Two Firsts Tumblr request: Murderface and Knubbler's first kiss. Knubbler/Murderface.
They had two proper first kisses, months between them.
The first was a result of sexual frusturation. Murderface was in the recording studio on the submarine late at night, unable to sleep and presumably by himself, experimenting with some Planet Piss stuff. He was singing, loudly and badly and off-key, his voice scraping the walls. He yelped over the next word of the song when the lights, which had been turned off for atmosphere, came on, bright light jarring. Murderface took his headphones off and looked up from his bass and through the window at a shirtless Dick Knubbler, his eyes scrunched from sleep and hair ruffled.
"The pissch!" Murderface yelled, untangling himself from his bass and walking out, towards Knubbler. He threw his bass in Knubbler's chair and glared at him.
"I could hear you all the way from my room, William," Knubbler says. He rubbed at his eyes and sniffed, giving him an expression akin to a mole. "You were sounding good, honey." He reached out to touch Murderface on the shoulder.
Murderface flinched away, sneering. "Don't touch me, don't call me honey—what are you, schome schort of fag?" He had his suspicions, had had them since Knubbler came on the ship. Something about the way he held his hands and conducted himself in conversation.
Knubbler just shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. "Speaking of," he said. He peered at Murderface, looking him up and down. Murderface drew his arms into himself, crossing them over his chest, uncomfortable. "I'm goin' crazy now here, babe. How do you guys handle it?"
"What?" Murderface asked, tightening his hold on himself.
"No sex!" Dick's eyes popped open; he knotted his hands in his hair. "I'm goin' fucking insane!" He untangled his hands and reached out to touch Murderface again, this time grabbing a forearm. "What do you say, babe? Wanna do it?"
Murderface made a face of disgust. "I'm not gay."
"It's not gay if you're on top." Knubbler was moving progressively closer, his face worryingly serious. Murderface dropped one of his arms down from his chest, the one Knubbler wasn't stroking, hanging lose and awkward between their bodies.
"I thought it waschn't gay if the ballsch didn't touch?" Murderface said through clenched teeth.
"I'll hold mine out of the way. C'mon, babe. So horny." Dick was close, close enough that Murderface could smell him—cheap cologne, and he certainly could afford to buy something better, so why the fuck was he wearing cheap cologne, why the fuck was Murderface thinking about that—and Murderface had no choice, really. If asked he would say that Dick cornered him, forced him upon him, but in reality it was Murderface that surged forward and connected their mouths in a hot, slimy kiss. Their tongues wriggled together and over each other's faces, hands roaming over each other's bodies. They didn't get so far as to have sex, as Murderface leaped back from Knubbler when he thought he heard somebody walking and took the opportunity as an out to scurry away. In his tiny submarine room he scowled and pulled his dick, harder than he'd like to admit, out, beating off. Fuck that guy, seriously.
The second one arose more organically. It was almost the inverse of the first, though it started in the same way: Murderface in the recording studio, bass in his arms, fucking around with Planet Piss. Dick was sitting outside and feeding him compliments while not really listening to what he was producing. Murderface had been trying to get Planet Piss off the grounds for years, failing every time, and Dick didn't expect this to change anytime soon. Still, it gave him something to do most nights, which he appreciated. If he had to pick a favorite out of Dethklok it probably would be William; he couldn't explain it, but something about them clicked together and meshed well and, wow, that sounded really gay.
Dick was getting lost in his thoughts of his possible homosexuality to the backdrop of Murderface's scratchy vocals and deep bass. He, of course, remembered the submarine incident of past. He had blamed that largely on mutual sexual frustration and lack of other options. He put a finger to his chin and mused—perhaps that might have been the case, but there had been some sort of sexual tension underlying the occurrence, and perhaps there still was. He cut Murderface's recording and beckoned him out of the studio.
"The pissch?" Murderface said. He untangled himself from his bass and threw it onto the couch, stomping over to Dick, who was starting to get a sense of déjà vu.
"C'mere, babe," Dick said. He called everybody babe—that didn't mean anything, it was a verbal tic by this point. He put both hands on William's shoulders and leaned forward, pressed their lips together.
Murderface drew back and wiped his mouth off. Dick had been suspecting that and only removed his hands, patiently awaiting Murderface's reaction. "What the fuck wasch that for?!" Murderface said. He turned his head to the side and spat twice.
"Hmm," Dick said. He put a hand around the backside of Murderface's head, his fingers entangling in the frizz, and pulled him forward again to connect their mouths. They were about the same height, Dick rotating his head to get the best angle. Despite Murderface's apparent disgust he wasn't breaking apart, instead kissing Dick back, slipping his tongue between their lips first.
That time they did end up having sex, on the couch, Murderface on his back and Dick over him, sliding into him. Murderface clawed at his back, made these cute little whiny noises when Dick would thrust, panted and came in spurts when Dick just lightly brushed his cock. Dick came shortly after, falling onto Murderface's chest, Murderface wrapping his arms around Dick and holding him close as Dick pulled out and adjusted himself. They laid like that for a while, breathing and coming down and getting very sticky.
"I'm schtill not gay," Murderface mumbled.
"'Course you're not, babe," Dick said, speaking into Murderface's chest. "Balls didn't touch."