Fic - Let Me Kiss Your Ring
Pickles expresses his extreme distaste at my prompt selection:
HELLZ YEAH
My prompt read as follows:
Pairing: Charles/Seth
Prompt: The annual budget meeting between the CFO and the head of Dethklok Australia. Li'l Amber's presence is optional.
Must include: Inappropriate use of catering.
It was too sweet to be ignored. I had a bit of trouble with this but I think I got it in the end.
Title: Let Me Kiss Your Ring
Author: telluryan
Rating: PG-13 (Charles would NEVER have sex with this man, let me tell you lol)
Warnings: Seth being a dick
Characters: Charles and Seth
Full Summary: See above lol
Charles enjoyed traveling, for the most part. It was a big part of his job, and he made the most out of every trip that he took: to China, to Japan, to England, to Germany, to Canada, to Iceland, to Egypt, to Iraq. Each country was unique and had something different to offer. Each one had its own culture and traditions and foods to be respected, sampled, and enjoyed.
But Charles did not deign to make trips to Australia. Not anymore, at least. He wasn't particularly fond of the place as of late, what with all of the riots and general chaos that had plagued it in recent months, not to mention the person who lived there. The person who had so royally fucked the last budget meeting they'd had by throwing what could only be described as a mixer on cocaine (and Charles disliked both of those things on their own, to the point of sheer revulsion at the mention of either) in lieu of an actual meeting. The catering had been a disaster. The amount of vomiting had been abhorrent. Charles had suspected that every ounce of alcohol at the bar had been tainted, somehow. And worst of all, no actual budgeting had been done, leaving him with all of the money to do with whatever he damn well pleased.
And he had. He'd spent it all hiring the entirety of the country's police forces to protect him from the riots thrown by Dethklok fans.
Charles had banned mixers from company grounds after that. They were just no good and were far too messy.
So naturally, whenever an issue with Dethklok Australia came up, Charles was quick to make the head of the organization come to him. He knew that Pickles would have liked to hear that, after all. Pickles always enjoyed hearing about his brother suffering through being forced to do something.
It happened too soon, of course, as all things that Charles disliked did. He'd set aside his paperwork and extended his lunch hour specifically to have this meeting at one o'clock, hoping for it to be over with by two, and Seth finally waltzed into Charles' office at three minutes to the latter hour, Louis Vuitton sunglasses on, that cheap suit of his half-unbuttoned. He really could have afforded better, Charles thought bitterly. He was paid more than enough. If he spent half as much money on actual clothing as he did on sunglasses, he could look like a half-decent businessman instead of a used car salesman. He had the nerve to pull a comb out of his pocket and swipe his hair back, like some sleazy talk show host from the fifties. He flashed a smile and had a seat without being offered one. Charles just stared at him in disgust. He was beyond disbelief, at this point.
“So what's up, Chuck?” Seth asked, smirking like he'd done nothing wrong. “Got those, uh...those things I sent you? The receipts and all that shit?”
“Yes. What I want to know is why you find it necessary to waste every penny of the company's money absolutely destroying the entire continent of Australia,” Charles said icily, wasting no time in getting to the point. He really disliked Seth on a primal level, and aside from being angry at him for being so goddamn late and showing no remorse about it, he'd had another meeting at two thirty that was now going to need to be pushed back, which meant the three forty-five meeting was fucked up, which meant he would have no time for his fifteen minute break before dinner, which meant he would have to cancel that telecon at seven if he wanted everything to balance out so that he could be in bed by eleven thirty to ensure that he was well rested for his six AM meeting with Jean-Pierre tomorrow morning to discuss the menu for next week's birthday banquet for Nathan, which against the singer's desires could not include a cake made of pork tenderloin “frosted” with Explosion Sauce, to account for Skwisgaar's terrible food allergy, because the guitarist would surely complain if he couldn't eat any of the cake, even if it was just slabs of meat-
“It ain't me destroying shit. It's all those crazy nutjobs from the bush, y'know. And besides, I wasn't ever really given a budget plan last term, so uh...I did what I had to do. Yeah? Hey, you got any cigars?” Seth asked, drawing his finger around the arm of his chair lazily. Charles ground his teeth.
“None for you. Sorry.” He wasn't sorry at all. “If you recall, Seth, the reason why there was no budget plan for Dethklok Australia last term was because you spent all of our planned budgeting time doing body shots off of a girl that you renamed Cameron Diaz and telling your wife that you were busy every fifteen minutes when she called you. And also vomiting. I recall you vomiting in my briefcase, which was only one of infinite reasons why I left long before the ah...meeting was over.”
“You're such a killjoy, Chuck,” Seth grunted, frowning a little.
“Stop calling me that.”
“What? Killjoy? I only said it once.”
“Chuck. That's so vulgar. You should be referring to me as Mr. Ofdensen. I am your boss, after all.”
Seth looked genuinely surprised for a moment, his eyes widening a bit, his eyebrows cocking. “...Are you?” he asked, and for a second Charles hesitated, not sure if he was being serious or not. It took him a while to realize that he was being serious, and an even deeper frown permeated Charles' face, pulling the lines on his face down. People like this were the reason his hairline was receding.
“Yes,” he growled. “I am.”
“That's great, then. I thought I was answerin' to Pickles.”
“Well, I answer to Pickles. On occasion. So in a way, you are.”
“Dude, I've seen you. You don't answer to nobody. Dethklok doesn't know what the fuck's goin' on.”
“Don't start that sly shit with me. We're here to talk business. You can't waste any more money paying the police to be your personal bodyguards. I forbid it. I'll put a hold on your account if you keep doing that, and I'll close the branch if I have to. I'll fire you.” Charles wrote down notes on a legal pad so that Seth wouldn't forget anything that he was saying. He wished that he'd thought to buy more of those carbon paper pads so that he wouldn't have to worry about reproducing this in triplicate, as Seth was certain to lose his copy. Seth was certain to do everything possible to annoy Charles, the CFO thought bitterly, whether or not it was on purpose.
“You can't fire me. Pickles wanted me to have this job.”
Charles glared at Seth from over the horizon of his glasses. “Try me.”
In a way, Charles did have to acknowledge-admire was too strong of a word to be used on the likes of him-Seth's tenacity and unfaltering, oblivious, shit-eating optimism. Charles had gone out of his way to make Seth as uncomfortable as possible during his stay in the States, from booking him a room at a run-down motel, to designating a “company car” for him that was not at all standard (while he did like Volkswagens, personally, a pastel-yellow New Beetle was embarrassing for any self-respecting businessman to drive) in an attempt to make him want to leave as soon as possible. He seemed so very comfortable sitting there on the other side of Charles' desk, though. Charles felt his scowl deepening, and he reached up to rub at the bridge of his nose. Seth had probably driven here with the windows down, blasting that loud, obnoxious, bass-heavy hip-hop music that plagued the club scene these days. He was that kind of person.
“...At any rate, Seth, your behavior is unacceptable,” Charles continued, wishing he could just wipe this ridiculous cockroach of a man off of the face of the earth and be done with it. He glanced at his watch. Two ten. Oh god, if he hurried this up he might actually be able to make it to his two thirty...! “And I wanted to tell you in person. I'm going to draw up a budget for you this term, and I'm going to send some supervisors over to make sure that you follow my-”
“What? Babysitters?! I don't need that shit,” Seth groaned. “Man, I took music management courses. I know my way around this shit.”
“Oh really? Then tell me what the hell that has to do with anything, since you're not going to be acting as Dethklok's manager?”
Seth froze, and Charles watched in surprise as color blazed through his face. He looked honestly stunned for a moment before he collected himself again and looked away, putting his sunglasses back on in embarrassment. “...I'm just sayin' I know about this money management bullshit, huh? I read some books about it.”
“Well I went to college for seven years and have since had over two decades of field experience. So I think you should listen to me,” Charles said dryly, “if you're smart, that is.”
“You're fuckin' stiff as a board,” Seth grunted, scraping at the wax coating on the arm of his chair. “Anybody ever tell you that? Have some sympathy, will ya? I've got a goddamn kid and I was just tryin' to keep us all safe. You know it's fuckin' crazy over there. You know. What the hell else am I supposed to do, huh? Let us all get killed? You're a real heartless bastard. I'd expect that shit from Pickles, but I guess he's gotten to you, too.”
Charles paused halfway through copying down the notes he'd made on the legal pad, looking up at Seth with furrowed brows. “...Pickles hasn't gotten to me. You're just a very...low-class person. Perhaps I made some assumptions. Well-founded assumptions.”
“Well maybe everybody else and their mother is willing to die for you crazy fucks, but I'm not. I got shit to do and life to live,” Seth said testily, flipping his sunglasses back up, and Charles was surprised yet again. “Just keep writing me my big fat paycheck every month, Chuck. I really appreciate that. Gimme that paper and I'll be outta your hair. Actually, you know what? Fuck your paper. I've got barricades and shit to build back home to make sure my house doesn't get burnt to the ground again. You have any idea what that's like, Chuck? Having your whole house go up in flames? Everything you own? Everything your loved ones own? Oh wait...yeah, you do, don't you?”
Seth got up and turned around, moving to leave the office, and Charles stood up, startled to realize that he'd been affected by Seth's words. He called for him to wait, confused, and Seth looked at him again, uncertain. Charles beckoned him closer. Seth came closer. They stared at each other over the moat of Charles' desk for a few long moments before Charles reached down and fumbled with his center desk drawer, pulling out his checkbook. Seth gave him a doubtful look.
“How much do you need to keep your family safe?” Charles asked, hating himself for it. Pickles would tear him a new asshole if he found out about this. The look on Seth's face as he registered the words served to remind Charles that he had once cared very deeply about things outside of Dethklok, though. That he had once been a man of optimism and true joie de vivre. Where had that gone? Charles wondered, watching Seth think deeply about his answer.
“...I dunno. A couple hundred thousand'll keep us secure for a while, I guess. A mil'd hold us over for the rest of the year, at least.”
“Perhaps we should look into relocating you,” Charles said quietly, his pen flying over the check. “To New Zealand, or something like that. You could work over the phone. At least until things calm down in Sydney.”
Seth was silent for a while, just watching Charles in awe. “...Are you just doin' this to try to prove to me that you're not fucked in the head?” he asked. Charles grunted.
“Perhaps I am,” he muttered. “I don't particularly know. I don't normally do favors for anyone but the boys. If you're honestly concerned about your family, though, I can help you out a little. You are ranked significantly above Klokateers, so you didn't sign waivers when you accepted your job. I do have a duty to ensure your safety.” He signed the check and tore it from his checkbook, sliding it over his desk toward Seth. “...Even if Pickles would argue otherwise.”
Seth picked up the check and looked at it, making a shocked choking sound that Charles wasn't sure how to describe. “W-wh...five million?! Are you-?!”
“Take it. This is my money. I can do with it what I wish. I want you to have it to keep your son and your wife safe. They're, ah...obviously important to you, if you're risking your job to protect them. I know what that's like,” Charles admitted, then in a way regretted it. Seth was still staring at the check, but he slowly peeled his eyes up to look at Charles again.
“...You ever been in love, Boss?” he asked quietly. Charles coughed.
“Certainly.”
“It's a great thing, ain't it?”
“...Certainly.”
“Hey.”
Charles looked at him. Seth folded the check and stuffed it into the front pocket of his jeans, gesturing for Charles to get up and come over to his side of the desk. Reluctantly, Charles did so. He kept his distance from Seth, taking in how short he was. Almost as short as Pickles...
Seth's hand suddenly jutted out in front of him, and Charles automatically reached for it. He had an oddly good handshake, for such an untrustworthy man, Charles thought. And then Seth smiled. Like Pickles on the best of days. Charles hesitated. But his eyes were less green than Pickles' were. More gray.
“...Thanks, man,” Seth said quietly. “This really means a lot.”
“Don't mention it,” Charles replied. “I mean it. Don't mention this to anyone.”
“'Course not. Whatever. Christ, this is like gettin' money from the Mob or some shit.”
“It's worse than that,” Charles said, allowing himself to turn up one corner of his mouth in amusement. Seth grunted with laughter.
“Then let me kiss your ring, Don.”
Before Charles could protest, Seth had lifted his hand up with Charles' bare fingers still in his grasp, and he pressed his lips gently to the knuckles, lingering for just a moment before he lowered Charles' hand again and then released him. Charles started at him, bewildered. He looked oddly content as he nodded.
“Now we're even.”
“That was hardly worth five million dollars,” Charles said on impulse, and again regretted it immediately. Seth gave him a bit of a look, considering for a long minute before he sighed and ran his hand through his hair.
“Alright then. Hold on.”
And Charles wished he hadn't stopped carrying a gun in a holster at all times because it would have come in handy when Seth strode forward and swept his hand up over the back of Charles' neck, cupping the CFO's face with the other hand and bringing him down quickly to unite their mouths. Taken aback, Charles simply fumbled for the gun that wasn't there, Seth's hand knocking his glasses askew, his lips slowly moving against Charles', warm and weirdly gentle, his tongue requesting entrance and being so hesitantly accepted until Charles stopped looking for his weapon and brought his own hands up to grip Seth's face, liking the feel of this much more than he would have ever thought was possible. He let go immediately when he felt Seth pulling back, and he quickly reestablished the gap between them, not sure where to look now that it was over. Seth silently reached up and wiped his mouth on the back of his arm before bowing slightly.
“Grazie or whatever the fuck,” he said indifferently. “Now I'm out, Boss. Peace. Thanks for the check.”
Seth turned on his heel and strode out of the office, putting his sunglasses back on and whistling to himself. Charles stumbled back to his chair and sat down, trying to collect himself, and he'd only managed to take his glasses off and rub at his eyes with his palms before Seth poked his head back in the doorway, eyebrows raised.
“By the way, I built those barricades last month. If you freeze my accounts, I'll tell Pickles you made out with me and liked it.” A grin crept onto his face. “Think he won't believe me? I've got a camera, but you don't know where,” Seth said deviously, and promptly stampeded away from Charles' office.
Moments later, after the shock had worn off, Charles snatched his phone off of the receiver, furious to his core.
“Drug him and bring him back here immediately!!!” he snapped at the Klokateer who answered. “He has some goddamn waivers to sign...”
HELLZ YEAH
My prompt read as follows:
Pairing: Charles/Seth
Prompt: The annual budget meeting between the CFO and the head of Dethklok Australia. Li'l Amber's presence is optional.
Must include: Inappropriate use of catering.
It was too sweet to be ignored. I had a bit of trouble with this but I think I got it in the end.
Title: Let Me Kiss Your Ring
Author: telluryan
Rating: PG-13 (Charles would NEVER have sex with this man, let me tell you lol)
Warnings: Seth being a dick
Characters: Charles and Seth
Full Summary: See above lol
Charles enjoyed traveling, for the most part. It was a big part of his job, and he made the most out of every trip that he took: to China, to Japan, to England, to Germany, to Canada, to Iceland, to Egypt, to Iraq. Each country was unique and had something different to offer. Each one had its own culture and traditions and foods to be respected, sampled, and enjoyed.
But Charles did not deign to make trips to Australia. Not anymore, at least. He wasn't particularly fond of the place as of late, what with all of the riots and general chaos that had plagued it in recent months, not to mention the person who lived there. The person who had so royally fucked the last budget meeting they'd had by throwing what could only be described as a mixer on cocaine (and Charles disliked both of those things on their own, to the point of sheer revulsion at the mention of either) in lieu of an actual meeting. The catering had been a disaster. The amount of vomiting had been abhorrent. Charles had suspected that every ounce of alcohol at the bar had been tainted, somehow. And worst of all, no actual budgeting had been done, leaving him with all of the money to do with whatever he damn well pleased.
And he had. He'd spent it all hiring the entirety of the country's police forces to protect him from the riots thrown by Dethklok fans.
Charles had banned mixers from company grounds after that. They were just no good and were far too messy.
So naturally, whenever an issue with Dethklok Australia came up, Charles was quick to make the head of the organization come to him. He knew that Pickles would have liked to hear that, after all. Pickles always enjoyed hearing about his brother suffering through being forced to do something.
It happened too soon, of course, as all things that Charles disliked did. He'd set aside his paperwork and extended his lunch hour specifically to have this meeting at one o'clock, hoping for it to be over with by two, and Seth finally waltzed into Charles' office at three minutes to the latter hour, Louis Vuitton sunglasses on, that cheap suit of his half-unbuttoned. He really could have afforded better, Charles thought bitterly. He was paid more than enough. If he spent half as much money on actual clothing as he did on sunglasses, he could look like a half-decent businessman instead of a used car salesman. He had the nerve to pull a comb out of his pocket and swipe his hair back, like some sleazy talk show host from the fifties. He flashed a smile and had a seat without being offered one. Charles just stared at him in disgust. He was beyond disbelief, at this point.
“So what's up, Chuck?” Seth asked, smirking like he'd done nothing wrong. “Got those, uh...those things I sent you? The receipts and all that shit?”
“Yes. What I want to know is why you find it necessary to waste every penny of the company's money absolutely destroying the entire continent of Australia,” Charles said icily, wasting no time in getting to the point. He really disliked Seth on a primal level, and aside from being angry at him for being so goddamn late and showing no remorse about it, he'd had another meeting at two thirty that was now going to need to be pushed back, which meant the three forty-five meeting was fucked up, which meant he would have no time for his fifteen minute break before dinner, which meant he would have to cancel that telecon at seven if he wanted everything to balance out so that he could be in bed by eleven thirty to ensure that he was well rested for his six AM meeting with Jean-Pierre tomorrow morning to discuss the menu for next week's birthday banquet for Nathan, which against the singer's desires could not include a cake made of pork tenderloin “frosted” with Explosion Sauce, to account for Skwisgaar's terrible food allergy, because the guitarist would surely complain if he couldn't eat any of the cake, even if it was just slabs of meat-
“It ain't me destroying shit. It's all those crazy nutjobs from the bush, y'know. And besides, I wasn't ever really given a budget plan last term, so uh...I did what I had to do. Yeah? Hey, you got any cigars?” Seth asked, drawing his finger around the arm of his chair lazily. Charles ground his teeth.
“None for you. Sorry.” He wasn't sorry at all. “If you recall, Seth, the reason why there was no budget plan for Dethklok Australia last term was because you spent all of our planned budgeting time doing body shots off of a girl that you renamed Cameron Diaz and telling your wife that you were busy every fifteen minutes when she called you. And also vomiting. I recall you vomiting in my briefcase, which was only one of infinite reasons why I left long before the ah...meeting was over.”
“You're such a killjoy, Chuck,” Seth grunted, frowning a little.
“Stop calling me that.”
“What? Killjoy? I only said it once.”
“Chuck. That's so vulgar. You should be referring to me as Mr. Ofdensen. I am your boss, after all.”
Seth looked genuinely surprised for a moment, his eyes widening a bit, his eyebrows cocking. “...Are you?” he asked, and for a second Charles hesitated, not sure if he was being serious or not. It took him a while to realize that he was being serious, and an even deeper frown permeated Charles' face, pulling the lines on his face down. People like this were the reason his hairline was receding.
“Yes,” he growled. “I am.”
“That's great, then. I thought I was answerin' to Pickles.”
“Well, I answer to Pickles. On occasion. So in a way, you are.”
“Dude, I've seen you. You don't answer to nobody. Dethklok doesn't know what the fuck's goin' on.”
“Don't start that sly shit with me. We're here to talk business. You can't waste any more money paying the police to be your personal bodyguards. I forbid it. I'll put a hold on your account if you keep doing that, and I'll close the branch if I have to. I'll fire you.” Charles wrote down notes on a legal pad so that Seth wouldn't forget anything that he was saying. He wished that he'd thought to buy more of those carbon paper pads so that he wouldn't have to worry about reproducing this in triplicate, as Seth was certain to lose his copy. Seth was certain to do everything possible to annoy Charles, the CFO thought bitterly, whether or not it was on purpose.
“You can't fire me. Pickles wanted me to have this job.”
Charles glared at Seth from over the horizon of his glasses. “Try me.”
In a way, Charles did have to acknowledge-admire was too strong of a word to be used on the likes of him-Seth's tenacity and unfaltering, oblivious, shit-eating optimism. Charles had gone out of his way to make Seth as uncomfortable as possible during his stay in the States, from booking him a room at a run-down motel, to designating a “company car” for him that was not at all standard (while he did like Volkswagens, personally, a pastel-yellow New Beetle was embarrassing for any self-respecting businessman to drive) in an attempt to make him want to leave as soon as possible. He seemed so very comfortable sitting there on the other side of Charles' desk, though. Charles felt his scowl deepening, and he reached up to rub at the bridge of his nose. Seth had probably driven here with the windows down, blasting that loud, obnoxious, bass-heavy hip-hop music that plagued the club scene these days. He was that kind of person.
“...At any rate, Seth, your behavior is unacceptable,” Charles continued, wishing he could just wipe this ridiculous cockroach of a man off of the face of the earth and be done with it. He glanced at his watch. Two ten. Oh god, if he hurried this up he might actually be able to make it to his two thirty...! “And I wanted to tell you in person. I'm going to draw up a budget for you this term, and I'm going to send some supervisors over to make sure that you follow my-”
“What? Babysitters?! I don't need that shit,” Seth groaned. “Man, I took music management courses. I know my way around this shit.”
“Oh really? Then tell me what the hell that has to do with anything, since you're not going to be acting as Dethklok's manager?”
Seth froze, and Charles watched in surprise as color blazed through his face. He looked honestly stunned for a moment before he collected himself again and looked away, putting his sunglasses back on in embarrassment. “...I'm just sayin' I know about this money management bullshit, huh? I read some books about it.”
“Well I went to college for seven years and have since had over two decades of field experience. So I think you should listen to me,” Charles said dryly, “if you're smart, that is.”
“You're fuckin' stiff as a board,” Seth grunted, scraping at the wax coating on the arm of his chair. “Anybody ever tell you that? Have some sympathy, will ya? I've got a goddamn kid and I was just tryin' to keep us all safe. You know it's fuckin' crazy over there. You know. What the hell else am I supposed to do, huh? Let us all get killed? You're a real heartless bastard. I'd expect that shit from Pickles, but I guess he's gotten to you, too.”
Charles paused halfway through copying down the notes he'd made on the legal pad, looking up at Seth with furrowed brows. “...Pickles hasn't gotten to me. You're just a very...low-class person. Perhaps I made some assumptions. Well-founded assumptions.”
“Well maybe everybody else and their mother is willing to die for you crazy fucks, but I'm not. I got shit to do and life to live,” Seth said testily, flipping his sunglasses back up, and Charles was surprised yet again. “Just keep writing me my big fat paycheck every month, Chuck. I really appreciate that. Gimme that paper and I'll be outta your hair. Actually, you know what? Fuck your paper. I've got barricades and shit to build back home to make sure my house doesn't get burnt to the ground again. You have any idea what that's like, Chuck? Having your whole house go up in flames? Everything you own? Everything your loved ones own? Oh wait...yeah, you do, don't you?”
Seth got up and turned around, moving to leave the office, and Charles stood up, startled to realize that he'd been affected by Seth's words. He called for him to wait, confused, and Seth looked at him again, uncertain. Charles beckoned him closer. Seth came closer. They stared at each other over the moat of Charles' desk for a few long moments before Charles reached down and fumbled with his center desk drawer, pulling out his checkbook. Seth gave him a doubtful look.
“How much do you need to keep your family safe?” Charles asked, hating himself for it. Pickles would tear him a new asshole if he found out about this. The look on Seth's face as he registered the words served to remind Charles that he had once cared very deeply about things outside of Dethklok, though. That he had once been a man of optimism and true joie de vivre. Where had that gone? Charles wondered, watching Seth think deeply about his answer.
“...I dunno. A couple hundred thousand'll keep us secure for a while, I guess. A mil'd hold us over for the rest of the year, at least.”
“Perhaps we should look into relocating you,” Charles said quietly, his pen flying over the check. “To New Zealand, or something like that. You could work over the phone. At least until things calm down in Sydney.”
Seth was silent for a while, just watching Charles in awe. “...Are you just doin' this to try to prove to me that you're not fucked in the head?” he asked. Charles grunted.
“Perhaps I am,” he muttered. “I don't particularly know. I don't normally do favors for anyone but the boys. If you're honestly concerned about your family, though, I can help you out a little. You are ranked significantly above Klokateers, so you didn't sign waivers when you accepted your job. I do have a duty to ensure your safety.” He signed the check and tore it from his checkbook, sliding it over his desk toward Seth. “...Even if Pickles would argue otherwise.”
Seth picked up the check and looked at it, making a shocked choking sound that Charles wasn't sure how to describe. “W-wh...five million?! Are you-?!”
“Take it. This is my money. I can do with it what I wish. I want you to have it to keep your son and your wife safe. They're, ah...obviously important to you, if you're risking your job to protect them. I know what that's like,” Charles admitted, then in a way regretted it. Seth was still staring at the check, but he slowly peeled his eyes up to look at Charles again.
“...You ever been in love, Boss?” he asked quietly. Charles coughed.
“Certainly.”
“It's a great thing, ain't it?”
“...Certainly.”
“Hey.”
Charles looked at him. Seth folded the check and stuffed it into the front pocket of his jeans, gesturing for Charles to get up and come over to his side of the desk. Reluctantly, Charles did so. He kept his distance from Seth, taking in how short he was. Almost as short as Pickles...
Seth's hand suddenly jutted out in front of him, and Charles automatically reached for it. He had an oddly good handshake, for such an untrustworthy man, Charles thought. And then Seth smiled. Like Pickles on the best of days. Charles hesitated. But his eyes were less green than Pickles' were. More gray.
“...Thanks, man,” Seth said quietly. “This really means a lot.”
“Don't mention it,” Charles replied. “I mean it. Don't mention this to anyone.”
“'Course not. Whatever. Christ, this is like gettin' money from the Mob or some shit.”
“It's worse than that,” Charles said, allowing himself to turn up one corner of his mouth in amusement. Seth grunted with laughter.
“Then let me kiss your ring, Don.”
Before Charles could protest, Seth had lifted his hand up with Charles' bare fingers still in his grasp, and he pressed his lips gently to the knuckles, lingering for just a moment before he lowered Charles' hand again and then released him. Charles started at him, bewildered. He looked oddly content as he nodded.
“Now we're even.”
“That was hardly worth five million dollars,” Charles said on impulse, and again regretted it immediately. Seth gave him a bit of a look, considering for a long minute before he sighed and ran his hand through his hair.
“Alright then. Hold on.”
And Charles wished he hadn't stopped carrying a gun in a holster at all times because it would have come in handy when Seth strode forward and swept his hand up over the back of Charles' neck, cupping the CFO's face with the other hand and bringing him down quickly to unite their mouths. Taken aback, Charles simply fumbled for the gun that wasn't there, Seth's hand knocking his glasses askew, his lips slowly moving against Charles', warm and weirdly gentle, his tongue requesting entrance and being so hesitantly accepted until Charles stopped looking for his weapon and brought his own hands up to grip Seth's face, liking the feel of this much more than he would have ever thought was possible. He let go immediately when he felt Seth pulling back, and he quickly reestablished the gap between them, not sure where to look now that it was over. Seth silently reached up and wiped his mouth on the back of his arm before bowing slightly.
“Grazie or whatever the fuck,” he said indifferently. “Now I'm out, Boss. Peace. Thanks for the check.”
Seth turned on his heel and strode out of the office, putting his sunglasses back on and whistling to himself. Charles stumbled back to his chair and sat down, trying to collect himself, and he'd only managed to take his glasses off and rub at his eyes with his palms before Seth poked his head back in the doorway, eyebrows raised.
“By the way, I built those barricades last month. If you freeze my accounts, I'll tell Pickles you made out with me and liked it.” A grin crept onto his face. “Think he won't believe me? I've got a camera, but you don't know where,” Seth said deviously, and promptly stampeded away from Charles' office.
Moments later, after the shock had worn off, Charles snatched his phone off of the receiver, furious to his core.
“Drug him and bring him back here immediately!!!” he snapped at the Klokateer who answered. “He has some goddamn waivers to sign...”