Fic for Dethmas!
Title Toki's Secret Santa
Rating PG13. Mild sexual references.
Pairing Offdensen/Pickles; Skwisgaar/Toki
Warnings A lot of WAFF and gratuitous fluff. Not terribly OOC, but extremely unbrutal.
Summary Two days after Christmas, Toki finally manages to do his Secret Santa thing.
It was really early. Like, really early. That’s when Nathan’s door started knocking and he was pulled out of a comfortable cold-weather coma. He no less than snarled at the sound and the ungodly time it decided to appear-12:30-but when a pathetic whimper of his name accompanied the knocks, Nathan reluctantly had to let Toki in. Raven hair a-muss, Nathan tromped to the door and pulled the heavy oak and iron open.
“Toki,” He growled, hoarse, “It’s twelve thirty.”
“Ja, I knows,” Toki shrugged a heavy bag over his shoulder. He was once again clad in his beloved Santa outfit, no doubt trying to revive the tradition of Secret Santa (in a haphazard kind of way), “Just wanted to say Happy Christmas agains. I gots you presents.”
Nathan allowed him in to his room, watching Toki lug the hefty bag with ease until he threw it on to Nathan’s enormous bed. Two packages were removed, one small and black, the other much larger and flatter. The singer approached his presents hesitantly, but not without overwhelming curiosity.
“Wait, didn’t Rockzo sell all your shit for cocaine?”
“Cocaines money,” Toki corrected, handing Nathan his presents, “Kind of a difference. Anyways, Happy Christmas.”
“We don’t cele-“
“Dethmas, then!” Toki threw up his hands in frustration, “Just takes the gifts, okay? Really getting sick of you guys being grumpy dildos about Christmas. What’s am so wrong about getting stuff?”
Nathan regarded his gifts, puzzled to his answer, “Uhm. It’s more like the giving. And happiness and shit.”
The Nordic Santa rolled his eyes and gathered up his sack again. There was something strangely unsettled about an unflappable Toki Wartooth.
“Look, Nat’an, I don’ts know if it just Americans what doesn’t like Christmas, but in Norway, we likes it. Okay? So I celebrates by giving, you just gets. See you laters.” He shoved him aside, though being quite a few inches shorter and a few pounds lighter. Nathan stumbled to his bed and watched Toki leave, thinking dimly before delving into his gifts. He pulled out a large, black hooded sweater from the biggest box. It had EXPLOSION printed across the chest in white letters; within the letters were flecks of red, as if blood had been splattered across them. A faint smile appeared as he pulled the sweater on, finding it immediately warm and comfortable. The next gift contained an iPhone studded with small, light-weight spikes that wouldn’t stab him in the face during a call. He snorted a gruff laugh and began to download his newest apps.
~~
Toki wandered not far down the hall to Pickles’ room, anticipating a similar reaction. Murderface and Nathan had both been stand-offish to the idea of holiday cheer, and Toki expected just the same from the world’s most brutal drummer. Pickles received his presence as well as could be expected with a hangover the size of Vermont pounding at his skull and a painfully empty stomach. He was sweared at and apologized to seven times before he stepped inside the gloom-ridden room, but nothing would deter him from delivering his gifts.
“Seriously, Toki, naht cool,” He groaned despite the optimistic Christmas spirit sitting on the foot of his bed.
“You gets over it, Pickle. Come on, I has gifts.”
Pickles perked up when he heard the promise of free stuff. That always got him. Toki smiled and handed him his two presents, a small jewelry box and a bigger one beneath it. Pickles opened the jewelry box first to find two sets of gold earrings to be fitted into his eyebrow piercings. His reaction was immediate, pulling out his worn-through silver sets and pushing the newest bling into his piercings.
“See? Christmas is good. You looks real classy now,” Toki nodded, handing him a mirror. Pickles had to agree; he looked damn fine in gold. The next box contained a classic Nintendo 64 with a Super Mario 3 cartridge and a stuffed 1-up mushroom. Pickles clapped his hand over his mouth to keep from bursting out laughing, but a small bark of a laugh came out anyway. Toki watched him expectantly, waiting for a real reaction.
“Oh my Gahd, Toki…” Pickles giggled. Toki settled for that-well, that and Pickles plucking the mushroom out of the box and holding it in his lap.
“You saids you liked Mario and I figured you likes Old School. And you likes drugs a whole bunch, so I gots you the little mushroom too. And now we don’ts got to worry about you dying no more!” Toki beamed, petting the mushroom as well, “I also gots one for Charlie for the same reason. And now yous mushroom buddies!”
Pickles flushed a little at that, but was extremely thankful and amused. Toki nodded and stood from the bed, simultaneously gathering his bag.
“Is also pretty good way to start good conversation. Maybes you go talk to him.”
The drummer blinked owlishly at Toki, watching him walk away. Sure, maybe the locket was kind of a dead give-away, but was Toki seriously trying to hook him up? Pickles tried not to think about it too much, setting up his new N64 for a little early morning gaming, but the thought kept coming to him. Eventually, after the second controller was plugged in, Pickles pulled on some pajama pants and an old Snakes and Barrels shirt and headed down a long hallway to see if he might have someone over for a little head-to-head.
~~
Skwisgaar was the only one really awake during this hour. He liked to wake up early to practice scales, and Toki could always hear the soft picks when he passed by his room in the morning. Now was the case, when he door was unlocked and Skwisgaar was waiting for another groupie to wake up and get out. Seeing the sleeping harlot, Toki tiptoed inside as quiet as he could, touching his hand lightly to Skwisgaar’s shoulder when he reached him. The blonde turned slightly, undisturbed by his friend’s presence or even his own state of nudity. Toki smiled and sat down easily on the bed next to his Swedish comrade.
Skwisgaar eyed the bag with muted skepticism. Toki shrugged a little, whispering something in Norwegian-an explanation-and handed Skwisgaar his two presents. Skwisgaar placed his guitar aside, grabbing the biggest gift first. He expected some sort of guitar-related item, as that was what everyone got him, and was frankly shocked when he opened the box to find a large, white fleece heart with green concentric circles on the upper-right lobe. He blinked at first the pillow then Toki, but at his friend’s wordless smile, he just pulled the pillow close. The fleece was soft against his naked chest. Without much preamble, the heart began to pulse slowly, syncing with his heart beat and turning out to be-though bizarre-strangely relaxing.
Toki leaned close and whispered into his ear, “I know you has a lot of stress sometimes. With our mothers around and the shows. I just don’t want you drinkings to death, ja?”
“Oh,” Skwisgaar murmured, growing lethargic with the therapeutic pillow. A small thought of irony occurred to him that Toki was saving him from bingeing, but he ignored the thought and carried on with the gifts. The second present was a pair of briefs; light brown and seemingly plain, but when Skwisgaar turned them over, he discovered the shape of a white reindeer tail. He snorted at the gag gift but took the subtle hint; pulling on the briefs quickly and finding them very soft and comfortable.
He found Toki was holding up the box for him still, pointing inside. Skwisgaar leaned forward a bit, stopping and frowning deeply when he saw a red rubber nose and velveteen antlers. That was nice. Real nice. Skwisgaar mumbled his opposition in nasty Swedish, but Toki waved it off, standing with his bag in hand-now empty.
“See you at lunch,” Toki nodded to his reindeer before leaving him. His guest was just beginning to wake up anyway. Best be scarce.
Skwisgaar pursed his lips with thought at his closed door. The gifts were unconventional and unexpected, but maybe that’s why he liked them. The underwear was very comfortable and, when viewed from behind, definitely a little kinky. Skwisgaar smiled. He liked kinky. Grabbing the pillow from his awaking guest, Skwisgaar promised himself he’d do something to make up for this. It was December 27 after all. Toki had to have fought through the Boxing Day crowds at the mall to rebuy the gifts. Skwisgaar still couldn’t believe Rockso was still here, after what he did to Toki-and his mom. Mostly Toki, though both events were almost expected. Inevitable, maybe.
“Skwisgaar?” his sleepy lady mewled, stretching her curvaceous body out over the faux polar bear skin, “Oh, what time is it, baby?”
“Almost one,” he replied, deft fingertips cupping his chin in thought, “Gots plans?”
She moaned despondently, rolling over to expose herself in the grey light filtering in through thin curtains, “Yeah, I gotta go.”
“Sad,” Skwisgaar clicked his tongue. But being a gentleman, he helped his fan collect her clothes and walked her to the door. She left him with a very long, thorough good-bye kiss, thanked him for the night, and was promptly devoured by wolves as soon as Skwisgaar closed the door.
Skwisgaar wandered about the house until he reached the living room. Murderface was there, shining a seemingly new gun with about a pound of chocolate perched on his stomach. Lifting an eyebrow, Skwisgaar sat down next to him, not quite glancing to the television screen hooked high above them.
“Merry Chrishtmash, dude,” Murderface grumbled with a crooked, gap-toothed smile. Skwisgaar nodded, pulling off a piece of the abundant chocolate.
“Toki gives you da guns and choo-colate?”
Murderface nodded, displaying the gifts proudly. The gun gleamed, silver adornments sparkling in the cloudy afternoon light. Skwisgaar looked it over, his tongue running over his lip with slight jealousy.
“Honeshtly, I’m jusht glad it’sh not another bassh,” the bassist admitted and placed the gun aside, “He’sh a shweet kid.”
“Obviouslys got to you, den,” Skwisgaar grinned, sitting back and exuding a disgusting level of confidence. Murderface made a face at him, tongue sticking out crudely, just as Nathan entered. He was wearing his new sweater, obviously taking a liking to it already.
“Hey man,” Murderface lifted his hand slightly, “Toki get you that?”
“Yeah,” Nathan nodded, sitting down heavily in a chair, “Almost worth being up at noon.”
“Almost?” Skwisgaar quirked his eyebrow. Nathan shrugged and kicked his feet onto the table. He glanced to Murderface and made a vague groping gesture, rewarded by a piece of chocolate from Murderface’s generous stash. The three ate the chocolate together quietly, too tired to talk and too contented to be brutal. It eventually occurred to Nathan that their drummer was absent, but that question was answered when he saw both drummer and manager walking together in the direction of Pickles’ room, each with his own green mushroom. A heavy weight of dread settled in Nathan’s chest, which he dealt with by kicking Murderface in the thigh.
“Ow! What the f-!”
“Dude, we didn’t get Toki anything,” Nathan grunted, just above accusing. Murderface rubbed at his thigh bitterly but offered no further reply. Skwisgaar instead stepped into the conversation.
“I was thinkings of that, too. Totally not metals to leave you friends all… ya know, lonely and stuff,” Skwisgaar’s lips twitched with thought, “I thinks I can does something about it.”
“Like what?” Nathan raised his eyebrows with sincerity, “You’re not going to do anything… weird.”
“Wasn’ts thinking about it, but now that you says it,” Skwisgaar shrugged, enjoying the shudder of homophobia that ran through his band mates, “I’ll handles, okay? You guys… make him dinner or something.”
“We could do that,” Nathan nodded, though something told him he’d gone this route before. But Murderface agreed to this menial task and that was all they could hope for.
~~
“You bitch!” Pickles clapped his hand to his forehead as he watched Luigi skip right past a trap that had tripped up Mario, right on to the fourth castle. Charles was laughing, thumbs mashing on the D pad and miscellaneous buttons as he fought his way far past Pickles. Admittedly, it was difficult with the unfamiliar memories of ancient levels and Pickles shoving his feet into his back while he tried to play. But Charles had always liked a challenge.
“Yer such a fuckin’ cheat!” Pickles was behind him, hovering over in an eerie, mid-western presence. Charles’ shoulders pulled up to his ears when he felt Pickles’ hands on him, but he refused to be distracted. They were both on world 7-one of the hardest, in Charles’ opinion-and dodging flame-spitting koopas and fish took all of his concentration.
“Not cheating-“ he grunted shortly, shaking the control, “Just better.”
“Yeh, right,” Pickles snorted and leaned down against his ear, watching the game play out. For all his protesting and anger, Pickles muttered encouragements as Charles played. Watch out for the bob-omb, there’s a koopa troopa right there, jump the fire NOW! It was almost like Pickles forgot his role in the game at all and just took on the part of an eager-to-please best friend, always rooting on his champ of a friend at the arcade. And they got into it, almost to the point where Charles was shook so hard by Pickles that his glasses were jostled off. Almost. Not quite.
Still.
“Dammit!!” Charles slammed down the controller just as he lost the final battle of world 7, “Fucking cocksu-!!”
He stopped right about when Pickles’ mouth caught the corner of his from an awkward angle. Anger and frustration assuaged by the surprising kiss, Charles allowed himself to be tackled and pinned on his back, Mario’s death theme chirping quietly from the television.
“Is this a new level?” Charles asked, meekly but good-naturedly from underneath Pickles. The drummer laughed and nodded, sitting back.
“Think of it as eh… warp-zone.”
“As long as there’s a princess in this castle,” Charles pushed himself up on his elbows, adjusting his glasses and showing his most charming, endearing smile. Pickles blushed slightly, very slightly, and swore under his breath.
“As long as you don’t think I’m some princess, sure,” He added quietly, refusing to look at Charles, “It’s not like I’m always pouncin’ on guys er anything.”
“Pickles, I know that,” his hand was on the outside of his thigh, right next to his knee. Pickles shrugged.
“Just a little freaked out, okay? It’s fine.”
Charles sat up more, Pickles in his lap, and looked at him solidly as he could with Mario’s waiting music behind him, “You don’t have to be. Pickles, I’m not rejecting you-“
“Yeah, but-“
“-And I won’t be dying any time soon,” He held up a single 1-up plush. Pickles laughed, “How about we just have a merry Christmas?”
“It’s the day after Boxing Day.”
“You shut up and be merry.” Again, he laughed and tentatively wrapped his arms around Charles.
Thanks, Toki.
~~
Toki was in his room when Skwisgaar appeared in the doorway, pajama pants gracefully donned with a golden bell on a silken red ribbon and antlers in hand. Toki was playing with new airplanes that he’d bought himself-a personal present-and greeted Skwisgaar with less than enthusiasm. He was tired from buying, wrapping, and distributing so early in the morning (12:30). He paid no mind to Skwisgaar’s knowing swagger as he entered the room, even as he perched himself down on the end of Toki’s bed and pulled on the ridiculous antlers.
“Santa?” Skwisgaar chirped in his best reindeer voice. Toki looked up, confused, as his Santa costume sat on his desk. He still wore the fluff-trimmed, velveteen hat, but he could hardly be called Santa now.
“Christmas was good success, ja?” He smiled anyway and returned to his absent fiddling with the plane. Skwisgaar nodded, the bell tied round his neck jingling, “Dat’s good. I’m glad. So what you does in here, Reindeer Skwisgaar?”
“Cames to give Santa his present,” Skwisgaar purred, crawling along the bed and appearing almost suddenly in Toki’s face. Toki flushed, wide-eyed and confused.
“Skwisgaar, dat’s just weird.”
“No, shut up, is sexy,” He pouted, “Looks, we forgots presents and dis ams the best we can does. So be quiet.”
“Ja,” Toki nodded, eyebrows drawn together, “No. Skwisgaar, thanks but no thanks.”
Skwisgaar stopped, eyebrows up and eyes wide with surprise. Had he been… rejected?
“Looks, I likes you, but I has a thing about Christmas. Kind of ‘scacred’ for me. And just because I’m livings on farm wit animals in Norway, I don’t like hasing sex wit reindeer,” Toki snickered, mostly because of Skwisgaar’s fallen expression, but the very idea that Skwisgaar thought being a reindeer would turn him on.
“I… what… no! No, I’m not-!”
“Is cute, but not hot.”
Skwisgaar sat back, half-naked and fully dejected by Toki’s rejection. Who was he to reject the Skwisgaar Skwigelf? He was crazy, obviously. One light short of a Christmas tree, perhaps. Skwisgaar sat on his legs, staring at Toki in an entirely ‘are you kidding me’ kind of expression, before giving up altogether and grabbing a shirt from Toki’s floor, pulling it over his head and letting it hang loose over his thin frame. Toki snickered, still clearly amused, and nudged him with his foot.
“Maybe try being human next time?”
The suggestion burned a little in the pit of Skwisgaar’s stomach, but he nodded.
“Whatevers, Toki. You so stupids, you can’t even has sex when it standing in fronts of you,” He snorted.
“I’m not stupid, I just don’t want to. Boy, you real big baby sometimes.”
When Skwisgaar looked up to retort, Toki was just smiling and gesturing loosely with his hands for Skwisgaar to come closer. He obeyed, skeptical, but was more than a little surprised when Toki pulled him into a hug and planted a large, wet kiss on his cheek. That was a little gay right there.
“Happy Christmas anyway, Skwisgaar.”
~~
Around dinner time, after several rounds of fu-Super Mario Bros 3, Charles and Pickles emerged from Pickles’ room and headed out to the dinner hall, both starved. From the video game. It was intense.
They were greeted with grunts and a small ‘Happy Christmas!’ from Toki when they arrived in the doorway, and relieved that Jean-Pierre had taken over making dinner, contradicting Nathan and Murderface’s original plan. But they had dominion over desert, and once the traditional Christmas foods were polished off and maced by the musicians, Jean-Pierre presented the table with a plethora of ice cream flavors and toppings. Toki’s eyes grew wide with gluttonous wonder; that spark cut short by Skwisgaar stabbing him with insulin.
“OWIE!” He yelped and threw a dirty look at Skwisgaar.
“You still gots diabetes, dildo. Now you can has all the ice cream you wants.”
“You gotta give him another shot after an hour, though,” Pickles interjected, having known of diabetic treatment from early on, as Seth was diabetic. He smiled with the thought, “Judgin by the way Toki’s shoveling ice cream into his bowl, he’s gonna need it.”
Without another word, the boy dug into the cornucopia of sweets, all mumbling something or somewhat of this or the other to their fellow musicians. Even Charles indulged in the sweets, grabbing chocolate and vanilla ice cream and pouring on spoonfuls of M&M’s.
Two insulin shots and six dirty, sticky bowls of ice cream later, Dethklok and manager were sitting in the living room, watching television with only the vaguest hint of interest. Toki was nearly asleep, resting heavily against Skwisgaar almost to the point where he was falling into his lap. Skwisgaar was absently toying with the ends of Toki’s hair while most of his limited focus was directed at the Discovery Channel on TV. They were watching Dirty Jobs.
“Thish ish disgushting,” Murderface belched as Mike Rowe did some other ungodly thing that no sane person would voluntarily do. Nathan agreed, though he was fiddling with newly downloaded apps on his iPhone.
“Change the channel, then,” Pickles mumbled with a turkey bone between his teeth. He somehow came into an oral fixation recently, and sucking on the cooked bone was more than satisfactory.
“No! It’sh… no,” Murderface crossed his arms, after plucking off a piece of chocolate from his seemingly never-ending stash. Charles chuckled, tie thrown away somewhere along with his suit jacket, trying to relax with his boys for once.
“This was a good idea, Toki,” Nathan looked up at the unconscious guitarist, “Oh. When’d he fall asleep?”
“Like five minutes ago,” Skwisgaar shrugged.
“Guess he had a big day,” Charles smiled warmly down at the youngest member of the band, “You guys do know how hard he worked to get your presents, right?”
“Yes,” They all groaned with the guilt trip.
“And you appreciate it?”
“Yes, Offdensen.”
“Good,” Charles laughed like a proud father at the begrudging admittance from his ‘children’. Toki began to stir a little against his Scandinavian friend, waking just enough to blearily yawn and blink at the others. Skwisgaar offered a small smile and pat to his head, causing Toki to smile as well.
“Happy Christmas, you guys,” Toki all but mewled and shifted close to Skwisgaar, “Is best one yet.”
“Yeah, merry Christmas,” Nathan grunted.
“Merry Chrishtmash.”
“Merry Christmas, dood.”
“Merry Christmas, Toki.”
“Happies Christmas, Toki,” Skwisgaar added last, just as Toki slept against him once more.
Merry fucking Christmas to all and to all a brutal New Year.