I wrote a thing.
Title: Laughter
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Nathan/Charles, sort of
Summary: When the guys get Charles really sloppy, he's not entirely responsible for his actions. (But he'll probably still remember everything in the morning.)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 489
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author Notes: What made Charles laugh so hard? I don't know. Maybe the guys decided he needed to see a dramatic reenactment of Murderface throwing up bleach, and reenacted it by talking Murderface into drinking bleach again. Maybe they got Charles to drive them to a convenience store to buy it… Do they sell bleach at convenience stores? Because if they don't, that's not very convenient.
Normally when Charles laughs -- really, oh-god-that's-hilarious-please-give-me-a-moment-to-regain-my-composure laughs -- he does it silently. He leans forward with his arms crossed loosely over his knees, head down and face slowly going red, and laughs all the air from his lungs until he has to gasp for oxygen. And when he really gets going, he can laugh for a long time. After a while the guys stop laughing at whatever was funny in the first place and start laughing at how funny he thinks it was, and that just makes him laugh harder. He'll stop eventually from sheer exhaustion, but once he's had a few minutes to recover it won't take much to set him off again.
It takes some pretty special circumstances to set him off in the first place, though. Pretty much the only thing they can do to get him to loosen up is talk him into getting sloppy with them. (Pot works a little better than booze, but if they want to do that they have to start with the drinking to ease him into it.) The results are usually pretty great.
But tonight is different. Maybe Charles has been wound too tight recently or maybe Pickles accidentally mixed up the weed with some weird shit, but the laugh is totally different. It's fucking creepy.
"Schit, we broke the robot!"
"It ams sounds like Facebones!"
"Oh fucks, Skwisgaar ams right!"
"He's fuckin… pahssessed er sahmthin, listen to him!"
Nathan just frowns. He's okay with creepy as a general rule and he thinks Facebones is a pretty awesome mascot, but this kind of creepy is not okay. It makes his skin crawl to hear his manager sound like that and his bandmates are freaking out.
So he grabs Charles by the shoulder and shakes him. Charles just shakes his head helplessly and laughs harder. It's manic and high-pitched and kind of sick. Nathan is actually starting to get worried.
"Fuck," he mutters. Time for drastic measures.
He tackles Charles right out of the chair. Maybe he should have warned him, or somebody, because everybody else scrambles to get out of the way as they come crashing down. The laughter is cut off with a yelp and then a breathless curse, and Nathan is pretty much just lying on top of Charles on the sticky, fragrant bar room floor. He hopes he isn't squishing the guy, because the band really does need a manager.
"…Hi, Nathan," Charles says against his cheek after a moment. He sounds a little giggly and, well, drunk and high, but at least he's talking like himself. And playing with Nathan's hair the way he often does while drunk. And-- huh. How did that leg get there. And was that a kiss on the cheek?
Nathan pushes himself up before Charles gives him anything else to think about. “It wasn’t that funny,” he grumbles.
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Nathan/Charles, sort of
Summary: When the guys get Charles really sloppy, he's not entirely responsible for his actions. (But he'll probably still remember everything in the morning.)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 489
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author Notes: What made Charles laugh so hard? I don't know. Maybe the guys decided he needed to see a dramatic reenactment of Murderface throwing up bleach, and reenacted it by talking Murderface into drinking bleach again. Maybe they got Charles to drive them to a convenience store to buy it… Do they sell bleach at convenience stores? Because if they don't, that's not very convenient.
Normally when Charles laughs -- really, oh-god-that's-hilarious-please-give-me-a-moment-to-regain-my-composure laughs -- he does it silently. He leans forward with his arms crossed loosely over his knees, head down and face slowly going red, and laughs all the air from his lungs until he has to gasp for oxygen. And when he really gets going, he can laugh for a long time. After a while the guys stop laughing at whatever was funny in the first place and start laughing at how funny he thinks it was, and that just makes him laugh harder. He'll stop eventually from sheer exhaustion, but once he's had a few minutes to recover it won't take much to set him off again.
It takes some pretty special circumstances to set him off in the first place, though. Pretty much the only thing they can do to get him to loosen up is talk him into getting sloppy with them. (Pot works a little better than booze, but if they want to do that they have to start with the drinking to ease him into it.) The results are usually pretty great.
But tonight is different. Maybe Charles has been wound too tight recently or maybe Pickles accidentally mixed up the weed with some weird shit, but the laugh is totally different. It's fucking creepy.
"Schit, we broke the robot!"
"It ams sounds like Facebones!"
"Oh fucks, Skwisgaar ams right!"
"He's fuckin… pahssessed er sahmthin, listen to him!"
Nathan just frowns. He's okay with creepy as a general rule and he thinks Facebones is a pretty awesome mascot, but this kind of creepy is not okay. It makes his skin crawl to hear his manager sound like that and his bandmates are freaking out.
So he grabs Charles by the shoulder and shakes him. Charles just shakes his head helplessly and laughs harder. It's manic and high-pitched and kind of sick. Nathan is actually starting to get worried.
"Fuck," he mutters. Time for drastic measures.
He tackles Charles right out of the chair. Maybe he should have warned him, or somebody, because everybody else scrambles to get out of the way as they come crashing down. The laughter is cut off with a yelp and then a breathless curse, and Nathan is pretty much just lying on top of Charles on the sticky, fragrant bar room floor. He hopes he isn't squishing the guy, because the band really does need a manager.
"…Hi, Nathan," Charles says against his cheek after a moment. He sounds a little giggly and, well, drunk and high, but at least he's talking like himself. And playing with Nathan's hair the way he often does while drunk. And-- huh. How did that leg get there. And was that a kiss on the cheek?
Nathan pushes himself up before Charles gives him anything else to think about. “It wasn’t that funny,” he grumbles.