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Parabola	By : Ennead Category: +M through R > Metalocalypse > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1106 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Metalocalypse, nor do I make any money off of any of the fan works I create of its characters.

Chapter List
- 11
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- 13
Nathan woke blearily the next day, feeling like his limbs were made of lead. He made a mental note to only take one pill in the future, and rolled over with a groan. Briefly, he considered going back to sleep, residually tired as he was, but this was interrupted when he saw Pickles.
"Hey." The drummer twitched, sitting up in a chair and dead asleep. What the hell was he doing there?
"HEY."
Scowling, Nathan grabbed a pillow and tossed it at Pickles' head. It hit its mark and woke his friend up with a sputter. "Ah, feck, whet already? Ah'm jest restin' my eyes."
"What the fuck are you doing in my bedroom," Nathan said, more a statement than a real question; knowing Pickles, he could have gotten drunk and just wandered in for no reason. He wouldn't be surprised, and it wasn't like it mattered.
Pickles shrugged. "Ahfdensen came lookin' fer ya. He said ya wouldn't wake up and I should keep an eye on ya. Did ya take somethin?"
"Yeah, some of the shit you, uh, gave me a while ago. Um. Charles was here?"
"Yeeuh."
Well, that didn't tell him much. "Why?"
"Dunno. Nat my business."
Nathan recalled that Charles often checked on them during the night to make sure they were alive. That must have been all it was. He sighed and rolled over onto his back again, wishing he'd been awake for that. Maybe it was best he hadn't been, though. He looked up and saw Pickles studying him sleepily. "Hm."
"Ya okee there, big guy?"
"Fine. Yeah. Whatever."
"Ah, c'man. Yer pritty transparent right now, jest give it up an' talk ta me."
What Pickles wanted to do was just tell Nathan to go and talk to Ofdensen about how he felt. That there was an opportunity there for him if he had the balls to chase after it. But even though he wanted to do that, he knew it wasn't his place. Both men trusted him not to interfere with the other on their behalf, not to give up their secret, and he was stuck in a place where it was very confusing to be him. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking at Nathan's stubborn expression.
"I said I'm fine. I'm fine. Seriously."
"Awreet," Pickles said, giving up and making for the door. "By the way, we're goin' out tanight. Whole beand, and Ahfdensen."
"What?"
"To a bar. Ya know, nothin' unusual."
Nathan watched him incredulously; Pickles just winked and left the room.
Going to a fucking bar with Charles? Yeah, that was what he needed, to have to watch his ass around the guys. There was no way he could check his behavior around Charles that easily without them noticing, and he wasn't comfortable putting himself on the spot like that. Didn't Pickles see that?
He scratched at the back of his neck absently, feeling nervous. It was nothing bad that he got to drink, because god knew he needed it then more than he ever had, but he just wasn't sure about lowering his inhibitions around Charles. What if he did something stupid? What if he did something worse than stupid?
"Ugh," he said to his room at large, deciding that staying in bed would be the best course of action. He had a whole day to kill before he would be putting his self control to the test, and the last thing he wanted was to test it before then by running into Charles. Nathan burrowed under his covers irritably, trying to cast out mental images of his manager in varying states of undress.
It wasn't working. If he stayed in bed like he planned, he'd just end up fantasizing about Charles all day long, which wouldn't help him later. Nathan got out of bed and stalked into the hallway, intending to find Toki and bullshit with him for a few hours. There had to be a way to kill time, it was his house and he'd figure something out.
He swung by Toki's bedroom, finding it empty. Skwisgaar's was next, where the haughty guitarist told him Toki was in the gym, "practisings his ladies' ballets." Nathan took this to mean that Toki was working out, something Skwisgaar was apparently incapable of doing. He shrugged to himself as he thought about the rivalry between the two guitarists, and wondered if Skwisgaar was jealous of Toki... or just admiring him? Nowadays neither one would surprise him.
Nathan began the walk across his enormous house, hoping Toki didn't leave before he managed to get there. Not as if he had anything better to do... just killing time until that evening, trying not to think about it. It seemed a little futile, since all he'd done since seeking a distraction was think about exactly that.
How was he going to get through that night?
The main concern was self control. With the state of his mind at that moment, adding alcohol in the presence of Charles would almost certainly lead to a mistake being made. He wouldn't be able to hold back anymore, and Nathan just couldn't allow that. Still, if he didn't drink then everyone would suspect something was wrong. He had to have something to maintain appearances...
Why the fuck would Pickles put him in this position? He knew how hard this was for him! Couldn't he just call off the night, or tell the others that Nathan had somewhere else to be? It wasn't an option to just not bring Charles, because the one who needed the most reassurance of his worth was by far their manager. Nathan, on the other hand, might be able to weasel out of it. But then, what if the guys were dicks to Charles, and nobody was there to notice that he wasn't really a robot after all? They could be pretty callous, especially drunk... and Charles would just sit there and take it like he always did. Someone had to keep an eye on him and make sure he was happy.
Fuck. That meant he had to go.
Nathan grit his teeth in frustration, momentarily distracted by the fact that he'd reached the gym. He flung open the door and slouched inside, feeling especially demoralized, but did not see Toki anywhere. There was someone in the far corner doing pushups, but Nathan couldn't imagine who else at Mordhaus would be exercising at all. Unless...
"Oh, fuck me," Nathan muttered under his breath, taking in the sight of Charles obliviously going through some kind of workout. The manager finished a final pushup and rolled onto his back loosely, panting heavily enough for Nathan to see it across the room. He felt like a voyeur watching the other man without announcing himself, and cleared his throat as he approached. If he left without saying anything Charles would think he was a dick.
"Nathan?"
Charles was flat on his back, lacking the energy to lift his head as the singer approached. That could only be one person's deep, rumbling cough, though, and he didn't need visual confirmation. Almost too tired to be self-conscious about how dressed down he was - recalling the large shirt incident and deciding it was duly unimportant - Charles focused on getting his breath back. That had been an even three-hundred he'd completed before Nathan had shown up, and his throat was burning from repeatedly sucking in air, his arms aching. It was something he just did, but it was never any easier on his punished limbs. Physically it paid for itself.
"What're you, uh, doing in here?" Nathan asked, cursing himself for the stupid question. Obviously, Charles was doing pushups. "Nevermind. Dumb question."
"Then... may I ask you what... you're doing here?" Charles panted heavily, turning his head against the floor mat. He felt beaten, but knew it would pass. In the meantime, he hoped he wasn't too disheveled.
"Lookin' for Toki... Just kind of bored." Nathan shrugged, trying not to watch the rivulets of sweat trickling down Charles' chest and over his sides. The manager's chest was outlined through the damp undershirt he wore, cloth clinging to the body he obviously worked hard to maintain, and Nathan was having difficulty ignoring it. "How long have you been in here?"
Charles tried to shrug in turn, but didn't have the energy yet. "A while. Lifted... some weights. Ran... on the... treadmill. And did..."
"Pushups," Nathan supplied. "I saw that. You're gonna die in here if you don't get the fuck out and take a break."
"Pass me my water," he managed, reaching out with one exhausted arm for a bottle sitting on the weight bench. Nathan grabbed it and handed it down to him, watching with one eyebrow raised as he gulped desperately. It almost hurt as badly to drink such cold water as it did to breathe, his throat was so dry, but he knew he needed the liquid after that workout. He shot Nathan a look to rival the one he was receiving and put the bottle down for a moment.
"I'm fine... I assure you."
"You look like you got beaten up by Thor," Nathan argued. He suppressed a dirty grin at how Charles looked, flushed from exertion and barely able to move. It was a damn good look, one he wished he could see more frequently - but that wasn't going to help his predicament at all, and he tried to push the thought to the back of his mind. "You're done here."
"Am I?" Truth be told, he absolutely was done, but Nathan's authoritative tone was something he couldn't help but challenge. With anyone else it would be laughable, but when it was the big singer looking at him that way, saying it with that tone, he wanted to be contrary just for the hell of it. He wanted to play.
Nathan reached out and dragged Charles into a sitting position, then forced him further, making him lurch to his feet unsteadily. "Yeah. Come on, before you break something."
Sighing heavily, breath still not quite caught up to, Charles closed his eyes and rolled his head on his shoulders. The burn in his muscles told him he'd regret this session the next day, but for the time being he felt like he'd done his part in staying healthy. With his eyes shut, he missed the hungry look Nathan gave him, watching him stretch his pale neck to one side. The frontman clenched his teeth and recited some lyrics in his head, trying to focus on anything else.
"Right, I suppose I am finished here anyway," he agreed, not technically yielding to Nathan's will since he lacked the ability to press on regardless. Charles picked up the large water bottle and draped a damp towel around his neck, gesturing for Nathan to come with him as he left the gym. Nathan shrugged in the way he tended to do, not really sure of what the hell he was going to do. He'd gone out looking for a distraction and run into the exact delicious, sweaty preoccupation he'd meant to escape.
Pretty typical Nathan Explosion luck, he thought. Whatever can go wrong, will give you a hard on.
"Pickles, uh, said we're going out tonight. Like, everybody."
Charles hesitated in his walking for just a moment, having forgotten this nagging detail in his schedule. It had been the reason he'd retreated to the gym for a distraction in the first place, seeking something to reliably take his mind off of the coming stressful night of acting straight around the boys while intoxicated. Pickles expected him to be there, and would doubtlessly locate him and drag him along if he tried to resist. There was only so much harassment he'd take before giving in to the drummer's good-hearted bitching, so he knew it was futile to try and get out of it.
He nodded uncomfortably, trying to keep that out of his voice. "Yes, Pickles did mention that to me as well. It should be fun," Charles suggested, not believing a word of that sentiment.
Frustrated by his own hesitance, Nathan forced himself to relax enough to carry on some more friendly and casual conversation. That's what they were, friends. He should be able to just talk to Charles. "I'll lay twenty bucks that Murderface passes out drunk before anyone else does."
"Oh, but that's cheating, you're always the one who forces him to drink so much. It's rigged."
"Not my fault he's insecure. Take the bet."
Charles laughed. "Certainly not. I don't gamble."
"That's no fun." Feeling a little more natural, Nathan gave him a playful shove on the shoulder as they walked - where? To Charles' office? Nathan realized that had to be where they were headed - down the main hallway. The smaller man pushed him back, but after that exhausting session in the gym he lacked the reflexes to pull back. Charles stumbled into Nathan, who was already off balance and in turn stumbled into the wall. He steadied Charles automatically, clutching him to his chest.
Over the edges of his glasses, his manager peered up at him with the most kissable of expressions. That thought got far enough in his mind that he was unwilling to follow it any further. Nathan released him, clearing his throat apologetically, and Charles stepped back a few inches. He looked embarrassed, though Nathan wasn't sure why... it was he who had started the shoving fight, not Charles. It was always him who started these awkward situations. Fucking clumsy, he chided himself.
Charles motioned for Nathan to keep walking, secretly hating himself for not having the balls to just kiss him when he had opportunities like that. His resolve from the previous night had faded entirely, and he didn't have the confidence he'd mustered up at all. It was like fate was laughing at him, if he'd believed in such things. He looked up when Nathan made a pointed sound for his attention.
"Sorry, uh, shoulda figured you'd be... too tired for that bullshit."
"I don't mind, honestly. But I am quite exhausted all the same."
Nathan frowned. "Don't overdo it. Too much of, yknow, a good thing... is... not a good thing. Or whatever."
"Oh, I can take it," Charles said dismissively, stopping at his office door and bending back to stretch his spine. Watching shamelessly while his manager's eyes were shut in focus, Nathan felt the twisting hunger in the pit of his stomach getting more tangled by the second. It may have been a man's body, something he just wasn't used to ogling, but there was no way to deny that it was fantastic. Every unusually visible inch of Charles seemed toned and perfect to Nathan's eyes, and the stretching was just unfair to behold. He shook his head as Charles straightened properly and unlocked his office door.
Now that he was so close to a hot shower and a soft bed, Charles felt even more drained than he had in the gym. This was sure to knock him on his ass until later that night, which suited him fine. Distantly he registered that Nathan had followed him, uncertainly, through his office and into his rooms; probably just wandering after him without a goal in mind, he decided. Though Charles dearly wanted to invite Nathan into the shower, he decided that was probably an awful idea and went in alone. What the singer would do in the meantime, he had no idea, but it was more or less out of his hands.
Nathan stood like a lost kitten in the living room.
He figured Charles was taking a shower, given how noticeably drenched in sweat he had been; it didn't take a genius to figure that one out. What he didn't know was what he was meant to do in the meantime. Did Charles want him to wait there? Did he want him to leave so he could relax? Did he want him to fuck off and let him get some work done? Nathan ground his teeth to one side and decided to wait, taking a seat on the couch and feeling incredibly awkward.
Just a good... four or five hours, he guessed, to pass before Pickles would be rounding them up for the bar. As much as he did want to spend those hours bothering Charles and stopping him from getting any work done, it was probably an awful idea. He'd need a lot of space to prepare for being crammed next to Charles, drunk, into a car after a tense night with the guys. Never before had he been so worried about a simple night at a bar.
A strange noise made him twitch in his seat, but he realized it was only the shower kicking on. He'd been right; now he just had to wait for Charles to finish, and try not to think about what was going on in the next room. Try not to think about anything at all - not that night, or the present. Just blank out your mind, he thought. Think about kitties...
Nathan put his head back against the sofa cushions, and promptly fell asleep.
- 11
- 12
- 13
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Parabola