Fic: Dethlust
Because you knew they wouldn't kill him off. ;)
Title: Dethlust
Author(s): lilac28
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Nathan/Charles
Summary: A month after the return of Dethklok’s manager, Nathan Explosion has trouble expressing his emotions.
Rating: R
Warning(s): Naughty stuff and some lulz
Word Count: ~2000
Disclaimer: I don’t own Metalocalypse, but I sure think it’s funny
On a flaming Mordhaus ladder
"I'm only sayin' this because you're so drunk that you aren't gonna remember and won't tell on me for givin' a shit about your life but, man, you've been fuckin' way too drunk lately."
"Hey Nathan, the real reasons you tells me this...is because you cares about me."
"Hold on and don't throw up. We have to find Offdensen. And, uh, the rest of the guys too."
Toki responded with a drunken, sputtering giggle. "Oooh, Nathan, you cares about him too. You cares about him lots."
"Oh God, Toki, don't do this to me right now...."
Ten months later
Once he recovered from the shock of seeing his manager alive, Nathan Explosion began experiencing a myriad of emotions, all completely unable to be expressed through any method other than drinking. There was relief, a welcome lessening of all pervasive anxiety. Of course there was intense anger.
And there was the knot. The fucking knot in his stomach that occurred whenever he had to speak to Charles Offdensen. The knot that he thought he had conquered years ago, now more than a little distracting. So distracting that Nathan had felt the need to hold two different press conferences over the past month reaffirming his heterosexuality.
Although things settled back to insane-normal, he knew something was still not right. He was supposed to say something to Charles. This tapped into one of Nathan's greatest fears, knowing you were supposed to do something but being unable to figure out what it was.
Ultimately he decided to rely on two of his greatest strengths, confrontation and the ability to drink a lot of alcohol.
"Is there something I can do for you, Nathan?"
"I need to talk to you about, uh, some stuff."
"Of course."
"Man," Nathan began the only way he knew how. "Where the fuck were you?"
Charles' facial expression didn't change. "We talked about this. It's best for your own protection that you don't know. It's all become clear with some more time."
"I want it clear NOW." Nathan pounded his fist on the desk; frustrated that Charles remained unfazed. "We.....how could you just.....we made idiots out of ourselves! And Toki was a wreck."
"Look, Nathan-"
Nathan stalked around the desk to grab Charles by the shoulders. Before he knew it, the trademark red tie was wound around his fist. He used it to pull his manager's face inches from his own. "We had a fuckin' funeral for you."
Despite his propensity towards creating destruction and punching people, Nathan had never displayed any violence towards his manager. Perhaps it was the sudden outburst or the speed of his approach. Perhaps it was the tie pulled a little too tight. Whatever the reason, Charles did something Nathan had never seen him do. He emitted a sudden, surprised gasp and was silent.
The singer pressed closer, looming with his superior size as though it would produce a solution. The knot was back in his stomach as he looked into Charles' hazel eyes. They were so close. "Why....why did you leave us?"
"I had to." It was a whisper. Gone were his usual passive features, Charles' angular face struggled to remain neutral. His breathing was shallow, restricted by the tie. There was no air between them.
Nathan couldn't think. The slamming in his chest, the warm and solid body crowded up against his. Charles' eyes burning into his. Nathan always suspected that underneath the suit and tie their manager ran as hot as any member of Dethklok. It was probably why he was their longest-living employee.
"What could make you have to leave me?" Nathan had always preferred actions to emotions. Thus the question came out as a quiet grunt, and ended with the press of dry lips. It wasn't a kiss, just a reaction to the deliciously charged ache that was quickly spiking. A need to devour the comfort that was so uniquely Charles.
He was getting hard. And, oh God, so was the smaller man he had crushed to the desk. The lack of space between their bodies left nothing to the imagination.
"Nathan," Charles leaned backwards in an attempt to put some distance between them, even as he pulsed hot against Nathan's leg. "Don't do this."
Nathan Explosion never was very good at doing what he was told.
"How long," he demanded, worming his hand between them to grip at his manager's clothed erection. "How long, Offdensen?"
Calm veneer crumbling, Charles was unable to meet his eyes. "A....long time. Since the beginning."
Nathan was stunned. Offdensen wanted him this whole time? Secretly lusted after him even while providing him groupies, riding his ass about recording, and cleaning up all his screw-ups? Brutal.
"You fucking dick! You mean we could've.....we could've been.....?"
A barely perceptible tremble ran through Charles, his voice once again level. "Nathan, this is dangerous. Dangerous for Dethklok. Dangerous for us. Please stop."
There was no fucking way Nathan was going to stop now. He had Charles Offdensen, one of the most powerful and intelligent people he'd ever met, squirming like a fish on a hook in his hands. The thrill was greater than being in front of thousands of screaming fans. Not even the loathsome Dr. Rockso in a lime green jumpsuit could have had an effect on Nathan's famously short attention span now.
He leveraged his weight and shoved Charles into a seated position on his desk, sending documents and a laptop crashing to the floor. He kept the satiny red tie threaded through his fingers, while the other hand labored with the fly on his manager's pants.
The smaller man struggled weakly, bound by Nathan's weight and the gentle pressure of his tie around his neck. "Wait, Nathan. I, uh, I need to get those...balance sheets. On the floor. Important...."
"Fuck 'em." He yanked down the zipper and reached into Charles' pants, surprised to feel hard naked skin. "Oh, no way. Offdensen, are you free ballin'?"
Flushed and disheveled, Charles could only bark a small nervous laugh. "Yeah, it really is more comfortable."
It shouldn't have been so hot; the strict man now an agitated mess with pants undone. Yet Nathan was more turned on than ever, his own erection throbbing behind his black jeans. He ached to just touch, to take the robot to pieces and leave him squirming. Begging. Disassembled Robot Handjob....good name for a song title.
It was pretty gay, and definitely not metal, but he wasn't one to stop and analyze his actions.
"That's somethin' I've always liked about you," he curled his free hand around Charles' cock. "For an uptight prick, you're full of surprises."
Charles could only emit a soft groan as he nestled his head into Nathan's shoulder, fingers winding through long black hair. "Oh God, Nathan...."
Bare heavy flesh felt good beneath his hand. Nathan twisted his wrist, reveling in Charles' broken panting, in the illicit act of shamelessly jacking his manager off on his own desk. With every tight pull of his hand the other man's chest heaved a little faster.
He wanted it. He wanted Nathan to touch him. The thought brought more power and terror than all his years as the front man of the world's most brutal metal band.
Looking down, he saw Charles' stiff cock engulfed in his massive palm. He kept a slow rhythm, only breaking it to run an experimental thumb over the crown. Charles jerked in his arms, his breath catching. He was warm, desperate, and alive. Not a robot after all.
Nathan was on fire. The heady crush of having Charles in his thrall was overwhelming. Gone was the resentment of a nine-month abandonment; in its place was the fiery explosion of long buried desire. A desire further inflamed by having the other man wrinkled, sloppy, and gasping against him.
"Nathan...Nathan, Oh God. I need....I....."
The singer's hand was growing slick. Offdensen was already close.
He jerked again at the tie, bringing Charles' forehead up to rest against his own. His manager's normally impeccable brown hair was a sticking out in all directions. Nathan dropped the red fabric to reach out and right the other man's off center glasses. Their eyes locked.
"Ask for it. Ask for it and I'll fuckin' give it to you."
Charles shut his dazed eyes, lips struggling to form something coherent. "Please," he breathed, "harder."
Nathan cinched his hand tighter, beyond the point of caring about anything except feeling the other man convulse and tremble in his arms. Throat dry, his voice came out more harsh than usual. "Fuck, Charles."
Charles gasped into his open mouth, clutching at his thick black hair in earnest. Taut muscles constricted under the suit as he emitted a low sigh. "Ngh, Nathan......"
"Oh yeah, oh yeah," Nathan's whole body pulsated with electric excitement. "That's it. Fuck, yeah. I'm gonna take you there. That's it."
And then Charles Offdensen was reduced to pieces in his hand, hot liquid landing all over the expensive suit. It was just how Nathan had longed to see him. Fiercely needing and out of control. The relieved moans and look of blissful release on Charles' normally stern face was an added bonus. Nathan rocked him through every pleasurable spasm, loving every second of it.
They remained slumped against each other until Charles stopped shaking and his breathing quieted. He finally opened his eyes, gathering whatever remained of his cool to fix Nathan with his calmly wicked stare. The gaze was softened by a slight lift at the corners of his thin lips. He brushed Nathan's mouth to his, and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.
"Hallooo...planet Earths callings Nathan. Am you ins there?"
Confusion was not an unfamiliar state for him, yet Nathan was extremely addled to hear that the voice that spoke was Skwisgaar's.
He blinked, and in an instant he was no longer staring at a mussed Charles Offdensen but the bewildered faces of his band mates.
Murderface snickered and crowded his personal space, foul breath further destroying the warm daydream. "You were really shpachin' out there, man. Where you thinkin' about shluts?"
"Oh God, get away from me, Murderface. No! I mean, yes! But it's none of your business!"
"Would you like to go somewhere, Nathan?" Across the table came the composed tone of their manager. Charles sat unfettered, looking collected and ridiculously sexy with his scar and glasses.
"Um, what?"
"You just said something about taking me there? Was there somewhere you thought you needed to go?"
Nathan experienced a terror he hadn't felt since school. Had he been speaking his fantasy out loud? Fuck. Fuck. Say something smart with your brain.
"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," despite his best intentions, nothing came to mind. Finally he just mumbled, "I, uh, wanted to take you to some regular jack-off store. Soooo....you could buy me, um, some more chips."
Charles' annoyance barely showed. He was used to unproductive meetings and outlandish requests. "I'll have some of the Klokateers go get you some, Nathan. Guys, let's try to stay on track here. For once."
"And beer nutsh!"
"Okay, Murderface, and beer nuts. Now can we discuss the new-"
"Ands vodka nuts!"
"Dere's no such thing as vahdka nuts, Skwisgaar." Pickles rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Although thaht's naht a bad idea."
From there the conversation descended into the latest debate to divide Mordhaus, the passionate schism of beer vs. vodka.
As Pickles, Murderface, and Skwisgaar loudly put forth their respective inarticulate arguments, Nathan stole a glance at Charles, hating the pounding in his chest. Charles seemed untouched by the ranting around him, looking right where he belonged. Nathan was more confused than ever.
"See, Nathan?" Toki's voice broke through his anxious reverie. The guitar player cast his eyes on their manager, then back at Nathan and beamed him a genuine smile. "I tolds you!"
"Shut up, Toki."
And for the first time in the history of Dethklok, Nathan Explosion kept his mouth shut for the rest of a meeting.
Title: Dethlust
Author(s): lilac28
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Nathan/Charles
Summary: A month after the return of Dethklok’s manager, Nathan Explosion has trouble expressing his emotions.
Rating: R
Warning(s): Naughty stuff and some lulz
Word Count: ~2000
Disclaimer: I don’t own Metalocalypse, but I sure think it’s funny
On a flaming Mordhaus ladder
"I'm only sayin' this because you're so drunk that you aren't gonna remember and won't tell on me for givin' a shit about your life but, man, you've been fuckin' way too drunk lately."
"Hey Nathan, the real reasons you tells me this...is because you cares about me."
"Hold on and don't throw up. We have to find Offdensen. And, uh, the rest of the guys too."
Toki responded with a drunken, sputtering giggle. "Oooh, Nathan, you cares about him too. You cares about him lots."
"Oh God, Toki, don't do this to me right now...."
Ten months later
Once he recovered from the shock of seeing his manager alive, Nathan Explosion began experiencing a myriad of emotions, all completely unable to be expressed through any method other than drinking. There was relief, a welcome lessening of all pervasive anxiety. Of course there was intense anger.
And there was the knot. The fucking knot in his stomach that occurred whenever he had to speak to Charles Offdensen. The knot that he thought he had conquered years ago, now more than a little distracting. So distracting that Nathan had felt the need to hold two different press conferences over the past month reaffirming his heterosexuality.
Although things settled back to insane-normal, he knew something was still not right. He was supposed to say something to Charles. This tapped into one of Nathan's greatest fears, knowing you were supposed to do something but being unable to figure out what it was.
Ultimately he decided to rely on two of his greatest strengths, confrontation and the ability to drink a lot of alcohol.
"Is there something I can do for you, Nathan?"
"I need to talk to you about, uh, some stuff."
"Of course."
"Man," Nathan began the only way he knew how. "Where the fuck were you?"
Charles' facial expression didn't change. "We talked about this. It's best for your own protection that you don't know. It's all become clear with some more time."
"I want it clear NOW." Nathan pounded his fist on the desk; frustrated that Charles remained unfazed. "We.....how could you just.....we made idiots out of ourselves! And Toki was a wreck."
"Look, Nathan-"
Nathan stalked around the desk to grab Charles by the shoulders. Before he knew it, the trademark red tie was wound around his fist. He used it to pull his manager's face inches from his own. "We had a fuckin' funeral for you."
Despite his propensity towards creating destruction and punching people, Nathan had never displayed any violence towards his manager. Perhaps it was the sudden outburst or the speed of his approach. Perhaps it was the tie pulled a little too tight. Whatever the reason, Charles did something Nathan had never seen him do. He emitted a sudden, surprised gasp and was silent.
The singer pressed closer, looming with his superior size as though it would produce a solution. The knot was back in his stomach as he looked into Charles' hazel eyes. They were so close. "Why....why did you leave us?"
"I had to." It was a whisper. Gone were his usual passive features, Charles' angular face struggled to remain neutral. His breathing was shallow, restricted by the tie. There was no air between them.
Nathan couldn't think. The slamming in his chest, the warm and solid body crowded up against his. Charles' eyes burning into his. Nathan always suspected that underneath the suit and tie their manager ran as hot as any member of Dethklok. It was probably why he was their longest-living employee.
"What could make you have to leave me?" Nathan had always preferred actions to emotions. Thus the question came out as a quiet grunt, and ended with the press of dry lips. It wasn't a kiss, just a reaction to the deliciously charged ache that was quickly spiking. A need to devour the comfort that was so uniquely Charles.
He was getting hard. And, oh God, so was the smaller man he had crushed to the desk. The lack of space between their bodies left nothing to the imagination.
"Nathan," Charles leaned backwards in an attempt to put some distance between them, even as he pulsed hot against Nathan's leg. "Don't do this."
Nathan Explosion never was very good at doing what he was told.
"How long," he demanded, worming his hand between them to grip at his manager's clothed erection. "How long, Offdensen?"
Calm veneer crumbling, Charles was unable to meet his eyes. "A....long time. Since the beginning."
Nathan was stunned. Offdensen wanted him this whole time? Secretly lusted after him even while providing him groupies, riding his ass about recording, and cleaning up all his screw-ups? Brutal.
"You fucking dick! You mean we could've.....we could've been.....?"
A barely perceptible tremble ran through Charles, his voice once again level. "Nathan, this is dangerous. Dangerous for Dethklok. Dangerous for us. Please stop."
There was no fucking way Nathan was going to stop now. He had Charles Offdensen, one of the most powerful and intelligent people he'd ever met, squirming like a fish on a hook in his hands. The thrill was greater than being in front of thousands of screaming fans. Not even the loathsome Dr. Rockso in a lime green jumpsuit could have had an effect on Nathan's famously short attention span now.
He leveraged his weight and shoved Charles into a seated position on his desk, sending documents and a laptop crashing to the floor. He kept the satiny red tie threaded through his fingers, while the other hand labored with the fly on his manager's pants.
The smaller man struggled weakly, bound by Nathan's weight and the gentle pressure of his tie around his neck. "Wait, Nathan. I, uh, I need to get those...balance sheets. On the floor. Important...."
"Fuck 'em." He yanked down the zipper and reached into Charles' pants, surprised to feel hard naked skin. "Oh, no way. Offdensen, are you free ballin'?"
Flushed and disheveled, Charles could only bark a small nervous laugh. "Yeah, it really is more comfortable."
It shouldn't have been so hot; the strict man now an agitated mess with pants undone. Yet Nathan was more turned on than ever, his own erection throbbing behind his black jeans. He ached to just touch, to take the robot to pieces and leave him squirming. Begging. Disassembled Robot Handjob....good name for a song title.
It was pretty gay, and definitely not metal, but he wasn't one to stop and analyze his actions.
"That's somethin' I've always liked about you," he curled his free hand around Charles' cock. "For an uptight prick, you're full of surprises."
Charles could only emit a soft groan as he nestled his head into Nathan's shoulder, fingers winding through long black hair. "Oh God, Nathan...."
Bare heavy flesh felt good beneath his hand. Nathan twisted his wrist, reveling in Charles' broken panting, in the illicit act of shamelessly jacking his manager off on his own desk. With every tight pull of his hand the other man's chest heaved a little faster.
He wanted it. He wanted Nathan to touch him. The thought brought more power and terror than all his years as the front man of the world's most brutal metal band.
Looking down, he saw Charles' stiff cock engulfed in his massive palm. He kept a slow rhythm, only breaking it to run an experimental thumb over the crown. Charles jerked in his arms, his breath catching. He was warm, desperate, and alive. Not a robot after all.
Nathan was on fire. The heady crush of having Charles in his thrall was overwhelming. Gone was the resentment of a nine-month abandonment; in its place was the fiery explosion of long buried desire. A desire further inflamed by having the other man wrinkled, sloppy, and gasping against him.
"Nathan...Nathan, Oh God. I need....I....."
The singer's hand was growing slick. Offdensen was already close.
He jerked again at the tie, bringing Charles' forehead up to rest against his own. His manager's normally impeccable brown hair was a sticking out in all directions. Nathan dropped the red fabric to reach out and right the other man's off center glasses. Their eyes locked.
"Ask for it. Ask for it and I'll fuckin' give it to you."
Charles shut his dazed eyes, lips struggling to form something coherent. "Please," he breathed, "harder."
Nathan cinched his hand tighter, beyond the point of caring about anything except feeling the other man convulse and tremble in his arms. Throat dry, his voice came out more harsh than usual. "Fuck, Charles."
Charles gasped into his open mouth, clutching at his thick black hair in earnest. Taut muscles constricted under the suit as he emitted a low sigh. "Ngh, Nathan......"
"Oh yeah, oh yeah," Nathan's whole body pulsated with electric excitement. "That's it. Fuck, yeah. I'm gonna take you there. That's it."
And then Charles Offdensen was reduced to pieces in his hand, hot liquid landing all over the expensive suit. It was just how Nathan had longed to see him. Fiercely needing and out of control. The relieved moans and look of blissful release on Charles' normally stern face was an added bonus. Nathan rocked him through every pleasurable spasm, loving every second of it.
They remained slumped against each other until Charles stopped shaking and his breathing quieted. He finally opened his eyes, gathering whatever remained of his cool to fix Nathan with his calmly wicked stare. The gaze was softened by a slight lift at the corners of his thin lips. He brushed Nathan's mouth to his, and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.
"Hallooo...planet Earths callings Nathan. Am you ins there?"
Confusion was not an unfamiliar state for him, yet Nathan was extremely addled to hear that the voice that spoke was Skwisgaar's.
He blinked, and in an instant he was no longer staring at a mussed Charles Offdensen but the bewildered faces of his band mates.
Murderface snickered and crowded his personal space, foul breath further destroying the warm daydream. "You were really shpachin' out there, man. Where you thinkin' about shluts?"
"Oh God, get away from me, Murderface. No! I mean, yes! But it's none of your business!"
"Would you like to go somewhere, Nathan?" Across the table came the composed tone of their manager. Charles sat unfettered, looking collected and ridiculously sexy with his scar and glasses.
"Um, what?"
"You just said something about taking me there? Was there somewhere you thought you needed to go?"
Nathan experienced a terror he hadn't felt since school. Had he been speaking his fantasy out loud? Fuck. Fuck. Say something smart with your brain.
"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," despite his best intentions, nothing came to mind. Finally he just mumbled, "I, uh, wanted to take you to some regular jack-off store. Soooo....you could buy me, um, some more chips."
Charles' annoyance barely showed. He was used to unproductive meetings and outlandish requests. "I'll have some of the Klokateers go get you some, Nathan. Guys, let's try to stay on track here. For once."
"And beer nutsh!"
"Okay, Murderface, and beer nuts. Now can we discuss the new-"
"Ands vodka nuts!"
"Dere's no such thing as vahdka nuts, Skwisgaar." Pickles rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Although thaht's naht a bad idea."
From there the conversation descended into the latest debate to divide Mordhaus, the passionate schism of beer vs. vodka.
As Pickles, Murderface, and Skwisgaar loudly put forth their respective inarticulate arguments, Nathan stole a glance at Charles, hating the pounding in his chest. Charles seemed untouched by the ranting around him, looking right where he belonged. Nathan was more confused than ever.
"See, Nathan?" Toki's voice broke through his anxious reverie. The guitar player cast his eyes on their manager, then back at Nathan and beamed him a genuine smile. "I tolds you!"
"Shut up, Toki."
And for the first time in the history of Dethklok, Nathan Explosion kept his mouth shut for the rest of a meeting.