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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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The dryness in the back of Charles' throat could be ignored no longer; he woke from a pleasant sleep into a less pleasant reality. God, had light always been this bright...? He opened his eyes all the way, looking around at where he was. Surprisingly, the view was not of his own bedroom or his office. Instead, he was in... oh. This was Nathan's bedroom. Hmm.
He looked down at the bottom of the bed, and saw Nathan lying on his side, knees bent, sound asleep. One giant hand was outstretched in his direction, limp against the sheets, and Charles considered it. He was considering a lot of things, if briefly, but he chalked it up to how frazzled his mind was. There would be a shameful lack of productivity in his office that day, he could tell.
Swearing lightly at the pounding in his head, Charles sat up and made his way to the door. He needed a drink - a real drink, not an alcoholic one - and he needed it immediately. Sleeping with his mouth open was a habit he never managed to break, and it always dried out his throat terribly in the night. He snuck cautiously out of the room, seeing nobody down the hall in the direction of the main room and the kitchen, and --
"Ahfdensen?"
Caught. Charles turned and saw Pickles coming from the other end of the hall. He gave his best innocent half-smile and tried to look professional.
"Pickles. Good morning."
"Whet were ya doin' in there?" the drummer asked, confused. "And whet's ep with yer clothes?"
"Ahhh... that is..."
It occurred to Charles that his appearance was quite damning of the fact that he'd had fun the previous night. He ran a hand through his hair and found it entirely loose and ruffled; the blurred lines around Pickles betrayed a lack of glasses, though he didn't know where they had gone, and then there was the fact that he was wearing Nathan's shirt. Quite obviously, since it was enormous. This probably did not look good, he reflected.
"I'm getting a drink of water?" he supplied at last, well aware it answered none of the questions.
"Yeeuh, but-"
"Walk with me, Pickles."
Shrugging, the drummer obeyed. They strolled in silence towards the kitchens, until Charles cleared his sore throat with a wince. "Nathan thinks I should have some fun in my life."
"Whet kinda fun?" Pickles asked, eyeing the manager's appearance. He wasn't stupid.
"Just normal fun. Honestly. He took me out drinking last night and I didn't have any casual clothes, that's why... this..." he plucked at the giant shirt. "And I had too much to drink again, we went back to his room to talk and I fell asleep there. That's really the end of the story. I promise."
"If ya say so, Chief. Jest be careful."
"Hm?"
"Don't steart somethin' ya ken't finish."
Charles raised an eyebrow at Pickles, wondering where this was coming from. Pickles spoke as if he knew which way Charles swung, but that was impossible. Wasn't it?
"Pickles, come out and say it, whatever it is."
The drummer grinned. "Come out is about right. Look Charlie, Ah'm nat stupid an' I notice things. Ya jest gat the vibe around ya. Besides, pretty sher I saw ya at one o' my old concerts suckin' face with another guy, an' it's nat my business an' I ain't tellin' ya I mind. Bet Ah'm tellin' ya I know men, so don' get tied epp in this. Yer a lonely dood. Don' let it, eh, yknoo. Cloud yer jedgement."
Charles gaped at him. "What?"
"Come ahn. Ya saw my old band. Is it that shockin' I'd know a thing'r two about spottin' a gay guy?"
"I... have to admit, no."
"There ya go. Ah'm jest sayin', I live with ya, and I notice. The other guys wouldn't know what ta look fer. Anyway..." Pickles shrugged. "Jest don't get yerself hurt, is all I'm sayin'."
"I'm just spending time with him," Charles argued. "I'm not gunning for a date, here."
"Ya say thet now. But ya jest wait. Yeh'll see."
And the drummer was off, walking back down the hall where they'd come from with a hop in his step. Charles looked after him in absolute bafflement.
Goddamn Snakes 'n' Barrels.
It was true, though, that he had been a fan of the band back in his youth. What shocked him was the Pickles recalled any details from those days with all the drugs and time that had passed. He couldn't deny, yes, he'd taken a fair few dates to see the band and had quite the time while they were there. Distantly he hoped Pickles did not recall what he had been wearing at the time; young Charles had been deplorably eighties.
His mouth drier than ever, Charles fetched a glass of water from the kitchen and returned to the singer's bedroom quickly, intending to search for his glasses. When he got there, though, Nathan was awake and actually wearing the glasses in question, inspecting every object around him as though it were much further away. Charles coughed.
"You're kind of, uh. Blind." he said by way of explanation, taking off the thin frames and passing them to their owner. "Brutal."
"I can see just fine without them, honestly."
"I can't see fine with them," Nathan argued.
This made Charles laugh into his water. "That's because they're not yours. You know how glasses work."
Nathan noticed a bead of water clinging to Charles' lower lip, thrown up by his sputtered laughter into the cup. Comfortable as he was, he didn't have the presence of mind to consider his next action before it happened; he reached out and smoothed the drop of liquid away from Charles' mouth with the pad of his thumb. He hadn't intended for it to mean anything - hadn't intended anything at all by doing it - but once it had happened it seemed much more significant.
"Er..."
Overcome by the awkwardness of what had just occurred, Nathan stood and left Charles sitting alone... in his bedroom. He had thrown himself out of his own room. Fuck. Well, he couldn't just walk back in, he figured, so he set off to the kitchen to get food. Charles would forget about it.
Back in the bedroom, Charles was not forgetting about it. What baffled him was not quite the contact, but Nathan's subsequent embarrassment at it. Clearly the frontman had felt that what he'd done had been inappropriate - and yes, it had been very sudden and unexpected - which suggested... what, exactly? What went through Nathan's head after he'd touched Charles' lips that made him so uncomfortable?
"Oh god," he muttered. "It's not me that Pickles needs to worry about..."
Pickles. That was it. He'd go talk to Pickles, and figure out what was going on that way. At the very least he should leave Nathan's room, so the man could come back to where he lived without having to deal with Charles.
Maybe Pickles would have a cure for his hangover, too.
But for all the problems Charles seemed to think Pickles could solve, the drummer was not in his room, and therefore not found. Unwilling to seek him out elsewhere, since this really was not something that needed to be examined further, Charles retreated to his quarters. He'd shower, he'd put on normal clothes, and he'd get the hell back to his job. His break was over, and perhaps it was for the best if it stayed that way.

*********

Pickles was not in his room because he was hanging out with the rest of the band. They afforded such great entertainment, how could he not? Watching TV and bickering, as usual, Murderface and Toki were arguing about the characters in some randow show the latter had been absorbed in before Pickles had even come into the room. It didn't appear to be relevant anymore, as far as he could tell, since the channel was now showing an infomercial and had been for some time. That wouldn't stop them, though.
"But Rose makes the Doctor happies! Dat's why he's does dis for hers. Is a loves t'ing!"
"Love, my assch. That's pretty gay."
"Is not gay, dat's mens and mens togedders likes Captain Jacks. How's loves between ladies and mens gay, Moidaface? Yous not makes any sense! The Doctor ams brutal," Toki stressed.
"It'sch juscht pusschy schtuff. Schacrifisching hisch schafety for schome girl. He schould be looking out for number one."
Nathan came in with a bowl of colourful cereal, seating himself on the floor behind where his bandmates floated in the hot tub and grunting a greeting to Pickles. He switched the channels idly as he muched his late breakfast, mostly tuning out Murderface's nasal bitching. You became accustomed to it, like a noisily malfunctioning air conditioner, he thought.
"Fagsch," Murderface dismissed, waving away whatever Toki had been saying about his show. Catching this, at least, Nathan smacked him on the back of his greasy head with one heavy hand. Murderface flinched. "Ow, what the fuck, Nathan?"
"Don't call people that."
"Whatever," he said, shrugging it off as the frontman being in a shitty mood. Pickles, however, raised an eyebrow at this. Had Charles let Nathan in on his little secret? It would seem that way... but it also seemed like more than Charles would be willing to divulge. He'd been shocked enough when the drummer had correctly guessed about it. Then again, they'd all seen a drunk CFO. He probably told Nathan a lot of things last night...
"Ya have a good time last night, Nathan?" he pried, seeing what kind of response he would get. The singer frowned, pausing as he ate, and then his face settled a little.
"Yeah."
Well, so much for that; it barely counted as a response at all. "Why didn't ya invite us?"
"Uh. I dunno. You guys were... it was spur. Of the moment. Yknow. No planning."
"Wheres you gos last nights, Nathans?" Toki asked, looking hurt. "We's not goes anywheres! You coulds have taken us!"
"It was just. Toki, I... uh. Next time?" he ventured, trying to get the rhythm guitarist off his back and into a less pitiable mood. He didn't know how Pickles knew he'd been out, but he didn't really want to be interrogated about it.
"Okays! We's gonna have a real good time. Yous lets me know."
"Where did you go anyway, dude?" Now Murderface was interested. Fuck, did it never end?
"Just out. I went out, to drink."
"Alone? That'sch schad, man."
Pickles held his tongue. Skwisgaar, however, looked up from his practising across the room to pass comment. "No. He goes out wit de butler. I sees dem leaving. Probablies have dull boringks time wit dat guy, no tanks you, I stays here."
"Wits Charleses? No fair! I likes him drunks, he's funny," Toki complained. "Yous shoulds have brings me."
Murderface gave him a strange look; or maybe it was just his face, Nathan amended. "You went drinking with our manager? That'sch weird."
"It's not weird!" Calm down, he thought irritably. "Look, get the fuck off my back. I took Charles out to get some drinks, just palling around, it doesn't fucking matter. Like you guys give a shit."
"'Charlesch'? Schincsche when do you call him Charlesch? Schincsche when do you pal around with him anyway?"
"Since whenever the fuck I want to, Murderface," Nathan snapped, standing up. He was tired of this bullshit. "I don't see anybody trying to spend time around you, maybe you should be more worried about that."
He turned on his heel and left, short fuse once again lit. All the questions had just made him feel too much like he was in a spotlight, even though they couldn't possibly know why he was so bothered by it. Hell, he didn't even really know. He just felt oversensitive on the whole subject, and that pissed him off even more. Nathan carried his cereal back to his room, recalling that he'd been reading before ever deciding to talk to Charles and begin this... situation. That's what he'd do; he'd read, and eat his damn breakfast, and then maybe go and make sure Charles wasn't working too hard. Fuck those guys, they could do whatever they wanted.
And so could he.
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Parabola