Title: The Tip Of The Iceberg
Pairing: Toki/Skwisgaar
Warnings: Uh... fluff?
Words: 687
Rating: PG
If I owned Metalocalypse, it would be 30 minutes of pure band orgy.
Times like this reminded me of so many things. Why I chose to wear these dark colours, why I chose to grow my hair so long—but overall, I was reminded of home. Isolated here in the snow, I saw my parents faces burned into the cloud cover above me. It should have sickened me, but I wasn't alone.
He and I were in Antarctica, if I remembered correctly. It was some live show that had gone all wrong and we were completely deserted in the frigid tundra. How many days had it been since we were separated from the rest of the band? Hell if I knew. It was a long, long time—and it gave me enough time to take in the surroundings at full force.
My vision was painted in permanent white. I welcomed back winter, once again, and tugged at my short marine sleeves as the chilling wind danced along my skin, pale from the many winters spent growing up in my Nordic home. My mind begged the cold to stop but my body was completely numb to the sensations that should be killing me.
Sapphire waves looked black against the ivory shore, contrasting ever so nauseatingly with each other. The snowflakes fell gently to our faces, the temperature dropped and I felt the tremors of my body synchronize with his. The oceans around us froze as we shook violently. Whale calls echoed around us, each more smooth and whimsical than the last. Besides their gentle song—whispered to us by the wind—nothing stirred. It was maddening, and the nostalgia of it all killed me. I wanted out.
"I don'ts like this," I whimpered to my companion. His alabaster complexion was even more ghostlike against the backdrop of the many icebergs, and his full lips moved slower and more gentled than I had ever seen before as he replied.
"Quiets, little Toki," He hushed with that thick accent of his. "One ways or de others, it will all be overs soon."
If I wasn't already chilled to the bone, those words would have sent shivers down my spine.
Had death come to me, I wouldn't have minded it much. We were together, and I wouldn't have chosen any other person to spend those final, lasting moments with. Our fingers entwined and he looked deep into my icy blues, I knew my days would end with this man. Rivulets spouted from my eyes, the snow matted in my hair, and I could feel my lungs crystallizing as we seemingly sunk into the ivory deep.
It was his entire fault. He was the one who put me here, surrounded in an arctic spew of colorless lava. He simply couldn't bear the thought of staying inside the studio all day—no, he had to let those antsy fingers of his trail across that Gibson Explorer again—he had to show off for the world once again. They needed to see how gorgeous he was, with those stupid long blonde locks and crystalline blue eyes and perfect cheekbones and pouty lips and chiseled features…
I was just as awed as they were, though I'd never say it out loud.
"I hates you," I squeaked at him. "So much…"
My eyelids drooped and I heard him whisper "I knows, Toki. I don'ts minds."
And through the chaos, through the frosty embrace, we melted into relief at the sound of familiar voices drawing nearer. Our band mates hadn't forgotten after all.
"Hey, Charles! They're over here!" Valiance.
"Hurry up, dood. I t'ink dey're dead, er sumt'in." Familiarity.
"Schtupid Schcandies. We leave 'em alone for an hour and they wind up looking like a big gay avalansche!" Buffer.
"Get them to the hospital on the Dethkopter now. We're heading home." Family.
Snow drifts danced around us—enfolding our bodies in the calming storm.
Trapped in his arms, I only felt blissful warmth.