InsaneJournal

DethSorrow, Chapter 2
Title: DethSorrow, Ch. 2
Author: AbelValentine
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Uhh...slash? ^_^
Summary: Skwisgaar's driving lessons begin.
Disclaimer: I do not own Metalocalypse or any characters therein.


The next day, Charles arrived at his office rather late, having stayed up to read…alone. But when he turned on his light, he smiled softly. On his desk sat a vase full of blood-red roses and a small note. He set down his coat and briefcase, before taking a small whiff of the flowers and opening the card.

I’m sorry…I should have stayed... it read.

He almost laughed. “I know, you silly boy…” he said aloud, and sighed.

How the hell could he stay angry now? Though the inconvenience of Pickles’ lifestyle was a constant source for bitterness in the manager’s mood, he couldn’t deny that he had no other choice but to accept it. The drummer wasn’t changing, as far as he could tell, so it was best to spend the occasional night alone…instead of every night.

Before Charles could even settle in, he heard the twin, wooden doors to his office burst open and a familiar, intrusive, accented voice.

“Ofdensens I needs to drives buts I can’ts! Dis is dildoes, I needs my license!”

Skwisgaar. Oh, how the man completely ignored privacy and indulged in making such entrances. Aside from Pickles, Skwisgaar was in his office the most often; usually with an elusive problem with American culture in general, or another demand to kick Toki out of the band. This time it seemed to be neither.

The Swede had never gotten his license; not in Sweden, nor in the States. That hadn’t kept him from driving, but he was more than terrible at it. He proved that months ago, after he and Toki had been forced to go to driving school after drunk driving and wrapping their car around a telephone pole. Charles had made sure, after they both failed, that neither Scandinavian would be behind a wheel any time soon.

“Good afternoon, Skwisgaar,” Charles muttered, sighing slightly, but keeping his same formal tone. “Now…what is it? You want to get your license? That can be arranged. I’ll hire a driving instr-“

“NOS!” Skwisgaar plopped down in front of his desk in the cushy red chair, crossing his lanky arms. His face was contorted into an annoyed grimace until he noticed the flowers. “Hey, whos gots you dose?”

He got up and walked to them carefully, touching a flower with surprising tenderness.

Charles was glad he didn’t flush easily. “I did a favor for a colleague. He sent me these.”
Ah, shit..why did I have to say “he”? he thought, mentally slapping himself.

But Skwisgaar didn’t really catch the potential slip and just shrugged. He figured it was business etiquette, just shit he didn’t have the patience to care about. He sat back down and looked up at Charles expectantly.

“Anyways, I don’ts wants de drivings school thing. Dats…didn’ts works out too wells last time. I wants YOUS to teach me.”

He smiled proudly, as if this were the best idea he’d ever had. Charles raised an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry, what? You want…me to teach you?”

Skwisgaar nodded, “Ja.” He raised his eyebrow defiantly. “You gots a problems wid dat?”

“Skwisgaar, my time is very valuable. I can’t drop my work to teach you how to drive.” He began to move some files around on his desk, occupying his hands. Why did he feel so nervous with the Swede’s blue eyes on him like that?

Skwisgaar just watched him, a frown on his face. He didn’t like feeling unimportant.

“I ams having four cars ands no license! You teach mes or I’s fire you.” He crossed his arms and nodded once, thinking it quite a fair ultimatum.

Charles hid a smile. He knew that the blonde’s threat was empty—if he were to actually try and have him fired, which he most likely wouldn’t, Pickles wouldn’t stand for it. Finally, he sighed, and removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t getting rid of Skwisgaar any time soon unless he agreed to help.

“Fine. Look, I’ll give you a lesson tonight, okay? A quick one.” In truth, he’d hoped that Pickles would come to him again tonight, wanting to make up properly.

Skwisgaar jumped up, smiling. “Goods! I’s will meets you heres at six.” And with that, he left, leaving the door wide open and forgetting a “goodbye”. Typical. There was a good chance that Skwisgaar wouldn’t even remember once the evening rolled around; or perhaps he would lose interest. It wouldn’t be the first short-lived pursuit that he had proposed and most likely wouldn’t be the last.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nathan awoke to a tiny sound from the strong, yet comparatively petite man lying on his chest. He felt quite disoriented and it took him a few moments to gain his bearings; Toki was laying on him, his arms wrapped around the singer and a content look on his soft face.
He nearly freaked, ready to jump out of the sheets and throw the Norwegian across the room. But the look on Toki’s face…the way his lips were just barely parted and turned slightly upward into a little smile…the way his brow was slightly raised and at ease…the way he finally looked like a real person again, rather than a walking corpse…it was all enough to keep Nathan frozen, on his back.

Something about Toki’s touch was feminine; it might’ve been the way the guitarist was curled against him, or it could’ve been the faint, flowery scent coming from his soft, extremely long hair. It made Nathan slightly uneasy, but wasn’t enough to drive him away.

He knew this position—if this were a female, he would wrap his arm around her and pull her closer, leaving his hand on her delicate, bare shoulder. Toki’s sigh made it easier to imagine that this was a familiar morning after a night of sex with a particularly cuddly woman.

But he had to stop himself and remember that it wasn’t. This was Toki. And he’d simply allowed the other man sleep in his room to make him feel better about his dad’s death. That was all.

“Nnng…” Toki groaned slightly and his eyes fluttered open. He looked up at Nathan and smiled lazily, looking dazed. “Mornings.”

“Uh…hi,” Nathan stammered, looking down at him. They both froze, staring at each other momentarily…until Toki finally realized where he was and how he was laying.

“Oh! Sorry, Nathans!” He got up, running his fingers through his hair, seeming pretty nonchalant about their current situation.

Nathan decided it best to just pretend that this wasn’t extremely awkward and Toki hadn’t just slept peacefully and seemed quite happy on his chest.

“What fucking time is it?” He asked, rubbing his eyes and sitting up, placing his feet on the hardwood floor.

He hadn’t exactly slept well; Toki, though he’d promised to “be quiets” had been quite the opposite. He’d muttered in his native tongue, sometimes jerking and whimpering. Nathan had thought to nudge him, but refrained, figuring that his nightmares were uncomfortable enough. He didn’t want to frighten Toki anymore than he already was.

“I don’ts know, uh…” Toki squinted, looking towards the digital clock on the nightstand. “One thirty?”

“What?...really?...wow.” Maybe he’d slept better than he thought.

Toki stood up, grabbing Deddy Bear and shooting Nathan a grateful smile.

“Thanks fors last nights, Nathans,” he almost whispered.

“Ah, don’t…say it like that. S’fine. Just…go get some breakfast and…don’t tell anyone I let you sleep in here.” He didn’t want the other guys picking up on an innuendo or undertone that Toki was incapable of considering.

“Okays…sees ya later!” And Toki left, a familiar and happy bounce in his step.

He showered and dressed, deciding to pay Skwisgaar a visit. He felt slightly guilty, not having accepted the older guitarist’s concern the night before. Despite the constant annoyance that Skwisgaar provided by forcing him to practice day in and day out, the Swede was much like an older brother to Toki. He didn’t always give the best advice, but he at least listened and took care of him…to an extent. Ladies always seemed to come first.
And so he was lucky that Skwisgaar was alone and, surprisingly enough, had been all night. He’d even been up for a few hours; he almost always slept later than Toki…but then again, everyone did.

Toki knocked softly on the chamber door that led to Skwisgaar’s pristine and oddly decorated, dungeon-like room. The blonde opened it, looking a bit wary at seeing Toki—that is until he noticed the smile on the rhythm guitarist’s face.

“Uh, heys, Toki,” he mumbled cautiously. He hoped that Toki hadn’t come to just stare at him again, lost in his own world.

“Hej, Skwisgaar. Cans I, um…comes in?” He raised his eyebrows slightly, his hair still damp and hanging limp down his shoulders.

Skwisgaar nodded and opened the door wider. He was listening to their most recently recorded studio pieces that were without vocals or bass (they had yet to be mixed in). He did this often, listening to their songs piece by piece in order to perfect any blips in the rhythm or flow. This is usually how he detected “problems” with Toki’s guitar playing, often scolding him and threatening to re-record the riffs.

The blonde plopped down on his bed, on top of his fur comforter and lay back on his elbows, looking at Toki expectantly.

“Sos…whys you comes here?” He didn’t sound angry, just curious. Toki seemed more alive today than he had for the past few weeks.

Toki bit his lip nervously and rocked on his heels a bit, still standing by the door. He twirled his hair in between his fingers; he wasn’t aware of how womanly this made him look.

“I just…cames to say I’s sorry.”

Skwisgaar sighed and nodded, as if he was all too deserving of the apology.

“Ja, s’okay. I’ms just glads to…sees you…hm…nots likes a zombies no more.”

“I’s not a zombzies, buts…I’s…I’s promise to be betters now, okay? Yous were rights, I…I can’ts be sads forever.” He looked down at his feet, more surprised than anything that he had admitted this to himself.

He had thought about it late last night, while listening to Nathan’s soothing, even breathing; his father was gone, but the memories of his abuse weren’t. He still needed to live with his past, but forgiveness seemed more possible than ever now. He wasn’t sure what brought on this silver lining to his stormy mind.

Skwisgaar smiled genuinely; a smile that had made many women (and some men) weak in their knees. For the younger man, it just meant relief that he’d said something to please his idol. The Swede stood up and walked to Toki, ruffling his hair affectionately.

“Goods, little Toki. Nows…let’s go practice, ah?”

The afternoon slipped by: Skwisgaar helped Toki work on his scales and eventually they were joined by a very hung over Pickles. The redhead felt well enough and helped keep time for their run through of the recent tracks, sometimes randomly breaking into a Metallica or Disturbed riff, much to Skwisgaar’s appraisal. After a few hours, Toki had skipped off to dinner and Skwisgaar was putting his precious Gibson in its case.

“Pfft, gots to go gets drivink lessons now.” He tossed his blonde hair behind him and stood up, preparing to leave.

“Driving lessons? Dude, I thought ya…kinda gave up on ‘at, heh,” Pickles chuckled, coming out from behind the drum set. It wasn’t rare that the two found themselves alone in the studio; though they rarely talked about anything other than music.

“Ja, wells…Ofdensens teachinks me sos I can learns correctlys.” He didn’t notice the falling expression on the drummer’s face.

“Oh, uh, Ch-…Ofdensen’s teachin’ ya, huh? Kinda weird.”

“Ja…I askededs him tos, ya know? He seems to bes goods ats explainink things.” Skwisgaar shrugged and grabbed his guitar, heading out.

“Yeah, totally,” Pickles said absently as he whipped out his phone to text the manager.

Charles really hated that particular form of communication, but Pickles insisted. It was easier and safer than risking a phone call, in his opinion.

/Hey, I didn’t know you were a driving instructor. Is there anything you can’t do?/ He texted.

After about a minute, Charles texted back.

/He insisted. It shouldn’t take long. Will call you when I am released. Please come tonight./

Pickles smiled, deciding a little dirty implication was in store.

/Oh, I will. Don’t worry./

Charles didn’t respond, but he knew that the older man was rolling his eyes. Worth it.

An hour later, Charles waited for Skwisgaar in his office. It was now six fifteen and he was rearranging the various lamps, paper weights and pen holders on his desk. Why the hell was he so damn fidgety? It frustrated him to no end. Normally he was quite good at seeming placid and collected; but there was something about Skwisgaar that had always made him rather edgy.
Skwisgaar was always suggestive without meaning to be; it was the unconsciously sexy things that the blonde did that made him appealing, in Charles’ opinion. Of course the Swede knew he was gorgeous and desirable. But Ofdensen preferred to notice the smaller things; like the way Skwisgaar looked when practicing. That look of complete and utter reverie, of surrender mixed with impossible concentration. Or the way the guitarist traced small circles on the table, or absentmindedly traced his lips while the manager was addressing the band. He had watched Skwisgaar’s long and slender fingers often, he realized, feeling slightly unbalanced by the thought.

Why the hell am I thinking about Skwisgaar’s fingers? He furrowed his brow, shaking a growing image in his mind.

Finally, Skwisgaar waltzed into his office casually, looking quite different. He was wearing a long-sleeved, steel gray, cotton shirt and dark jeans, his hair thrown back in a messy ponytail. Charles forced himself to look just as relaxed, smiling slightly.

“Good evening, Skwisgaar.”

“Ja, hej,” he nodded to the manager, shutting the door behind him. “I thinks maybe we starts wid da Honda? Nathans says is easiests to drive?” He raised his eyebrows, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Jesus. He had no idea. No clue how fucking sexy he looked. Charles laughed, internally. Of course he knew. And of course he was physically attracted to Skwisgaar; after all, he was gay and the Swede was particularly perfect, physically. With his hair back, Charles could see Skwisgaar’s eyes more clearly it seemed. They were a beautiful shade of dark blue and shaped quite cat-like, very narrow and handsome.

“Um, yes. I think that would be wise.” He stood and took the keys from Skwisgaar. “Let’s go out to the furthest road in Mordland and practice there. We shouldn’t be bothered; I informed the staff of our lesson.”

Skwisgaar nodded, smiling, knowing that he’d picked a perfect instructor.

“Ja, goods idea. Let’s go den.”

Ofdensen had never felt so strange—walking down the halls of Mordhaus with Skwisgaar, to the massive garage near the southern wing. There, in a private area, were all the cars of the band members, including the Murdercycle. They bypassed the familiar bike and found a ruby red, 2009 Honda Civic instead.

“I’ll drive us to the edge of the island and then let you take over.”

Skwisgaar nodded and opted for the passenger seat willingly. He had to adjust the seat for his longer legs and for a more relaxed position. Charles buckled his seatbelt after closing his door, not bothering to scold the Swede for forgetting. There would be no one on the roads anyway.

He pulled out of the garage and began driving down the empty highway toward the beach. Skwisgaar sighed, looking out the window, and, out of habit, placed his hand on the back of Charles’ headrest. The older man didn’t think much of it, but he did happen to glance at the guitarist out of the corner of his eye; he looked completely relaxed, all stretched out…his lean muscles visible through his tight shirt…

No, stop letting your mind fall into the gutter, Charles.

“Do yours evers notice hows de…de clouds, dey-…is like…” He shook his head. “Can’ts say it in English.”

Those were the only words spoken the entire trip.

After about ten minutes of driving, they reached the furthest point on Mordland from their home. The road was elevated several feet and looked down on the beach below. Charles parked the car by the side of the road and got out. Skwisgaar did the same.

“Here,” Ofdensen called as he handed the blonde the keys, “Go ahead and get in.”

“Ja, okay.”

They switched spots and both men chuckled slightly as they worked to adjust their new seats accordingly.

“Okay, um...” Charles began, looking over at Skwisgaar’s feet. “That’s the gas, and-“
Skwisgaar gave him an annoyed look.

“I knows dat. Gives me little credits, ah? I thinks…” he looked down at the gearshift, putting his hand on it. “Likes dis? To…to da ‘D’ ?” He pushed his foot down on the brake and shifted gears. The car jolted slightly, but he kept his foot held down.

“Yes, good, now…ease up on the brake and onto the ro-….Skwisgaar, slow DOWN!”

The Swede had shot forward after a few seconds of “easing” his foot up and pushing back down on the gas instead. His long, nimble fingers wrapped around the steering wheel and he widened his eyes.

“I thinks…I’s going to KILLS US BOTH!” he yelled, more than slightly out of control.
He let his foot off the gas, but the car was already at forty miles per hour. He swiveled around the winding road, moving in and out of his intended lane, and Charles immediately regretted the spot he’d picked for training.

“Skwisgaar, hit the brakes! Hit the br-“

And his face almost smashed into the dashboard as the Swede complied, stomping his boot down on the brake pedal immediately. Ofdensen was caught by his now taut seatbelt and thrown back against the seat. They sat for a moment, regaining composure, and looked over at each other.

“Now,” Charles murmured, slightly frazzled, smoothing his hair, “let’s…take it slower, all right?”

Skwisgaar nodded, his eyes wide.

“Let’s…keep it below thirty.”

And so for the next few hours, the two men risked their lives with Skwisgaar at the hands of the wheel. The blonde became an agile driver, however, his precise and dexterous nature kicking in. He became obsessed with going fast enough to make the manager uneasy; it was sadistically delighting to see the usually put together man slightly anxious.
They practiced parking, which Skwisgaar was quite good at, and ended up parked on the same cliff where they had begun.

“Perhaps I should drive home,” Charles suggested, stepping out. The sun was setting against the horizon and Skwisgaar leaned against the driver’s side door, crossing his arms. He was looking out at the ocean, the ginger lighting from the sunset illuminating his pale face.
Charles took the moment to take in a bit of Skwisgaar’s beauty, trying not to be too obvious about watching him.

Skwisgaar nodded.

“Ja, ok…but let’s nots go yet, ah?”

He climbed to sit on the hood of the car, leaning back against the windshield. He stretched out his long legs and crossed them, looking impossibly skinny. He put his hands behind his head, relaxing, watching the sunset. Then he glanced over at Charles and smiled softly.

“Comes up here. Let’s watch de suns, hm?”

Charles hesitated, his mind jumping to Pickles. Perhaps another hour…it would be all right.
Akwardly and cautiously, he followed Skwisgaar and sat beside him on the hood. He didn’t dare lie back, not wanting to relax that much. But he did sigh as he followed the Swede’s gaze to the ocean.

He had never really gotten to know the guitarist. It seemed that everything could be assumed; he was a promiscuous, but dedicated, typical rock star who didn’t give a damn about anything, or anyone, but himself. Like the other band members, he had his moments of brilliance, of compassion…but it was rare. He had never seemed too intuitive, but Charles felt that this was a cause of the language barrier between him and pretty much everyone he knew, aside from Toki. And Toki couldn’t be much for philosophical conversations.

Charles was surprised at how quiet Swkisgaar was; in a more social setting, the blonde would blab on about anything that might impress his company. But nothing escaped the blonde’s lips for a solid fifteen minutes, save an occasional sigh. It was actually the manager who broke the silence.

“You know…I rarely stop to appreciate the beauty of this island. Mordhaus can be so…dark.”

Skwisgaar almost laughed and glanced over at Charles.

“Ja, I’s guess…is supposeds to bes dark. But its is nice…to comes to de ocean.”

There was an authority, a sense of safety about Ofdensen that relaxed Skwisgaar; after the past year, there was an edge to the blonde whenever he left the house. After an attempt at his life by rabid fans—as that was the case, in his memory—it felt secure to have someone as capable as the manager around.

He smiled, thinking that the safety he felt right then wasn’t simply an issue of security; he never thought about the fact that he had known the older man for several years now and felt quite comfortable around him.

“You know,” Skwisgaar began, stretching lazily, still watching Charles, “we don’ts really…knows a lots about you. Yous have…beens our manager fors a long time.”

Charles smiled and looked back at Skwisgaar, his features softer than before and not as stern as they were known to be. The Swede’s statement was a long jump from him calling Charles their “butler” not too long ago.

“Yes, I suppose…we have been together for quite some time. You’ll find I’m much the private type. But…if you have any specific questions, feel free to ask.”

He decided that this was an acceptable opportunity to provide Skwisgaar with, as long as Charles was allowed to be as vague as he wanted to be. He most certainly could not divulge many things: mainly about his past and specifics about his love life.

Skwisgaar smiled, rather devilishly, and lifted himself up onto his elbow, as if meeting a challenge.

“Alrights,” he traced his lips and looked up at the clouds as he thought of where to begin, and didn’t notice the manager shift slightly, in a nervous manner. Finally, his head snapped towards Charles and he cleared his throat.

“Whats did yous do before yous were being our manager?”

“I worked for the government. I was a businessman,” he answered, thinking that the truth was quite far off…but still within the realm of his reply. Skwisgaar didn’t seem to think too hard on it and went on to his next question.

“Hows come you don’ts has a lady?”

Charles chuckled. He knew that this question was going to come.

“Skwisgaar, it’s because I’m gay. I don’t date women.”

Skwisgaar raised his eyebrows slightly, but it was almost an impressed look. The Swede had always been the most sexually open member of Dethklok and this extended to accepting many different sexual orientations.

“Sos…hows come you don’ts haves a boy, den?”

Charles smiled. He wasn’t sure why, but the easygoing way that Skwisgaar had accepted his lifestyle was rather endearing.

“I’m quite busy, as you could imagine. Running this franchise that Dethklok has created is more than a full time job.”

Skwisgaar narrowed his eyes slightly. Charles was an excellent liar, but the blonde didn’t think any excuse was good enough for not getting some tail. After all, to him, sex was like air. But he let it go…for now.

“Okay…um…” he looked around, as if the next question was floating around them and he had to

find it. “Do yous likes me?”

Charles hadn’t expected this one.

“Excuse me?” he asked, slightly confused.

Skwisgaar simply smiled handsomely, pulling his knees to his chest in an interested way.
“Ja, do yous likes me? You knows…likes…to bes around?”

Charles furrowed his brow. He wasn’t sure why this was being asked of him, or why it even mattered to Skwisgaar.

“Um, yes. Sure. Tonight was nice.”

Skwisgaar laughed. “But others times…you mights be thinkinks I’ms just a sluts, ah?”
He frowned slightly and looked back at the ocean.

“Yous thinks I ams being just a stupid sluts who cans play de guitar. Ands is it. Just a prettys little stupid boy.”

Charles had no idea where this was coming from and it made him slightly uneasy to feel that Skwisgaar was opening up to him in this way; it felt too intimate for their relationship.

Their business relationship.

“Why…would you say that, Skwisgaar? Why would I think such trite things about you? Er…mean things,” he added, thinking that the Swede probably wouldn’t know what “trite” meant.

The blonde simply shook his head, his expression grave.

“I don’ts knows why…buts I cares about whats you think. I’s always have. Maybes because you ams so smart, or somethinks. Maybes because you…uh…” he seemed to be losing his ability to speak intuitively in English, but he tried his damned hardest, “because yous ams respektingfuls.”

“Respectful?” Charles offered, feeling quite shaken.

“Ja, dats.” He looked over at Charles and smiled softly. “Weirds, huh?”

The manager simply shook his head, at a loss for words; and that was exceptionally rare. They sat in silence for another few minutes until Skwisgaar finally spoke again.

“Do yous mind if I’s be asking yous ones more thing?”

“No, of course not…”

“…who really sents you dose flowers?”

The older man swallowed hard. He finally found it completely impossible to lie to Skwisgaar.

And so he chose ambiguity again.

“A man that I am dating.”

Skwisgaar smiled softly and nodded.

“I thoughts so.”

He rose and jumped down off the car. He turned to Ofdensen, tossing him the keys.

“Yous are rights. Yous shoulds drive us back. I sucks.” He moved to the passenger side, opening the door. “Maybes…next times you can asks me da questions.”

Charles slid off the car gracefully and walked to the driver’s side. He nodded, smiling.

“I would like that.” And he meant it. After tonight, there was a lot more he wanted to know about the other man. He hadn’t expected Skwisgaar to be so easy to talk to.

They drove home without word; whether it was an embarrassed silence or not, Charles couldn’t tell, but he agreed to it all the same. Once they were home, they walked inside together and Skwisgaar turned to Charles, patting his shoulder in a friendly manner.

“Thanks for de lessons. I’s will needs more, though.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Charles chuckled, then handed the Swede back his keys. “Perhaps…Sunday night? The same time? I believe I could spare a few hours then.”

Skwisgaar seemed particularly pleased with Charles’ willingness and he nodded.

“Ja, I’s sees you den.”

And he left Ofdensen in front of his office, turning the corner to the corridor towards the living room. Charles opened his office door and flipped on the light. It was almost nine o’clock. He packed up his things and continued home to his attached apartment.

Once inside, he pulled his phone from his pants pocket and dialed Pickles’ number.

“Hey Charlie,” the drummer answered, after eight rings. He was probably removing himself from a slightly crowded room.

“I just got home…are you coming over tonight?”

“Yee-uh, I jes’…I’ll be there a little later, okee?”

“Yes, that’s fine. Should I make you dinner?”

“Nah, s’fine. I already ate, anyways. See ya soon.”

“Goodbye.”

It turned out that “a little later” meant “hours later” and it wasn’t until one o’clock in the morning that Pickles slipped into the apartment, using his own key. Charles was in bed, underneath the covers, his hair still slightly damp from a shower.

He was sleeping and Pickles decided it best not to wake him—until he did so accidentally by tripping on his own foot while tip-toeing to the bed. Charles jolted slightly and then looked in the drummer’s direction. His voice was slightly scratchy.

“Pickles?...what time is it?”

The redhead crawled underneath the sheets and wrapped his arms around the manager from behind, burying his face in Charles’ neck.

“It’s, uh…a little before one. I’m sarry, I gat caught up in somethin’.”

“I see…” He could smell alcohol on the drummer’s breath and he didn’t bother turning over.
And so Pickles just held him, not feeling too deserving of sex anyway. After about ten minutes, Charles could hear his lover snoring softly, even though he, himself, was now wide awake. He stared at his window that looked out over the western part of the island. He couldn’t keep his mind from repeating something that Skwisgaar has said earlier that day…

/“…I cares about whats you think.”/

He thought of the way Skwisgaar had wanted to watch the sun with him…and the way he had actually been interested in Charles, wanting to know all about him. He felt good. He felt important.

But above all…he felt guilty.