FIC: Not Your Typical ‘Hey I’m Your Dick Just Reminding You I’m Down There’ Hard-on (N/P, PG-13)
TO: ran_pants
FROM: the_ginga
Title: Not Your Typical ‘Hey I’m Your Dick Just Reminding You I’m Down There’ Hard-on
Summary: Nathan is having a bit of a crisis and seeks advice from Charles.
Characters/Pairing: Charles, Nathan/Pickles
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Unspecified
Warnings: None, really!
Disclaimer: Don’t own Metalocalypse or any of the characters, but I sure do love to write about ‘em!
A new year tends to bring about little bits of change around Mordhaus. I say little bits because no matter how much the world shifts and reforms around Dethklok ... things around them have this miraculous habit of staying very much the same. It’s like a bubble that surrounds them, their very own private atmosphere. Things are always a certain way when the five of them are in the same place at the same time, something in the air sends the senses reeling and affects you at your very core without you even realizing it. The only thing most are ever aware of is that when Dethklok is absent there is something absent within you as well; a gaping hole in your very being that can only be filled by that mysterious, dare I say magical sensation that washes over you like a tidal wave when you fall under their collective gaze.
That is why their fans pay what they do for albums, concert tickets and merchandise. That is why they flock to recruiting centers by the thousands to literally lay down their lives for their beloved Dethklok. And that is why, perhaps, the Boys’ world holds on to an illusion of a static existence. No matter what kind of chaos erupts around them, whether they’re the direct or indirect cause, they somehow manage to be the same. It probably helps that chaos is a large part of what they consider normalcy.
But, I digress; bad sign this early on and I must apologize. I’ve had a long day, you see. January for the Boys may mean it’s time to pin up new ‘Death Metal Muffs’ calendar in every communal Haus bathroom, but for me it’s the start of a long and grueling tax season. I won’t have a proper night’s sleep until the spring equinox. But enough of my musings, back to the matter at hand.
January is generally a quiet time for the Boys and this one has been no exception. Between recovering spiritually from a month of lashing out and attention-seeking brought on by uncomfortable Christmas-connected emotions and recovering physically from a New Year’s Eve party that’s technically still going on in parts of Miami and two adjacent counties... the Boys are recharging their batteries. Not to mention battling varying degrees of Seasonal Affective Disorder.
Midwinter is never a good time for Dethklok. All of them are a little extra cranky for one reason or another. Toki is grumpy because Christmas is over and his socially acceptable methods of expressing affection for the important people in his life have dried up. The poor thing, he just wants to make people happy ... unfortunately, his execution leaves something to be desired. I sympathize, and try to encourage him when and where I can.
Skwisgaar is usually still trying to fill the cavernous void that Christmases of childhood past have left in him, and he copes with that in much the same way he copes with everything else: he retires to his room with a half-dozen female companions and alternates between prolonged orgies and hours of unamplified guitar noodling. I only worry if he spends a lot of time by himself. Generally, if he’s surrounded by people (especially his preferred brand of, um, mature women), I don’t have to be concerned with his mental safety.
Pickles suffers from what I’m going to call cabin fever, a leftover side effect of growing up in a place where the first few months of the year meant a lot of staying inside. He deals with it quite admirably, keeping himself occupied. He’s usually the one to rally the other boys together for one adventure or another, his proverbial itchy feet not content to stay idle. The only negative is that he’s a bit more irritable than usual, but that’s rarely a problem if he’s having a good time.
With William, things are bit more unpredictable. Then again, things always are with him so I guess you could make the argument that his unpredictability is, in itself, predictable. Paradox aside, William’s mood depends on how everyone else is feeling. If half of his bandmates are having a bad day, he goes ahead and makes sure that he has an even worse one. He won’t be outdone when it comes to being down in the dumps. I’ve come to believe that is his backwards method of cheering everybody up. After all, it’s hard to complain about your lot in life if someone else has it worse. Other than the occasional flare-up, he’s in a decent mood, and with William you take what you can get.
Nathan... ah, Nathan... he gets hit the hardest. He withdraws from the group and spends most of his time cooped up in his room. He will join in with the others from time to time, but you can tell that his heart just isn’t in it. I can only guess what it is that weighs so heavily on him, as he’s never let on exactly what gets him so down. He writes a lot of lyrics, and I suppose if I took the time to read between the lines I might catch a glimpse of what goes on inside of his head. But ... that would feel indecent somehow. I’d feel like I was prying. If he wanted me to know, he’d tell me. That’s one thing I can always count on Nathan for.
So, it didn’t really cause me any great concern when Nathan shut himself in his room starting from the early evening of January 3rd, the day we got back to the Haus from the New Year’s Eve party. Nearly two weeks went by and I barely saw him at all, save for dinnertimes which were usually serving as his breakfast. He didn’t have much to say, but what can you say when you’re starting your day with a Screwdriver and eggs? No hints of anything really unusual going on, but now that I think about it he’d been a bit quieter than is typical for him.
Then seemingly out of the blue I got a text message from Nathan informing me that we had a meeting in my office at six o’clock but if I was busy we could reschedule. I must confess that I love that’s his way of asking me if I’m available. I wasn’t working on anything in particular, so I told him that I would be there. The message didn’t raise any red flags right off the bat; for all I knew he wanted an advancement on his allowance for the upcoming weekend’s excursion to Brazil. His financial proposals begin the same way.
What tipped me off that something was amiss with Nathan was that he knocked on my door at six o’clock sharp. That’s a double whammy, as Nathan rarely knocks, and he definitely doesn’t make an effort to be on time. I expected him to wander in at around twenty after, mumbling some half-baked apology about having trouble with the microwave.
“Come in,” I called, slightly taken aback.
The door opened and Nathan shuffled through, locking it behind him and double-checking to make sure that it would stay locked. He didn’t look his best. Nathan was paler than usual, his hair was a stringy, tangled mess and he had dark circles under his red, glassy eyes.
“What can I help you with, Nathan?”
No reply. He just hovered behind the winged chair that sits in front of my desk, shifting his weight from foot to foot and staring at a point just over my shoulder.
“Sit down?” I offered cautiously, my concerns raised a bit by his hesitance. “And, uh, would you like something to drink?”
“Ohhgodyess,” Nathan answered quickly, nodding and plopping down into the chair.
“Um, I take it’s safe to assume that you’ve got something on your mind?” I asked, getting out a bottle of fine brandy (a Christmas gift to myself) and two glasses. “What seems to be troubling you?”
“Uh...” Nathan breathed, squirming in his seat a little. I poured a glass of brandy and held it out to him, he took it eagerly and drained half of it in one gulp. Not the way one should enjoy brandy of that caliber but... I digress once more. “I uh... have a... um...”
I looked at him expectantly.
“Problem.”
“Yes?”
“Yeah.”
“And what would that be, Nathan?” I asked, pouring myself a generous glass. “I’m not a mind reader, you’ll have to help me out here.”
The room went silent. Nathan ducked his head and fidgeted with his glass of brandy, passing it between his hands and wiggling around in the chair every now and then, as if he were suddenly surprised to find it there supporting him. He took another large sip of brandy and let out a low growl. I could tell he was trying hard to put a name to his pain, but the words just wouldn’t cooperate with him. I leaned forward, propping my chin up with my hands and watching him closely. It wouldn’t be something I could coax out of him, he’d have to voice it on his own. And then, all at once, he did:
“I THINK I’M GAY!!”
And more silence.
Really, what could I say to that? And the fact it came erupting out of him after nearly five whole minutes of uncomfortable silence didn’t make it any better. I found myself leaning back, blinking stupidly at Nathan, who was quivering in his chair.
“I’m... I uh...” I stammered, realizing my reaction was making things infinitely worse. I took a deep breath to find my center and keep my own emotions out of it. They could have their say later when the situation wasn’t so precarious. “What makes you think that, Nathan?”
“I dunno!”
“Nathan, calm down,” I said, trying to placate him as much as I could. Poor Nathan was looking around the room and shaking, he resembled a caged animal more than anything else. “Something happened that brought you to that, uh, conclusion... I uh...”
I hesitated for a moment. Perhaps I wasn’t the best person to deal with this situation. I play armchair psychologist for the boys from time to time, but it’s never anything that I’d call serious. Sometimes just a shoulder to cry on and some words of encouragement are all a person needs to keep going. I doubted that would suffice in this situation, though. Something this sensitive might warrant a call to a professional - I had half a mind to give Johnathan Twinkletits a ring. He might be better equipped to handle something so delicate, his qualifications in the field... whatever they might be... far outweigh mine.
Yet, it occurred to me that Nathan might not be able to share that sort of information with the likes of Twinkletits. For various reasons, not just the ones you’re thinking. Nathan needed someone safe, someone sane, someone that wouldn’t pass judgment or blow the whole thing out of proportion.
In other words, me.
“Why don’t you just take some deep breaths, finish your brandy and tell me all about it?”
Before I’d finished speaking Nathan had drained his glass and set it lightly on the edge of the desk.
“...Okay,” he breathed, “I’m okay... I’m okay... “
I still waited an extra moment to make sure that he didn’t erupt at me again before I pressed onward. “What makes you think you’re, uh-”
“Because I’m pretty sure I wanna fuck this dude.” Nathan near-whispered, shuddering as he spoke, obviously terrified of the notion. “...And what makes it worse... is it’s someone in the band...”
Oh dear. This was more of a problem than I thought. I sighed a little and refilled his brandy glass, which he quickly took up and emptied again.
“Well, Nathan... uh... um... perhaps we should start this with you telling me who it is,” I offered, not really sure how to get this conversation off the ground now.
Nathan looked at me, clearly stunned. “How could you not know?”
“Uh...” I stammered, not pleased with having to hazard a guess right off the bat. I took quick stock of the Boys and compared their traits to Nathan’s taste in women... in both physique and personality. “Um, Toki? Is it Toki?”
Nathan actually started laughing. He laughed for nearly two full minutes before he managed to choke out “No, no nono nono GOD no...” He gasped for breath, holding up his hand to indicate he had more to say. At least the tension had been broken, and he didn’t seem like he was quite so frightened anymore. “Not Toki, no.” He wiped his eyes and looked up at me. “Why would you even guess him?”
Truth be told, I had more reasons than just placing Toki into the category of Nathan’s ‘type’. I’ve watched Toki downright flirt with Nathan (among others, but we won’t get into that just now) for years. I’m not entirely sure Toki realizes it’s flirting, nor do any of the others. They chalk it up to... Toki being Toki, and in a way it is.
Undeterred, I moved on to my next best guess. “Um... Skwisgaar?”
Nathan snorted and shook his head, “Fuck no! That’s an even worse guess than Toki! Skwisgaar is... is gross. You know how gross he is. And a drama queen. Why would I tangle myself up in his little... fucked-up web of fucked-up?”
I wanted to point out that four out of five of his ex-girlfriends were both drama queens and ‘gross’ in much the same way Skwisgaar is, but I decided that it’d be best to sit on that observation. I was a little offended by Nathan’s indignation. Generally, Nathan tended to put a lot of stock in aesthetics... physical beauty was something that was important for his partners to possess. So, naturally I’d assume he’d be drawn to the most physically attractive of his bandmates. Skwisgaar and Toki generally poll the highest in terms of who is the most appealing, so of course it seemed only reasonable to guess them first.
I took a breath, planning on just asking him outright so we could put an end to the pointless exercise, but was interrupted.
“If you guess Murderface next, I’ll punch you,” he glowered, and I could tell that he meant business. At least he’d given me an answer by process of elimination.
“So... it’s Pickles, then,” I continued, my sense of decorum working overtime to keep any hints of surprise or amusement out of my voice. Believe me, I felt both.
“Yeah. Pickles.”
“Pickles?”
“Pickles.”
I quickly shelved my curious questions and worked to keep a straight face. “So... what makes you think you’re uh... drawn... to Pickles?”
Nathan sniffed, “...Well, something happened. On New Year’s Eve. Around midnight. Right after we’d chugged our way through the first pint of tequila of the year.”
“All right,” I said, emptying the last of my brandy bottle into Nathan’s glass. While it saddened me to part with it, I could see that he needed it more than I ever would. “What happened, exactly?”
“Um...” Nathan frowned, taking up his glass once more. Thankfully, he didn’t chug the contents right away. “It’s a little hazy, but somehow... he and I were... separated from the others... and we were alone... on that little patio that was behind our table.” His brow furrowed further, “...I think he said he wanted to talk to me alone... but I’m not sure about that, now. That’s not important. What’s important is what... what he did.”
“Which was?”
Nathan sipped at his brandy, delaying the uncomfortable subject for a few moments more. “He... got real close to me. Like... REAL close. Almost too close, but... not so close that I had to tell him to back off.”
I nodded. Irresistibly, a picture was painting itself in my head of Nathan and Pickles on that little covered balcony, the distance between them narrowing... the city lights twinkling behind them...
Ahem.
“And then what happened?”
“He... put his hands on my face.” Nathan squirmed in his seat, I could see his cheeks starting to turn pink. “And... and told me that he thought I was...”
“Hm?”
“He told me that he thought I was... really pretty, and that he wasn’t saying that just because he was drunk,” Nathan continued quickly, the pink in his cheeks turning to a vivid shade of red.
I blinked, “He did?”
“Yeah, he did.”
“And what did you say?”
“I... I didn’t really say anything. I couldn’t! Even if I had wanted to. But... something uh... happened. That said something for me.”
“...Oh? And what was that?”
“When...” Nathan struggled, it was almost painful to watch, “when he did that... I... my body... uhhh... reacted.”
“Reacted?” I couldn’t help but ask. I had an idea what he was getting at, but I had to be sure. No matter how difficult it was for him to put it into words.
Nathan nodded and swallowed hard. Then, in the tiniest voice I’ve ever heard him use, he quickly said “Gotahardon,” before burying his face in his hands and muttering ‘oh god oh god’ over and over again.
“Oh. I uh... see.”
“It’s... it’s not just THAT, you know?” Nathan mumbled, his voice muffled by his hands. He looked up at me, his eyes starting to look wetter than before.
“It’s not?”
“No. It gets worse.”
“How so?”
“It... it wasn’t...” Nathan stammered, shaking more than ever.
“Wasn’t...?”
“It wasn’t like your typical ‘Hey I’m your dick just reminding you I’m down here!’ hard-on, y’know? It was... it was... there was... it was...” Nathan was gesticulating madly, as if his hands would pluck the words he needed out of thin air. “I HAD THOUGHTS!!!!”
I found myself speechless, but really... could you blame me?
“THOUGHTS!!” Nathan repeated, hoping that I’d pick up his meaning.
It wasn’t that I didn’t understand what he had said, it had more to do with understanding a little too much. “...Okay,” I said slowly, once again fighting to keep my tone neutral. “And this is the root of what’s troubling you?”
Nathan nodded quickly, eyes darting around the room.
“Have you considered talking to Pickles about it?” I asked, surveying Nathan over the rim of my glasses. “If he really was, uh...” I wanted to use the word ‘flirting’, but something about Nathan’s unease made me wonder if he could handle hearing it. “...harboring certain intentions, it might do well to get it out in the open and then you can... go from there.”
Nathan sipped at the last of the brandy and chewed on his lower lip. I could tell he was thinking about the idea, and thinking hard at that.
“...Are you sure that’d be a good idea?” he finally mumbled, sounding more defeated than ever.
“Uh...” I stalled. “Well, Nathan, no. I can’t say for sure if it’s a good idea. However, it’s the best I could come up with given the circumstances. I can’t tell you what will happen, but I can tell you that nothing will change - for better or for worse - if you keep this to yourself. If it’s bothering you this much, I doubt it’s something that you’ll be able to put behind you until you deal with it.”
“But...”
I sighed, leaning back in my chair and rubbing my temples. I could feel a monster of a headache coming on. “Nathan, I’m sorry that I can’t be of more help to you. I wish I had an easy answer that would solve everything, but unfortunately I don’t. I know my advice isn’t perfect, but I think even you can agree that finding out for sure what Pickles’ intentions were would be preferable to having all of those ‘what if’s haunt you.”
Nathan was quiet for a minute, but he was nodding. “...Yeah. You do have a... a point. I guess. Sorta. Yeah.”
“So have you made up your mind?”
“Yeah.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“I...” Nathan breathed, standing up from his chair, “I’m gonna go talk to him. I... I might not... talk to him about... that stuff... right away, but...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “...I’ll at least spend some time around him. Maybe if I do that it’ll... y’know... be easier to talk to him about it?”
“That sounds like a good idea, Nathan,” I told him, trying to inject an extra note of confidence into my tone.
“Mmph.”
“And Nathan?”
“Yeah?”
“Just because you... got a little worked up, it doesn’t mean you’re gay. Don’t act like it’s a horrible monkey on your back, because it’s not.”
“That’s what you think,” Nathan said darkly, fidgeting with his hands.
“Do women still appeal to you? At all?” I said lightly, already knowing the answer.
“Fuck yeah they do!” Nathan near-yelled, puffing out his chest a bit. I could tell he took pride in that.
“Then... you’re certainly not gay. Not by a long shot.” I hoped that that way of looking at things would bring him some comfort with what were obviously intensely uncomfortable feelings. “Talk to Pickles. Think about it. I promise you that you’ll feel better.”
“...If you say so.”
And with that, Nathan lumbered out of my office to seek out Pickles. My suspicions are that Nathan might find his way to my office again in order to talk about this little crisis. Since then I’ve done some research into this sort of thing so that I’ll be better equipped to help him if he does.
For the time being, everything seems to be back to normal. Nathan is much more social and has been dubbed Pickles’ co-troublemaker-in-chief. The two of them have been spending quite a bit of time together lately. While a lot of it involves the other boys and committing minor felonies, they do seem to be spending a decent amount of it with only each other for company. What it is they get up to... I can’t say for sure. Nor is it any of my business.
Yet.
-
The End