DethSorrow, Chapter 6 Title: DethSorrow, Chapter 6 Author: AbelValentine Rating: NC-17 Summary: The hook up chapter... C/S Disclaimer: I *still* do not own Metalocalypse.
Skwisgaar and Charles were in the Honda, parked on their favorite cliff near the edge of the island. Another driving lesson; the Swede was actually improving greatly, though the manager still slightly feared for his life when the speedometer hit forty or above.
It was after six and they were enjoying another sunset; both leaning back slightly in their seats to take in the scene. This hadn’t been planned; but it was a welcome event as Pickles had canceled on Charles for the evening. Tomorrow was the redhead’s birthday and he was in quite a sour mood about it. The older man let him off the hook, as long he promised to show up to his place tomorrow for a special dinner. Pickles had agreed.
Skwisgaar glanced over at the manager, sensing he was lost in thought.
“Charles?”
It was the first time he had heard his first name come from the Swede’s lips. He was slightly startled and turned to blink at the blonde, but regained his placid air.
“Yes?”
Skwisgaar lay his head back on his seat and Ofdensen was slightly distracted by the way the sun’s disappearing rays hit the younger man’s pale hair, adding sparkle to his often unhealthy pallor.
“Do yous…evers get mads dat…you know, Pickle is justs bes around in da nighttimes?”
Charles thought for a moment and spoke rather slowly.
“Hm…I suppose…I don’t get angry, necessarily. I would like for it to be a full relationship, but that seems impossible. I suppose I knew what I was getting myself into. I’m quite busy during the day.”
Skwisgaar furrowed his brow.
“Ja, buts…alls you do is sleeps togedder.” He obviously understood, being the sex god that he was; but Charles seemed like the serious, monogamous relationship kind of guy.
Feeling slightly offended at the suggestion that he was simply in a sexual fling, Charles folded his hands in his lap and he pursed his lips tersely.
“I’ve told you before, Skwisgaar…it’s not just a sexual thing.”
“Pfft,” Skwisgaar looked back out at the ocean, unimpressed, “Ja okay.” But then he turned back to the manager, a new smile on his face. “Don’ts worry…I’s takes you outs.”
“…what?”
“Ja, I’s be dats guy. We cans have fun, goes to dinner and movies and things, then lets you go to Pickle at nights.” If you’d even want to, he thought, slyly.
“Skwisgaar, I…don’t think Pickles would be too happy about that.”
“Actuallys he tells me dats I can haves you whens he’s not wid you,” the blonde answered plainly, but immediately changed his wording, “Er-…dats we cans hangs out.” He shifted.
It was enticing. Charles was starting to thoroughly enjoy the Swede’s company—he was quite worldly, despite his image; however, it sounded a lot like Skwisgaar wanted to “date” and that was just…strange. Nonetheless, the lack of romance and comradery was felt in Charles’ life.
“Hes can’ts say nothins. I’s just likes to bes arounds you and wes just friends.” His logic seemed sound enough.
Charles actually smiled. Over the past few weeks, Skwisgaar had been randomly showing up at his office, to talk or sometimes just practice guitar quietly. The manager never minded the company and honestly waited for the blonde’s arrival most days anxiously. He could consider him a friend, so long as there was nothing nefarious behind his intentions.
“Skwisgaar, that’s…that’s sweet,” Charles breathed. He couldn’t think of a better word for it.
Skwisgaar liked seeing the manager smile and he nodded.
“Ja, I’s is likes dat.”
Charles actually chuckled and Skwisgaar beamed.
“Sos yous…goings to lets me? Maybes we goes outs tonights! Let’s goes tos a bar! I likes it when yous drink,” he nearly giggled.
“I’m…not sure that’s a great idea,” Charles looked down at his hands. “The last time I drank things turned out quite awful.”
He remembered waking up clearly, though the night before was fuzzy; had Skwisgaar said the word “ass” in fifty different languages? He couldn’t be sure. But he’d opened his eyes the following morning to a showered, half naked blonde, who was promising that nothing had happened aside from talking and sleeping. And he believed him; surely he would’ve remembered if that had happened. Charles felt rather embarrassed to have lost control, it wasn’t like him.
“Sometimes I fear you bring out the worst in me,” the manager admitted lightly, laughing a bit. But Skwisgaar frowned.
“I don’ts thinks sos. You don’ts laughs and smiles likes dis with anyone else,” he added defensively.
Charles looked at him for a moment, before nodding and sighing, looking out the window.
“I suppose you’re right…”
Skwisgaar seemed satisfied with that and he smiled once more.
“Alrights. Is settleds. Let’s gos back and change to gos outs!”
It was impossible to say no; in fact, Charles’ ability to turn down the Swede was becoming harder. He was getting addicted to how happy Skwisgaar looked when he got what he wanted. He felt that he knew the guitarist better than he knew Pickles these days.
“Alright.”
They returned to “change”, which really just entailed Charles removing his tie and jacket and Skwisgaar changing from a black tank top to a white one. They met once more, this time by Charles’ black BMW and climbed into the car.
“Wow…dis cars is…nice,” the Swede commented as he climbed in, running his fingers across the dashboard lightly, in an admiring manner.
“Yes, it is.” Charles had gotten quite used to purchasing the newest and most expensive gadgets on the market. It was a perk from working with Dethklok that he happily indulged in.
He pulled out of the large, three-story garage and onto the street. He decided that if they were going to go to a bar, he was going to decide which one; he didn’t necessarily trust the blonde’s tastes in nightlife spots for the time being. He and Nathan seemed to prefer dodgy bars in which to pick up the strangest, sluttiest women. And so he chose an upscale restaurant/bar on the northern side of town, about half an hour away from home.
They had valet and Skwisgaar got out, blinking.
“Is dis…a bars?” He looked up at the ritzy, two-story, tinted-windowed building.
“Yes, Skwisgaar,” Charles handed the keys over and stepped up onto the sidewalk next to the blonde.
“Yous have…greats tastes,” Skwisgaar nodded in approval, sticking his hands in his pockets.
A crowd started to form as passers-by were noticing Skwisgaar’s presence and Charles escorted the guitarist into the bar before things got out of hand. He had informed the manager that they were coming and the man promised to have nothing but their best bartender and wait staff available; as well as security and peaceful patrons.
They grabbed a booth in the corner of the bar, the seats covered in red velvet. Everything around them was glass and there were many modern paintings (mostly just splatters of paint, in Skwisgaar’s opinion) on the walls. Behind the bar was an artistic stack of hundreds of bottles of alcohol, and everyone seemed to be in suits and fancy dresses.
Skwisgaar shifted a bit in the seat as he glanced around, feeling just slightly underdressed—and he rarely ever cared about this type of etiquette. The booth was half a circle, a round table in the middle; perhaps the kind of booth that lovers would sit at so that they could be right next to each other. But Charles and Skwisgaar sat on the ends, opposite each other. The sounds of swanky jazz filled the bar and Charles looked carefully at the Swede, reading his expression.
“You’re…uncomfortable?”
Charles knew that he had chosen the most expensive place in town; but he always had an “all or nothing” mentality and if he was going to go out, he was going out. Besides, it had been a long time since he’d been out with just one other person in such an intimate setting. Part of him wished it could’ve been with Pickles, but he pushed that from his mind. Skwisgaar looked back at the manager and smiled, looking rather sexy in the soft lights.
“Nos, of course nots…justs…I should’ve expected this froms you.”
He said it in such an affectionate way that it made a small smile tug at the manager’s lips. Why the hell did Skwisgaar have to be so damn charming?
“Nothing but the best,” he agreed.
“Exactlys…”
Skwisgaar’s smile dropped slightly and he stared at the older man meaningfully, long enough to force Charles to look away.
They both ordered their first drinks: Skwisgaar, a rich German beer and Charles, a scotch. Their conversations started out friendly and light enough at first; but after a few they took a turn for the worse, at least in Charles’ opinion. The two also ended up sitting quite close together, towards the middle of the booth.
“Sos, justs wonderings, but…ah…whos is…ons de top?” Skwisgaar asked as he took another greedy swig of his third beer.
Charles didn’t have to ask what he meant.
“What do you think?” He loved to play Skwisgaar’s strings, trying to get out of him what he wished to hear. The Swede smirked.
“I thinks yous takes it…everys times.” He was partly teasing, but he really had no idea how spot on he was. “Buts den again…you likes to bes ins control. I just…can’ts sees Pickle gettings it in de ass!” He snorted.
Charles sighed. If he hadn’t been drinking, he wouldn’t have been so open about the subject.
“The former,” he admitted and then he clarified. “Pickles…won’t let me. You know…be on the top.”
Skwisgaar nearly choked, coughing and sputtering as he swallowed beer again.
“Whats?! Dats not fair!”
Charles almost laughed—the blonde really did look pretty horrified.
“It’s fine, I…suppose some people are just like that.” He didn’t mention how annoying it was.
“Buts…isn’ts yous supposed to takes turns?” Skwisgaar didn’t pretend to be an expert on gay relationships, but he had a pretty good idea. He was actually quite surprised that the manager was constantly dominated.
“I…don’t really know. Are you?” Charles laughed slightly, downing his third scotch. “Regardless, I-…it’s…” He trailed off.
“…so he…doesn’ts lets you fucks him?”
The way Skwisgaar kind of tilted his head down to catch the manager’s dropped eyes and the way he licked his lips after he said that was so sensual. Charles shifted a bit, but kept his eyes locked on the Swede’s once they had been caught.
“…no…” he almost whispered.
They sat there for a good, solid minute before Skwisgaar broke their gaze, looking down.
“Hm…”
No more was said on the subject.
They sat, talking, for another hour and through another drink; the topics were pretty random, but all circled around cultural differences between the States and Sweden. It ended by Skwisgaar promising to take Charles there one day—just the two of them, on a vacation. They’d been there for shows many times, but he wanted to show the manager the town, so to speak.
“I’d like that,” Charles had said.
Skwisgaar offered to drive them home, but that was laughable. They weren’t shitfaced, but most definitely too intoxicated to operate a vehicle. And so Charles called a few Klokateers: one to take his beamer home and one to take them to his apartment. Once they arrived back at the older man’s place, Charles undid the top button of his shirt and plopped down on the couch.
“I guess you don’t have to leave…since Pickles isn’t coming tonight.” Why did he feel dirty saying that? Or at least slightly guilty…
Skwisgaar nodded.
“I wasn’ts planninks on goings anywhere.”
He sat down, right beside Charles, who was too buzzed to protest. But he did tilt his head slightly and peer at the Swede suspiciously.
“Skwisgaar, may I ask you something?”
“Yes, ofs course.”
“…not to be rude, but…well, I always see you bringing back women to your room. Almost every night. Isn’t that more enticing than staying here and talking to me?”
Skwisgaar chuckled, but it sounded kind of bitter.
“Yous justs don’t gets it, ah? I thoughts you was smarts. I wants to bes here.” He emphasized his point by putting his slender-fingered hand on the older man’s knee. The physical contact felt good and sent an odd shock up the manager’s leg.
“Alright…well, just so you know, if you need to leave I won’t be offended.” And he half expected it would happen eventually.
Charles closed his eyes, letting his head fall back on the couch. He felt so relaxed and at ease and it wasn’t just the alcohol; he’d worried earlier in the day that he would have to be alone tonight. And he was grateful that his situation had changed.
Skwisgaar took advantage of the fact that the manager had closed his eyes and he watched his face. This “friend” thing was confusing…The lines were blurred for the Swede because he’d never really tried to have a platonic relationship with a gay man; aside from Toki and that hardly counted. Toki was much like his little brother and he didn’t really have a choice when it came to being around him. They were in the same damn band.
But there was something about Charles that had Skwisgaar consistently coming back…almost every day. And for what? He hadn’t gotten any sexual favors and, as far as he knew, Charles never wanted anything sexual from Skwisgaar at all. He had a lover. It often felt like a dead end because sex was almost always the ultimate goal for the Swede. As Nathan had stated before, when they were marveling at a man’s ability to suck his own cock, everything they do is to get someone to fucking make you cum. And that was it.
Orgasms, pleasure, physical love…what else was there to want? It seemed that even Pickles had that as his only ambition and for some reason, that angered Skwisgaar; perhaps he just didn’t want to see Charles get hurt. That was it, he cared about the man. And he was perfectly fine with spending time with him, even if it didn’t result in getting his dick touched.
Okay, not…perfectly fine.
Especially now, when Charles looked so helpless and slightly inebriated, open and vulnerable. He always seemed to have the manager in this position, ready for manipulation…and yet Skwisgaar still didn’t press it. So this is what it felt like to truly respect somebody…
And then Charles ruined the blonde’s somewhat innocent ultimatum.
“You know, Skwisgaar,” Charles blurted out, his mind miles away, “you did look exceptionally beautiful tonight. In those lights, at the bar…”
The blonde was shocked into silence for a moment, but then he smiled.
“As dids you…though I thinks handsomes is a goods word.”
“Very good word,” Charles nodded. “But ‘beautiful’…suits you. You are.”
That was it. He couldn’t take it. He didn’t care if he got thrown out, or scolded for it…but he was going to kiss Charles.
And so he leaned in, catching the manager by surprise since he didn’t even see the Swede coming. He pressed his lips to the older man’s, with enough pressure to assert his need. Charles’ eyes opened in alarm, but he didn’t jerk away...at first. His hands came up in an “I’m innocent” sort of way, his palms out, resisting the urge to place them on the blonde’s slender shoulders.
His body and heart told him to kiss back; and so he did initially. But his mind started to scream and he pulled away quickly, pushing himself further back into the couch cushions.
“Skwisgaar, I-…”
“I KNOWS!” Skwisgaar yelled and he jumped up. He began to pace, gesticulating with his hands wildly as he spoke fervently, apparently very frustrated. “I don’ts knows whats else to dos, dis driving me CRAZY!”
He turned to look at Charles, his brow furrowed pitifully.
“Every times I sees you…I aches. I’s startinks to hates Pickle and I don’ts evens know why! I…I just…wants to bes wid you all de times. And sometimes I thinks dat yous looks at me like…like how I’s looks at you. But yous are so…so…UGH!” He flew to the window, looking out, not being able to properly explain himself in English. He was too flustered to find the right words.
“I thinks, at nights, about…abouts you and Pickle. Whats you are doings, what…what he’s doings to you…wishing its was me makings you moan…” He turned and looked at Charles meaningfully. But he turned away quickly, the heat of the manager’s shocked, piercing eyes on him overwhelming.
“I-…I don’ts knows if I cans do dis friends thing…I’ms just SUCKS at it! Maybes we-“
But he was cut off—as Charles grabbed the Swede’s wrist and wheeled him around, pulling him close into a passionate and harder kiss. This time his lips were ready and willing. He wrapped his left arm tightly around Skwisgaar’s waist, his other coming up to entangle in the blonde’s pale and soft hair.
It was such an adoring kiss that it made Skwisgaar go temporarily weak in the knees. Ofdensen had a great power in him to make the Swede feel slightly feminine and fairly vulnerable in his arms, something he hadn’t expected. He actually made a tiny noise into Charles’ mouth, startlingly enough. After a good few minutes of just kissing heatedly, Charles pulled away; but he continued to hold the guitarist close and Skwisgaar had his hands on the older man’s shoulders.
“I had no idea, Skwisgaar…” In truth, he was so completely flattered that he made the rash decision to thank him…physically.
“Ja…” Skwisgaar was quite speechless. He was in the middle of his embarrassed tirade, almost ready to storm out when it had happened. He honestly had never expected this. He didn’t dare mention anything about what Pickles would do if he found out, but it crossed his mind.
Charles’ inhibitions were starting to catch up with him now and he tensed slightly, starting to slowly let go of the other man. But Skwisgaar would have none of that. He smiled and gently pulled the older man closer, by his hips. He rubbed softly and Charles gave in, running his hands gingerly up and down the sinewy muscles of the blonde’s arms.
“I won’t lie, Skwisgaar,” he whispered, “you’ve completely surprised me. You caught me off guard…I never expected you to…” he shook his head, “…be so utterly irresistible to me…”
The Swede nodded, his eyes fluttering closed at the sensation of Charles’ astonishingly gentle fingers. He felt true affection in the older man’s touch and it was completely alien to him. Nice, but foreign.
“Please…” Charles had never heard Skwisgaar’s voice so soft and pleading, “Don’ts makes me go…I wants to stay…”
The manager knew what he was asking of him. He ran his hands up Skwisgaar’s chest, watching them. Slowly, he shook his head.
“I can’t…” But Skwisgaar easily caught the uncertainty in his voice.
“I knows,” Skwisgaar admitted, his voice even lower, barely audible, “I knows you wants me to…”
It was hard to tell whether he was trying to convince himself, or Charles; either way, it was true. Charles did want him to stay. And the thought was frightening.
A truly sober Charles would have been able to completely weigh the risks of sleeping with Skwisgaar. Would he even mean anything to the blonde afterward? Could he keep this from Pickles? Might it create a rift in the band? Despite breaking Charles’ heart, Skwisgaar could do a lot more damage to his livelihood if he created more animosity with the drummer by fucking his man.
But at the moment, all Charles’ mind was interested in dwelling on was how warm Skwisgaar was…how truly alluring his voice had become.
Tomorrow is Pickles’ birthday…
For some reason the thought jerked the manager’s sense of reason to life. This was wrong. In so many ways.
He pulled away—completely this time, no longer touching the blonde at all.
“Skwisgaar, I-…I can’t do this. Not to Pickles. I…I’m sorry…”
The blonde dropped his arms; they’d still been reaching out for the manager. The look of hurt that shadowed Skwisgaar’s face was heart-breaking. But quickly, it turned to anger, the only outlet for pain that the blonde knew, aside from guitar.
“He doesn’ts loves you,” he practically growled.
Charles looked quite taken aback by that and he clenched his jaw. His voice got dangerously low, yet characteristically even.
“You have no idea how he feels about me. You don’t even know me. You just want what you’ve been told you can’t have.” He felt that if he said it enough times it would be true—it wasn’t what he really thought Skwisgaar’s motivation was. But it was a good reason to push him away.
The Swede’s frown turned into a scowl and he grabbed the older man’s arm—not harshly, but firmly, and pulled him close. He wrapped his other arm around Charles’ waist, pinning him mercilessly.
“Don’ts tells me dat I don’ts cares about you, dats dis isn’ts real,” he said with such fierceness that it rendered Charles immobile for a moment. Skwisgaar used the silence again to lean down and kiss the manager, once more, a new fury to his actions.
It became quite frenzied for a minute as Charles struggled against the blonde, who wasn’t backing down. He groaned against Skwisgaar’s lips, in a frustrated fashion, but it wasn’t long before he was kissing back again, his previous resistance dissipating. He wrapped his arms around the Swede’s neck, pulling him closer.
Skwisgaar began to kiss with more passion than anger now, running his hands up Charles’ back slowly, still holding him securely to his chest. Neither man was sure who stepped toward the hallway first, but after a few seconds, both were heading for the bedroom, still locked in their animated kissing.
Charles couldn’t deny it any longer. His body had made the decision for him.
Once in Charles’ room, Skwisgaar began unbuttoning the manager’s shirt. He easily slid it off of him after he was finished and pulled his own tank top over his head, tossing it to the floor. After removing the older man’s undershirt, he smiled, his fingers dancing over Charles’ surprisingly toned muscles.
“Yous is modests…”
Charles smiled, deciding to reward the compliment with a kiss. Despite ignoring his better judgment, he was completely in control of himself and the situation. He rarely lost himself in a fit of emotion, or passion and he was beginning to regain his more sensible intuitions. That is, until Skwisgaar leaned down, his lips to the manager’s ear, and whispered in his velvety voice…
“I wants you to makes loves to me…”
Charles pulled away slightly to judge the Swede’s expression—surely he wasn’t inviting him to be on top. But Skwisgaar looked rather solemn, as if he’d just given grave news.
“Skwisgaar…I’m…not sure that’s wise…Have you ever…done that before?”
“Nos,” the blonde admitted rather unapologetically, slowly moving around Charles and stopped to stand behind him. He placed his gentle hands on the older man’s shoulders and began to trail kisses down his neck. “Buts I wants you…”
Charles groaned, closing his eyes.
“You want me…like that?” His voice was almost a whimper. He felt he would slowly lose control if Skwisgaar continued to pull his strings in this manner.
“…yes…insides of me.”
That was it. All he had to do was hear it and he was gone. It meant so much more to him that Skwisgaar actually wanted to submit to him—it seemed so much more real that way, like less of a one night stand. Mainly because the Swede had stuck his dick in probably thousands of people; but allowing someone inside of him, and for the first time, was monumental in comparison.
Charles turned around, pulling the guitarist into another ravenous kiss. He would have to be careful, he knew this, and he was more than delighted when Skwisgaar pulled a condom from his pocket, muttering something about always being prepared. While it was slightly irksome, it was nonetheless welcomed; he knew the younger man’s medical records, knew that he was shockingly clean of STDs, but caution was definitely necessary, if even just for Charles’ peace of mind.
For a while, they just lie on the bed together, involved in kissing, petting and rubbing. Charles had managed to strip them of their remaining clothing and had Skwisgaar on his back below him, hovering slightly. He was now busy biting and sucking a tiny, conquering mark just below the Swede’s jaw line. The submissive bucked his hips slightly, brushing his impressively sized erection against the manager’s bare leg.
“Please…” he groaned, “/s/ Don’t stop, take me, just take me…oh, please…/s/”
The manager’s stomach flipped in sheer excitement as the Swedish poured from Skwisgaar’s lips. He wasn’t able to decipher it; the only Swedish he knew was a few business terms and enough to speak to other management and hotel staff when they were on tour. But this was much better and the language took on a new, fluid sexiness.
He whispered in the blonde’s ear softly as he reached down to wrap his fingers around Skwisgaar’s cock, which prompted a grateful moan from him.
“Are you sure that you want this?”
All Skwisgaar could do was nod; in all honesty, he was quite terrified. He wasn’t sure how well he would react to not just the pain, but the feeling of being “entered”. It creeped him out a little. But this was the only way to show Charles that he didn’t just want to fuck: he wanted him, in so many ways, despite a part of his brain that told him to run away.
Charles kissed his ear affectionately and continued to pump the Swede’s erection, trying to relax him; and it worked. Skwisgaar let his head fall back onto the pillows behind him, looking quite desperate for release. This is exactly how the manager wanted him: squirming and defenseless.
The older man retreated momentarily to pull open the drawer from his nightstand. He pulled out a bottle of warming lube, which Skwisgaar noticed was half empty. Where had the other half gone…? He suddenly felt quite possessive of Charles, remembering that he normally belonged to Pickles every night. He reached out for the older man in a needy way and Charles smiled.
“Don’t worry, love, I’m not going anywhere.”
And he welcomed himself back into the Swede’s safe arms. Their lips met once more as Charles opened the tube and lubed up one finger. He broke the kiss to move down Skwisgaar’s long, lean body and stopped once at his cock. He licked up the shaft dramatically and the blonde arched his back, only to look back down at the manager quickly.
“Ohhh, j-ja…please, likes dat…”
He reached down to entangle his fingers in Charles’ hair, tousling it slightly. He wanted to see the man unhinged, undone. Little did he know how truly affected the older man was just by being here, being permitted to touch Skwisgaar in such a fashion.
He used his lube-free hand to hold the Swede’s length at the base, while taking a few inches of it in his mouth. Skwisgaar let out a loud, deprived noise.
“/s/ Ohh…that’s amazing, you’re amazing…you…I…yes, please, I need you…/s/ I needs you…” He felt the need to reiterate himself in English to emphasize how he felt about Charles. It made the manager smile—well, as much as he could with a very large and throbbing cock in his mouth.
With Skwisgaar seemingly so ready and writhing, Charles decided to begin the stretching process. He reached down with his lubed finger and lightly rubbed at the Swede’s opening, not yet diving in. He kept his mouth busy, which kept the blonde’s mind busy enough to let him continue, uninterrupted.
Charles played up his enthusiasm, moaning softly as he sucked, and used this as a distraction to his finger sliding into Skwisgaar’s tightly muscled entrance. The Swede’s gasp was very audible and the manager removed his mouth temporarily to watch his face.
Skwisgaar looked completely paralyzed, his expression unreadable and slightly blank. But he didn’t tell Charles to stop and so he continued to move in and out of the guitarist.
“Skwisgaar…” he slowly ran his tongue back up the younger man’s cock, finally getting a response. The Swede groaned, but in a new way; it was a drawn out, rough, needy sound that ended in a whimper that sounded slightly like a half-sob. It was almost touching. Skwisgaar was obviously very affected by this new feeling and Charles could sympathize.
“Relax, Skwisgaar…I’m not going to hurt you…I would never hurt you…” His words seemed to help and the blonde let out another breathy moan. Charles used his free hand to stroke him now, wanting to use his mouth for a different purpose.
“Just let me in…let me in and I promise I’ll never let go…”
For all the times in his life that Skwisgaar had been abandoned, hurt, abused and damaged—mostly just from his mother—he certainly felt secure. As long as Charles would continue to tell him that he was safe, he would believe it. At this specific moment in time, he would believe anything the older man told him. And he just had to feel needed.
Charles added a second finger after a few moments, still working the Swede with his hand, but slowly; he didn’t want Skwisgaar to reach orgasm. Not yet.
Finally, the blonde couldn’t take anymore. His face was beautifully flushed, his body practically in pain with desire.
“Please…” He reached out for Charles. “Please, dos its now…”
His expression was that of a lost and trusting child, looking for shelter. Charles welcomingly fell into the Swede’s arms, kissing him tenderly.
“Oh, Skwisgaar…”
He easily removed the condom from its package, sliding it on his own, forgotten, pulsing erection. As he entered Skwisgaar slowly, his low moan drowned out the sound of the front door opening quietly…
Pickles had been feeling quite lonely; after all, it was now technically his birthday. It was after midnight and he felt guilty for turning down his lover just so he could sulk. He was 38. Fuck. That was depressing. He at least didn’t want to mope alone and thought that maybe some physical love might help his despair. He felt quite deserving of it, despite having been neglecting Charles the past few days.
But the noises he heard after shutting the door carefully stopped him in his tracks. His heart began to beat deafeningly in his ears as he listened intently.
Moaning.
Whispering.
Swedish.
“C-Charles…Oh!...y-yes, rights der…/s/ please, don’t ever stop, cum, cum…please…/s/”
“Oh, God, Skwisgaar…please…l-let me…ohhh…”
Pickles clenched his jaw. He stared at the wall, his skin hot with rage, his mind reeling. He didn’t need to spy to figure out what Charles was doing…or, more correctly, who.
This was it. Skwisgaar was dead. He was going to die. Not tonight, but soon. The drummer would make sure of it. He wouldn’t live to fuck anyone else, ever again.
And the sound of Pickles leaving, too, was muffled by Charles’ orgasm, his shaking body, pounding heart and his faint whisper…