Chapter Text
2D’s stumbling to his room, ready to collapse into bed and face whatever terrible hangover tomorrow morning is about to offer him when he hears shuffling from Murdoc’s room. Weird - the last thing he’d heard, his bandmate had boasted that he was off to a party (“A different party to yours, Faceache, we both know you’d ruin my fun”) and not to wait up for him, he wouldn’t be back tonight, in fact, he’d probably wake up in some lucky bird’s bed, tell Russ he’ll fancy scrambled eggs and a spot of toast when he returns next morning, thank you very much.
Bearing all this in mind, 2D is surprised, to say the least, to hear he’s back so soon. His efforts to score must've missed their mark, then. It’d be nice to get a chance to talk with him before passing out; sometimes, Drunk Murdoc is far nicer than any other Murdoc, far more forgiving, throwing an arm around 2D’s shoulder and roaring with laughter, exchanging a glance with a wry grin and a nod of the head.
(Sometimes, Drunk Murdoc will launch one of many empty bottles towards 2D, curl up in the corner with his hands wrapped around his head to defend himself from something only he can discern.)
Tonight, though. 2D’s feeling ballsy. They’ve been on a lucky streak with their bickering lately, thanks to Noodle’s watchful (and sometimes quite forceful) eye. The door wavers in front of him as he guides his hand to the doorknob - he’s drunker than he'd initially thought - and it takes him a few tries to twist it, the metal fighting his grip.
It swings open with a lurch and he goes careening forward, making wide-eyed contact with Murdoc, chest heaving with his hand frozen on his dick.
“Sorry, sorry…” Backing up, regret begins to gnaw at that drunken confidence - 2D makes his way to the door before he gets the nearest object chucked at his head though the sway of the floor as it tries to claim him has him stumbling-
“Wait, wait… 2D, Stu…” Murdoc slurs, almost pleading. The use of his real name in such a tone makes 2D forget what he was doing. When was the last time he’d heard that? “Come ‘ere. Come on.”
And he does, all too willing to do as Murdoc says while he's escaped that temper of his for now. Seems far less effort than climbing the stairs to his room, and something in his eyes draws him in - not the glare he had feared, but definitely not the crafty glint in the eyes of a good-tempered, tipsy Murdoc. It’s a glazed look, not quite here, not quite there. Even through his drunken haze, 2D can't help but worry.
He perches on the side of the bed, happy to give his legs a rest. It’s difficult to ignore the elephant in the room, that being the fact that his bandmate is still fully exposed. Although, he’s open enough to do all sorts of disgusting things, like clip his toenails on the couch, so it wouldn’t shock 2D if he just didn’t give one. “You alright? You’re looking a bit…”
Instead of answering, Murdoc shakes his head, gently placating him. “Shh… None of that. No talking. Just come over.”
2D shuffles closer, eager to hear whatever Murdoc’s about to tell him - perhaps about the night he had, why he’s back so early… He jumps as Murdoc grabs his hand (when was the last time they made contact without it turning violent?) and wraps it around his erection.
Frozen in place, 2D stays put, even as Murdoc puts his hand on top to guide him, even as they move in sync, up and down (when was the last time they’d willingly worked together on something?) even as soft groans escape from his lips (when was the last time he’d shown any sign of approval for something 2D had done?)
After a few drawn-out moments, Murdoc’s hand drops, and with lidded eyes, gives 2D an expectant look. “Go on, then. I’m well tired. You’ve done it y'self plenty, yeah?”
And 2D does despite himself, because when was the last time Murdoc wanted to just be with him? Carefully, carefully, as if Murdoc could snap at any second and cut the rope that is the strange tension they’ve created, he strokes from the base to the head, head to the base. Murdoc’s eyes flutter shut, his breathing becoming a little more laboured.
Between jagged inhales of air, he shoots 2D a withering glare. “Come on… ‘S not gonna break. Go faster.”
2D does as told, his hand pumping up and down, thumb swiping over the head every so often out of habit. Small drops of precum dribble from the tip and fast get swept up in his movement, leaving his cock a little slick and glistening in the sombre lighting.
“Tighter,” Murdoc commands through gritted teeth. With less caution, this time, 2D curls his fingers in a surer grip as he jerks him off, easing himself into a steady pace. He knows how to do this, knows how to make Myrdoc feel good; he was right, he's done this enough times that the motion is instinct, the way it's instinct for the other man to make small, twitching thrusts into his grip. “That’s it...”
Arching his back, Murdoc’s hands desperately search for grounding - first, by gripping the silk bedsheets, and when his palms become too slick with sweat for those, he settles for grappling any part of 2D he can get to, pulling him in.
“Come ‘ere,” Murdoc murmurs, tugging his shoulder, his leg, the collar of his shirt, sharp nails digging and insistent.
“Alright, alright…” 2D, who’s still awkwardly perched on the end of the bed, lurches as he’s forced onto all fours, legs straddling Murdoc’s left knee, one hand getting him off and the other placed by his hip, just managing to keep him steady.
This close, he can make out Murdoc a lot better - his furrowed brow, fluttering eyelids, the desperate twitching in his legs, when he parts his lips like he’s gasping for air, instead letting out a low moan between laboured breaths, loud and careless like everything else that leaves his mouth.
Self-proclaimed sex aficionado Murdoc Niccals is this disentangled over a handjob. The Murdoc that brags about going round upon round without so much as breaking a sweat is so far detached from the whimpering mess that’s splayed below him that 2D can’t help but let a small chuckle slip.
Despite his moans, his laughter doesn’t go unnoticed by Murdoc, who cracks open an eye to glare at him.
“Y’think that’s funny, hm?” Murdoc asks, tone laced with venom though both the alcohol and lust slur his words. Eager not to let this be another interaction that ends in hostility, 2D shakes his head vehemently (bad choice - his ears ring, and he has to fight to stay upright).
“Yeah… S’what I thought.” Still, 2D flinches as Murdoc grabs a fistful of blue hair and jerks him in, and his heart sinks - he’s ruined it again. “Why don’t you make it up to me, then?”
Instead of pushing him away, though, Murdoc forces his head down, and he barely has any time to think before he’s gagging, tears springing to 2D’s eyes as Murdoc thrusts his cock into his mouth.
“Fuck-! Not the teeth!” With a grimace and snarl from Murdoc as he jerks 2D up by his roots, he wrinkles his nose. “Mary and Joseph, anyone would think you’ve never been blown. Rule numero uno - no chompers!”
“Well, gimme a second to do it myself and maybe I’m not gonna bloody bite it off!” In his defence, they’re both shitfaced, and he’d only received head, not given it - he never even considered it until about five seconds ago.
“...Fine,” Murdoc relents, loosening his grip. Though not by much.
Perhaps taking charge was a bad idea - as he parts his lips, 2D realises he’s not sure how to go around this. Peering at Murdoc through his lashes, he hopes for some guidance or harsh encouragement; he only breathes a little heavier, eyes clouded with want.
Well. If he’s not going to get any hints from Murdoc, he’ll just do it the way he likes it done. It's a tried and tested method, after all.
Straight off the bat, 2D realises it's a lot more work than the girls he's been with make it seem. It's no contest that it's a lot easier to be on the receiving end. The sensation is odd, unlike anything he's had to do before - his cock is hot and hard in his mouth, the mix of sweat and precum leaving a bitter taste on his tongue as he hesitantly bobs his head up and down, licking a long stripe along the shaft as he does so.
Not like his inexperience matters - Murdoc whines and begs all the same, encouraging him to speed up, to close his lips tighter and let his tongue roam. Within minutes 2D's digging his nails into his hips in a pathetic effort to control his bucking and twitching. It's in vain; he doesn't stop the head of his dick from hitting the back of his throat, his whole body tensing as he gags. Teardrops fall from his eyes each time he blinks, landing at the base of his cock and joining the beads of sweat that trail lazily down his body. Still, it's all worth it in the end - head thrown back, Murdoc grits out a constant string of curses that only get more insulting as 2D swirls his tongue around the very tip - not often enough that it loses its delicious effect, but every so often that he chokes out a moan, caught off guard.
Slick with his own spit, his hand pumps at the base of Murdoc's cock while his mouth does the rest of the work - tonguing the vein, which earns him a pull of his hair (2D learns very quickly that this is the equivalent to a good job, since he's moaning, gasping, falling apart so any sentences he tries to grit out are swallowed half-formed or replaced by a breathy fuck) doig his best to not using his teeth, every so often making eye contact with Murdoc while he's as deep as he can go.
He's ruined. One hand in 2D's hair and the other pushing his back from his sweat-slicked forehead, he can't keep himself still, arching his back, legs trembling, whining and moaning, completely at his mercy, body begging him to keep going. A far cry from the man who, five minutes ago, had forced this on himself. Between gasps and curses, he catches a slurred 2D (or once, Stu) which, despite how his mouth is being used so carelessly, sends a thrill coursing down his spine. Nice to be acknowledged by his bandmate - and not as an expletive in a fit of anger, or in disgust, but in needy whines and sheer pleasure.
"That's it- Fuck- Go on-"
2D tries not to let himself drop too far down onto Murdoc's twitching leg as he doesn't think about how good the spat-out compliments and encouragements make him feel. It encourages him to work all the more (to distract himself or make Murdoc pay attention to him, he doesn't know) gripping tighter with all the confidence he'd been asking him for, taking him in further little by little, moving his hand rhythmically and confidently, flinching as he takes him in a little too far too fast but past caring-
Murdoc jerks his head down, led by blue hair and a trembling hand to gag first on his cock and then the bitter taste in his mouth. Legs tensed and head thrown back in bliss, he curses loudly as he fucks 2D's throat, thrusting up and groaning, his bucking and shaking slowing, subsiding, moans fading to quiet whimpers until he's still, eyes closed, the only thing indicating any life being the steady rise and fall of his chest. "...Mmh."
2D would like nothing more but to spit - he didn't even know he was close, surely it's basic decency to tell him - but he doesn't want to test the waters with Murdoc quite yet, so he swallows his load. The bitterness makes him wrinkle his nose, and he fights a cough.
They stay like that for a while, breathing laboured, and 2D tries to match his exhale with Murdoc's as he steadies his spinning head. The room is warm and humid with the smell of sweat, and the only noise 2D can hear in the silence is the quiet ringing in his ears.
"Murdoc?" He tries tentatively. No response. Reaching out a finger, 2D pokes him in the chest.
Murdoc reacts then, batting him away with a grunt and rolling to face the wall, eyes still closed. "Whaddya want?"
"Erm…" Truthfully, 2D is all too aware of how hard he is beneath his trousers and isn't trying to hide it - he'd love help because sometimes his own hand just doesn’t cut it, but he's not sure how far he's allowed to push things.
"If you're gonna sit there like a lemon, sod off. Tired," Murdoc mumbles, not bothering to dry himself off before climbing under the covers. Within minutes, he's snoring, loud and unapologetic.
So that's it, then.
2D's not sobered up one bit, he thinks as he struggles up the stairs to his room, his head still spinning and vision blurring. He is, however, awake, and hornier than he's been in a long while. It takes him no time to throw his door open, collapse onto his mattress, and fight with the fly of his jeans.
If he’s in the mood, 2D will find any old porn and he’s good to go, not too picky. Tonight he only needs to grasp at the fading memory of Murdoc with his head thrown back, Murdoc pulling on his hair without care, Murdoc whining and pleading for him to keep going, thrusting into his mouth…
And he’s there.