Chapter: Eight.
Series: Gorillaz.
Rating: R. Foul language, angst, and slash (Murdoc/2D.)
Disclaimer: Albarn's and Hewlett's.
Chapter Warnings: Blasphemeee, blaspheyooou, blasphe-everybodyintherooom. Churchsmut. Semi-graphic.
Notes: Hello children. This chapter is short, but it's got sex in it and it's the beginning of a rather drastic turn of events.
See, I was originally planning this story to be about one or two chapters away from ending, at this point. But NO. Of course not. My buddy-mistress Stan had to go and inspire me to tweek the storyline and plot, and drag this sucker on for another. um. five or six chapters. ...So.. thank her, I guess?
Soyep. It's short, it's smutty, it's the vague introduction to a new twist, so I hope you enjoy and thanks again for all the awesome feedback. You guys own my soul.:D I hope the shortness doesn't disappoint.
Ache.
Everything ached.
Coiled up in the pit of his stomach until there was nothing but the friction. The heat. No here and now, no there and then, no frontways, no backways, nothing but the rhythm caught between where their bodies met and pulled apart again, and again, and again. Nothing but their mingled gasps for air, their tightening muscles, and their choked-back and cut-off curses. Anything and everything that surrounded them, from the haunting stained glass to the delicate carvings in the dirtied walls to the muffled and now barely-audible commotion still lingering outside the church doors, fell away and vanished and it was only them. It was only them and what they were doing and why they were doing it.
It was unlike any other time. It was intense. 2D had completely morphed himself with the sole purpose of proving something to Murdoc; proving to him that he was a human being, with a heart and a soul and feelings and emotions and every single one of the Seven Deadlies lurking quietly but unpredictably beneath pasty skin and vacant eyes, like a volcano ready to erupt without warning. The younger man had been precise and careful in the way he handled Murdoc. It wasn't everyday he had him in a vulnerable position, after all.
If he didn't know what he was doing, he was certainly putting on a good show.
Murdoc felt his control weakening. He had never trusted helplessness, nor had he ever accepted it as a natural piece of him that just needed some luring out to show itself, but here he was, helplessly trembling, muscles sore and screaming, beneath the man he'd thought as, up until a few moments ago, nothing more than his inferior. 2D had him cornered, wrapped and curled around long, nimble pianist fingers like a thin string.
As terrifying as the thought was, the experience was anything but unenjoyable.
He had somehow managed to hitch a leg up and over the back of the pew, and his hands, useless as they were, had long since stopped restlessly trying to find something to hold onto; settled for digging chewed nails into the soft, sweat-slick skin of 2D's back. The singer tried to maintain some semblence of eye contact, but had given up once the smooth rhythm of their hips was found, and he dropped his forehead to Murdoc's shoulder, panting hot breath and murmuring what sounded like an indecipherable litany of profanities against his collarbone.
The pew creaked beneath them and the hard surface was Hell on Murdoc's back, but he barely noticed it as 2D consistently changed the angle of his hips, making each drive in harder, deeper, faster, surprisingly careful not to slide into monotony and keep every movement, each breath, each choking groan different from the last and the last and the last.
Everything had been happening so quickly. Murdoc's head spun and everything came to run together like moistened chalk. His breath hitched and hiccupped in his lungs, stuttering past his lips as he tried to bite back his moaning for the sake of his pride and failed, and when he came, it was hard, jolting, rushing up from the balls of his feet to slam into his midsection, so hard that he was almost physically forced to arch up against 2D's body, the sounds peeling from his throat frighteningly reminiscent of rough, grunting sobs. It took hold of him by the shoulders and shook him, violently, until the colours blended together completely and dimmed down to black.
The last thing his vision caught clearly from behind his damp, dark hair was 2D hovering over him, eyes shut, mouth open, forehead furrowed and eyebrows coming to knit together, tussled hair and damp, flushed face haloed by the dimly-lit Heaven stretched across the church ceiling.
When his senses started humming again, he could feel slow, gentle lapping of something warm and wet against his neck and collarbones.
He cracked an eye open. There was a weight on top of him. It was warm; sticky and uncomfortable in the middle. His mouth tasted coppery and unpleasant. He craned his neck up a bit and the lapping stopped.
2D pulled his head up and their eyes met.
The singer looked just as tired as Murdoc felt.
His eyes pulled from 2D's and landed on his neck. It was raw and red, trickled with blood. "Yer bleedin."
2D's mouth twitched up in the smallest, meekest of smiles. "You bit me."
"Did I?"
A nod.
"Don't r'member that part. Would explain th'taste, though."
Another nod.
"How long've I been out?"
"Few minutes, maybe."
Murdoc tried to stretch. 2D got the hint and shifted, pushed himself up on still-shaking arms to give him room.
"Th'rain stopped."
"Yeh," 2D replied, using his still-recovering strength to push all the way up and kneel between Murdoc's parted legs. The Satanist glanced down and grimaced.
"Fuckin' mess," he grumbled and peeled his shirt up and over his head, wadding it into a ball and wiping at the mess spattered across his abdomen. He looked at it for a moment when he finished, debating whether or not to even bother carrying a balled-up, semen-covered shirt back to the studios with him.
The vocalist moved to his feet, using his own (previously discarded) shirt for the same purpose before pulling his jeans the rest of the way up his hips and fastening them slowly. Murdoc tossed the soiled shirt over the back of the pew and followed suit, grabbing his pants and turning them right-side in before sliding into them.
2D nudged his own teeshirt underneath the pew with his foot and quietly watched as Murdoc adjusted himself, admiring the way the light, dim as it was, still managed to catch the golden upside-down cross dangling around his neck.
They left the church, shirtless and wary, keeping their eyes open for the undead and on the skies for any shift in the weather. It was still overcast, but the worst seemed to be over and the darker clouds seemed to have passed completely. It was a fairly long walk back, and most of it was kept in silence. At one point, as they'd been walking close together, their pinkies brushed and 2D felt his stomach tighten. Murdoc pretended not to notice.
The atmosphere surrounding them was strange, but comfortable. Murdoc kept to himself, trapped in his own thoughts and trying to sort them, and 2D gave him the space to do so. He let his eyes drift to him every so often, but he'd always either be staring at the ground as they walked, or looking off in the opposite direction. The thing about patience was that it was a virtue, but not everyone had that sort of will-power. He wanted to say something, because although the silence was comfortable, it wasn't what he wanted.
But he didn't. He'd pushed the envelope a bit more than he should have, already. Once was enough for one day.
"Well, what do you think?"
Noodle half-shrugged, drumming her fingers along the edge of her guitar.
"He seemed different."
She nodded. "A little better."
"But sad."
The girl shifted in her chair, interest long since waned from getting anything productive done. She'd asked Russel to leave the desk room's door open in case 2D should happen to wander into the studio kitchen and spot them, but unfortunately, there had only been a single, brief glimpse of the singer since he and Murdoc returned. He had, indeed, made his way to the kitchen, but instead of peeking curiously into the adjoining room as he normally did, he walked an almost robotic path to the refrigerator, took a beer, and walked right back out. The expression on his face was distant and almost... disturbingly thoughtful.
There hadn't been any sight of Murdoc. Noodle and Russel both assumed he'd gone straight to his Winnebago and holed himself up.
Russel broke the momentary silence that fell between them with a long sigh. "I think we should stop tryin to interfere."
Noodle turned her eyes to him.
"I mean, we already did what we could," the drummer said. "and... I don'know. We tried, but I think we gotta let them fig'ger things out for themselves. I ain't gonna lie. I'm gettin pretty sick of playin the overprotective mother."
"Mm. Perhaps we have tried too hard."
"Maybe." Russel reclined back in his seat and it creaked quietly in protest. "Don't mean I'm gonna stop worryin about D, but we're treatin him like he's a kid. And we both know he can handle hisself, if it comes to it." He paused, staring down at the control board in front of him, before adding, "B'sides, I'm gettin some vibes lately that I just ain't down with."
This intrigued the girl, and she raised an eyebrow.
"S'like someone's gonna snap, soon. I don't think it's gonna be either one of us. I don't like these vibes, either. Somethin's comin. I can feel it. It's like the calm right before a hurricane. And it's gonna hit all of us, not just them."
Noodle said, solemnly, "You always have been... very empathetic, Russel-san. And good at predicting. You should trust that."
Russel nodded distractedly. But he knew that wasn't going to happen.
As much as he relied on his gut feelings, he didn't always trust them. He didn't always want to.