. He knew exactly how to strike your cords and get you singing.
You knew he played well, you had been told by every bird who left his love shack on wheels. It made you a bit curious, which is exactly what got you into the situation you were in now. Once the bassist got started, there was no stopping him.
He knew exactly how to strum your pain into one of the most beautiful songs you had ever heard. He played you like a song he had memorized for years and it absolutely killed you. You were drowning in it now.
You knew exactly what you had gotten yourself in to the moment you knocked on his door. You weren't afraid this time, so what did it matter. The punches that should have been reigning down on you never came as you crushed your lips against the older man's. That was when the song began.
Every moan was a new lyrics to you, every note at a different pitch depending how well it was played. High pitch moans and low groans mixed together in a beautiful symphony, filling the cold space with warm feelings.
The springs of the bed creaked under your combined weight and added an interesting melody to the piece. Your lips met yet again and the moans of the second verse began. Skin on skin and screams of desire brought his song to a close.
The squeak and slam of a rusty door completed the song you had written together as you were now faced with nothing more than a cold realization that it was over.
Murdoc's greatest song would never be played again.
AS you picked yourself back up and headed to your own room once again, you sigh, shoving your hands in your jean pockets.
The wonderful music will forever play on in your head.
And for the rest of your days, it would continue to kill you softly.
Disclaimers: I own nothing.
Song based on: Killing me softly with His song by Roberta Flack