Title: A King is Not a Pawn

Chapter: Chapter 2

Pairing: Murdoc/2D

Genre: Romance/Angst

Rating: R - NC-17

Summary: During his many moments alone, 2D wonders what he's doing on Plastic Beach and what the hell is going on in Murdoc's head. Murdoc meanwhile is trying very hard to obey a self-imposed rule he swore never to break.

A/N: Based on what I have seen from seen from the new source material, I might be weaving some of the new info into the narrative at a later date. Gods, I love being in this fandom.

Would also like to note, trying to make 2D sound like himself while still trying to make everything legible and un-jarring is bloody hard. That is all.

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2D cringed when his eyes met those of his band leader. Damn. He would have to do without food and booze that day; he would most likely be spending the rest of it unconscious. He looked away when the stare he was receiving started to make him uncomfortable, and his gaze landed on the screen in front of Murdoc. His own image flashed across the screen in silhouette, mouthing the words to a ghostly tune. It was footage from the Clint Eastwood video. Evidently the bass player was getting nostalgic again. There was a half-empty bottle of rum being cradled in his lap, and three more soldiers at his feet. Definitely nostalgia.

"I asked you a question, dullard!" the man growled. "Why are you up here? Do you want me to open the curtains again so Mr. Whale can say hello?"

2D shivered unpleasantly and shook his head. "Look," he said with a sigh, "can I just come up for a few sodding minutes? I'm hungry, Muds. And me head is killing me."

Murdoc eyed the younger man suspiciously, and took a deep swig from his bottle. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. Finally, he nodded. "Alright. Might as well have company. Misery just adores Company."

The singer blinked in surprise. Wow, it actually worked.

2D nodded (an imitation of gratitude) and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. He emerged a few minutes later with a plate. He had somehow managed to scrape together two toasted cheese and egg sandwiches. He sat down opposite the Satanist and took a bite out of a sandwich hungrily, watching the screen in front of them. "So, whatcha doing?"

Murdoc grunted and kept watching the screen. 2D chewed on his sandwich patiently. He didn't mind too much if the man didn't answer him, but was sure he'd eventually find out why he was getting shitfaced at four in the morning. Or not; it wasn't a terribly unusual thing for Murdoc to do.

As he expected, the Satanist finished another bottle, dropped it, and sighed loudly. "Has it really been over a decade since we started this band?" he said miserably.

The singer blinked a few times and carried on eating his toasted sandwich. He hadn't really thought about it, but that sounded sort of accurate. "Yeah, yeah it has," he said through a mouth of food.

The Satanist looked down at his plate, sharp tongue peeking through his lips. 2D followed his gaze and decided he could probably sacrifice one sandwich as a peace offering. He held the uneaten one out for Murdoc, who eyed it carefully before taking it. "Thanks. Been a while since I've seen anything decent come out of that place," he said, scowling at the kitchen. The man had never been any good at cooking. He tried to fry raw spaghetti once.

"Doesn't that Tattoo bloke do your meals?" said 2D. Murdoc scowled and shook his head. "Terrible at cooking anything that isn't soup. His mash looks like grey sludge and smells like old cat food. I'd rather take my chances with Superfast Jellyfish than that tripe. Barred him from the kitchen."

The bassist bit hungrily into the sandwich. Two more bites, and the whole thing had vanished. He licked his lips in satisfaction. "Much obliged faceache. Tell you what, go make me another one of those, and you can have a whole damn bottle of my rum to yourself."

Liking the idea of something he didn't have to share with Murdoc Niccals for once, the singer got up and retreated back to the kitchen. Five minutes later, a sandwich was presented, and a full bottle of cheap rum was traded for it. 2D grinned and took a healthy swig. "Cheers Muds."

Murdoc fished out a new bottle for himself from a nearby crate and sat back down with a groan. They sat in silence for quite some time before either felt the need to say anything. 2D watched as a new video started up. Manic laughter filled the room as the familiar tower of hedonism appeared on screen. His image stumbled across a room filled with sated bodies and lustful hands. The bass-player who would eventually drag him off to this island against his will rose up from the ground half-naked and played a licentious tune, pleasing his worshippers.

2D looked away from the screen and glance over to see Murdoc wince at the adoration his past-self was being shown. The singer shook his head. How stupid could he be? Surely he must have realised that building a fortress that was the furthest point on Earth from any continent would mean he had zero chance of getting any action for the foreseeable future?

He was roused from his ponderings by the sound of Murdoc yanking down hard on the screen and letting it shoot back up. The bassist swore loudly and gulped down a little more rum. "Sweet Satan, a couple of birds would be lovely right now…not a single chubby Goth girl as far as the eye can see!" he lamented.

The singer felt the Ghost of Sympathy pass briefly through him before disappearing and being replaced by the Spirit of Schadenfreude. He kept his face as neutral as ever, but inside he was laughing his arse off. The bastard had it coming.

He watched as Murdoc sank back down into the couch and took another swig. Did he even have a liver anymore? Deciding he didn't care either way, he drank deeply from his own bottle. The bass-player peered over at him, appearing to be lost in thought.

Murdoc watched the other man nervously, doing so in the most subtle way he was capable of. His mind, which was usually content to switch to a lower gear when fed alcohol, buzzed like an angry hive. He wasn't pleased; neither his senses nor his emotions were completely under his control, and it meant that literally anything could happen. In all likeliness, it would just result in his singer receiving a couple new bruises. It was his default solution to any sort of internal grievance. But there was always the chance that he could just snap and take-

No. Definitely not. Uh-uh.

He shook his head vigorously in the hopes that that would clear it. No such luck. He swallowed a few more ponies of rum. No, that didn't help either; just made the buzzing worse.

Murdoc opted instead to try conversation.

"So, uh…2D…" he fished for some topic that wouldn't result in a ten-second dialogue. 2D looked at him curiously. "Yeah? What?"

"The reviews for that little project of yours are pretty good. Well, NME liked it. Uh…tell me, how did you make it again?" he said, hating that he asked a question he didn't care enough about to want to hear the answer to.

"iPad. Told you, just sat in the dressing rooms on tour, playing with apps and that." He didn't know why Murdoc felt the need to ask about things he already knew, but whatever. As long as it kept him upstairs away from the whale with something to soothe his aching skull, he didn't mind too much.

"Right, right. Apps and all that…" Murdoc scrambled for something more interesting to talk about. He chugged half his remaining rum. "Hmm…how…hang on, getting a little warm, haha…"

A jumper was removed and thrown in a corner as Murdoc shuffled a little closer and got comfortable again. "Right…are you enjoying the DVDs?"

2D was caught off guard. "Er…yeah…they're nice. Cake Fear is a bit weird, but I liked most of 'em. The Iceman Cometh Again was really watchable," he grinned widely.

Murdoc nodded emphatically and eyed the singer again. There was a slight sparkle in the man's dark eyes, which made them glow in a faint red. It was the main reason the singer had taken to wearing sunglasses to photoshoots during their early years. Blood-filled eyes were occasionally prone to freaking out the photographers. Murdoc never understood that, personally; he thought they were rather nifty, even if it did mean the blue-haired twat looked like a Hatchetfish. The Satanist looked down at his bottle. Definitely time for more rum.

After raiding the rum crate a few more times and chatting about reggae, pirates and horrible TV shows for an hour, 2D came to the realization that Murdoc had slowly edged closer to the point where they were shoulder to shoulder. The singer raised an eyebrow when Murdoc proceeded to shorten the distance between them even more by throwing an arm lazily around him.

"…so as it turned out, she wasn't even actually a real bearded lady! In a fog of tequila and novocaine I'd been chatting up Russell Brand all evening! Never trust tequila, mate. Still…it was a good bit o' handy-panky, hurhurhur…"

"Yeah…tequila don't mix too well with meds…" 2D laughed nervously. The hand on his shoulder was fiddling with the material of his shirt and occasionally tracing circles on his flesh. It was quite alarming; the bassist rarely got this touchy without it eventually leading to some kind of violence.

"You know, it's good to see you up here, old pal. We don't talk very much, do we? Oh, what a pity. Hmmm…well, suppose that's my doing really; can't stand to be around you for any great length of time. You really twist with my melon 2D, you know that?" said Murdoc, scowling at him, but still not moving the hand. "Hrrrnf…it's like when you put a phone next to a radio. Messes with the signal something awful."

2D raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Oh? Why's that?"

The Satanist laughed bitterly, "As if I'd tell you, you stupid ponce! I'd bet you'd love to know what goes on in Murdy-Wurdy's head, wouldn't you?" The man blinked heavily, as if the lights above him suddenly hurt his eyes.

2D winced and shook his head. "No…I was just curious, is all. Never knew I messed with your head." He dreaded the next couple of minutes. Bruises were surely on the horizon.

"Hrn. 'S what I thought, faceache," said Murdoc. And then he leaned forward suddenly and kissed 2D hard on the mouth. He then proceeded to pass out on top of him.

To say that the singer was shocked would be an understatement; he certainly wasn't expecting that to happen again.

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(Well, that wasn't bigger. It was shorter. :/ But it just felt unnatural to cut it any other way. Next chapter will be up as soon as I can manage it.)

P.S. Google "Hatchetfish" :D