Crimson Ribbons

Ribbons

June 6. Murdoc would have rather been out drinking, or quite honestly doing anything but what he was currently doing. The interviews were all getting too tired and uninspired, the same generic bullshit icebreakers that have already been established before.

It was all a load of absolute hogwash.

It was his bloody birthday for satan's sake! Why was he stuck here, sitting with the world's most boring person once again awkwardly going through the motions to ask questions that have already been frequently asked for 20 years? God, if he could just bust out of here.

The interviewer went on and on for what seemed like forever. Ugh, he was never going to get out of here.

"Do you fancy anyone as of now?" The interviewer asked robotically, squinting to read her list of boring questions, then smiling sheepishly at the evergreen man.

Oh god, this blasted question. It was always inevitable. It seemed every fucking interviewer wanted to know the same thing, although the results were always the same. An inconclusive answer. Why would this question be thrown around at him, anyways? Everyone already knew him as rather promiscuous. The more accurate question would be "who have you gotten this week?"

"Fancy anyone?" Murdoc chuckled. "Absolutely fucking blasphemous question. I say it every time, and I'll say it again-"

Suddenly, Murdoc was cut off by a distracting vibrating from his pocket. His phone. It better have been good to interrupt him like this, but then again this gave him an excuse to ignore the interviewer, even for just a bit.

He rudely slipped his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it. He pulled down the notifications bar, only to reveal a message from 2-D.

Murdoc rolled his eyes practically so hard that they'd pop out of his skull. What did he get himself into this time? He thought.

Not bothering to click the message, he read what little showed in the tab.

When u get home ;) happy bday old goth xx

Hmmm, interesting. Murdoc cautiously opened the message, dimming his phone and making sure no one could see. Below the text was an image of a cock delicately wrapped in ribbon and bows with a single gift tag, although it was too blurry to read.

Now is not the time to be sexting, Stu.

Nonetheless, still clearly liking what he saw, a grin spread across his crooked face. Mmmm, quite nice.

He had been lost in his own mind, imagining what he'd do to the pretty porcelain singer when he got back. He hadn't even noticed that his mind had wandered off. He could already feel himself starting to get hot. Once he got his hands on that bluenette-

"Mr. Niccals!" Murdoc was snapped back to reality. "The interview?"

"Oh, riiiight. My bad, you lot just bored me so much that I just kinda dazed off. What was I getting at?"

"Fancy someone?"

"Right, right."

Oh no... He could feel his trousers start to rise and bunch. God, not now. Damn it, Stu.
He swung his leg over, cris-crossing them and hoping to hide the riser that he'd sprung. He couldn't stop thinking of 2-D. But there was no way in hell he was going to openly confess on rolling cameras that he was shagging his pretty blue-haired singer. Especially with what the media knows he's been through.