FIC + ART: Sparring (Charles/Nathan, NC-17)
TO: iamthehinducourtesan
FROM: Your Secret Valentine
Title: Sparring
Characters: Dethklok + Charles
Pairings: Nathan/Charles
Rating: NC-17 for homosex
Warnings: blood, injury and drugs aplenty
Timeline: Just after Bookklok
It had been a tense evening, even by Dethklok standards. They had been working on a new album and Nathan was rejecting every guitar riff, every drum beat, every note that Dethklok tried. It was shortly after the PR nightmare that was the Guitarganza Ice Festival, and Toki and Skwisgaar were finally ready to get back to work as rhythm guitarist and lead guitarist respectively. Toki was still sore from his public fall from grace, and Skwisgaar was still gloating over Toki’s failure.
“Hey Tokis, do you needs me to play this part fors you? Dont’s want you to has a picnic attack...”
“Aw fucks you, Skwisgaar!”
Pickles was also seething because he'd got a phone call from his parents about what an amazing father Seth had become, because he went to rescue his kid (and the nanny) after forgetting them in the Australian wilderness for a couple of days. The drummer kept taking rather unsubtle swigs of hard liquor and muttering under his breath that he could start a family of his own if he wanted to.
When a thrown guitar broke the glass that separated the recording room from the control panel, Nathan finally decided they were getting nowhere. “I’m going to a bar and you whiny pissbabies can come with me if you shut the fuck up,” he growled. Murderface took that statement as a personal insult, but followed the group as they piled into the Dethcycle and drove off to find a skeevy dive bar.
It didn’t take them long to find a sleazy place called Saliva Tendencies and get settled in. Before long, each member of the band was settled into their favourite locations, with Pickles dominating the bar and Skwisgaar on the dance floor looking for hookups. Toki quickly found out he could change the channel on the small TV on the wall and started watching a National Geographic documentary. He also took an immediate liking to the bartender, a fat old man with a white beard, whom he kept calling Santa Claus. Murderface had tried, unsuccessfully, to follow Skwisgaar and pick up women; so he contented himself by hogging a billiards table to himself and loudly complaining that nobody could play against someone as good as him.
Nathan decided to accompany Pickles on his quest to get shitfaced and ordered a bottle of spiced rum to add to the collection of liquors the drummer was amassing in front of him.
“Vodka is medicine,” Pickles mumbled as he noticed Nathan sitting down next to him.
The lead singer patted his shoulder in sympathy, since he would die of mortification if his parents called him up to harass him about making grandchildren. He noticed that the drummer was also taking some pills he didn’t recognize, and he guessed that he would have to drag his unconscious body out of the bar at the end of the night. Wouldn’t be the first time he'd done that.
Three bottles of strong stuff were empty, and Nathan was feeling a good buzz when he noticed a commotion behind him. He turned around to see Murderface yelling at a group of young men dressed weird. He could fuzzily distinguish them wearing flannel shirts and capri pants that he thought only women could wear and literally all them had bushy beards obscuring their faces. His alcohol-addled brain was having trouble making sense of these bearded men dressed like stereotypical lesbians and it was irritating him.
He approached the group, wondering if he would have to punch one of these weirdos, or Murderface, or both.
“I sshaid, you ashssholes can get your own table!” Murderface was holding the pool cue rather defensively.
“That’s the only table here, what are we supposed to bring our own?”
“Yesh! Go buy your own!”
“Why are you being such a douche?”
“You’re the fucking douchesh! How dare you shay that The Ramones ain’t shit? They are legends!
“Feh, I bet you worship the Rolling Stones too.”
“Hey, there ain’t anything wrong with them,” Pickles joined in the conversation, still holding a bottle of gin. “What are you fightin’ about anyway? Why can’t we be friends? Why can’t we all b-be happy?“ He sloshed his bottle around, liberally spraying the guys closest to him.
“Everyone knows death metal is the best music genre there is anyway,” Nathan growled. The first album he had ever owned had been the Ramones and he didn’t like to hear it insulted. If death metal was his steady relationship, punk rock was his first love.
Pickles spotted one of the guys wearing a Dethklok t-shirt and nodded at him. “Ye, you agree, dontcha?”
The young man, who was wearing old fashioned horn-rimmed glasses and a ski hat, snorted in contempt. “What? I wear this ironically! How could anyone like something so mainstream?”
That did it. One second later the gin bottle was flying from Pickles’ hand to the face of the perpetrator and a full fight was on. The hipster boys were armed with their custom pool cues and were not shy about using them.
Nathan loved bar fights, but he preferred to be a bit more sober to deliver more devastating punches. As it was, he was painfully getting hit with those glorified cue sticks far too often to his liking. Eventually it occurred to him to rip off one of the bar stools and use it as a blunt weapon, to great effect. He felt as if his elbow caught in something as he had ripped the stool off, but he didn’t pay too much attention to it. The stool proved to be too great of a weapon because the fight was over almost immediately, with the last stragglers fleeing.
Nathan put down the stool and surveyed the destroyed bar. Most of the other patrons had fled at the start of the fight and anyone who remained was unconscious except the Santa bartender, who was utterly distraught. The pool table was ripped beyond repair and the front window was smashed, not to mention the several bottles of liquor lying broken on the floor.
At that moment Skwisgaar, Toki and Murderface walked back in, apparently having gone to chase the last of the offending group. They looked worse for wear, covered in bruises and Murderface bleeding from his lip.
“Let’s gets outs of heres, the stupid fights chased off all de gurls.”
“Nathans! You looks hurts! There ams so many bloods! Looks cool actually!”
“My bar! You assholes destroyed my bar!”
Nathan finally located Pickles, who was lying unconscious next to the pool table, though he couldn’t see if it was because he was injured, dead, or drunk. He turned to the Santa bartender, who was still ranting.
“Ugh, just shut up, how much will it cost to repair?”
The question baffled Santa. “How should I know? Thousands! I have to replace the pool table and the windows and-”
Nathan reached into his pocket and drew out a large roll of $100 bills. Hazily, through his drunken and rattled skull, he counted ten bills and gave them to the bartender. He felt his elbow warm and dripping and wondered if he’d hurt it badly.
“Is that enough?” he asked, and kept giving out the bills until Santa seemed satisfied that his establishment would be properly restored. Nathan still had a huge stack of fresh bills he didn’t feel like carrying home, so he simply threw it on the floor when he went to pick up Pickles.
He wasn’t exactly sure how they got back to Mordhaus. He’d driven home drunk on the Dethcycle before but this time he felt oddly dizzy. They somehow arrived in one piece, and everyone dismounted to go tend to their wounds separately.
Pickles was still unconscious, so Nathan checked to make sure he was breathing and then carried him into Mordhaus.
There was a nagging feeling in the back of his head that he should be worried about how light headed he was and the fact that his shirt was wet.
Eventually they got to the kitchen and he plopped Pickles into an empty chair and then opened a faucet to clean the blood off his elbow. He was marveling at how the blood was still flowing when Charles walked in.
“Nathan, I wish you guys would tell me before going for these bar runs, at the very least I could arrange a pick up and- Look at your elbow! What happened? WHAT HAPPENED?”
~~~~
As it turned out, Nathan needed thirteen stitches and a small blood transfusion. He sat on the edge of Charles’ bed as the Medi-Klokateer finished patching him up, and was silently grateful he was the only member of the band who didn’t play an instrument, because he’d fucked up his right arm.
They’d dragged Pickles along as well, and he was now sleeping off his drunkenness on the manager’s bed because he had not been diagnosed with a concussion.
The manager himself sat on a stiff-looking loveseat, having taken off his jacket and tie.
“I recommend avoiding excessive movement and exercise until the sutures can be removed. I’ll be checking once a day to make sure the wound is clean,” the Medi-Klokateer said as she removed her latex gloves, threw them in the trash, and walked out of the room.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nathan asked half to the door and half to Charles.
“It means that you’re not supposed to get into more drunken bar brawls while you heal, though I’d prefer it if you didn’t go out at all.” He looked at Nathan’s clothes stained with his blood mixed with others’ and sighed. “Why did you go?”
“Because fuck you that’s why, we can do what we want,” Nathan snapped. “We're Dethklok, nobody tells us what to do.”
“I wasn’t telling you what to do. I just wish you realized that being rich doesn’t absolve you from facing the consequences of your actions.”
“The hell we do!”
Charles gave him a bemused expression. “You have disabled your arm, albeit temporarily. Is that not a consequence?”
Nathan could not answer that, so he just grunted in annoyance. He considered leaving, but for some reason he didn’t feel like it yet.
“We went for the same reason we do anything: we were bored and felt like punching someone,” he replied at length.
“Felt horny too,” he added. Having blood pumped back into his system and drinking water revitalized him and he still felt some leftover adrenaline coursing through him and no one to vent it on.
“Oh, and did you guys get that out of your system?”
Nathan shrugged. “Sort of, I guess. But now I won’t be able to jack myself off, or I’ll have to learn to use my left arm. Ugh! Fuck me.”
Charles muttered something under his breath that the singer didn’t quite hear.
“What?”
“No, nothing...”
Nathan was feeling vaguely irritated at this point and he realized part of it was his horniness. A devilish grin appeared on his face for a second and he turned to Charles.
“You know, I bet you’re just butthurt that you missed out on the action today.”
Charles adjusted his glasses at him. “My butt is not hurt, whatever that means, and I have no interest in indiscriminate grappling.”
“Huh! Probably because you would be bad at it.”
Charles fixed with him with a level look. “I can fight quite well.”
Nathan stood up and walked over to his manager, towering over the seated CFO. “Prove it,” he growled.
Charles glanced at Nathan’s elbow, now bandaged up. “But you’re injured.”
“Consider it my uh...what’s the word when the stronger one does something to be weak?”
“A handicap, eh?”
Charles stood up. Even standing straight, he didn’t quite meet face to face with the tall singer. It occurred him that if he bowed his head, Nathan would be in the perfect position to kiss his forehead. But that was not what the mood called for right now. “Very well.”
Without further warning, he lunged forward. Nathan had been expecting an attack, so he didn’t get his breath knocked out of him, but he still fell backwards into the bed. The lawyer was thin in comparison, but he was made of wiry muscles and it took a good effort to hold him down. Charles grabbed Nathan’s left hand to prevent him from punching out and held down his right shoulder, trying to avoid the injured area. Nathan grinned and used his unattended right hand to grab the lawyer by the throat and push him back, moving his whole body forward at the same
time, leveling the field now that he was no longer pinned down.
It wasn’t a real fight, as they both knew they could cause a lot of damage by going all out. Nathan was used to having his weight being a deciding factor in his victories, but Charles was a slippery customer. No matter how much he tried to grab him and crush him, the CFO would either slip out of his grasp or use his own momentum against him and throw him around. Charles for his part was happy he had included judo as part of his martial arts training, and was getting a chance to employ it. Their scuffling around pushed Pickles off the bed, where he fell on his butt and continued snoring.
At one point, Charles managed to put Nathan in a headlock. The singer looked so befuddled that Charles couldn’t help it; he gave in to temptation and gave him a noogie. This humiliation gave the singer the strength to physically rip himself off, grab Charles’ arm and twist to push him against the wall.
They were both breathing heavily at this point, not sure whether to continue. Charles was rather uncomfortable pressed against the wall and he gave thanks that Nathan was a friend rather than a foe.
Nathan was also getting rather tired and his dominant right arm was starting to give out. Even by pushing Charles with his left, his right throbbed painfully. He should stop roughhousing soon, but he still wanted to have fun.
Feeling the CFO’s heavy breathing on his chest finalized the half-baked idea he had when this started.
As roughly as they had wrestled, he stuck his hand into Charles’ trousers and gave that ass a firm squeeze. He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and grinned. He was tempted to move his hand and deal with the front end of the CFO but he held off. First he wanted some confirmation that his advances were wanted. Still, he didn’t remove his hand, in fact he looked at the pale butt that he had partially uncovered with satisfaction.
Meanwhile, Charles was waging a small mental battle with himself. On the one hand, it could upset the band dynamic to have sex with Nathan and he knew the singer could not be trusted to keep it secret. On the other hand, he would be pleasing Nathan...and himself in the process. It didn’t help that he had a growing erection slowly making itself known. It helped even less that Nathan was standing close enough that Charles could feel him breathing against his back.
He turned his head and kissed the dark-haired singer softly on the lips. When Nathan let go of his arm he turned his torso more and kissed him more deeply. He couldn’t quite turn around, because Nathan’s hand was still down his pants, and now it was groping him in the most inappropriate manner. Soon the stray hand found his dick and any opportunity to stop this before it went too far was gone. Charles shivered and began quietly unbuttoning his shirt, since he wanted to avoid getting jizz stains on it if possible.
At last he threw the shirt to the side and suddenly turned around and grabbed Nathan by the shirt. He turned the large man around and threw him on the bed on his stomach, making him land with a loud grunt. Nathan didn’t resist, either because his arm was hurt or because he wanted to keep going, Charles didn’t know. All he knew is that he was pulling down those generic jeans and groping those thick buttocks as indecently as he could. Unlike Charles, Nathan was rather vocal when being felt up and the air reverberated with his groaning and moaning.
Grabbing him by the hips and making him turn over again, Charles was pleased to find himself face to face with a large, erect penis. He’d seen it before, even like this, but this time it pleased him immensely to know it was standing up for him. He gave the cock a long lick with his tongue, eliciting a long moan from Nathan. Pleased, he slowly sucked the whole member while he pulled Nathan’s pants off altogether.
Nathan for his part was enjoying the impromptu blowjob, and gave a small sigh of relief that his ass was safe for now. He had been a bit unnerved by Charles' earlier butt-focused removal of his jeans... Maybe he would be willing to try to be on the receiving end someday, but today was not the day.
Charles’ sucking was getting more intense and Nathan realized he would finish soon at this rate. So he grabbed the lawyer by the shoulders and firmly pushed him away from his crotch. He was immediately really happy he did because he was rewarded by the rare, delectable sight of usually impeccable Charles with his hair disheveled, his glasses askew, and a bit of saliva coming out of the corner of his mouth.
“Do...hrm-do you have uh-” He stammered, since he didn’t know if the CFO wanted to take it all the way.
Charles reached for the night stand table, opened the second drawer and pulled out a string of condoms and a small bottle of lube.
“Feel free to use it all up,” he said re-adjusting his glasses.
Nathan promptly grabbed them and threw them on the floor. He pounced on Charles and ripped off what remained of their clothes.
Charles wrapped his legs around him and they started making out in earnest, rubbing against each other energetically. Slowly, with more patience than he really felt, Nathan poured some lube on his fingers and began to gently push them into the lawyer.
What really baffled Nathan was how quiet Charles was being. He was certainly not unresponsive, but he had not uttered a sound besides telling him to use the lube, not even a low moan.
Ordinarily this would really bother Nathan, since he hated the feeling that the person he was having sex with was doing it as a favor. He really hated being used. But he didn’t feel that way with Charles. Maybe it was that, while he was not used to sleeping with men that often, he was overly familiar with how dicks worked and he was fairly sure he was making Charles’ dick happy.
After lot of gentle prodding he inserted one full finger and he began to feel around. When Charles drew breath more sharply than ever before, Nathan knew he’d found the prostate. Someone (probably Skwisgaar) had once compared the prostrate to the clitoris. While this analogy was not really accurate, it served Nathan well and he knew how to perform foreplay of this type rather well.
It wasn’t long before Charles couldn't take the teasing anymore, and he found his limit reached before long. He roughly grabbed the singer’s shoulders.
“Just put it in!”
Happy to oblige, Nathan nonchalantly grabbed one of the condoms and tried to tear it off the rest. He didn’t realize that his fingers were slick with lube until his fifth attempt and glanced around in a panic.
Charles grabbed another condom, tore off at the dotted line and shoved it on Nathan’s erect cock before the singer even let go of the first one. Realizing what had happened, Nathan smiled at him in appreciation and carefully positioned himself. He began pushing in slowly, and increased the tempo when Charles no longer winced when he moved. Soon he started moving more forcefully, though he still watched Charles closely, he could feel himself losing control.
The CFO grabbed Nathan’s uninjured hand and placed it on his own cock. He then wrapped his arms around Nathan’s neck and pulled him close. The singer was forced to slow his pace and he wondered what this was about. Without warning, Charles licked his ear from earlobe to the helix and whispered, “fuck me silly.”
Nathan nearly earned his last name right then. He rose, drew out momentarily, flipped his lover around so his ass was in the air and began to pound mercilessly into that cute tight butt.
Charles grit his teeth and kept quiet and it almost looked like he was in pain, but in fact he was having the time of his life. Nathan was the opposite, he grunted and moaned loudly enough for the two of them. His fingers dug into the hips of his lover, leaving bruises that would still be felt a couple of days from now. Charles grabbed his left hand again and pulled it down so it could wrap around his rigid erection.
Nathan found that he couldn’t quite hold the same position without bending awkwardly, so he shifted them both forward so that Charles was nearly lying on his stomach. He closed his free hand over Charles’, intertwining their fingers and continuing to thrust deep and hard, bringing them both closer to the brink.
Charles’ head was reeling, in this position he barely could do anything except get fucked. At the same time the angle was something he’d never experienced and it was stimulating him in all the right places. He gripped his lover’s hand hard and resisted the urge to bite his finger, for he knew he could seriously hurt himself if he bit down during the orgasm he was about to have.
Nathan had been hoping to let Charles finish first, or at least finish together, but he couldn’t contain himself any longer. Tossing back his head, he growled deeply like some sort of ancient jungle creature, ground his hips as far as he could and climaxed, nearly collapsing as he did.
The CFO was not far behind, and for the first time he made a noise: he moaned deeply as he shuddered and let the spasms of his lower regions bring him pleasure.
He felt his body tingling in pleasure, and he would have lain there forever basking in the afterglow of his powerful climax if it weren’t for Nathan’s weight slowly crushing the breath out of him. He gingerly squirmed out from underneath the singer and then laid beside him to catch his breath. He realized they were both covered in sweat, and it felt as if vapour was leaving their bodies.
Nathan grabbed his hand and softly kissed it, meeting his eye. He smirked a feral grin and said “I told you you’d lose.”
Charles was about to answer when he noticed another pair of green eyes on his naked self.
Pickles had woken up at some point and was watching them both while reclining quite casually on the loveseat.
“Ye both know Ahm the best fighter, righ’?”
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FROM: Your Secret Valentine
Title: Sparring
Characters: Dethklok + Charles
Pairings: Nathan/Charles
Rating: NC-17 for homosex
Warnings: blood, injury and drugs aplenty
Timeline: Just after Bookklok
It had been a tense evening, even by Dethklok standards. They had been working on a new album and Nathan was rejecting every guitar riff, every drum beat, every note that Dethklok tried. It was shortly after the PR nightmare that was the Guitarganza Ice Festival, and Toki and Skwisgaar were finally ready to get back to work as rhythm guitarist and lead guitarist respectively. Toki was still sore from his public fall from grace, and Skwisgaar was still gloating over Toki’s failure.
“Hey Tokis, do you needs me to play this part fors you? Dont’s want you to has a picnic attack...”
“Aw fucks you, Skwisgaar!”
Pickles was also seething because he'd got a phone call from his parents about what an amazing father Seth had become, because he went to rescue his kid (and the nanny) after forgetting them in the Australian wilderness for a couple of days. The drummer kept taking rather unsubtle swigs of hard liquor and muttering under his breath that he could start a family of his own if he wanted to.
When a thrown guitar broke the glass that separated the recording room from the control panel, Nathan finally decided they were getting nowhere. “I’m going to a bar and you whiny pissbabies can come with me if you shut the fuck up,” he growled. Murderface took that statement as a personal insult, but followed the group as they piled into the Dethcycle and drove off to find a skeevy dive bar.
It didn’t take them long to find a sleazy place called Saliva Tendencies and get settled in. Before long, each member of the band was settled into their favourite locations, with Pickles dominating the bar and Skwisgaar on the dance floor looking for hookups. Toki quickly found out he could change the channel on the small TV on the wall and started watching a National Geographic documentary. He also took an immediate liking to the bartender, a fat old man with a white beard, whom he kept calling Santa Claus. Murderface had tried, unsuccessfully, to follow Skwisgaar and pick up women; so he contented himself by hogging a billiards table to himself and loudly complaining that nobody could play against someone as good as him.
Nathan decided to accompany Pickles on his quest to get shitfaced and ordered a bottle of spiced rum to add to the collection of liquors the drummer was amassing in front of him.
“Vodka is medicine,” Pickles mumbled as he noticed Nathan sitting down next to him.
The lead singer patted his shoulder in sympathy, since he would die of mortification if his parents called him up to harass him about making grandchildren. He noticed that the drummer was also taking some pills he didn’t recognize, and he guessed that he would have to drag his unconscious body out of the bar at the end of the night. Wouldn’t be the first time he'd done that.
Three bottles of strong stuff were empty, and Nathan was feeling a good buzz when he noticed a commotion behind him. He turned around to see Murderface yelling at a group of young men dressed weird. He could fuzzily distinguish them wearing flannel shirts and capri pants that he thought only women could wear and literally all them had bushy beards obscuring their faces. His alcohol-addled brain was having trouble making sense of these bearded men dressed like stereotypical lesbians and it was irritating him.
He approached the group, wondering if he would have to punch one of these weirdos, or Murderface, or both.
“I sshaid, you ashssholes can get your own table!” Murderface was holding the pool cue rather defensively.
“That’s the only table here, what are we supposed to bring our own?”
“Yesh! Go buy your own!”
“Why are you being such a douche?”
“You’re the fucking douchesh! How dare you shay that The Ramones ain’t shit? They are legends!
“Feh, I bet you worship the Rolling Stones too.”
“Hey, there ain’t anything wrong with them,” Pickles joined in the conversation, still holding a bottle of gin. “What are you fightin’ about anyway? Why can’t we be friends? Why can’t we all b-be happy?“ He sloshed his bottle around, liberally spraying the guys closest to him.
“Everyone knows death metal is the best music genre there is anyway,” Nathan growled. The first album he had ever owned had been the Ramones and he didn’t like to hear it insulted. If death metal was his steady relationship, punk rock was his first love.
Pickles spotted one of the guys wearing a Dethklok t-shirt and nodded at him. “Ye, you agree, dontcha?”
The young man, who was wearing old fashioned horn-rimmed glasses and a ski hat, snorted in contempt. “What? I wear this ironically! How could anyone like something so mainstream?”
That did it. One second later the gin bottle was flying from Pickles’ hand to the face of the perpetrator and a full fight was on. The hipster boys were armed with their custom pool cues and were not shy about using them.
Nathan loved bar fights, but he preferred to be a bit more sober to deliver more devastating punches. As it was, he was painfully getting hit with those glorified cue sticks far too often to his liking. Eventually it occurred to him to rip off one of the bar stools and use it as a blunt weapon, to great effect. He felt as if his elbow caught in something as he had ripped the stool off, but he didn’t pay too much attention to it. The stool proved to be too great of a weapon because the fight was over almost immediately, with the last stragglers fleeing.
Nathan put down the stool and surveyed the destroyed bar. Most of the other patrons had fled at the start of the fight and anyone who remained was unconscious except the Santa bartender, who was utterly distraught. The pool table was ripped beyond repair and the front window was smashed, not to mention the several bottles of liquor lying broken on the floor.
At that moment Skwisgaar, Toki and Murderface walked back in, apparently having gone to chase the last of the offending group. They looked worse for wear, covered in bruises and Murderface bleeding from his lip.
“Let’s gets outs of heres, the stupid fights chased off all de gurls.”
“Nathans! You looks hurts! There ams so many bloods! Looks cool actually!”
“My bar! You assholes destroyed my bar!”
Nathan finally located Pickles, who was lying unconscious next to the pool table, though he couldn’t see if it was because he was injured, dead, or drunk. He turned to the Santa bartender, who was still ranting.
“Ugh, just shut up, how much will it cost to repair?”
The question baffled Santa. “How should I know? Thousands! I have to replace the pool table and the windows and-”
Nathan reached into his pocket and drew out a large roll of $100 bills. Hazily, through his drunken and rattled skull, he counted ten bills and gave them to the bartender. He felt his elbow warm and dripping and wondered if he’d hurt it badly.
“Is that enough?” he asked, and kept giving out the bills until Santa seemed satisfied that his establishment would be properly restored. Nathan still had a huge stack of fresh bills he didn’t feel like carrying home, so he simply threw it on the floor when he went to pick up Pickles.
He wasn’t exactly sure how they got back to Mordhaus. He’d driven home drunk on the Dethcycle before but this time he felt oddly dizzy. They somehow arrived in one piece, and everyone dismounted to go tend to their wounds separately.
Pickles was still unconscious, so Nathan checked to make sure he was breathing and then carried him into Mordhaus.
There was a nagging feeling in the back of his head that he should be worried about how light headed he was and the fact that his shirt was wet.
Eventually they got to the kitchen and he plopped Pickles into an empty chair and then opened a faucet to clean the blood off his elbow. He was marveling at how the blood was still flowing when Charles walked in.
“Nathan, I wish you guys would tell me before going for these bar runs, at the very least I could arrange a pick up and- Look at your elbow! What happened? WHAT HAPPENED?”
~~~~
As it turned out, Nathan needed thirteen stitches and a small blood transfusion. He sat on the edge of Charles’ bed as the Medi-Klokateer finished patching him up, and was silently grateful he was the only member of the band who didn’t play an instrument, because he’d fucked up his right arm.
They’d dragged Pickles along as well, and he was now sleeping off his drunkenness on the manager’s bed because he had not been diagnosed with a concussion.
The manager himself sat on a stiff-looking loveseat, having taken off his jacket and tie.
“I recommend avoiding excessive movement and exercise until the sutures can be removed. I’ll be checking once a day to make sure the wound is clean,” the Medi-Klokateer said as she removed her latex gloves, threw them in the trash, and walked out of the room.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nathan asked half to the door and half to Charles.
“It means that you’re not supposed to get into more drunken bar brawls while you heal, though I’d prefer it if you didn’t go out at all.” He looked at Nathan’s clothes stained with his blood mixed with others’ and sighed. “Why did you go?”
“Because fuck you that’s why, we can do what we want,” Nathan snapped. “We're Dethklok, nobody tells us what to do.”
“I wasn’t telling you what to do. I just wish you realized that being rich doesn’t absolve you from facing the consequences of your actions.”
“The hell we do!”
Charles gave him a bemused expression. “You have disabled your arm, albeit temporarily. Is that not a consequence?”
Nathan could not answer that, so he just grunted in annoyance. He considered leaving, but for some reason he didn’t feel like it yet.
“We went for the same reason we do anything: we were bored and felt like punching someone,” he replied at length.
“Felt horny too,” he added. Having blood pumped back into his system and drinking water revitalized him and he still felt some leftover adrenaline coursing through him and no one to vent it on.
“Oh, and did you guys get that out of your system?”
Nathan shrugged. “Sort of, I guess. But now I won’t be able to jack myself off, or I’ll have to learn to use my left arm. Ugh! Fuck me.”
Charles muttered something under his breath that the singer didn’t quite hear.
“What?”
“No, nothing...”
Nathan was feeling vaguely irritated at this point and he realized part of it was his horniness. A devilish grin appeared on his face for a second and he turned to Charles.
“You know, I bet you’re just butthurt that you missed out on the action today.”
Charles adjusted his glasses at him. “My butt is not hurt, whatever that means, and I have no interest in indiscriminate grappling.”
“Huh! Probably because you would be bad at it.”
Charles fixed with him with a level look. “I can fight quite well.”
Nathan stood up and walked over to his manager, towering over the seated CFO. “Prove it,” he growled.
Charles glanced at Nathan’s elbow, now bandaged up. “But you’re injured.”
“Consider it my uh...what’s the word when the stronger one does something to be weak?”
“A handicap, eh?”
Charles stood up. Even standing straight, he didn’t quite meet face to face with the tall singer. It occurred him that if he bowed his head, Nathan would be in the perfect position to kiss his forehead. But that was not what the mood called for right now. “Very well.”
Without further warning, he lunged forward. Nathan had been expecting an attack, so he didn’t get his breath knocked out of him, but he still fell backwards into the bed. The lawyer was thin in comparison, but he was made of wiry muscles and it took a good effort to hold him down. Charles grabbed Nathan’s left hand to prevent him from punching out and held down his right shoulder, trying to avoid the injured area. Nathan grinned and used his unattended right hand to grab the lawyer by the throat and push him back, moving his whole body forward at the same
time, leveling the field now that he was no longer pinned down.
It wasn’t a real fight, as they both knew they could cause a lot of damage by going all out. Nathan was used to having his weight being a deciding factor in his victories, but Charles was a slippery customer. No matter how much he tried to grab him and crush him, the CFO would either slip out of his grasp or use his own momentum against him and throw him around. Charles for his part was happy he had included judo as part of his martial arts training, and was getting a chance to employ it. Their scuffling around pushed Pickles off the bed, where he fell on his butt and continued snoring.
At one point, Charles managed to put Nathan in a headlock. The singer looked so befuddled that Charles couldn’t help it; he gave in to temptation and gave him a noogie. This humiliation gave the singer the strength to physically rip himself off, grab Charles’ arm and twist to push him against the wall.
They were both breathing heavily at this point, not sure whether to continue. Charles was rather uncomfortable pressed against the wall and he gave thanks that Nathan was a friend rather than a foe.
Nathan was also getting rather tired and his dominant right arm was starting to give out. Even by pushing Charles with his left, his right throbbed painfully. He should stop roughhousing soon, but he still wanted to have fun.
Feeling the CFO’s heavy breathing on his chest finalized the half-baked idea he had when this started.
As roughly as they had wrestled, he stuck his hand into Charles’ trousers and gave that ass a firm squeeze. He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and grinned. He was tempted to move his hand and deal with the front end of the CFO but he held off. First he wanted some confirmation that his advances were wanted. Still, he didn’t remove his hand, in fact he looked at the pale butt that he had partially uncovered with satisfaction.
Meanwhile, Charles was waging a small mental battle with himself. On the one hand, it could upset the band dynamic to have sex with Nathan and he knew the singer could not be trusted to keep it secret. On the other hand, he would be pleasing Nathan...and himself in the process. It didn’t help that he had a growing erection slowly making itself known. It helped even less that Nathan was standing close enough that Charles could feel him breathing against his back.
He turned his head and kissed the dark-haired singer softly on the lips. When Nathan let go of his arm he turned his torso more and kissed him more deeply. He couldn’t quite turn around, because Nathan’s hand was still down his pants, and now it was groping him in the most inappropriate manner. Soon the stray hand found his dick and any opportunity to stop this before it went too far was gone. Charles shivered and began quietly unbuttoning his shirt, since he wanted to avoid getting jizz stains on it if possible.
At last he threw the shirt to the side and suddenly turned around and grabbed Nathan by the shirt. He turned the large man around and threw him on the bed on his stomach, making him land with a loud grunt. Nathan didn’t resist, either because his arm was hurt or because he wanted to keep going, Charles didn’t know. All he knew is that he was pulling down those generic jeans and groping those thick buttocks as indecently as he could. Unlike Charles, Nathan was rather vocal when being felt up and the air reverberated with his groaning and moaning.
Grabbing him by the hips and making him turn over again, Charles was pleased to find himself face to face with a large, erect penis. He’d seen it before, even like this, but this time it pleased him immensely to know it was standing up for him. He gave the cock a long lick with his tongue, eliciting a long moan from Nathan. Pleased, he slowly sucked the whole member while he pulled Nathan’s pants off altogether.
Nathan for his part was enjoying the impromptu blowjob, and gave a small sigh of relief that his ass was safe for now. He had been a bit unnerved by Charles' earlier butt-focused removal of his jeans... Maybe he would be willing to try to be on the receiving end someday, but today was not the day.
Charles’ sucking was getting more intense and Nathan realized he would finish soon at this rate. So he grabbed the lawyer by the shoulders and firmly pushed him away from his crotch. He was immediately really happy he did because he was rewarded by the rare, delectable sight of usually impeccable Charles with his hair disheveled, his glasses askew, and a bit of saliva coming out of the corner of his mouth.
“Do...hrm-do you have uh-” He stammered, since he didn’t know if the CFO wanted to take it all the way.
Charles reached for the night stand table, opened the second drawer and pulled out a string of condoms and a small bottle of lube.
“Feel free to use it all up,” he said re-adjusting his glasses.
Nathan promptly grabbed them and threw them on the floor. He pounced on Charles and ripped off what remained of their clothes.
Charles wrapped his legs around him and they started making out in earnest, rubbing against each other energetically. Slowly, with more patience than he really felt, Nathan poured some lube on his fingers and began to gently push them into the lawyer.
What really baffled Nathan was how quiet Charles was being. He was certainly not unresponsive, but he had not uttered a sound besides telling him to use the lube, not even a low moan.
Ordinarily this would really bother Nathan, since he hated the feeling that the person he was having sex with was doing it as a favor. He really hated being used. But he didn’t feel that way with Charles. Maybe it was that, while he was not used to sleeping with men that often, he was overly familiar with how dicks worked and he was fairly sure he was making Charles’ dick happy.
After lot of gentle prodding he inserted one full finger and he began to feel around. When Charles drew breath more sharply than ever before, Nathan knew he’d found the prostate. Someone (probably Skwisgaar) had once compared the prostrate to the clitoris. While this analogy was not really accurate, it served Nathan well and he knew how to perform foreplay of this type rather well.
It wasn’t long before Charles couldn't take the teasing anymore, and he found his limit reached before long. He roughly grabbed the singer’s shoulders.
“Just put it in!”
Happy to oblige, Nathan nonchalantly grabbed one of the condoms and tried to tear it off the rest. He didn’t realize that his fingers were slick with lube until his fifth attempt and glanced around in a panic.
Charles grabbed another condom, tore off at the dotted line and shoved it on Nathan’s erect cock before the singer even let go of the first one. Realizing what had happened, Nathan smiled at him in appreciation and carefully positioned himself. He began pushing in slowly, and increased the tempo when Charles no longer winced when he moved. Soon he started moving more forcefully, though he still watched Charles closely, he could feel himself losing control.
The CFO grabbed Nathan’s uninjured hand and placed it on his own cock. He then wrapped his arms around Nathan’s neck and pulled him close. The singer was forced to slow his pace and he wondered what this was about. Without warning, Charles licked his ear from earlobe to the helix and whispered, “fuck me silly.”
Nathan nearly earned his last name right then. He rose, drew out momentarily, flipped his lover around so his ass was in the air and began to pound mercilessly into that cute tight butt.
Charles grit his teeth and kept quiet and it almost looked like he was in pain, but in fact he was having the time of his life. Nathan was the opposite, he grunted and moaned loudly enough for the two of them. His fingers dug into the hips of his lover, leaving bruises that would still be felt a couple of days from now. Charles grabbed his left hand again and pulled it down so it could wrap around his rigid erection.
Nathan found that he couldn’t quite hold the same position without bending awkwardly, so he shifted them both forward so that Charles was nearly lying on his stomach. He closed his free hand over Charles’, intertwining their fingers and continuing to thrust deep and hard, bringing them both closer to the brink.
Charles’ head was reeling, in this position he barely could do anything except get fucked. At the same time the angle was something he’d never experienced and it was stimulating him in all the right places. He gripped his lover’s hand hard and resisted the urge to bite his finger, for he knew he could seriously hurt himself if he bit down during the orgasm he was about to have.
Nathan had been hoping to let Charles finish first, or at least finish together, but he couldn’t contain himself any longer. Tossing back his head, he growled deeply like some sort of ancient jungle creature, ground his hips as far as he could and climaxed, nearly collapsing as he did.
The CFO was not far behind, and for the first time he made a noise: he moaned deeply as he shuddered and let the spasms of his lower regions bring him pleasure.
He felt his body tingling in pleasure, and he would have lain there forever basking in the afterglow of his powerful climax if it weren’t for Nathan’s weight slowly crushing the breath out of him. He gingerly squirmed out from underneath the singer and then laid beside him to catch his breath. He realized they were both covered in sweat, and it felt as if vapour was leaving their bodies.
Nathan grabbed his hand and softly kissed it, meeting his eye. He smirked a feral grin and said “I told you you’d lose.”
Charles was about to answer when he noticed another pair of green eyes on his naked self.
Pickles had woken up at some point and was watching them both while reclining quite casually on the loveseat.
“Ye both know Ahm the best fighter, righ’?”
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