Clear! 3
NC-17 for graphic homosexual activities (which are, of course, the best kind of homosexual activities)
multi-part
Charles learns to live a little
A/N - after this it's all new stuff, so it'll come a lot slower ... but I'm optimistic.
Chapter 1
________
Charles Foster Ofdensen reclined on a decorative park bench. He was trying to blend in, but he still let an occasional expression of awe creep onto his face. He was at the foot of the Eiffel tower, which was cast in a black silhouette by the setting sun, how could he completely disengage?
He had spent the day on a liesurely train ride across picturesque Alpine landscapes. It was a whole day off from the grueling schedule of his business trip. It was the first of four nonconsecutive days of rest Charles had marked off in his new planner to spend with Dethklok ... well, three days to spend with Dethklok and one to run some important errands in Amsterdam.
He was on the first leg of his two week European tour, crisscrossing the continent between meetings with boards of directors and heads of state. In six months he would make a similar pilgrimage to Asia, visiting many of the other large corporations that had dealings with Dethklok.
He had made many smaller trips over the years, both with the band and alone, but this was the very first time he had ever looked up from his PDA to take in the world around him.
And so far, his first day off had been perfect. He had arrived right on time to meet Skwisgaar for their ... date. He had to be honest with himself; there was no other way to describe the encounter he was anticipating so eagerly. But the world's fastest guitarist hadn't arrived yet, so the evening still had some room for disaster. Charles couldn't relax quite yet.
With a sigh so content it surprised even himself, Charles lifted his eyes to the iconic structure before him. The mingled strength and beauty of the the iron filigree behemoth sped his heart with exhiliration.
Why have I never done this before? I've had the means for years, but I've been living like a monk.
He felt someone watching him, so he lowered his gaze to crowd level ... And suddenly his heart was pounding for an entirely different reason ...
There stood Skwisgaar, framed in the great arc of the tower's base, almost unrecognizable with his hair neatly pulled back, wearing a tailored suit, black shirt and dark red tie. Over his arm hung a black trenchcoat in case the November night turned chilly.
Charles could find no polysyllabic words to express his feelings upon seeing such a sight, so he settled for a breathless "... Hi."
"Bon soir. Readys to go's?" Skwisgaar's smirk made it clear that he noticed the impact of his appearance on his manager. Charles' expression of utter shock was worth all the lenghty preparation and all the jeering from the other bandmembers.
Together the men strolled down picture perfect Parisian streets. As they moved through the city, Charles began to notice how well Skwisgaar fit in amongst his fellow Europeans. The Swede was much more fluent in French than in English, and together they carried on a lively conversation en francais. They could've gone on all night, but Charles was rusty and out of practice. Even without the French though, Skwisgaar seemed at home. His body language, his distance, even the way he walked was reflected throughout the crowd.
After a light supper at a corner bistro, chatting up some schoolgirls who recognized Skwisgaar no matter how well he cleaned up, and a quick cocktail at an upscale bar, they arrived at the small, ornate Theatre Gris.
They sat alone in their private box and made small talk while the string ensemble warmed up.
"So, Skwisgaar, what made you choose Stravinski?"
"Well, de Russian Revolution was totally brutal ... and his musics has a lots of tension ... and struggle."
"What about Chopin?"
"Oh, you's dids notice. I's was never sure you cans hears me from de desk." Skwisgaar allowed a little self-satisfaction to creep into his smile. "I's actually picks dat up from you's cds."
"What? From my cds?"
"Ja, I wents looking for yous one day, and de cleaning ladys lets me in. You wasn't homes so I looks at de cds on de shelfs ... Why didn't you tells us?"
"Huh? Tell you what?"
"Dat you likes de metal so much."
"Skwisgaar ... I manage Dethklok ... did you guys think I didn't like metal?"
"Well ... ja. De band thoughts you hated it. But now maybe we can all enjoys it ensemble."
"Have you told the others about my collection?"
"No, dey won't believes it till dey sees it."
The conversation was cut short by the dimming of the house lights. Needless to say, when the first, bold chord was struck Charle's mind was not on the music.
At intermission they had another cocktail, and several opulently dressed elderly women approached Skwisgaar. He was very gracious to them, but kept it clear that he was there with Charles and no one else.
Charles liked being the center of Skwisgaar's attention for the evening, even if he did garner a lot of dirty, jealous looks.
They returned to their box and settled in for the remainder of the program.
After the concert, they walked back to Charles' hotel. And, once secluded in his suite, they opened a bottle of Cotes du Rhone. Together they sat at the foot of the bed and admired the glittering view of the city. They made small talk, but they both knew what they were really there for.
Charles gulped the fine, dark wine as if he could find courage in the bottom of the glass. He was visibly nervous.
"J'n'vais pas vous blesser," said Skwisgaar softly. I won't hurt you. He slid closer on the bed, taking charge where his manager hesitated.
"Je ... J'te fais confiance." Chalres fought to keep himself from trembling as Skwisgaar took the cue and leaned in.
The world's fastes guitarist pressed his face to Charles' neck and breathed in his scent, memorizing it instinctively. He gave a little nibble, just to see what his manager tasted like, and felt the pulse beneath his lips quicken.
"Excited?" he asked with a smirk.
"Very." Charles was breathless already, and they had barely begun.
Skwisgaar swept up their wine glasses and set them on a small table beside the door. He flicked the light switch, plunging the bedroom into almost total darkness. The only illumination came from the City of Lights itself, which sparkled just beyond the window.
Charles suffered, during that beautiful moment, a serious mental shut-down.
"Wait!" cried Charles, startling even himself.
"Quoi?" Skwisgaar asked with wide eyes. He was in the process of slipping off his suit coat, but paused to listen.
"It's just that ... I'd rather you didn't fall asleep here. And it's not because I don't want you to."
Skwisgaar raised an eyebrow, a little confused, lost in the semantics.
"What I mean is, there are no Klokateers here to protect you, and I can't sleep unless I know you guys are ... well safe ... and I've got more meetings tomorrow ..."
Understanding settled upon the Swede's features. He smiled at the single-minded devotion and efficiency. Pure Charles Foster Ofdensen.
"Ja. And dere wills be ... uh ... beaucoup des autres opportunities. N'est-ce pas?"
"I sincerely hope so," managed Ofdensen before he could no longer contain his desire. The two men crashed together, lips meeting with no second thoughts, all shyness fast falling away.
At first it was sensory cacaphony as they migrated up the bed and tossed designer suits and thousand dollar shirts to the floor in heaps.
But once their hands were free, everything slowed and blurred. Charles lost himself in the feel of sure hands running across his skin. He surrendered to the warmth of his lovers body and to the eager length that met his own. There was just so much to explore.
Charles slid his thumb gently across Skwisgaar's nipple, then again, just a bit more firmly. He was rewarded with a little gasp and an aggressive thrust.
Meanwhile, Skwisgaar was very dexterously mapping out the hard, lean body previously hidden beneath all those business suits. He was especially impresed with the sturdy thigh nudging his own apart. The muscles flexing within it were not so well defined as, say Toki's, but they were undoubtedly much stronger and more disciplined.
They broke apart so Charles could taste his way down Skwisgaar's body, sampling every inch of alabaster skin he could lay his lips upon. He repositioned the guitarist with ease, the featherweight musician putty in his hands. Kneeling in the center of the bed, Charles set Skwisgaar astride his lap. Long strands of blond hair were slipping free of their ponytail, but they went unnoticed.
With very slow and calculatedly seductive movements Skwisgaar snagged one of his manager's hands and brought it to his lips. He sucked gently on two fingers, pleased with the low moan he received.
Charles, suddenly enflamed by the vivid memory of Toki and Skwisgaar at the Halloween party, pulled his fingers back and brought them directly to his ultimate goal. Skwisgaar shivered when he felt the delicate touch. Patiently and confidently, the fingers pushed inward. They soothed the sting with gentle strokes that made the guitarist pant and squirm for more. The fingers responded by sliding deeper and stretching wider.
After three thorough fingers and a healthy dollop of the Astroglide that a concierge had been thoughtful enough to stash under a pillow, Charles lowered Skwisgaar back down to the covers. The blond spread his legs in explicit invitation.
Charles took his time working his way in. He pressed the flared head of his cock into endless heat and gripping pressure. His entire length throbbed and begged for more.
Skwisgaar took it like a champ, staying calm and relaxing his muscles with what had to be practiced ease. Every now and again he would intentionally clench, driving his lover to groan, both of them fighting the urge to thrust wildly. When Charles was finally balls deep and his cock was alive with sensation, he began a slow rythm of shallow thrusts.
He snaked his hand between them, still faintly slimy with Astroglide, and took hold of Skwisgaar's long, arcing erection. He pumped his hand gently and evenly, letting his thumb linger and toy with the underside of the head.
But all too soon Charles began to lose control of his hips. He pistoned in and out with increasing strength and pace. His eyes glazed over, and his hand tightened around Skwisgaar.
The world's fastest guitarist was also losing control. His fists were knotted in the damask comforter, his hips tilting to direct Charles' cock where he most wanted it to go. Skwisgaar shuddered and clenched, riding his manager's big dick as hard as he could from his position.
Then finally, Charles could hold back his orgasm no longer. He pushed forward with all his might and exploded, coming and coming for what felt like blissful hours. Thrusting sporadically and compulsively, he slowed and melted to the bed alongside Skwisgaar.
Free to concentrate on the hungry cock in his hand, Charles pumped and teased until Skwisgaar, too, cried out. He watched the Swede come in facination, savoring every bit lip and the splatter of pearly cum on a beautiful, heaving chest.
For long moments they caught their breath and kissed in silence.
"Care to join me for a quick shower?" offered Charles when the air became chilly on their sweaty skin.
"Ja, dat sounds likes a good next business orders."
"Skwisgaar?"
"Ja?"
"Never, ever change."
________
Chapter 2
________
November in Catalonia was cool and bright. The leaves were off the trees, and the damp in the air almost smelled like spring.
Charles leaned against a low wall, facing the busy entrance to PortAventura. He had taken some time between his power brunch in Madrid and his insurance rate negotiations in Brussels to spend time with Toki. He never would have chosen an amusement park himself, but Toki's excitement was infectious. Charles was almost, dare he say, looking forward to several hours of junk food, lines and roller coasters.
He had dressed down to blend in, deciding on pleated khakis and a clingy black cashmere sweater. The day was not so cold that he needed the Harvard hoodie tied around his waist, but the forecast called for thunderstorms, so he would lug it around just in case.
He felt so damn relaxed. He had noticed a certain levity in his posture and gait since his evening with Skwisgaar. He no longer needed two cups of coffee to start his day, or two Tylenol PMs to help him sleep. He wondered why it had taken him so long to admit that overall wellbeing demands some form of a sex life.
Charles' stomach gave a quick twinge. His breakfast with Juan Carlos, Elena Salgado and Herman Van Rompuy had been filling, but not nearly enough to last all day. He hoped that Toki would not be much longer.
In the distance behind him roller coasters roared like metal dragons. High pitched screams pierced from every corner of the park. Was that eagerness he felt tugging inside him? He silenced his inner paper pusher and embraced the cautious excitement.
"Sorrys I'ms late!"
Charles looked up with a snap. He could hear Toki, but he couldn't see him. A young man pushed through the crowd and looked at Charles expectantly. He wore olive drab cargo pants and a pale blue v-neck sweater. He had long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail ... He certainly looked like Toki ... but that couldn't be T-...
"Why'd you shave?!" Charles cried before he could stop himself. He reprimanded himself silently for not greeting Toki more graciously, realizing too late that the guitarist was trying to go incognito.
But Toki just smiled sweetly, taking pleasure in his manager's expression. Skwisgaar had been right, that part was really fun.
"I mean 'no problem, how have you been?'" Charles began again, and they strolled deeper into the park together.
Toki filled Charles in on the day to day events at Mordhaus. Nothing exciting had happened so far. Making mischief at the haus just wasn't entertaining unless someone was there to be bothered by it.
After gorging themselves on pizza, fried dough, cotton candy and soda, Toki asked questions about the places Charles had been, and listened attentively to the answers. Charles decided he should get each of the boys alone more often.
Then they waited in line for Furius Baco and let the conversation go where it may. When the person behind them had headphones blaring and the person in front of them was engrossed in a debate via her dethphone, Charles felt bold enough to bring up a subject that had been nagging at him.
"Toki, do you like Skwisgaar?" He could see right away that Toki knew exactly what he meant. The youngest member of Dethklok blushed and bit his lip, nodding a little. "Have you two ... ?"
"No," Toki looked away. Charles couldn't tell if he looked disappointed or offended. There was a short pause in which Toki overcame his need to keep the secret. "But I'ds likes to."
TBC
multi-part
Charles learns to live a little
A/N - after this it's all new stuff, so it'll come a lot slower ... but I'm optimistic.
Chapter 1
________
Charles Foster Ofdensen reclined on a decorative park bench. He was trying to blend in, but he still let an occasional expression of awe creep onto his face. He was at the foot of the Eiffel tower, which was cast in a black silhouette by the setting sun, how could he completely disengage?
He had spent the day on a liesurely train ride across picturesque Alpine landscapes. It was a whole day off from the grueling schedule of his business trip. It was the first of four nonconsecutive days of rest Charles had marked off in his new planner to spend with Dethklok ... well, three days to spend with Dethklok and one to run some important errands in Amsterdam.
He was on the first leg of his two week European tour, crisscrossing the continent between meetings with boards of directors and heads of state. In six months he would make a similar pilgrimage to Asia, visiting many of the other large corporations that had dealings with Dethklok.
He had made many smaller trips over the years, both with the band and alone, but this was the very first time he had ever looked up from his PDA to take in the world around him.
And so far, his first day off had been perfect. He had arrived right on time to meet Skwisgaar for their ... date. He had to be honest with himself; there was no other way to describe the encounter he was anticipating so eagerly. But the world's fastest guitarist hadn't arrived yet, so the evening still had some room for disaster. Charles couldn't relax quite yet.
With a sigh so content it surprised even himself, Charles lifted his eyes to the iconic structure before him. The mingled strength and beauty of the the iron filigree behemoth sped his heart with exhiliration.
Why have I never done this before? I've had the means for years, but I've been living like a monk.
He felt someone watching him, so he lowered his gaze to crowd level ... And suddenly his heart was pounding for an entirely different reason ...
There stood Skwisgaar, framed in the great arc of the tower's base, almost unrecognizable with his hair neatly pulled back, wearing a tailored suit, black shirt and dark red tie. Over his arm hung a black trenchcoat in case the November night turned chilly.
Charles could find no polysyllabic words to express his feelings upon seeing such a sight, so he settled for a breathless "... Hi."
"Bon soir. Readys to go's?" Skwisgaar's smirk made it clear that he noticed the impact of his appearance on his manager. Charles' expression of utter shock was worth all the lenghty preparation and all the jeering from the other bandmembers.
Together the men strolled down picture perfect Parisian streets. As they moved through the city, Charles began to notice how well Skwisgaar fit in amongst his fellow Europeans. The Swede was much more fluent in French than in English, and together they carried on a lively conversation en francais. They could've gone on all night, but Charles was rusty and out of practice. Even without the French though, Skwisgaar seemed at home. His body language, his distance, even the way he walked was reflected throughout the crowd.
After a light supper at a corner bistro, chatting up some schoolgirls who recognized Skwisgaar no matter how well he cleaned up, and a quick cocktail at an upscale bar, they arrived at the small, ornate Theatre Gris.
They sat alone in their private box and made small talk while the string ensemble warmed up.
"So, Skwisgaar, what made you choose Stravinski?"
"Well, de Russian Revolution was totally brutal ... and his musics has a lots of tension ... and struggle."
"What about Chopin?"
"Oh, you's dids notice. I's was never sure you cans hears me from de desk." Skwisgaar allowed a little self-satisfaction to creep into his smile. "I's actually picks dat up from you's cds."
"What? From my cds?"
"Ja, I wents looking for yous one day, and de cleaning ladys lets me in. You wasn't homes so I looks at de cds on de shelfs ... Why didn't you tells us?"
"Huh? Tell you what?"
"Dat you likes de metal so much."
"Skwisgaar ... I manage Dethklok ... did you guys think I didn't like metal?"
"Well ... ja. De band thoughts you hated it. But now maybe we can all enjoys it ensemble."
"Have you told the others about my collection?"
"No, dey won't believes it till dey sees it."
The conversation was cut short by the dimming of the house lights. Needless to say, when the first, bold chord was struck Charle's mind was not on the music.
At intermission they had another cocktail, and several opulently dressed elderly women approached Skwisgaar. He was very gracious to them, but kept it clear that he was there with Charles and no one else.
Charles liked being the center of Skwisgaar's attention for the evening, even if he did garner a lot of dirty, jealous looks.
They returned to their box and settled in for the remainder of the program.
After the concert, they walked back to Charles' hotel. And, once secluded in his suite, they opened a bottle of Cotes du Rhone. Together they sat at the foot of the bed and admired the glittering view of the city. They made small talk, but they both knew what they were really there for.
Charles gulped the fine, dark wine as if he could find courage in the bottom of the glass. He was visibly nervous.
"J'n'vais pas vous blesser," said Skwisgaar softly. I won't hurt you. He slid closer on the bed, taking charge where his manager hesitated.
"Je ... J'te fais confiance." Chalres fought to keep himself from trembling as Skwisgaar took the cue and leaned in.
The world's fastes guitarist pressed his face to Charles' neck and breathed in his scent, memorizing it instinctively. He gave a little nibble, just to see what his manager tasted like, and felt the pulse beneath his lips quicken.
"Excited?" he asked with a smirk.
"Very." Charles was breathless already, and they had barely begun.
Skwisgaar swept up their wine glasses and set them on a small table beside the door. He flicked the light switch, plunging the bedroom into almost total darkness. The only illumination came from the City of Lights itself, which sparkled just beyond the window.
Charles suffered, during that beautiful moment, a serious mental shut-down.
"Wait!" cried Charles, startling even himself.
"Quoi?" Skwisgaar asked with wide eyes. He was in the process of slipping off his suit coat, but paused to listen.
"It's just that ... I'd rather you didn't fall asleep here. And it's not because I don't want you to."
Skwisgaar raised an eyebrow, a little confused, lost in the semantics.
"What I mean is, there are no Klokateers here to protect you, and I can't sleep unless I know you guys are ... well safe ... and I've got more meetings tomorrow ..."
Understanding settled upon the Swede's features. He smiled at the single-minded devotion and efficiency. Pure Charles Foster Ofdensen.
"Ja. And dere wills be ... uh ... beaucoup des autres opportunities. N'est-ce pas?"
"I sincerely hope so," managed Ofdensen before he could no longer contain his desire. The two men crashed together, lips meeting with no second thoughts, all shyness fast falling away.
At first it was sensory cacaphony as they migrated up the bed and tossed designer suits and thousand dollar shirts to the floor in heaps.
But once their hands were free, everything slowed and blurred. Charles lost himself in the feel of sure hands running across his skin. He surrendered to the warmth of his lovers body and to the eager length that met his own. There was just so much to explore.
Charles slid his thumb gently across Skwisgaar's nipple, then again, just a bit more firmly. He was rewarded with a little gasp and an aggressive thrust.
Meanwhile, Skwisgaar was very dexterously mapping out the hard, lean body previously hidden beneath all those business suits. He was especially impresed with the sturdy thigh nudging his own apart. The muscles flexing within it were not so well defined as, say Toki's, but they were undoubtedly much stronger and more disciplined.
They broke apart so Charles could taste his way down Skwisgaar's body, sampling every inch of alabaster skin he could lay his lips upon. He repositioned the guitarist with ease, the featherweight musician putty in his hands. Kneeling in the center of the bed, Charles set Skwisgaar astride his lap. Long strands of blond hair were slipping free of their ponytail, but they went unnoticed.
With very slow and calculatedly seductive movements Skwisgaar snagged one of his manager's hands and brought it to his lips. He sucked gently on two fingers, pleased with the low moan he received.
Charles, suddenly enflamed by the vivid memory of Toki and Skwisgaar at the Halloween party, pulled his fingers back and brought them directly to his ultimate goal. Skwisgaar shivered when he felt the delicate touch. Patiently and confidently, the fingers pushed inward. They soothed the sting with gentle strokes that made the guitarist pant and squirm for more. The fingers responded by sliding deeper and stretching wider.
After three thorough fingers and a healthy dollop of the Astroglide that a concierge had been thoughtful enough to stash under a pillow, Charles lowered Skwisgaar back down to the covers. The blond spread his legs in explicit invitation.
Charles took his time working his way in. He pressed the flared head of his cock into endless heat and gripping pressure. His entire length throbbed and begged for more.
Skwisgaar took it like a champ, staying calm and relaxing his muscles with what had to be practiced ease. Every now and again he would intentionally clench, driving his lover to groan, both of them fighting the urge to thrust wildly. When Charles was finally balls deep and his cock was alive with sensation, he began a slow rythm of shallow thrusts.
He snaked his hand between them, still faintly slimy with Astroglide, and took hold of Skwisgaar's long, arcing erection. He pumped his hand gently and evenly, letting his thumb linger and toy with the underside of the head.
But all too soon Charles began to lose control of his hips. He pistoned in and out with increasing strength and pace. His eyes glazed over, and his hand tightened around Skwisgaar.
The world's fastest guitarist was also losing control. His fists were knotted in the damask comforter, his hips tilting to direct Charles' cock where he most wanted it to go. Skwisgaar shuddered and clenched, riding his manager's big dick as hard as he could from his position.
Then finally, Charles could hold back his orgasm no longer. He pushed forward with all his might and exploded, coming and coming for what felt like blissful hours. Thrusting sporadically and compulsively, he slowed and melted to the bed alongside Skwisgaar.
Free to concentrate on the hungry cock in his hand, Charles pumped and teased until Skwisgaar, too, cried out. He watched the Swede come in facination, savoring every bit lip and the splatter of pearly cum on a beautiful, heaving chest.
For long moments they caught their breath and kissed in silence.
"Care to join me for a quick shower?" offered Charles when the air became chilly on their sweaty skin.
"Ja, dat sounds likes a good next business orders."
"Skwisgaar?"
"Ja?"
"Never, ever change."
________
Chapter 2
________
November in Catalonia was cool and bright. The leaves were off the trees, and the damp in the air almost smelled like spring.
Charles leaned against a low wall, facing the busy entrance to PortAventura. He had taken some time between his power brunch in Madrid and his insurance rate negotiations in Brussels to spend time with Toki. He never would have chosen an amusement park himself, but Toki's excitement was infectious. Charles was almost, dare he say, looking forward to several hours of junk food, lines and roller coasters.
He had dressed down to blend in, deciding on pleated khakis and a clingy black cashmere sweater. The day was not so cold that he needed the Harvard hoodie tied around his waist, but the forecast called for thunderstorms, so he would lug it around just in case.
He felt so damn relaxed. He had noticed a certain levity in his posture and gait since his evening with Skwisgaar. He no longer needed two cups of coffee to start his day, or two Tylenol PMs to help him sleep. He wondered why it had taken him so long to admit that overall wellbeing demands some form of a sex life.
Charles' stomach gave a quick twinge. His breakfast with Juan Carlos, Elena Salgado and Herman Van Rompuy had been filling, but not nearly enough to last all day. He hoped that Toki would not be much longer.
In the distance behind him roller coasters roared like metal dragons. High pitched screams pierced from every corner of the park. Was that eagerness he felt tugging inside him? He silenced his inner paper pusher and embraced the cautious excitement.
"Sorrys I'ms late!"
Charles looked up with a snap. He could hear Toki, but he couldn't see him. A young man pushed through the crowd and looked at Charles expectantly. He wore olive drab cargo pants and a pale blue v-neck sweater. He had long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail ... He certainly looked like Toki ... but that couldn't be T-...
"Why'd you shave?!" Charles cried before he could stop himself. He reprimanded himself silently for not greeting Toki more graciously, realizing too late that the guitarist was trying to go incognito.
But Toki just smiled sweetly, taking pleasure in his manager's expression. Skwisgaar had been right, that part was really fun.
"I mean 'no problem, how have you been?'" Charles began again, and they strolled deeper into the park together.
Toki filled Charles in on the day to day events at Mordhaus. Nothing exciting had happened so far. Making mischief at the haus just wasn't entertaining unless someone was there to be bothered by it.
After gorging themselves on pizza, fried dough, cotton candy and soda, Toki asked questions about the places Charles had been, and listened attentively to the answers. Charles decided he should get each of the boys alone more often.
Then they waited in line for Furius Baco and let the conversation go where it may. When the person behind them had headphones blaring and the person in front of them was engrossed in a debate via her dethphone, Charles felt bold enough to bring up a subject that had been nagging at him.
"Toki, do you like Skwisgaar?" He could see right away that Toki knew exactly what he meant. The youngest member of Dethklok blushed and bit his lip, nodding a little. "Have you two ... ?"
"No," Toki looked away. Charles couldn't tell if he looked disappointed or offended. There was a short pause in which Toki overcame his need to keep the secret. "But I'ds likes to."
TBC