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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
The night was cool, and Nathan sat comfortably on the hood of the car, consuming what could be called a decent hamburger. Crickets were bitching in the grass, filling the otherwise silent parking lot with a nice background hum.
A hand sneaked over to his container of ketchup, swiping some on the end of a long french fry. He raised his eyebrow at Charles, who feigned innocence. "Saw that."
"I did nothing."
He smirked a little, and reached over to steal one of the man's fries; he had his own, but this was more fun. Charles gave him an amused look, and poked back at the ketchup again in response. This went back and forth for a few minutes, both of them shooting the other false disapproving frowns as the food was exchanged.
Nathan finished his burger and leaned back against the windshield, waiting. Sure enough, here came another fry bound for his cup of ketchup, and he snatched it out of Charles' hand and popped it into his mouth. Charles nudged the frontman's knee with his foot playfully.
"That was cheating."
"I did nothing," Nathan replied, trying to imitate Charles' cool tone and failing badly. He reached out and gave him a small shove in answer to his nudge, and took another fry. Charles shoved him back, on the shoulder this time.
A minute or two passed, and Charles reached over again to dip a fry into the cup, wearing a look that dared him to respond.
Nathan struck, grabbing Charles' arm and rolling him onto his back. For a moment he had forgotten who he was messing around with; it wasn't uncommon for him and the other guys to rough-house a bit. So because of this, he just wasn't thinking when he pinned the manager to the hood of the car, wrists above his head on the windshield, feeling quite victorious about winning the little scuffle.
And then quite suddenly, he was thinking again.
Charles' body was pressed between his own and the car, warm and lean beneath him. His chest was heaving from the exertion of fighting with the larger man, breath coming in short gasps, and Nathan was acutely aware of the way his mouth was open to do this. They'd ended up in a compromising position, neither meaning to, and as he registered that he was hovering over Charles, kneeling between his legs and holding him down, his brain stopped working again.
The buzzing of crickets was drowned out by the rushing in his ears, and he fought against something he now wanted to do versus what he should do. Charles wasn't struggling anymore, or doing much at all but breathing heavily and looking at him with such... what was that? It was a really unreadable expression, because Nathan had just never seen it before.
Charles himself knew what it was, and he didn't have the presence of mind to wipe it off his face. It was desire.
He wanted the huge singer with a ferocity that had doubled in his moment of weakness, and it threatened to make him act in a way he would surely regret. All kinds of images were racing through his head at the way they were lying there, registering the weight of Nathan's hips on his own. If he could have gathered himself enough to think, he would have been sure he'd never wanted anything so much as he did at that moment.
His breathing returned to normal, but his mouth stayed open, stunned into a part. Charles couldn't function, couldn't do anything appropriate or otherwise because his brain just wouldn't process movement at all. Nathan was still staring down at him, eyes wide now and looking almost... restrained? No, it couldn't be. He had just been fucking around, it was what Nathan did, and it wasn't his fault they had ended up in such a position.
Charles wanted it to be his fault. He wanted it all to be intentional; he wanted to be pressed into the hood of the car with the singer's whole body, firm against his own, and driven by the same want and need he had inside of himself. It wasn't happening, but he so wanted it to that he almost let himself go. He wanted to push for it, to see what would happen if he just... for once, did something for himself.
Nathan's grip loosened on Charles, one thumb running over the smaller man's wrists slowly and thoughtlessly. He bit the inside of his lip and tried to collect himself, feeling a searing heat spread through him as he watched Charles just lying there beneath him, not trying to wrestle further but not asking him to get off either. It gave him a good view of the manager's neck, which seemed so much more exposed, almost as if Charles was baring it to him; the mental images this provided were quite enough, and he tasted blood as he bit a tiny hole in his lip.
He didn't know how many minutes had passed, but they all collectively ceased as he rolled off of Charles fluidly, onto his back on the windshield as if nothing had ever happened. As if he hadn't just been that close to crushing their mouths together and begging to be forgiven afterwards. He was so desperate to be physically close to Charles that it made him ache. It would have almost been worth it, but Nathan couldn't alienate him. He just couldn't.
Charles breathed a silent but heavy sigh, feeling drained from what had just happened. His whole body had been tense, straining to get away from his control and wrap itself around Nathan. What a dangerous moment that had been, pushing his limit like that. He ran his hand through his hair and tried to act normally, as Nathan beside him was doing easily. Nothing unusual had happened; this was just play, and he couldn't afford to reveal that he'd been so deeply affected by it. He didn't want to have to answer questions about his reaction.
He wasn't sure he could lie.

*********

The drive home had been uneventful, small talk made and exchanged, but they'd left each other on a positive note. Charles hadn't commented on Nathan pinning him, and for that Nathan was incredibly relieved. It had just gotten out of hand. He let Charles head back to his room alone, hopefully to get some sleep rather than to work in the dead of night, and retreated to his bedroom.
He shut the door and leaned heavily against it, feeling drained from holding himself back all night. So many little things he had wanted to do, over and over, so many slight gestures of affection he'd wanted to give to Charles and couldn't. It was exhausting to be so careful.
Nathan had expected being attracted to a man to be different, somehow, from being attracted to a woman. It really wasn't, though, and it was throwing him off. He wanted to do most of the same basic things to Charles as he would to a female, and it seemed a lack of practice did not inhibit his imagination in the slightest. He was becoming more and more comfortable with the fantasies his brain was conjuring up, and with his attraction in general. It wasn't his fault; Charles was just so easy to want.
A knock came at the door, and he tensed. Was it Charles?
No, it was Pickles. Nathan looked at the drummer in surprise, then gestured for him to come in. "Hey. Kinda, uh, late. What's going on?"
Pickles shuffled his feet and shot Nathan a shit-eating grin. "So I saw yeh comin' back jest now. How was yer date?"
"What?" Nathan narrowed his eyes dangerously. What the fuck?
"C'mahn, Ah'm nat stupid. Yer mystery guy is Ahfdensen, reet? Ya spend all yer time with him."
He wouldn't let Nathan know how obvious it was, but something had to give. Pickles was curious, and had to know how it was going. They were just too interesting of an item to ignore.
Nathan glared at him some more and he waved the man away. "Ah'm nat gonna say anythin' to him, don't worry. Stap lookin' at me like that, Christ."
"Fine, yeah. You're right."
Grinning even wider, Pickles nodded. "Yeeuh. So how'd it go?"
"It wasn't a date," Nathan corrected, though now he wasn't so sure. "It was, uh, fun. We got food."
"Ya make a move ahn him yet?"
"NO."
Taken aback a little, Pickles shrugged. "Why nat?"
Nathan sat down on the edge of his bed irritably. This had not been in his plans for the night. "Just. Stuff. Y'know."
"Whet?"
He gestured at himself. "Me."
"Whet about ya?"
Giving him a look that clearly wondered if the drummer was stupid, Nathan tried to form a few sentences without choking on them. Pickles was a good guy, but it was still fucking hard to talk to him about this. Spending time with Charles had spoiled him with ease of conversation, and he found himself back to normal without the other man around. It was frustrating.
"Just. I'm not, uh. The kind of guy. That a guy like him would, uh, be interested. In. Obviously."
Pickles shook his head. "I wouldn't be so sure, Nate."
"Well. I am. Sure," he clarified, shrugging. "Okay?"
"Nat okay. Give yerself some credit, hey? Yer not a bad-lookin' guy, don't take it in a creepy way or anythin', and yer a nice dood. He knows ya pretty dern well, he knows what kinda guy ya are. Why would he wanna spend time around ya otherwise? I bet ya gat more of a chance than ya think."
Okay, so he was cheating. A little. But he wasn't coming right out and tampering with the situation, just giving Nathan a little bit of a... push. Some encouragement. They'd both get there in the end, Pickles was sure, but damn if they weren't being stubborn. He reminded himself to talk to Charles again the next time he had a few minutes. Get the update from him.
"That's. Pretty nice, Pickles, but. I mean. Look at me."
Nathan felt rather sorry for himself, thinking about it. He would contemplate it a few times every day and it always brought him down, had done ever since he'd begun wondering about Charles months before. He hadn't known why then, but he knew now. He just wasn't good enough. Why Pickles thought otherwise, he had no idea.
"Ah'm lookin' at ya. Nothin' wrong with ya."
"Fuck, I'm just not good enough for him!" Nathan almost shouted, managing a full sentence in his anger. This gave Pickles pause; he'd never really thought of the frontman as having a self esteem issue before, other than on occasion about his body. Did he think he wasn't a nice guy? What was the problem?
"I dunno if I can change yer mind about that," he started, trying to sound reassuring, "but yer wrong. Really wrong. I bet Ahfdensen would have somethin' ta say about that. Yeh'd have ta ask him, though."
"Forget it. I'm just. Not gonna do anything. Gonna be, uh, normal. Deal with it, my own way. I'll get over it."
They shared a look, and both knew that he very well would not get over it.
"Whet's the prahblem ya got with yerself, if ya don't mind me askin'?"
Nathan was quiet, but years around the man told Pickles that he was thinking rather than ignoring him. The drummer waited patiently, knowing an interruption would only make Nathan more uncomfortable and an answer more unlikely.
"I'm," Nathan started, but paused again. "Just. Big. Clumsy. Really awkward. And, he, uh, isn't. He's all..."
He gestured, trying to sum up how cool and composed Charles always managed to be. "And he's, uh, smarter. Good with work. I'm. Lazy, and I don't... talk right. I'm a big asshole and he's. Just."
A long pause, and Pickles gave him a look that encouraged him to finish. "Amazing."
Watching Nathan's face during what had to have been a very difficult few sentences, Pickles had seen a whirlwind of emotions crossing the big guy's face. He was obviously so torn up about it, obviously cared so much and was very attached to Ofdensen. Anybody could have seen it then, plain on the singer's face, and Pickles patted him on the shoulder.
"I think yer sellin' yerself short," he said, "cause ya got a lot of deep feelin's goin' on here. And I bet that's all Ahfdensen would care about."
He felt like he'd said all he could, and got up from the seat on the bed he had drifted to during the conversation. It almost seemed mean to leave Nathan alone when he was so broken up about it - and it was Pickles' fault for poking the wound - but he knew the frontman would rather have some time with his emotions without someone else there to see them. It was best if he left.
"Pickles."
Pickles paused halfway out the door. "Yeeuh?"
"You. Really think I, uh. Have a shot?"
"Yeeuh, I really do."
Nathan was quiet, and Pickles took that as his cue to go. He did, leaving the singer alone with that to ponder.
- 8
- 9
- 10
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Parabola