The Thing About

Chapter: Three.
Series: Gorillaz.
Rating: R. Foul language, very light angst, and slash (Murdoc2D.)
Disclaimer: Albarn's and Hewlett's.
Chapter Warnings: Drug usage and Murdoc's potty mouth.

Notes: The smut in the next chapter, for the sake of obeying rules, is going to be vague and non-graphic. This chapter leads up to it. I will have an alternate version of the next chapter for all you smut-hunters out there posted elsewhere, so's you can go read it there. Thanks for all theawesome feedback, guys! It's great motivation. :D

The thing about 2D, according to just about anyone who'd had the luxury of coming in contact with him, was his innocence.

Which was rather funny, because he wasn't as innocent as people made him out to be, sometimes.

He did have a very noticeable and likeable boyish charm, though, and it radiated through everything he did. It was all in the way he talked, the way he moved, his very expressive facial features, and the way he reacted to things. He was very hypnotic, even without trying to be.

This created obsessions, of course. Unhealthy obsessions from even unhealthier people.

He tried his hardest to move, but his attacker had his body pressed against the wall so crushingly close that he could feel his ribcage push painfully against the hard surface with every quickened breath. There was something strangely familiar in the presence, something that brought up the memory of the dream he'd had the night prior, but it was just a little something. Everything else was clouded with sudden mind-numbing fear.

He was being attacked.

When trying to turn his body proved to be futile, he switched gears and strained against the hands and the other body behind him, trying to lean his knees against the wall and push back. He just couldn't do it. His attacker had the advantage; one of his arms had been twisted around behind his back, and the other was pinned to the wall by his side. Any and all attempts at getting away were completely fruitless.

2D panicked.

"L-leggo!" he stammered, still pushing and fighting back despite the straining ache in his thin body that screamed for him to stop. "Leggo! Please, Idunno anythin! A-an' I-I-I don'ave me wallet so's I.. I don'ave money for you but if y'could leggo'a me I could go an' get'it an' I swears I'll come back wif it..."

He trailed off and quieted.

He recognized the deep chuckling that was bubbling up from behind him.

Defeated, letting his body slump forward against the wall, he craned his neck around at a painful angle to get the first look at whoever's body was flush against the back of his own. "Murdoc?"

He was answered with a foul cloud of smoke blown directly into his face.

"Wot," Murdoc's familiar raspy voice answered around a cigarette. "y'think y'can jus' waltz right on in an' make yerself at'ome?"

2D coughed.

"S'wot I thought." Murdoc pulled himself away from 2D completely and watched the singer compose himself, first rubbing at his ribs, then shaking out his arms. "Got a lotta nerve sneakin in'ere jus' 'cos the door was open."

"You never minded b'fore," 2D replied defensively, turning to shoot Murdoc what was supposed to be a venomous glare but succeeded in looking more like a vindictive pout. Murdoc just turned away and sauntered toward his darkened bedroom. "an' that doesn't mean y'ad t'go an attack me like that."

"You coulda been anyone," Murdoc called back, before a light clicked on and 2D could finally see a portion of the disgusting disaster that was the bassist's room. He started after him.

"Yeah?" 2D tried his indignance again as he followed. He tried not to trip over anything. Would have ruined the mood. "Like who?"

Murdoc sat down on the edge of his stained mattress and removed the spent cigarette from his mouth, stuffing it out in the crowded ashtray on the table beside the bed. "Like zombies, lackwit. Or'ave you already forgotten those?"

Oh. Well, shit, he had a point.

2D must have visibly deflated, because Murdoc's leer was kicked up another notch or two.

"So. Did you'ave a point or are you jus'ere to waste my life a little?"

The point! 2D'd nearly forgotten that he'd ventured into the disturbing depths of Murdoc's winnebago for a reason, but after that little scene back against the wall, his confidence in making his point and getting it through Murdoc's twisted head was quickly dwindling down to just wanting to get it off his chest as fast as possible and haul arse out of there.

He stared blankly at his bassist - who was already starting to look bored out of his wits - as he herded his thoughts together and put them in order.

"...'kay, lookit," he began, and his voice sounded more sheepish than he wanted or expected it to. "I... I'm sick'a you always pickin on me when I don' do anythin wrong t'you. All th'time, it's dullard or no-brains or twat or numb-nuts or summink an' I'm gettin a little sick'uv it 'cos I'm always makin sure yer'appy an' I always do my job an'... an' I don't think I d'serve that. An-an-an' I... I wants it t'stop."

An unsteady silence fell over them. 2D felt the urge to look away and fidget, but he didn't want to give Murdoc that upper hand. So instead, he kept his eyes on Murdoc's and listened to his helplessly nervous breathing.

Several long minutes passed.

Murdoc shifted, expression a careful blank. "S'lemme get this straight, hey? You." He pointed at 2D. "...want me." Jabbed his thumb toward himself. "...t'stop callin you names."

2D was unaware that he'd started wringing his own hands under Murdoc's unwavering gaze. "Er. Y-yeh."

"An' you want me t'stop pickin on you."

"...yeh."

"An' you don't think s'my place t'be bossin you about."

"No. ... no, I don't."

There was another long pause. Then, Murdoc's gaze hardened.

"Fuck you," he snarled.

2D scrambled to correct himself. Tried again. "But if y'could jus' - "

"Up the arse."

"...jus' gimmie a - "

"Sideways."

" - second t'explain - "

"Wifout the benefit'a lubrication."

2D stopped short. And wisely kept his mouth shut.

"YOU. Don' think that I. 'ave the right to boss YOU about." The Satanist rose to his feet. 2D took a step back. Although he was several inches shorter than 2D, Murdoc always had this uncanny way of making himself seem so much bigger. "Listen'ere, brain ache. I made this band, an' I've been holdin my tongue th'best I can while YOU get all th'goddamned bloody attention an' credit fer it, so's while YOU'RE off bein th'pretty posterboy, why don'tcha let ME control e'erythin else, eh? I say, if it's YOUR place t'be stealin all th'fame right out from under my bleedin nose, I say it's MY place t'be thrashin y'around as much'as I damned well please."

2D had apparently struck a nerve. And looked like he was about to wet his pants.

Murdoc's eyes narrowed. "Savvy on that?"

"I... yeh." The singer nodded his head, numbly. "Yeh, we's clear."

"Good." The flash of raw, bitter anger flooded completely from the bassist's face, almost as abruptly as it'd come. 2D kept silent as he watched the other man move to his drawers, open one, dig around in it, and come out with a few wonderfully familiar supplies in hand.

"So hey," Murdoc said, sitting back down on his mattress and patting the spot beside him with his free hand. "no hard feelings, s'long as y'understand my point. C'mere, ey?"

The singer's apprehension was almost laughable.

"C'mon. M'not gonna go for your jugular or anythin."

Cautiously, 2D moved to the bed and sat down. He felt awkward, and instead of trying to break the tension by talking, he quietly watched Murdoc's strong fingers as they were set to work. Roll mouthpiece, bring a lighter to it, spread contents out along denim-covered thighs, sprinkle, sprinkle - already crushed; good show, there, took less time that way - yet more sprinkling. Roll, roll, wrap, lick, seal. Twist and trim.

Repeat.

It was all done with patience and expertise. Almost completely flawless. 2D was nearly hypnotized watching the process.

Especially the part where Murdoc's fascinatingly and unusually long tongue snaked out to finish up said process.

2D mistook that uncomfortable tightening in his abdomen for anticipation.

Looking rather proud of himself, Murdoc set everything on the floor, by his feet. "Y'need to relax. 'ere. Take it an' enjoy. But don't expect this t'be an e'eryday thing."

He passed one of the joints to 2D.

The younger man was quick to accept.

He maintained his silence.

It wasn't until after the two of them were finished and still thoroughly, bonelessly relaxed and lost within the warm folds of their own private, sinful comfort, leaning their backs against the window sporting the confederate flag beside Murdoc's bed, when 2D spoke up again.

First, he thanked Murdoc.

He was answered with a quiet grunt.

Then he said, "I thought'cha hated me."

"Mm. Naw. Naw, naw." Murdoc looked up at him. He was grinning. A slow, lazy sort of grin. He was a bit further gone than 2D was. "y'jus need t'know who's boss 'round'ere, y'know? I don't want people gettin th'wrong ideas, y'know?"

"But'cher so mean t'me."

"Oi, oi. I c'n be nice," Murdoc replied. "I c'n be as nice'as anyone else. Nicer even."

One of 2D's haunting eyes narrowed. He flashed his own partially-toothless grin. "Ahyeah? S'funny." He turned his gaze away and focused it on the hands folded lifelessly in his lap. "Th'day I believe that is th'day I bed wif a bloke."

He laughed at what he thought was a funny. An innocent funny.

Innocent.

But Murdoc hadn't laughed with him.

And he glanced back to find out why.

Murdoc's expression had become a blank page again, as it always seemed to do whenever his mind was running too fast for him to keep up. His eyes, always critical, were watching 2D's face rather intently... except now, as opposed to the countless other times 2D had ever been scrutinized with those mismatched eyes, there was something very strong burning behind them. 2D couldn't place it, but it made his face heat up without warning.

It was predatory.

"Until you bed wif a bloke, is'it, then?"

Something heavy settled itself in the pit of 2D's stomach.

Something he knew he'd felt before, numerous times, but never this extreme.

Something dangerous.