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It's the rays of sunlight poking at Murdoc's eyelids that rouse him from his deep sleep, which is really quite rude if you think about it. This is supposed to be his time for rest and relaxation.
Still, he gives in with a groan and a bone-cracking stretch. Rolling over, he's greeted with white sheets curled in the shape of someone, pillows pressed from the weight of a resting head.
That side of the bed – the side that isn't his – is empty.
A while ago this would've meant abandonment, the cold cotton a promise to never return. An insult, almost, spat in his face because those good moments aren't allowed to last.
Today, this early morning, it means a cup of coffee. That sounds good to him.
As if those thoughts had called him, there’s a beep at the door. It swings open with the kick of a long leg.
There stands 2D, balancing both the keycard to the room and two hot coffees in his hands. Tongue poked out in concentration, they almost spill across the carpet as he places the drinks on the nightstand, slapping down the card beside them with a sigh of relief.
Murdoc watches all of this unfold, buried in the blankets – yes, because he can’t be arsed to expose himself to the cool air to help, but also because he has a shameless greed, a need to be privy to these little moments without him. Sometimes he still fears involving himself will dull the shine of these everyday mundanities. He hadn’t thought himself capable of this for a long time.
“Hotel coffee was shit yesterday, so I went to the place across the road.” 2D offers him a toothy grin. Murdoc wants to stick a finger through one of the gaps. (He has given them a curious poke with his tongue while snogging. 2D wasn’t all too into that.) “I dunno what a tall is – I thought it was a big size, they look just normal – but I got us those. Yours black.”
Black like his soul, he used to say, but 2D has worn him down into a massive sop over the years. At least he still has his dark charm going for him.
“Cheers,” He grumbles, picking up the cup and basking in the warmth. “Yesterday’s did fuck-all for me. This should get me going. Nothing like a good coffee to get you up.”
“Yeah.” His lips quirk in a smile, having been witness to that catatonic, caffeine-less state one too many times, enough that a coffee each has settled itself into their routine.
Routines reek of dull monotony, but he’ll put up with it if he can live them like this. A tall coffee and a tall boyfriend are, all things considered, not an awful way to start the day.
Sighing, 2D collapses in bed beside him. Then, after second thought and a wrinkled nose, shucks off his jeans. Satan knows why he was wearing denim this side of noon.
He doesn’t bother with the rest of his outfit – a sun yellow jumper that could be Murdoc’s and a pair of pink boxers that could also be Murdoc’s. Their wardrobes have amalgamated into some sort of massive fabric pile back home because neither of them can be arsed to do laundry. It’s only gotten worse now that they’re living out of a suitcase. All Murdoc knows is that if 2D stretches and the hem of his t-shirt rides up, exposing bare skin, it was something he’d bought for himself once.
After a moment of recovery from that morning stroll, 2D reaches across to take his weak, pallid coffee from the nightstand. That’s when Murdoc strikes, taking him by the wrist and pulling him in for a kiss.
With a breathy laugh, 2D grins against his lips, all teeth and no-teeth. Murdoc pulls away, rolling his eyes.
“What?” He says, narrowed eyes, feigning annoyance when he’s too tired to dredge up any real grudge. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” He lies. “Just– thinking about when you’d moan and groan if I kissed you first thing in the morning.”
Feeble walls those had been, fighting every step 2D had taken to get closer to him. Fuck knows why he kept trying, but Murdoc’s glad he did.
Except when he’s being a shit.
“Dickhead.” He scowls into his coffee. “I’ll have you moaning and groaning if you don’t watch it.”
“Yeah, alright,” 2D says, tepid, knowing full well they’re both wrung out from travel. Maybe later.
He takes his syrupy abomination of a drink and settles beside him, head on his chest. Almost absentmindedly, he traces the tattoo there, nail following the sharp lines of a pentagram.
Murdoc doesn’t mind all that much. He’d rather off himself than admit this out loud, but these moments are just as good, if not better, than a shag. Sex is practised, easy; fun, yes, but it’s rare that he lets himself indulge in this time with 2D.
It used to set him on edge (and still does – more so, though.) Too foreign, touch beyond seeking pleasure, nails like knives and held breath.
Murdoc entangles his hand in the roots of blue hair and doesn’t pull. As if studying the locks (though he’s done this countless times) he runs them through his fingers, tied in knots by the outside breeze and peppered with strands of grey. Murdoc sees them in himself, too, catching a glimpse when he’s pulling at his eyebags in the mirror. Funny thing, getting old. It’s not something he thought he’d get to do, much less grow old with someone else. That’s living fast and dying hard out of the window, he supposes.
“I was gonna get a new tattoo,” Murdoc says to fill the air. Too long ruminating in this and he’ll go completely soft. There’ll be nothing left of him.
2D blinks up at him. “What one?”
“Dunno yet.” He shrugs. “Snake, maybe. Or a skelly.”
“Get Made In England tattooed on your foot.” 2D snorts at his attempt at a joke. “Or as a tramp stamp.”
“Fucking hell.” Murdoc bares sharp teeth, trying to hold back a laugh because it’s not funny. It’s not. “Watch me. I’ll do it. And then you have to live with seeing it.”
“Yeah… doesn’t really get me going.” Gnawing at his lip, 2D mulls on this. “Get Noodle to design you summink. She likes her drawing.”
“Sod that. She’ll find a way to hide a cock in the design somewhere.” It’s no excuse when he’s given himself worse drunken stick-and-pokes, but at least he knows where the cocks are.
A fleeting thought wants to ask 2D for something – a shoddy drawing, something handwritten, a memento. How sappy. It’s almost unsettling how easily his mind goes there. He’s still getting used to it, the simple feeling, even after so long.
Perhaps he’ll entertain the idea first before stating it outright. Nothing’s too much, not for 2D, but it feels like stepping out of his own skin, baring himself with such an open admission.
2D must sense the mild panic in his chest, for he lifts his head, offering him a look. It’s not easy to read those eyes, but he knows after years it’s an ask. He knows. Murdoc must know everything about him at this point. This settles him a little. It’s not an exchange, he knows better than that now, but for each flaw he has, 2D’s shown him one of his own in turn.
And yet they’re still sharing a bed. Either Murdoc isn’t as horrendous as he makes himself out to be, or 2D is equally as depraved as him. His perceived truth depends on the day.
In response to that wordless question, Murdoc’s stomach rumbles.
They exchange a look.
“Hungry?” 2D asks, lips wobbling in a smile.
“Starving,” He groans. Toast, pastries and other bits tempt him a few flights below. “Let’s go get breakfast before I perish.”
“Can’t.” 2D shakes his head. “Noodle and Russel are out for a run. Caught them when I went for coffee and said we’d wait for them to get back.”
“A run?” Murdoc curls his lip, incredulous. “A run on holiday? A run in the morning on holiday?”
“And they asked if I wanted to come with.” 2D drains the last of his caffeinated milk, looking near-haunted.
“Wrong-uns, the both of them.” Feeling around the nightstand, Murdoc returns victorious with his box of cigarettes. “I need a smoke if we’re waiting for the Brownlee brothers. I’ll wither away.”
“Come on, then.” 2D hops off the bed, stretching shaking arms up in a yawn. His jumper bares a sliver of skin. Murdoc watches.
Less enthusiastic, he gets up himself, shivering in the cool breeze as 2D throws open the doors to the balcony. Murdoc picks up the first pair of trousers he sees. Black denim. But they still have his phone and lighter in from last night, and he’ll value convenience over comfort any day. He worms himself into them and joins 2D slumped over the railing. There’s a perfectly good chair and table set there, but he’d much prefer to ragdoll himself against the metal.
Together, they make a whole outfit.
Murdoc pulls one fag out, hands it to 2D, and takes one for himself, lighting them both with a practised flick of the lighter.
They’re lucky (read: rich) enough to have a view of the beach from here, tide lapping at the shore in gentle waves. He’s not sure where Noodle and Russel have gone off to, but it’d be a Where’s Wally to spot them regardless, streets bustling with holidaymakers and locals alike going about their day, chatty ants insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
2D wraps a long arm around his waist and pulls him in, flush against his side. Murdoc doesn’t protest like he used to. For a long while, he was the only one to make the first move, insistent that they take steps at his pace. 2D’s always had longer legs than him, fallen quicker than he did. They’re on the same sort of page, now – or the same chapter, at least – so he’s grown to accept these things. At the cost of control, yes, but he determined the pros started to outweigh the cons.
They’d fought for moments like these.
“D’you wanna go to the beach later?” 2D suggests.
Murdoc watches the ants float like buoys in the ocean, taking a drag of his cigarette. The sun catches on the rippling surface. “Eh… dry sand stuck to my legs feels like I’m getting waxed. The pool has deckchairs and cocktails.”
“Oh, yeah, they do.” 2D scratches his head, cigarette too close to his hair but unwilling to move his other arm. “I had a sex on the beach yesterday. Was well nice.”
“With who?” Murdoc raises an eyebrow, mock shock. “Cheating on me, are you? Dirty bastard.”
“Yeah. That bird eyeing me up the other day? Me and her. Right there, eight hours straight. I got sand everywhere.”
There had been a bird eyeing him up the other day. She’d jumped out of her skin when she finally slid her gaze over to Murdoc and met the daggers he’d been giving her. “Deserved. Enjoy your sandy balls.”
2D presses a kiss to the top of his head, a time-out. Silly banter, but they’ve had very real arguments mirroring this. It’s a wordless reminder, because Murdoc’s come to believe in his years that empty promises can be made but actions always betray the truth.
2D would rather hear it, so Murdoc struggles out the words he needs.
Pressing himself closer, he breathes out heavy smoke. “Only person you’d risk sandy balls for is me.”
“Yeah… but I hope you wouldn’t do that to me.”
“Piss me off, love, and you’ll see.”
He wouldn’t.
2D face’s softens at that insult sandwich. Only he would. But then again, only Murdoc would deliver such a sentence. They wouldn’t slot so perfectly together otherwise, hand on waist and quirks stacked in tandem.
Murdoc pulls him in once more for that kiss he’d been robbed of this morning; brushing their lips together, it’s he who has to fight a grin as 2D sighs against him, tilting his head to the side. Those eyelashes of his flutter against Murdoc’s skin, light and teasing. He nips gently at his bottom lip with sharp teeth, playful in a ghost of a reminder of past kisses. The hand at his waist wanders, fingers dragging up his spine and coming to rest at the nape of his neck. Murdoc used to hate how he’d melt for 2D, but finds himself no longer caring.
The buzz of his phone cockblocks him.
They pull apart, reluctant; with a grumble, Murdoc checks the screen.
(Ten in the morning. Horrendous. No one should be up that early.)
And a notification.
“Message from Noodle,” He says. Must’ve finished her run. 2D cranes his neck to get a better look over his shoulder.
A kissy-face emoji attached to an image – one of them on the balcony, 2D’s face buried in his thick hair and a hand at his side. Murdoc’s hanging his fag over the edge, a simpering smile pulling at his lips. Anyone would think he was in love.
Is it that obvious?
“That’s us,” 2D says unhelpfully.
Whipping his head up with a scowl, he scans the milling crowds below for the culprit. Miraculously, he spots her alongside Russel, decked out in running gear and pulling a face at their show of affection. Russel has his arms crossed, a knowing smile pulling at his lip.
Murdoc narrows his eyes and gives them the bird.
Without hesitation, Noodle returns the action with a middle finger of her own. Russel laughs, offering them a more courteous wave instead.
And with that, she skips into the building, triumphant in her victory. Russel follows suit.
“Bloody– Where’d she learn that attitude from?” As 2D starts, he scowls. “Don’t answer that.”
2D shuts his mouth, deciding instead on, “She grows up so quick.”
“Felt like yesterday I heard her swear for the first time.” He pauses. “Shit, if I recall correctly.”
There’s a knock at the door. 2D woefully untangles himself from Murdoc to answer it. He drops the butt of the cigarette in the ashtray left on the table, heading inside. Facing the breeze on his own while topless is another beast.
Noodle and Russel stand in the doorway, of course.
“Having a nice time?” She asks, eyes sparking with mischief.
“I was until someone started playing paparazzi,” Murdoc grumbles with no real venom, arms crossed.
“That was no paparazzi, man. You were sucking face on the balcony,” Russel chimes in with a nod. “That’s putting on a show.”
2D wrinkles his nose. “We weren’t sucking face. That’s grim.”
“You were. Trust me.” Noodle waves her phone. “But it was gross. I don’t know if I prefer your catfights or this.”
“Alright, Usain Bolt. We can fight if you fancy,” Murdoc says.
“Usain Bolt sprints – we were aiming more for distance and consistency than anything, because that’s when you really start to build your–”
Murdoc bends over double, pretending to dry heave. “No more holiday exercise talk. I’ll spew.”
Hands on her hips, she arches a brow. “Breakfast, then?”
He straightens up, cured. “That’s more like it. I’m famished.”
“Same here,” Russel adds, stretching his arms. “Gotta fuel up.”
“Sod that,” Murdoc retorts as he locks the door behind them all. “I’m going to stuff as many croissants down me as possible.”
“We’ll be there a while, then,” Noodle mutters.
“Oi.” They share a glare, both shaking with suppressed laughter.
“I think…” 2D starts, then drifts off, a faraway look in his eyes. Murdoc can almost hear the cogs turning in his head. “...I’ll have some Cheerios.”
“Exciting,” He deadpans.
2D turns to him with a grin, lit up like a Christmas tree at the very thought. “Yeah.”
Murdoc would be a fool to find it endearing.
On his tiptoes, he gives him a chaste kiss. Unfortunately, he’s a fool.
Noodle pulls a face. “Gross.”