TITLE: Riu Riu Chiu
PAIRING: Nathan/Charles, but very, very mild. More like preslash.
RATING: PG for amusingly disturbing imagery
NOTES: Good song. You should download it. I like the Monkees' version the best. Also, I hate formatting that doesn't allow me to indent my paragraphs.
Riu Riu Chiu
It began, like so many things in Mordhaus began, with an album. Dethklok Spain had decided it would be a good idea to release Dethwater in Spanish - a nightmare of paperwork and translations, the boys looking up all the dirty words in the Spanish dictionary, and a fortune in the making. Fortunately, Dethklok Japan had decided to avoid this route. The album was barely released in time to coincide with the start of Christmas shopping season. A few weeks had gone by, and the album had topped various charts almost instantly.
"Alright!" cheered Pickles, almost knocking his plate to the floor as he raised his fists in the air triumphantly. "Time to celebrate! Oops..." he added sheepishly, resetting his plate and rearranging the food on it to his own liking. Pickles would never admit it, but secretly the man loved Christmas, and any excuse to indulge in wine, women and song was alright by him. In fact, Christmas was the biggest and best of all. You got to open presents on top of all the illicit fun you could have. Who needed to spend Christmas in Las Vegas when you lived in Mordhaus?
A knock at the door signified that Skwisgaar's gifts to himself had arrived. A small man in a ridiculous uniform introduced himself, requested to speak to Skwisgaar, and treated everybody present to an eyeful of little old lady flesh wrapped solely in shining red ribbon. Hopefully the biddies wouldn't be found unwrapped under a tree the next morning. Even Murderface shuddered.
Nevertheless, the party was in full swing by nine o'clock that evening, the liquor flowing like water. Twice Ofdensen had been woken up by someone bolting into his room and slamming the door, chest heaving, obviously being chased. The first one had even jumped under his covers, mistakenly thinking the room was empty. Charles just sighed and politely ushered the party-goer out, lampshade and all, and rooted around his closet for some Febreze.
Many, many hours later, things seemed to have calmed down somewhat. At least, the sounds of feet running up and down the halls had ceased. So had the giggling, and even the drunken, riotous singing. But still Charles couldn't sleep. Thank whatever deities guarded Mordhaus, there were still some Klokateers willing to work over the holiday, and Charles made a mental note to make sure their bonuses were unusually handsome if the mess could be cleaned swiftly. Hell, he'd even double their salaries if they could make it seem like no party had happened at all. The thought comforted him, and he turned over, slowed his breathing, and tried to sleep; Toki openly loved Christmas and would undoubtedly show up at Charles' door at the crack of dawn, carting Deddy with him and bouncing on the spot until he was allowed to open his gifts.
Twenty minutes later, he turned over. And again, fifteen minutes after that. With a frustrated little snort, Charles sat up and flicked on the large TV the boys had gotten him last year. Typically of them, it was thoughtful and useless at the same time. Charles didn't watch the Dethklok Minute, or the Discovery Channel documentaries about cannibal tribes, or much of anything really. Currently there was nothing on but It's A Wonderful Life, which Charles had never really enjoyed anyways. Go figure. So he swung his legs over one side of the mattress, seeking out his slippers. Once located and on the right feet, he stooped to retrieve his robe, slipped into that as well, and headed down to the kitchen for some warm milk.
Somebody up there likes me, he thought to himself. Those wonderful Klokateers certainly were good at their jobs. Some of them were already vacuuming the cleanest areas, and - Charles smiled at this - one had a broom and was gently shooing a small grey rat back into its hole. Then, too, there was no question of the activity going on in the kitchen; Jean-Pierre's night staff were up preparing for the ensuing gluttony of Christmas. They were more than happy to oblige the polite little manager when presented with his request. Shortly thereafter, Ofdensen was given his milk in an exquisite little pot, along with a mug, saucer, and even a tiny spoon for good measure. Thanking the staff, he backed out of the kitchen with every intention of returning to his own room to finally get some much-needed sleep.
Walking along the hall, pot and accoutrements in hand, Ofdensen was halted in his tracks by a very unfamiliar sound. Someone was singing, in a voice as rich and dark as Irish coffee: "Riu, riu chiu, la guarda ribera…"
Backtracking towards the main room, with its strung lights - admittedly, lights in the shape of little skulls, but lights nevertheless - and its single massive tree at one end, he peered through the doorway and nearly dropped his milk. If he had, the hulking figure lounging on the couch might have noticed him, and the singing would have stopped.
What was even more shocking was the song itself; Nathan was singing a medieval Spanish carol, and heaven alone knew where he had learnt the words. For someone who could barely string a sentence together in English, Nathan's Spanish pronunciation was flawless. The words flowed from his lips and across the room, and maybe there was magic in the air at that, because the breath Ofdensen released was one he had been holding for a very long time indeed.
"Muchas profecias lo han profetizado,
Y aun en nuestros dias lo hemos alcancado.
A Dios humanado vemos en el suelo
Y al hombre nel cielo porqu'er le quisiera..."
Slipping through the doorway and into the room, he crossed to the fireplace on silent feet. Gentle was the key here - if he startled Nathan, the man would close himself off instantly and Charles would never hear the end of this intriguing hymn. The nearly-empty glass on the floor suggested otherwise, but it was now four in the morning on Christmas Day, and so Charles gently eased himself to the floor at the other end of the couch.
"Yo vi mil Garzones que andavan cantando,
Por aqui bolando, haciendo mil sones…"
Charles softly joined in, his higher voice lending a pleasant balance to the deep rumblings coming from the other man. Nathan lazily opened an eye to peer at his manager, unsure of what to do next.
"You, uh... how much did you hear?" Nathan asked gruffly, sitting up to retrieve and promptly drain his glass, bombarding Charles with the scent of nutmeg and dark rum. Charles merely smiled.
"I heard enough," he admitted with a short little shrug, "But I won't tell anyone. Do you, ah... do you mind?" Nathan shook his head warily, sitting completely still, utterly unsure of what to do next. Not for the first time, though admittedly for completely new reasons, Nathan Explosion was speechless. Done. Down for the count. Sensing Nathan's hesitance, Charles gently scooted onto the couch and over, closing the gap between them, and rested his head on Nathan's shoulder. "Merry Christmas, by the way, Nathan."
"Yeah, uh... Merry Christmas... Charlie."
-fin-