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“Talk to me about how it’s gonna be,” Stuart said, nudging at Murdoc’s arm. “When- you know.”
Murdoc regarded him. It had been wildly easy to coax the lad away from his mum and dad and his piddly shop job and his old life, really. The promise of fame, a bit of well placed flattery, and that was it. And he was learning now, as he got to know him, that there really wasn’t much to know. Stu had the biggest ego he’d ever seen, one which he was happy to stroke, and other than that, he was a bit of a horny, empty shell.
“Murdoc,” Stu said, louder. “Tell me about-”
“What it’s gonna be like, yeah?” Murdoc finished, joint between his fingers.
Stu nodded.
“Well, goes without saying, but everyone on earth’s gonna want to get near us. Radio shows, mags, everyone. You know how those wankers are, they see the nearest, brightest star and hitch their carriage right up.” He snorted. “So we’ll have our pick, and we’ll only do the classest mags. Build up this cutting, quick reputation. Real witty, you know.”
He was losing Stu somewhat, and he knew it, because he was going into his own fantasies of clever quips in interviews, of talking and having everyone listen. If he didn’t centre the narrative on Stu soon the lad would completely lose the plot.
“Here’s a regular day, how a regular day will go,” he continued. “We’ll do an interview like that, and then we’ll do a real proper show. Massive venue, obviously sold out. I reckon ticket scalpers’ll have the times of their little lives whenever we play. People will give an arm and a leg to see us. And we’ll sound bloody fantastic.”
He was starting to get Stu’s attention now, he could tell by the way his usually languid, unbothered limbs had gone fidgety.
“Yeah, course we will, I mean- you singing, no way in hell we won’t sound just fucking unreal.”
Stu’s hand found his, clumsily sneaking the joint out from between his fingers and pulling it up to his own mouth. He was absolutely riveted. It was funny, really.
“We won’t have any shoddy openers; it’ll just be us, straight from the start,” he went on. “And you-” He levelled a finger at Stu, jabbing it into his chest. “You’ll look fucking- you’ll- the stage lights’ll do something with your hair, it’ll look bloody electric. You’ll look fucking fit, I’ll look fucking fit, and there won’t be a person in the place that doesn’t know it.”
Stu nodded, blowing out a lungful of smoke. “Right,” he agreed, quiet. “Bang on.”
“Yeah.” Murdoc laughed. “And we'll finish up our set, won’t be a dry cunt in the house, and then off we’ll go, I suppose.” He snatched the joint back. “Clubbing, I reckon we should go clubbing. Nice to finish off a show with a bit of clubbing.”
“S’at what you do?” Stu asked.
He knew that it was mocking; the second Stu had learned about his old bands, the lad had been quick to set into him for it. He laughed. “I did, yeah. It’s nice, though. I mean, blindingly bright lights, a thousand people screaming your name, to go from that to just… slipping into a crowd in the dark somewhere.”
Stu seemed to consider, but it took him overly long to do any considering of any sort, so Murdoc reckoned it would be alright to carry on.
“Only, you wouldn’t blend in, I don’t think. You know, people would keep it quiet first, out of respect, but even over the music you’ll hear whispers, yeah? That’s- holy fuck, that’s- is that- that’s Stuart Pot, isn’t it?” He said it in a stage whisper. “And then everyone’s gonna want to talk to you, just for a second, but they’ll be happy - they’ll be lucky - to get that second. You can have anything you like, do anything you like. And if you don’t see anyone you want to take to the toilets there just go down the street, find another club. It’ll be the same everywhere. Everyone in the world’s gonna know that face.” He touched a finger to Stu's forehead.
Stu brushed him off, in reverie.
“And that’ll be a standard day, I figure. I’ll bundle you off and take you home at the end of the night to keep you out of trouble.” Murdoc shrugged. “It’ll be nice, eh?” Really, nice didn’t even begin to cover it.
Stu nodded readily, reaching for the joint.
Murdoc took another hit and gave it back to him. He noticed, with a snort of laughter he was unable to stop, that Stu was pitching a bit of a tent. He stuck a leg over, tapping the toe of his boot between Stu’s legs.
Stu frowned, dropping a hand down to guard himself.
Murdoc laughed harder, and heaved himself up to grab the bottle of rum perched on the countertop. He sunk back down to the floor of the winne, just wondering for the first time why they hadn’t sat on the bed instead. It had slipped their minds in the rush to get high, he figured. “So, what, is it the sound of my lovely voice? You know, I’ve been told it can have that effect.”
“You’ve got the fucking mankiest voice I’ve ever heard,” Stu said, easily.
“Do your second and third most manky voices get you hard too?”
“Only if they’re telling me stuff like how I’m gonna look on stage.” Stu laughed, and tucked his legs up to his chest, resting his chin on his knees.
“Ah, of course. I could keep on, you know, talk you through it.” He leaned back against the foot of the built in sofa behind him. “Cost you ten quid, though.”
Stu laughed again, and then so did he.
“No smart call girl works for free, that’s common sense, that is,” he said, through chuckles.
“If you really were a call girl at least I wouldn’t have to see you,” Stu pointed out.
“Yeah, yeah.” Murdoc could tell that the lad was really quite embarrassed. He’d been growing slowly accustomed to Murdoc’s own shameless ways, but there was still a sea of difference between them. And Stu was playing along well, keeping up, but his body language said clear enough he was uncomfortable.
“I’m putting a tape on,” Murdoc announced. “What do you want, Sergeant Pepper’s?”
“Not the fucking Beatles,” Stu replied.
“They really were right shit, weren’t they?” Murdoc took a gulp of liquor, and then got up again to go through his box of tapes. He found Sergeant Pepper’s and glared down at it. He loved that album. “Beginning of the pop epidemic, the Beatles.” He stuck it in the tape deck and sat back down.
Stu groaned as he heard the album begin. “Really?”
Murdoc shrugged. “Enjoy, sweetums.”
Stu scowled at him. “My dad listens to this one all the time. Figures you’d go for it; it’s in your age bracket.”
Murdoc leaned over and slapped the side of his head. “Get away with that, will you?”
“Ha.” Stu rubbed his head where Murdoc had hit him, mussing already mussed hair further. He kept shifting, little movements this way and that.
Murdoc watched him, trying not to laugh, until it was getting a little painful even for him, and he said, “If you need to have a wank, have a wank. Just don’t get your spunk all on the carpet.”
“Why, s’that reserved for your spunk?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, it is,” Murdoc replied, deadpan.
Stu pulled a face, lifting his hand up from where it was resting on the carpet. “You’re fucking foul, Murdoc, like, really.”
“Cheers to that.” Murdoc raised the bottle of rum.
Stu looked away from him. He flexed his hands, rubbing them over his knees. “I don’t want you watching.”
“I’m not watching.” Murdoc snorted. “Dunno why I’d want to. I’d probably be pressed to find something that'd make me softer, you know?”
“You tell yourself that,” Stu said, but a second later he asked, uncomfortable, “Would you turn your back?”
“Are you joking? What are we, ten years old?” Murdoc gave a colossal eye roll, but he turned. He pulled the bag and papers from where they sat on the sofa and began rolling another joint. Halfway through, he stopped, let the paper flatten out in order to go up and crank the volume on the tape deck so as not to hear.
He sat back down, finished rolling the joint. He lit it. He took a hit, and resolved that he really ought to just shill out a few extra quid for herb that wasn’t absolute shit next time he had to buy some. Thing was, he couldn’t hear anything beyond Stu’s breathing, heavy. No movement. Well, maybe the lad had gotten too embarrassed, or maybe he’d just really mastered the art of knocking one out quietly.
He didn’t really care either way, and he tuned in to Lucy in the Sky instead. Lovely voice, that John.
It was sudden when Stu kissed the side of his neck.
“Hullo,” he said, laughing, wondering what was going on in Stu’s head. “I know, I’m hard to resist from behind. Showing off my best angles.”
“I don’t know,” Stu mumbled. “It just didn’t feel fair to get off alone when there’s two of us here.”
That made Murdoc cackle. “A good samaritan, then, is that what you are? Unbelievable, fucking unbelievable.”
Stu bit at his neck, drawing heavy breaths against him.
He realised that Stu had just been sitting back there working up courage to do this. It was funny, wasn’t it? There had to be a joke here, if he looked into it. Then again, everything about Stu was a joke.
Stu reached one of his long, large hands around, grabbing Murdoc’s shirt at the chest, just holding on. “You want me, right?” he asked.
Murdoc laughed again, unable not to. It was a laughable situation. He took a hit, not wanting to let the joint burn away in his hand, and he tilted his head to the side, giving Stu a little more room to work with. “So bad it keeps me up every night.”
Stu hummed, not picking up on the sarcasm.
“One request,” Murdoc continued. “If you’re going to fuck me do it on the bed. Or the sofa, I suppose, if you want to go a little more bohemian.”
“Bohemian,” Stu echoed.
“Unconventional. You know. Not your mum and dad’s white fence and garden.”
“Well- we’re in a motorhome, isn’t that bohemian enough?”
Murdoc laughed at that.
Quiet, Stu asked, “You mean it?”
“Mean what?”
“That I can…”
“Have a shag? I don’t see why not.” He focused on his joint for a minute. Maybe he should be thinking about not ruining working partnerships and such. But, then, he and Stu weren’t quite equal partners, and they certainly weren’t working. Plus, that whole line of thought was so negative, and he fancied sticking to the positives, him.
Stu groaned softly, hand fumbling at Murdoc’s chest for a better grip in the fabric.
“Try not to come in your pants, alright?” Murdoc reached back behind him, locating Stu’s head. He ran his hand through the greasy hair; the lad needed a trim, he noted.
“As if,” Stu huffed. He was being passively handsy, making the ghosts of moves.
Murdoc tipped his head back, resting it on Stu’s shoulder. He delighted in the mixed emotions on Stu’s face: arousal, obviously, but also distaste. Good. Murdoc revelled in watching it for a moment, revelled the feel of Stu’s hand on his thigh. “Give us a kiss, come on.”
Before Stu could move to do it, Murdoc took a hit, almost enough to finish the joint off, and held it. He smiled as widely as he could without letting any smoke go.
Stu kissed him, really sinking into him.
Murdoc shotgunned it, breathing the smoke into Stu’s mouth. When he broke off, he finally turned back to face Stu, and handed him what was left of the joint. “You have that. And fetch yourself a condom; they’re on the nightstand.”
He stood up and retreated to the bed, unzipping his boots and dropping them with a clatter.
“Do I have to?” Stu looked absolutely ridiculous, such a long body, kneeling with such poor posture. It wasn’t often that he looked small, but he looked small now.
“Yes, or no deal at all. I don’t want your diseases.” Murdoc pulled his shirt off, looking up after the fabric went over his head to grin one of his nastier grins. “And I’m fairly sure you don’t want mine, either.”
Stu got up and stumbled over to the nightstand in agreement, muttering something about what a minging sod Murdoc was.
“Good sweet talk, that. Keep it up,” Murdoc told him, moving on to getting out of his jeans.
Condom in hand, Stu stood at the edge of the bed, still. After a moment of silence he shook his head, and said, “I can’t.”
“You can’t,” Murdoc repeated. “Getting cold feet?”
“No, I-” Stu frowned. Utterly somber head to toe, he delivered, “I can’t bugger you with the Beatles on, Murdoc, I just- I can’t do it.”
And Murdoc laughed, a real, genuine laugh that took him quite by surprise. It was funny. For as much as the past few months since Stu woke up had been misery, he was laughing a lot more now too. “Right,” he managed, and then jabbed a thumb in the general direction of the tape deck. “Oh, but not even Fixing a Hole? That’s what you’ll be doing, isn’t it?”
A blank, confused look on Stu’s face.
Murdoc shook his head. “S’nothing, div.” He reached over and shut the tape off. “Better?”
“Yeah, loads.” Stu was frozen for a moment, looking almost comically between the condom and the waistband of his joggers, until he came to a conclusion and stuck the rubber, still in its package, into his mouth, leaving both hands free to do away with his trousers.
Murdoc watched him stumble out of them. “Come here.”
Stu did, kneeling on the bed. He was so tall, even on his knees, and he pulled the condom back out of his mouth. He stayed there for a moment, chest heaving like he’d just run a mile. Then he dropped his head once again to Murdoc’s neck, biting and kissing.
“Is this what the kids are doing now? Skip snogging altogether, just go straight to this?” He pulled Stu closer, pulled them both down til he was on his back in bed.
“I don’t like your tongue,” Stu admitted, unapologetic.
“A good honest man,” Murdoc muttered. “You’d probably like it on your cock, though, so I wouldn’t get too ahead of yourself.”
Stu made a choked sound, hand coming up to close in Murdoc’s hair.
“Not saying we’re going that way today,” Murdoc continued, raking his nails up Stu’s back in a way that made Stu gasp. “Maybe next time. Keep your hopes up.”
Stu didn’t reply, seeming wholly focused on rubbing himself against Murdoc’s thigh.
And Murdoc let him, for a while. He stayed more or less still, pinned beneath him, and let the incessant sting of Stu pulling at his hair and the light brushes of Stu’s hip against his groin get him hard. He wouldn’t be able to do this with anyone; he wasn’t a schoolkid anymore. No, he’d usually need a hand on him, whether it be on his cock or slapping him around.
Stu was just, oddly enough, his own coveted personal wet dream come to life, in the flesh. Perfectly tailored to fit everything he wanted. It was embarrassing, almost, being subjugated by desire for someone so unimpressive. He liked the feel of that embarrassment, familiar, comfortable.
After a solid bit of grinding, though, he started to worry about Stu’s stamina, and reminded him, “I said not to come in your pants, if you can help it.”
Stu sighed, made a few more movements against him, and then pushed himself up, sitting back on his heels. He caught his breath, running his hands back through his hair, and then he rearranged himself to pull his briefs off.
Murdoc watched him, hungry, and then with growing disdain as he saw a little smile blossom on Stu’s face, which grew into a low, messy giggle. He kicked Stu’s thigh, and hissed, “What?”
“Fixing a Hole,” Stu replied, feeling around in the sheets for his condom. “That was funny, Murdoc.”
Murdoc let his head fall back against the pillow, disbelieving. “Did it really take you that long to put it together?”
“It wasn’t that long.” Stu shrugged, tearing the package open and rolling the condom on. He looked down at his cock. “Bet you’re really gagging for it, aren’t you.” He said it quietly.
“Which porno did you get that one from?” Murdoc inquired. “Tell me another. Ooh, here’s a challenge - pull it from something filmed pre-1990.”
Stu frowned, looking deflated.
And Murdoc laughed, sighed. “No, honestly- honestly? Honestly-” He sighed again, angling his head on the pillow to see Stu better. He ought to play to the lad’s ego, if only because it was so fun to watch how easily Stu fell prey to it. “Honestly, you’re a dream.”
Which was completely true, really. Fucking sad as it was. The first time he saw Stu awake, that night in the rain, Stu standing slowly like something out of an old black and white horror flick, that was really it. Got him hard just thinking about it, sometimes.
“Yeah?” Stu leaned back over him, smile coming back. He pressed a kiss to Murdoc’s chest. “You think about me?”
“All the time, lovey.” Murdoc overdid the sarcasm just to make sure Stu got it. He reached down between them, giving Stu’s cock a few strokes, and used his other arm to prop himself up a bit, enough to whisper in Stu’s ear. “You should consider yourself lucky, actually. You’re one of my favourite fantasies.”
Stu exhaled sharply, curling his body in somewhat over Murdoc’s.
“If you don’t fuck me right now,” Murdoc continued, jerking Stu off a little quicker, “I dunno what I’ll do.” He was saying it purely for Stu’s benefit, and most of it was solely coming from a place of wanting to see how worked up Stu would get over baseline dirty talk. “Just- get on with it. I need it.”
“Yeah,” Stu breathed. “Yeah, I’ll bet you do. Slut.” Then his face flushed, as if he was embarrassed by his own bedroom talk.
It made Murdoc chuckle, and it also made him want to hear more of that in Stu’s voice, wanted it to be more demeaning. “There’s a thing of lube on the shelf, you know.”
“I’ll, um- I’ll get it in a second, I just-” Stu was staring down at him, still flushed, and he reached down to palm Murdoc through his pants.
Murdoc tipped his head back, and didn’t keep himself quiet. Obviously for Stu’s benefit, but that’s who he was; an entertainer. It was undeniably nice to finally have some actual stimulation, too. He rocked up into it, and let out a whine when Stu pulled his hand away.
While Stu looked through the rubbish on the nightstand for lube, Murdoc shed his pants and dropped them off the side of the bed. It kept hitting him how lucky he was. Not only had the prettiest person on the planet been basically dropped right into his lap, but said person was too horny to ignore the convenience of Murdoc, and too bloody stupid to know better. Luckiest man alive, him, he reckoned.
Stu came up with lube eventually, and, unsurprisingly, the way he went about prepping was blatantly inexperienced. He lubed his cock up, fucked a bit of the way into Murdoc, pulled out, more lube, pressed in a little further, and so on.
Murdoc liked how messy it was, actually. That, and he didn’t have the patience to teach Stu the step by step of doing it well. Maybe next time. He hooked a leg over Stu’s hip, pulling Stu closer, grinding up against him best he could. “Do me a favour, would you?”
“Mm?” Stu’s teeth were buried in his lip, head hanging down between his shoulders as he started to move in rhythm.
“Let me see your eyes.” Murdoc angled his hips differently to take it better, wishing Stu would do him the dignity of fucking him with a little more violence. He grabbed Stu’s jaw, pushing his face up.
Stu opened his eyes. Two black pools. Murdoc’s own creation.
“Because people are so fucking stupid, and they’ll fancy blue eyes, or- or brown, or- no, it’s black. Black eyes, your eyes, that’s what they should be drooling over. Fuck.”
Stu’s breath hitched, and his eyes fell shut for a second before he forced them back open. He was flushed to an almost ungainly degree. He shifted a hand back to Murdoc’s hair, holding him down against the pillow. “Tell me about- talk about what it’ll be like. Again. Please.” His voice was breathy, whiny.
Murdoc managed one syllable of a laugh. “No. I think I’m gonna tell you about the night we first met.”
Stu slowed down slightly, as if he couldn’t both listen and fuck hard at the same time. Maybe he couldn’t; Murdoc had never known him to be a multitasker.
“You probably don’t remember it,” he continued, reaching down to jerk himself off. He dug the nails of his other hand into Stu’s shoulder.
“I remember being in hospital, and, um- my mum crying,” Stu supplied.
“Stellar dirty talk, there. Smashing.”
Stu leaned down and pressed a kiss to Murdoc’s lips. “Keep on?”
It took Murdoc somewhat by surprise. “I just- I’ll never forget how you looked. It was raining, and-” Stu hit a spot inside him that sent a shudder through him. “That’s good, keep doing that. And the headlights lit you up as you stood. And to me- I was already seeing stage lights, me.”
Stu dropped his head down onto Murdoc’s shoulder, let out a moan.
“Anyone would’ve, too. You’re made for a stage.” Murdoc half-whispered it into his ear. “You’re everything people want, you know? And- you can go a little harder, come on- you’re tall, you’re too fucking pretty, you’ve got those eyes. That hair. Oh, christ, that feels good.”
Stu reached a hand down to grab at Murdoc’s thigh, getting a solid grip. His breath was coming in erratic gasps, thrusts getting less even.
“Just give it a little time,” Murdoc promised him, “and everyone in the world’s gonna see you how I see you. Like a fucking god. And everyone’s gonna want you.” He leaned up, whispering this last bit directly into Stu’s ear. “Just as bad as I want you.”
It was laughably cliche, no effort at all going into constructing the fantasy. Stu still came, grip on Murdoc’s thigh so tight it was painful, moans almost too loud, high pitched.
“Oh, already?” Murdoc ran his hand up and down Stu’s back, damp with sweat. It was hot, of course it was. Really fucking hot. But he wasn’t about to come from rubbish foreplay and a ten minute shag, no matter how fit the man doing the shagging was.
“It was just really good,” Stu mumbled, trying to catch his breath. “Like, really good.” He pulled out, but he didn’t move all that much. He rested his head on Murdoc’s chest, half-laying on him, watching him jerk off. “Why’d you not- did you not like it?”
“I loved it. You’re a wet dream, you really are. Over too quickly though,” Murdoc said, brushing Stu’s hair away from his chin with his free hand so it didn’t bother him. “I didn’t expect much else, really.” He snorted, and added, with heavy sarcasm in a scummy drawl, “Happy to be of service.”
Stu was quiet for a minute, and then he reached down, closing his hand over Murdoc’s and moving with him.
Not for the first time, Murdoc was reminded that Stu’s hands were almost awkwardly large, and would probably feel fucking fantastic on his cock. Slowly, he slipped his hand out from under Stu’s. “Keep going.”
Stu faltered, just for a moment.
And Murdoc pictured unsurety, or better yet, disgust. He, Stuart Pot, lowering himself to giving a wankstain like Murdoc Niccals a handy. He groaned, rolling his hips up against Stu’s hand.
More likely, the lapse in Stu’s movement was due to embarrassment, or perhaps his regular lethargy paired with the temporary stasis of afterglow. He kept jerking Murdoc off, and he even pressed a kiss, and then another, to Murdoc’s chest, where he was resting his head.
As he felt his orgasm creeping up on him, it occurred to Murdoc for the first time that he wasn’t alright with the actual concept of shields-down intimacy with Stuart. The idea revolted him. It had to be a performance, and if it wasn’t a performance he couldn’t do it. He didn’t think it was real for Stu either, just convenient. Which was better than the alternative, of course.
When he came he screwed up his eyes and tossed his head back and gasped Stu’s name, made it all really over the top. He reckoned if the women in pornos could be so overenthusiastic over shoddy orgasms or no orgasms at all, he owed it to them to give a bit of a performance over a good one. And it satirised it, in his head, made it ironic. That was good.
Stu didn’t seem to think it anything out of the ordinary. He hummed, moved his hand from Murdoc’s cock to one of his thighs, and rubbed up and down gently.
Murdoc took a few deep breaths, waiting for the fuzziness in his head to go down. He closed his eyes. “Hey, fetch your shirt.”
Stu’s hand stopped moving on his thigh, and left altogether. The bed shifted, and Murdoc could only assume he’d gone to find his shirt.
He cracked one eye open, watching Stu pick it out of the mess of things on the floor and then come back to the bed. He snatched the shirt. “Thanks.” He wiped the come on his stomach up with it, making sure he was all clean.
Stu looked on in horror. “Murdoc,” he said, hushed, disgusted, crawling back up onto the bed, “You- that’s rank, that is. And I- I have to go back to my mum and dad’s after this.”
“Exactly. You’ll have a washing machine.” Murdoc sighed, stretching out a bit and getting comfortable in bed. He handed the sullied shirt back to Stu. “I should have you do all my washing, really.”
Stu let out a dejected sigh, looking down at his shirt. Then, defeated, he pulled off and tied the condom, and cleaned his cock on the shirt as well. He dropped it and the condom over the side of the bed.
“You can borrow one of mine,” Murdoc told him. “Anything but one of my turtlenecks, I’m fond of those. And not the nice polo.”
Slowly, Stu eased himself back down onto the mattress. After a few minutes of silence, he asked, “Did you mean any of that stuff you were saying?”
“Any of what stuff?”
“Like, that I’m the only person in the world and you think about me all the time. That stuff.”
“No, not really.” Murdoc reached over Stu to the nightstand and grabbed a fag out of the pack there. He lit it. “You just seemed a little too into it, so I thought, why not play along? Make it really good for you.” He settled back down. “I’m nothing if not attentive, you know.”
“Thanks,” Stu said flatly.
“Mm, no problem. Any time.” He held out the cigarette.
Stu took it, and smoked for a minute before passing it back.
“I can drive you back to your mumsy’s whenever you want, by the way.” Murdoc sighed, thinking of all the songwriting they didn’t get done today. Well, no pressure. It wasn’t like they had gigs lined up or anything. They didn’t even have a proper band. “Or you can stay the night, we could-”
“No.” Stu got up sharply, and began searching for his pants.
Murdoc watched him, staring at his back. If Stu was starting to let it get under his skin and bother him, good. Murdoc hoped it kept him up all night.
“I have to be back, I’ve got- we’re doing supper together and then my dad’s taking me down to the fairground so I can learn how to fix the belts on the carousel, ‘cos one of the belts snapped, and he could do it fine but he wants me to know ‘cos he wants me to, you know, like, pick up where he leaves off and take over when he’s gotten too old, I guess, and-”
“You regret having it on with me,” Murdoc stated, cutting through Stu’s increasingly frantic babbling.
“I don’t regret it, it was- good.” Stu turned his head down, and managed to pull his pants on without stumbling. “You just- I just don’t like you, you know? Like- you’re good and that but you’re- this- it’s fucking beneath me, alright? I dunno.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I love you for saving me and all that and I wouldn’t want to be doing music with anyone else, but- just- I'm not like you.”
“Right, because you’re so high and mighty.” Murdoc snorted, enjoying how Stu would scramble to defend himself. “I’m not anything like Murdoc, Murdoc hasn’t got a mum and dad to have supper with and Murdoc lives in a motorhome and Murdoc’s bent.”
“It’s not like that,” Stu said, quietly.
Murdoc sat up. He should stop; he was being cruel, really, bothering Stu like this. He didn’t give a shit. He actually preferred if he left a bad taste in Stu’s mouth. He went on, “At least I’m good for a shag, right? Thank god for that, otherwise I’d be totally fucking useless.”
Stu shook his head. “Whatever, Murdoc. I have to get home.”
“I’m just teasing.” Murdoc laughed, and stubbed his fag out on the nightstand.
“I don’t like it.”
“Yeah, I know.” He wandered over and handed Stu’s joggers to him. Then, on second thought, he leaned up on tiptoe to bite Stu’s neck.
“Ow-” Stu pushed him off, clapping a hand to his neck. “Murdoc!”
“You shouldn’t be a whore without looking like a whore, you know.” Murdoc tapped the side of his own neck with two fingers.
“But I’ve got supper with my mum, you-” Stu lobbed the joggers at him, soft grey fabric brushing ineffectually against his chest before falling. Stu smacked his shoulder for good measure, and then bent to collect his joggers and pull them on. “Fucking prick.”
Murdoc tried not to laugh, watching him.
“Put your pants on, Murdoc, christ,” Stu continued. “I’m not sitting next to you driving ‘less you’re all dressed.”
“Leaving so soon, are you?”
“Well, um- what’s the time?” Stu’s eyes strayed dejectedly to his shirt before he fell to looking through the stray clothes here and there around the winne.
Murdoc went over to his tape deck, peered at the little digital clock above it. “Around five.”
“No, I’ve gotta go.” Stu picked out something short sleeved and dark grey, bringing it up to his nose and grimacing. He pulled it on anyway.
“Right. I’ll meet you up in the cockpit, then.”
“Clothes, Muds.”
“If you insist.” Murdoc found what he’d been wearing and put it back on. Then he reached up and pulled the skin on the side of Stu’s neck taut between two fingers, inspecting the bite mark. “That’s cute.”
Stu slapped his hand off. “It’s not cute. I look like I’ve had it on with, like, a vampire or something.”
Murdoc barked a laugh, and shepherded Stu up front to the driver’s compartment.
“We should’ve been outside,” Stu commented, peering through the windshield. “It’s never this nice out.”
“Too bright,” Murdoc replied, settling himself in the driver’s seat.
In the passenger side, Stu leaned his head against the window. “I have some ideas about something-”
“Man alive! Glory be!” Murdoc snorted, starting the engine. “You, having an idea.”
“Sod off.” Stu pushed him.
Murdoc reached over to smack him back. “Not while I’m trying to drive.”
“Well, I have some ideas and I’m trying to keep them in my head. For, um, melody lines. I’ll put them into my tape recorder when I get home.” Stu yawned, rubbing at his arm where Murdoc had slapped him.
“So no music now?”
“Yeah, please.”
Murdoc left the tape deck empty.
The sun was setting as he brought them round to the tight, stifling sameness of Stu’s neighbourhood. He pulled over by the right house; he could drive here in his sleep, thanks to stopping by twice a day for a whole year while he was Stu’s carer.
“Still got those tunes in there?” He tapped the side of Stu’s head.
“Yeah, I think so. They might’ve, um, like- trans- transmogrified over the drive, but they’re good right now, so that’s okay.” Stu didn’t get out. “Hey, thanks. For-”
“I’m not one of your uni girls, mate, you don’t have to be sweet with me.” Murdoc drummed out a rhythm on the steering wheel with two fingers. “I’ll let you have another go regardless, you know.”
Stu smirked, and then swallowed, flexing his fingers in that fidgety way of his. “I sort of thought you would. But, um- see you this weekend, right?”
“Yeah. Bring your tape recorder along and we’ll see what we can do with that rubbish you just cooked up.”
“Wicked. See you, Murdoc.” Stu pushed the door open and hopped out.
“Tell your mum I say hi, and the garden looks lovely.” Murdoc gave a grin.
“Suck up.” Stu shut the door, jogging back to the fence and pulling the gate open. “Bye.”
“Cheerio.” Murdoc held up a hand. He watched Stu make his way up to the door without tripping - a feat seldom accomplished - and only then did he realise the lad’s hands were empty. He called, “Hey, Dents, you’ve gone and left your shirt, you-”
But Stu had already disappeared inside.
Murdoc flapped his hand at the closed door, started the engine, and left, driving decidedly too fast for the neighbourhood.