Chapter: Seven.
Series: Gorillaz.
Rating: R. Foul language, angst, and slash (Murdoc/2D)
Disclaimer: Albarn's and Hewlett's.
Chapter Warnings: For this chapter, sexual situation that would make George Dub-ya keel over and croak. Erm. Blasphemous. :D; It's been tuned down a bit again for and there's dirty language. And a bit of angst thrown in.
Notes: Hi. I am not a personal fan of this chapter. However, it is also late at ni-- :double checks time.: ... early in the morning, and I am really tired. And REALLY sleep-deprived. Again.
So here ya go.Sorry for taking so long to get back into it. The holiday made my musea littlelazy, and the London bombings have sorta been putting a damper my creative energies. THIS IS.. also un-beta'd. So yeah. Keep that in mind. Enjoy. :)
Found in Murdoc's personal journal.. after pages upon pages of hastily jotted bass chords and unfinished lyrics, amongst indecipherable scribbles and a doodle of something looking vaguely like an ugly frog with an erection.. the most recent (and final) entry:
"Maybe in time. You'll ..."
The periods continue on to the very edge of the page.
Of course, time dragged on, as it normally does. Two agonizingly long weeks.
This particular passage was slow, like trying to run through waist-deep water. Things began to seep together and the clarity of the days started blurring. The excitement was gone. Now, it was all routine, and it was beginning to seem awfully predictable.
Russel's lecture had done very little to sway Murdoc's determination to keep his newfound means of mentally breaking his singer down, at first, but it had gotten him thinking about it a bit more than he wanted. It had gone from a simple, casual nightly occurance to somewhat of an obsession, despite the redundancy. It never failed, either. 2D always came to him around the same time after dark, and neither of them would speak. Their movements were synchronized. Though Murdoc would never admit it - to himself, or anyone else - he was beginning to know 2D from the inside and the outside. The more he learned, the greater his desire to learn more got.
He hated it.
But it kept going.
It never broke its pattern. The night would go on as planned, and 2D would always be the first to wake up and leave. Murdoc had always been lost in an exhausted sleep, and the singer's departure never woke him. Nagging curiosity began to prick at the back of his mind. What was 2D thinking whenever he woke up and found himself laying next to the same person every night? It couldn't have been good, by the way he always acted the next morning. The daily zombified attitude didn't improve; if anything, it'd gotten worse. The warning glares Russel reserved only for Murdoc in this case started hardening with full-blown hatred. Noodle spent most of her time trying to keep 2D's deterioration in check by attaching herself to his side and watching his every move. Away from the public eye, the band as a whole didn't talk much, anymore.
That was the thing about tension. It could start off so unnoticeable, and suddenly become thick enough to reach out and touch.
Guilt settled like a heavy weight on Murdoc's shoulders. Each day, another pound was added on. It got to the point where Murdoc spent most of his own time chain-smoking in his Winnebago, fiddling about on his bass and trying to reassure himself that the guilt was a passing thing, and he was simply just caught in the eye of the proverbial storm. It was a joke. A gag. Haha, life, very funny.
The storm showed no signs of letting up, and the joke didn't seem to have a punchline.
During band interviews, everyone simultaneously pretended that everything was just as it should be. They all fell into an old routine, a clever disguise.
Behind Kong Studio's closed doors, however, things were Not So Good.
Summertime was overhead and the days were getting humid.
It had been weeks, perhaps even a full month, since the last time the graveyard sitting at the foot of the studio's mountain had been cleaned up, and the damage was beginning to pile. Murdoc, his restlessness and need to get out of Kong Studios growing at a rapid pace, decided that he was getting sick of everyone being lazier than he was and to take it upon himself to keep the damage from getting any worse.
It'd started out as a fairly pleasant day, anyway. The morning was clear, the sun had decided to poke curious fingertips through rips in the perpetually overcast sky, and sunshine always promised safety in the normally zombie-infested graveyard. The weather was just perfect enough to finally get out and try to clean. It wasn't so bad once one got used to it, but after a long period of time, the collection of broken tombstones, oversized clumps of dirt and grass, scattered graves either half-filled or completely empty, various body parts and limbs strewn about... it all became an eyesore. And the stench grew to be overwhelming, as well.
When the bassist set out with a shovel and a large black bodybag, it had still been nice outside.
By the time he got down to the graveyard, the sun was threatening to retreat again.
Ten minutes into refilling a freshly vacated grave, the skies were back to being cloudy and dark. The clouds in the distance were getting darker and heading in Kong's direction. Great. A looming storm. That was all he needed.
Goddamnit.
Was it just him, or did everything just seem to be going down the shitter lately? He would have liked to think that releasing a sophomore, best-selling, chart-topping album would bring the band closer together, professionally. Something went wrong, somewhere; instead of going down that nice, orderly path, everyone just seemed to be getting less and less social with one another. And it was all because he just so happened to be sleeping with their mental mess of a lead singer.
This was what he got for getting involved with a bunch of over-sensitive, overcaring, over-emotional musicians. He should have been a lawyer or something. At least then, he could rip someone a new one and get away with it, without having to worry about a seriously protective, large, scary black man chewing on his ass for it.
Er, metaphorically speaking.
Murdoc's thoughts came to ascreeching halt and he froze. Listened closely. He heard slow, shuffling footsteps, approaching him from behind. He wasn't surprised, at all; just nervous. The sky had gone dark again, and he was half-expecting the zombies to start re-emerging.
The dragging footsteps got louder as they drew closer and, grip tightening on the shovel in his hands, he turned with a savage growl, raising the tool into the air.
He just barely stopped himself from swinging. He froze again, shovel still lingering overhead. "... Jesus fuckin'..."
2D recoiled, ducking his head to the side and holding his hands up defensively. "NO! NO! Don't! I di'nt mean t'in'nerupt!"
Murdoc fixed him with a hard glare. "I should knock yer head off right now."
The singer cracked one of his damaged eyes open, still cringing. "P-put th'shovel down. I swears I didn't mean t'scare you."
"You did NOT scare me."
2D opened his other eye. Both eyes followed the shovel as it was lowered. He seemed to relax, only slightly. "O.. okay."
"So," Murdoc said, turning his back to 2D again and resuming his work. "wotcha want?"
"I wan'ned to help."
Murdoc scowled into the half-filled grave. "I c'n do it myself."
2D was wringing his hands. "Well... yeh, I know. But I figger the two ov'us could get more done b'fore it rains."
The bassist paused to look back at him. "S'posed to rain, eh? You do know that the zombies are gonna be out pretty soon, right?"
This was met with a stupid, gentle smile and a lame shrug.
Murdoc sighed. It was the most animated he'd seen 2D in quite a long time. "Right, fine, whatever. Christ. Make use'a that bodybag there an' start cleanin up the body parts."
2D didn't complain, and he did what he was told.
They worked in silence for an undisturbed twenty minutes or so. Things seemed to be going along rather smoothly.
Seemed to be.
"NO!" Murdoc yelled, straining as another body came to thud heavily against the other side of the door. Same door he was currently trying to force shut. "I said NO, ya smelly fffffuckers!"
"Oi, Murdoc!" came the exclaimation from just behind him. "There's anuther one tryin'a get'is hand in!"
"I can see that, you wank. Urrrghh.. get BACK, you... bloody-... AHA!"
Murdoc cackled triumphantly as the door finally shut, with a bang loud enough to pound an echo through the half-abandoned building and nearly scare 2D straight out of his skin. The door had decapitated a grey, molding finger, and Murdoc ground against it with the heel of his boot.
2D grimaced at the sound it made. A nice, healthy CRUNCH. "Ouuh..."
"Ah, serves'em right," Murdoc muttered, picking uncomfortably at the wet shirt clinging to his skin. "an' of all places, the buggers'ad to chase us in here."
The church was small and dimly-lit, but somewhat impressive. It had only just recently been cleared out, save for the lines of pews, the altar, and the short row of confessional boxes lining the side of the room, but it still had a vague lived-in feeling to it. Some of the stained glass windows were broken, and almost all of them were fairly dirty, but it still felt nice. Still felt safe. Holy.
Which was the leading cause for Murdoc wearing his We Are Not Pleased expression.
"I kinda like it," 2D said, taking a look around.
"You would," came Murdoc's grumbled reply. "'bout as boring an' dull as you are."
2D was trying to smile and ignore the muffled, barely audible moaning coming from outside. The thumps and bangs against the door weren't helping. "Well at least it's summin to stay in fer now, yeh? We's in a bittovah sticky wicket, anyway." He moved further into the church and took a seat on one of the last pews.
Reluctantly, glowering,Murdoc followed suit. 2D scooted down to give him room to sit.
Murdoc had to admit, the younger man seemed to be having one of his better days. He still had the dark bags and the unnaturally pale skin, he still looked like Hell, but at least he'd cracked more than one smile so far. It must have been the damned guilt holding him back, because Murdoc felt the need to hold his tongue.
Besides, he was enjoying the view, anyway. Still looking around with the ignorant innocence he always seemed to possess, soaking wet straight through to the skin, still breathing heavy from running so much...
Murdoc shifted on the pew. It creaked and drew 2D's attention to him.
The bassist looked away and scowled up toward the altar. "Bloody buggers, blocking the way to th'studio..."
"Oi, at least we found a place t'stay 'ntil it th'rain-"
"Yeah, I know, shut up."
He did. And he seemed to close up on himself in the process, shrinking back against the pew and returning his gaze to the opposite side of the church.
It was silent for awhile, save for the hard, unending patter of the rain on the roof. There was an occasional thud against the door, but at least the moans had stopped.
When Murdoc spoke again, his voice was quiet.
"The hell's wrong with you, anyway?"
2D blinked out of his thoughts. "Huh?"
"You. Yer actin like fuggin death walkin lately. More than y'usually do. It's annoying."
2D didn't say anything.
"Well?"
The pause that followed was long and uncomfortable. The urge to hit 2D became almost unbearable, but somehow, Murdoc kept himself outwardly calm until 2D reluctantly started to talk.
"... I don't know. It's jus' you an' me, I guess. I... awright, lookit." 2D took a deep breath. "Wot we're doin. Y'know, the... sleepin t'gether. Jus' seems t'me like ev'ry time we do it, it gets less'n less pers'nal an'... more'n more... like we're jus' machines. I can't'elp it, y'know? I kin'na thought it'd be a pers'nal thing'n it's jus' that ev'ry time we do it, I feel... empty."
So there it was. Out in the open, now. He glanced up, timidly searching for a reaction.
Murdoc's expression was blank. "Yer such a faggot, man."
Instant deflation. "...wot?"
"You sound like such a girl."
Something suddenly flared.
It came quickly and it was hot, heavy in 2D's chest. He rose from the pew as if it'd burned him. "Fuck you, Murdoc."
The Satanist's eyes widened. 2D didn't give him a chance to speak.
"Yeh, y'eard me. Lookit, m'sicka th'way y'been treatin me. First y'want me ta talk t'ya an' after m'done you go an' shoot me right back down t'where I was. Right back'at square one, Murdoc. All... see, all m'askin is for you to see me, awright? I.. I don't like not bein human t'you. I don't like jus' bein summin easy to fuck around wif 'ntil yeh had enough'a me."
The singer hesitated. The anger seemed to drain away all at once. His posture slumped.
"Yer.. yer my hero. Y'ave been since'at day I woke up an' I couldn't r'member anyfing. An' you were there. Y'kept me alive. Y'didn't haf'to but y'did. An' I was happy when we started doin... y'know, 'cos I thought maybe we'd get closer. Y'know? Maybe I was fin'lly gettin under yer skin an' maybe yeh'd stop hatin me so much."
Murdoc's face was serious. And his voice was softer than 2D thought he'd ever heard it before. "You grew some balls jus' then, dullard."
"Yer bleedin right I did," 2D replied, but the venom had left his tone completely. He just sounded tired.
"...awright, 2D, look." Murdoc shifted. "I'm not gonna lie t'you an' say that I love you, yeah? An' I'm not gonna lie an'-"
"I never said I wan'ned ya t'love me."
"... git, I know that. Jus' hear me out. In all honesty, mate, I didn't have a scooby 'bout wot I was gonna say to all'a this until you brought up the coma. I don't... think y'can handle serious, okay? Ment'lly, I mean. You're... breakable."
"Y'already broke me, Murdoc," 2D said flatly. "wossit gonna hurt now?"
"No, see..." Murdoc paused, then growled with frustration. "You jus' can't handle it, okay? We'll leave it at that."
Murdoc looked away. 2D continued to stare at him.
"...can't handle it? Can't handle wot, now? Wan'ning t'be closer t'someone?"
"There's two sides to bein serious with someone, D. S'not all happy love and sunshine."
Again, with the flat tone, except this one was meant to stung, "I think I'd know, yeh? I'ad two girls b'foh you went'n chased 'em away from me."
Murdoc's eyes rose to meet 2D's. "Awright, damnit, that's e-fuckin-nough. No sense in beatin that dead'n rotting horse."
"If I prove it, will you take me seriously?"
"Hey?"
2D moved closer, arms crossed over his thin chest. "If I prove t'you that I c'n handle you, willya stop seein me as some kin'na joke?"
Murdoc watched him carefully.
"Well?"
"... might take a lot of convincin, mate."
Determination flashed over 2D's face. "Z'at so?"
Murdoc didn't have a chance to respond before 2D was looming directly over him and he instinctively leaned back against the back of the pew, sucking in a sharp breath as a large, long-fingered hand openly cupped the crotch of his pants.
"Ah.. 2D, wot.."
"I'll prove it," 2D murmured, and leaned in. "I'll prove it."
The kiss was desperate and needy, Murdoc unaware of just how quickly the gesture would affect him. His body snapped awake immediately and he shifted up against 2D's groping hand, his own two hands curling fingers around the edge of the seat. 2D was unusually assertive, pushing a rush of emotion into the way he moved his lips against Murdoc's, and there was enough force behind it to keep Murdoc pinned where he was. Not that he particularly minded or anything.
The hand against his groin was suddenly gone, and he growled, pulling his head back and his lips away. "Stop fuckin around."
"I'm not," came 2D's calm reply, both of his hands moving to Murdoc's waistband.
"Nn.. never woulda thought'cha as th'type," the bassist grunted, tightening his grip over the edge of the pew's seat as his belt was hastily and clumsily undone. "to want to shag in a church. Doesn't, ah... seem right fer you."
The belt slid through the belt-loops and came free. 2D released it and let it drop to the floor, placing a hand on the back of the pew, just next to Murdoc's shoulder. As he leaned down, a chilling, toothless grin came to slide over his lips and for the first time ever upon knowing the younger man, Murdoc was suddenly sincerely intimidated. Intimidated right into silence.
Those endless, vacant eyes narrowed, and that usually light, innocent tone to his voice dropped to a purr. "Surprise."
The pants were opened and a roaming hand slid in, unabashedly. Murdoc dropped his head back against the top of the pew, eyes rolling back and closing, hips bucking up into the touch that wrapped firmly around him. Part of him wanted it to stop. The rest of him - the more important parts, at least - urged him to let it continue. Maybe there was more to 2D than what he'd always thought.
He wasn't quite sure when or how he was forced onto his back, stretched out along the pew with 2D somehow managing to straddle his waist, but it happened, and it'd happened fast. One of the vocalist's hands roamed up underneath his damp shirt, pianist fingers massaging his chest while hips ground teasingly against his own, making his back arch.
"I'll prove it," came a rumbling promise against his ear. "I'll prove it iffit kills me."
As he felt his shirt being bunched up over his abdomen and his pants being tugged down his hips, Murdoc let his gaze linger a moment longer on the beautifully crafted ceiling depicting Heaven, before letting his eyes fall shut and his voice come out with a single, long, raspy exhalation.
"Mea culpa."
( thanks, Katy, for the horrendously delicious idea. )