The Days of Charlie Offdensen
The Days of Charlie Offdensen.
Author: The Magic Rat
Rating: R
Pairing: Nathan/Charles, Toki/Skwisgaar.
Warnings: Dethklok being themselves.
Word Count: 5932
Disclaimer: Metalocalypse, the members of Dethklok, and lyrics to Dethklok songs belong to Brendon Small, Cartoon Network and Turner Music. Copyright for all stories and original characters such as Badger the Roadie is with the author, and may not be published, copied, distributed or archived without the author's prior written consent.
Summary: Just a series of days in the life of Charles Offdensen.
Author’s notes: A belated birthday fic for 13_number13. I’ve had this bunny in my head a long time - just a collection of vignettes that sort of encompass the DK timeline. Hope you like it.
Touring with floor-pickles.
Charles had heard the myth, of course. The one that claimed all drummers could sleep anytime, anyplace, anywhere. Heard it and disregarded it as fan-created fluff. He didn’t believe it, and even if there was some truth to it, that certainly did not apply to Pickles. True he’d seen Pickles asleep on the couch in the main fire hall, but he’d seen all of the boys asleep there once in a while. But Charles had never toured with the boys before, so he had been spared some of the more colourful exploits until the night he got falling-down loaded with them and they finally let him into their inner circle. It cut into his personal time, but he found he liked having the boys trust him much more than having them be wary and treating him like a potential adversary. So when they invited him to the release party of another death metal band they liked, Charles was only too happy to go along.
He stood out like a sore thumb, of course, but he was still happy to be there. He only wished he had some idea what the guys were telling people about him, because the lead guitar player of ‘Krybbedød’ was using body language and limited English to let Charles know what he would like to spend the night doing. It was just a little intimidating to have a tall scrawny guitar player who looked like the bastard offspring of a Viking and a witch nuzzle up to him. It was also kinda fun. Charles put him in the “maybe but I’m not drunk enough yet” pile. Then he heard Nathan laugh.
“Go Pickles! Toki get the camera, this is the best one yet.”
Curious, Charles approached one of the long, black-draped buffet tables where there seemed to be a crowd gathering, followed by his leggy, bony witch with the hollow eyes. He drew close to Nathan, and stared at what was on the buffet table.
It was true that the punch bowl on the table, made of silver and crystal, was very large. It was also true that Pickles was quite a bit smaller than the average adult male. However there were some places even a little guy did not usually fit, and that was in a punchbowl. Yet somehow Pickles had managed it. He was rolled up into a ball, settled deep in the large extravagant basin, heedless of the fact that people had been using him as a place to put olive pits and orange rinds. He was dead asleep, looking like a kitten in a basket. Charles looked up at Nathan.
“Is he all right?”
“Yeah. He does this every party,” said Nathan, video taping the moment for blackmail purposes. “He gets loaded, he runs out of steam, and finds the nearest place to sleep.”
“But… he’s in a punchbowl.”
“Yeah well he’s a drummer.”
“Yeah,” agreed Murderface. “He’sh a drummer.”
Charles stared at the body in the punchbowl. “But he shouldn’t even fit!”
“I know!” said Nathan. “But he’s cute isn’t he?”
“Do we just leave him there?”
“Sure, why not?”
Charles became indignant. “I don’t like the idea of Pickles lying on a buffet table like an hors d’oeurve that’s hit the floor.”
“Well that’s where most floor-pickles end up. He’s fine.”
“He is not a floor-pickle.”
“Just let him sleep, Charles, he’s fine.”
Charles stared at Pickles, slowly cocking his head to one side. Well it certainly was a fascinating talent. Then Charles smiled as he felt someone nibbling his collar. He turned to look into those eyes, so devoid of anything natural or human. Charles didn’t know his name, or his language, but there was something very enticing about being pursued by a being who could very well have ancestors that watched Yggdrasil first crack its shell to put out roots. Charles reached up to touch his face, and the man made some sort of little sound. Something cute. And very, very, not human.
“Well, you’re quite adorable, aren’t you?” said Charles.
Then from behind him he heard a hellish snarl; a wolf of the Fimbulwinter sighting prey. For the briefest second, Charles’ new friend stood revealed as some creature of the past; fae and elven with the antlers of a stag. Then he was gone. Charles looked over his shoulder, and was just in time to see Nathan’s eyes fade from burning red to cold green. The huge man glowered after the retreating guitar player, taking a drink of beer as he did so.
“Damned Scandinavian forest-elves think they can fuck anybody’s manager,” he grumbled.
Stallion and Mare.
Charles had a headache the size of a Buick. It had been a very long day, and it seemed to just keep getting longer. The final straw had been finding out Toki had given an enormous amount of money to an organization called ‘Hot Chocolate’. Knowing how Toki’s brain worked, he probably thought it was a candy-making franchise. He was going to be sadly disappointed to find out he just blew 21 million dollars funding a research group investigating the life forms that existed in volcanic mud floes.
“My kingdom for a brain cell,” Charles muttered, standing before his desk in his office, trying to figure out how to fix this mess. Well he could just not say anything and let Toki forget about it and let the scientists keep their unexpected windfall. How hard would it be to simply ship Toki a load of fine chocolate and call the whole thing square? “Dethklok funds valuable research” certainly read better than “Dethklok have infinitely more money than brains”. Besides, Toki loved animals. Even strange little microscopic ones that liked to burble around in superheated mud.
A hand suddenly rested on his right hip, and Charles froze. An eyebrow went up, and his facial expression suggested he was considering sending the groper through a wall. Then he detected the tell-tale odour of beer.
“What are you doing, Nathan?” Charles asked, tone suggesting he still wasn’t done considering the option of putting Nathan through a wall.
“Just relax,” said Nathan quietly.
Charles wondered if Nathan had any idea how easy it would be for Charles to kill him. Probably not. Charles felt a hand rest on his left hip.
“Nathan?”
“It’s okay,” said Nathan quietly. He pushed up the edges of Charles’ jacket, hands coming to rest around his waist. “I’m just uh… testing a personal theory.”
“And what would that be?”
“I can’t tell you. It would uh…. in…ter… uh… It would mess with the process.”
A hand slipped around Charles’ waist, lightly caressing his flat stomach.
“Nathan? Don’t you think you’re getting just a little… personal?”
“Just… checking something.”
Well this was getting interesting. How often did a drunk rock star walk into his office and begin pawing him? Well he had no one to blame for this but himself - he had very much wanted to be part of the inner circle. Of course he hadn’t realized that would entail a complete loss of personal space and dignity. Charles felt his jacket being unbuttoned, then drawn off his shoulders. Just what was this theory, after all? How far can I push Charles until he snaps and kills me?
“Nathan…”
“It’s okay. Just… trust me.”
“I might be more inclined to trust you if I knew what you were doing.”
Nathan used one huge hand to open the belt on Charles’ pants with a soft ‘snap!’
“Guess…” Nathan hissed softly into his ear.
Charles slowly looked over his shoulder at the large man, scrutinizing him coldly. “Just how drunk are you?”
“Not uh… not as think as drunkle peep I are.”
Charles raised an eyebrow. “Well, that answers that.”
“Hey,” growled Nathan playfully. “Be nice.”
Charles felt a hand slip under his shirt, caressing his stomach. The hand slowly explored his flesh, gently caressing him. Then it began to wander down into his pants, and Charles stiffened.
“Nathan you have exactly three seconds to move that, or I do to you what I did to that assassin.”
Nathan softly nuzzled his ear. “Hush,” he whispered. “Just relax.”
“Two seconds.”
“Relax,” said Nathan quietly. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m not… gonna hurt you. I wouldn’t.”
Charles gave serious thought to kicking Nathan’s ass. After all the big fat slob had a hell of a lot of nerve coming in here and assuming Charles would just let him mount him like two stray ponies in a field. But then again, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Sometimes the mare stood for the stallion and sometimes she kicked his chest in. Nathan had no idea if Charles would stand or kick if he didn’t try.
So far standing seemed to be winning out, but Charles was leaving his ‘kick’ option open.
“Well I think I know what you are hoping to get out of this ‘personal theory’ of yours. Just what the hell do I get out of this?”
“Forty minutes in heaven?”
“You’re going to have to do better than that.”
Nathan paused. “I don’t know if I can go longer than that.”
A large hand slid into Charles’ pants. The delicately balanced needle drifted to ‘kick’ for a moment, as the hand stroked his lower abdomen. Then he moved into a slightly more receptive stance.
“How about a little respect?” Charles asked quietly.
Nathan seemed genuinely puzzled. “I respect you. We all respect you. Okay I guess we’re all kinda hard on you but… we respect you.”
“Well if you respect me then why did you walk in here and attempt to get into my pants without even so much as talking to me?”
“I told you,” said Nathan, large hands gently caressing him. “I was testing a theory.”
“What theory?”
“Well Pickles said he didn’t think there was anything you wouldn’t do for us, and Murderface said you wouldn’t have sex with us. Skwisgaar said he was pretty sure you would if… you know… we were nice. And Toki said he thought you would too because… you know… you were like… devoted to us. And I said one of us should see if that was true and they said I should go because…. well… like… I’m the singer and I can still sing if you rip my arm off and shove it up my ass, but the other guys all sorta need their hands.”
Kick won. Charles was small but there was nothing wrong with his hand-to-hand combat skills. Nathan Explosion was thrown a dozen feet across the room and landed flat on his ass. He slid to a halt, shocked into silence and immobility. Charles straightened his clothes.
“Fuck you,” he said, his tone clipped and succinct. Then he left the office, heading into his private quarters. After slamming the door with a satisfying ‘boom’, he locked it and poured himself a glass of brandy. Then his phone went off and he looked at it, reading the text message.
‘Knock knock?’
Charles texted back; ‘Eat me.’
After a moment there was a reply. ‘Open the door. Please?’
‘Go to hell. Go directly to hell. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars.’
‘Please?’
Charles wavered, then held his ground. ‘You know Nate, contrary to popular belief, I am a very valuable asset to this organization. Not a cheap hooker. If you want a cheap hooker, go buy one. I happen to cost thousands, and that’s just to get me to look at you long enough to tell you that you can’t afford me. I already handle your finances, your tours, your legal matters, your investments, contracts, taxes…. If you want to fuck me on top of it, that will be an extra eight mil a year for you just to be told I have a headache.’
There was a long pause. Charles was about to consider the conversation over, when Nathan sent a reply.
‘So you’re a really, really expensive hooker.’
‘I’m calling security.’
Charles could hear Nathan flee the office. He wondered how long it would take the big jerk to remember the haus security guards all worked for him.
Gooneybirds.
“Well, this is certainly some set up, Charlie.”
General Crosier looked around Charles’ office with approval. He considered being in Mordhaus a diplomatic mission into enemy territory, and as such was respecting the rules of the truce. He had no interest in heading into areas where he was not permitted. He was only here to see Charles. After all, this situation was bound to come to an end eventually. He’d like to still have a relationship with his son when that happened.
“Brandy?” said Charles.
“Yes, please.”
Crosier walked over to the window, looking out over the expansive grounds and the small village just to one side of the great keep. He accepted the glass of brandy Charles handed him.
“Well your mother’s proud of you. But I always knew you’d do well in life.”
“I had an excellent role-model,” said Charles.
“Yeah?” said Crosier dryly. “Who was that?”
Charles just smiled, and the two stood in pleasant silence for a few minutes. Crosier was about to speak, when he noticed something odd at the far side of the office. He walked over to inspect what at first looked like a heap of debris, but quickly realized it was a model aircraft, half completed. He picked it up.
“Aren’t you a little old for this, Charlie?”
“That’s not me, that’s Toki. He comes in here to paint his models. He likes the light in my office.”
Crosier made a sound of amusement, and set the model down. He froze as he noticed a second airplane, blinking as if he didn’t quite believe his eyes. He reached out to pick up the model, turning it over in his hands.
“I’ll be damned,” he said quietly.
“What?” asked Charles.
“It’s a gooneybird!”
“I’m sorry, a what?”
Crosier rolled his eyes. “And you call yourself my son. It’s an EC-47 Electric Goon! I used to fly one of these back in Vietnam. I didn’t know they made models of these.” Crosier grinned. “Kid’s pretty good. This is a real little work of art.”
“I guess I never paid much attention to Toki’s planes.”
Crosier turned the craft over, pointing out tiny details to himself, then setting it aside to pick up another. “Charlie… just between you and me. Just talk between two people. Do you think there’s any truth to this curse, or them being reincarnated Sumerian demons?”
Charles’ mind flashed back to the night of the party, when Charles swore he saw antlers on a man, and Nathan’s eyes blaze red. He strongly suspected there was something very otherworldly to his boys, but his job was to protect them.
“No. But you knew that. Why are you asking me now?”
Crosier showed Charles the airplane he was holding. “This is a JU-87, a German Stuka. Now I have a friend who flew Stukas in the Second World War. He ended up in a British POW camp after he had a portion of his tail shot away.” Crosier showed Charles the plane, and the carefully crafted damage. “Exactly like that.”
“Well… that’s an interesting coincidence, but…”
Crosier set aside the Stuka and held up the Gooneybird again. “See the nose art?”
“Yes, it’s partially-dressed young lady doing implied lewd things with a duck. Many aircraft had nose art, I’ve seen Toki’s books on the subject.”
“Nose art, yes, but not this particular piece of nose art.”
“Well what’s so special about it?”
“Well, not much, other than it took a buddy of mine and I about seven hours to paint it, and then two hours after we were done our commanding officer made us paint over it because he didn’t want some visiting military big-wigs to see it. Charlie… your Toki has recreated a piece of nose art that existed for less than a day and was never documented.”
“Well that’s impossible. How could he have done that?’
“I was hoping you could tell me. Charlie, he’s not just making model planes. He seems to be creating specific aircraft.”
“Well it’s possible, Dad, he does read an enormous amount on the subject.”
Crosier raised an eyebrow. “He can read?” he asked in that same dry tone that only his family recognized as joking.
Charles took the little model and set it aside. “Stop picking on my kids.”
Crosier chuckled and picked up a third little plane. “Where is he getting these models? I didn’t know they made kits for some of these, they’re pretty damned obscure.”
“Well Toki is a pretty hard core model maker. He doesn’t use store-bought kits. He casts his own. Even blends his own plastics and resins.”
“When does he find time to practice playing his guitar?”
Charles shrugged. “He doesn’t sleep much.”
Crosier set the model aside and picked up the Goon once more. “How’s he handling the loss of his father?”
“Not well. Toki’s not very well equipped emotionally to deal with these things. He deals by… not dealing. In many ways he’s almost non-functional.”
“Who’s nots function…als?”
Charles was well accustomed to thinking on his feet. “My Uncle Bob.”
Crosier shot Charles a look that implied he would like to have a word with him about his choice of relatives on whom to blame things in the future.
“Dat’s brutal,” said Toki. “He not’s dying, is he?”
“No, he’s just terribly annoying. Toki this is my… friend… General Crosier. General, this is Toki Wartooth. Toki the General was just admiring your planes.”
Toki perked up. “You likes my planes?”
“I do, very much. Especially this one.” Crosier held up the Goon. “I used to fly one of these.”
“You dids? Do you knows Chappy Richards?”
Crosier’s jaw dropped, and his eyes became huge. “Yes I knew Chappy! I flew the Goon with… how do you know Chappy?”
“Oh I research militaries bases, t’ings likes dat. Den I finds where da peoples is an’ ask for pictures. Sometimes dey sends dem. I talks to Chappy alls da time. He don’ts like metal but he still cool guy. He send me picture of da Goon, ask me to makes him model. I just abouts to sends him dat one.”
“Where is Chappy? Do you have his address?”
“Ja he livings in Canada. He goes ups dere so he can marries his boyfriend.”
Crosier blinked. “You’re kidding.”
“No, wants to see? I was just ups dere for visit. Dey both pretties ugly, looks likes two wrinklies oysters matings when dey kiss.”
Toki handed Crosier his deth phone, showing him pictures of an aged but cheerful Chappy Richards, a bright-eyed Toki, and an old man who looked like the bastard child of Winston Churchill and a Shar-Pei.
“My god that man’s ugly!” said Crosier. “Gay or not, what does Chappy see in him?”
“He makes beer,” said Toki.
“That would do it,” muttered Crosier. Then he turned to Charles. “It was good seeing you again, Charlie. Best of luck with the release party tomorrow night. I’m sure it will be a huge success.”
“Is you comings?” asked Toki brightly.
Crosier smiled in a way Charles didn’t like at all. “You might see me.”
Forgive me.
The bed shifted, and Charles opened his eyes, confused. He looked towards the cause of the disturbance, and saw a lean blonde form getting into bed with him.
“Skwisgaar?” Charles asked blearily.
Skwisgaar fussed and squirmed, shoving the pillows over to Charles’ side of the bed. “If I nots gettingks none, neithers is you. And is all yous fault I nots gettingks none.”
“Don’t you normally go pile with Nathan?”
“He gettings high wit’ Pickle. I nots interesteds in dat crap.”
Charles sighed. “I wish they would stop that.”
“Is all you faults,” said Skwisgaar coldly. “Toki mads at you. We all spends nine mont’s cryings over Charlies, oh here Charlies now, nots in ground all deads. I pretties mads too.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you why I did it. I never meant to hurt any of you boys. I love all of you. I wish you boys could just trust me a little.”
“Trust nots easy to finds arounds here,” said Skwisgaar. “None of us has much. Some love, buts no trust. Den you is go away, and not’ings mean anyt’ing. We just… starts to selfs-destructs. Den you come back… self-destruction gets worse because now we angries an’ hurt. We loves you Charlies. You craps on us badsly.”
“That was never my intention.”
Skwisgaar rolled onto his stomach and raised his head, propping the upper half of his body on his elbows, long hair hanging down. He was so beautiful in the moonlight…
“Den why you nots tells us? It is abouts us, isn’t it? Is abouts us, an’ Toki’s nightmares.”
Charles gave him a look of puzzlement. “Does Toki have nightmares?”
“Ja, bads ones, about priest wit’ heads of antelope, holding dead rabbit. It tells him all he loves will die, and he will dies alone.”
“That’s awful!”
“Ja is why I sleepings wit’ you. He so upsets he say he can’t loves me no more because I will die. AND IS ALL YOU FAULTS!”
Skwisgaar clobbered him with a pillow, then broke down in tears. He began railing at Charles in Swedish, which Charles did not speak, but he had no trouble gathering Skwisgaar was upset. He sat up and pulled him close, holding him tightly.
“I’m so sorry, Skwisgaar. I’m sorry. I love you boys. I would never hurt any of you.”
“Gawd no matter where I go, it’sh just bushting out gay all over.” Murderface climbed into the bed and promptly farted. “’Schcuse me. I had beans with cabbage.”
“Help yourself to my bed,” said Charles dryly. He looked back to Skwisgaar, touching his face. “It’s going to be all right, okay? I promise. I’ll fix it.”
“Gay,” stated Murderface.
“Shut up William.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up, you’re the one who faked his death.”
Charles turned on the beside fan to clear the air of Murder-farts. “All right. I faked my death. Do you want to know WHY I faked my death? Because I went undercover to infiltrate an organization that is bent on sacrificing the lot of you to a Sumerian god and bringing about the destruction of the earth. Are you both very happy now?”
Murderface got up. “Man I can’t sleep with a liar.” He then left, but not before farting again. Charles looked at Skwisgaar.
“So do you think I’m lying too?”
“I t’inks you is hads bad head injury. Wants to go sleeps in my bed? Is nots so smellies dere.”
“Fine. But you woke me up, that means you have to let me eat pie.”
“Only ifs you share.”
The pair went to Skwisgaar’s beautiful white room, where Toki was seated on the bed, looking incredibly sad. Charles walked over to the bed and seated himself on it.
“Toki I’m sorry I hurt you, okay? One day I promise you will understand that what I did, I did because I love you and I want to protect you. Even if you don’t believe me now.”
“I believes you loves us. Is why I so mads. My heart was so brokens. I shoulds punches you in da nose.”
Charles smiled. “Would it make you feel better if I said you could?”
“No way, I nots punchings you in da nose, you breaks my arm off and uses it to stabs me in da kids-knee!”
“Never,” said Charles quietly. He put his arms around Toki and held him close. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I love you. I love all of you. And I hope one day you forgive me.”
Toki gently pulled away, gazing at Charles in confusion. You… wants me to forgives you?”
“Well… yes.”
Toki blinked. “No ones ever ask me for dats before. No matters whats dey done.”
“Well maybe it’s time someone did,” Charles said softly.
Toki blinked at him, thinking. Then he nodded. “I forgives you. Buts I still mads.”
“That’s okay. You be mads as long as you like.”
Toki pouted. “Aw now I nots mads no more.”
“Good,” said Charles.
“You wants to stay an’ watch movies wit’ us?”
“Sure,” said Charles. “What are we watching?”
“Da Cockroach dat ate Cincinnati.”
“Oh I love that film.”
Toki was clearly delighted to have found common ground with Charles. The delight was short-lived when Murderface walked into the room for the express purpose of farting and leaving.
“I’s t’inking Murderface still mads at you,” said Toki, as Skwisgaar dove for the button that activated the air conditioner.
Tips For Relieving Stress.
There was still so much to think about. Still so much to know. It seemed these days what Charles did looked more like espionage than band management. At least now he had some knowledge of the Tribunal and their motives. Now he would have to work harder at keeping his boys safe.
Frazzled, Charles walked into his office, over to his desk and chair, and sank down into his seat, feeling tired and depressed. A smile tugged wearily at his lips as he picked up a piece of paper on his desk - a list hand-written just for him by his boys.
Stress release tips for Charlie -
1. Jam miniature marshmallows up your nose and sneeze them out. See how many you can do at once.
2. Use your MasterCard to pay your Visa and vice-versa.
3. Pop some popcorn without putting the lid on.
4. When someone says “Have a nice day”, tell them you have other plans.
5. Make a list of things to do that you’ve already done.
6. Fill out your tax forms using Roman Numerals.
7. Tape pictures of us on watermelons and launch them from high places. You know you thought about it.
8. Go through a “National Geographic” and draw underwear on the natives.
9. Tattoo “out to lunch” on your forehead.
10. Pay the electric bill in pennies.
11. Find out what a frog in a blender really looks like.
12. Write a short story using alphabet soup.
13. Sit in your parked car with sunglasses on and point a hair dryer at passing cars. See if they slow down.
14. Make up a language and ask people for directions.
15. In the memo field of all your cheques, write “FOR SEXUAL FAVOURS”.
16. Page yourself over the intercom. (Don’t disguise your voice.)
17. Arrive at a meeting late, say you’re sorry, but you didn’t have time for lunch, and you’re going to be nibbling during the meeting. During the meeting eat 5 entire raw potatoes.
18. Determine how many cups of coffee is “too many.”
19. Have sex with Nathan.
“Hilarious,” said Charles.
He read the list over a few more times, and ticked a few things he might try. Then he stood up and walked around his desk, bending over it as he began laying out bits of paper. He had to get a timeline established. If he could just figure out what and when was supposed to happen maybe he could stop it… or help it along, depending on what exactly the Metalocalypse was. His boys were idiots, no question. But there was no evil in them. If anything they were almost child-like in their inability to comprehend the effects of their actions. Stupid, yes. Thoughtless, yes. Evil? Never. But they did not have to be evil for evil to use them.
He rested his hands on the top of the desk and stared down at the cards, trying to comprehend the pattern they may hold, if any…
He felt a hand come to rest on his right hip. Charles sighed.
“Nathan we played this game once before.”
“Yeah but I want a rematch.”
Charles looked over his shoulder at the huge man. “I’m not going to let you have sex with me just so you can test some theory about my employee loyalty.”
“No that’s not why I’m trying.”
Charles felt a hand come to rest on his left hip. The civilized part of his brain wanted to clobber the big oaf. However underneath all that was a wild animal shouting “GO FOR IT!”
The hands caressed him gently, pushing his suit jacket up as the hands moved to his waist.
“Then why are you trying?” Charles asked, fully prepared to throw Nathan across the office once more.
“Cuz…uh…I like you.”
Charles looked over his shoulder at the big oaf. “I’m sorry?”
“I like you,” said Nathan. “It’s your birthday and… I like you. So I thought like… maybe we could…do stuff. Maybe... go have dinner and uh… I dunno. Do like… not-metal nerd stuff you like.”
Charles snapped his gaze to the calendar on his wall. Nathan was right - it was his birthday. In all the chaos and worry… he hadn’t noticed his own birthday. The large hands continued to stray over his body.
“I thought…y’know… we could go see that… Shakespeare in the Park thing.”
Charles turned so fast he nearly butted heads with Nathan. He stared at him, brown eyes large.
“Really? You mean it?”
“Well… yeah. And you can tell me what they’re talking about. We can like… sit on the grass on a blanket and drink wine. I mean… you like that stuff… right?”
“Yes,” said Charles. “I just didn’t realize you knew I liked that stuff.”
“Yeah well… I woke up one day and realized it was hard to breathe with my head up my ass. And… you’re taking off tomorrow for that business trip and... I wanted to tell you before you left.”
Nathan was very close; so close that Charles was cramped between him and the desk. Charles shifted back so he was seated on the desk, pushing the bits of paper askew, some fluttering to the floor. Nathan leaned forward, slowly following Charles as he lay back on the desk. Now Nathan was above him, looming big and dark, his long hair hanging loose around his shoulders.
“Now you’re stuck,” Nathan growled.
Actually if Charles wanted to, he would be out of that situation in a second and Nathan would be on the floor wondering what happened. But he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be out of it now.
“You really mean this,” said Charles, his tone suspicious. “You’re not just saying this to get into my pants.”
“Well yeah of course I am,” said Nathan. “But that doesn’t make it not true. I mean…that’s kinda what love is, isn’t it? An excuse to do things to get into each other’s pants?”
“Well… technically correct,” said Charles. “But it’s supposed to also be about bonding and caring and forging family unity.”
“Like with the guys?”
“Something like that.”
“So that makes us the parents of three retard kids.”
“The term is ‘special-needs’. And yes, I suppose it does.”
Nathan slowly ran his hands over Charles’ body, as if uncertain he was really allowed to. He clearly hadn’t forgotten getting thrown like a cheap chair by a man almost half his size. Nathan opened the front of Charles’ shirt, then lowered his head to kiss his chest.
“When does the show start?” asked Charles.
“Sundown,” said Nathan. “We got time. I mean… if you let me.”
Charles wasn’t finding any reason to say no thus far, but that could change fast enough. Nathan slowly trailed his tongue over the warm skin, finding a nipple and closing his lips over it, his large hands moving down and opening the grey dress slacks. Charles was quiet, pondering the situation. Sex with Nathan was a lovely distraction and a wonderful stress-reliever, but there was something nagging, something forgotten…
The grey slacks were drawn off, as were the grey silk boxers beneath. “What’s with all the grey?” asked Nathan.
“I like grey.”
Nathan shrugged and tossed the grey shorts aside, then positioned himself between Charles’ thighs. Reaching down to open the front of his pants, he drew out a large and fully erect penis. Charles felt a moment of panic as he stared at it, and heard himself say something he had said a thousand times before, but never in this context.
“I really feel we need to rethink this arrangement…”
“Just relax,” said Nathan quietly. “I won’t hurt you.”
Charles began trying to wriggle free, suddenly unsure he wanted to do this, but Nathan gently pushed him back down to the desk and looked into his eyes.
“Charles, for once… trust me, okay? I would never hurt you, even if you couldn’t kill me with your bare hands.”
“Okay,” said Charles quietly. “We’ll need… um…”
Charles was flustered. He didn’t like being flustered. But Nathan seemed to like it. He bent down to kiss Charles, leaning over him so their bodies pressed close together. Nathan seemed to understand Charles wasn’t quite ready to be penetrated, so he opted for a little friction instead; most of the fun and none of the pain.
“Have you ever… like… let a man…?”
“A couple times,” said Charles quietly. “They… were not very considerate.”
“Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Nathan growled, pressing down on Charles but being careful not to crush him. They bit and kissed, sweat forming on their bodies, allowing their flesh to slide easily as they thrust and writhed together. The thrusts became harder, the kisses more intense, and the bites began to leave marks. Then Charles screamed, clawing bleeding rents in Nathan’s back as he wrapped his legs around the huge body above his own. He continued to scream, and swear, for a surprisingly long time, then collapsed, exhausted. He smiled as Nathan growled and nibbled, building to his own climax…
And the office door slammed open with fifteen heavily armed pouring into the room, Badger at their head. Nathan and Charles stared at the Gears. The Gears stared at Nathan and Charles. There was a looooong and very awkward silence.
Now Charles remembered - his office wasn’t sound-proofed.
“Well hell this isn’t the right room!” declared Badger. He shooed the Gears out of the room, closed the door, and left Nathan and Charles together on the desk in silence. It was several minutes before either of them spoke.
“So,” said Nathan. “D’you think they knew what we were doing?”
“Yes, Nathan, I do. Yes.”
Nathan just grinned. “Metal.”
Charles sighed heavily as Nathan resumed thrusting. He ran his hand through the black hair, eyes closed, still a little worried, but basically happy. Tomorrow he went on his business trip to learn more about the Tribunal. Toki went to Rock-A-Rooni Fantasy Camp, and with luck nothing would blow up before he returned home. He wasn’t sure what the future held, but for the moment, the present was pretty damned good.
Author: The Magic Rat
Rating: R
Pairing: Nathan/Charles, Toki/Skwisgaar.
Warnings: Dethklok being themselves.
Word Count: 5932
Disclaimer: Metalocalypse, the members of Dethklok, and lyrics to Dethklok songs belong to Brendon Small, Cartoon Network and Turner Music. Copyright for all stories and original characters such as Badger the Roadie is with the author, and may not be published, copied, distributed or archived without the author's prior written consent.
Summary: Just a series of days in the life of Charles Offdensen.
Author’s notes: A belated birthday fic for 13_number13. I’ve had this bunny in my head a long time - just a collection of vignettes that sort of encompass the DK timeline. Hope you like it.
Touring with floor-pickles.
Charles had heard the myth, of course. The one that claimed all drummers could sleep anytime, anyplace, anywhere. Heard it and disregarded it as fan-created fluff. He didn’t believe it, and even if there was some truth to it, that certainly did not apply to Pickles. True he’d seen Pickles asleep on the couch in the main fire hall, but he’d seen all of the boys asleep there once in a while. But Charles had never toured with the boys before, so he had been spared some of the more colourful exploits until the night he got falling-down loaded with them and they finally let him into their inner circle. It cut into his personal time, but he found he liked having the boys trust him much more than having them be wary and treating him like a potential adversary. So when they invited him to the release party of another death metal band they liked, Charles was only too happy to go along.
He stood out like a sore thumb, of course, but he was still happy to be there. He only wished he had some idea what the guys were telling people about him, because the lead guitar player of ‘Krybbedød’ was using body language and limited English to let Charles know what he would like to spend the night doing. It was just a little intimidating to have a tall scrawny guitar player who looked like the bastard offspring of a Viking and a witch nuzzle up to him. It was also kinda fun. Charles put him in the “maybe but I’m not drunk enough yet” pile. Then he heard Nathan laugh.
“Go Pickles! Toki get the camera, this is the best one yet.”
Curious, Charles approached one of the long, black-draped buffet tables where there seemed to be a crowd gathering, followed by his leggy, bony witch with the hollow eyes. He drew close to Nathan, and stared at what was on the buffet table.
It was true that the punch bowl on the table, made of silver and crystal, was very large. It was also true that Pickles was quite a bit smaller than the average adult male. However there were some places even a little guy did not usually fit, and that was in a punchbowl. Yet somehow Pickles had managed it. He was rolled up into a ball, settled deep in the large extravagant basin, heedless of the fact that people had been using him as a place to put olive pits and orange rinds. He was dead asleep, looking like a kitten in a basket. Charles looked up at Nathan.
“Is he all right?”
“Yeah. He does this every party,” said Nathan, video taping the moment for blackmail purposes. “He gets loaded, he runs out of steam, and finds the nearest place to sleep.”
“But… he’s in a punchbowl.”
“Yeah well he’s a drummer.”
“Yeah,” agreed Murderface. “He’sh a drummer.”
Charles stared at the body in the punchbowl. “But he shouldn’t even fit!”
“I know!” said Nathan. “But he’s cute isn’t he?”
“Do we just leave him there?”
“Sure, why not?”
Charles became indignant. “I don’t like the idea of Pickles lying on a buffet table like an hors d’oeurve that’s hit the floor.”
“Well that’s where most floor-pickles end up. He’s fine.”
“He is not a floor-pickle.”
“Just let him sleep, Charles, he’s fine.”
Charles stared at Pickles, slowly cocking his head to one side. Well it certainly was a fascinating talent. Then Charles smiled as he felt someone nibbling his collar. He turned to look into those eyes, so devoid of anything natural or human. Charles didn’t know his name, or his language, but there was something very enticing about being pursued by a being who could very well have ancestors that watched Yggdrasil first crack its shell to put out roots. Charles reached up to touch his face, and the man made some sort of little sound. Something cute. And very, very, not human.
“Well, you’re quite adorable, aren’t you?” said Charles.
Then from behind him he heard a hellish snarl; a wolf of the Fimbulwinter sighting prey. For the briefest second, Charles’ new friend stood revealed as some creature of the past; fae and elven with the antlers of a stag. Then he was gone. Charles looked over his shoulder, and was just in time to see Nathan’s eyes fade from burning red to cold green. The huge man glowered after the retreating guitar player, taking a drink of beer as he did so.
“Damned Scandinavian forest-elves think they can fuck anybody’s manager,” he grumbled.
Stallion and Mare.
Charles had a headache the size of a Buick. It had been a very long day, and it seemed to just keep getting longer. The final straw had been finding out Toki had given an enormous amount of money to an organization called ‘Hot Chocolate’. Knowing how Toki’s brain worked, he probably thought it was a candy-making franchise. He was going to be sadly disappointed to find out he just blew 21 million dollars funding a research group investigating the life forms that existed in volcanic mud floes.
“My kingdom for a brain cell,” Charles muttered, standing before his desk in his office, trying to figure out how to fix this mess. Well he could just not say anything and let Toki forget about it and let the scientists keep their unexpected windfall. How hard would it be to simply ship Toki a load of fine chocolate and call the whole thing square? “Dethklok funds valuable research” certainly read better than “Dethklok have infinitely more money than brains”. Besides, Toki loved animals. Even strange little microscopic ones that liked to burble around in superheated mud.
A hand suddenly rested on his right hip, and Charles froze. An eyebrow went up, and his facial expression suggested he was considering sending the groper through a wall. Then he detected the tell-tale odour of beer.
“What are you doing, Nathan?” Charles asked, tone suggesting he still wasn’t done considering the option of putting Nathan through a wall.
“Just relax,” said Nathan quietly.
Charles wondered if Nathan had any idea how easy it would be for Charles to kill him. Probably not. Charles felt a hand rest on his left hip.
“Nathan?”
“It’s okay,” said Nathan quietly. He pushed up the edges of Charles’ jacket, hands coming to rest around his waist. “I’m just uh… testing a personal theory.”
“And what would that be?”
“I can’t tell you. It would uh…. in…ter… uh… It would mess with the process.”
A hand slipped around Charles’ waist, lightly caressing his flat stomach.
“Nathan? Don’t you think you’re getting just a little… personal?”
“Just… checking something.”
Well this was getting interesting. How often did a drunk rock star walk into his office and begin pawing him? Well he had no one to blame for this but himself - he had very much wanted to be part of the inner circle. Of course he hadn’t realized that would entail a complete loss of personal space and dignity. Charles felt his jacket being unbuttoned, then drawn off his shoulders. Just what was this theory, after all? How far can I push Charles until he snaps and kills me?
“Nathan…”
“It’s okay. Just… trust me.”
“I might be more inclined to trust you if I knew what you were doing.”
Nathan used one huge hand to open the belt on Charles’ pants with a soft ‘snap!’
“Guess…” Nathan hissed softly into his ear.
Charles slowly looked over his shoulder at the large man, scrutinizing him coldly. “Just how drunk are you?”
“Not uh… not as think as drunkle peep I are.”
Charles raised an eyebrow. “Well, that answers that.”
“Hey,” growled Nathan playfully. “Be nice.”
Charles felt a hand slip under his shirt, caressing his stomach. The hand slowly explored his flesh, gently caressing him. Then it began to wander down into his pants, and Charles stiffened.
“Nathan you have exactly three seconds to move that, or I do to you what I did to that assassin.”
Nathan softly nuzzled his ear. “Hush,” he whispered. “Just relax.”
“Two seconds.”
“Relax,” said Nathan quietly. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m not… gonna hurt you. I wouldn’t.”
Charles gave serious thought to kicking Nathan’s ass. After all the big fat slob had a hell of a lot of nerve coming in here and assuming Charles would just let him mount him like two stray ponies in a field. But then again, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Sometimes the mare stood for the stallion and sometimes she kicked his chest in. Nathan had no idea if Charles would stand or kick if he didn’t try.
So far standing seemed to be winning out, but Charles was leaving his ‘kick’ option open.
“Well I think I know what you are hoping to get out of this ‘personal theory’ of yours. Just what the hell do I get out of this?”
“Forty minutes in heaven?”
“You’re going to have to do better than that.”
Nathan paused. “I don’t know if I can go longer than that.”
A large hand slid into Charles’ pants. The delicately balanced needle drifted to ‘kick’ for a moment, as the hand stroked his lower abdomen. Then he moved into a slightly more receptive stance.
“How about a little respect?” Charles asked quietly.
Nathan seemed genuinely puzzled. “I respect you. We all respect you. Okay I guess we’re all kinda hard on you but… we respect you.”
“Well if you respect me then why did you walk in here and attempt to get into my pants without even so much as talking to me?”
“I told you,” said Nathan, large hands gently caressing him. “I was testing a theory.”
“What theory?”
“Well Pickles said he didn’t think there was anything you wouldn’t do for us, and Murderface said you wouldn’t have sex with us. Skwisgaar said he was pretty sure you would if… you know… we were nice. And Toki said he thought you would too because… you know… you were like… devoted to us. And I said one of us should see if that was true and they said I should go because…. well… like… I’m the singer and I can still sing if you rip my arm off and shove it up my ass, but the other guys all sorta need their hands.”
Kick won. Charles was small but there was nothing wrong with his hand-to-hand combat skills. Nathan Explosion was thrown a dozen feet across the room and landed flat on his ass. He slid to a halt, shocked into silence and immobility. Charles straightened his clothes.
“Fuck you,” he said, his tone clipped and succinct. Then he left the office, heading into his private quarters. After slamming the door with a satisfying ‘boom’, he locked it and poured himself a glass of brandy. Then his phone went off and he looked at it, reading the text message.
‘Knock knock?’
Charles texted back; ‘Eat me.’
After a moment there was a reply. ‘Open the door. Please?’
‘Go to hell. Go directly to hell. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars.’
‘Please?’
Charles wavered, then held his ground. ‘You know Nate, contrary to popular belief, I am a very valuable asset to this organization. Not a cheap hooker. If you want a cheap hooker, go buy one. I happen to cost thousands, and that’s just to get me to look at you long enough to tell you that you can’t afford me. I already handle your finances, your tours, your legal matters, your investments, contracts, taxes…. If you want to fuck me on top of it, that will be an extra eight mil a year for you just to be told I have a headache.’
There was a long pause. Charles was about to consider the conversation over, when Nathan sent a reply.
‘So you’re a really, really expensive hooker.’
‘I’m calling security.’
Charles could hear Nathan flee the office. He wondered how long it would take the big jerk to remember the haus security guards all worked for him.
Gooneybirds.
“Well, this is certainly some set up, Charlie.”
General Crosier looked around Charles’ office with approval. He considered being in Mordhaus a diplomatic mission into enemy territory, and as such was respecting the rules of the truce. He had no interest in heading into areas where he was not permitted. He was only here to see Charles. After all, this situation was bound to come to an end eventually. He’d like to still have a relationship with his son when that happened.
“Brandy?” said Charles.
“Yes, please.”
Crosier walked over to the window, looking out over the expansive grounds and the small village just to one side of the great keep. He accepted the glass of brandy Charles handed him.
“Well your mother’s proud of you. But I always knew you’d do well in life.”
“I had an excellent role-model,” said Charles.
“Yeah?” said Crosier dryly. “Who was that?”
Charles just smiled, and the two stood in pleasant silence for a few minutes. Crosier was about to speak, when he noticed something odd at the far side of the office. He walked over to inspect what at first looked like a heap of debris, but quickly realized it was a model aircraft, half completed. He picked it up.
“Aren’t you a little old for this, Charlie?”
“That’s not me, that’s Toki. He comes in here to paint his models. He likes the light in my office.”
Crosier made a sound of amusement, and set the model down. He froze as he noticed a second airplane, blinking as if he didn’t quite believe his eyes. He reached out to pick up the model, turning it over in his hands.
“I’ll be damned,” he said quietly.
“What?” asked Charles.
“It’s a gooneybird!”
“I’m sorry, a what?”
Crosier rolled his eyes. “And you call yourself my son. It’s an EC-47 Electric Goon! I used to fly one of these back in Vietnam. I didn’t know they made models of these.” Crosier grinned. “Kid’s pretty good. This is a real little work of art.”
“I guess I never paid much attention to Toki’s planes.”
Crosier turned the craft over, pointing out tiny details to himself, then setting it aside to pick up another. “Charlie… just between you and me. Just talk between two people. Do you think there’s any truth to this curse, or them being reincarnated Sumerian demons?”
Charles’ mind flashed back to the night of the party, when Charles swore he saw antlers on a man, and Nathan’s eyes blaze red. He strongly suspected there was something very otherworldly to his boys, but his job was to protect them.
“No. But you knew that. Why are you asking me now?”
Crosier showed Charles the airplane he was holding. “This is a JU-87, a German Stuka. Now I have a friend who flew Stukas in the Second World War. He ended up in a British POW camp after he had a portion of his tail shot away.” Crosier showed Charles the plane, and the carefully crafted damage. “Exactly like that.”
“Well… that’s an interesting coincidence, but…”
Crosier set aside the Stuka and held up the Gooneybird again. “See the nose art?”
“Yes, it’s partially-dressed young lady doing implied lewd things with a duck. Many aircraft had nose art, I’ve seen Toki’s books on the subject.”
“Nose art, yes, but not this particular piece of nose art.”
“Well what’s so special about it?”
“Well, not much, other than it took a buddy of mine and I about seven hours to paint it, and then two hours after we were done our commanding officer made us paint over it because he didn’t want some visiting military big-wigs to see it. Charlie… your Toki has recreated a piece of nose art that existed for less than a day and was never documented.”
“Well that’s impossible. How could he have done that?’
“I was hoping you could tell me. Charlie, he’s not just making model planes. He seems to be creating specific aircraft.”
“Well it’s possible, Dad, he does read an enormous amount on the subject.”
Crosier raised an eyebrow. “He can read?” he asked in that same dry tone that only his family recognized as joking.
Charles took the little model and set it aside. “Stop picking on my kids.”
Crosier chuckled and picked up a third little plane. “Where is he getting these models? I didn’t know they made kits for some of these, they’re pretty damned obscure.”
“Well Toki is a pretty hard core model maker. He doesn’t use store-bought kits. He casts his own. Even blends his own plastics and resins.”
“When does he find time to practice playing his guitar?”
Charles shrugged. “He doesn’t sleep much.”
Crosier set the model aside and picked up the Goon once more. “How’s he handling the loss of his father?”
“Not well. Toki’s not very well equipped emotionally to deal with these things. He deals by… not dealing. In many ways he’s almost non-functional.”
“Who’s nots function…als?”
Charles was well accustomed to thinking on his feet. “My Uncle Bob.”
Crosier shot Charles a look that implied he would like to have a word with him about his choice of relatives on whom to blame things in the future.
“Dat’s brutal,” said Toki. “He not’s dying, is he?”
“No, he’s just terribly annoying. Toki this is my… friend… General Crosier. General, this is Toki Wartooth. Toki the General was just admiring your planes.”
Toki perked up. “You likes my planes?”
“I do, very much. Especially this one.” Crosier held up the Goon. “I used to fly one of these.”
“You dids? Do you knows Chappy Richards?”
Crosier’s jaw dropped, and his eyes became huge. “Yes I knew Chappy! I flew the Goon with… how do you know Chappy?”
“Oh I research militaries bases, t’ings likes dat. Den I finds where da peoples is an’ ask for pictures. Sometimes dey sends dem. I talks to Chappy alls da time. He don’ts like metal but he still cool guy. He send me picture of da Goon, ask me to makes him model. I just abouts to sends him dat one.”
“Where is Chappy? Do you have his address?”
“Ja he livings in Canada. He goes ups dere so he can marries his boyfriend.”
Crosier blinked. “You’re kidding.”
“No, wants to see? I was just ups dere for visit. Dey both pretties ugly, looks likes two wrinklies oysters matings when dey kiss.”
Toki handed Crosier his deth phone, showing him pictures of an aged but cheerful Chappy Richards, a bright-eyed Toki, and an old man who looked like the bastard child of Winston Churchill and a Shar-Pei.
“My god that man’s ugly!” said Crosier. “Gay or not, what does Chappy see in him?”
“He makes beer,” said Toki.
“That would do it,” muttered Crosier. Then he turned to Charles. “It was good seeing you again, Charlie. Best of luck with the release party tomorrow night. I’m sure it will be a huge success.”
“Is you comings?” asked Toki brightly.
Crosier smiled in a way Charles didn’t like at all. “You might see me.”
Forgive me.
The bed shifted, and Charles opened his eyes, confused. He looked towards the cause of the disturbance, and saw a lean blonde form getting into bed with him.
“Skwisgaar?” Charles asked blearily.
Skwisgaar fussed and squirmed, shoving the pillows over to Charles’ side of the bed. “If I nots gettingks none, neithers is you. And is all yous fault I nots gettingks none.”
“Don’t you normally go pile with Nathan?”
“He gettings high wit’ Pickle. I nots interesteds in dat crap.”
Charles sighed. “I wish they would stop that.”
“Is all you faults,” said Skwisgaar coldly. “Toki mads at you. We all spends nine mont’s cryings over Charlies, oh here Charlies now, nots in ground all deads. I pretties mads too.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you why I did it. I never meant to hurt any of you boys. I love all of you. I wish you boys could just trust me a little.”
“Trust nots easy to finds arounds here,” said Skwisgaar. “None of us has much. Some love, buts no trust. Den you is go away, and not’ings mean anyt’ing. We just… starts to selfs-destructs. Den you come back… self-destruction gets worse because now we angries an’ hurt. We loves you Charlies. You craps on us badsly.”
“That was never my intention.”
Skwisgaar rolled onto his stomach and raised his head, propping the upper half of his body on his elbows, long hair hanging down. He was so beautiful in the moonlight…
“Den why you nots tells us? It is abouts us, isn’t it? Is abouts us, an’ Toki’s nightmares.”
Charles gave him a look of puzzlement. “Does Toki have nightmares?”
“Ja, bads ones, about priest wit’ heads of antelope, holding dead rabbit. It tells him all he loves will die, and he will dies alone.”
“That’s awful!”
“Ja is why I sleepings wit’ you. He so upsets he say he can’t loves me no more because I will die. AND IS ALL YOU FAULTS!”
Skwisgaar clobbered him with a pillow, then broke down in tears. He began railing at Charles in Swedish, which Charles did not speak, but he had no trouble gathering Skwisgaar was upset. He sat up and pulled him close, holding him tightly.
“I’m so sorry, Skwisgaar. I’m sorry. I love you boys. I would never hurt any of you.”
“Gawd no matter where I go, it’sh just bushting out gay all over.” Murderface climbed into the bed and promptly farted. “’Schcuse me. I had beans with cabbage.”
“Help yourself to my bed,” said Charles dryly. He looked back to Skwisgaar, touching his face. “It’s going to be all right, okay? I promise. I’ll fix it.”
“Gay,” stated Murderface.
“Shut up William.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up, you’re the one who faked his death.”
Charles turned on the beside fan to clear the air of Murder-farts. “All right. I faked my death. Do you want to know WHY I faked my death? Because I went undercover to infiltrate an organization that is bent on sacrificing the lot of you to a Sumerian god and bringing about the destruction of the earth. Are you both very happy now?”
Murderface got up. “Man I can’t sleep with a liar.” He then left, but not before farting again. Charles looked at Skwisgaar.
“So do you think I’m lying too?”
“I t’inks you is hads bad head injury. Wants to go sleeps in my bed? Is nots so smellies dere.”
“Fine. But you woke me up, that means you have to let me eat pie.”
“Only ifs you share.”
The pair went to Skwisgaar’s beautiful white room, where Toki was seated on the bed, looking incredibly sad. Charles walked over to the bed and seated himself on it.
“Toki I’m sorry I hurt you, okay? One day I promise you will understand that what I did, I did because I love you and I want to protect you. Even if you don’t believe me now.”
“I believes you loves us. Is why I so mads. My heart was so brokens. I shoulds punches you in da nose.”
Charles smiled. “Would it make you feel better if I said you could?”
“No way, I nots punchings you in da nose, you breaks my arm off and uses it to stabs me in da kids-knee!”
“Never,” said Charles quietly. He put his arms around Toki and held him close. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I love you. I love all of you. And I hope one day you forgive me.”
Toki gently pulled away, gazing at Charles in confusion. You… wants me to forgives you?”
“Well… yes.”
Toki blinked. “No ones ever ask me for dats before. No matters whats dey done.”
“Well maybe it’s time someone did,” Charles said softly.
Toki blinked at him, thinking. Then he nodded. “I forgives you. Buts I still mads.”
“That’s okay. You be mads as long as you like.”
Toki pouted. “Aw now I nots mads no more.”
“Good,” said Charles.
“You wants to stay an’ watch movies wit’ us?”
“Sure,” said Charles. “What are we watching?”
“Da Cockroach dat ate Cincinnati.”
“Oh I love that film.”
Toki was clearly delighted to have found common ground with Charles. The delight was short-lived when Murderface walked into the room for the express purpose of farting and leaving.
“I’s t’inking Murderface still mads at you,” said Toki, as Skwisgaar dove for the button that activated the air conditioner.
Tips For Relieving Stress.
There was still so much to think about. Still so much to know. It seemed these days what Charles did looked more like espionage than band management. At least now he had some knowledge of the Tribunal and their motives. Now he would have to work harder at keeping his boys safe.
Frazzled, Charles walked into his office, over to his desk and chair, and sank down into his seat, feeling tired and depressed. A smile tugged wearily at his lips as he picked up a piece of paper on his desk - a list hand-written just for him by his boys.
Stress release tips for Charlie -
1. Jam miniature marshmallows up your nose and sneeze them out. See how many you can do at once.
2. Use your MasterCard to pay your Visa and vice-versa.
3. Pop some popcorn without putting the lid on.
4. When someone says “Have a nice day”, tell them you have other plans.
5. Make a list of things to do that you’ve already done.
6. Fill out your tax forms using Roman Numerals.
7. Tape pictures of us on watermelons and launch them from high places. You know you thought about it.
8. Go through a “National Geographic” and draw underwear on the natives.
9. Tattoo “out to lunch” on your forehead.
10. Pay the electric bill in pennies.
11. Find out what a frog in a blender really looks like.
12. Write a short story using alphabet soup.
13. Sit in your parked car with sunglasses on and point a hair dryer at passing cars. See if they slow down.
14. Make up a language and ask people for directions.
15. In the memo field of all your cheques, write “FOR SEXUAL FAVOURS”.
16. Page yourself over the intercom. (Don’t disguise your voice.)
17. Arrive at a meeting late, say you’re sorry, but you didn’t have time for lunch, and you’re going to be nibbling during the meeting. During the meeting eat 5 entire raw potatoes.
18. Determine how many cups of coffee is “too many.”
19. Have sex with Nathan.
“Hilarious,” said Charles.
He read the list over a few more times, and ticked a few things he might try. Then he stood up and walked around his desk, bending over it as he began laying out bits of paper. He had to get a timeline established. If he could just figure out what and when was supposed to happen maybe he could stop it… or help it along, depending on what exactly the Metalocalypse was. His boys were idiots, no question. But there was no evil in them. If anything they were almost child-like in their inability to comprehend the effects of their actions. Stupid, yes. Thoughtless, yes. Evil? Never. But they did not have to be evil for evil to use them.
He rested his hands on the top of the desk and stared down at the cards, trying to comprehend the pattern they may hold, if any…
He felt a hand come to rest on his right hip. Charles sighed.
“Nathan we played this game once before.”
“Yeah but I want a rematch.”
Charles looked over his shoulder at the huge man. “I’m not going to let you have sex with me just so you can test some theory about my employee loyalty.”
“No that’s not why I’m trying.”
Charles felt a hand come to rest on his left hip. The civilized part of his brain wanted to clobber the big oaf. However underneath all that was a wild animal shouting “GO FOR IT!”
The hands caressed him gently, pushing his suit jacket up as the hands moved to his waist.
“Then why are you trying?” Charles asked, fully prepared to throw Nathan across the office once more.
“Cuz…uh…I like you.”
Charles looked over his shoulder at the big oaf. “I’m sorry?”
“I like you,” said Nathan. “It’s your birthday and… I like you. So I thought like… maybe we could…do stuff. Maybe... go have dinner and uh… I dunno. Do like… not-metal nerd stuff you like.”
Charles snapped his gaze to the calendar on his wall. Nathan was right - it was his birthday. In all the chaos and worry… he hadn’t noticed his own birthday. The large hands continued to stray over his body.
“I thought…y’know… we could go see that… Shakespeare in the Park thing.”
Charles turned so fast he nearly butted heads with Nathan. He stared at him, brown eyes large.
“Really? You mean it?”
“Well… yeah. And you can tell me what they’re talking about. We can like… sit on the grass on a blanket and drink wine. I mean… you like that stuff… right?”
“Yes,” said Charles. “I just didn’t realize you knew I liked that stuff.”
“Yeah well… I woke up one day and realized it was hard to breathe with my head up my ass. And… you’re taking off tomorrow for that business trip and... I wanted to tell you before you left.”
Nathan was very close; so close that Charles was cramped between him and the desk. Charles shifted back so he was seated on the desk, pushing the bits of paper askew, some fluttering to the floor. Nathan leaned forward, slowly following Charles as he lay back on the desk. Now Nathan was above him, looming big and dark, his long hair hanging loose around his shoulders.
“Now you’re stuck,” Nathan growled.
Actually if Charles wanted to, he would be out of that situation in a second and Nathan would be on the floor wondering what happened. But he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be out of it now.
“You really mean this,” said Charles, his tone suspicious. “You’re not just saying this to get into my pants.”
“Well yeah of course I am,” said Nathan. “But that doesn’t make it not true. I mean…that’s kinda what love is, isn’t it? An excuse to do things to get into each other’s pants?”
“Well… technically correct,” said Charles. “But it’s supposed to also be about bonding and caring and forging family unity.”
“Like with the guys?”
“Something like that.”
“So that makes us the parents of three retard kids.”
“The term is ‘special-needs’. And yes, I suppose it does.”
Nathan slowly ran his hands over Charles’ body, as if uncertain he was really allowed to. He clearly hadn’t forgotten getting thrown like a cheap chair by a man almost half his size. Nathan opened the front of Charles’ shirt, then lowered his head to kiss his chest.
“When does the show start?” asked Charles.
“Sundown,” said Nathan. “We got time. I mean… if you let me.”
Charles wasn’t finding any reason to say no thus far, but that could change fast enough. Nathan slowly trailed his tongue over the warm skin, finding a nipple and closing his lips over it, his large hands moving down and opening the grey dress slacks. Charles was quiet, pondering the situation. Sex with Nathan was a lovely distraction and a wonderful stress-reliever, but there was something nagging, something forgotten…
The grey slacks were drawn off, as were the grey silk boxers beneath. “What’s with all the grey?” asked Nathan.
“I like grey.”
Nathan shrugged and tossed the grey shorts aside, then positioned himself between Charles’ thighs. Reaching down to open the front of his pants, he drew out a large and fully erect penis. Charles felt a moment of panic as he stared at it, and heard himself say something he had said a thousand times before, but never in this context.
“I really feel we need to rethink this arrangement…”
“Just relax,” said Nathan quietly. “I won’t hurt you.”
Charles began trying to wriggle free, suddenly unsure he wanted to do this, but Nathan gently pushed him back down to the desk and looked into his eyes.
“Charles, for once… trust me, okay? I would never hurt you, even if you couldn’t kill me with your bare hands.”
“Okay,” said Charles quietly. “We’ll need… um…”
Charles was flustered. He didn’t like being flustered. But Nathan seemed to like it. He bent down to kiss Charles, leaning over him so their bodies pressed close together. Nathan seemed to understand Charles wasn’t quite ready to be penetrated, so he opted for a little friction instead; most of the fun and none of the pain.
“Have you ever… like… let a man…?”
“A couple times,” said Charles quietly. “They… were not very considerate.”
“Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Nathan growled, pressing down on Charles but being careful not to crush him. They bit and kissed, sweat forming on their bodies, allowing their flesh to slide easily as they thrust and writhed together. The thrusts became harder, the kisses more intense, and the bites began to leave marks. Then Charles screamed, clawing bleeding rents in Nathan’s back as he wrapped his legs around the huge body above his own. He continued to scream, and swear, for a surprisingly long time, then collapsed, exhausted. He smiled as Nathan growled and nibbled, building to his own climax…
And the office door slammed open with fifteen heavily armed pouring into the room, Badger at their head. Nathan and Charles stared at the Gears. The Gears stared at Nathan and Charles. There was a looooong and very awkward silence.
Now Charles remembered - his office wasn’t sound-proofed.
“Well hell this isn’t the right room!” declared Badger. He shooed the Gears out of the room, closed the door, and left Nathan and Charles together on the desk in silence. It was several minutes before either of them spoke.
“So,” said Nathan. “D’you think they knew what we were doing?”
“Yes, Nathan, I do. Yes.”
Nathan just grinned. “Metal.”
Charles sighed heavily as Nathan resumed thrusting. He ran his hand through the black hair, eyes closed, still a little worried, but basically happy. Tomorrow he went on his business trip to learn more about the Tribunal. Toki went to Rock-A-Rooni Fantasy Camp, and with luck nothing would blow up before he returned home. He wasn’t sure what the future held, but for the moment, the present was pretty damned good.