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DOG	By : Spug Category: +M through R > Metalocalypse > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1918 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Metalocalypse, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-DOG
- 1
Fandom: Metalocalypse

Pairing: Nathan/Murderface

Rating: NC-17 Language, explicit sex, urination

Archive: Knock your self out.

Characters are © Brendon Small & Adult Swim. Used without permission.
DOG

by Spug
He'd always liked animals. Cats were especially worthy of attention, but Nathan liked dogs as well. He could remember back to his childhood; having that mutt who was an especially rascally goofball – so many hours of fun and companionship. Up until his dad had gotten the mutt neutered, it had been his best friend. His father had been appalled at the behavior of dog and son. Especially when Nathan let that animal lick his face, even after it had licked its own ass or eaten from the trash. Children don't comprehend the meaning of what's appropriate; the world is simple place. And dogs made good pets.
But even as an adult, Nathan Explosion wasn't appropriate. And he liked dogs. Mordhaus didn't have any real dogs to pal around with; granted, he could have had one had he demanded - but with the yard wolves around a mere mangy pooch wouldn't have survived. Its innards would have been steaming a perfumed stink in the snow minutes after he'd let it out to piss. So that was a no. Having a dog in Mordhaus wasn't a good idea.
But a dog man...
Ah yes. There was one resident of the vast blood-red hallways of Mordhaus that reminded Nathan of his mangy companion of his childhood. A certain someone who had more dog-qualities than anyone he'd ever met.
Murderface.
He'd said it to the other man's mug once. Dogface. Ugly dogface. It really was the truth. William Murderface wasn't someone's cutesy Pomeranian lap dog. Nah. He was a straggly mangy curly haired mutt. He was the type of dog you found roaming the alleyways with bristled back fur, growling over bits of scraps. Or some redneck's hound tied to a fence post by some boating rope or a hauling chain, flies buzzing as it laid on its side, bloated belly and flickering ear. Those were awesome dogs.
Tonight, Murderface seemed the alleydog, because he was nowhere to be found. Nathan had been searching for the bassist for over an hour, heavy boots tromping up and down the hallways. He looked in places dogs like to be. On the couch where they could spend hours snoozing. In the yard to dig or scratch bluntish claws (or in Murderface's case, a knife) into tree bark or the ground. In the kitchen begging for scraps, getting into the trash can for the last bit of roast beef. Nowhere to be found.
Needed to teach him the meaning of 'Stay'.
He finally spotted the goofball going into one of Mordhaus' bathrooms, muttering loudly to himself and itching fruitlessly at the back of his own neck.
Nathan whistled.
Murderface paused at the bathroom door and shot a pair of feral lime green eyes in his direction. The lead singer was giving a scowl. “What do you want? I gotta pisch.” Wet growl complete with spit.
Nathan rolled his eyes upward for a minute as if he'd forgotten what he'd been trying to find Murderface for. “Let's uh.. go outside.”
“Why?” An upper lip curled on the bassist.
“I uh…lost my tape recorder. Help me find it,” Nathan ordered bluntly, giving his own darker green eyed gaze hard back at the other. Dogs didn't like it when you made eye contact. A show of aggression. Not that Nathan gave a shit.
It did make Murderface aggressive, though. Had he fur he would have bristled it. “Schoo?” he snapped. “Like that'sch my fault! Find it yerschelf.”
Dog. Disobedient dog.
“Don't be such an asshole. You were the last one I was with when I last saw it. So fuckin' c’mon.” Nathan's hard face frowned deeper as he took a couple steps forward. He wasn't gonna ask. He didn't feel that it was his place to beg Murderface to help. The fucker had probably hid the damn thing on him. Buried it in the ground or something.
“Fuck you,” the bassist barked. “I gotta take a leak, I ain’t yer fuckin' bloodhound.” Oh how ironic. Murderface's boots scuffed loudly as he shoved his palm into the bathroom door and headed inside.
Runaway dog.
He needed a fucking leash. Nathan stared blankly for a second before tromping after the other, shoving the door back open with his shoulder. Murderface was unzipping his shorts and heading for the urinal when Nathan's big hand snagged him by the back of his vest, gripping tight enough to rip the fabric slightly, and yanked the other back toward him.
Murderface snarled in surprise at this sudden distraction from his goal of emptying his bladder. A huffing squall of a noise bellowed from his thick throat as the bassist first tried to pull out of the grip but found that the tightness caught under his armpits wouldn't allow it; thus he resorted to spinning halfway around and punching gracelessly at the lead singer.
Fighting dog.
“Settle down! I'll fuckin' let you piss okay? But yer gonna help me find my damn recorder!” Nathan's nose wrinkled as the other scrapped a pretty annoying blow against the cut of his chin. Then another into his sternum. FUCKER! Growling himself, he resorted to shaking the other man viciously by his handful of mucky clothing.
This did nothing to calm the animal in his grip. “THE HELL I AM! Let me go you fuckin' douschebag! I'll fuckin' rip yer ballsch off and feed em to yah! You fuck!” Murderface snarled with wide lips pulled tight around his teeth; gap and canines exposed in a display of hostility. Spit was beginning to bubble in the corner of his mouth; frothy and thick. Lime eyes had pinpointed, body posture was rigid. He flailed. He kicked. He even lunged for Nathan's throat in his effort to get loose.
Rabid dog.
But dogs are nothing if not recipients of how you treat them. Cower and back from their snapping teeth, they'll bite you in the ass. Stand up and whack them in the nose with a paper, they'll be the ones to cower; tail tucked between their ass cheeks. Nathan was not the kind of guy to let a fucking mutt of a man bark and bite him into submission.
No. Bad dog.
“CUT IT OUT!” That thick death-growl of a voice rumbled off the bathroom walls as Nathan shoved forward, running the other man right into the red tiled wall just a few feet to the left. Murderface was slammed back-first and Nathan resumed a tight grip, this time on the front of the fucker's shirt. “I just asked - fucking wanted you to uh…HELP me! DON'T BE SUCH A DICK!”
The slamming shocked the other, if only for a couple seconds. The grimace of teeth and spit faded from William's face. Arms dropped to his side and there was a slight slump of his shoulders. Eyes shifted away from Nathan as if in a sign of submission. But wait! No, upper lip twitched – and then slowly – slowly the edges of them curled up into a smirk. “You're gonna have more then yer recorder to worry 'bout if you don't let go of me, schithead.”
Nathan narrowed his own eyes and slammed the other man again. “Oh yah?”
Murderface didn't move. Just kept that smug smirk on his face. Nathan leaned closer, waiting to see if the mongrel would try and bite his face off. No bite came and though it took a moment, the lead singer gradually began to become aware of the sound of liquid. Then the strong smell of salty nauseating – FUCK.
Nathan jerked back his head and looked down between them to see Murderface with his hands wrapped around his own cock and a thick stream of yellow hot piss splashing all over his boots, running down the soles and puddling all around the heavy items.
Ohhhh. Dead dog.
Nathan's own green eyes pinpointed in pure rage and he bellowed out loud enough for Murderface to completely lose that smug-ass smirk on his face. “YOU FUCKER! GONNA KILL YOU!” Left bottom eye lid twitched as the long haired vocalist wasted no time balling up his enormous fist and SLAMMING into Murderface's well…dog-face!
There was a loud crack as the already flattish nose was crushed, along with a typical yelp from the bassist. Blood shot out in a spray thick enough to look black as it ushered down Murderface's chin. The shorter man continued to yip a few more times before reaching up to claw at his own face. “YOU SCHIT YOU SCHIT YOU BROKE MY NOSCHE!”
He released one hand to punch wildly at Nathan, but the bigger man jerked out of the way before cold cocking the other across the temple with his knuckles. Murderface swore and then stumbled - eyes rolling upward as he headed toward the tiled floor of the bathroom.
“The fuck you have to go PISS on my boots for, huh?” Nathan didn't let him hit the ground, he caught the bassist by the back of his greasy curly head and yanked. Another yelp from Murderface and knee-down he went; his near unconscious wobbly state being controlled completely by the grip the vocalist had on him. Nathan didn't want the fucking mutt taking a nap right now. “Huh?” Nathan demanded an answer while giving the other's head a hard shake back and forth. Fucking asshole. Fucking mutt. He wanted to drag him outside and kick the living shit out him for defiling his boots like that.
“Fffff..” Bubbling blood and spit spluttered past Murderface's thick lips as he fought his dulling senses. No, he wouldn't pass out, but it would be a moment before he could act willingly. Or unwillingly.
Beaten dog.
“Fucker! The hell's wrong with you?” Nathan lifted said offended items out of the puddle of piss and began shaking them off. Most of the liquid flew off in droplets to splatter on the floor and the wall, but he could still see the wet streaks. Enraged, he dragged the bassist to face him by his hair, and wretched his neck back so he could look down at him.
With nothing better to insult him with, Nathan settled on speaking to him as if he were really a fucking dog. “NO!”
Murderface snorted through his conflicted airway, gurgling blood. “Fffff...ffffuck you.”
Stupid dog.
Nathan's brows flurried in fury and without warning he suddenly shoved the other's face down into the puddle of piss; pressing that bleeding and broken nose right into the still hot stinking liquid. “NO!” he repeated at the top of his lungs. “FUCKING NO!”
Though the bassist might have been quite keen on the fact of his own urine, suddenly being painfully shoved into it as a form of punishment seemed to shock the shit out of him. An explosively random bout of energy seemed to consume the man who, since being sucker-punched in the temple, had previously been as wiry as a wet noodle. He literally did fight like a dog with its face shoved into its own puddle of piss. Snorting and yelping – but Nathan held him firm-handed down into it, determined to show this fucking mutt-of-a-man who was the boss. Fucker better NEVER do that again!
“NO!” Nathan bellowed out again. “NO! BAD! NO!” He ignored the swearing. Ignored the struggling. Keeping his own teeth clenched tightly, he forcefully dragged the other man's face back and forth through the piss by the grip he had on his greasy hair. Nathan didn't budge or show an ounce of mercy till the shorter man's face was completely soaked in his own liquid and there were pinkish streaks on the tile from the diluted blood. “Fucker. NO.”
Murderface finally caved. He quit shoving and writhing. Shoulders twitched a couple times and he finally truly submitted to his harsh punishment.
But it wasn't over yet. Nathan finally lifted Murderface's head out of his now smeared and discolored puddle and jerked his face back up to look at him. He was met with lime green eyes blazing with hatred, but no other movements geared toward his demise. William's face was dripping wet with his own urine – smeared with it and the blood from his still bleeding nose. His cheeks were red from either the scuffling or humiliation. Whichever the case, Nathan found he was pleased with this look, even more so when his currently scowling glare made the other man drop his gaze to the floor with a muttered curse.
“You scchuck.”
Stubborn dog.
Bowing his own head in a fierce manner, Nathan snorted. Strands of that long pitch-black hair cascaded in front of his face as his mouth twisted into leering grin. Fuck, he'd just been struck with an idea – and for someone who didn't get them so quickly on the usual, Nathan was damn proud of himself. “Oh yah?” he jeered at the bassist. “Well you lick.”
And…DOWN he shoved Murderface again, this time pushing the other man's face onto his right piss-splattered boot. “Lick it off! Fuckin' clean off the mess you made, you fuckin' animal.”
The bassist started to growl again, but Nathan quickly silenced that by slamming the heel of his other boot into the other's thick side. It made Murderface sputter and a glob of spit slobbered onto his boot. Those thick fingers etched even deeper into that heavy head of dirty hair. Nathan tightened; pressed – warned.
“Better start licking, or fuckin' help me, Murderface, I'll fucking break your neck.”
If looks could have killed, Nathan would have been flung dead onto his back with a steaming hole between his eyes. The killer-glance Murderface shot up at him past his wash-lacking curls could have curdled blood. The kind of look you get from a feral dog shoved into a cage. It knows it’s beaten, but the moment it has a chance it’s gonna tear your fucking throat out.
Nathan just grinned harder, exposing his own teeth and staring back unbiased. This had turned into a training session, and the lead vocalist was going to teach this dog some new tricks.
“Three...”
“You fuckin' scchuck scho much…” Murderface dropped his gaze along with the octave of his voice and then finally out came that thick slimy tongue and he licked from toe to arch, lapping up the salty stain of his own piss off Nathan's boot and leaving a fresher brighter trail of spit in his wake. His tongue retreated into his mouth and he smacked once. No gagging. Fucking sicko.
“Again.” Nathan hissed.
This time there was no resistance. Murderface stuck out his tongue and licked up another greasy trail. Then again to the side to catch the trail. Then up the other side. Oh this was awesome. Nathan found himself more then a little enjoying himself watching the bassist lapping at his boots like some kind of owned mongrel. It might have seemed cruel, but if Murderface wanted to act like a fucking dog, he deserved to be treated like one. He kept a hold on the other's head till the boot was spit-shined and every inch was free of piss.
Thwarted dog.
Then he made him do the other boot. Just for good measure.
Once both boots were licked clean, the vocalist jerked Murderface off the ground and held him still sitting on his knees while he inspected the other man's…tongue work. The boots were now covered with tongue trails, but he was satisfied the piss had been eliminated.
“Fucking asshole, bet you won't do that again, will yah, huh?” Nathan finally let his hands slide out of the other's dirty hair, crossed his arms over his thick chest, and leered down at the bassist. “Now get up and come help me-GAAH!”
He was not prepared for the fist to the groin. Knuckles that slammed into his inner thigh, BARELY missing his erection – yah, fucking boner; which he hadn't even been aware of till the fucking mutt took a cheap shot like that. Murderface might have missed his cock, but it hurt enough to send Nathan into a rage!
ARGH! Low-down dog!
He should have heeded that early warning in the other's stare.
But now it was time to fight. And Nathan countered Murderface's snarling swinging and kicking with his own ultra violent animal-like fighting. They went rolling around on the filthy bathroom tile, kicking and screeching and slamming fists. Scrapping, biting, and drawing blood in a true mockery of a dog-fight. At some point Murderface bit him - he felt the sharpness of the edges of the fucker's gap sink into the skin of his collar bone and he retaliated by snaring one of his own hands into the other's crotch and squishing.
Crotch-shot for a crotch-shot. Hm. He wasn't the only one with a boner.
Murderface yelped again and flailed. Nathan used this to his advantage and snagged two fingers into the other's wide nostrils, yanking him to his pudgy stomach by his broken nose. Oh, that slapped the fight right out of him. Murderface sprawled out with a groan and a heavy knee was then slammed down on the small of his back. Nathan leaned over him, huffing and puffing into the shell of his ear.
“You're…huh…getting off on this? You're fuckin' sick.” His mouth curled upward at the end of his sentence. Hand still shoved up under the bassist’s stomach, he gave another squeeze, just to make the mutt squirm under him. “Faggot.”
Gay dog. HA.
“Fuuuccck you!” Murderface shot Nathan's fingers out of his poor nose. “You're the one with your hand on my ho--” The snarling died down to a whimper as the vocalist tightened his fingers again. Nathan mushed the denim into the hardness he felt there.
“Huh…you like it. You like having me kick your ass and lickin' your own PISS off my boots.” Nathan hissed hot air into Murderface's ear. This training lesson had taken a turn. Now it was a game. A sick game, but a game he wanted to play nonetheless.
“You sccchuck. Fuck you!”
“Stop begging.”
“I'm not beggin' for anythin'. FUCK YOU!”
With a grind of his own thick hips down, Nathan made Murderface very aware of the dangerous irony of his choice of words. “Bet you'd like it,” he growled hotly into the other's ear – his deep voice had already dropped a notch. Despite his complaining, Nathan felt the other's cock twitch.
Horny dog.
“Yer so full of bullshit.”
“YOU JUSCH TRY IT!”
There wasn't any doubt where this game would go. Nathan might have shocked himself at how hard he suddenly was, or how much he wanted to play with the other. It wasn't easy to be attracted to Murderface. The man was ugly. He was on the whole unclean, had a spitty lisp, and a dog-face only a mother could love. But at this moment, Nathan was nothing if not a dog-lover.
Nathan put extra pressure on the other's back as he slid his hand up and unsnapped the button on Murderface's fly. Strong fingers tore into his shorts, nearly breaking the zipper as he yanked it down. Giving a quick shove of the other's face into the ground as a warning, he then brought his other hand up to the top belt loop and began to wrestle the bassist's shorts down his pudgy hips and over his ass. Ha. Murderface might have been the only man on the planet where 'asshead' could have been a compliment – at least his ass was decent enough, hair and all.
Murderface growled the whole time; sticky cheek pressed to the cold floor.
Pushing the denim just low enough to be out of the way, Nathan then removed his knee to shove it in between the bassist's own, and then shoved it between the thighs. With a jerk he forced Murderface's ass upward off the ground. Hands and knees. Only right he should take it like a dog. No.
A BITCH!
“Gonna get you for thisch.”
“Shut up.” Nathan grunted as he unbuttoned and unzipped his own fly, reaching down with one hand to free his own monstrous cock as he kept the other flat between Murderface's shoulders. “You're gonna love it.”
Besides…for someone about to be fucked in the ass, he wasn't putting up much of a fight anymore. Nathan stroked his own cock a few times as he gazed down over the other man. Nose wrinkled to the smells of both his bassist and the bathroom. Dirty skin, piss, shit and sweat. This was a disgusting place to fuck, but when it came to Murderface it might as well have been a hotel suite. Only what the other deserved. He deserved to have nine and a half inches of rock hard cock for his behavior. For lying there and not struggling anymore. For licking the piss up.
The dog deserved a bone.
But maybe not a dry one. Nathan stuck two of his own fingers into his mouth and sucked on them briefly. He then reached down - shoved both of the slicked up calloused items second knuckle deep inside Murderface's asshole and enjoyed the bassist's squirms as he looked around for something better to use.
There was a dispenser of lotion, but it was all the way on the other side of the bathroom and like fuck was he letting Murderface go so the fucker could go scampering away with his tail between his legs. Dark green eyes finally spotted the liquid soap container a couple feet ahead by the sinks. There.
“Crawl.” He leaned over the other’s back, shoving his fingers deeper and working them around – hissing into Murderface's ear. The way the other's muscles tightened around his digits made him throb hard and he ground his own cock between William's asscheeks. This was gonna be good.
The bassist jerked and put his cheek to the floor again. “Ngh. F—f.”
“C’mon, you want me to fuck uh…you dry? Crawl.” To get him started, Nathan shoved the other forward, scraping his knees on the hard tile. It took a half a foot of this before Murderface finally worked his hands and knees and heaved his bulk the couple of feet to the sink. Growling – near whimpering the whole way.
Once the sinks were reached, Nathan pulled his fingers out of the other's ass and blindly felt around above them till he located the dispenser. Pumping it till his palm was full of the cool glopping shit, he brought his hand back dripping and began to slather up his own cock – nearly growling at the temperature.
Satisfied he'd lubed his cock up enough, the vocalist reared up on his own haunches and pressed his slathered length to the puckered ridged asshole between the other's fuzzy butt cheeks. He placed one hand on Murderface's scarred up hip and the other once more pressed deep between scrunched shoulder blades. With a grunt, Nathan began to shove himself forward, sweat popping out on his forehead at the sheer force it took to shove his way past that tight ring of muscle. Murderface grunted at the intrusion, but as Nathan began to slide slowly in he found the bassist was softly pushing back against him with a whine.
Wanton dog.
Nathan rolled his own head back at the tightness that engulfed him, tempted to make his own animal noises as he greased his way half-way inside the other. But this crawling inch by inch shit was getting tiresome so once he graced six inches, he reared back a couple and simply SLAMMED his cock the rest of the way in.
Murderface yelped.
“AH FUCK!”
The bassist curled in what could only be described as an agonizing ecstasy. Spine bowed, head resting against the floor, and there was a splattering of pre-cum onto the tiles. Nathan was feeling pretty delicious himself. The almost brutal tightness nearly made him blow his load right there. But it wouldn't be a satisfying game if it was over after ONE toss.
“Goddammit Murderface,” Nathan husked out as he leaned fully over the other, mouth gliding over a clothed shoulder that was now sticky with sweat. “You take cock better then a chick.” Truth be told, a lot of girls would be unconscious by now. Or dead.
This comment only seemed to rile the mutt up again. “Argh you schuck schho musch!” Scraped knees were shoved into the floor and the bassist pressed back hard enough to make Nathan see stars. “Fuck you!”
“Bitch,” Nathan snarled. “That's for reminding me.” And with that he withdrew his cock and slammed forward, making Murderface yip again. This time there would be no pause to savor or insult the other man. With a slick wet sound thanks to the soap, the vocalist began to violently drive his cock back and forth inside the bassist. Rolling his hips and hunching over the other, driving his thick length in all the way to the hilt each time.
It wasn't long before he had the other man panting literally like a bitch in heat. With each brutal thrust forward, Nathan rocked the other against the tile, causing Murderface to whine or growl. Mouth open and tongue half flickering out, licking his own upper lip. Hands were balled up into fists against the wall under the sinks, each shove nearly colliding his head into them. Fuck, there was even a puddle of drool forming between his white-knuckling fingers.
“Oh scchit! Fucckkk…”
Nathan ran his mouth to the sweaty skin on the back of Murderface's neck, nosed the hair out of the way and sunk his teeth into the skin. The bassist jerked back against him with a groan. The biting seemed to jar the game into overdrive. Someone was finally fully willing to play ball. “Ngh! F-F—Fuck-ker! G..go..Faschter!”
Slutty dog.
Nathan was all the more willing to pitch too. He slid his mouth down and bit violently into the tough tendon above the shoulder blade, drawing blood before rearing back completely and landing both hands on the bassist’s hips before throwing his full weight into the motion of his hips. He pounded hard into the other - there was little doubt that both his inner thighs and Murderface's flanks were going to be bruised. Not that he gave a fuck. He wouldn't have given a fuck had someone walked in on them, right now.
They'd just have to witness Nathan teaching Murderface here who was really top dog.
Now with just the loud slap of their sweaty flesh slapping together almost too quick to count, the bassist's begging noises had been reduced to sheer guttural noises. Whines. Growls. Whimpers, and groans. Everything and anything that could heighten Nathan's arousal and send him near the edge was literally leaking out of Murderface's throat. Sounds of submission. Finally someone was seeing it his way.
“FUCK!” Nathan could feel himself on the brink of cumming. His thrusts became wild and uneven. Hard enough to bruise more then just the other's ass – black painted nails tearing bloody lines into Murderface's hips. There was drool slathering down his own chin and he didn't fucking care. “You fuc-k-ing BITCH.”
Murderface suddenly spazzed beneath him and he fucking ..HOWLED as he orgasmed. Spine arched, and his entire body tightened, including around Nathan's pounding cock.
FUCK! That was too much. With his own loud booming screech, the vocalist shoved his cock as deep as he could into the other and shot his load in hot ropes into him, coming so hard and so fast it leaked over and spilled back out around his groin.
Spazzing in place, Nathan held Murderface's hips in a murderous grip till his own body stopped soaring and he'd finished emptying himself inside the other. Heaving his chest, the vocalist gulped a few large lungfuls of fresh air and then shoved Murderface away from him into the wall.
He let himself fall back onto his own ass, not caring that his still twitching cock was fully exposed, greased and spent from the fly of his jeans. Holding himself up with his arms alone, Nathan rolled his head till his blurry vision fell on the man he'd literally just fucked – doggy style.
The bassist lay on his side, panting heavily, shirt balled up to his sweaty chest. Hands curled against his hairy tattooed belly. Those usually murderous lime green eyes held a subdued glow to them. Nathan stared harder.
Murderface looked away.
Ha. Whipped dog.
Nathan slowly sat forward, and once more lanced his hands into the back of the other's shirt. He accosted Murderface back into his kneed position, and began to drag the other man toward him. But then – something caught his eye.
“God-Goddammit Murderface,” Nathan smirked between a pant. “You made a mess again.” Pulling the other man's face down, this time instead of piss, Nathan jabbed a finger at the puddle of jizz on the floor. “Lick it up.”
He balled his fist, waiting for the growling and biting to start again. But Murderface just snorted at him with an eyeroll and darted his tongue out, not giving one shit about the filthy fucking floor, and lapped up his own fucking cum right off the tile. Nathan was impressed.
Good dog.
With a couple quick swallows, and a heavy groan, the bassist pulled out of Nathan's grasp. Writhing around to get his shorts back up, he zipped and buttoned before using the sink to slowly pull himself up to a stand, wincing lightly. “If I scchit on the rug, you gonna make me eat that too before you facche fuck me? Huh? Fuckin' ascchole.” He stuck his tongue out at Nathan.
Well. Almost good.
“I'll smash yer face in it, yah.” Nathan hauled his own bulk to his feet, tucked his monster away, and rezipped his pants. “You'd probably like that too, fuckin' sicko, huh? Now shut up and help me find my recorder.” He started for the door, patting his leg and expecting the other to follow.
“Ain’t your bloodhound.” Murderface repeated, but began following the vocalist anyway. If not limping a bit.
Nathan let him have the last words, because deep inside he knew Murderface might have not been a bloodhound, but he was some kind of dog. His dog.
Pet.
And he needed to play with him more often.
The End.
- 1
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