#not cake

He tugged off his helmet with a groan, touseling a palm through his dense black locks to shoo away any helmet hair, returning his signature ‘do to its former glory. He tossed the hunk of plastic aside with a clatter, and from over his shoulder, Jamie barked at him not to damage the props. “Yeah yeah, shove it up your arse, fuckin’ cock-woffle,” Murdoc scrubbed a hand down his face, his free one ducking into his jock strap to shamelessly scratch at the dense crop of short n’ curlies he was housing under the confining padding. “Ugh- Mudz, d’ya have to do that out in the open?” Murdoc swiveled his head around, fixing Stu with a firm glare and baring his green-tinged fangs. “Didn’t ask you to gawk, did I? Keep those peepers to yourself,” Noodle and Russ had already run after Jamie, far off set, leaving the pair in tense silence in that vacant white room, littered with deflated gorillas. Murdoc pulled his hand from his pants, offered a grotesque little sniff to his fingernails. 2D’s scrunched up his nose. “Keep walkin’ Dents,” Murdoc snapped harshly, but 2D shook his head, daring to step up behind the shorter man. “You don’t have to act like like that, Mudz, we’re alone now,” Murdoc blinked, glancing down to find 2D’s shadow sprawled out in front of him, indicating that the tall fuck was looming behind him. Long piano fingers curled around his shoulders after a long, awkward beat, and the Satanist flinched, but said nothing. “You can’t keep running from it, Murdoc,” 2D leaned down, pressed a kiss into the starkly flushed shell of Murdoc’s ear. “I know its… I know its hard to accept, I get it, really. But it isn’t as scary as you think.” Murdoc pinched his eyes shut, a tremor bolting down his spine, before he shook his head. “Stop, alright, it wouldn’t work-” He turned, whipping around to face the other man, tilting his head up and catching a distinct whiff of lemon, something only he ever got to experience. “I don’t even know what-” “What flavor to pick?” 2C finished his thought, and Murdoc scowled, glancing down. At the white floor beneath his fic. “You stress too much, Mudz. Go with your gut.” Murdoc wrung his hands together, biting at the tip of his tongue, then his lips. He wanted to ask, but he felt like an addict jonsing for a fix, so ashamed. 2C leaned down to press his knuckle under Murdoc’s chin, and tilt it up so he could peer into those matte brown eyes, unblinking. Oh, Murdoc melted. “Its okay. I’ll let you have another taste,” The bassist blinked, but Stu didn’t have to repeat himself. In an instant, he dropped down onto his bruised knees, his fingers finding the textured fondant of 2C’s pants and tearing them open, desperately palming for the treasure beneath it, the curls of blue frosting, the long, perfectly sculpted shaft. He tilted his head up, and 2C nodded wistfully in permission,  his sticky fingers combing through Murdoc’s hair. Murdoc leaned forwards with a breath, taking that smooth head past his lips, and letting his teeth break through the fondant, into the soft lemon sponge beneath it, a burst of familiar flavor on his tongue. Above him, 2C hummed, a gummy pink tongue swiping sculpted lips. “Atta boy, Mudz,”