Nothing Will Last *Murdoc x Reader*

Watching the Detectives

You groggily half-opened your eyes and took in the sight in front of you. The sun was shining in the open windows. You were in the penthouse suite of the nicest hotel downtown, and laying next to you in bed, on top of the sheets, was the stark naked Murdoc Niccals. He was fast asleep on his stomach, his hair all over the place, the side of his face smashed into the pillow, noisily breathing through his slightly open mouth.

Oh shit, you thought.

You sat up slowly so you didn't disturb him and looked around to survey the room. There were empty bottles of beer, half full bottles of different kinds of liquor, and clothes scattered all over the room. How was your underwear draped over the ceiling fan? On the bedside table was a scattering of cigarette butts, what looked like joints, a credit card, and a rolled up $100 bill.

Oh fuck.

You looked at the clock on the wall. 10am. What time did you get to sleep? You don't even know. Did you get a reasonable amount of sleep? You recalled glimpses of the night before. You teasing Murdoc again about being soft, and him ravaging you even more mercilessly than he had the first time. The two of you sitting in bed smoking a joint in your underwear listening to music when "Watching the Detectives" by Elvis Costello came on over the speakers, and you hopped up to dance to it, swigging from the rum bottle you had grabbed off the nightstand as you seductively writhed to the vaguely reggae beat. Murdoc again refused to dance with you, but sat in bed smoking and watching you with interest. You laid in bed, got high, and talked about Satanism. You stood out on the balcony next to each other and stared at the skyline and the stars not saying a word. Sometime later on in the night, you had made a comment about being sleepy. At that, Murdoc pulled out a small bag of what you immediately recognized as cocaine, started chopping it up on the table, and offered you the first line. Obviously Murdoc's very broken nose did it interfere with being able to party like a true Satanist. And it was not your first rodeo, you had partied in your college days. This, of course, led to more dancing from you, bumps being done off your naked body, and more fucking. You weren't sure how you had even gotten to sleep, much less when.

You slowly got up and slid out of bed, being very careful not to wake up Murdoc. You went into the bathroom and mostly shut the door, leaving it open just a crack behind you. You looked in the mirror and took in the sight of yourself. Your hair was a mess, you had bruises and bite marks all along your collarbones and breasts, but thankfully had managed to avoid any marks on your neck. He knew what he was doing, that one.

You turned on the shower and hopped in once the water had gotten warm. You let the hot water cascade over your body as you soaped up, put shampoo and conditioner into your hair, and slightly swayed your hips while humming "Watching the Detectives". You closed your eyes to rinse your hair, and when you opened them, Murdoc was standing in front of you, with a smug smile on his face. You jumped and screamed, almost losing your footing.

"Whoa, luv!" he exclaimed, grabbing you and keeping you from knocking yourself out. "Good morning to you, too."

"Fucking hell you can't sneak up on people like that!" you yelled, hitting him on the shoulder.

He let out a low laugh, and surveyed your wet body. "Someone really likes her sex, drugs, and rrrock and roll," he said, drawing out the R in the word rock and grabbing your hips, digging in with his nails.

You felt an almost electric surge through your body at his touch. As much as you would have loved to continue with the way things were going, you had to remind Murdoc that there were things to be done today.

"Murdoc Faust Niccals," you looked at him as sternly as you could while being soaking wet and naked, "You have a show today that you need to prepare for. And my body needs a break."