Dethsorrow, Chapter 4 Title: DethSorrow, Chapter Four Author: Abelvalentine Rating: NC-17 Disclaimer: I ams nots own Metals-localypse! Copysrights bys de Small ands, uh, Blacha.
Nathan woke the next morning, slightly dazed, but rested. Toki still lay beside him, turned away on his side, sleeping peacefully. From this angle, he looked quite feminine, Nathan thought—all he could see was Toki’s hair cascading down his back…until his eyes trailed lower and the Norwegian’s perfectly toned, muscled body was hard to ignore.
What had happened last night? He remembered kicking out that chick…letting Toki in…laying down…Toki commenting on his boner…
Oh. Yeah.
Fuck. Now he remembered. He’d received the greatest hand job of his life. From Toki. From his fucking rhythm guitarist. He blinked hard, rubbing his face as he sat up. It wasn’t necessarily that he wanted to block the memory from his mind…but he purposefully stopped thinking about the previous night’s excursion for one reason: it was turning him on. He shifted uncomfortably.
Toki stirred, but only to nestle deeper into the cotton sheets, a small sigh escaping his lips. Nathan heard that sound from him often, a familiar sound of contentment. He wasn’t sure, yet, how he felt about it.
The singer decided that a long, hot shower was in order; maybe it would wash off some of the more disturbing aspects about his recent confusion. He refused to think too hard on it, though, and in doing so went about his normal morning routine.
He showered, taking time to wash (and secretly condition) his long, ebony hair. He paid extra attention to his body as he soaped it up…realizing that he was getting hard.
Shit, he though, the scolding water hitting his back and he put his forehead to the shower wall, STOP thinking about it…
Was he dwelling on it because it was Toki, or simply because it’d given him such a memorable orgasm? Surely it had to be the latter. Deciding this, he also agreed to himself that it was okay to masturbate. As long as he didn’t think about the Norwegian.
And so he reached down, his hand gliding over his slick and now rock hard cock. He couldn’t hold back a small moan—a grateful, almost needy sound from the back of his throat—and he closed his eyes. But as he began to stroke and squeeze in his familiar fashion, he kept feeling Toki’s kisses…all over his neck…and the younger man’s hair, falling ever so softly on the singer’s chest.
His body too wrapped up in the growing stimulation, his mind gave into the mental image that he so desperately wanted to avoid. It didn’t take long, and no more than a minute later he was cumming into his hand while imagining the Norwegian on his knees.
Frustrated, but relaxed, he washed himself clean one final time and turned off the shower head. After stepping out and drying off, he returned to his room to find some pants. Nothing about Nathan was graceful and he had a hard time keeping quiet enough to keep Toki asleep. As he rummaged through a pile of clothes on the floor, Toki sat up, rubbing his eyes.
“Mornings,” he nearly whispered, yawning, casual as ever.
Nathan immediately stiffened. He yanked on the pants seconds before Toki’s eyes were on him.
That was close.
“Uh, hey…”
Toki’s face fell slightly. They stared at each other, for much longer this time, an electricity of awkwardness between them. Even Toki couldn’t think of anything cutesy or bubbly to say that would break the mood. Surprisingly enough, he was the one who looked away first.
“Um…Nathans, you…you ams lookings at me reals funny…”
Nathan widened his eyes. He didn’t want Toki to get the wrong idea. He was slightly horrified about last night and it wasn’t okay.
“Yeah, well…” He moved to sit on the bed again, his back to Toki. “Last night was pretty…weird.”
Toki bit his lip. His eyes ran over the curve of Nathan’s spine, up to his damp hair. He could smell the shampoo from where he sat, still engulfed in blankets.
“It wasn’ts…dats weird. You wanteds it and I’s give it to yous, so…”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” Nathan turned to face him, his voice slightly higher in octave. “I didn’t want it. YOU wanted it. It was your fucking idea.”
Toki looked offended, putting his hands on his hips in almost comical manner.
“Sos?! Yous says dats it was okays, so I just dos it! And yous likes it, yous was all moanings and sayings my name, ands-“
“FUCK, stop!” Nathan’s voice was almost pleading, but still angry.
Toki’s stomach flipped as he recounted last night’s events. What he said was true—the singer had said his name…moaned it, actually. It had been so…sexy.
“Well, I’s nots sorry,” Toki stated, looking huffily at the bed and crossing his arms.
“Yeah, cuz you’re a fag.”
Nathan let that slip. It was more a defense mechanism than anything else, but it seemed to push a button in Toki. The little Norwegian jumped out of bed and turned to Nathan, an infuriated fire in his eyes.
“Sos whats?! Ja, I AMS a fag! So der, nows you know!”
Nathan widened his eyes.
“What?! You’re GAY?!”
Toki calmed down a bit, feeling quite sheepish now. He twirled his hair and retreated slightly.
“…ja, I ams. I’s always has been. Backs in Norways, whens I was…a teens-nager…I useds to…”
He cut off. Mainly because Nathan was just gawking at him as if he told him he was Hitler. No, wait, that probably would have been pretty metal—as if he were Elton John, rather.
Nathan’s head was swimming. He’d let a fucking fag touch his dick? And worse, that fucking fag was Toki? What the hell had he been thinking?! If word ever got out, his reputation would be history. Forget “friendly jack offs”, as Toki had put it—he straight up seduced him! Because he was gay!
“Toki-..just….!”
Nathan could hardly form words. He stood up and began pacing.
“Nathans, I-…” his voice was soft, “I didn’ts…I didn’ts mean to-“
“JUST GET THE FUCK OUT! Get out and DON’T come back tonight!”
He rushed at the guitarist, who shrieked. Toki didn’t want to literally be thrown out, so he raced for the door, exiting in a flurry. Nathan could hear the younger man’s sobs as he ran to his own room and slammed the door.
Fuck.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Charles awoke the following morning in Pickles’ arms, undressed underneath the sheets. The long night of passionate sex had been a sufficient distraction from his worries about keeping confidence in Skwisgaar. But as he woke, his mind was pulled into the present a knot began to form in his stomach.
It had been completely atypical of him to open himself enough to reveal the identity of his lover to the Swede; he felt entirely aggravated and humiliated by that fact. He had to be more guarded around him. There was something about the blonde’s curiosity that was flattering enough to become dangerous to the manager. Pickles’ reputation was at stake, and as was his job. He needed to be more careful.
Not quite feeling like himself, he decided to just get started on his day early. He reached over to the nightstand, turning off the alarm a good half hour before it was set to go off. He could feel the drummer’s firm hold on him, his chest against Charles’ back. He gingerly took Pickles’ wrist, attempting to the remove the younger man’s arm that was draped around him from behind.
“Nnng…” Pickles groaned and his eyes surprisingly fluttered open.
“I apologize,” Charles whispered, “Go back to sleep.”
But the redhead wasn’t letting him go. He smiled and pulled the older man closer to his body, tightening his hold.
“Nooo…” he whined, kissing Charles’ shoulder, “Don’t go. Nat yet.”
“I have to,” he replied sternly, but couldn’t hide a small smile.
The younger man’s kisses became longer and moved to the manager’s neck—one of his most sensitive spots.
“O-Oh…” It was hard to protest.
Pickles bit and licked the skin there, the arm he’d been using to hold Charles back now traveled south. It paused on his hip, rubbing it affectionately. The older man instinctively pushed himself back into his lover, his ass pressing into the drummer’s cock. It responded enthusiastically.
“You’re up awful early,” Charles teased, his voice barely above a whisper.
Pickles chuckled at the double meaning.
“Yee-uh, well…I gatta give ya some reason ta stay in bed.”
He ran his hand lower, wrapping it firmly around the manager’s cock. He squeezed softly and was rewarded with a small moan.
“Well,” Charles’ voice was getting breathy, “you win this round.” And he surrendered, no longer struggling.
“Ha…’a course I have.”
Charles grew harder in Pickles’ hand, pushing back more, purposefully this time, to brush his ass against the drummer’s growing erection. The younger man groaned, reaching down with his free hand to guide his cock in between the manager’s cheeks; he wasn’t inside of him, but he was trying to create more friction. He thrust slowly, his dick brushing against Charles’ opening, but passing it.
“Mmm…yee-uh, that feels good, baby…”
He began to stroke the older man faster, trying to keep his concentration. Pickles had always been great at multi-tasking, a helpful trait acquired from years behind a drum set. It was something that Charles definitely appreciated.
The manager wasn’t sure, however, how he felt about the pet name “baby”. He didn’t necessarily think that it fit him, and all too often the name seemed to further consecrate Charles’ submissive role in the relationship—a role he’d never planned on taking. But Pickles was very particularly against the idea of having someone inside of him. He’d once explained it to be “too deep”, much to Charles’ irritation. So the manager had stopped trying for that position months ago.
Charles realized that he was thinking too hard, and about too many things at once. He forced his mind to go blank as he surrendered his body, momentarily, to Pickles. After a few more minutes of good, hard, stroking, he came into the drummer’s hand with a groan and Pickles soon followed.
“Now…that’s…how ya wake a guy up,” Pickles whispered in the manager’s ear, smiling.
Charles closed his eyes momentarily, deciding to take advantage of the drummer’s currently relaxed state. This was something he didn’t want to give up…
“Pickles…maybe we could have dinner tonight. At Scarpetta, that gorgeous French restaurant?”
The drummer frowned, but restrained from becoming defensive because of the pleading edge in the older man’s voice. It hurt him every time to say no, but…there was just no way. He couldn’t.
“Charles…”
“I know, I know…” the manager sighed, “Forgive me. Again.”
Pickles bit his lip, trying to remedy the situation.
“What if we all went? It’d be fun! I’ll sit by ya. Touch yer leg under the table, all naughty ‘n shit.”
He showered Charles’ back with kisses, smiling.
“That…wasn’t exactly the romantic evening I had in mind.”
“I know, but…I do wanna take ya there. Please? It’ll jes’ make things easier if it’s a group.”
“…all right. I’ll make reservations for seven-thirty, so tell the others.”
Charles really regretted leaving the drummer in his bed, naked and still wanting; but he did have to get to work. So with a tonguey goodbye and a few crude jokes, Pickles let the older man escape to his office.
Around noon, just as the manager was considering a break for lunch, there was an unexpected knock at his office door.
“Come in,” he called, his brow furrowed.
He didn’t know whether to feel relieved, or worried, when Skwisgaar waltzed in, his usual haughty air about him. He shut the door behind him and nodded to Charles. He seemed calm enough…
“Hej, Ofdensens.”
“Hello, Skwisgaar,” Charles replied, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Please, have a seat.”
Skwisgaar strode over to the familiar chair in front of the manager’s desk and plopped down.
“Is there…something I can do for you?”
Skwisgaar’s face contorted into an odd expression—it seemed to be a mix of confusion, frustration and wonder.
“Um…ja, sure. Sure, ders is somethinks yous can do fors me.”
“And what is that?” He tried to stay stoic, folding his hands on the desktop in front of him, leaning forward slightly.
Skwisgaar stretched back, crossing his arms, his long legs splayed out before him.
“Yous can tells me whats you likes abouts Pickle.”
He couldn’t deny that he’d become quite obsessed with the fact that the two men were fucking. He hadn’t even thought of the manager as a sexual being…until late. It was only now that he really took in the older man’s features, appreciating them in a new way.
Charles was handsome. He just seemed to work so hard at being stuffy that it often went unnoticed. His face had the beginnings of frown and stress lines, but it was nice…sexy, even. His eyes were piercing—they definitely were his most attractive quality. Apart from the very nicely toned body that the Swede couldn’t even see.
“Skwisgaar, I really don’t wish to discuss th-“
The blonde just waved his had dismissively, cutting him off.
“Ja, ja, I knows…” he smiled devilishly, “buts you shoulds stills tells me.”
Charles shook his head. He had to draw the line somewhere.
“I’m not quite sure why you even care, but we aren’t discussing this.”
Skwisgaar frowned. His fascination with the subject wasn’t going to go away if he couldn’t at least talk about it.
“Comes on, dis isn’ts fair—you knows everythinks abouts me, buts I can’ts know yous?”
He looked very much like a pouting child. Charles just couldn’t understand this sudden interest that Skwisgaar had, and he didn’t feel it particularly appropriate to encourage it.
“I’ve told you before, there’s nothing of consequence to know. And I don’t know everything about you.”
Skwisgaar had no idea what that meant, but he figured that Charles was just telling him he was boring again to get him off his back.
“Pfft, whatsever. I’s tells you somethinks abouts me, ah? Den yous has to tells me somethinks abouts you. Hmm…let’s see…” he looked up at the ceiling, thinking.
“Skwisgaar, this is hardly necessary,” he sighed, “…but very well.”
“Goods! Is a deal! Ah!” He pointed at himself to emphasize his point. “I’ve beens wid a guys before, too!” He seemed particularly proud of this fact.
Charles raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t lie—this was interesting news.
“I see.”
“Ja. So nows you tells me…what I wants to knows.”
“Hm,” the manager leaned back, crossing his arms in an equally defensive position, “You simply said I’d have to tell you something about myself. You didn’t say specifically what.”
Skwisgaar’s mouth fell open, not recognizing that loophole in his little deal.
“Nots fairs!”
“I don’t think this entire operation is particularly ‘fair’, but if you’d like, I’ll share something about myself.”
Skwisgaar sulked, knowing it wouldn’t be what he wanted. Charles continued, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“When I was four, I had a pet cat named Tuggle.”
Skwisgaar frowned, narrowing his eyes. It suddenly became a challenge.
“I once dranks kitchens cleaner to tries and kill myself.”
He thought that his strategy of telling more intimate things about himself would make the manager do the same. He was wrong.
“I don’t like tofu.”
“I once caughts Nathans looksings ats gay porns on de computers.”
“I’ve never been to New Mexico.”
“I once piss myselfs ats a Guns ‘N Roses concerts.”
“I listen to jazz.”
This was getting frustrating. Skwisgaar didn’t realize quite yet that his fists were clenched and with each confession he was closer to jumping out of his seat to scream at Charles.
“I’s jacks off last nights thinkinks abouts fuckinks you!”
Charles widened his eyes slightly. Skwisgaar unclenched his hands and his face flushed. Swallowing hard, the manager finally gave in.
“I…Pickles and I have a lot in common. That’s what I see in him.”
He knew that it was vague; but for once, he hadn’t intended it to be. He honestly just couldn’t think of a good answer that wasn’t something sexual…and he certainly wasn’t bringing that up. Especially now.
Wanting to avoid any reiteration of his admission, Skwisgaar kept on with that subject.
“Whats do yous haves in common?”
He sat back now, relaxing more, but watching the manager closely.
“Well…we both like many different kinds of…movies. And we used to discuss business and partial politics…”
“Used tos?”
Charles frowned, looking now at his desk. Yeah…we don’t talk much anymore.
“…Ofdensens?” Skwisgaar raised his eyebrows.
“I apologize,” Charles said, looking back up at the blonde. “As many relationships have a tendency to do, it’s become…comfortable.”
He couldn’t really complain; at least the sex was still great. At least they were still having sex after al this time. Even if it was emotionally draining to have to constantly deny any involvement with the drummer. Even if he did have to sacrifice things like dates to fancy restaurants, or secret hand jobs in a movie theatre. Big deal.
“But it’s fine,” he added, “Things are great.”
Skwisgaar was silent as he traced his lips, something that Charles really wished he wouldn’t do…it was such a sexual thing. At least to him. Finally, the Swede looked up and his voice was truly inquisitive.
“Whats…mades you choose Pickle? Outs of everyone?”
Choose Pickles? Originally, Pickles had pursued him, not the other way around. He probably never would have instigated it had Pickles not been so damn persistent. But was Skwisgaar asking why he’d chosen Pickles…over him?
Charles wasn’t sure how to answer the blonde. But he was great at answering a question with another question, quite politically.
“What makes you think there had been a choice?”
Skwisgaar shook his head. He wasn’t sure, he just knew that the fact that he’d never been approached made him uncomfortable…everyone approached him. Everyone wanted to fuck him…well, as far as he was concerned. Charles was becoming much like an untouchable porcelain doll to Skwisgaar…and it was hell.
“Skwisgaar, please, don’t dwell on this. Everything is normal as it was before.”
The Swede looked quite defiant.
“Everythinks is nots normal! I don’ts…I don’ts gets it.”
Charles furrowed his brow.
“What, exactly, don’t you get?”
“Why yous don’ts wants to fucks me!”
He looked up at Ofdensen as if this should’ve been obvious. Charles was immediately offended. So that’s what this was about.
“Skwisgaar,” his voice was low and stern, “not everyone wants to have sex with you.”
“Pfft,” the blonde’s arrogance was becoming hard to stomach, “Whatsever. I promises dats by de ends of the week…you’ll wants to fucks me.”
Charles clenched his jaw.
“Don’t hold your breath,” he muttered. “Skwisgaar, you are acting like a spoiled child. You don’t want me. You just want what you can’t have. Besides, I’m not some slut from a bar…and I have a lover.”
Why did Skwisgaar’s gut seem to twitch when the manager said that? It was almost like a blow below the belt in some respects. He looked down like a beaten child and nodded softly. He was silent.
Why the hell did Charles suddenly feel guilty? He hadn’t done anything wrong; it was Skwisgaar who should be apologizing! His mind drifted to what the Swede had admitted minutes ago…that he’d masturbated while thinking of the manager…
“Skwisgaar,” he sighed, removing his glasses and giving the blonde a meaningful look, “I understand your nature. Honestly, I do. And if you would like to be friends…get to know each other…then I would agree to that.”
The Swede looked up. A friend? He hadn’t considered that…it sounded…gay. Nice, but gay. Nonetheless, he nodded slowly.
“Ja…I woulds likes dat.”
Charles actually smiled.
“Me, too.”
Skwisgaar got up carefully and headed for the door. He turned around once, grabbing the handle of the door.
“Wes…all goinks outs to eat tonights, ja?”
“Yes,” Charles nodded, “I believe we are.”
“Goods. Sees you den.”
After the sound of the door shutting, Charles sank into his seat a bit. What a mess.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“TOKI! Toki, comes OUTS of der. You has to gets ready, you stupids dildo!”
There was a loud “thunk!” from the inside of the Norwegian’s room as yet another shoe was thrown at the door. Skwisgaar sighed, leaning against it.
Nathan opened the door to his own room from inside, just down the hallway.
“What the fuck is going on out here?”
The singer had holed up in his room all day. Skwisgaar turned to look at him, shrugging, annoyed.
“I don’ts know! Buts he just yells ats me, tells me to kills myself and won’ts comes out!” He turned to the door to yell at Toki. “CUZ HE’S BEINGS A LADY!”
There was a muted “Yous a lady!” from Toki, followed by a sob. It sounded like his face was shoved into a pillow.
Nathan knew exactly what this was about. And what was worse…was that he felt guilty. Again.
“Just…go, Skwisgaar, get ready for dinner. I’ll try to fucking talk to him.”
“Ja, okays…just…bes carefuls. Hopes he doesn’ts kills you,” he added sarcastically, turning the corner and disappearing down his own corridor.
Nathan hit Toki’s door, just one harsh knock.
“Toki, let me in.” His voice was stern.
There was silence for about thirty seconds and then some shuffling…and then Toki unlocked and opened the door. He looked a mess—his hair ruffled, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and his bottom lip trembling.
“Whats do yous wants?” His voice was almost a whimper.
Nathan figured he wouldn’t have opened the door if he hadn’t wanted the singer in, so he just pushed past Toki and shut the door behind him. He looked down at the younger man, his expression grave.
“What the fuck is the matter with you?”
He was suddenly aware of the fact that Toki didn’t have a shirt on. He wasn’t sure why that just now jumped out at him, but it did. He took a step back and looked back at Toki’s eyes.
It was hard, though…because there was so much pain there. Toki looked hurt.
“Just leaves mes alone, you stupids…” the rest was lost as he tried to pass by Nathan angrily.
But Nathan reached out and grabbed the guitarist by the bicep, pulling him back. Toki’s eyes widened, surprised by the sudden physical contact. The Norwegian was definitely strong, but no one could say yet who would win in a fight between Nathan and Toki; they’d never tried. And neither was sure he wanted to.
Nevertheless, Toki didn’t pull away. The singer’s grip wasn’t necessarily hurtful, or harsh—it was just meant to hold him in place, and that was okay for the time being.
“Just tell me what’s wrong,” Nathan demanded.
“…yous…yous calls mes a fags and den yells ats me to gets out and nots comes back dis mornings…”
His bottom lip began to quiver again.
“Jesus, Toki, y-…you said you were a fag. What was I supposed to do?” His voice was softer now.
“Nots yells ats me! Yous were supposeds to treats me like Toki! I’s not differents, been likes dis for a longs time.”
It was true that the entire band, at one point or another, had questioned Toki’s sexuality; mainly because they never saw him with women. Unbeknownst to Nathan, Skwisgaar had known for years about Toki’s sexual preference. But it had never seemed so big a deal until now. Until Nathan had his cock touched by the Norwegian.
“I know that…you’re still you, I just…” How could he put it into words without sounding like a fucking dope? “You just…didn’t tell me before you…”
“Dids it matters?” Toki demanded, looking quite defiant now, “You likeds it.”
Nathan gritted his teeth, but realized it was useless to deny it. He had liked it. He knew it and Toki knew it. Hell, he even jacked off to it in the shower this morning.
“I know…” he said, through clenched teeth.
Toki widened his eyes. He definitely hadn’t expected Nathan to admit it.
“I know I liked it,” the singer went on, “but that doesn’t make me gay. Because I’m not, okay?”
Toki just nodded. Nathan let go of the younger man’s arm and took a deep breath.
“Okay…now just…get ready, alright? We need to leave soon…”
He walked to the door, ready to leave; but Toki’s soft voice stopped him.
“…Nathans?”
He turned. “Yeah?”
“…I likeds it, too.”
Nathan swallowed hard. What the hell was he supposed to do with that? At a complete loss of words, he simply nodded and continued out the door.