Doppelganger - orphan_account - Gorillaz [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: One Door Closed Means Another Opened

Chapter Text

Nervous fingers tug at one another and pop sockets of air between bones under sweating flesh. Jittering legs make loose pants fall down around small hips and Stuart Pot clears his aching throat. “Murdoc, can I tell you something?” His voice is squeakier than usual.

The mellow and relaxing strum of the bass guitar stops when Murdoc Niccals looks up to him. He grunts, his brow furrowing like that of a neanderthal before it smooths as he looks back to his bass and begins to play again.

“Well, it’s kind of important, so if you could pay attention to me, that would be nice.” Stuart forces himself to stop jittering. In place of frantic movements of the body he picks at the stickers on his keyboard.

“What are you going on about?” Murdoc stops his strumming once again. He looks at his singer with irritation.

Stuart gulps, swallowing his anxiety. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together for a while now, and I’ve gotten really comfortable with you, you know?”

Murdoc rolls his eyes. “I know I told you we were best mates last night, but I was drunk and you know I hate it when you get sappy like this.”

“It’s not that. It’s more than that. I, um,” He hesitates. His worries build up in his mouth again, like thick glue that keeps his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “I really like spending time with you and I’ve come to realize that I don’t really get the same kick out of birds anymore,” The sound of half of a sticker ripping off of plastic interrupts him. “And I think I’ve got some kind of morbid crush on you.”

Murdoc laughs, the low, rumbling chortle that sounds like the noise a goose would make if those fancy boots with the cuban heels repeatedly stomped on its windpipe. “Very funny. Get back to work.”

“Murdoc,” He whines. He balls his hands into fists and his fingernails dig into his palms. “I’m serious.” He has been staring at Murdoc this entire time, but when he looks up and their eyes meet he opts to burn a hole into his keyboard instead.

“You’ve got a grade school crush?” Murdoc sets his bass on its stand and stretches, his bones cracking with more intensity than 2D’s fingers could ever muster.

“No. I feel a connection with you, and I wanted to know if you felt it too.” Stuart frowns, continuing to avoid eye contact and rip stickers off of his instrument. “We’ve been friends for eight years… I’d be really surprised if you never felt anything at all.”

Murdoc scowls and steps closer to Stuart. “I’m not sure you understand how sexuality works.”

2D presses his back against the keyboard, frightened of what Murdoc might do. “No, I do, I just thought you might be a little more fluid than that. Like me.”

Murdoc cups 2D’s cheek. “I see you like an obnoxious little brother, Stu. I could never be attracted to a brother.” He pats him on the cheek, and smiles toothily, before walking out of the room.

Stuart feels a pang in his chest. It had taken a lot of guts to open up about his crush on Murdoc, and a couple months of gauging a general idea of what the reaction would be, but he’d been wrong. He’d hoped for that to go blissfully- he’d tell Murdoc and the man would give him that little smirk he always does, chuckle something fierce and show him just how long he’s been feeling the same way through some kind of sexual violence the likes 2D has only ever shamefully dreamt of- but instead it shockingly ended without results. If anything, 2D had expected to be beaten half to death if the feelings weren’t returned, but instead of bruises left on his skin, he’s got some emotional bruising that may not go away anytime soon.

Fearful that Murdoc has only just begun to realize what 2D told him, he turns off his keyboard and grabs his coat, leaving Kong Studios before he can get a belated beating- or before the feelings (the dreaded feelings!) after the initial shock of being rejected so harshly set in and he’s left sobbing into his hands, alone in the recording studio.

Meanwhile, down the street, a bitter man takes a furious sip of an angry drink. He hasn’t been in England since he turned eighteen and moved out of his awful father’s sh*tty two room flat, but after seeing some little video on MTV featuring his just as awful little brother showing off some brilliant home in Essex, he hightailed it back to his home country to see if he could cash in on some of his brother’s profits. The only problem is, as big as the place looked, he has no idea where it is.

All of their shared childhood, Hannibal had never glanced twice at Murdoc, unless he had just finished beating the everloving sh*t out of him and decided to turn around while walking away and spit, for dramatic effect. He’s no idea what the boy- or, man, he guesses, now- is interested in or would look for in a home, and he hadn’t watched far enough into the episode to see what the house had looked like. He’d kind of gotten himself over eager at the mention of a rich family member and booked it back to Essex.

He burps, and pulls out a blackberry he’d bought specifically for this purpose, looking his little brother up on the web. Immediately, he hits a gold mine. All of his brother’s fame is from a band he’d created six or seven years back, something Hannibal had somehow heard nothing of in the years he’s been off the grid in Asia.

He doesn’t bother listening to the music. If it’s like anything else his little brother has made, it’s most likely sh*t. He does, however, take a little bit of time to scope out his band members. A fifteen year old girl, some kind of freak, and a normal looking American. At first glance the lineup looks like some kind of cartoon, something that wouldn’t work realistically at all, but at second glance it looks like something Murdoc had gushed about to him each night in their shared bedroom as children, until he’d smother him to sleep.

Hannibal orders another beer, putting his blackberry away and deciding he might go to his brother on his knees tomorrow. He’s not as musically gifted as Murdoc- that’s why he was never forced to dress up a pinocchio and sing show tunes- but he’s got the same kind of dark aura that must be the cause of his brother’s fame. Perhaps he could convince him to let him join the band, if not for musical purposes, for some bullsh*t attempt to become a family again- or whatever he thinks up to say over his beer.

With newfound confidence in his venture to mooch shamelessly off of his sibling, he spins in the barstool, looking at the small television in the dusty corner of the pub. “Hey,” He grumbles to the bartender.

“Need another drink?” The man asks.

“No, rather,” He rolls the drink around in his palm. “I was going to ask if you could change the channel?”

The bartender looks around. The pub is empty, except for the two of them, so he leans over and pulls a greasy looking remote from under the bar. “Go nuts.” He says as he hands it over.

Hannibal turns the channel to MTV in hopes there’ll be a rerun of the episode that he can watch in english. The bartender looks at him with irritation.

“Didn’t peg you for that type,”

Hannibal tosses the remote back over his shoulder. “I’m not a type.” He replies.

But perhaps he is the lucky type. A commercial for some brand of biscuits ends and there he is- Murdoc Niccals, in a rather tiny towel that looks more like a washcloth, looking (but not acting) like a grown man. Hannibal wonders if the washcloth covering his groin means that he’s a fruit; it would make sense, after all of the sh*t he went through from both Hannibal himself and his father. Still, the sight of a grown Murdoc, and the sound of his voice- not the dub he’d heard the first time he’d seen the clip in Asia- is frightening. Especially the fact that the bowl on top of his head never went away, and the both of them got greener in the time they’ve been apart.

Hannibal assumes it must come with age. He’d thought for a while it was because he’d sold his soul to the devil, but his father had had it, and now so does Murdoc. The only other explanation is that his relatives both had the same genius plot he did, although he’s not entirely sure what exactly his father would have sold his soul for. Probably nothing more than a good steak, or something just as insignificant.

Hannibal returns his attention to the television. The crew at MTV spelled his last name wrong. He wonders how big of a fit Murdoc must have had when that came out on television, but the Murdoc on the screen is much more laid back than the obnoxious brat he grew up with.

The more he watches the more eerily similar Murdoc’s mannerisms seem to his own. Clearly brothers would share some things in common, but it seems like the only things they don’t share are the f*cked up nose and the success. He continues to drink as he watches his little brother parade around his studio like it isn’t such a big deal, as he tosses a can at the creature that must be the singer and waltzes through the hallway that’s bigger than the place Hannibal has been staying for the past few months. If he weren’t already green, he would be turning so from the copious amounts of envy flowing through each and every one of his nerves right now.

A loud bang sounds from his left and he turns his attention from the television- and his profound anger and jealousy at the sight of the successes he is not basking in- to the door. In the doorway is a tall and dark figure, hair everywhere and legs as long as Hannibal is tall.

“Get that rubbish asshole off the telly,” He shouts, and Hannibal grabs the remote with shaking hands and turns the channel back to the news. Hannibal wonders if Murdoc has already done something to f*ck up his image, or if everyone else just already knew the personality he had to grow up with- he can safely assume that Murdoc has done something f*cked up, like eating a baby on live television to promote a new album, and doesn’t think much more of the tired hatred laced in this mystery man’s voice.

The tall figure walks into the pub and therefore into the light, revealing himself, and Hannibal must be the luckiest man on the planet because it’s the freak from the band. He sits at the far end of the bar, his head down and his voice low as he asks for a drink. Naturally, Hannibal slides his way into the stool beside him before he can even get comfortable.

“Hannibal Niccals. Nice to meet you.” He juts a hand into the dark space between the man’s downturned face and his arms on the counter, his hand thankfully ceasing the shakes the man’s presence had initially ailed him with.

The man turns to look at him, freakish gapes where his eyes should be widening. “You’re the second to last face I wanted to see right now.”

Chapter 2: Drunken Conversation

Chapter Text

2D looks right into the two black eyes of the man who has only two physical dissimilarities from Murdoc Niccals. “I’m really not in the mood for any of whatever you’re about to say.”

Hannibal looks at him with a careful gaze, trying to tiptoe into an opportunity as discreetly as he can. “Wait,” He says, trying to warp his voice into some kind of concern.

“Why’s that?”

2D looks at him with confusion. “You really want to know?”

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” He answers.

He gulps and twiddles his fingers. “Okay. Your, um, doppelganger, I guess,”

“The guy on the TV?”

2D nods.

“That’s why you wanted me to turn it off.”

“Yeah. It’s weird that you two look so alike.” He doesn’t question it. The green thing is from selling his soul, and in a seedy place like this it isn’t that unlikely someone else would have done so, and everything else isn’t too uncommon. “But anyways, I’m in a band with him.”

Hannibal nods. Confirmation.

“And we’ve been friends for about eight years, since he ran me over with his car and- well, you know Gorillaz, right?”

Hannibal shakes his head. “I’ve been in Asia for a while. But I’m guessing from that cribs episode you’re pretty popular.”

“You could say that. So, friends for eight years, and it’s up and down for a while, we throw each other little quips and all that in interviews and we live together with our two other bandmates.”

The bartender comes by with his drink, and 2D thanks him and slides him a bill. He takes a hearty gulp. “Actually, I want to get a little buzzed before I tell this story.”

Hannibal chuckles. “That’s cool.” He takes another sip of his own drink, watching the man closely. He’s very trusting, right off the bat- something that Hannibal immediately presumes he can use to his advantage. “So, what position are you? In the band?”

2D has finished his pint already. He orders another one. “I’m the singer. I know my voice is really unappealing when I talk,” He grins goofily. “But I like to think my singing is pretty good. Good enough for Murdoc’s standards, at least, and this band is everything to him.” He keeps the goofy grin on his face for a little longer before it fades. “Yeah. I’m the singer.”

Hannibal hums as he takes a drink. He’d be making more conversation, but before he knows what happened between his brother and this man, he’d rather not say anything to push him into a corner. “I don’t think I can imagine that.”

“Not many people can. I think when we first started doing interviews and people heard me talk, they were all confused. Also because Murdoc likes to tell me I’m horribly awkward in social situations, but he kind of made me a stud of sorts through the music and all the photoshoots.”

Hannibal cannot imagine the man before him as a stud of any sort. Maybe a stud in a wall, but that’s where the connections end. “Never seen or heard them. Maybe I will later tonight.”

2D gets his second drink and chugs it. He waits a couple of minutes before he decides to speak again. “Okay. I think I’m properly buzzed now. Back to my story.” He spins in the stool one time before stopping himself and looking Hannibal in the eyes. “I’ve never considered myself gay, right? But for some reason there’s something about Murdoc. Maybe it’s, um, Florence Nightingale syndrome? Or, no, no the other one. What’s it called?”
“Stockholm Syndrome?”

“Yeah, that. I think I’ve got that, because even though he’s awful to me most of the time he’s just so good looking and I’m just so into him,” 2D begins to gush, the goofy grin turning to a warm smile. “But, like, I’ve felt like this for a long time, right? Every time he’s nice to me I get butterflies and every time he’s mean to me I want him to just-” He pauses. “You know,”

Hannibal nods. He can assume where 2D was going with that.

“Well, I’ve kept this big secret for so long and then all of a sudden he’s being so nice to me, he’s wrapping his arm over my shoulders and we laugh about scones shaped like swans! It’s so good, and sometimes I’d smile at him and he’d smile back at me and I swear to God there was something there, Hannibal. I swear. So I decide to tell him. I decide that there’s no way he’ll admit it to me if I don’t do it first, so I’ll just go ahead and tell him I’ve got a big honking crush, right?”

Hannibal is somewhat taken aback by the fact that his washcloth assumption had been accurate. “Yeah, okay.”

“Well I do, and it took so much confidence. I waited for the perfect moment. We were alone and he was shirtless for Christ’s sake. I told him I was into him, and guess what he told me?” 2D looks at Hannibal with exasperation.

“He’s… not gay?” Hannibal asks. He hopes Murdoc isn’t gay. He’d feel responsible for that, in some f*cked up way.

“Kind of. He said that he thinks of me as an obnoxious little brother!” He rests his head on the bar counter and groans. “How could he say that?”

Hannibal holds back a chuckle. It’s a little more than ironic that he’d say that. “I’m sorry, bud. He sounds like a prick.”

2D nods and closes his eyes. “You sound like him too. This is terrible.”

Hannibal rubs his back. He wonders how stupid a man must be not to notice siblings when he sees them. “Maybe that’s not so bad.”

2D looks up at him with misery. “What?” He asks.

Hannibal shrugs. “You really like this guy, huh?”

2D nods. “A lot.”

He wonders how this man would feel about a stranger at a bar pretending to be his longtime crush. He decides not to ask now, to continue to tiptoe until he gets his answer. “Is it him, or the thought of him?”

2D furrows his brow. “I don’t know. I know that it’s probably just because he kidnapped me and not because I really like him. I just want him to be nice to me.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah.” 2D rubs a finger against the ring of water his glass had made. “But I don’t know, I also think he’s really cute.”

Hannibal smirks. “Well, cute is for small animals and pigtails. I’d hope we don’t look so similar that I’m cute, too.”

2D looks up at him, finger still trailing circles in the wet wood. “You’re good looking. But you have a different nose.” He yawns and sits up. “I wouldn’t call you cute. There’s something kind of pathetic about Murdoc’s nose, cause apparently his brother beat him up so much when he was a kid that it got like that.” He leans on one of his hands, his cheek pressing up and covering a little bit of his eye. “I guess you don’t get into many fights?”

Hannibal is not sure if this is flirting, but he uses it to his advantage, anyways. “Oh, I do. I just win them.”

2D blushes. His face feels nearly numb from the alcohol and he still has butterflies in his stomach from his confrontation with his longtime crush, and with all of the booze in his blood his vision has gone so blurry that the man before him might as well be Murdoc. “Wow.” He says, his voice light without him meaning for it to be. “That’s impressive. The only fights Murdoc’s ever won were against me.”

Hannibal finds it hilarious that Murdoc is still so insecure that he picks fights with a man who is head over heels for him, but he softens his face and leans closer. “You’re into a guy that beats you up?”

2D nods, the proximity to Murdoc’s lookalike intoxicating him. “Yeah,” He says airily. “It’s hard,” He sighs, though the sigh is not out of sadness from the thought of Murdoc’s fists on him but out of a schoolboy’s infatuation.

“You should be with someone who treats you right,” Hannibal’s voice is soft. He watches 2D intently, trying to get past his looks and imagine himself wooing him.

2D feels his heart skip a beat. He’s never really been with anyone, other than Paula and Rachel Stevens, but Paula treated him like sh*t and cheated on him more times than he can count- which, granted, wasn’t that many; since the accident he forgets what comes after seven half of the time- and Rachel was a publicity stunt that was bad in bed. The thought of anyone being with him in a romantic sense is exhilarating, and anyone who looks this much like Murdoc gets him giggly and hot and heavy quick- or maybe that’s the beer, but regardless, his cheeks turn pink and he giggles, holding a hand over his mouth and leaning closer to the bar to balance himself.

“I should,” He says. The bartender has gotten him another pint without him having to ask, and he picks it up, taking a sip. “I think I deserve better than Murdoc.” He sets down the pint. “I deserve someone who cares about me, right?”

Hannibal nods. He’s not trying to get the man to get over Murdoc, so he tries to roll back the confidence boosting. “Yeah,” He takes another drink and nonchalantly scoots closer. “You need someone who appreciates you,” His voice lowers, reaching a husky octave.

2D giggles and nods. “You’re really sweet,”

Hannibal wonders if 2D has been drinking before this. Usually it takes much more to get anyone he tries to f*ck to this state of giggles. “I only try to be when I’m around those who deserve a little bit of sugar.”

2D gulps down more of his drink and slowly Hannibal starts to look more and more like Murdoc, and the bar starts to feel more and more like Murdoc’s winnebago, the same grime and darkness and raw atmosphere that reminds him of trailer parks and adultery that makes him feel comfortable starting to slip into the picture. He feels like this is as close as he can get to what he wants, like the comfort of a cheap pub is more than the comfort of occasionally getting an arm around his shoulders when Murdoc is feeling buddy-buddy, and Hannibal’s honey tongue is better than pitiful pats on the cheek from Murdoc’s rough hand.

“I don’t know if I deserve sugar,” He chuckles, looking into his glass instead of into Hannibal’s blurry eyes.

Hannibal is not so sure either, but sugary words will lead to cold hard cash. “I think you do,” He coos. “I could give you as much sugar as you need,” He finishes off his drink. “I just need to know where to find you.”

2D is shocked by this, not in a bad way, but because he hadn’t thought a solution to all of his problems would come so quickly. He bites his lip and grins. “Do you know where Kong Studios is?” He asks.

Hannibal is shocked, too. He didn’t expect to slip into Murdoc’s life so easily, and he didn’t expect a famous singer to be so stupid. “No, I don’t.”

2D remembers that Hannibal mentioned being in Asia. “Oh. It’s the big building at the top of the hill down the street. You can’t miss it.” He points to the door and then remembers that they’re inside and lowers it.

“I thought that was a church or some kind of factory. You live there?” He asks.

2D nods. “Yeah, it’s like, haunted or something, but it’s pretty cool.” He smiles and traces the rim of his pint.

Hannibal chooses to ignore the haunted part. It seems that it isn’t a problem for the rest of the band, and if he’s going to replace Murdoc he has to be better than him, not wussier than him. “I’d suggest coming to show you how sweet life can be, but I feel like by tomorrow morning you’ll forget all about this.”

2D shakes his head. “No I won’t! I’m only a little buzzed.” He’s lying. Before this pub, he’d been at another and drank until he cried and they kicked him out for disturbing the other patrons.

Hannibal nods. “Sure you are.” He stands. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

That went well.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

It is one in the afternoon when the doorbell at Kong Studios rings through 2D’s aching skull. Normally, he would never answer the door, especially as hungover as he is, but the rest of his bandmates are practicing and he’d already opted out of that to wallow in his room from both the alcohol’s poor effect on his body and the hard rejection he’d gotten the day before, so he forces himself out of his uncomfortable bed and lets his body crack under the pressure of standing, and pushes past his migraine to walk to the front door. He opens the door wearing only his pyjamas- a large long sleeved t-shirt and striped boxers, only to yelp and shut the door when he sees Murdoc standing there.

“I- I thought you were upstairs practicing,” He says through a crack in the door.

“Maybe Murdoc is, but I’m standing right in front of you.” Hannibal answers.

2D peeks out the door again, and notices that the man before him is taller than his longtime crush. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Last night is still foggy.” He grins through the crack he’s made for his face. “I’m going to get dressed. Do you want to come in while I do?”

Hannibal nods, and 2D opens the door. As Hannibal steps in, he holds out a large bouquet of flowers. “I got these for you. I didn’t know what kind you like so I got a variety.” He says. It had been quite the nasty little adventure going out to the store and buying flowers. The cashier had given him a big grin and asked him who the lucky lady was, and he’d said something about luck being on his side- it was so comical he’s already forgotten. Everything about this situation is so comical he wishes he could forget it, or at least black out until the gay part is over and he’s sitting on a throne of cash and drooling groupies.

2D nearly squeals. He takes the flowers and smells them and smiles at Hannibal. “These are so nice, thank you.” Murdoc would never do something like that. Once he’d gotten two beers while they were watching a movie and reluctantly given the one that was supposed to be his second to 2D because he’d asked, and sometimes they’ll share cigarettes, but these flowers are so big and beautiful and Hannibal is so close to the real thing but better, and 2D feels his heart swell up. “I’ll get a vase for them, come on.”

Hannibal follows him through the studios into the kitchen, where 2D grabs a vase with wilted and rotting flowers in them and tosses the contents into the trash.

“Do you get many flower-bearing suitors?” Hannibal asks, leaning against a counter. He’s not sure why anyone would buy flowers for the man without an ulterior motive like his own, but he doubts Murdoc or the other guy is getting flowers either.

“No, some fan threw these at Russel when we were spotted a few weeks ago. We all think they missed Noodle but she’s fifteen so we’re pretending no one would want to buy her flowers. Little creepy, but these are nicer too, so I don’t feel bad tossing the old ones.” He fills up the vase with water, and plops the new flowers into it. He takes a moment to admire them again. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No, I was going to take you out to lunch, so I’ll get something then.”

2D beams at the mention of lunch. His hangover had left at the scent of flowers and now it has been replaced with infatuation. He’s always wanted to go on a public date with Murdoc. “Alright. I’m going to go change- you can sit in the living room, if you want.”

Hannibal nods and does so. The studios smell like alcohol and cigarettes, and for a moment he wonders if this place is fit for a fifteen year old girl- then he remembers his own living conditions at that age and considers the little brat lucky. He hears music coming from somewhere upstairs and makes the assumption that it’s the band practicing- they’re not bad and Hannibal credits that to his influence on Murdoc’s music taste when they were younger. After a few minutes of tapping his foot- not because of the music, god no, because he’s impatient- 2D comes out wearing essentially the same thing he had been before but with pants and shoes. Hannibal had nearly forgotten 2D wasn’t wearing pants before- his legs had been so small and pale they seemed unreal, and Hannibal imagines that if the man shaves his legs he could easily pretend that 2D is just a bird that’s so skinny she’s got no chest- and he’ll just ignore the penis. But that’s for later, and for now he stands up and wraps an arm around 2D’s waist. “Any allergies I should know about?”

“I’m vegetarian, if that counts.”

Hannibal grins. Easily a broad. “Guess I’m not taking you out to a steak dinner, then.”

“No thank you,” 2D says. He nervously wraps an arm around Hannibal’s shoulders. The height difference isn’t as massive but it’s still there, and 2D is grateful for that. If Hannibal were closer to his own height the little magic trick wouldn’t work, and he wouldn’t be able to pretend that it’s Murdoc opening the door for him or Murdoc who can drive him to a restaurant without going fifty over the speed limit and getting in an awful crash.

“You like mac n cheese?” He asks. He starts up the car and smiles at 2D.

2D nods. “God yes,” He gushes. Much better than Murdoc’s scorpion-based dishes.

Hannibal’s car smells like the little scented trees people hang from their rearview mirrors. It is clean and unlike the nasty cars Murdoc always drives around in. Once again, 2D is reminded of the immense difference between Hannibal and Murdoc. It’s not enough to make the experience less amazing for him, but enough to make it more comfortable- he feels less dirty hanging out with Hannibal than he ever did with his bassist.

Hannibal takes him to a little noodle place, and even opens the doors for him. This kind of treatment is alien to 2D, and where his anxiety would normally pop in for a visit and tell him that this is some kind of joke, he sees the way Hannibal smiles at him and his worries fall away.

On the other hand, Hannibal watches 2D with a blank gaze, smiling with thoughts on how brilliant his life will be when he gets his hands on all of that money. “Are you okay with people eating meat in front of you?” He asks. He’s never had to think so hard about what someone else wants. If he’d been himself, he would have hurt the poor man’s feelings already, but he’s been the very example of a perfect gentleman, and god does it strain him. He feels like his collar is too tight, like his posture is too good and he needs some booze soon.

“No, that’s okay. Murdoc is always eating rare meat in front of me.”

“Hey-” He clears his throat. “You don’t have to think about him. I’m here now. I’ll get some noodles, huh?” He feels like he’s got an arm up his ass controlling his speech like a puppet, but the thought of cash and fame keeps him sane- as the well as the thought of himself as the real puppetmaster.

2D mistakes dollar signs in Hannibal’s eyes for hearts. “You’re so sweet,” He sighs, and he wonders if this is truly how he’s supposed to be treated. No abuse, no cheating, no ignoring him behind the cameras.

They order, and Hannibal asks for advice on what to get, and 2D feels like his opinion is valid. He stutters his way through his suggestion and blushes when Hannibal takes it.

“Thank you. I wouldn’t have known what to order.”

“You must not come to places like this often.”

“What can I say? I love meat.”

The way that Hannibal looks at him after saying this has him feeling warm from the inside out. He didn’t realize that going out with another man would put him in such a pleasant position- compliments and flowers and everything he’s tried to woo girls with in years past. If only it worked on them the same way it’s working on him. He sips on warm tea and watches Hannibal with big and adoring eyes. “I only like certain kinds of meat,” He replies, grinning.

Hannibal feels nausea come over him in waves. He’s never been the flirty type and he’s sure as hell never been flirty with another man. The way that 2D looks at him like he’s the greatest thing that’s happened to him is sickening, and he feels himself begin to sweat under uncomfortable gaze.

“Tell me more about yourself. How’d you end up in a band with Murdoc?” He decides that talking about the fame he so desperately craves will distract him from the relationship he desperately wants to avoid.

“Well, when I was nineteen, Murdoc hit me with a car and took care of me while I was in a coma from that.” He swirls a fork around in his noodles. “Then he was trying to impress some girls and he sent me flying through the windshield. I woke up from the coma and I had these big black eyes, and he called me beautiful.” He sighs with joy. “In front of everyone, in an interview.”

Hannibal grumbles. “Anyone with eyes would say that,” He lies through his teeth.

2D giggles, and takes a bite of noodles. Once he swallows he continues. “Well he also kidnapped Russel, but Russ stayed because the music was good. And Noodle came to us in a FedEx box. But before Noodle, the guitarist of our band was my girlfriend, Paula.”

Hannibal nods, wondering why on Earth 2D would fall for Murdoc if he’d been with broads before. “What happened with that?”

“Russel found Murdoc and Paula f*cking in the bathroom, right here at Kong. I’m still kind of upset about it but Paula wasn’t sh*t and Murdoc helped me realize it. He’s always saying that he wasn’t even into her, but she was always hounding on him to bang and he finally just did it so I would realize, you know?”

Hannibal purses his lips. “May I propose something?”

“What?” 2D asks. He’s unsure what Hannibal could possibly be proposing after a statement like that.

“This Murdoc guy, he seems like a real asshole who keeps making excuses to do asshole sh*t.” Hannibal taps his fingers against the table. “But you seem to really really like him. So what if you could have Murdoc, but only the parts you like?”

2D hums. “I dunno what you mean by that,” He replies with furrowed brow.

“I’m not an asshole,” Hannibal says, lying once again. “And, unlike Murdoc, I think we could make this a thing.” He pulls at his collar. “I’m not saying I’d pretend to be Murdoc, but it would be sort of like that.”

2D feels butterflies fill up his chest. “You want to date me?”

“Go on dates with you, yeah.” Hannibal says. “We can go from there.”

2D smiles. “And you’re okay with me pretending you’re Murdoc?”

“I don’t see why not.” He smirks. This will come in handy to him later, he knows, and he’s got no problem with a man he doesn’t want to be with pretending he’s someone else. “I’d love to spend more time with you, as Murdoc or Hannibal or whoever you want.”

“You’re pretty much perfect, aren’t you?” 2D looks into his bowl of noodles and blushes, before looking back at him with big eyes.

Hannibal bites his lip and grins back at him. “If that’s what you want to believe, then yeah, I can be perfect for you.”

Chapter 4: Woah!

Chapter Text

Their first date after the initial plan is heaven for 2D. He kisses Noodle on the cheek on his way out and gets a bright wish of good luck in return, and he’s greeted by “Murdoc” with a tandem bike- a tandem bike, for God’s sakes! Something that he’s dreamt of since he first went to the more indie part of his neighborhood as a kid. It takes a block of struggling to find a pace with the stark difference in the length of their legs, but for once the sun is out in England and every time they nearly fall those long legs of 2D’s catch them. When they finally get the groove and can move freely through the busy streets, pseudo-Murdoc leads him to a part of town he’s never been, where some little community is hosting an all-night horror movie marathon in the middle of a park, the movies projected onto the side of a rec center and popcorn sold for four pounds a bag.

“I hope you like horror,” Hannibal says as he locks the bicycle to a tree.

It’s almost like Hannibal really is Murdoc. “It’s my favorite genre.” He gushes. “Why’d you pick it?”

Hannibal grins and pulls an actual wicker basket from the plastic one attached to the front of the bike. “Good for cuddling, if your date gets scared easy.” He answers, walking to an empty spot on the park lawn and pulling a blanket from the basket. He sprawls it out on the grass, and shakes some drops of dew off of his new cuban heeled boots. He’s spent a lot of money on this stupid ruse already, but he’s sure that once he replaces his brother he’ll do much more than breaking even. Of course, it doesn’t help his case that a rich man in yen is a poor man in pounds, but he only needs a place with a shower and two of Murdoc’s more famous outfits and he’ll be fine.

2D sits on the blanket and stretches out his legs. “Lucky for you, I’m a giant scaredy-cat.”

Yes, so lucky for him. More contact with a man that he’d rather watch from behind six inches of glass in a zoo- but he’ll do anything for the product he’s expecting. “Very lucky for me,” He fingers the inside of his jacket’s pocket. “Do you want popcorn or a drink? I can get some before the movies start.”

“Yes please,” 2D smiles up at him, eyes closed with crow’s feet accentuating them and lips open with gap teeth showing.

Hannibal cannot help but scowl at the man before him and he is grateful that those eyes are closed. “Alright, a bag of popcorn and two beers coming up.” He forces himself to sound cheerful.

In the line for popcorn a cute broad compliments him on his boots. His first instinct is to compliment her on that tight top she’s wearing, but, fearful of any way that it might bite him in the ass later on, he tells her through grit teeth that he’s on a date. If he’d been holding a beer already his hand would be covered in broken glass, he clenches his fist so hard. Selling the beer is a gorgeous woman that looks as if she could be in the brand’s commercials, but he stuffs his mouth with popcorn so there’s no room for his foot and looks anywhere but her body. When he returns to the blanket 2D is invested in a conversation with a girl, and he can’t believe he’s put so much effort into something fake when the man that thinks it’s real couldn’t care less.

“Hey,” He says, sitting beside him and handing him a bottle.

“Thank you,” 2D grins. “This is a fan of mine,” He gestures to the woman.

“Are you Murdoc Niccals?” She asks. “Are you two on a date?” Her breath begins to hitch before she frowns. “Oh, no. Sorry. I didn’t see the nose.”

Hannibal decides it’s time to invest in some kind of contour kit. The woman turns around after expressing that regardless of whether it’s Murdoc, the movie is about to start and she should leave them alone. Hannibal agrees with the latter statement and chuckles bitterly. “Sorry for that smack in the face,” He mutters. “I’ll fix the nose problem, don’t worry.”

Their second date takes place at a pub. Hannibal’s nose contour is something that he learns the hard way will take time to perfect, so he deems a dark pub the best place to hide his nasal mistakes. He buys a cup of darts and a round of drinks and he is so glad that the darts have plastic tips because for each bullseye he hits, 2D throws a dart into someone’s game of pool, and for each drink 2D downs, his aim gets worse. He learns quickly that 2D is an affectionate drunk, and that that means hugs from the side while he’s trying to aim and sloppy kisses that he has to get used to before he pukes into his solo cup.

Luckily for him, 2D kisses like a girl, and he’s skinny like a girl, and Hannibal is drunk enough that he can pretend that 2D is a girl and there isn’t a bounty of burly straight men watching them with disgust. In the taxi on the way home 2D gets handsy, and Hannibal decides that kissing was more than he could handle for the night and 2D is drunk enough that he won’t remember being pushed away.

Their third date is 2D’s choice, and it’s cheesier than either of the other two, accurate to 2D’s mood about all of this. They go apple picking, and 2D steals the Geep so Hannibal can drive out into the countryside to a little place specifically for young couples who think paying to do exhausting work is cute. There’s a moment where 2D reaches up for an apple that Hannibal cannot reach, and the sun hits his hair just right and he’s smiling and Hannibal knows that if he were as fruity as this date he might not have a problem with being on it. He’s not, though, and he’s still disgusted, but the thought of having to f*ck him has gone from something that made him vomit in his mouth to something that elicits the same reaction smelling milk a week past its expiry date would. He thinks he’ll be able to bare it, if he was able to bare the kissing and if- and Satan does he hope this is the case- 2D is clean and groomed down there.

Having to feed 2D an apple slice is sappier than he’d like to get with someone he’s actually into, and he wishes he’d brought a flask, but he knows that that sort of behavior is something he wouldn’t put past his brother and it might remind 2D too much of Murdoc in the worst way. He’s putting more effort into keeping this idiot happy than he has to be, based on how much sh*t he put up with from the real deal, but so far it’s working.

“These are so good,” 2D moans once he swallows the apple. They’re sitting under the only non-apple tree on the lot; 2D’s legs are bent over Hannibal’s outstretched ones and he’s leaned close so his apple scented breath hits Hannibal’s cheek.

“I’d hope our money is worth it. We’ll have three months worth of apples. I hope your bandmates like them,” Hannibal grabs an apple from one of the baskets of them they’ve gathered and takes a bite.

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away,” 2D giggles. “If only I could eat them without having to cut them up.”

Hannibal cuts another slice out of the apple he’s just picked up with his switchblade, and holds it in front of 2D’s face with the knife still dug into it. 2D takes a bite without fear of cutting his lip and smiles at Hannibal. “You’re too good to me,”

“Should I be meaner? Would that be more accurate?”

2D shakes his head, leaning closer to Hannibal. “I think I like you better than the real thing.”

The first time they hook up, Hannibal insists that they do it in 2D’s room at Kong so that he doesn’t have to see the tiny roomless apartment Hannibal has been staying in. He spends all day prepping himself for what will probably be a few minutes of torture and a few more minutes of blind pleasure, and when he meets 2D at Kong he is more than prepared to get down to business, and nearly rushes into it.

“Come on, be quiet,” 2D hisses at him when he opens the door. He doesn’t want Murdoc to find out why he hasn’t been around for the past couple weeks.
Hannibal sneaks into his room and they close the door, but 2D doesn’t bother locking it. “No one checks up on me anyways,” He mutters, slightly bitter but more focused on the man undressing before him.

2D doesn’t bother to be quiet, and Hannibal is grateful that he sounds so feminine in bed- that, and that he’s practically hairless all over, and that he’s okay with the fact that Hannibal doesn’t want to look at him while they do this.

Meanwhile, Murdoc Niccals- the real one- wanders around Kong aimlessly. He’s been on a binge drinking kick since 2D told him he was- first of all- gay, and second of all, gay for him. He’d started in his Winnebago, but he’d run out of liquor quickly, and is now on a mission to get all of the booze from the kitchen and finish it off in one night. Currently, he’s walking around the second floor with a bottle of whiskey in hand and mouth, and all of a sudden he hears some kind of moaning coming from his singer’s room. He hasn’t heard from the man in weeks, something that really pisses him off, as he’s trying to make new music and he can’t put out an entire album with no vocals, and now he hears the man watching some filthy video in the dead of night. In a fit of rage, he stomps his way to the man’s room, ready to catch him with weiner in hand, but instead he catches the man with sheets balled up in his fist and… Murdoc inside of him?

“What am I doing,” Murdoc slurs, hand still on the doorknob and grip on the neck of the whiskey bottle faltering. The glass shatters on the floor and both 2D and Murdoc look up at Murdoc in the doorway, confused stature and furrowed brows and all.

“Oh, sh*t,” Murdoc hisses, grabbing a blanket and pulling away from 2D.

“Oh sh*t is right! What are you doing?” Murdoc asks. He looks down at the glass on the floor. “Damn,” He whispers, wiping a sweaty hand on his denim jeans.

2D quickly curls up at the end of his bed, grabbing the same blanket and covering himself in fear he’ll be beaten.

“I’m f*cking your singer?” Murdoc looks at him with amusem*nt. “Is there a problem?”

“Yeah?” Murdoc walks through the broken glass. “He already confessed his undying love to you, man. Why are you f*cking him?”

“What.”

“I mean go for it but I am confused as to your motive.”

“I’m dating him?”

Murdoc squints. “You haven’t seen him in like two weeks, Murdoc.”

Murdoc shakes his head. “I’ve been attached to him at the hip for two weeks what are you talking about.”

Murdoc hiccups, and rolls his eyes. “You’re a f*cking liar but okay. Have fun, dickhe*d.” He turns around and wonders why in the hell he’d ever be f*cking 2D, and, more so, why 2D wasn’t moaning louder.

Chapter 5: Painful Joints and Painful Thoughts

Chapter Text

Murdoc wakes up in the hallway leading to 2D’s room, facedown on the floor in what were once white briefs. He’s not sure where his last bottle of Jack Daniels went, but all he can remember is that he had just begun to drink it when something had prevented him from doing so. He remembers it as kind of confusing but overall pleasant, and he stands up, grabbing his lower back as pain shoots up his spine. He groans, and decides he’ll go downstairs and grab a raisin-cinnamon toast and a new bottle of whiskey to jog his memory and ease his joint pain.

When he gets downstairs, everything is quiet, which, to a man who is still too drunk to be anywhere near hungover, is deafening and uncomfortable. He hums on his way to the kitchen, and only stops when he sees a whimpering and red man dripping snot into a perfectly good bowl of cereal.

“The f*ck are you crying for?” Murdoc sits next to him and grabs the bowl from under his weepy face. It’s a good thing he doesn’t mind snot in his milk.

“Don’t act like you don’t know.” He looks up and scowls at Murdoc, the skin around his eyes, nose, and mouth wrinkling viciously and turning pink where they wrinkle so harshly.

“Mmm,” He spoons the cereal into his mouth. “You know I’m not a good actor. Why I got beat as a kid,” He speaks with his mouth full.

“Don’t you ever think about other people?” 2D spits. He wipes his nose with his hand and wipes his hand on his jeans. He already knows the answer, but his anger blinds him from the lack of necessity in the question. He also wants to hear the man admit it to him, as pointless as it is- it won’t even count as some kind of a victory, but he needs to hear it to push him farther into Hannibal’s arms.

“Nah.” He grins. He leans back in his seat and taps the spoon against his cheek. “But I’ll ponder what I could have done.”

“For starters, I cut my feet this morning on the shattered glass you left in my room.” 2D hisses.

“Is that where my liquor went?”

“I hate you.” 2D stands up, pushing his chair back with a loud screech of wood on wood. “I’ll be in my room if you want to ruin my personal life again.”

Murdoc rests his legs on the chair 2D has just gotten up from. He finishes up the cereal and grabs another bottle, hoping that getting pissfaced will return his memories. He doesn’t really care much about 2D’s feelings, but he’d rather be able to start making music again than have to wait around for the man to stop being butthurt about every step Murdoc takes, or wait around for 2D to stop avoiding him for that meaningless rejection. Halfway into the bottle, he begins to remember bits and pieces of the last night.

He remembers being unbelievably pissed- both in the drunk sense and the angry sense- and coming into the studios to get more to drink. He remembers 2D’s moaning filling his head like p*rno playing on a surround sound stereo, and he remembers wanting to catch the man gooey-handed and beat the daylights out of him for disappearing for so long to come home for a quick, terribly loud wank. Then he remembers f*cking 2D. That part confuses him on many levels. He remembers watching himself f*ck 2D from an outsider’s perspective, but he’s never been so drunk that he’s astral projected. He also recalls that, if his memory serves correctly, the sex was mediocre, or at least, it seemed that 2D had thought so- and he would never, ever leave someone feeling unsatisfied, even if it were a picky little prick like 2D.

More than anything, though, he cannot for the life of him remember being repulsed. In fact, he’d been a little jealous of himself. It had been in his plans to use 2D for sex after he’d admitted that pesky little crush, but then 2D had disappeared for weeks and he’d had to stick with the same groupies and hookers he was used to. Of course it would only be himself that would f*ck him over like that- but if it really were himself, they would have double teamed whoever was in the bed with him, not fought over it.

He takes another swig of his drink and scoffs. It couldn’t have been him. He wouldn’t have used that position, anyways- to f*ck 2D would be something near a privilege, not because he’d be lucky to do it, but because he’d have the opportunity to completely rock 2D’s world. That would be beneficial; he wouldn’t have to fight 2D to get him to listen anymore, he could just give him a little Murdoc Magic and have the boy following his every command.

“Damn it,” He mutters. If it were him, he’s an idiot, wasting an opportunity like that. He stands up and saunters up the stairs. “Stu,” He yells. “Come here,”

2D peeks out of his bedroom with slits for eyes. “What do you want.”

“Did we shag last night?”

2D furrows his brows. “No, you idiot.” He sticks his tongue out with disgust. “I was shagging my boyfriend for the first time and you interrupted.”

Murdoc feels the tension in his bones release. “Oh,” He grins. “Makes sense.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, your boyfriend was awful. I should have known it wasn’t me. I would have done so much better.”

“No you wouldn’t have.”

“Let me prove it.”

“You’re sick. You only want me when I’m over you, huh?” If he had pupils, he would be rolling his eyes, and Murdoc can tell. “I’m not going to get hooked on the end of your string this time. I’ve moved on.”

“Then why are you dating someone that even I can’t tell isn’t me?” Murdoc doesn’t know why he’s pushing it. He couldn’t care less if 2D likes him- he just wants him to not like whoever this jackass imposter is.

“It’s just a coincidence,” 2D’s voice falters, and more of his face disappears into the dark of his room.

“Your voice is such a tell.” Murdoc smirks, letting liquor glide down his throat before he fixates his stare on the fraction of a miserable face he can see.

"Just leave me alone. I’m happy. And next time, if you hear anything coming from my room, mind your goddamn business.” 2D slams his door.

Murdoc scowls and slumps over. He likes it better when 2D is single, in love with him, and following his every whim. “Whatever!” He yells at the closed door. “He’s nothing compared to me!”

He storms all the way back to his Winne; that’s where he does his best thinking, especially about 2D. He’s by no means into him, especially not after seeing how passionless that other guy was with him, but ever since he first saw the man stand up from a car wreck, he’s been unashamedly sexually obsessed with him.

After years of the same kind of bird, all curves and beautiful long hair and soft skin, the complete opposite is more than appealing to him. Stick thin, greasy hair and sharp angles- like the painting of a hurt man, unlike the creations made from lovers that he’s used to. Maybe that’s why he was so upset at the sight of himself with 2D. If the real him had gotten the chance to f*ck 2D it would have been anything but lifeless. He’d have left that man with an infatuation to last long after they’re estranged- he’d start slow and loving, like he adores every little bit of his boyish body, and then flip it on him; he’d f*ck him just like he beats him, until he’s sweaty and panting and bruised, and crying out for something, clutching onto him like it hurts-

And he’s made himself hot and heavy again. This is one thing he’s ashamed of regarding the lust he harbors for his singer- it’s nearly uncontrollable when he gets to thinking about it. He usually hides it with hatred and disinterest- neither of which are fake- but now that he’s the underdog, he’s really tempted to stick it to this doppelganger and win his singer over. The only problem is, 2D can clearly already see through his stupid plan, and somehow this dude is actually into him, whereas he is not by a long shot.

He’s always imagined himself as above romance, or romantic feelings in general. Once, when he was in grade school, he liked a girl, and he’d picked her some nasty weeds he thought looked pretty cool and gave them to her during recess. She’d pinned him to the ground and made him eat them. He’d fallen head over heels for her after that, but once she broke his nose for the first time (something he’s told no one, because his nose was broken for the second time the moment Hannibal found out he’d been beaten up by a girl, and he doesn’t want to be a laughing stock), he realized that there’s always going to be a sh*thead in a relationship, and it’s better if it’s him doing the beating and insulting instead of him reliving all of the beatings and insults he’d dealt with as a kid. He’s a sh*thead to 2D anyways, but if mutual romantic feelings were involved, music would not be made.

The thought of a romantic relationship with 2D successfully gets rid of his hard-on, better than if he’d thought of that one time he’d walked in on his father f*cking a dead prostitute. He growls when he remembers that the only reason he’d even found out about this miserable imposter was because he’d run out of liquor in here, and he doesn’t feel like getting up and dealing with more social interaction, especially so soon after an unattended boner.

He lies in his bed, still in only his underwear, covered in sweat and dehydrated as all hell. Now’s a better time than ever to figure out how to convince 2D that he wants to date him more than that sh*t-in-bed asshole. But now is also a good time for a depression nap, because depression naps pair oh so nicely with whiskey, like red meat and red wine.

When he wakes up from his nap, it is dark and he is still at a loss of ideas about the 2D situation. But he knows now that it pisses him off to see 2D with another man, especially knowing that every time he’s been missing for the past few weeks he’s been out with him falling more and more in love with the imposter and more and more out of love with the real thing. He sits up and grits his teeth, and the sweat keeps his sheets stuck to his back even when he’s sat up. He yanks the sheets off of himself and growls.

He returns to inside Kong if only for the cool air and the liquor, and when he enters the kitchen, he bumps into Noodle.

“Hey, Noods,” He says. He pulls out a wedgie.

“Where are your clothes?”

“Where’s 2D?”

“Out on a date.”

Murdoc groans and mopes to the liquor cabinet. “Great. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He takes two bottles and leaves the kitchen with a fresh scowl on his face.

He’s decided now that his hatred for this mystery man is enough to constitute any form of romantic attraction that might make his efforts to get rid of the doppelganger come off as more valiant than selfish- regardless of how selfish they really are. Anyways, selfish might be what 2D wants. It would be selfish to tear him apart from a short term boyfriend just for his own love, or whatever. He’s sure 2D will find it hot. His only problem is how to do it.

Chapter 6: Confrontation

Chapter Text

Soft hands caress hairy thighs, and 2D is so grateful that Murdoc decided to f*ck off. Still, he cannot get the sound of Murdoc’s mocking out of his head, and the thought of Murdoc trying to prove to him just how much better he can be is what ends up bringing him to org*sm instead of all of the otherwise not so mediocre touches. Lying with Hannibal in his bed, sweaty and out of breath, he feels disgusting for the way he can’t get rid of these feelings, and for how he’s put himself directly in a situation that keeps him drowning in quicksand.

Hannibal sits up, pulling a cigarette from a pile of clothes at the end of the bed. “Want one?”

2D moans softly, moving so his shoulders are off of the bed and he’s resting on his elbows. “Can I share one with you?” He asks, his voice a croak.

Hannibal nods, and once it’s lit he hands it over. “I think I’ll head out soon?” He can feel the tension in the room that has carried from a few nights ago, and he’d rather not have to cuddle the man all night.

“Uh- I mean, you can but, it would be nice if you stayed.” Stu takes a long drag from the cigarette, his lack of breath providing a small amount of release from the anxiety building up in his chest over the whole situation.

“You know I want to,” Hannibal leans over, pushing a lock of hair from over 2D’s eyes to the top of his head and pressing lips to the side of his mouth. “I’m just worried that Murdoc 1.0 is going to try and cause trouble again.”

2D lets the smoke spill from his mouth and billow over Hannibal’s face. “I get it. We’ll just have to avoid him more, hmm?”

Hannibal coughs, and plants a kiss on his lips. “I guess now that he knows about us, you should know something too,” He’d rather 2D find out from himself than from his prick little brother.

“What?” 2D had warmed up at the kiss, but now his body is rigid and the cigarette is back in his mouth.

“Might not want anything in your mouth when I tell you,” Hannibal runs a palm along his ribs.

2D furrows his brows and hands the cigarette to Hannibal.

“We’re brothers,” Hannibal takes a puff. “Murdoc and I.”

2D coughs, eyes widening. “What?”

“Yeah, I’m his older brother.” Hannibal leans against the wall. “Estranged but related.”

2D sits all the way up. “But you two haven’t spoken in forever, right?”

“Not since I moved out.”

“Well, then I don’t see a problem with it.” f*cking his brother. “You make me happy, so why should your blood ruin that?” How jealous would Murdoc be!

Hannibal smiles at him- of course he would take the bait. “I’m glad you have no issue with it,” He kisses his cheek. “I’m going to head out, still, though. For safety.”

2D nods, and watches him get dressed. He honestly had not expected the relation- the way Murdoc had always talked about his brother had suggested the man should have been dead by now- but it seems like a blessing in disguise. If Murdoc doesn’t know, then when he does find out there’s going to be a storm of jealousy heading right for him. He doesn't necessarily want Murdoc to jealously f*ck him, because Hannibal isn't awful, but God does he want Murdoc to realize what he's missing out on. He's been a sex addict for years so he knows damn well that he’s good at it, and he’s in shock that a middle aged man with a beer gut is the first person to reject him.

Hannibal kisses him on the cheek and ducks out, muttering as he leaves the door, “Try not to look so upset next time we f*ck, hmm?”

In the hallway, Hannibal rebuttons his shirt. He’d been too anxious to leave to button it up properly, and they’d been slightly offset. He’s so focused on the buttons that he doesn’t look up from his shirt to avoid running right into Murdoc.

“Watch where you’re going, f*ckface,” Murdoc growls. “Leaving so soon?”

Hannibal looks up at him, and the close proximity to the man that embarrassed him time and time again in high school and made his life more of a living hell than even his father did sends waves of angry heat through his stomach. Now that 2D isn’t in sight, too, he feels it’s entirely appropriate to let out his anger.

“Yeah, I am. You think I want to cuddle that f*ckin’ alien in there?” Hannibal scowls. If the carpet in this hall weren’t so nice, he’d spit.

“f*ck are you doing here ruining my band if you don’t even like him?” Murdoc looks up at him with bemusem*nt and disgust. “I understand why you’d want to get out of here,” He really doesn’t- he’d love to watch his singer’s bony little bird chest rise and fall all night, and he’s done it before, too- 2D always looks so peaceful and it pisses him off. “But why the hell are you taking him on all these time wasting dates?”

Hannibal chuckles. “You’re a real idiot.” He says. “Look at me. I’m like you but prettier,” He smirks. “If I woo 2D enough, he might just let me replace you.”

Murdoc bites his lip, and Hannibal can feel that he’s about to get punched. When they were little kids, Murdoc would begin to breathe heavily and he’d puff up his chest right before making a hit. “You think he has any f*cking power? Who the hell are you?”

Hannibal is more amused than annoyed at this point. “Let me give you a little reminder,” He says, and he grabs Murdoc by the shoulders. The first time he’d broken Murdoc’s nose it had been with his fist, but every time after it had been either a headbutt or the slamming of his face into a wall. Hannibal headbutts him with force and when he pulls back from it, he’s dizzy and he can see someone’s blood on Murdoc’s forehead. He’s not sure how teenaged him could ever handle that, but perhaps he had more vitality and Murdoc’s head was softer.

Murdoc backs up and holds his head in his hands, blood covering his fingers. “What the f*ck,” He grumbles, his back hitting the wall with a thud.

Hannibal corners him and grabs him by the collar. “You didn’t even give me time to button up my shirt, asshole.” His fist goes right for Murdoc’s nose and the feeling of cartilage crunching underneath his knuckles is the same to him as the smell of tomato soup to a normal person.

Murdoc begins to see stars. The fist on his face is so familiar, not that of his grade school crush or of his drummer but of the only other person that has broken his nose. “Hannibal?”, he mutters this through blood that spills into his mouth, his voice soft as he tries to regain some level of sobriety to understand the situation.

“Can’t believe it took you so long. You even walked in on me in the same position with 2D as I was with our stepmom,” He snarls. “You’re so dull.”

“Why are you here?” Murdoc manages to ask.

“I’m going to replace you, idiot. I can’t believe you came into all of this money and poor Hannibal didn’t get a cent.”

Murdoc spits in his face, and the sight of blood spattered over his own face is enough to get him at least a little aroused. “I’d rather die than give you any of my money. The f*ck did you sell your soul for?”

Hannibal scowls at him. He’d been in a very bad place and he’d sold his soul for some heroin. “You sold your soul for all of this?”

“Getting beat every day of my childhood by my garage band brother led me to have some pretty big dreams.” Murdoc is still being held up off of his feet, and he’s learned from years of torment that struggling is worthless. “You may have gotten me here but you’ll have to pry this band from my cold dead hands, and I’m not dying anytime soon.”

Hannibal rolls his eyes. “You f*cking prick,” He slams Murdoc back into the drywall. “You’re so cheesy. I’m going to make 2D fall in love with me and you already lost your chance at stopping me before I even started.”

Murdoc snorts, and then winces, the pain in his nose shooting through his body and ruining whatever arousal he’d gotten from the sight of Hannibal bleeding from his forehead. “I’m sorry, do you think that two measly f*cks and a couple decent dates would make years of pining disappear? I could walk into that room right now and he’d pick me over you in a heartbeat, especially after whatever bullsh*t pump and go you just pulled on him.” He blows a chunk of blood out of his nose in an attempt to conserve more breath. “I didn’t even hear him! Do you know how insulting that is to you? He’s like a f*cking, a,” He bites his lip. “He makes a lot of f*cking noise,”

Hannibal lets him go. “Do it. Go f*cking try.”

Murdoc wipes his face on his forearm and shoves Hannibal out of the way. “Fine,” He straightens himself up, and Hannibal leans against the wall, watching him.

Murdoc busts through the door. “I want you,” He drawls.

2D jumps. “Murdoc, what’s on your face?” He gasps.

“Assorted blood, but don’t worry baby, that’s not all that’s gonna get all over your sheets.” He slurs, and he’s not sure if it’s from the alcohol content in his blood or the blood pouring from his lip.

“Murdoc, please go clean yourself up.”

“I’ll give you the best night of your life. You won’t know what’s up from down, just that it feels so good,” Murdoc inches forward from his spot in the doorframe, tripping over the tip of his boot and holding himself up with the frame.

“I’m with Hannibal now.” 2D pulls the blanket up to his chin and his knees up to his chest.

“He’s my brother, Stu. He’s my brother and I’d f*ck you so much better.”

2D pouts. “I know he’s your brother, Murdoc, but I really like him and you missed out.”

Murdoc can feel Hannibal smirking behind him. “You don’t want this anymore?”

“I’ve got the next best thing, and he never rejected me like you did.”

Murdoc stumbles to his bed and falls to his knees, bloody hands reaching for 2D’s covered legs. “I’m sorry I rejected you. I really want you. Last night I got hard at the thought of you.”

2D can’t believe the dumb things Murdoc will say when he’s drunk. “You’re so full of it. Last night you asked me if we f*cked and ate my snot.”

Murdoc looks at him and one of his eyes is caking over as blood begins to dry. “I’d eat your snot, Stu, I’d eat that sh*t up like a f*cking steak. Steak and sex, babe.”

2D kicks him away from the bed. “Leave me alone. I’m tired and I’m in my bed and I need you out of here so I can sleep.”

“You look so good while you sleep,” Murdoc gasps for air, the wind kicked out of him and blood filling his mouth.

“Murdoc, stop!” He whines. “You’re freaking me out and I just want to be happy for once,” His voice sounds like he’s on the verge of tears and Murdoc scoffs, struggling to his feet.

“Fine,” He growls, and he leaves the room with a slam of the door.

Hannibal looks at him with raised eyebrows and a co*cky laugh. “Mmmm,” He chuckles. “You really proved me wrong.” He lifts off of the wall and cups Murdoc’s cheek. “I let you do that because I knew it would be self sabotage. If you ever try and f*ck up what I have going on here again, I’ll do this the easy way and I’ll f*cking kill you.” He whispers, patting his cheek. “I’ll f*cking kill you, I’ll skin you alive and I’ll leave your body to rot in the moors and I’ll replace you like that.” He snaps his fingers in Murdoc’s face, and he shoves him out of the way. “Sleep well.”

Chapter 7: Redemption

Chapter Text

It takes a day of hungover misery for Murdoc to get sober enough that he feels comfortable talking to 2D. It takes three more for 2D to be at Kong for more than a few minutes to change and hop back into Hannibal’s arms. Murdoc would like to believe that he’s been sober for four days because he cares about his place in the band, but the number in his bank account is more than enough evidence to prove that he’s set for life. He’d also like to believe that he’s risking getting beaten to death for the band, but the band is nothing without his singer and he can’t hide from anyone that that’s what this is about.

Especially not Noodle, who notices immediately that Murdoc is not drunk off of his ass.

“Did we run out?” She asks, and miserably Murdoc shakes his head. “Trying to win 2D back from your brother?” She asks next.

Murdoc looks at her with alarmed concern. “How do you know about that?”

Noodle rolls her eyes. “It’s like you two think that Russ and I just sleep and wait for you to come to rehearsal. I might be a teenager but I’m not so unaware that I haven’t noticed the neon signs around the three of you idiots.”

“How did you know he was Hannibal?”

“Are you kidding me?” She asks. “You’re both green. And you both have the posture of villains from eighties cartoons.”

Murdoc grumbles. “Never mind. I’m sure anyone could tell, I’m just a drunk and 2D is incredibly stupid.”

Noodle frowns. “He’s not that stupid, he just ignored the signs because it was working for him.”

Murdoc feels heat flare up in his stomach. He can’t believe something has been working for 2D while he’s spent the last month flopping around like a fish out of water. It’s against the natural order of things. “Well I’m trying to fix it.”

“He’s home now. Go fix it.”

“He’s probably going to leave in a moment anyways.”

“He told me Hannibal has work. He’s staying put.”

“It’s not that easy, anyways.” Murdoc lies his head on the table they sit at. “He doesn’t trust me.”

“And why would he? You’re an alcoholic. But now you’ve been sober for four days, and he’ll be able to tell, because I can tell. So go!” She starts to shove at him, pushing him out of his chair.

Murdoc groans and reluctantly stands up, watching his posture to avoid looking like a cartoon villain. “Fine. But when I come back down here after he screams at me I’m getting drunk again.” He stomps out of the room, and Noodle can hear his boots clicking on the stairs.

Murdoc feels like the parent of a brooding teen, but the teen in question is not the actual teen of the household, instead the grown man. He knocks on 2D’s door softly.

“Come in,” 2D calls. Murdoc assumes that 2D expects a knock so light to come from Noodle’s fist, but he enters anyways.

2D scowls and curls up on his bed. “Murdoc, go away.”

“I wanted to talk to you,” He clears his throat. His voice sounds a little different when he’s sober. He’d kind of thought he had a strange accent, but now he’s seeing that it might have been a bit of a slur.

“What’s up with you?” 2D asks with furrowed brows.

“I’m not drunk, that’s for starters,” Murdoc stays close to the door in case anything is thrown at him and he needs to duck out quickly. “And also, I like you. But that’s an elementary term so I’m not going to use it- I am attracted to you and it’s upsetting to see you with someone who I know has absolutely no feelings for you.” That’s the most eloquent thing that has ever come from Murdoc’s mouth. He doesn’t like himself sober.

“You must be drunk because you’ve got it backwards. He’s the one who likes me, not you, and words have nothing on actions.” 2D has spent far too long wasting his time hoping that this day would come, and after the last time he spoke to Murdoc and got a drunk, embarrassing love confession, he’s convinced that this one is fake too.

“No, come on, smell my breath or something, I haven’t touched a drop in days and it was just to prove to you that I’m not lying.” He’s being so sincere that he doesn’t feel like himself, like he’s lying to 2D by being sober.

2D narrows his eyes at him. “I’m not going to smell your breath.”

“I’m sorry I rejected you.” He blurts. “I was thrown off, okay?” Murdoc feels doubly uncomfortable standing by the door and wringing his hands. He wishes he could sit down or just f*cking leave. “Obviously I’m attracted to you, I’ve spouted it to millions of people live on the air. I just don’t know how to determine what romantic attraction because you know I’ve never experienced that sh*t before.” He feels like he’s telling his life story to a brick wall.

2D feels himself starting to blush, but he curls further inward. “You called me beautiful like I was your property, like some piece of art and not a person. You just want to be with me to prove you can f*ck me better than Hannibal.”

“Obviously that’s part of it.” Murdoc feels his teeth grit involuntarily. “I’ve wanted to f*ck you for years and this asshole waltzes in pretending to be me and he gets what’s rightfully mine?” His nails dig into the soft wood that lines the door. “And I’ve seen it- there’s no passion in what he does to you, he’s doing it as a statement, as an ‘obviously if I'm willing to f*ck you I'm not using you for the money’, which is f*cking stupid, because not only is he clearly using you but he gets to f*ck you too.” Murdoc takes a deep breath. He realizes that he sounds like he should have aluminum foil over his head, like he’s some kind of conspiracy theorist. “Of course I want to f*ck you, 2D. But that’s just a little bit of it. You’re my best mate, and if I want to f*ck my best mate because he gets my blood boiling in all the wrong ways, and I want to spend all my time with him because he’s my god damned best friend, then I might as well come out and tell him I’ve got feelings.”

Murdoc half expects the man to leap into his arms, but he’s too dreadfully sober to really believe it. “I don’t know what else to tell you. Just know that I'm not lying- there’d be at least a little slur if I were,”

2D waits patiently for Murdoc to leave, and when he does, he sits in the dark in his room in silence. He had been fed up with Murdoc up until the best mate part. The f*cking part, well, that was good too- he’s glad he has even a bit of self control, because otherwise he would have been on Murdoc like fleas on a dog- but it was only enough to tug at his natural attraction to the man. The best friend part hurt him a little bit. He’s always considered Murdoc his best friend, as f*cked and awful as their relationship may be. There’s always been some level of unspoken comfort, until just now. Even right after some huge fight, Murdoc could come in with two cigarettes and a lighter and they’d be back to laughing so hard their smokes might slip right into their throats, or leaning against each other and letting the blood stain their clothes because Noodle does their laundry and she knows how to get blood stains out (be it from her experience as a deadly fighter or her experience as a teenage girl). Maybe it’s because of all the time 2D spent unconscious, propped up against Murdoc, but it feels so natural to lean there and talk. That’s another thing- talking came so easily, from talking about music to birds to silly little irrelevant things, and recently 2D needn’t even fear saying the wrong thing and getting a punch.

Before he’d confessed his crush, everything had been going swimmingly- so well, in fact, that he’d been convinced that there had to have been something mutual there. He wouldn’t put it past Murdoc to hide his feelings due to pride, and he had been acting awfully sober. Perhaps it isn’t so hard to believe that Murdoc is telling the truth. Still, the pang in his chest is an ache for something better, for some sign that Murdoc really cares, be it some big romantic gesture or even just prying a little more instead of leaving in defeat the moment that he’s given no as an answer.

And the worst part is, in 2D’s mind, at least, that even with all of Hannibal’s loving dates and physical affection, the moment Murdoc came into the room with that certain air of dishevelment due to his sobriety, 2D had been drastically close to dropping everything to be with him. He wonders if that counts as cheating, or if he’s even really with Hannibal at all if it is all just pretending to be with Murdoc.

He’s always had that problem- putting other’s potential feelings before his own. He should care more about whether he’s happy than if Hannibal is still getting whatever the Hell he’s getting out of their arrangement. Right as he can feel himself sinking into his sheets with the weight of his problems, his door opens again.

Murdoc is trying- and failing- to yell quietly, his voice high and screechy as he complains that 2D is not having it, but little feminine hands still push him into the room and shut the door.

2D can feel his defenses coming up again, and he wants to be angry and rude like before, but he decides to instead watch what Murdoc does without his interference.

“Noodle said I shouldn’t take no for an answer.” Murdoc’s voice is gruff and low now, and for the first time 2D wonders if that is to impress him with masculinity. “Obviously that’s very bad advice, so I’m just going to make myself invisible until she stops sitting against the door.”

2D sits up. “You don’t have to stand over there. The bed is more comfortable.”

Murdoc looks at him with confusion. “What are you trying to do? I’m not going to push you. You’re clearly happier with my bastard brother.”

2D frowns. “Just sit down.” He snaps. At this point, he just wants a solid answer to rid him of this tension.

Murdoc seems shocked by his uncharacteristic dominance, and sits on the edge of his bed.

“Do you actually want to be with me, or are you trying to pry me from Hannibal?” 2D asks. He picks at the skin around his fingers and avoids eye contact with Murdoc.

Murdoc sighs. “Obviously if I want to be with you I don’t want you shagging my brother at the same time. It’s both.” He leans against the wall and keeps his boots off of the sheets. “It just took you being with someone else for me to realize that I want you so bad.” He scratches at the side of his face. “Also, he’s trying to replace me and take all of your money, but that part is less important right now, I guess.”

2D mutters quietly, unsure why he keeps pushing it like he doesn’t believe Murdoc. “But will you treat me as nice as Hannibal does?”

Murdoc scoffs. “The man is poor, hasn’t been in this country for years, and doesn’t even like you. I, however, am rich as a dog, know all of the nice little places here I could take you, and have not liked anyone romantically since elementary school, except for you.” He crosses his ankles. “I think I could treat you better.”

2D blushes. “I can’t think of any reason why you’d try this hard to lie to me.”

“Because I wouldn’t, Stu. You know I'm not that invested in anything.” He crawls over to where 2D sits and cups his cheek. “I apologize for rejecting you when you confessed to me, but look at this. You’re finding it hard not to reject me, too. It’s hard to believe something so good could be true, hmm?”

2D nods, and Murdoc’s hand is warm against his cheek. He wrenches his own hand from where he’s making his cuticles bleed to rest on Murdoc’s shoulder. “You’re my best mate, right? And I'm yours?”

“I wouldn’t lie to my best mate, Stu.” Murdoc’s breath tickles the hairs growing above 2D’s lip.

2D nods, and Murdoc’s free hand splays flat against his lower back. “Okay. I believe you.”

And that quickly, Murdoc’s lips are attacking 2D’s. He’s pulled his frail little body against his own and both are shocked to see how normal it feels to be so close to one another. Murdoc’s clothed crotch is pressed against 2D’s thinly covered one, and bare legs are wrapped around a waist covered by a leather belt. All of the passion and attraction that’s been held back for years unravels in a matter of seconds, until Noodle is too uncomfortable to stay sitting against the all too thin door.

Chapter 8: Wonderful Night

Chapter Text

That night, Murdoc does not show 2D just how much better he is than Hannibal in bed. He reluctantly shakes his head when a heavily breathing 2D tugs at his shirt and tightens his legs’ grip around his waist.

“I’m not f*cking you while you’re still with Hannibal.” He says. His voice nearly cracks halfway through; his hands are tightly gripping 2D’s waist and with these words they get tighter.

2D whines, his chest lifting and lowering slowly. “I’ll break up with him in the morning,” He breathes, freshly clipped nails digging into Murdoc’s skin.

“Then we can shag in the morning,” Murdoc can’t believe he’s fighting this, but damn it, he does not want to put anything in a hole that belongs to his brother.

“I’ll call him now, please,” 2D squeezes Murdoc closer to him, his desperation for a good time not even close to his desperation for Murdoc to be his.

Murdoc grins. Why should Hannibal have any time to sleep before he finds out that his plans have failed?

2D sits up, their chests now flush against one another. 2D’s chest is hot and his heart is beating so hard that Murdoc can feel it in his own. He grabs the phone off of his nightstand and begins to dial Hannibal.

Now that it’s assured that 2D is dumping Hannibal, Murdoc begins to kiss up and down 2D’s neck, a hand tangled in the hair on the back of 2D’s head. His other hand makes its way up 2D’s shirt as the phone rings, and long fingernail leaves pink marks down 2D’s stomach and around his nipple.

Hannibal picks up the phone. “Hello?”

Stuart takes a moment to respond, biting his lip and letting his body respond to Murdoc’s touch without thought. His hips buck up to Murdoc’s palm on his crotch and he holds back a whine. “Hey,” He whimpers. “Sorry I’m calling so late,” A huff of breath escapes his lips and he’s grateful that Hannibal was never good enough to elicit these kinds of sounds from him, and won’t be able to tell what’s happening.

Murdoc undoes the button and zipper to 2D’s jeans, his tongue finding its way to pink collarbone.

“What’s up, babe?” Hannibal’s voice is croaky, and he was obviously asleep.

“I need to talk to you,” Stuart gasps as cold hand meets warm thigh. “I, um,” He hums, nails dragging down Murdoc’s back and the muscles that move under his skin. “I think that,” Murdoc bites into hot flesh and 2D lets out an uncontrollable ‘eep’. “We need to break up.”

“What?” Hannibal’s voice loses its sleepy edge. “Why?”

“Well,” He grips his phone tight and falls back onto the bed as Murdoc begins to kiss him lower and lower. “The real thing,” He stuffs his hand into Murdoc’s hair and tugs. “Is into me now, so” He groans, gulping. “I don’t think our situation is necessary anymore.” Murdoc grins, and he kisses up 2D’s thighs and velvet spills from 2D’s lips.

“Are you serious?” Hannibal’s voice fills with anger. “You’re with him now, aren’t you?”

2D looks down at the man between his legs. Chocolate brown and red eyes meet black ones and rose spreads across his cheeks like a rash. “No.” His hips buck once again and his breath hitches in his throat. “We talked about it and he said he didn’t want to be with me,” He holds the phone to his shoulder to moan into the air. “Until you and I broke up.”

Murdoc pushes 2D’s shirt up and rubs the space between his bellybutton and where Murdoc’s mouth is currently occupying space. His thumb brushes the hairs of 2D’s happy trail against the grain and the nails of the rest of his fingers scratch his skin accordingly with what his mouth is doing.

“I can hear you. You’re with him.”

He whines. “And?” He gasps and his body shudders as he speaks. “This is what I wanted.”

Murdoc groans and grabs the phone from him, pulling himself from 2D. “Get over it, buddy.” He breathes, hanging up the phone and tossing it across the room.

2D sits up, and Murdoc pushes him onto his back. For a blissful half an hour, 2D gets what he has always wanted. He’s never felt closer to Murdoc than in this moment, and he’s never felt more pampered or adored. With every kiss, there’s a grumble of admiration, and with every time their skin connects, Murdoc is looking at him. If Murdoc had been able to hear 2D from downstairs during some mediocre screw, he feels bad for Russel and Noodle now.

However, half an hour into 2D’s dreams come true, the door slams open. 2D freezes up and Murdoc grabs him close and covers him up. Before 2D can even wonder who has stumbled in upon them, he melts at the fact that Murdoc is protecting him. He wraps his arms around Murdoc’s neck and kisses his chin.

“Damn it,” The intruder yells. “Stop that!”

Murdoc looks up to see Hannibal, and his grip on 2D’s lower back does not falter. “Get the f*ck out of here, dude.” He rolls his eyes.

Hannibal shakes his head. “He’s only here with you so that you’ll still be drooling over him instead of happy.”

Murdoc kisses under 2D’s ear, sucking at his earlobe and whispering, “He’s lying because he’s insecure. I want you to drool over me and be happy at the same time.”

2D wonders how in the hell he can be turned on and terrified at the same time. If Hannibal can beat the sh*t out of the man that can beat the sh*t out of him, then there’s definitely room to be scared, but he feels so protected, and f*ck does he love being watched.

“I’m going to kill you,” Hannibal growls.

2D turns to look at Hannibal, and his neck is sore from all of the kisses. “Hannibal,” He stumbles to grab Murdoc’s hand, and squeezes it. “I don’t want to be with you anymore. There’s nothing you can do.”

Hannibal balls his hands into fists, but he knows that at the current moment, the ball isn’t his court. He looks at Murdoc and leaves the room, and although 2D sighs with relief and presses his lips to Murdoc’s, Murdoc knows that that isn’t the end.

Regardless, 2D grabs him and pulls him into horizontal position, whispering over and over that there’s nothing to worry about, that he’s so close and he refuses to let Hannibal get in the way of their first night together. Perhaps it is out of spite, but it is more likely that it is because hearing 2D whining like a puppy who sees bacon on the table makes him feel like an adonis, and seeing 2D’s face all flushed, red from his chest to the tips of his ears with swollen and wet lips and big, wide eyes, does much more than just imagining everything in his head.

The next morning, ticklish kisses along the curve of 2D’s shoulder blade wake him up. He expects to feel a smooth nose against his skin next, and the wave of disappointment to wash over him once again, but when an oily set of bumps follows those rough lips, bliss fills him like liquor into a solo cup. He turns himself around and meets gazes with a sleepy bassist. He’s never seen Murdoc sleepy before. He’s seen him tired, and that’s a frightening thing to wake up to, but a sleepy man that’s covering him in kisses? His face is soft and the wrinkles that usually adorn his cheeks and forehead are nowhere to be seen.

“Morning,” Murdoc’s sleepy voice is so much better than Hannibal’s. It is deep and gruff and although his throat is smooth from all of what he had been doing to 2D last night it sounds like he is gargling rocks.

“Morning,” 2D giggles like a schoolgirl who has just been noticed by the football quarterback. His hands rub at Murdoc’s shoulders, and he kisses his jawline to try and relieve some stress.

Murdoc rubs at 2D’s lower back and hums. “Did you sleep well?”

2D grins. He can’t believe that he’s lying here, that Murdoc didn’t slip away in the middle of the night. His back lifts under Murdoc’s hands and he feels like a teenage boy in love. His hand slips up to Murdoc’s cheek. “I passed out the moment I finished.”

“I know,” Sharp nails meet soft flesh as he draws patterns on 2D’s skin.

“That’s sore,” 2D groans. Murdoc moves his hand farther upward.

Murdoc kisses his forehead and whispers. “Can I ask what this makes us?”

2D had never imagined that Murdoc would be the one to ask anything about the status of their relationship. He’s seeing a whole new side of him, from the shagging that Murdoc was not lying about when he said it would be miles better than anything he’d ever had to the sweetness that he’s never seen from the man.

“I don’t know. Labels are immature, aren’t they?” 2D is a very immature man. He would love to be Murdoc’s boyfriend. The thought of it makes his heart swell up, but he’d rather not scare Murdoc off the moment he has him in his grasp.

Murdoc pulls him closer, his voice lower. “Maybe, but I don’t want you seeing anyone else.”

2D shudders, willingly leaning into him.

Murdoc buries his face in 2D’s neck, kissing him roughly. “I don’t want anyone else doing this to you,” He grumbles, pulling him into his lap.

Murdoc’s possessiveness makes 2D blush all over. He’s never been wanted so badly, and if he hadn’t believed Murdoc the night before, he believes him now. He rests his hands on Murdoc’s shoulders and grins down at him. “I wouldn’t let them.”

If Murdoc hadn’t been so happy, he’d bring up 2D’s numerous affairs with his older brother, but now, he’s sure that there’s no chance of that happening again. He pulls him down and leaves kisses on his solar plexus, breaking only to whisper, “Now that I have you, I need a drink.”

2D whimpers. He’d been hoping that good morning would come with a round two, and sitting in Murdoc’s lap, he’d begun to expect it.

“What? No drinking?” Murdoc hopes that his grand gesture of temporary sobriety doesn’t mean that temporary will become permanent.

“Not yet,” 2D whines. He rubs at Murdoc’s chest.

Murdoc hums. “I am more sloppy when I’m drunk.”

The walk of shame down the stairs is worse than any he’s ever participated in. He limps right into the field of vision of his two roommates, Murdoc following closely behind with a giant triumphant smirk on his face and cigar in his mouth. Noodle and Russel look up from the couch and Noodle rolls her eyes at the sight of Murdoc’s hand in 2D’s back pocket.

“So Hannibal is gone now?” Noodle asks.

Russel rolls his eyes. “Wishful thinking.”

2D blinks with confusion, stopping at the end of the stairs. “You two knew?”

They both groan. “We knew,” Russel says. “You’ve been gone for a damn month. We also knew you two made up ‘cause you’re so damn loud.”

2D blushes. “Sorry.”

Murdoc guffaws. “Hell no I’m not sorry. If you two had any brains in you you would have seen this sh*t coming from miles away.”

“We did.” Noodle says. “It’s still unpleasant to hear.”

“You have a Winnebago for a reason, Murdoc.” Russel grunts.

“My apologies that someone kept on locking himself in his room.” Murdoc pulls 2D closer to him. “Next time we’ll take it to my Winne and you two can sleep in peace.” Murdoc walks to the kitchen and grabs a bottle of whiskey, popping it open.

2D sits on the couch next to Noodle and Russel, whimpering when he sits. “But yeah, I told Hannibal off and I don’t think he’s going to show up again.”

Russel shakes his head. “Nah, man. It’s not even about the money anymore. Now it’s brotherhood. An older brother can never let his younger brother show him up, especially when there’s a lady involved.” Russel catches himself. “Sorry, man. But what I’m saying is, this isn’t over until Hannibal wins or dies.”

2D looks at Russel with fear. “Dies?”

“Maybe not dies. But something like that. They’ve still gotta duke it out. This is just the eye of the storm.”

2D sits uneasily on the couch, dread spreading over him until Murdoc roughly plops down next to 2D and wraps an arm around him, kissing him on the cheek with whiskey covered lips. Tingles spread through his body from his cheek to his toes, replacing his dread, and he thinks that for now, the eye of the storm is alright.

Chapter 9: Finale

Chapter Text

Fall brings air so crisp it hurts to suck it in through the teeth, and burns against dry cracked skin. If one is lucky, it brings rough hands to sit against the flat of the tummy, and a prickly chin to press against the thin skin of the side of the neck. Stuart’s been lucky the past few months-- the eye of the storm seems to be in stasis, a velvety song on repeat, a never-ending dream with no details lost in the mind’s stupor, and he is in the thick of it. The warmth of kisses and frequent husky, near-breathless reassurances are almost enough to plunge the echo of Russell’s words from his head, but the hair on the back of 2D’s neck still stands up at the sight of each passerby in the streets.

“Do you think,” Stuart begins, and though he tries to avoid the pathetic habit, his fingers drum sorely against the railing before him.

“On occasion.” Murdoc’s wit is rare as his volatility has come to be, and yet around Stuart, he’s become sharp with the comfort.

“Stop.” There’s a lilt to his voice, a hint of amusem*nt, but it is overshadowed by nerves. “I meant do you think that, that we’re getting too comfortable?”

“With each other? Hell no.”

“Not that. I think you know what I mean.”

Murdoc’s hands fidget inside the pockets of Stuart’s jacket. He’d been trying to ignore the childlike fear of his brother’s sadism for as long as he’d been gone, but each uncharacteristically soft moment between the two had the taint of recurring distress from his youth-- it felt as if nothing had changed from those schoolyard days under the bleachers, wherein second base was interrupted time and time again by a crumpled uniform in a sickly yellow fist.

“I think that you have nothing to worry about, got it?” He removes himself from the jacket. Shaky hands light a cigarette, and he looks around with an edge of uncertainty.

The park around them is relatively empty, with only a few families here and there in the paths and a handful of dog-walkers, but Murdoc knows better than to hope that his brother has given up, or to think that he’s being overly cautious when he feels he’s being watched.

“I just really think that,” Stuart turns to Murdoc. He’s not used to this kind of coldness from him-- or rather, he’s much too used to it. “That we should be more careful, you know? I know you think you can protect me-- and, and I’m not saying that you can’t,” He feels himself spiraling into anxious tendencies once again. Usually, Murdoc would hold him and rub his arms and back into calm submission, but now he seems jittery and preoccupied. “But I don’t like seeing you hurt. I mean, I’ll admit that the idea of you all bloodied up is--

“Stu.” Murdoc grabs ahold of his shoulders, ashing his cigarette onto the arm of his jacket and brushing it off. “I don’t think you need to worry about me getting my ass kicked. I’m not the little kid I used to be. Hannibal has spent the last three decades doing f*ck-all in whatever little butthole town in the Eastern hemisphere, and that whole time I’ve spent having sex, doing drugs, and being a rock god. I think I’ll have the upper hand if anything happens.”

Stuart hates feeling this way, so weak, and especially in opposition to Murdoc. “But what about when he head-butted you? What if, if he’s been doing like, kung fu that whole time? You don’t know.”

“I guess I don’t, babe, but who cares? He’s too f*cking puss* to show his face for four months, and you think I’m still going to wet myself every time some bloke in a hoodie walks by?” Murdoc rubs Stuart’s shoulders. The intensity in his stare nearly makes Stuart believe that he trusts his own words. “I’m half inclined to think that this is all he wants! Can’t get my money, so he might as damn well try to embarrass the sh*t out of me before he f*cks off back to Asia.”

His shoulders go slack, just a bit, and he melts forward. “I just worry so much. Especially out in the open like this. I just got you and if I have to lose you just ‘cause you’ve got a sh*tty family, I’d be more than a little heartbroken.”

“You think I don’t know that? Let’s get the hell out of here if you’re getting anxious.”

Stuart appreciates the routine that’s fallen upon them. Their relationship began with a strange overwhelming affection on Murdoc’s end, and while the attention was more than just nice, he’d begun to wonder where the abrasive asshole he’d fallen for in the first place disappeared to. Now he’s got all of the affection and all of the irritation he’d always hoped would morph from angry and directed in terms of abuse to playful.

Murdoc opens the door to the Winnebago, and the stench of sex and dirty sheets singes 2D’s nostrils-- it’s a scent he may never get used to, but the fact that it’s the smell of his sex and not that of a groupie makes it a bit easier to handle. Stuart sits on the edge of Murdoc’s mattress and slips off his sneakers and jacket.

“I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to talk about this. I just feel like I’m being a gullible idiot again with this Hannibal business.”

Murdoc closes the door behind him, and the crisp air dissipates as quickly as the stale atmosphere of the Winne encompasses everything. “I really think it’s best we just wait for whatever’s going to happen to happen. The man is a reckless fool. He’s my brother, for chrissakes.”

“Okay. Cuddles?”

“Sure.” Murdoc joins Stuart on the bed and pretends that he doesn’t like the idea of snuggling up to him.

Vengeance is a sweet thing. Smooth like suede and dark like the hilt of a knife, and nearly unreachable. Hannibal doesn’t know where to start. Though it has been months, he’s gotten nowhere, and not due to his shortcomings, though there are many. His supply of cash had run dry a week after he’d been kicked out of Kong, and the world is a cruel place when one has no certifiable skills. He’d been struggling to stay afloat, picking up odd jobs and all the while looking up at the looming building on the hill right out of his reach.

He doesn’t even want the money anymore. All he needs is to see his brother suffer, squeal like a pig and blubber like a fool, on his knees in front of him like a pathetic little worm. He’d considered just going home when he’d been denied, but there was no real home for him anywhere, anymore, and that darkness inside of him had once again bubbled up to the surface and taken the reins of his psyche.

It’s just a matter of time, he knows, before one of them walks down the street where he awaits, and silently he reaches out and pulls a struggling body into the dark, and from there everything is easy. That is, of course, assuming that Hannibal can wait any longer. He feels a madman from his anxious waiting, from the foaming of the mouth with impatience and the grime with which his body has been covered. His body has become weaker and weaker still with each day that goes by that he struggles to feed himself, and soon it will be that he cannot vigorously defeat his brother in any form of quarrel. Still, he’ll wait it out. He will-- it can’t be too long before one of them comes by, anyhow…

On occasion, when it is not too chilly and the sun stays out for over an hour, Murdoc likes to walk off the continually building torment inside of his head, and maybe stop by the gas station to grab some smokes and a soda. Usually, when he does so, his anxiety builds further, as being alone and out in the open is perhaps the most physically vulnerable he ever is, but he’d rather be attacked on his own than risk any damage to his fragile little singer, emotional or otherwise.

Anyways, it’s not often that he can be away from the band, and with the rarity of any form of paparazzi coming after him, the solitude is refreshing. He’d never spent much time thinking about his sexuality, but being tossed into something so severe and long term is something he thinks might be suffocating with any gender. And yet he wonders, not often, but often enough to linger in his mind, if this is what Hannibal wanted. Suffocation, tension, and the intimacy that Murdoc had always feared may just be what pushes Murdoc off of the edge and severs his ties with 2D as anything but a bandmate for good, and all due to Hannibal’s silent puppetry. Once he’s done with Stuart, Hannibal will be left to pick up the pieces, like some vicious do-over.

It’s not what Murdoc wants. He wants a slice of domestic bliss; the legs of a lover over his own in the musky bedroom they share and the stability he’d never had. He’d never expected Stuart to provide that, the dolt that he is, but here they are, in some kind of nuclear relationship, something that makes him happy (which he had not expected), and something not entirely centered around the sex (which he had really not expected). If Hannibal had any plans to ruin that by seeping into his mind, then he truly overestimated the brain damage either had.

Yet another man in a hoodie skitters past on Murdoc’s right. Damn teens, hooligans who can’t be bothered to dress themselves; the jolt he gets from the sight of the hoodie-clad strangers in his peripheral vision is enough to have him on edge for days. Out of the corner of his eye, they look alien, like masked goblins or bogeymen or some kind of freaks hell-bent on causing panic to the public, or like a brotherly fiend masked for the convenience of being inconspicuous while he stalks his prey. He shakes it off. He’s been sober-- or rather, less drunk-- for far too long. Perhaps it’s messing with his mental state.

Murdoc enters the gas station, and the ring of the door provides a bit of solace to his aching nerves. Hannibal wouldn’t be stupid enough to get at him in public.

“Marlboros?”

The clerk grabs him a package of sweet, sweet bliss. He hands a couple of bills in response.

“Oh, and also-- restroom is open, yeah?” He jiggles his leg. It’s a bit shameful that gas station restrooms are cleaner than the one in his Winne, but he’s a man beyond shame.

The clerk hands him a key.

“Thanks.”

He leaves the station and walks around the back. It’s begun to rain again. He pulls up his jacket and zips it, and picks up the pace to the restroom. The dilapidated port-a-potty is leaky, but the fat gobs of rainwater splashing from his shoulder to his cheek aren’t enough to take away from the feeling of pissing after a long day.

The wind picks up. The door to the port-a-potty slams against its frame and the hinges creak. Murdoc hadn’t bothered to lock it, but the wet wind against the back of his neck like cold breath is more than a bit unsettling, and suddenly he feels uneasy. He’s not done just yet, though, and though chills run down his spine, he readjusts and continues to piss.

“Caught you with your guard down, eh?”

f*ck. Murdoc turns around, and perhaps it is intentional that his stream continues onto the front of Hannibal’s pants. Hannibal jumps back, and the rain is pouring so hard that the discolored spot of piss on his jeans disappears within seconds. Meanwhile, Murdoc zips up his own and tries to shake off the nerves that have filled him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” Murdoc doesn’t leave the modest shelter.

“I told you this wasn’t over.” He looks horrible. “Do you think it won’t be easy for me to take your place again?” Hannibal advances, squeezing into the restroom and looking down on Murdoc.

“I think you’re thinking a little far ahead, brother. I don’t think you have the guts to kill me, else you’d’ve done it years ago.” Against his wishes, Murdoc’s voice falters.

A pinch in his side, like a side stitch from running; Murdoc looks down and Hannibal is holding the hilt of a switchblade to his side, through the jacket and his shirt.

“I didn’t have no reason years ago.” There’s a glint in Hannibal’s eyes--one that Murdoc might have remembered, but there’s something different about it now. It’s lost any familiarity, any humanity--it’s feral now.

Murdoc tries to stall him, wondering if it’s in his best interest to pull the blade from his side. “You’d do it for money? Is that it?”

“Hell yeah, it is.” Hannibal pushes the blade further into him.

Murdoc winces. “I’m broke, you dunce! I ain’t got a dime to my name--spent it all on speed, is that what you need to hear?”

Hannibal falters, then shakes his head and regains his force. “I’ll trick the kid, get him to fork it over.” It’s too late.

Murdoc grits his teeth and pulls the switchblade from his side, and pushes himself onto Hannibal, plunging it into his thigh. They fall from the port-a-potty, and Murdoc has him pinned into the mud.

“I’ll f*cking kill you first. You won’t lay a hand on him.” Murdoc can feel his pulse in the hands that grasp for Hannibal’s neck, in the veins in his neck that now feel so dreadfully vulnerable, filling his ears and drowning out the sound of the rain hitting the ground around him.

Hannibal struggles to push Murdoc off of him, for once unable to regain the upper hand. “And what if I already have? You’ve been out a while, no?”

Murdoc grabs the switchblade from Hannibal’s thigh, but it doesn’t feel like enough. He tosses it, and for once in his lowly life, he feels empowered over his brother. He pummels Hannibal in the nose, unable to get any words out, seeking reciprocity for years of scar tissue.

Hannibal coughs up blood in between punches--it mixes with the mud and rain around them, an amalgamation of dirty, vulgar things. He grabs Murdoc’s fist, holding it from his face. He can speak no words, only cough up blood and bits of chipped teeth.

Murdoc struggles to push against Hannibal’s hand. The rain pounds against them, clearing Hannibal’s face of blood as soon as more spills out. His nose is mangled, swollen, and already it’s beginning to bruise. It looks worse than Murdoc’s. Hannibal sits up a bit, letting more blood spill from his mouth, and Murdoc’s heart is beating too fast to push him back down.

“f*cker.” Hannibal manages to cough out. It’s gurgled, barely intelligible, but Murdoc’s heard it enough times to understand.

He can’t help it--he feels thrown back to childhood and the helplessness of his weak little boy body. “Why’d you have to come around and f*ck it all up? Why’d you have’ta come back?”

Hannibal forces out a laugh. He flips Murdoc over, and his snot and blood fall onto Murdoc’s face in hot drops. “You never had a f*cking chance.”

Murdoc squeezes his eyes shut, awaiting the inevitable feeling of knuckles against cartilage, but instead, he feels a relief of pressure on his chest. Cautiously, his eyes open, and he sees the flash of a cloaked man wearing a gas mask rounding the corner away from him, and a gangled mess of red, green, and brown flailing close behind. His heart beats out of his chest, but he’s not the kind of man to look a gift horse in the mouth. He slowly brings himself to his knees and then stands. He’d better bandage himself up before Stuart sees.

Chapter 10: Epilogue

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe you got mugged like that.” Stuart shakily wraps a bandage around Murdoc’s waist--Murdoc’s hastily applied plaster hadn’t been sufficient--and applies pressure to the wound. “You could’ve died.”

Murdoc winces at the pressure. Stuart is using a gauze pad, but Murdoc can feel his fingers penetrating the gash through it. “I’m fine. I wouldn’t go off and die without telling you first.”

Stuart is teary-eyed. “What if, if I’d never heard from you again?”

Murdoc rolls his eyes, though he’d worried about that, too. “You don’t have to worry about that. I can handle myself.”

“What if it had been Hannibal, out to get you? What if he’d killed you?”

Murdoc hadn’t told him all of the details. In retrospect, he wonders if telling him everything would have alleviated some worry on Stuart’s part about the looming threat of vengeance, but he didn’t want to hear the griping about safety.

“I think I could kick Hannibal’s ass.”

Stuart finishes off the bandage. Still shaky, he puts everything back into a first aid kit and sets it aside, then snuggles up to Murdoc. “Is this okay? Are you sore?”

“Bloody hell, Stu. I’m alright. Quit your moaning.” Murdoc pulls him tighter and kisses his temple. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, got it? I’ll take care of everything. You’re safe now.”

“What are you talking about?” Stuart sits up, that puppy-dog expression overtaking his face.

“Don’t worry about it. Just trust me.” Murdoc kisses him again, this time on the lips.