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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Nathan sat on his bed, fully dressed and considering his options. He'd acknowledged an undeniable attraction to Charles with what he'd done, and it both simplified his thought processes and deeply complicated things. He couldn't tack on "but Charles is a guy, so you can't feel that way about him" anymore, because it would be immediately updated with "oh, except that you used him as masturbation material." This made him way more honest with himself, and also more uncomfortable. He wasn't even sure what the implications of that were, and he didn't want to go into it.
Simpler, but more complicated - how was that possible?
He ground his teeth, the stress of so much self-examination getting to him. Normally his actions required far less serious consideration: he wanted to do something, and he did it. Most things ended there. What he needed was someone else to talk to, who could help him work this out. He didn't feel confident that he could do it on his own, not for much longer. It had been a very stressful train of thought and he doubted it could make it to the next station.
Resigning himself to at least talk to Charles, though not necessarily about anything relevant, he left his room and went wandering through the halls. He tried to think of something else, anything else, but it was difficult to the point of being impossible. Charles now consumed his thoughts more than before. He'd been thinking of him for some time before even approaching him... but the frequency of his thoughts then had been tame compared to the present. Wasn't addressing a problem supposed to help solve it? Hadn't he... addressed... the problem?
Maybe not, he thought. Maybe that didn't count as addressing it at all. Who the fuck knew?
He reached Charles' office and tried to walk in as he always did, but was met by an obstacle: the door was locked. This was unusual, and so he tried the knob repeatedly before realizing what was going on. Why was the door locked? Where was Charles?
Nathan tried knocking. "Hello? Hey, Charles? You in there?"
No response. 'He wouldn't just ignore me, would he?'
Definitely not, he decided. Charles might have been made uncomfortable by all the attention, he had already assumed as much, but when it came down to it he wouldn't make himself unavailable to the band just because of that. They'd been pretty mean to him in the past and even then he'd put up with their crap. It had to be something else, and for that realization he was grateful.
He stepped back, confused. There was no desire to break down the door - though he was unsure if it was a nice, sturdy one or something he could take out with one foot - because the unavoidable truth was that Charles would not be pleased, and it was never good to make him angry. No Klokateer would be willing to help piss off their CFO, and Nathan was just as hesitant. So that option was not available to him.
At a loss, he wandered back down towards the other bedrooms. Still wanting someone who could potentially help him work out his thoughts, to lay them out straight, he chose the direction of Pickles' room. Murderface wasn't even an option, and he had never communicated too easily with Toki or Skwisgaar due to the language barrier. If he could talk to anyone that wasn't Charles, it would be Pickles. And he was the oldest member of Dethklok, so he probably knew his shit when it came to drama and confusion.
Nathan stopped for a moment, standing in the hallway as he mulled over a new thought. Would Pickles make fun of him? He didn't have to know all the details - and Nathan doubted he could even reveal that much to anyone, sensitive as the subject was - but none of the musicians were known for their caring or emotional side. Displaying that to Pickles would be risky. He didn't really seem like a dick, and they'd known each other for a long time... it was still odd to him, though. He'd only just admitted his feelings to himself, and saying it out loud in any way was a bigger step than he was ready for.
But god, he needed to talk to someone. He was going fucking crazy trying to figure it all out.
He'd just have to take a chance on Pickles.
The drummer emerged a minute after Nathan pounded on his door, looking tired but decently functional; typical Pickles on an average day. He looked up at his friend with a confused expression, as if he really couldn't figure out what Nathan could possibly want from him.
"He-ey, Nate. Whet can I do fer ya?"
"I wanna, uh, talk. About something important. Can I...come in?"
"Sher, yeah, go on," he said, moving aside to let Nathan in. He hadn't expected the singer to come to him; Charles perhaps, but not him. If this was about what he thought it was, he was about to be party to a very awkward conversation. Pickles half hoped he was mistaken, but also knew that it was going to be very entertaining... provided it didn't end terribly.
Hell, he was an optimist.
Nathan sat on the bed awkwardly, shoulders slumped and hands on his knees. Shutting the door and leaning against it, Pickles stuck his hands in his pockets and waited for the big guy to become comfortable enough to talk. An indistinguishable mumble issued forth, and he raised one pierced eyebrow in confusion.
"Whet?"
"How, uh," Nathan repeated, raising his voice a bit, "do you deal. With."
There was a very long pause that Pickles knew better than to interrupt.
"Wanting to... being attracted. To your friend." He glanced up, looking like he wanted to bolt.
Pickles smiled at him. "Eh, thet's no big deal. Everybahdy has ta deal with that sometime. Jest be yerself."
"You sound like my mom. Pickles, uh, do me a favour."
"Yeeuh?"
"Don't talk to me like I'm, uh, a kid. All right? This isn't fuckin' simple. And neither am I."
Fuck, he had a point. What Pickles had said was basically the universal pat response to a thirteen-year-old's crush on his classmate. It really wasn't going to assist a fully grown man in romancing his emotionally repressed manager - which is what he had assumed Nathan was there about.
"Fair enough, sahrry," he said, scratching the back of his neck. Actual effort would have to be applied here; Nathan sincerely wanted his help. It'd be easier if he would come out and admit what was going on, though Pickles already knew more than he was supposed to just from talking to Charles. Nathan couldn't know that, though. "Look, why dontcha level with me, here, an' tell me whet's goin' ahn? I won't tell anybahdy else."
Nathan scowled, but only a little. Hints of a blush rose on his cheekbones. "Don't really want to do that."
"Makes it harder fer me ta help ya."
"Well." He appeared to see the logic in this, and gave pause. Casting a wretched look at the drummer, Nathan cleared his throat. "Well fuck, fine, but you can't tell anybody, all right?"
"Ah swear. Ya can trust me, I prahmise."
"I'm kind of into this... guy..." Nathan paused, and gave him a threatening look. Pickles was careful to make sure he didn't appear amused by this, not wanting the frontman to think he was being mocked. That would be bad, and also incorrect; he was in no position to mock other people for their sexual preferences, given what he'd done in the eighties. "And that's kinda fuckin' odd for me. So I'm just not really sure what to do. About it. You know. Him. The guy."
"Okee, well, thet's fine. Ya don't have ta worry about it, Ah'm nat gonna judge ya. Do ya think he likes ya back?"
"What?"
"This guy ahf yers," he clarified. "Do ya think he feels the same way?"
Nathan shook his head. "No. Probably not. Don't count on it."
"Why nat?"
"'Cause," he said, shrugging one shoulder. "I'm me, and he's... look, I don't wanna get into. This. Shit with you. Let's just say no, probably not."
"Ah." Pickles decided not to push it. "What do ya want ta do about this?"
"I dunno!" He threw up his hands in frustration, and ran one through his hair. "What the fuck do I know, anyway? This isn't my... area. I wasn't good at it when it was women. Now what. Yknow?"
"I... yeeuh. I get it. Yer kinda lahst?"
"Yeah. Fuck yeah."
Pickles gnawed on one fingernail thoughtfully. So Nathan was attracted to Ofdensen, that much he could gather from what was going on. He seemed pretty sure about it, despite his discomfort, so that was at least positive. But Pickles didn't want to just send him off to Charles with a mission to get shot down. He couldn't assume Charles was on the same page as Nathan - though he had a suspicion that he was, or would be soon enough. It was all kind of obvious from an outsider's perspective, but that didn't mean Charles wouldn't be in denial. And they were damned cute together, he mused, a huge singer and a comparatively tiny manager.
What to do?
"Look, Nate'n," he began, speaking slowly as he put together his thoughts. "Don' rule out anythin' jest yet. Ah'm nat sayin' ta go rushin' in, 'cause ya shouldn't. But, entertain the idea of nat bein' shot down right away. Bein' pessimistic ain't gonna help."
"O...kay." Nathan really didn't see the point in that; he felt that he would only be setting himself up for disappointment if he did it. But whatever.
Pickles wasn't done. "Jest try an' show this guy that ya care about him. Be really good ta him, give a fuck, ask him about shit and get him ta talk to ya. Like... be his friend, but be the fuckin' best one he's ever had. Show him how much he means ta ya. Show him yer serious. Demonstrate, eh, conviction if ya will. Y'know what I mean?"
"Yeah, I get the idea."
"Awreet. We good, then, on this?"
Nathan nodded, looking far less uncomfortable than he had when they had begun the conversation. He half-grinned at Pickles and rose from the bed, stopping before he left to give the drummer a meaningful look.
"Thanks, Pickles. Seriously."
"Anytime, Nate."
The door closed, and Pickles tossed himself onto the bed leisurely. Boy, what a fucking ride they were in for. He only hoped it would end well, and not with total disaster.
Nathan slowly made his way back in the direction of Charles' office, thinking about his conversation with Pickles. 'Show him that I care? I'm not supposed to care, how the fuck do I...'
It occurred to him that he had really already been doing that. Even demanding to get to know him, pulling him out of work to relax, those were things that showed he cared - he'd been doing those without much hesitation. And fuck, he cared a lot. There were probably plenty of other things he could do to get his point across.
The conflict was there in the back of his head; he felt sure any advances he made would be poor, and rejected in any case. But despite this, he still wanted to make sure Charles was aware of his importance. It seemed like he didn't really give a fuck about himself, and Nathan couldn't let that go on. It was the point, it was how it had all started. Charles didn't care about himself. Someone had to do it for him, because he didn't have time.
Nathan, however, had lots of time.
He knocked on the office door, first normally and then pounding in a more Nathan-ish manner. Frustrated when still no response came from inside, he sat down on the floor and leaned against the door in defeat. Wherever Charles was, he would come back to that office eventually, and Nathan would be there waiting for him when he did.
'Maybe he's in his room...' It seemed likely, but the only door Nathan knew of that led to the CFO's quarters was inside that locked office. Otherwise, he would have had no qualms about walking in on him sleeping or eating or whatever. Charles was easiest to convince into relaxation when he was caught unawares. Nathan wondered if there was a kitchen in that little apartment-thing the man lived in, and figured that if there was not then Charles would be forced to emerge and eat at some point. He had to leave sometime.
'Sometime', he learned, could take kind of a while to happen. He had been there for over an hour - though he wasn't actually aware of the exact time - and was beginning to feel it in his ass and lower back. The floors of Mordhaus were hardly comfortable, which he'd never taken the time to find out before. Despite the growing ache, he was also quite tired. He didn't want to just leave, mostly because he was terribly stubborn, and because with his luck, Charles would leave his room just as Nathan departed. So there he decided to stay, though it looked like he might be in for the long haul.
Being stubborn never kept anybody awake. Nathan fell asleep half an hour later.

*********

As it happened, Charles did have a kitchen in his quarters. It was small, but he was only one man and he didn't need much. He was in it while, without his knowledge, Nathan slept uncomfortably outside his office door, and he was eating a sandwich. Bacon fried with sliced onions, on bread with some light margarine. Waking up on his own couch for the second time that week had been a little dismaying - one couldn't help but feel a bit pitiful doing that, especially when you lived alone and there was nobody to banish you to the couch in the first place - and he wanted something tasty to cheer himself up. His throat was also unbearably dry, as having his legs elevated had only made his open-mouthed sleeping problem worse, so he got a tall glass of water to accompany his oily abomination.
So he was still unhappy, but at least he wasn't hungry anymore. He considered it a plus.
Now that he was awake, he was automatically thinking again. He just couldn't help it. The paperwork was still at the very back of his mind, since it just wasn't important enough to worry about. Nathan had occupied even his dreams, and was the object of his mind's wanderings. Charles had always known Nathan was an attractive man, but had ignored any type of yearnings he might have had for him over the years. It wasn't beneficial for Nathan if he had unresolved sexual tension coming from his manager, and so it just wasn't happening.
Or at least, he told himself it wasn't happening.
Really, it was. And he knew it.
Charles decided to distract himself with a book. He wasn't capable of sleeping again just yet, due to a strict internal clock, but he could slack like nobody's business if he really needed to. And at that moment he needed to escape from the thoughts swirling around his head. So he picked up the most recent thing he had been reading - when he had time - which was Palahniuk's most recent novel, Pygmy. He was halfway through and quite enjoying it, though he hadn't touched it in weeks. Workloads were seldom as light and trivial as they were that night.
The next couple of hours were dispatched finishing the book entirely, and he closed it thoughtfully before returning it to his coffee table. It was late, by that time, and he felt the need to get a few basic things done. Check on the boys... ensure they had not destroyed anything... check the voicemail...
Suddenly Charles felt tired again. God, what was going on with him? No, he decided, he just couldn't put things off anymore that day, and forced himself into his pajamas. Wandering the house even for a short time in his underwear wasn't going to happen; he was not Pickles.
No nasty surprises awaited him on the voicemail; desperate sponsors hoping for a crack at Dethklok, pleading fans and a few actual calls of mild importance, which he noted on a post-it. He deleted the rest, not wanting to have to hear them a second time, and set off for the main room to check on the band. They would probably all be asleep or at least in their respective rooms, but it was best to look there first.
He opened the door, and found his path blocked by a large, slumped shape. Charles frowned, and peered over his glasses at the sleeping form of Nathan Explosion. Without the door behind his back for support, he slowly fell backwards onto the carpeted floor of the office, head between Charles' feet. It didn't seem to have woken him up.
"Nathan? What are you doing sleeping in the hallway?" he asked loudly, toeing the singer's temple. Nathan twitched and opened his eyes slowly, looking pleased with himself when he realized who was speaking to him.
"What d'you think?" He responded, as if the answer was obvious. "I was waiting for you."
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Parabola