A/N: So, one day, I was nostalgically flipping through songs from my teen years on youtube, and in the suggestion list was a backstory-of-Gorillaz vid. I clicked and was hooked. I had no idea Jamie Hewlett had created this incredibly nuanced, complex mythos around these characters and I was totally enthralled with the world he'd made. I started reading through articles and listening to interviews and I could not get enough.

To counteract the stress of a job switch, I started writing a bit of a smutty one-off, just to escape. I love the character of 2-D; he's such a beautiful mess. I've come across a ton of 2nu fics where Noodle is this virginal innocent, and I don't think she's painted that way at all in the world of Gorillaz. So I wanted to write a fic that put her in control, because she's bad-ass, and I feel like if a 2nu was gonna happen, she'd be the one to start it. I set the story right after the Strobelite video, because that night looked like a ton of fun.

And I made it super-smutty because damnit, I love writing smut.


The fog of sleep lifted slowly as 2-D awoke to the hint of light filtering in through the tattered curtains hung carelessly across his window. As he began the muddy trip back to consciousness, he gradually became aware of an ache in his head and the scent of marijuana assaulting his nostrils. He slung an arm across his eyes and groaned slightly, his tongue tasting of cardboard and the medicinal residue left behind after a night of drinking. Reluctantly, he shifted his arm and cracked open an eye. He stared at the ceiling, noting a blurry, grayish cobweb in the corner above his bed.

Unimpressed with the view, 2-D's eye slid shut again, and he realized he couldn't remember getting into bed last night. Or the trip home. Or leaving the club. Shit, he thought bitterly, as he began sifting through his thoughts to determine what he could remember.

He remembered the cab ride to the club. He and Murdoc had stuffed themselves into the back seat with Noodle sandwiched between them. Russel's massive frame in the front seat had blotted out the streetlights as the cabbie had woven recklessly in and out of traffic at a terrifying speed. He could picture their arrival at the club, where they'd jumped the line after Murdoc discretely slipped a bouncer a baggie full of some unknown, powdery substance. He could recall the four of them taking up residence in a booth together. The neon colours and strobe lights had pulsed and flashed frenetically like an epileptic nightmare, and 2-D clearly remembered being grateful that his eyes no longer registered the full intensity of light.

Then… hmm. There were definitely drinks. Gin and tonics for him, maybe five or six of them? Certainly a couple of beers. He could picture the towering, fruity concoctions Noodle had repeatedly ordered. He remembered her tucking the umbrella from one such drink playfully behind his ear. Oh, and dancing! Flipping through the mental Polaroids his brain had captured over the night, he could vividly recall a moment when some song had come on, Noodle had squealed with delight, and his eyes had followed her as she skipped out onto the dance floor. Moments later, she had gestured for him to join her, and by that point, he'd downed enough drinks to eagerly comply. A lot of dancing followed. He could distinctly remember thinking about how much bloody fun it was to give in to the music with such an enthusiastic partner. In his memory, it felt like he and Noodle had danced for hours, showing each other their best moves, trying to outdo each other with outlandish steps and ridiculous contortions. In fact, he had no real memory of anything else around him at that period, just he and Noodle having the time of their lives.

Wait. Scratch that. Tightly squeezing his eyes shut with concentration, he vaguely remembered catching sight of Murdoc in conversation with some mustachioed guy in a fez. The two men had exchanged something… try as he might, 2-D couldn't recall if he'd seen what it was. He did know that it was only shortly after that when Murdoc had slid onto the dance floor and offered him a tab of something. 2-D groaned inwardly. The fact that the rest of the night melted into a technicolor smudge right after that told him he'd taken Murdoc up on the offer.

Everything after that was a void. Damnit, I am getting too old for this, he thought ruefully. He reached under the covers to scratch an itch and felt his elbow nudge something warm and soft next to him. He froze. Shit, shit, shit, he panicked. 2-D swallowed and took a deep breath. Then he cracked open an eye and shifted his gaze to the side, careful not to move his head at all.

The soft warm thing was most definitely a woman. She slept on her side, her back to him and her head jammed under a pillow. I musta been snoring, he thought with embarrassment. The blankets were tucked around her just below her hips, and he took advantage of his position to stare unabashedly at her. His eyes followed the curve of her hip where it rose from the blankets. She didn't appear to be wearing anything on her lower half other than something black and lacy for underwear, and the sight of it made him want to lick his lips. He slid his gaze along her body, noting the t-shirt she wore had slid up enough to expose the small of her back. The t-shirt looked familiar to him. Was it one of his?

Nicely done, Stu, he congratulated himself. Man, it had been quite a while since he'd awoken like this, with a hangover building, an obliterated night, and an unknown woman in his bed. Sure, those sorts of wake-up calls had been common years ago, when they'd found themselves young and wealthy in LA. Being upgraded to a have after a lifetime of being a have-not, 2-D had swiftly lost himself in new drugs, new women, and alcohol that cost more per glass than his first apartment. But such hedonistic indulgences had been far less frequent lately, particularly when it came to women. He'd chalked it up to getting older, looking for something with more substance than he used to. Even so, he was not about to pass up what at first glance appeared to be a beautiful creature breathing softly next to him. Besides, he reasoned, it had been a while.

But how to proceed? If she was some groupie who'd passed out next to him, it didn't feel right to just jump her. If her memory of last night was as absent as his was, she might be on the verge of waking up full of regret and bolting when she saw where she was. Or who she was with. Just because she's here, doesn't mean she fancies a tumble now, he told himself. Maybe he could gently wake her and hope for the best? Hesitantly, he reached a hand out and cupped her hip, rubbing a thumb back and forth across the thin lacy band of her undergarment. It took a minute, but the woman began to stir.

A hand emerged from beneath the blanket and she stretched an arm out in front of her. From beneath the pillow came a barely audible, "Mmmmmm". She completed the stretch and reached behind her lazily, her hand seeking out and finding 2-D's backside and pulling him towards her.

2-D grinned at the warm welcome, scooting his body towards her as his bedmate simultaneously wiggled backwards, her curvaceous rear end pressing against his growing morning erection. His breath hitched slightly as he slid his hand from the woman's hip across her stomach, her skin supple and soft beneath his palm.

The woman moved her hand from behind 2-D to the arm he had wrapped around her, and with a maddening slowness, she lightly ran her nails down his forearm before covering his hand with her own. He shivered involuntarily. She began to guide his hand beneath the t-shirt she wore and upward, until he was cupping her breast.

He sucked in a breath as he felt her nipple stiffen beneath his touch. God, she smelled good. Running out of willpower, he pulled her back towards the mattress and reached for the pillow still obstructing his view. Please, let her face be as hot as her body, he prayed silently. He offered a low, "mornin', love," as he took the pillow and tossed it aside.

And froze.

"Morning yourself," purred a familiar voice. Green, almond-shaped eyes stared back at him.

At the sound of her voice, his brain began functioning again and he leaped back from her as though she were on fire. "Noodle!" he squeaked, scrambling to the opposite side of the bed and backing into the wall. He looked down at his bare chest and suddenly felt exposed. He grabbed the sheet and drew it up around his neck like a hysterical housewife who'd spotted a mouse. The move exposed Noodle's bare legs, and his eyes travelled the long, lean length of her before he could stop himself. "Shit, I'm sorry, I- I'm sorry," he sputtered, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. "Shit, shit, shit… Noods, I am so sorry, I didn't know that was you, and I… I mean, I would never… damnit, why did you… fuck, I am really, really sorry, I just…" 2-D could feel a mounting panic, and stopped to catch his breath. Then he waited.

There was no response. The silence in the room was unnerving, and he finally cracked open one eye, half-hoping to find that Noodle had silently slunk away.

She hadn't.

Instead, she was lying right where he'd left her, looking up at him with a strange smirk on her face. "Are you done?" she finally asked.

He swallowed and opened both eyes. "Um… yes?" he returned weakly.

"Can I talk now?" she asked.

His eyes shifted nervously to her shapely legs and back to her face. "Could you, um…" he coughed nervously. Why was he suddenly an awkward teenager asking someone for a date? "Could you maybe get dressed first?"

She snickered, staring at him so intensely he struggled to hold her gaze. Then she indulged in a long, full-body stretch, purring like a panther. "No," she said simply.

"N-no?" He was beginning to feel increasingly like a man caught walking on the freeway, trying to dodge traffic, and having no idea which step might be his last.

Again, she stared him down. "You can't just wind me up and make me leave, 'D." She began edging closer to him.

2-D could feel his heart pounding in his ears. "What?!" he blurted. "No, Noodle… we can't! You need to… Jesus, Noodle, are you mad? You can't be here! We can't! You've got to…"

She rolled her eyes. "And why can't we?"

"What?" he rasped. "Why can't we? Well, because…" His voice died in his throat. Five seconds ago he'd been able to think of about four thousand reasons why this was a bad idea. Under the heat of her emerald eyes, though, he was struggling to think of even one. "You… because, uh… you know, we…"

Noodle laid back and propped herself up on an elbow, cocking one knee and running her hand along her thigh. "Don't you find me attractive?" she asked with a leonine grin.

Beads of sweat began to form along the singer's brow as he watched her slender fingers travel up and down her leg. "You're beautiful," he murmured without thinking. A spark flared in her eyes and he quickly shook his head. "That's not the point," he hurriedly continued, looking everywhere but at her. "We're not supposed to. You know… the band an' all that..." As though emphasizing his point, a thud came from the room above them, and a fresh wave of terror struck 2-D. "Oh Jesus," he blurted. "Russ'll kill me. Like actually kill me!" He scrambled off the bed and stumbled around the room in his briefs, tossing aside empty cans and crumpled take-away boxes, sifting through plastic bags and dirty socks until he found a pair of tattered jeans. He yanked them on and stood in the centre of the room, looking horrified. "You gotta go," he pled, wringing his hands. "Noods, you gotta go!"

The guitarist rolled her eyes, then rose slowly from the bed and began padding towards 2-D, her hips swaying sensuously, deliberately. 2-D wished his heart would quit slamming against his ribcage. She moved until she was directly in front of him, at which point she stood on her tiptoes so her lips were at his ear. He balled his hands into fists to keep himself from wrapping them around her, and closed his eyes to block out her stunning features. "Just know," she hissed into his ear. "I want you."

With that, she pivoted and made her way to the door. She reached for the doorknob, then paused for a moment to look back at the singer. He was standing with his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open, his forehead creased like he was trying to solve a calculus problem in his head. She smirked, opened the door, and disappeared into the hallway.