Chapter Text
Their mornings start with a cup of coffee and a kiss. Not always in that order.
This morning in particular, they’re a tangle of limbs.
Though today may be a little more special, this routine won’t falter. A quiet lay-in as they shake off the grasp of sleep; so it goes. They can’t stay like this for long – as much as he’d love to – so 2D indulges in the small sensations; the languid scratching at his scalp as Murdoc entangles his fingers in his hair, the hot coffee a rousing comfort, the weathered skin beneath his touch as he traces sharp, clean lines of ink.
The new tattoo sits below Murdoc’s collarbone on the left side of his chest. It's etched into the skin shielding his heart, though he’d claim coincidence if asked. Small, unassuming. He circles the curve of an eight-ball.
That one is, by far, 2D’s favourite.
The dreaded alarm wails, a reminder to get up and going (Noodle would have both their heads if they missed this one). Murdoc groans in retaliation, making no effort to move. “Fuck me. I can’t be arsed to get all dressed up and go partying. I’d rather rot here.”
There’s a pause as he realises his words. “Am I getting old…?”
Time has been creeping up on them. 2D huffs a laugh. “We’ll rot here, then.”
“Who said I was rotting with you? Your rot stinks.”
“What, and yours doesn’t?” He arches one eyebrow (after much pleading, Murdoc had finally taught him how to pull it off. He feels endlessly suave).
“No. Smells of… Sauvage. And latex, and leather.”
2D wrinkles his nose. Doesn’t seem too appealing. “Grim.”
These arguments, nonsensical and insignificant, are remnants of what they’ve been from the beginning. Murdoc insists he won’t ever become a sappy, lovey-dovey sop, and 2D doesn’t have the heart to tell him he sort of is, in his odd way. All proof is in himself, though he doesn’t know it.
Either way, 2D wouldn’t change their stupid conversations for anything.
“Well. I suppose–” Groaning, he arches his back, popping his spine before swinging himself out of bed. 2D trails his gaze from the taut muscles in his shoulders down to the small of his back, shameless. “–Hold on. You forgot your pill.”
2D blinks, taking it from between Murdoc’s fingers and swallowing it dry. It’s been less and less of a priority these days. “Oh, yeah.”
Half-decent (or at least, in their boxers) they trail downstairs to the kitchen. The rich smell of a cooked breakfast’s enticing; today is one of those special occasions where Russel blesses them with his cooking. In his fatigue, Murdoc misses a flash of fur that weaves between his legs with a mewl before darting off as quick as it’d come.
“Sodding–” He grits, anticipating a fall. When he simply stumbles, he huffs. “–Cat.”
2D suppresses a smile. “He bloody loves you.”
“No clue why. Noodle’s the one that takes care of it.” Sighing, he rolls his shoulders back to mask his pride at being favoured over 2D, who gets used as a stepping stone to Murdoc’s chest at best.
Noodle herself leans against the kitchen counter, chatting with Russel and hovering nearby just in case he needs the help. She brightens when she catches both of them — far too bright for how early it is. “Morning! Surprised to see you up, even if you’re a bit late. I thought I would have to come and get you both.”
“Yeah, well…” Murdoc’s retort trails off as Russel hands him a steaming plate of toast and fluffy eggs topped with crisp, curled bacon, all snark forgotten in the face of such enticement.
“I’m going to start the car – Ace’s plane should be landing soon, and I don’t want to leave him waiting.” She makes her way to the door before throwing over her shoulder, “Hurry up, okay?”
2D hums, distracted as he shovels bread down his throat like it’s his last meal. Most days, he doesn’t get up early enough for breakfast, so this is a rare indulgence.
Russel leans over the running sink, arms deep in soaped-up water.
“We’re gonna be driving for a while,” He starts, an edge of a warning to his voice. “No handjobs in the backseat or we’ll drop you on the side of the road and you can hitch a ride back. Got it?”
Murdoc makes a strangled noise in protest. “That was once and we were hammered, thank you very much.”
If 2D can recall correctly, they were barely tipsy, but for the good of Russel, he keeps that fact to himself.
After handing over their dishes, they get themselves ready and presentable at a speed no man should move at this side of noon, clambering into the backseats just as Noodle honks the horn, ready to forget them.
“This’ll be a laugh,” Murdoc says as they drive on. “Last time I saw good old Ace we were in the slammer together.”
Noodle hums. “I remember he said you tried to assert your dominance by picking the biggest inmate to brawl with and—”
“—He said you got your ass handed to you,” Russel finishes. It’s clear he likes this story.
“I did not get my arse handed to me! I just decided being on top would give me more trouble than it was, all eyes on me and all that.” He sinks into the leather seat, arms crossed and muttering something about character assassination.
There aren’t many green bassists roaming around Gatwick — one of them on a tight leash — so when they see another looking lost, shades perched on the bridge of his nose and hauling along luggage, they know they’ve got Ace.
Brightening upon seeing them, he offers a big wave, dragging his bulky bag over with surprising strength.
“Aw, man! How long’s it been?” Luggage forgotten, he wraps Noodle and Russel in a hug, pulling them close with such an intensity that 2D worries for their ribs. All smiles and laughter, they exchange quick pleasantries. Their bones seem safe for now.
Finally, he lets them go, sticking a hand out for 2D with a blinding grin. It feels near nostalgic — they grasp in a firm handshake. “Wotcha.”
Ace furrows his brow as if puzzling something out. “Watch who?”
2D shakes his head, twisting his lips in a smile. “Nevermind.”
“Alright, mate?” With one hand in his pocket, Murdoc offers the other out in a fist.
Flashing sharp teeth in kind, Ace taps their knuckles together. “Long time no see, compagno. Congrats on the album. Outta jail for good, now?”
“We’ll see who tests my patience, eh?” Murdoc quips. There’s a rusty bond there, nothing if not born from shared experience. “Heard your work on The Now Now. Not too shabby — nothing compared to my skill, of course, but it was decent, y’know?”
“Decent, huh? I’ll take it.” He shoots 2D a look over the rim of his sunglasses, eyes sparkling in humour. “Not to be a drag or nothin’, but can we get back? I’m beat.”
Belted up in the car and squashed in the middle seat between 2D and Murdoc, he seems anything but. “...Director said I didn’t lose my shine after all those years. Real nice to hear. Reboot’s been a ton of fun, gettin’ back into the actin’ scene, y’feel me?”
“What about your… old coworker?” 2D says.
“Snake? That backstabber?” Murdoc asks, frowning — of course he’d know. The story would’ve been fresher when they met. “You’re not all chummy with him again, are you?”
“Hold on, get this. He said he was real sorry about it and even told on himself to the director — who did nothin’. All in the past, no biggie, he said. Which is fine. He’s a real changed guy.”
“After throwing you under the bus and putting you behind bars?” Murdoc scoffs. “You’re soft.”
“Nah — if he was still doin’ that sorta crap I’d be gone so fast. But we’re gettin’ along, y’know? Like I said. Changed guy.”
“Glad that’s going well for you, mate.” 2D offers a nod, finding it’s genuine.
They set him up in the guest bedroom — jetlagged and worn out from endless conversation, Ace shuts the blinds and buries himself in the blankets with a sigh of relief and a promise to be up come evening in time for the party.
A party to celebrate the release of the final episode, the release of their album. Anticipation has been buzzing around 2D's brain like one too many drinks for a couple of days now.
Murdoc doesn’t think Ace has too terrible of an idea — to catch up on their missed lay-in from this morning, they spend the afternoon wrapped around each other and discussing everything from the recent Pet Shop Boys album (alright) to the number of times Murdoc has been coined as Ace’s brother (too many). They take their time here, curled together and exchanging lazy banter while they can; a bit of distance will have to be put between them at the party where all eyes will be on the band. They’ll live.
“D’you think people will work it out?” 2D asks aloud, head fitting in the crook of Murdoc’s neck. In habit, he traces the scar on his wrist, though finds these days there’s no harsh edge to the marred skin. It’s only there if he really looks for it.
“We’re too good. They’ll never suspect a thing.”
“Yeah, but… I dunno.” 2D tries to look up at him to no avail. They’re too close.
“What? D’you want people to know?” Murdoc scratches at the roots of his hair with his nails. He feels a bit like a dog for it, but it’s too grounding to hold any real embarrassment against.
“Not really. It’s none of their business.” 2D furrows his brow. Speculation is rife as figures in the public eye, and the last thing he wants is to hear countless opinions on his decisions, whether they be poor or not. Everyone fancies themselves a licensed therapist. It’d been enough when he’d started sporting white eyes, and that wasn’t even voluntary.
“Yeah, nosy buggers.” If 2D could see Murdoc, he’s sure he’d be scowling. “They can keep themselves out of our private lives, thanks very much.”
A few close calls with the paparazzi had been enough.
2D finds he likes this — private, but not secretive. Something they hold close between them.
Unlike Noodle, they don’t have to hunch over a mirror and draw painstaking, pretty patterns on their eyelids, so when evening rolls around and she knocks on their door, all they have to do is rouse themselves from their drowsy state and belt themselves into the car, less in a rush than this haphazard morning.
2D’s drunk on the feeling as soon as they walk in, taking in the atmosphere of swathes of people who rouse a cheer when they enter, the stars of the show. Murdoc thrives off of the attention, preening at the countless eyes on him as he sports a classic smirk. With that grand entrance, they dissolve into the crowd, lights flashing in a brilliant hue and music so loud it travels through the floorboards – 2D can feel the thrum of the bass in his very bones. This isn’t a party for networking (not on the surface, because Noodle will always find a way) but simply to celebrate their success. Well-deserved, a release.
As the night deepens 2D hovers between the bar and Murdoc, clinking cups together as he drinks to their talent, their hard work, out and proud for the world to see a year later. He drinks to the both of them, too — they were just as gruelling to work through, if not more, than the album. But, like Song Machine , it was well worth the struggle.
Slipping, and perhaps a little tipsy, 2D offers Murdoc a swig of a drink that tastes better than he’d expected (liqueur, could be almond-flavoured) only to receive a raised eyebrow in response.
“Taunting me, are you?” He asks, an edge to his voice. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Shit, sorry, sorry…” 2D grips the cup and pulls it close to his chest, doing his best to show he means it. “Stick to your…”
“Tonic water. Feels like I’m being edged.” Murdoc grumbles, peering into his cup like the liquid’s toxic. “Stephen, the bastard. Doing it for his own masochistic fantasies at this point, loves to see me suffer.”
“I mean…” There’s not much 2D can offer, not with his addled mind. “...you’re doing good.”
That seems to be enough — Murdoc sighs in resignation, downing a healthy gulp of his drink. “Only because I bet he thought I couldn’t do it. I’ll prove him wrong.”
“Yeah, go on.” His stubborn drive works in his favour sometimes — a grin pulls at 2D’s lips, pride a cocktail mixed with tipsiness and near overflowing.
Both familiar and unfamiliar faces come gushing, eyes bright, congratulating them on their genius and their innovation until 2D thinks he’s heard every word in the dictionary used to sing their praises.
“What’s your favourite one you’ve put on there, then?” One man continues, shorn hair with a gappy grin and terribly reminiscent in a way 2D can’t place. His mind could very well be playing tricks on him.
“Erm…” Murdoc twists his lips in thought, drink almost slipping from his hand. “Dead Butterflies, I’d say.”
“Really?” 2D cocks his head to the side as the familiar face disappears into the crowd, satisfied with that answer. “You didn’t write it. You sure it’s not complete shit?”
“Yes, well, I suppose it’s not mindblowing, but it kickstarted all of this, didn’t it?” Murdoc misses the touch of sarcasm as he shoulders him, nonchalant.
What had truly kickstarted this was the happy alcohol that buzzes around 2D’s brain; the very same that brings a dopey grin to his lips, that tells him to take his face in his hands and capture him in a kiss at those words.
Careful, he brings his face as close as he dares, close enough to count dark lashes and see, even in the dim light, how Murdoc’s eyes flick to his lips. If only for a moment.
He steps back with a strangled noise, sudden enough to make 2D startle. They both trail their gaze down to the front of Murdoc’s shirt — it’s drenched, and his cup is empty. He places it on the bar with a sigh.
“Shit,” Murdoc proclaims, loud. “Just split my drink all down me. 2D, come with me to the bathroom and help me clean it off, yeah?”
2D’s lips twist in a wry smile – he knows what game they’re playing. “Alright."
It’s a near race down the many stairs to the bathroom.
2D hardly waits to slam the door shut before he has Murdoc pinned against the worn wood, desperate as he captures his lips in an impatient kiss.
Finally.
That longing comes out in a rush now as Murdoc hooks fingers through his belt loops and jerks him in, rolling their hips together. A quiet groan slips from his lips, leaning into Murdoc’s touch as he presses his tongue inside. 2D has to fight a stupid grin, heady this close. Still unbelievable they can have precious moments like this, how lucky he is that they don’t have to struggle, take easy kisses of all sorts as they come and go.
Yet he still cherishes each one — even this, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck as Murdoc nips at his bottom lip, will linger in his mind.
Only he would conjure up such a dramatic escape so they can have a small, private party for themselves.
Lips stray, and 2D flutters fleeting kisses across his jawline, a quiet thrill in his chest at the contented hum he lets out, eyes closed and head thrown back. He’s a work of art like this, tousled and ballsy and messy.
“I love you,” 2D murmurs, barely legible when he slurs it against rough skin. “I love you, I love you…”
For good measure, he says it once more, once more, once more — God forbid there’s any doubt in Murdoc’s mind. His quiet mantra, his tipsy prayer.
“You’re beyond tipsy.” Murdoc huffs a laugh, and 2D revels in the sound.
He hums in affirmation, too busy working his way down his neck with a trail of nips and bites. “Love you.”
“Satan — I love you too, alright?” Murdoc gives in with a roll of his eyes. “Stop chanting it like you’re part of some blinking… Niccals cult.”
2D snorts, putting the kisses to the side in favour of splaying his hands on the small of his back. He takes a moment, basking in the rare words.
(Like everything else, Murdoc’s first of few admissions had been during a shag. Though he’d grumbled it after, laid together, so that was alright.)
“Imagine you running a cult — would be class.” A fanciful conversation, playful banter.
“I fancy myself a good leader, actually...” He opens his arms in a show of welcome, a delusion of grandeur. “Get people on their knees for me and all that. Doesn’t sound too bad.”
2D rests his chin on his mop of thick hair. “But you got me for that.”
Barking a laugh, he drags him in by his belt loops once more, a suggestion. “Right you are, love.”
A thumping knock on the door and they spring apart, cut short. With a scowl, Murdoc swings it open and is greeted by Ace tapping his foot in an unsteady rhythm. Of all people.
“Needed a whizz real bad. You guys took your sweet time.” Over the rim of his sunglasses, he gives both of them a thorough rundown before a smile quirks at his lips. “Congrats to the happy couple.”
“Piss off,” Murdoc retorts with a biting snarl.
“Chill.” Ace throws his hands up in surrender. “Still a secret sorta thing? I mean, you guys were glued together the whole time I’ve seen you — but in principle, is what I’m askin’.”
“It’s complicated,” 2D says with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s not a massive thing, ‘cause then all them tabloids will get wind of it and be all up in arms. But it’s not, like, no one knows.”
“It’s just too much hassle. We’re fine with how it is.” Murdoc waves off his questions. “Only people we give one about deserve to know, really.”
“Aw, you give one about me?” Clasping his hands to his chest, Ace grins.
“Don’t push it. And stop using British slang. Sounds fucking silly coming from your mouth.” Eyes narrowed, Murdoc jabs a finger against the bridge of his shades, stalking past him. “Go take a piss and don’t start blabbering about this.”
“What, about you two hidin’ out in the bathroom like kids skippin’ class?”
Nothing to say back (because, to be fair, it was an odd thing to do) Murdoc grumbles, shooting 2D a poignant look before disappearing back upstairs.
Before he can follow suit, Ace holds a hand out, stopping him in his tracks. He raises his eyebrows, gaze brimming with questions. “Murdoc, huh? The man you were gettin’ over? The jerk you didn’t love? What happened there?”
“What happened with– whassit– Snake?” He retorts.
Ace laughs, then, dropping his arm. “Touché. Y’know, I was thinkin’ he was acting a lil’ soft.”
“Don’t tell him that. He’ll hate it.”
“Oh, I know.” For a moment, Ace seems to wipe off his smile in favour of rare contemplation. “The deal with Snake… I was thinkin’ a whole lot about you when I was tryna figure out what to do, and your thing with Murdoc. Not the same, not really, but I was pushin’ you to move on and you still went back to him. Funny how that works, huh?”
2D’s not sure if he bristles a little from the words or his history with Ace. “Yeah, but you said it too — he’s changed. Sounds like rubbish and it took lots of work, but he has.”
“I getcha. And people go askin’, like, Ace, why’d you go back to being friends with that jerk after what he did? Who cares if he’s a new man or some crap?” Ace shrugs. “That’s my choice, they have no clue about that bond we had, what it meant, so I’m not gonna go throwin’ that away if I don’t hafta. I gotta try, yanno?”
2D nods — once again, they’re on the same track despite starting on opposite platforms. “Honestly, mate, I’m glad you sorted it with him.”
“Same here, same here. And you did good work on Murdoc, I can tell.”
“I mean, it was a bit of both of us.” Nothing could’ve come to fruition if the pair of them hadn’t put their all into it.
“Two halves of a whole, huh? Real cute.” Before 2D can begin to decipher what he means, Ace flashes a grin before nudging him towards the stairs. “Go on, loverboy. Outta here. I still gotta whizz.”
Perhaps more out of breath than he’d like, 2D trudges back up to the life of the party. It takes him a while to pick out his band; Noodle’s the star of the dancefloor, a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead but moving in tandem with the flashing lights as she grasps the hand of a girl he doesn’t know. Russel stands with Murdoc of all people; so stoic in his expressions, he can’t tell if they’re chatting or arguing, so he weaves his way through the crowd to meet them just in case.
“There you are,” Murdoc greets him with a pat on the back. “Just brought Russel a drink.”
“Real nice of him. Rum and coke, goes down easy.” Russel gestures to 2D with his cup. “Can’t help but think he’s living vicariously through me, but…”
“I’d never!” Murdoc proclaims with all the indignance of someone who very well would. “Anyhow, before you interrupted, I was just telling him about the spectacle with my drink.”
“Yeah, which is why you had to… go on down together?” Russel fixes him with a deadpan glare, unconvinced.
“Exactly. Two-man job. It was a massive mess.”
“Everything’s a two-man job for you both. You’re joined together at the damn hip.” Russel shakes his head. “I thought you woulda gotten sick of each other real quick. We’ll see.”
“Really? Well, you’ve seen nothing, mate. You wait. I’ll be laughing in your face in five years and we’re...” Murdoc jabs a finger in Russel’s direction, missing its mark as he wavers in the dim light. “Yeah, you wait.”
Done with his off-kilter rant, he heaves a sigh, fishing around in his pocket before returning victorious with a packet of fags.”Fuck me. I need a smoke. You coming with?”
2D meets his eyes. He wants to soak in the atmosphere of the party with Russel for a little while longer. “Yeah, in a minute.”
Waving him off, Murdoc disappears into the crowd to find himself an exit.
“That, weirdly, is the nicest damn thing I’ve heard him say in a while,” Russel says. Expecting a frown at the altercation, 2D’s thrown off by the small smile quirking at his lips. “And the drink, I guess. Going outta his way for that, even if it’s probably more for him than me.”
“Why d’you keep setting him off like that?” 2D asks, cocking his head to the side. Their catfights, while petty, don’t draw the air taut like they used to, simply ruffling a few feathers.
“Can’t let him off too easy.” He flicks his gaze over to the throng of people Murdoc had pushed his way through. “I’m not trying to piss him off, really. Not too fair when he’s gone and made a decent man of himself.”
“Yeah, he’s done alright.” Alright is an understatement, but a drunken 2D’s sung his praises to a sober Russel enough that he’s sure he could list, in order, his favourite parts about that man, from the twitch of his lip when someone he doesn’t like says something funny to the tap of his foot when he won’t admit to enjoying the pop-trash on the radio.
“ Alright is better than what I used to have to put up with.” Perhaps sensing the same old speech coming, Russel sends a half-hearted kick of his foot 2D’s way. “You go see him, and I’m gonna find Ace. Catch up with him for real.”
He knocks their shoulders together before following Murdoc’s trail, muttering apologies as he weaves himself through the tight-knit mass of guests moving together in one fluid wave. Spotting Noodle through the dappled heads, he offers her a wave. Grinning, she sends one back before turning back to face the girl, something magnetic drawing them close as they dance. He’ll have to ask about that tomorrow.
Tonight, though, he finds Murdoc on the balcony, leaning on the rail and goosebumps raised on his arms from the chill of the night. Coming up behind him, 2D places his chin on top of his head, rubbing the pads of his thumbs along the raised skin to offer some warmth.
Murdoc tenses, a gut reaction, but soon leans into his touch. Stars are rare in a bustling city like London, more so in the city fog. 2D knows they’re there hidden behind the clouds if only from their subtle glow. Murdoc holds one of his own in the lit end of his cigarette, loose between two fingers. It’s quiet out here, other guests taken in by the throng of the crowd and leaving the two of them on the balcony alone. If he could see the stars he’s sure they’d be aligned for this very moment.
“I suppose Russel has a point. Impressive that we’ve stuck it out for this long,” Murdoc confesses in a cloud of smoke, dissipating into the dark.
“I mean… we did twenty summink years in the band together before we started shagging and all that,” 2D offers, grasping at his free hand and squeezing in reassurance, just in case. “We know how to put up with each other without it.”
Barking a laugh at that, Murdoc taps the ash from the ends of his cigarette. The grey tendrils curl in on themselves, drifting to the ground below. “Well. This is just that with a blowjob thrown in here and there.”
This is nothing like that, and he couldn’t be more glad for it. Face buried in his thick hair, 2D presses a kiss to his temple, earning a contented sigh for it. Just like that.
When was the last time they had to fight for this?