Chapter: Six.
Series: Gorillaz.
Rating: R. Foul language, angst, and slash (Murdoc2D.)
Disclaimer: Albarn's and Hewlett's.
Chapter Warnings: Slashy stuff. Swearing. Murdoc being an ass (again).
Notes: OKAY... this was written mostly on sleep deprivation. And caffeine. Lots and lots of caffeine. I hit a very, very large and painful writer's block about halfway through, and it took me awhile to pull out of it and get back into the swing.
So. If this sucks, that's why, and I apologize; I'll try to get the next chapter flowing a bit better. This one gave me a very hard time.
2297 words, six pages in Word. Boom baby.
OH. There's something else I'd like to touch base on: Apparently there are a few readers out there claiming that I'm an ignorant American author writing the accents badly.See,
(a) The only thing American about me is the misfortune of living here (for now), and
(b) I'm not writing the accents and dialects to a T. I'm writing them as I hear them being said in my mind, by the characters.
Just wanted to, uh. Clear that up, I guess. It's been bugging me.
Enjoy! Ehm, hopefully. And again, thank you so much for the feedback.
Noodle waited a day.
She may have been a preteen, but there was much more to the girl than met the eye. There was no mistaking the very obvious wisdom there, despite her age, and she'd gotten used to quietly studying the characteristics and personalities of her band mates and growing to know each of them from every angle she could manage.
She'd gotten to know 2D the best. There was something very magnetic about him that drew her to him like a fly to the angelic honey he reminded her of.
That was why she was so concerned, now. His personality, she'd noticed that morning in the kitchen, and for the rest of the same day, had recently taken a rather drastic turn for the worst and it worried her.
In the duration of that one day, Noodle had taken her usual, observant sights off of Russel and Murdoc and placed them more primarily on 2D. She didn't necessarily follow him around and spy on him, but whenever they so happened to be in the same room (which happened a lot, as he mainly stuck to the studio kitchen's sofa, sitting with apparent discomfort and pretending to watch television, so it was easy for her to check on him and hang around for a little while), she watched him carefully. He wasn't himself. He was too listless and lost in thought, and he barely noticed anyone else. It had to have been Murdoc's doing, somehow; the last time she and 2D had spoken, 2D had left her on the front steps of Kong Studios to confront their bassist about his behaviour.
Murdoc, himself, had hardly been around that day. She was too focused on 2D to really care, but she made the mental note nevertheless.
Something had to have happened between them. It was only logical.
However, she recognized that 2D was the kind of person who needed time and solitude to get over something, so she waited. She waited one day before approaching him with the nagging questions that lingered around her mind like a rotten stench. A very distinct rotten stench.
Halitosis on toast, indeed.
She paused at his closed bedroom door, listening for signs of life on the other side. When she was met with the occasional melodic plunking of a keyboard, she opened the door and stood in the doorway with a bottle of soda (1) held in one hand.
"2D?"
2D's long fingers halted in place on the keyboard, and he turned to glance over his shoulder. He offered a small smile over the cigarette hanging from his lower lip. "Oi, Noodle-girl."
She took his smile as an invitation and moved into the room, shutting the door behind her. "Konban wa," (2) she greeted in reply, toeing off her shoes and leaving them neatly by the door. "What are you doing?"
2D turned his entire body around on the small bench to face her and removed the cigarette from his mouth. "Tryin'a write summin' out. Tink'rin. S'not comin out too well, though." He scooted himself down a bit (with much care) and patted the spot on the bench beside him.
She settled down next to him happily and willingly, handing him the bottle with a smile.
Cigarette still clutched between two fingers, he gratefully took the bottle and ruffled her hair with his free hand. "Thanks, luv."
Noodle nodded and folded her hands in her lap. "How are you feeling today?"
"M'allright," he replied, twisting the cap from his bottle.
"Better than yesterday, I hope?"
His face went blank as he brought the soda to his lips. "Yeh."
Noodle went quiet for a moment, watching 2D take a long swallow. She idly swung her feet, just barely touching the floor. "Did you… have a talk with Murdoc-san?"
A sudden darkness swept over him. It hunched his shoulders and it soured his expression.
"I see, you did."
"Yeh." And then, with reluctance, "I don't really wanna talk 'bout'im right now."
Noodle leaned a little closer. "I think you do. I think… that you have wanted to since, ah, since yesterday."
There it was; the regret, again, that pooled in the pit of his stomach and crawled up his spine and left a bad taste in his mouth. He took another swig from his bottle in attempts to wash it back down. "I'll live."
The girl's eyebrows drew together worriedly. "Did he hurt you?"
The smoky, musky scent. The mix of searing pain and overwhelming pleasure. The heat and the desperation and need and sick desire -
He started to feel ill again. "Naw," he lied.
Noodle didn't say anything aloud. She didn't have to. Her expression alone clearly told 2D that she wasn't buying it. She didn't want to pry, though, so she decided to keep her mouth shut and let him have his peace.
After awhile, out of the blue, he said, "I wonder what makes'im tick. Murdoc, I mean."
Because even though he'd tried to keep it to himself, Noodle was too easy to talk to.
He could feel her eyes trail back to him, but he kept his own on the mouth of his bottle, held in his lap.
"Sometimes I feel like I jus' wanna get inside'is brain an figger'im out. Y'even told me yerself, once, 'at everybody's got reasons b'hind everything they do. Sometimes I wanna know wot his are."
"Where… is this coming from, 2D-kun?"
He opened his mouth to reply. Paused.
Let it come out as a defeated sigh.
"… wish I knew."
Day three of the week, the day after the talk with Noodle.
2D was hit with another lucid dream, and this one was relentless. The theme was similar, but this time, the shadow had a face. It had features. It had a body, and a voice, and breath, and expressions, and a scent (repellent yet intoxicating), and a taste, and a tongue, and teeth.
It had warm, calloused hands.
It had dark hair.
It had mismatched eyes.
When 2D snapped awake, drenched in his own sweat and trembling just like last time, the ache between his legs was terrible. Terrible. The idea of fixing it himself crossed his mind, but the thought was surprisingly fleeting as he felt his legs move over the side of the bed.
Standing and walking made it worse. So he quickened his steps.
The Winnebago door was closed when he got there.
It didn't take too long for Murdoc to stagger out of bed to answer the frantic knocks.
It took him even less time to wake up all the way, upon finding a half-nude, tenting 2D leaning against the outer doorframe, breathing heavily and nearly pleading with those haunting, damaged eyes.
Fingers curled around a wrist and pulled.
2D barely had enough sense to close the door behind him.
The fourth day was easier to deal with than the first one was. There was no change in 2D's mood, and he still dragged around the building like a robot, but at least he wasn't really limping anymore.
That night, Murdoc stayed up and waited for him.
A dream didn't need to prompt him this time, either.
By day six, Russel had decided that enough was more than enough.
"Just what the Hell's goin on wit' you two, huh?" he asked Murdoc when he caught him in the studio kitchen, lazing on the sofa and flipping through channels.
The Satanist glanced up. "Hey?"
"Turn the damn TV off and spill it, man. I'm not fuckin around."
Quirking a barely-visible eyebrow, Murdoc pushed the power button on the remote and calmly set it down beside him. "Wot's eatin y'out, Russ?"
Russel crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Look, I been keepin my damn mouth shut for a few days now and I can't do it anymore. Somethin funky's goin on wit' you and 2D and whatever it is… it's sick, understand me?"
Murdoc almost looked bored. "Clear as crystal, mate."
"I ain't kiddin, Murdoc," Russel shot back. "Have you even taken a good look at 'im lately? In a few days he's become some kin'na weird-ass walking corpse. A few days."
A smirk tugged at the corners of Murdoc's mouth. "He's always been a walkin corpse though, don'tcha think?"
Russel's jaw clenched. "Spill, Murdoc. Everytime I see 'im now, he's sportin a new bruise. What the Hell've you been doin to him? "
"Y'really wanna know the answer t'that?"
"Damn right I do."
"Y'sure you want t'know? The whole juicy story, eh?"
"Stop screwin around."
Grin. "We're fuckin, mate."
There was a beat of silence. A very, very long one.
Russel's expression had gone from angry to blank to utterly confused in that one, single beat. "…what?"
"You heard me."
In his confusion, his slight embarrassment, and his inability to clearly and fully comprehend the weight of what had just been confessed to him, all Russel could do, at the time, was muster a nervous smile. "…you're tellin me that… you… and 2D…?"
"Like rrrrrabid weasels in heat."
Another beat. Russel could feel his brain breaking.
"…naw. Naww, that ain't right. Y'all ain't like that…"
"Like wot, man? Not catchin yer drift."
Russel pulled out of his shock and slid himself right back into anger.
"Arrogant bastard. An' you call ME gay…"
Murdoc half-shrugged. The lazy lift and drop of one shoulder. "No, I still think'at yer a flamin' faggot, Russ."
"And you ain't?" Russel ground out.
The bassist fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Look, man, it's a hole, awright? It's a hole to put me knob in when m'feelin randy enough, y'know? S'not anything to do wif gender."
"... you don't see havin in'nimate relations wit' another man as homosex'shul?"
"No," Murdoc replied, and his tone suggested that he was beginning to grow tired of the subject. "I don't. Fallin' in love wif another man is gay. Beddin one is jus' sex. It's release, y'know? It's a body to fuck around wif 'till you've'ad your jollies. Wham, bam, thank you mmma'am, yer done. It's over. That's it." His expression hardened, and so did his voice. "Nothin. Personal."
Russel saw him reach for the remote again, and he moved to block the television set. "Naw, naw, naw, Murdoc, I ain't done with you yet. I shoulda known something big was up between you two. It'd es'plain why D's such a fuckin mess lately. Do you have any idea what this shit's been doin to him?"
"Nope. Don't really care either, mate. 2D's a big boy; he c'n take care'a his own. S'not my problem."
Russel was on him in a blink. It was the first time he'd ever seen the drummer move that fast. He barely had time to register the movement before there was a large fist balling up the front of his shirt, there were eerie, angry eyes boring into his own, and he was being shoved back against the sofa so hard that his spine cracked.
"You listen to me, motherfucker," Russel spat, leaning in close to the other man's face. "you better damn well fuckin believe that this is your problem. 2D ain't like any of your little hussy groupie girls, a'ight? You can't do him like that. You know the shit he's been through, Murdoc; you were there, an' almost all of it was your fault. He's fragile, you sunnuvabitch. Y'gotta treat him like you'd treat an antique. I ain't gonna sit back an' watch you do that to 'im."
"Fragile?" Murdoc repeated incredulously. "No. Y'said it yerself, mate. He's been through worse, an' I'm not th'only one 'round'ere who's shoved him about before."
Russel's fingers curled tighter into the fabric of Murdoc's shirt. "And I ain't the one usin his body as a vessel every night an' dumpin him like trash the next mornin."
"He'll get over'it. Let me go."
"No, man." And Russel's grip tightened even more. "No. He won't. Y'wanna know why? 'Cause you're you. You're Murdoc. You're the one he admires and looks up to, man, an' I'll never un'nerstand why. Stop and think. Why don't he react this way with women?"
Murdoc didn't say anything.
"Why do you really think he's draggin himself around like a lifeless zombie, huh?"
Still didn't have anything to say.
Russel gave him a hard jerk before letting go completely and turning to leave the room. "Chew on that for awhile."
He did.
He rarely ever took advice from Russel, or listened honestly to any of his lectures. But this time, he did.
The remote control stayed where he left it.
The television set stayed off.
2D came to him again, that night. He let him in. But he didn't make any first moves.
That's the thing about guilt. It can hold one back.
There was no way he could have been as breakable as Russel said he was. The man had survived a coma and two nasty car accidents, never mind all the various violent beatings. As far as Murdoc was concerned, 2D was made of stone. Hollow, empty stone. A statue. A statue that was watching him with disturbingly innocent eyes.
Those eyes made him feel guilty. About everything. He hated it.
The singer lifted a hand and tentatively reached for him. He was just fine to meet him halfway, and his body slid easily into the now-familiar embrace. An embrace. Something solid and strong and meaningful, on 2D's side.
As much as it made Murdoc nervous, he went with it.
He picked up the antique and he dropped it. He dropped it and listened as it crashed into jagged shards that scattered across the floor.
He picked it up and he dropped it again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
(1) - this went from a twinkie, to beer, to soda. I stuck with soda. I like the mental image of 2D with soda pop. It's squishy and cute.
(2) - "Good evening."