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As soon as Murdoc gets back from prison, he throws a party, because of course he does. You saw it coming, but with him you always do - you've known him long enough to know that a good party is exactly what he needs to resocialise himself back into society.
But this party… it's not how Murdoc usually likes them. He likes big, crowded and downright illegal parties, usually. He likes so many people that he can barely get through a crowd and lines upon lines of cheap cocaine, gifted to him by the many sketchy people he's friends with, he likes that he can bum a fag off of anybody, with permission or not. This party isn't like that. It's small.
Murdoc told you that he only invited fifteen people, this time, including the band, but only thirteen show. There's no cocaine, though you wish there was because maybe, then, you wouldn't be bored out of your mind.
You're sitting by yourself on one of the many sofas that have been pushed back to line the walls of the room you're in. It's comfortable and familiar. You enjoy a good small party.
There's music but it's not blaring, settling into a nice dull hum in the back of your brain - you barely register it, though, because you can't take your eyes off of him. Murdoc's strutting around, talking to everyone alone, together, commanding the room, because it's just what he does with the opportunity for attention to be on him. You want to look away. You don't.
You're unsure what to do with yourself, so you sip your drink slowly - vodka and orange juice, perfect match - though you're not that big on alcohol. You'd much rather be snorting a line of cocaine off of the kitchen table right now, but if alcohol's the best you've got, you reckon you just have to deal with it.
The lights of the room are dimmed but they still hurt your eyes, basking the room in the pale white of the lightshade; the curtains are drawn open and cold air filters through the open windows, airing the wafts of cigarette smoke around the small-ish room.
You look down at your drink and swirl it around in the glass, mixing it thoroughly before downing the rest of it. You're much too sober to hear Murdoc's hounding cackle echo throughout the room at something someone's said. You need to piss.
-
Knock, knock, knock. You jolt and nearly knock the soap dispenser over off of the bathroom sink, drying off your hands on the dirty towel next to it - you've been gone much longer than you thought you'd be, having pissed and then promptly zoned out staring at your reflection in the smudged mirror. The knocks come again and you wrestle with the lock and the handle before swinging the door open, expecting one of Murdoc's friends to barge past to piss away their drink, but it's not one of his friends. It's Murdoc.
He's definitely drunk, you can tell by the way he's leaning against the doorframe to prop himself up and by the way his heavy breath smells like rum in a way that's so familiar to you; it's almost routine, the way he drinks everything away, you never thought you'd be so happy to see him sloshed out of his mind.
You're quite drunk, too, you realise. You sway on the spot.
"A'right, Muds?"
" A'right, Muds ?" He repeats, "You've been gone for half an hour! What're you doing faffin' about in there?"
"I was 'avin a piss, mate."
" Stu, I've been so bored. Should've gone for a bigger party, huh?" He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you out of the bathroom and into the hallway, trying to make his way back to the party - it's more like a small get together - but you pull him back with a hand on his shoulder. He bristles and turns to you, confusion taking over his expression and you almost think it's cute, despite it being Murdoc Niccals.
"I don't wanna go back, Muds, me 'ead hurts."
He looks at you for a minute with a newly blank expression before his arm tightens around your waist, "Hmm… let's find a dark room, just you and me, Stu. We can have our own fun."
You let yourself be dragged into the nearest room - an empty guest bedroom with a nice, big bed - and you've no complaints. You've missed fucking around with him, even before prison when he'd take what he wanted and leave, leaving you to wank off alone afterwards until you came to the fresh memory of Murdoc's cock pressed deep inside you. It was familiar, then, and you were used to it. You assume this'll be the same, though it's a nice getaway from the people and music and cigarette smoke, so you don't really mind.
He gets straight to it, pressing your body against the bed as he slots a thigh between your own. You lose your thought process immediately as you begin grinding down against the flesh of his thigh, feeling yourself becoming wetter by the minute. You've missed this.
When he leans down to kiss you, though, that's unfamiliar. Your teeth drunkenly clash but you hardly mind, pressing your mouth up harder against his, feeling his long tongue press between your lips with alcohol fueled passion - one of his hands comes up to caress your cheekbone, spanning across the side of your face as he deepens the kiss and moans softly into your mouth. You kind of want to record it and play it on repeat forever.
He pulls back and you nearly whine at the loss of contact, but the sight of him above you quickly replaces the thought in your mind. Strands of sweaty black hair fall over his forehead and his eyes are blown wide with desire, a pink blush dusting across his cheeks and nose; he makes a perfect picture above you, so you say what comes to mind.
"You're pretty," You breathe out, lifting a hand to push his hair away from his forehead. His reaction isn't what you expect - he leans down again and instead of kissing you, he hides his face in the crook of your neck and groans against your skin, frotting his thigh against your clothed cunt with a renewed vigour that makes you whine breathily into the warm air of the bedroom.
"You- you gonna let me fuck you, love? Gonna let me come inside of you?" He whispers against your neck, a husky rumble that makes your toes curl, "Gonna need to show you who you belong to, 'case you forgot while I was away."
You can't help but nod desperately. He pulls away from you once more in favour of removing his clothing, struggling with his jeans for a minute, and you do the same until you're both naked in the darkness of the room. Bright moonlight streams in and illuminates Murdoc and all you can see is his flushed face, stark against the expanse of blackness that fills everything else in sight - you can't help but think he's gorgeous.
He leans over the side of the bed to dig through the pockets of his discarded jeans and produces a small bottle of lube, which makes you snort.
"You bring that everywhere with you?"
"Shut it or I won't use it," He grumbles, but there's a crooked smile on his face as he speaks. The idea makes you throb.
"No condom, please , wan' you to come inside me like you said," You pull him down by his shoulders and crash your lips together again, whimpering into his mouth as he nips your bottom lip between his teeth and draws blood. Warm blood drips down your lip and he sucks the puncture, licking up the blood that dripped down your chin - despite the sting, you feel yourself twitch in anticipation.
You don't think you can wait any longer without crying , so you grab the lube and squirt some into your palm. You curl your fingers around his throbbing cock, lathering him with lubricant. His head hangs between his shoulders and his hips stutter, fucking your fist gently; you reckon you've never seen such a lovely sight in your life.
You recoil and spread your legs invitingly. He slots himself between your thighs nearly immediately, rubbing the head of his cock up and down your cunt - he's trying to tease but you can tell he's just as desperate as you are for him to get inside you. He finally presses himself against the entrance of your cunt, letting out a harsh breath through his nose as he does so, his eyes fluttering closed for a second.
“Already stretched out, love? Been havin’ company while I’ve been gone?”
“A few birds, at first… they never had straps as big as you, gave up after a while… been fucking myself thinkin’ ‘bout you.”
With a rumbling moan he bottoms out and grinds his hips against yours, pressing in as deep as he possibly can. You feel white hot with lust as your head falls back and your hands grip onto his shoulders, his arms, anywhere you can as he starts fucking you open, setting a harsh pace that makes you rhythmically moan louder than you probably should be. Murdoc's hands settle on your hips as he pulls you onto his cock in time with his thrusts, letting out sounds that are just as loud as yours if not even louder.
"C'mon, Muds, use me," You whisper, ready to start begging for more, but thankfully you don't need to - he gets the hint and speeds up, moving his hands from your hips to push your thighs apart further and rest curled around your thighs. He fucks you in earnest and a stuttered whine leaves your throat as the tip of his cock presses against something inside you, over and over and over again until there's tears welling up in your eyes from the rippling sensations that spread from your cunt to your thighs and stomach, making your head feel fuzzy as you fall into the feeling of him close to you.
"Fuck, love , such a good boy, so pretty," He rambles, leaning over your body. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your neck, before the kisses turn from lips to teeth, biting and sucking the skin of your neck. You brokenly gasp into his ear with every movement of his hips, breathing out high pitched moans - every sound makes his cock throb and his hips falter, and soon a hand trails down your chest until there's a thumb pressing down hard against your dick, making tight little circles against your clit.
You feel like you're losing your fucking mind.
Everything builds up; you feel flushed and warm, a tight feeling building up in your stomach as his thrusting begins to lose rhythm. All at once, you feel something akin to electricity shooting throughout your body, and as you come around his cock, you feel yourself spasm, clenching down hard as he fucks you through it. Your nails dig into his shoulders, dragging red lines across his skin as overstimulation hits you in waves - he doesn't take much longer, and when you feel his come filling you up, you let out a sob, letting your body relax.
"You're so good, Muds," You slur, letting your head fall to the side as he pulls his soft cock out of you. His finger presses inside you as his come starts to leak out, pushing it back in.
"I missed you, Stu," He breathes before kissing you, and you smile.
"I missed you too, Muds."
-
You feel thoroughly debauched as you leave the spare bedroom with Murdoc in tow. You're tired and sore and still very drunk but you let Murdoc drag you back to the party, which seems to have calmed down since you left, quite a while ago now.
"Where the fuck has everyone gone?" You hear Murdoc ask, though he sounds less angry and more tired as he looks around the room and stares pointedly at Russel and Noodle, the only ones left.
"You left, it got late," Russel says, "They got bored."
"Remind me to never have a small party ever again," Murdoc grumbles.
"Seems you enjoyed it in the end, huh?" Russel says with an edge to his voice, his eyes darting between you and Murdoc, and you realise he still has a grip on your hand.
He doesn't let go.