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Despite it being the middle of the day, it’s dark in the house when you get back from the grocery store. You fight to flick the light switch up with the bags still in your hand, and the plastic containers inside squeak loudly as they rub against each other. You wince and look around.
“Muds?”
The house remains quiet. There’s no sign that he’s even home. You lock the door behind you and take a few more steps into the room. Your shoes echo loudly on the floor, the only sound in the house.
“…Murdoc? You here?”
You can hear something now, but it’s so faint that you feel like you must be imagining it. You raise an eyebrow and head into the kitchen, shoving a few things into the fridge and leaving everything else for later. Your footsteps drown out any sign of the noise you were hearing, so you slip them off in the kitchen before padding out into the living room again. You’ll come back and get them later.
As you meander your way toward the bedroom, the familiar sound of Murdoc’s bass starts to drift out of his office, and you stop in front of the door. Your hand hovers over the knob for a moment as you soak in the sound. You close your eyes and simply listen. It’s something new, clearly rough around the edges, but played as skillfully as ever. You can picture his face on the other side of the door: eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed as he listens for what’s wrong with what he’s playing, what can make it better, imagining how other instruments will sound over it. You smile, and the floor creaks slightly as you shift your weight. His playing wavers slightly, and you hear him chuckle through the wood.
“You can come in, love.”
You turn the knob slowly, sliding through the small gap and pushing the door closed behind you, softening the click of it closing with your other hand. He plays a note and pauses, then plays a slightly different sequence. He pauses again, and he sighs. You smile apologetically.
“Sorry. I was trying to wait until you were done.”
He sighs and props El Diablo against the desk behind him, moving his leg in front of it as a safeguard to keep it in place. There are papers strewn everywhere, and several pens are on the floor, thoughtlessly replaced by the one currently on top of his notebook in his rush to get his ideas on paper.
“It’s not you, darling.” He gestures for you to move closer, and your feet are moving you toward him before you can really even think about it.
“I know. But I like hearing you play.”
“I play around you all the time.”
“No, you show off around me all the time. I like when you just play normally. You know, with some wrong notes? Like a normal person?”
“Alright, you caught me. So I like to look good in front of you. What’s wrong with that?” He holds out one hand, and you move in to kiss him. His hand moves instinctively as if to slide into your hair, but he grabs at air instead as you dodge his lips and kiss his cheek.
“You’ve got pen on your face.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Right here.” You point to a spot on your face just below your cheekbone.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He pulls his sleeve down over his hand and rubs at his cheek, successfully smearing the line of ink even further across his face. You laugh and lick your thumb. He stands and whirls around to face the desk before you even have a chance to get close to him.
“Alright, fine. Walk around with pen on your face.”
“A little pen never hurt anybody.”
“I don’t know, I’m sure somebody’s been stabbed with one at some point.”
“Yeah, alright, you fucking smartass. Do you want your surprise or not?”
“I have a surprise?”
“Yeah.” He pulls his jacket off and slings it over the back of his chair. He shuffles the papers on his desk around, looking for something. “So, do you want it or not?”
“Course I do.”
“Then turn around and close your eyes.”
“Whoa there.”
“Oh, come on. Aha!” He snatches something from the desk. You don’t get a chance to see what it is. He grabs El Diablo by the neck and lays it across his chair, then spins around to face you and claps his hands together. “Right then! Just messing with you, darling. But seriously, though, close your eyes.”
“Alright, alright.” You roll your eyes in the same breath that you close them, already apprehensive about the empty space around you. Almost immediately, though, Murdoc’s hand is on your back, guiding you toward the door. It clicks open and you step out into the hall. After a few more steps, you hear another door click open. Murdoc takes a step, but he hesitates before pulling you along with him.
“You promise not to peek?”
“Promise.” You cross your fingers against your leg and pray he doesn’t notice.
“Alright. Come on, then.” He leads you into the next room - probably the bedroom, assuming you went the way you thought you did - and shuts the door behind you. “Stay here. Keep em closed.”
His hand drops away from your back, and his shoes thump across the floor. There’s the telltale clunking of his heels on the ground as he tries to slip them off and fails. You hear a rustle and some muffled thumps. Finally, a drawer slides open.
“Murdoc?”
“Yes, love?”
“If I opened my eyes right now, would you have clothes on?” He laughs, and there’s more rustling. A drawer opens and shuts.
“No, but that would be a misunderstanding.”
“Murdoc.” Some more rustling. He’s rushing now.
“Just another minute, darling. Be patient.” His voice is quieter now, like he’s by the opposite wall. You hear a persistent clicking, and he swears softly. The clicking stops. He hisses, and swears again. “Stupid thing.” You hear something hit harshly against a surface - a wall, or maybe the floor - and there’s a few soft clinking noises from over by Murdoc.
You can’t take it anymore. You open your eyes.
It takes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting, but the sight that greets you is more beautiful than you ever could have expected.
The room is dark save for a few strands of fairy lights and a single candle in Murdoc’s hand. He’s desperately trying to light another one with the flame from the first, but he isn’t having much luck. He’s wearing a black dress shirt and slacks, and a green tie drapes, untied, around his neck. It matches his skin almost perfectly, and you can’t help but laugh.
“Holy shit.” He turns his head to glance at you, then turns back to the candles. It takes him a minute to realize your eyes are open, and he slams the candle down on the table.
“Oh, c- you peeked!”
“Oh, like you wouldn’t have! Besides, what am I supposed to do when you’re over there swearing so much? And I crossed my fingers! So it technically didn’t even count in the first place.”
“You crossed your fingers.”
“Mmhmm.”
“You’re intolerable.”
“You seem to tolerate me just fine.”
“Yes, well. I have the patience of a god. I don’t count.”
“Oh, I see. Of course. How could I forget.”
Murdoc rolls his eyes and messes with something else on the table. “Well, since you’ve already opened your eyes, might as well get this show on the road.” Slow music begins playing, and he shuffles over to you, unusually hesitant. You take a cautious step closer, surveying him once more.
“I feel underdressed.”
“If you ask me, you’re always overdressed. Now get over here.” He holds his arms out, and you step between them.
“Classy as always, Muds.” He reaches for your hands and holds one against his shoulder, clasping the other in his own off to the side. He steps back, putting one foot behind the other and leaning, and he spins you around him to the other side of the room, yanking you back toward him at the last second. You catch yourself just before your nose goes crashing into his chest. Murdoc snickers above you. “Yep, classy.”
He hums and situates his hand on your hip, readjusting your clasped hands to be more suitable for dancing. He steps back with one foot and you follow, taking a bit of a larger step to make up the last bit of distance between you. You rest your head on his collarbone, and he brushes his lips against your hair, letting his chin come to rest gently on top of your head. Murdoc leads you around the room for a moment, slowly spinning the two of you. The edge of his foot catches on top of your toe, and you pull your foot back so he doesn’t step on you, causing you to spin a bit early, and you both struggle to get back on time for a moment. You can hear his heartbeat beneath your ear, speeding up and slowing down as he breathes, and when you rotate again, it almost seems as though it stops. Your grip on his shoulder gets a little tighter.
“So,” he whispers. “What do you think, love?” His voice cracks a bit from the effort to be so quiet, and he clears his throat as gently as he can.
“Well, it certainly fits the surprise category.”
“…Do you like it?” His heartbeat speeds up, almost imperceptibly, and your grip on his shoulder relaxes again.
“Yeah. This is nice.” He breathes out against your hair, the edges of his mouth curling up into a smile that you’re sure he doesn’t realize you can feel. You don’t care to tell him otherwise.
“Good. I knew you would, you sap.” Murdoc’s heel comes down hard on your toes as he tries to spin you again. You hiss and turn your head to bury your nose in his chest.
“God, you’re a shit dancer.” He pulls away from you, both hands moving to your shoulders to push you back.
“Excuse me? I’m the greatest dancer you’ve ever seen. This just happens to be - ” You grab his waist and dip him toward the floor. He scrambles to grab your arm. He lets out a rather undignified choking sound and rights himself, leaving you to laugh at him as he straightens his shirt.
“You’re a right nob, you are. You know that?”
“Dick.” You stick your tongue out.
“Wanker.”
“Darling, light of my life.”
Murdoc clicks his tongue and scoffs. You take his hands in yours and lean up to kiss him. He does his best to look unaffected, only barely kissing you back, but he follows your lips as you pull away. You hum and pull him toward you, guiding him to rest his hands on your shoulders.
“Here, let’s just school dance.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You know, the way kids dance at school dances. Where they just kinda sway at arm’s length instead of actually dancing.”
“Uh huh.”
“What, you never saw anybody do that?”
“Can’t say I went to many school dances. Was usually too busy with uh…” He clears his throat. “You know. More important things.”
“Ah, yeah, sorry. Should have guessed that.” You bring your hands up to grab both sides of his tie, pulling the ends even with each other before smoothing your hands back up his chest to rest on his shoulders. You start to sway.
”Well, this is how they dance.” He catches on quickly and matches your pace, shuffling his feet a little so he doesn’t have to lean as much. Your eye catches a glimmer of gold next to your hand - the shine of his necklace chain, the cross attached to it safely tucked under his dress shirt.
“What’s with all this space between us?”
Your mouth drops open, explanation stuck in your throat. “Uh. Well.” You fight the urge to laugh. “You’re gonna lose your shit.”
“What? What is it?”
“…It’s to leave room for Jesus.”
Murdoc stares at you as if you’ve personally offended him. “…You’re kidding me.”
“Well, I think sometimes it’s the Holy Spirit. But, yeah.” A snicker forces its way out of you between words. “Cause teachers are scared kids are gonna jump each other’s bones right then and there if there’s not visible space between them, apparently.”
“Darling?”
“Yes?”
“I’m afraid I’m going to need you to get closer to me right this instant.” You laugh and step toward him, barely breaking the pattern of your swaying.
“Oh, don’t worry.” You slip your fingers under his collar and gingerly grab the gold chain laying against his skin. Your other hand presses against his stomach to hold his shirt in place as you pull the cross out from under the fabric. You let it go and straighten his collar, admiring the shine of the gold against his shirt in the dim light. “Something tells me Jesus wouldn’t want to be near you even if you left space for him.” Murdoc chuckles.
“No, I suppose not.” Murdoc’s swaying comes to a stop, and you slow to match him. He’s staring at your neck, the spot just above where your collarbones meet, but you can tell he’s not really looking at you. His hands slide down your shoulders to your elbows. You hear him swallow. The room is quiet for what must be only a few seconds, but it feels like time is stretching on forever, like the very air around you has stilled completely. Neither of you breathe. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see a single line of smoke rising into the air behind Murdoc, but you’re scared to look away from him. The single candle burns out, and the room gets that much darker. You still can’t hear him breathing. You resist the urge to move your hand to his chest, to press harder against his neck, to check for a heartbeat. He takes a deep breath in, and you almost breathe a sigh of relief.
“But you do.”
“Uh… Murdoc?” Your voice comes out so quiet that you’re honestly not sure if you managed to say anything at all. He blinks once, and he licks his lips. His eyes finally flick up to meet yours.
“Yes, darling?”
“Are you okay?” He blinks again, and he laughs.
“Yeah, I’m alright. I’m okay. I’m more than okay. What’s wrong, what… what made you think I wasn’t?”
“I don’t know, you just… You stopped swaying out of nowhere, I thought you were gonna go all philosophical on me!”
“No, no, nothing like that, love.”
“Then why’d you stop like that?”
“Just appreciating.”
“Appreciating…?”
“You, of course. Fact that you hang around me. Willing to prance around like teenagers in a dark room with me and trust that I won’t just absolutely murder you.”
“Well, it was touch and go there at the start.”
Murdoc grins, and you can’t help but do the same. “There we go. Good job.” He leans closer and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. He rests his forehead against yours, and you want more than anything to kiss him back, so you do. You tilt your head to the side and press your lips to his, your arms sliding around his neck as you let yourself lean into the kiss. He steadies you with his hands on your waist, and he pulls away slowly. “Seriously, I would have been worried if you had trusted me 100%.”
His bangs are sticking up where your foreheads were touching a moment ago, and just that little extra bit that you can see of his face makes a big difference. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but you can tell now that he’s wearing eyeliner. You give his clothes one last once-over.
“Hey, Muds?”
“Yes?”
“Is that outfit uncomfortable?”
“You have no idea, love. I don’t think I’ve worn pants like these in almost 10 years. And for good reason.”
“Do you wanna get changed and go sit on the curb outside and make up stories about people that walk by?”
“That sounds lovely.”
“I’ll meet you outside, then.”
“It’s a date.”