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While You Were Sleeping	By : Zellezra Category: +M through R > Metalocalypse > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2235 -:- 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-While You Were Sleeping
- 1
Hello everyone. This is my very first Metalocalypse fic so... be gentle? *Smiles* Of course, constructive criticism is always acceptable.

Well, I guess Hell froze over. I learned how to format text. To a very small degree of course, but I learned nonetheless. Craaazy.
Anyway, enjoy!
~*~*~*~*~
The room was quiet. The only sound that accompanied the silence was the rhythmic breathing of sleep. Breaths were taken small and short, followed up by the long satisfying whoosh of inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly before breathing returned to its regular diminutive pattern. The room was also dark, but there was nothing Skwisgaar could do about that. This was Toki’s room, and he didn’t want to wake his dildo of a band mate.
He’d cracked the door open only enough to slip his thin frame through and then carefully shut it behind him. He stood still for several moments, listening to the Norwegian sleep while his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
“Fucking Toki…” He muttered under his breath and took his first clumsy step forward. Already he’d stumbled over something; “damn models air planes.”
The rest of his steps were feather-light and carefully placed, tiptoeing with outreached arms until he felt the plush coverlet at the foot of Toki’s bed. He felt his way to the right side of the bed and crouched to look underneath. ‘Where dids that dildos puts it?’ The irritated guitarist inwardly wondered as he blindly swept his hand across the floor beneath the bed. Nothing. The Norwegian was oblivious to the onslaught of whispered curses the Swede spat at him as he quietly crawled to the other side of the bed.
Earlier in the day was focused on rehearsal for Dethklok’s new album. As always, the usual arguments ensued. Toki’s playing sucked. Plain and simple. It seemed to get progressively worse according to the Swede’s selective hearing. Practice had gone uninterrupted for a surprising record of time, until Skwisgaar finally decided to force a break by way of complaining.
“Yours playing is dildos, always dildos. Why can’ts you practice likes the rests of us, ah?” The blonde demanded in a casual tone.
“Nots all of us is obsessed with our instruments like they’s fucking sex toys, Skwisgaar. Look at you, you’re still playing!” Toki pointed to the Swede’s thoughtlessly dancing fingers. They hadn’t brushed a single string, but indeed, they were still zooming. Skwisgaar flexed his calloused digits briefly before balling them into fists and propping them upon arrogant hips.
“That’s is why I’s the fastest guitarists alife, and yous Toki, is stills dildos.” The man spoke with confidence. Although the Swede was conceited, everyone in the room knew this fact to be true; he truly was the fastest guitarist alive.
“I bets you not so cool withouts your precious dildos guitar.” Toki prompted, ideas already flooding his thoughts. Skwisgaar dismissed the brunette’s threat with the mere flick of his wrist.
“Pfft. There’s plenties of guitars that I cans buy to replace these one. Stupid Toki.” This of course was true, the Swede alone had more than enough money to replace his precious Gibson Explorer a thousand times over, but this of course was not the case. This particular guitar was Skwisgaar’s baby, everyone knew that. His blue eyes narrowed at the second fastest guitarist alive, his next sentence actually literate for a change. “Go ahead and try to steal my guitar.”
Toki took that moment as the perfect opportunity to do so and removed his own guitar before hastily approaching his blonde contender. His hands lunged to tear the man’s instrument from its strap. Skwisgaar side-stepped his effort to snatch the prize and watched him stumble forward before kicking his band mate in the ass. The Nord fell flat on his face with a soundly ‘oomph!’ before jumping right back to his feet and tackling the cocky blonde to his own ass.
So sometime afterward - during dinner, while he showered, whenever the fuck it could have been - Toki had successfully stolen Skwisgaar’s precious instrument. Although he was able to do so, the Swede wasn’t too worried; he didn’t give the man much credit for possible hiding places.
His hand finally brushed over a familiar object and smiled inwardly as he pulled his guitar from under Toki’s bed. Again he quietly cussed out his sleeping band mate and contemplated the possibility of throttling the man in his sleep.
Skwisgaar momentarily placed the guitar back to the floor and loomed over Toki’s sleeping self. He eyed the brunette’s rising chest as he took another deep breath. The blonde watched the air gradually sift from his lips as he exhaled. Skwisgaar observed a little longer. Shallow, shallow, deep, sigh. Devious thoughts reminded him of his plan with each sigh the brunette made, and finally he sank one knee into the mattress and leaned forward as pale and slender hands clasped nicely around the supple flesh of the Norwegian’s throat.
The sound that previously cut the silence slowed until there was nothing at all. Malice smeared a wicked grin across the Swede’s lips and he tightened his grip around Toki’s throat.
A strangled breath frightened Skwisgaar out of his sadistic reverie and he let go. Toki gasped and gurgled, but strangely didn’t wake. The figure balanced over the sleeping Nord was still as stone. His hands were frozen, hovering in place over sinuous skin and pulse. He was breathing again, but every breath thereafter was shallow, more so than before. Finally Toki moaned; a pathetic guttural subconscious whimper for help… and it couldn’t have provoked Skwisgaar more.
His hands reclaimed their vice like grip around his band mate’s neck and soon the symptoms from before followed: breathing slowed, nothing, strangled breath… He loosened his hands there. That sound, it made his skin crawl. But what he eagerly waited for after a small fit of coughing was that moan.
… Silence. Not a breath. Skwisgaar took his hands away and leaned forward. Toki was still. The sound of the Swede’s own pounding heartbeat drummed in his ears. He was close enough now to lean just a bit further in and whisper a command into the ear of his unconscious victim. “Do it…” He whispered, unaware of his own ardent tone. He was too ensconced, too petrified, waiting for the Norwegian to do his bidding. Panic wracked Skwisgaar’s senses as he stared desperately down at his sleeping rival’s dead-like features.
Toki gasped, his lungs starved for oxygen. His assailant relaxed some, still watching… waiting. That moan again. Deeper now, just as pleading as before. It was broken though, whimpering and pathetic. God how it boiled Swede’s blood!
He couldn’t strangle the man again, he was afraid his malicious thirst for those suffering cries would send the Swede too far. After all, he didn’t want to kill the poor bastard. Wait… wasn’t that his half-baked plan to begin with?
Skwisgaar leaned forward to whisper to his band mate again. “Toki…” His tone was just above a whisper. The Norwegian grunted weakly in response and the Swede cocked a brow. Why wasn’t he waking up?
‘No matters,’ he thought. ‘Playings with yous in your sleeps is more funs than I realiz-ed.’
“Do it again,” he commanded. There was no reply this time, except for an overdue gasp of breath and a contented sigh.
Skwisgaar took his throat again. As if on cue, the Scandinavian moaned again in a subconscious plea. The blonde let go as Toki tossed restlessly in his sleep, small beads of sweat soaking his brow. The Swede was oblivious to his aroused state until Toki settled a sweaty palm over his propped leg. He was surprised at himself… but not enough to spare a moment to rationalize what was taking place.
He leaned closer in, blonde tendrils brushing against bare pectorals as he finally climbed all the way into bed. He settled on his side and brushed his pale, supple lips against the other’s earlobe. “Toki,” he called softly, his voice reclaimed for the moment. Those once malicious hands then gently settled over toned muscle and moved with the gradual rise and fall of his chest. Skwisgaar’s fingertips trailed down the defined crease between his pecks and turned his hand to trace his palm down the man’s rippling abdomen. “I fucking kills you…” his tone was low and sappy as his hand slipped into the warmth of the covers.
“Ahhnng…” The Nord’s brows furrowed as he tossed his head this way and that in a fit of sleep induced euphoria.
“Ja…” He breathed; his hand loosely wrapped around Toki’s waking cock. He ran his fingers over the feverish stiffening flesh beneath the waist of cotton sweatpants. He stroked once, twice, again until the swelling member stood to its full length. Skwisgaar quirked his brows in remarkably pleased realization; Toki was a big boy. Delicate fingers traced up the length of his member until their calloused tips smeared a sample of pre-cum around the head and down the base. Slowly his hand slid back up, tickling the tip of the Norwegian’s stiff dick. He jerked in his sleep, as a person often does when they fall in their dreams. Had he fallen? Skwisgaar smirked devilishly as he envisioned bending the brunette over and shoving the length of his own erection deep inside his sweet, tight ass.
Skwisgaar’s member begged for attention as his strokes quickened. He could beat off later though. He had only one goal now, and that was to drive Toki to the brink elation.
“Sk… uhn” Toki slurred in a groggy but fervent tone. Skwisgaar’s heart skipped a beat, was he about to call his name? Earlier the blonde would have stopped for fear of waking the man, but now he couldn’t stop, nor did he care. And oh, was he close. He could feel his cock throb and swell all the more the faster he stroked. He fisted Toki’s length, jerking and stroking at full speed as he let out little moans of his own.
“Cum, Toki.” Faster. Pumping, jerking, stroking. The second fastest’s hips idly rocked against his band mate’s spastic fist, breathless and twitchy until finally he went rigid.
“Skwisss-gaaarr…” The Nord panted in his sleep as the blonde was transfixed on the feeling of hot, sticky liquid that spewed past his fingertips and soaked the fabric of his sweatpants. Skwisgaar tentatively pulled his hand away and examined the mess his band mate left behind. The tip of his salivating tongue lapped at a sample of the Norwegian’s spoils and Skwisgaar absentmindedly rested his free hand over his straining member.
Toki’s chest heaved unevenly and he tossed again in his fitful sleep, trying to catch labored breath through short gasps as his sweat ran cold.
Skwisgaar cautiously rolled off the bed, took his guitar with his clean hand, slung it under the opposite arm and rushed out of Toki’s bedroom. He found his own room in record time, just down the hall, two doors to the right.
The door slammed behind him, he dropped the Explorer, slumped against the door and shoved his cum-covered fingers down his pants to grasp his aching cock. He carelessly and awkwardly jerked away as he struggled to unfasten his belt buckle and zipper in the process. He managed both, which gave him some relief, but the button at the waist of his jeans was providing more of a problem than he cared to deal with in his current state. One quick jerk the right way with his forearm and the button popped off its stitched placement and was pitched across the room. He grunted and groaned thoughtlessly and noisily as he jerked at his length, so ready for release.
He closed his eyes and relived the scene from only a moment ago. Seeing Toki’s expression as he came in his grasp, the noises he made… when he spoke.
“Skwisss-gaaarr…” Toki’s sleep spoken words rang in his ears and he sounded one last guttural moan as his dick pulsed and saturated his already filthy hand. His hips rocked as he rode the waves of his orgasm to the very last drop of semen. All the while the Norwegian’s name skipped through his mind like a broken record.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Toki awoke parched and looked to the alarm clock that read in obnoxious neon green numbers: 4:32. He slapped a hand over the nightstand in search of his bottle of water. He slammed half the bottle and put it back in its place. He leaned against the headboard and caught his breath as he gently stroked his throat. “Fuck,” Toki murmured to himself. “Must have sleeps wrong.” He kicked off his sweat soaked covers and eyed the dry mess caked on the front of his sweatpants with an unenthusiastic grumble. These dreams just wouldn’t stop. Night after night he would have them, and night after night he would wake up to a mess. It was always the same dream, too.
A dream of long golden tendrils splayed across his pillow, pale limbs entangling in his own, blue clashing blue, submissive pleas begging for fulfillment as he watched the man besieged in ecstasy while he pleased his partner and readied himself against a puckered entrance. And always just before Toki would push deep inside of his dreamt lover, he would lose control.
His hand roamed the rest of the nightstand for a small prescription bottle that sat just behind the annoying electronic clock. He squinted at the label as he tried to read in the dark. After trying and failing, he thought back a moment. What time was it when he took the last pill? When did he go to bed? Another moment of thinking and he shrugged, opening the bottle and swallowing a single tiny tablet. It wouldn’t kill him; at least he didn’t think so. ‘Besides,’ he inwardly stated, ‘these sleepings pills always knocks me right out.’
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While You Were Sleeping