I do apologize for not updating last night—it seems I got quite distracted learning new songs on my guitar .''' Anywho, here's the next chapter. Enjoy!
Murdoc:
You frown as he draws his knees into his chest hurriedly. You're really not too sure what to do, but slowly, you sit down next to him on the sofa, the springs inside creaking slightly against the wooden frame. He looks at you nervously—spooked—as if he's seen a ghost. "Sorry to wake ya, Faceache," you say, grinning a bit and producing the pack of smokes he bought you, holding it out to him.
Silence.
He hesitates, slowly reaching out to take one cigarette, bringing it to his lips. You kind of smile, taking one for yourself, and flicking the tiny wheels of the lighter you finally found til the smoke sets the cherry glowing. Taking a few puffs, you hold out the lighter to him, and he takes it apprehensively with a shaky hand, lighting his own cigarette hurriedly, returning it to you and taking a deep drag.
You tilt your head back, releasing smoke, and lean against him ever so slightly, frowning at the cobweb in the corner of the room. His body stiffens a bit, but doesn't move away from you this time. Both shocked and content, you reach one hand over to rest it on his knee. His body freezes, and the only breaths he takes are those nicotine-laced inhales and sighs that fill the room with a smoky haze. You avoid eye contact and just sit there, finishing up your cigarette as he smokes his in silence. When it has burned down to the filter, you snuff it out in the small ashtray on the table, and he does the same. That's when you get another idea. Reaching in the inner pocket of your ratty leather jacket you fish out a tiny baggie and a pipe. Your fingers fumble with the zipper and you take some bud, packing it into the tiny glass pipe, blue with swirls of green and specs of yellow. Using the lighter again, you take a hit, exhaling smoke rings as your eyes begin to droop a bit, an incredible calm taking over your entire body.
You turn to 2-D, eyes questioning silently and he nods ever so gently. You hold out the pipe to him, and he takes the beautifully-crafted object and lighter, flicking the wheels to take a hit himself. He coughs a bit and you guess he doesn't do this as often as you. He smiles, shaking his head a bit and then slowly inhaling the smoke deeper before exhaling with a puff. He grins at you a bit—still tentative, but you can tell he's much more relaxed now. He hands the pipe back to you and your fingers brush, and you allow them to linger ever so slightly before drawing away to take another hit. As you feel the warm smoke enter your lungs comfortingly, you exhale both worry and apprehension. You hand the pipe to him once more and he mimics your action, smiling a bit stupidly, the gaps in his teeth teasing your heart.
And that's when he reaches one hand out to touch your arm, his cold fingers brushing against the rough skin in a slow, gentle, curious motion. Shifting his position, he crosses his legs and relaxes a bit against you. Your hand travels back to his leg, tracing tiny circles with the calloused pad of your index finger. Taking another hit from the pipe, you hold the smoke in your mouth, leaning close to his face, his lips, hoping he will welcome your advance. He does, his lips gradually falling open as if he's reading your mind. You bring your lips to his, releasing the smoke into his mouth and he exhales out of his nose leisurely, as his eyes flutter. You pull away briefly, your eyes getting lost in his pools of black, and you grin, but he wants more. He drapes his legs over yours and reaches up to run his slender fingers through your hair. You lean in again, slowly, pressing your lips to his so naturally and tease your long tongue against his lips. He responds by parting them, allowing your tongue entry. You set the pipe aside, running your hands up and down his legs as your tongue weaves together with his softly. You withdraw it slowly, tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth and smiling as your lips separate, a single string of saliva joining your mouths as you part. He reaches his other hand to touch your chest, the worn grey fabric soft to the touch as he begins to run his fingers up and down gently, almost mesmerized. Your eyes meet and he smiles, too. That's when he draws away a bit suddenly, leaning back against the sofa. You frown, a tad confused, but still flying high. Your body begins moving subconsciously and you straddle him. His body stiffens slightly, but he allows this. You lean down to kiss the soft, translucent skin on his neck, sucking at it slightly and he lets out a small sound. It turns you on, and suddenly you just want him, all of him. You nip at his neck as a small bruise begins to form, trailing your long tongue up and down sloppily. He tilts his head back, and lets out a moan. A moan. You can feel your trousers becoming uncomfortably tight as your hands reach for his chest, flirting with the edge of his shirt, then slowly slipping under it to his stomach. His breathing begins to get heavier and you slide your hands up.
But instead of meeting skin, they hit fabric. Fabric? He jumps a bit, gasping and draws back—as much as he can—hugging himself tightly and putting his head down. You frown, trying to look at him, but he won't raise his head. And he's…crying? Ever so softly. You reach out to run your fingers through his hair, and he lifts his head, eyes scared and sad, tears streaming down his cheeks, as he hurriedly wipes them away with his sleeve. He's mumbling something—it sounds like an apology. You wipe a tear from under one eye as another comes tumbling down his other cheek, falling and making contact with the fabric of your jeans, the tiny wet stain spreading into the fibers of the deep navy blue. 'What happened?' you wonder, staring blankly, trying to regain your thoughts. But he won't draw his arms away from himself, and the tears don't stop.
Did you just fuck up again?
Shit.
Don't hate me, it's not a cliffhanger! I'll have another chapter up shortly~ in the meantime, review c: