Archive of Our Own ^beta

He knew it was wrong, to some extent.
At least, something in his head, somewhere deep, tried to tell him so.

Anybody in their right minds would know that putting secret cameras in all your bandmates rooms was wrong. Almost anybody.

It had started out as simply a security thing. That’s how he excused the moral conflict in his head in the beginning. What if that daft, blue-haired singer overdosed? What if something happened to their drummer and those ‘ghosts’ that bother him? What if Noodle, precious Noodle, had a terrible nightmare? He could simply check his cameras and know if any of his bandmates needed him.

Not that they ever did.

Once he realized that those scenarios he cooked up in his busted head were unlikely to ever happen, he desperately wracked his brain for another excuse. He got one soon enough, when watching the cameras became an addiction. He was never good at breaking addictions anyway.

He remembered the first night he knew he was in too deep with his little ‘surveillance’ escapade. The whole band had managed to make it through a decently well-mannered meal and they had all retreated to their respected rooms. The cameras had been set up for a little over a month and they were so far uneventful, coming close to being called a waste of money. Some of the screens didn’t even work, and the audio tended to be warped half the time (not that he ever cared to hear the music 2D made or Russel’s drumming).
He had been sitting on his disgusting bed, reaching for a bottle of rum on his floor, when something in his wall of video screens caught his eye. When he got up to examine it, the dusty tv screen revealed his singer. The lanky man was downing a small amount of tiny white pills, standing next to his bed nearly naked, save for his blue briefs. He must’ve been getting ready for bed, even if it was a little earlier than normal. The singer sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his hair and sighing.

Then he stuck his hand down his pants.

Now, if this had been a quick scratch-and-go situation, the bassist wouldn’t have been interested. But even though the screen lagged and sometimes static hid the bluenette from view, the bassist knew better. He knew so much better, and he was interested enough to plop himself down in his chair and scoot closer. There was something twisted and sick about what he knew he was about to do, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away as slender piano fingers began to move on-screen, groping.

The singer bit his lip, already noticeably hard even though he must’ve only started a minute or two ago. He stood enough to pull his briefs down to his ankles and kick them away, moving backwards onto his sheets completely once they were gone. He seemed nervous, biting his lip and face already pink, like he was a little kid doing something naughty. The idea made Murdoc chuckle as the subject of interest fell back completely onto his bed. It was undenyable, however, that the boy was eager and already quite excited.

His entire body was splayed out for the hungry bassist to feast his eyes upon. Every little inch of skin he could see did not escape his attention and even through the grimy screen the boy looked good enough to eat. Suddenly, Murdoc’s dark room seemed a little too hot as thin hands trailed down an even thinner chest, one stopping to gently rub a nipple and the other continuing dutifully downward. His face was still pacified, focused you could say, though his eyes were drifting closed. The tension started to noticeably drip out of his body.

Entranced, the nasty bassist felt a spark in his groin as he watched 2D wrap his slender fingers around his own cock. It was quite a pretty thing, he mused, not quite average -a little above, really- and already stiff. Wrapped with his pale fingers, the pink flush of color stood out even more on the head. Murdoc noticed that his fingernails were still painted from a few days ago, too, and he wondered if the singer thought about how Murdoc himself had painted them as he stroked himself off.
He growled to himself as the hand started to slowly move, his eyes locked on the movement through the gritty screen. His own jeans started tightening and he practically ripped the zipper down, sighing in relief.

This was a terrible thing to be doing, he knew, but there was something in him that wouldn’t let him stop. Either it was lust or something that ran a bit deeper and he didn’t really care to figure it out at the moment, not when there was such an interesting show going on.
He watched as 2D’s hand sped up. That pretty face twisted, his eyes clenching shut, as a wobbly moan drifted through the speakers. It sent blood straight to his groin. He wanted to hear more, he realized, as his own hand ghosted over the bulge in his pink thong.

The boy on the screen arched his back slightly, biting his lip, as his free hand began to pinch his nipple. Murdoc found that he wasn’t surprised that the singer was into nipple play, and filed the information away for later. Those thin fingers twisted and pinched until the bud was aggravated and red, and then he switched, tiny moans escaping him as his breathing sped up.

He couldn’t take it anymore and freed himself from the confines of his clothes, throwing his shirt and pants somewhere before falling back into his chair. He grasped his own cock, which was already stiff and leaking.

Then he heard it.

It was his name, a faint whisper, but his name nonetheless. He watched as those pretty, thin lips formed the word again, barely able to comprehend what was going on. He hadn’t noticed he had already begun to stroke himself but he did notice he sped up, a certain pressure building inside of him. Each time his name, Muds or Murdoc, reached his ears, his heart sped up just a little more and his body seemed to get hotter. How was it possible 2D was moaning his name? He didn’t really care, he was just proud that he was in the boy’s head even when he wasn’t there. He promised himself he would hear those sounds in person, be the cause of them, even, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth as he grinned to his empty room. His palm was deliciously sweaty around his erection, his harsh pants filling up his room.
On the tv screen 2D was unraveling quickly. It certainly didn’t take him long to become the moaning, blushing mess he was now, writhing and sweating on his bed. His feet were flat on his mattress, knees up, as he bucked his hips into his hand. His hair was strewn about the pillow and stuck to his forehead, and the hand that was on his nipples was in a fist and between his teeth. High-pitched grunts and groans dripped from his mouth in a steady stream, invading Murdoc’s ears and arousing him even more.

He growled, the sight before him almost too much to handle. He felt his own fringe sticking to his forehead and he rushed to push it back, never once taking his eyes off the screens. His hips bucked into his hand as he gripped the arm of his chair with the other, trying to hold on until 2D came, but wondering if that would actually happen. There was something about his band mate messy and horny, calling his name and touching himself, that Murdoc couldn’t handle. His mind went fuzzy as he watched 2D’s frantic stroking of his cock speed up until it was erratic and his head had rolled to the side, facing the camera perfectly. His pretty little lips parted, a tiny trail of spit on his chin, and he opened his eyes long enough to make eye contact with the camera before clenching his eyes shut again. He came with Murdoc’s name on his lips, a pitiful and needy whine broken by ragged breathing. His cum splashed against his stomach and hand in spurts and his hips fell to the bed, no longer able to be held up by his shaky legs.

Hearing 2D call his name while he came pushed Murdoc over an edge he didn’t know he had, and he gritted his teeth with a grunt as he released over his own hand. His mind slowly came back to him and, even though the show was over, he couldn’t stop staring at the singer. Red-faced, sweaty, with cum on his stomach, eyes closed and chest heaving, he looked like some twisted piece of adult art that Murdoc would most definitely hang on his wall. He watched as 2D slowly opened his eyes, still staring directly into the camera, and smiled the faintest of smiles. He gingerly sat up, swinging his legs over the side of his bed, and shuffled out of the camera’s view. Murdoc took the opportunity to get up and clean himself off, still slightly recovering from his post-orgasm haze. When 2D appeared back on the screen, he was in boxers and his hair was pushed off his forehead. Murdoc stood and watched as he crawled into his bed, turning off the light from there. The camera plunged into darkness, and the bassist took that as his own cue for bed.

He was still sweaty and hot but he didn’t care enough to do anything about it besides throw a blanket over himself and close his eyes, the sounds of 2D’s breathy moans and his eyes on the camera floating through his head. He was nearly asleep when it hit him like a train; 2D had stared directly at where the camera was. There was no way he could’ve missed it, and there was no surprise when he looked at it, so it wasn’t a new discovery.

He held back a curse as the pieces came together in his head.
That cheeky little faceache knew the camera was there the entire time.