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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
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Some six hours later, Nathan emerged from his room more clear on his motives. He was by no means done asking himself questions, but hell, there was only so much a man could take before he just got sick of trying to figure things out. He needed a break, and bet himself he knew where to find someone else who needed one too.
He thumped on Charles' door insistently, but received no response. Walking in unbidden, as was the practice, he was surprised to find the office empty and lights turned off. Where would Charles have gone?
Nathan poked around, and spied a door in the corner he had not paid attention to in the past. Having assumed it was a closet before, he tried the knob and found it unlocked.
He also found that it led to Charles' apartment.
"Hey?" he ventured, wandering a few steps inside. He felt very intrusive, but after their conversation earlier it seemed baffling that the manager would not be working as late as he normally did. He was genuinely concerned for Charles, and figured that he could be excused for trespassing in the name of ensuring his manager was okay.
It was then that Nathan discovered Charles asleep on the couch.
The singer stood paralyzed by the sight, unfamiliar with Charles in such a vulnerable and undressed state. He looked almost calm, though it seemed he had gone to sleep with something bothering him as a slight frown was bent on his face. Nathan watched him intently, but was unable to react quickly enough when Ofdensen rolled forcefully off the couch and onto the floor with a thump.
Charles groaned unhappily, the carpet unforgiving with such a sudden drop. Nathan got to his knees and peered over the manager, waving his hand in front of his face. "You okay?"
The smaller man opened his eyes slowly, blearily, registering a massive shape hovering above him and concerned sounds coming from it. "Nngh."
His eyes focused and brought Nathan into full view; his first thought was how close the man was to him. In his attempt to see if Charles was okay, Nathan had leaned over his body with one arm as a support, and hovered there still, looking at him. Still hazy, he peered up and felt very petite when compared to the bulk suspended above him. How odd it was, to feel small, when he was quite strong himself.
Nathan's thoughts were no longer entirely on Charles' jarred state after falling off the sofa. He found himself curiously lost in the open expressions on the other man's face, not yet tucked away so soon after sleep. Charles' lips were slightly parted, eyes half closed, hair all messy and very unlike his normal steampressed image. He was at once a stranger, yet somehow still undeniably... Charles.
They became simultaneously aware that a moment had occurred, and Nathan gave Charles a completely indecipherable look. It was almost pained, but not. Then, the large singer rose from above him and helped him to his feet, whatever had been in the air for those seconds passing as as if it had never come. Charles blinked.
"You're in my apartment."
Oh yeah, Nathan thought. I am. "I thought you could use a break from work. Looks like you're having one."
"If you can call it that."
"Well, get dressed," he said, shrugging and pushing odd thoughts to the back of his head as he registered again how little clothing the other man had on. Seeing him in suits all the time...
"Why?"
"Um. We're gonna go have fun?" he suggested.
"But I already had my break, as you put it--"
"You didn't have fun, though. You slept on your own couch. Come on, put on whatever it is you wear outside of suits and come with me."
Charles cleared his throat. "I don't, ah... really wear much outside of suits. I have one pair of jeans that probably don't fit, and no shirts."
Nathan looked at him in disbelief. "Seriously?"
He shrugged. "When do I ever need other clothing? I work and then I sleep."
"Fuck it," the singer declared, and without hesitation tugged his own shirt over his head and pulled it onto Charles. Ofdensen sputtered but otherwise did not resist, and Nathan regarded his handiwork with amusement.
"You're little, Charles."
Charles sulked in the giant shirt, distantly aware that it was very warm and smelled incredible. Whatever expression he was making caused a giant grin to crack on Nathan's face, and he laughed, shoving the manager towards his bedroom.
"Pants. Put them on and get back out here. No arguing."
Feeling, correctly, that he had no choice in the matter, Charles did as he was told. Nathan could easily carry him from the room, so cooperating was far more dignified, even if he did look like a five year old in adult's clothing. He quickly donned the jeans, noted their snugness, and decided against wearing them. He hadn't worn jeans this tight since his teen years. Slacks would have to do.
When he emerged, the wide grin reappeared as well. Nathan clapped in amusement.
"Precious," he mused, laughing at Charles' expression of contempt and leading him from the room. "Come on, let's go do whatever the fuck."
After a quick detour to get a second shirt from Nathan's bedroom, they set off in the opposite direction. As they walked down the corridor to the garages, Charles cast a questioning look at the man walking beside him. Something struck him, and he had to ask.
"You're being really friendly. Moreso than I've seen you be with most people. What's the ah... why?"
Nathan shrugged, though it seemed he was keeping something from his voice.
"I dunno," he admitted cautiously. "I guess. I, uh. Was thinking about how you had to be pretty lonely for like a week before I came and talked to you. And I felt like I knew you a lot more even then. And then today I was thinking a lot afterwards. Guess I got ahead of myself. Pretty uh... what's the... word..."
He trailed off, and Charles smiled without entirely knowing why.
"Presumptuous," Nathan exclaimed, snapping his fingers loudly. "Fuck, I can't ever... talk."
"I don't think you're stupid, you know," Charles commented, hands in his pockets
"Huh?"
"You said you weren't stupid, earlier today. That you sounded stupid, but weren't. I've never thought you sounded stupid, I know you have trouble talking. You express yourself differently, that's all. I mean, look at the music you write. Not everyone is good with conversation, and if someone decides you're stupid because of that then..." an edge came into Charles' voice. "Well, then fuck them."
He surprised himself with that, not really sure where it had come from. He glanced at Nathan, who was smiling at him curiously. "Thanks, Charles."
'What a weird fucking day this has been,' Ofdensen thought. "Of course."
"You probably think I'm acting. Uh. Oddly."
"Well, yes, actually."
Nathan shrugged, as he often did. "It's hard to have fun around the guys sometimes. Murderface is a dick so you can't do shit with him. Skwisgaar doesn't do so well with English and he can be kind of a stuck up bitch sometimes anyway. Toki's pretty fun to hang out with and I think he's probably... like... smarter than he seems. It's just a what do you call it."
He glanced at Charles for filler. "Language barrier?"
"Yeah! That. Right. But he's still not so great because even though he's pretty smart I feel weird talking to him because I dunno how much of what I say he gets. More than Skwisgaar, but. Yeah. And then there's Pickles, he's cool but he's fucked up all the time so that's not really good."
"Nathan, you do drink a lot yourself, you know."
"Yeah, but I mean... Pickles. Seriously." Nathan shook his head and made a face.
"Point," Charles laughed.
"So yeah. I don't get to really always be..." he trailed off, and shrugged again.
"Get to be Nathan?"
"Sort of," he said. "I mean yeah I'm me, but not as me as I could be sometimes. Too much fuckin work to deal with around those guys."
They reached the garage, Ofdensen feeling quite unusual as the one Nathan had sought for company. It did seem to make sense in a very Nathan way, though.
"How long did you think about this? You're doing pretty well explaining it. Usually you don't speak so easily," he ventured, hoping he wouldn't offend him but doubting he would.
Again, that shrug. "A long time. It's easier to say things when I figure out what the fuck is going on before I say it. Like, singing. Singing is easy because I write the lyrics down first. So it's like that."
"That makes sense."
Nathan had been thinking about him for a 'long time'?
"So you have this all figured out?"
Casually, Nathan responded without really knowing what he was saying for a moment.
"Not all of it." He snapped his mouth shut, and opened it again quickly. "Well, yeah. Yeah, all of it. Yes."
Charles raised an eyebrow, and decided not to push it. It was a miracle Nathan was speaking so easily about anything, even if it did still take him a while to get a few sentences out without pausing. "Do you trust the others?"
"Eeh," he said vaguely, opening the door of a random vehicle and getting in, gesturing for Charles to follow suit. "I mean yeah, I guess. But we're not supposed to give a shit about each other. Fuck with that and you get some pretty nice drama. I don't like dealing with that."
They rolled out, Charles feeling strangely but comfortably isolated in the car with Nathan and nobody else. He was still out of his element, and had no idea where Nathan figured on taking him or what they would do there. For all he knew, Nathan didn't know where he was going either. Maybe they were both winging it.
Charles was reminded of his first date as a teenager, and then reprimanded himself sharply for even comparing the two situations. This was not...
He shook his head, clearing it. Nathan laughed quietly as he drove.
"You think too much. I can see you doing it right now."
Nathan looked sideways at his manager, who looked so ruffled and almost awkward in the oversized shirt. He looked a bit younger - for all Nathan knew, he looked his real age - and as the man pushed his glasses up on his nose, huge shirtsleeves engulfing his arms, the frontman felt himself smiling again.
"Weird."
"Hm?"
Shrug, gesture. "You make me smile."
He hadn't really thought about his response, nor did he afterward. He'd done his share of deep thought for the day, returning to easy answers and not dwelling on shit he didn't care to think about. Charles, however, was not quite built that way, and he blinked widely at the honesty. The words didn't really mean anything - Charles himself could see Nathan smiling with his own eyes, it was hardly a secret - but somehow meant everything as well. He knew Nathan was prone, in most situations, to just answering honestly without a second thought, and tried not to make a scene about it.
Why did he even care? Nathan could smile at whatever he wanted to, himself included.
"You're thinking again."
"Er... yes. I do that."
"Well fucking cut it out," he suggested, shoving Charles playfully in his seat. "We're going to a bar for a reason. Thinking isn't really what you do there."
The brief drive came to an end at a decently nice bar in Mordland, one Charles knew the boys visited fairly often. Nathan got out and watched Charles do the same, still amused by the giant shirt and the smaller man's discomfort. He held the door open for him as they went in, and nudged him in the direction of the deserted far end of the bar.
"I should have expected a bar," Charles commented, sitting down. "Will you only be willing to spend time with me if I'm drunk?"
"You don't have to get sloppy again. I mean not tonight, eventually yeah, but not all the time. I just figured it's better'n the haus. Can't fuckin be there all the time. Besides, I can't spend all night pinning you down to stop you from crawling back to your paperwork."
A vivid recollection of earlier flashed through Charles' mind, the shape of Nathan's body over his own somehow intense for a second. He shook it off.
They ordered drinks, making useless small talk and not really minding at all. Charles marveled at how much Nathan was talking; not much for a typical person, but a lot for Nathan. Still somewhat slowly, still cautious about certain words, but he had so much more to say than he typically seemed to. Charles commented on it.
"It's hard for me to talk, you know that. It's, uh. I don't know. I have things to say but I can't make words happen. Pretty much all the time. And if I think I have it, I just feel fuckin stupid because I screw it up and sound like I don't know what I'm saying. I'm just no good at talking really."
"You seem to be doing fine now," Charles offered, sipping at his drink. He hadn't a clue what it was, but it wasn't revolting and that's about all that mattered.
"You're easy to talk to," accompanied by the signature shrug.
Again Charles was caught off-guard by the honesty, but didn't let it show.
"So, Charles," Nathan said, a mischievous edge in his voice that Charles had learned over the years to almost fear. "Why don't I ever see you with any women? Don't have time for that either?"
"Er," he supplied, using his drink as a vehicle for his procrastination. "Mm."
Charles was met with an expectant look. Fuck, he wasn't edging out of this one.
"You're pretty much right. I don't have time for relationships. That aside, I couldn't just bring people back to the haus. Security risks, you know."
"Ah, come on, we bring groupies back all the time, surely you could get some time to yourself. You can't have been just, yknow... all these years..."
He trailed off as Charles gave him a very obvious look over the edge of his glass. Nathan gawked.
"Seriously?"
"This job entails a lot of sacrifice."
"Holy shit."
They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes as Nathan pondered that. Charles, too, thought about the long years he'd spent without another person to touch of touch him back. He'd grown accustomed to it, though it had been maddening at first. He may have become a fearsome manager, a prized CFO, and a very dangerous man; but his life leading up to that point had been fairly typical. He'd grown up in an unremakrable town, attended college... he'd been a mostly normal young man. There were plenty of normal pleasures he'd given up to work for Dethklok, and over time he'd managed to deny he still wanted those things.
The price of success was high.
"Don't you miss it?"
"Oh, no," Charles said, very much lying. Nathan shot him a look which echoed his earlier sentiment of 'I'm not stupid,' and Charles blushed at the directness of it all. He heard Nathan mutter something into his glass under his breath, and raised an eyebrow. "What?"
It was Nathan's turn to be embarrassed, though for another reason. He wasn't aware he'd said anything aloud. What he'd been thinking, as Charles blushed uncharacteristically and sat there with ruffled hair and an oversized shirt, was 'Cute.' He'd never meant to say it aloud, mostly because that involved admitting the thought even existed.
"Nothing."
"Hey, come on, what?"
"Nothing!"
Nathan's usual tongue-tied manner returned, frustrating him. He'd been so easily conversing with Charles, feeling so natural doing it. Now he felt awkward and strange.
"Sorry, look, let's forget it," Charles urged him, feeling bad for obviously hitting some kind of nerve. It was difficult for him to read Nathan then, unusually so, but he had obviously done something wrong. The singer gladly returned to the previous subject of conversation, happy to be out of the spotlight.
"So when did you last, uh... yknow..."
"A long time ago, let's just say that much," the manager muttered into is drink, almost bitter if he hadn't found it somewhat darkly funny. "A very long time ago."
"Damn."
Nathan's mind was working against him then, and he fell silent to better control the issue. He wished he was drunk, because then he would have something to blame it on, but as a practiced drinker and a massive man, it took far more than half a beer to get him anywhere close to drunk. It would take more, he figured, for him to come to terms with what was on his mind. He worked on pushing it to the back of his head and ignoring it.
"Now you're the one thinking," Charles laughed, nudging him with his elbow. Nathan snapped out of it and grinned back at him.
"Whatever it is, don't worry about it. You were right to make me come out here. Let's just... have fun."
For the first time in a long time, Charles relaxed of his own accord.
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Parabola