Charles Foster Ofdensen believed human life to be expendable; especially if it was in the way of what he wanted. His compulsive tendencies were his greatest, self-proclaimed quality, allowing him the impressive ability to get just about anything done; through persuasion, money, hard work, torture, intimidation—he'd indulged in all of the formerly mentioned.
Amorality was his cash crop, indifference his right hand man.
He was in a position now where he could snap his fingers and have the world at his feet. Keeping Dethklok happy, despite his dedication to the task, came in second place to his lust for power. BMWs, Blackberry and LG touch screen phones, LCD-screened HD televisions, Armani suits, front row tickets to all the Broadway shows in New York City—all of these things were nothing compared to the overwhelming, God-like supremacy he felt at the head of such an empire. There was absolutely nothing to hold him back. Nothing could get in his way. He was highly skilled, well trained and smarter than all hell; but more importantly, he was completely underestimated.
And this underestimation was what fueled Charles' rise to power in this kingdom that was the music industry. While Dethklok played the shows, made the records and fought over what to watch on TV while in the hot tub, Ofdensen had been slowly building their armies, investing in the New York Stock Exchange and negotiating contracts with foreign countries. He had literally built this domain from the ground up and single-handedly maintained the well-oiled machine that was Dethklok.
He could, quite literally, talk his way out of mostly every situation; except those where physical force was necessary, and he was very fair at that, as well. Above everything, his most finely-tuned skill was manipulation. Charles Ofdensen manipulated everything around him—time, budgets, laws, loopholes in contracts and sometimes other people's words—to his advantage. Most important, however, and probably the most unnoticed, was his capability to manipulate people.
It was almost Socratic; he could have you turning on your own values and beliefs in a second, if he felt it constructive to do so. He could have the entire world convinced of basically anything by a single statement.
More than anything, it was important to him that his past remain elusive and that he remain seemingly harmless. As long as he pulled the strings, including Dethklok's, then everything was running efficiently. His livelihood was airtight and he made damn sure that no one could do the job like he could.
Because, after all the only other option for Charles…was death.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The manager had been sitting at his desk for hours, reviewing their music video director's contract when the phone rang.
"Yes?" He asked monotonously, bringing the receiver to his ear.
"My lord," the low, faceless voice of a random Klokateer made the manager sigh, "a fan has breached the grounds."
"Snipe him," Ofdensen ordered immediately, sounding quite bored, "And then execute three of the perimeter guards who were on duty when he invaded."
"Yes, sir."
Charles hung up, only to be disturbed once more by a soft knock at his door.
"Come in," he called, tossing down his pen in a surrendering, frustrated gesture.
He was slightly surprised to see the freckled face of a familiar, red-headed drummer as the younger man casually strolled in.
"Pickles," he said flatly, "What can I do for you?"
"Hey, Ahfdensen."
Pickles didn't bother apologizing for the interruption—none of Dethklok ever did. As far as he was usually concerned, he was the most important thing on the manager's to-do list.
But as he sat down in the luxurious chair across from Charles' desk, he didn't look arrogantly significant at all. He looked nervous and, quite frankly, embarrassed.
He played absentmindedly with one of his longest dreads and kept his gaze on the floor. Ofdensen noticed the drummer's bouncing leg before trailing his eyes—quite happily—to Pickles' face. He wasn't hard on the eyes, at least, and Charles felt more than allowed to drink in the younger man's attractive features.
"…Pickles?" he asked again, furrowing his brow. His concern for the troubled state of a band member was usually feigned, unless it interrupted business; however, the drummer's distress was quite palpable.
"Oh, heh, sarry," Pickles tore his eyes from the floor to meet the older man's. "Well, I, uh…Ah've been thinkin'…nat very hard, but…"
"Yes?"
Hopefully this wasn't about Snakes 'N Barrels. It seemed that Pickles' presence in his office was usually connected with his former band.
"Well…" the drummer went on, "are dere, uh…any good…yak n ow, detox centers around here?" His face fell into a sheepish blush.
Ofdensen froze. Was Pickles really suggesting his own admittance to a rehabilitation clinic? Something monumental must have sparked this; however, the hardened manager's first thought was about image.
"I suppose it could be possible to transform part of the hospital wing. It may be more prudent to treat you here, if you with to do so."
Pickles blinked. Damn, Charles was cold. And he wasn't listening.
"No," the younger man's expression grew a bit angry. "I don't wanna be here. I want ta go away." Maybe he hadn't been clear enough.
Ofdensen leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk in a very business-like manner. Transporting Pickles to a rehab facility under the media's nose would be nearly impossible. But privacy contracts for the employees and other patients could be drawn up.
"There are a few, yes," Charles admitted, "however, I believe you should consider the possible repercussions of risking the privacy of this matter."
"I don't care," Pickles said, leaning back in the chair more comfortably now. "Da fans won't give a shit. Whaddo dey care if Ah'm tryin' ta get clean?"
Charles sighed. He did think it quite brave of the younger man, though he had little knowledge of his reasons. He leaned back in his leather chair.
"Well, Pickles, if it's truly what you want, then it could be arranged. I will find the most satisfactory hospital and get the necessary information—at which time you and I will sit down and discuss treatment options. Alright?"
The drummer nodded, the nervous, agitated expression creeping back onto his face.
"Yee-uh, thanks."
He rose and headed for the door before Charles came to a realization.
"Pickles?"
"Hm?" He turned to face the manager, his hand on the door knob.
"You want to be away from the other guys, don't you?"
Pickles chuckled bitterly.
"Nat exactly the best influences if yer tryin' ta get sober." He shrugged. "We're not supposed to intervene in each udder's shit, anyways."
Charles nodded once, curtly and watched the redhead carefully.
"I see…well, I will call you back in tomorrow."
Pickles smiled a soft, distant smile and left swiftly.
That had certainly been unexpected. Charles sighed heavily, picking up the phone to call around and find a proper place to send Pickles. Dethklok always had kept him on his toes.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Toki woke up to the usual site of a naked Swede beside him. Skwisgaar had tossed the fur comforter completely off of him during the night, which wasn't uncommon; and to Toki, it was welcome. The Norwegian turned on his side to face his lover, his eyes tracing the gentle curves of Skwisgaar's sinewy muscles. He reached out, running a finger softly in circles on the pale skin of his back.
They were coming up on their three year anniversary. Toki was sure that Skwisgaar wouldn't remember it—after all, he never did. Regardless, it was exciting to think about. Three years they'd been together, and out to the other guys for two of them.
Skwisgaar groaned and turned his face toward Toki, smiling slightly but keeping his eyes closed.
"God morgon," he mumbled. There were three situations in which Skwisgaar would almost always revert back to his native language—early mornings, sex and fits of anger.
"Goods morning," Toki replied back softly.
The blonde squirmed over to lay his head on the younger man's shoulder, burying his face in the soft, chestnut brown hair. He sighed lazily and continued in Swedish.
"/s/ Do we have rehearsal today? /s/"
Toki nodded and proceeded to answer him in Norwegian. It only took seconds of translation in their heads to understand each other. And it had always seemed more intimate, even when alone, speaking so that the other guys couldn't possibly know what they were saying.
"/n/ Yeah, but we have a band meeting first. Mr. Manager slipped a note under your door. /n/"
A Klokateer actually delivered the note, but it was written, in perfect, slanted scroll, by Ofdensen. There was a band meeting at eleven o'clock that morning.
It was 10:59.
"Oh nos!" Toki cried as he glanced at the clock. He jumped up and Skwisgaar shoved his face back into his pillow, annoyed. "The meetins ams in ones minutes!"
Skwisgaar pushed him up on his elbows and watched Toki scramble around trying to find his clothes. He chuckled.
"Pfft, likes we nevers been lates, ah? Settles down."
But Toki hated being the last ones there; all the other guys always looked at them strangely, obviously thinking it was because they'd just been fucking. Skwisgaar had always been pretty apathetic about the rest of the band knowing about his homosexual attraction to the rhythm guitarist. He'd fucked guys before, especially in Sweden: sex was sex, after all.
He'd allowed them to get caught from time to time, that was certain. They'd started by making out in closets and fooling around in the hot tub when they thought everyone was in bed; Toki had been slightly mortified when Nathan had once walked in on the Norwegian on his knees in front of Skwisgaar in the recording room.
The guitarists' relationship had never been easy. At first, Toki made Skwisgaar swear to be monogamous. But soon enough, the younger man felt the exhaustion of the Swede's impossibly large sexual appetite. It was grueling. And finally, Toki agreed to let Skwisgaar sleep with whoever he wanted, but with stipulations.
He had to come home to Toki every night. He would be tested for STDs monthly. He would never talk about his other sexual encounters to Toki. Skwisgaar could not sleep with other men; it could only be women. (Toki didn't like the idea of him fucking another male; he knew that women meant nothing to the blonde.) And, when the Norwegian was willing, Skwisgaar had to choose him over anyone else.
So far, the Swede was quite happy with the "rules". He would admit to anyone that he was a sex addict, but he always preferred Toki. If the younger man was too tired, or sore, he found a random slut and got it all out of his system, no strings attached. He never really felt the need to fuck another guy; Toki was really a major exception for him. Perhaps that was what made it so special and meaningful.
Toki tossed the Swede's pants at him and they landed on his bare back.
"Comes on!"
Skwisgaar chuckled and got up, walking casually over to Toki and pulling him close from behind, grabbing him by the hips. He heard the younger man gasp slightly and smirked, putting his lips to Toki's ear.
"Aw, littles Toki, scareds of gettinks in trouble…"
The Norwegian scowled. He hated being patronized, even when he knew it was playful, and especially when there was nothing he could do about it; he never pulled away from Skwisgaar's touch. But he shivered slightly as the blonde licked up the rim of his ear.
"I just…o-ohh…don'ts want to…makes Mr. Managers mad…"
He was starting to lose his persistence and suddenly thought that staying a few more minutes wouldn't be such a bad idea.
Skwisgaar's hands began to roam, feeling down the rhythm guitarist's bare chest—Toki'd only managed to yank on his pants in his flurry—and then his stomach, his long fingers tracing the lines of his lover's firm muscles. His tongue continued along Toki's ear and Toki let out a small moan.
"Please…" was all he could manager to whisper.
Skwisgaar smiled triumphantly. He turned Toki around, keeping his hands at the younger man's hips. The Norwegian brought his arms up to wrap around the Swede's slender neck. He liked this position; it made him feel awfully feminine, but it felt right. He didn't mind taking the submissive stance.
"Whats do yous want?" Skwisgaar purred, his thumbs rubbing in circles on Toki's hips.
"Anyt'ings…I just wants yous…" he answered.
The blonde leaned down, kissing Toki in a rewarding manner, having gotten what he wanted. Besides, it would be hot to sit at the breakfast table with Toki all flustered, knowing that he had done that to him. The younger man was easy to muddle, always being slightly awkward in public after sexual attention. It was hilarious.
As Skwisgaar sank to his knees, Toki's eyes widened slightly. It wasn't something he normally saw; when he did get sucked off, it was almost always dark or in bed after he'd already done it to Skwisgaar.
The Swede kissed down Toki's chiseled abs, to his hip bone, talking intermittently.
"Yous have…beens such…a goods boy. I musts be…rewardinks you…"
He rolled his eyes up to glance at Toki's expression and felt even more smug. The younger man was in total awe, his mouth hanging open, his eyes expectant and grateful. He put his hands in Skwisgaar's pale hair, stroking affectionately, then he nodded.
"I's be goods. I wills stays here as longs as you wants…" His eyes were clouded and heavy with lust.
Skwisgaar nodded back.
"Ja. Yous will stay untils I ams good and done."
Toki felt his already hard cock twitch at that command. Skwisgaar unbuttoned the younger man's jeans, pulling them down slightly to reveal the hard flesh. Giving a blowjob had never been the Swede's favorite activity; but he did like how it made Toki react. He'd never imagined how much pleasure he could get by giving pleasure in return and it became fascinating to him once he'd claimed Toki, years ago.
The blonde held Toki's cock at its base, licking up his length while he watched his younger lover's face; Toki gasped, letting his head fall back, his eyes rolling back into his head. He kept petting Skwisgaar's head, though it became heavier. The Swede was glad that Toki had a pretty regular sized dick; he didn't want to have any competition in that area and Skwisgaar was certainly the bigger of the two.
He began to bob and Toki began his usual whimpering. A string of lovely Norwegian escaped his lips and this was a great source of encouragement for Skwisgaar; but he wanted to draw it out, to make them later to the meeting than just a few minutes.
Skwisgaar went about everything very slowly; he would take nearly all of Toki's cock into his mouth and pull back at an agonizing pace, sucking hard as he did. When he would reach the head, he would swirl his tongue and stop to pay it a little extra attention.
"Uhhhnn…S-..Skwisgaar…" Toki groaned, his voice pleading, "comes on…"
Skwisgaar grinned wickedly and shook his head.
"No no, littles pet, I tolds you dats you waits until I ams done."
He continued, unhurried and quite leisurely about the activity. Toki fell forward slightly, the hand that wasn't buried in Skwisgaar' hair now clinging to the Swede's shoulder to hold himself up. His impossibly long, chestnut hair fell to partially cover the Swede's shoulders.
"Nej, S-…Skwis-…" Toki could barely choke out a moan. While the pace was slow, it was too erotic to not drive him crazy and he could feel himself thankfully building toward exploding.
After several more moments of torture, Skwisgaar's jaw began to be sore and he decided to give in. He bobbed faster, twisting Toki at the base for extra stimulation. Toki's eyes shot open and his body jerked as he clung to his lover for support.
"O-OH!! J-…Ja, Skw-…J-Jeg elsker d-deg, ohhhh…."
Skwisgar had gotten used to Toki telling him that he loved him; particularly in moments of passion, and almost always in Norwegian. The Swede had yet to say it back, though he'd expressed it in many other ways; he thought that an amazing blowjob was a pretty good way. That would have to do for now.
After a few more bobs, Toki's body spasmed without warning and he spilled his hot liquid into Skwisgaar's mouth. The blonde tried to swallow it all, but failed, pulling back after a mouthful and sputtering a bit. He greedily licked off what he could off of Toki's cock.
Toki was pretty much draped over Skwisgaar, completely spent. Skwisgaar stood, mouthing a painful "Owww.." as he rubbed his sore knees. He helped Toki stand and pulled him to the bed, falling back with the younger man in his arms.
Toki half-sighed, half-groaned, clinging to the Swede. He opened his eyes and glanced down only to remember that Skwisgaar hadn't gotten dressed at all; and that his impressive, bare cock was hard and looked quite painful.
Still laying on his lover's shoulder, his entire body lax, he reached down and wrapped his fingers around Skwisgaar's length.
"O-Ohhh…Ja, Toki…"
He was actually amazed that he'd been able to forget about his own throbbing erection for so long. He flushed at the sensation. Toki forced himself from his reverie to at least trail kisses along Skwisgaar's jaw line and neck, while he worked him quite expertly with his hand.
His cock was already slick with pre cum and it certainly didn't take long for Toki to have the Swede squirming and flittering in Swedish.
"/s/ Oh yes, right there…p-please, yes….ODIN, you're beautiful, Toki…/s/"
Toki smiled wide at that, nuzzling Skwisgaar's ear and flicking his tongue out to caress it gently. But suddenly, without warning, Toki ceased his onslaught on the Swede's cock. Skwisgaar cried out interrogatively, sounding quite pissed.
"Whats de hell?!"
"Shh," Toki whispered, "Yous is goings to likes dis…I's promise."
"What ams you doing, I's was likinks w-…whats yous ams JUST doings!"
"Hold on!" Toki said defensively, sounding rather frustrated. He scooted down a bit, still lying beside Skwisgaar's thing body. Skwisgaar watched with anticipation, wondering if the younger man was going to go down on him.
But he was confused to see Toki spread his legs a bit further and reach down—but go past his cock. Toki watched Skwisgaar quite carefully as one finger ran across the older man's entrance. The Swede's eyes widened significantly.
"Toki…" his voice was strange—soft, but almost dangerous, "whats ams you doing?"
The Norwegian bit his lip and spoke very softly; he knew that it would be a long shot that Skwisgaar would let him do this, let alone like it like he did. But it was worth a shot.
"Is okays, Skwis. I's nots goings to hurts you."
"You're not fuckinks me," the blonde said plainly, almost angrily.
Toki shook his head, keeping his voice and expression soft and harmless.
"I knows, I's nots goings to."
Skwisgaar swallowed hard and shifted a bit, Toki's pre cum-slicked finger now frozen at his entrance. The younger man took the silence as temporary permission and poked his finger in shallowly, just barely past the impossibly tight ring of muscle at the entry.
He watched as the lead guitarist's face contorted into a look of discomfort and slight anxiety.
"Relax," Toki cooed. He decided that this might be easier with distraction and so he scooted down even further so that he could stroke Skwisgaar's cock with his other hand. He moved between the Swede's legs now, one finger burying itself in his lover's ass, the other entertaining his erection.
"O-Oh…" Skwisgaar practically squeaked. It was a strange sensation…and he wasn't sure how prepared he'd been for it. But with the stroking alongside it, it was easier to bare. He just didn't want to be fucked. He couldn't handle that.
Toki kept his strokes slow, wanting to further explore this new territory. He pushed his finger in deeper, until it was to the knuckle. Feeling the hot, inside of Skwisgaar was the most amazing feeling he'd ever experienced; he knew what it was like to have someone inside of you and he wanted to share that. He never really felt it had to be equal, as he knew that they each had their own roles in the relationship. But that didn't mean that Skwisgaar couldn't allow him in from time to time, to keep the connection.
There was a healthy blush on the Swede's usually pale cheeks. Unintentionally, he bucked his hips towards Toki's hand, but also against his surrounded finger.
"T-Toki, /s/ it…I…can't describe…/s/"
He bucked more quickly and Toki mercifully stroked harder, moving his finger in and out of the lead guitarist hungrily, licking his lips.
"/s/ Oh YES! Please, you-…that…feels so good, just…please don't go…don't go, don't go…don't go…/s/"
Skwisgaar wasn't sure why he kept saying it; he tended to get stuck in loops during times of pleasure, usually repeating one phrase or word that meant something to him at the time.
"/n/ I'm here…/n/" Toki replied silkily, kissing and biting the Swede's thigh lovingly. Skwisgaar was so beautiful when he was submissive…
Almost right after Toki's words, Skwisgaar came, arching his back and crying out loudly. His body shook with orgasm as he saw stars.
Toki removed his finger from the Swede and crawled up beside him, nuzzling, kissing and whispering sweet nothings. As silly as it seemed, it was what Skwisgaar needed; he pulled Toki down to embrace him, quite readily, as if he wanted reassurance of…something.
The Norwegian smiled.
"Dats was…nice," he whispered.
"Ja," Skwisgaar breathed, his eyes closed, trying to regain consciousness, "but don'ts…you knows, gets used to its."
Toki nodded, but deep down…he had other intentions.
"Comes on, we'd betters gets going."
It was now 11:32. Perfect.
They threw on some clothes, promising each other a nice, long shower after the stupid, dildo meeting. They prepared themselves for shit about being late, entering the dining room a bit sheepishly. But they seemed to be the least of everyone's worries.
Pickles was standing by Charles, at the head of the table, his arms crossed. He looked mad. Or hurt. Or maybe it was a mix of both. Charles looked rather annoyed and they were both staring at Nathan, who appeared to be in quite a surly mood.
Skwisgaar plopped down beside Murderface, whispering.
"Whats is…dis alls about?"
William snorted and leaned over to the blonde.
"Picklesch isch goin' to rehab and Nathan'sch pissched."
Skwisgaar exchanged a look with Toki before listening in on the singer's conversation with the other men.
"I just don't understand why you can't…ya know, stay here," Nathan grumbled, not looking at Pickles. He chose the table as a visual distraction instead.
"Dats cuz yer a fuckin' idiot," Pickles spat and Charles sighed.
"Nathan," Ofdensen began, "Pickles feels it would be easier if he did this alone, seeing as…the rest of you still…use substances. Like alcohol."
The drummer nodded. Nathan grunted disapprovingly.
Skwisgaar opened his mouth before he could think too hard about it.
"Pickles, yous…gots a problems wid drinkinks now? But you loves it!"
The redhead looked quite nervous to be addressed by Skwisgaar. He shifted on his feet and looked down, becoming almost ashamed.
"I…don't like who I am when Ah'm drunk, dat's all. Ah'm tired of it. I wanna get clean."
It was Charles who caught Pickles glance upward as his head hung, barely noticeable at all, and flash a look to Toki, who blushed and looked quickly away. The manager narrowed his eyes slightly and made a mental note. Finally, he was ready to end this.
"Look, everyone, Pickles is going to rehab. He won't be gone for too long, but this is his decision and I suggest you…uh…all be supportive."
Nathan sulked, crossing his arms. Toki kept looking at the floor, unnoticed to Skwisgaar, who watched Pickles with a confused look. Murderface sighed and nodded, the only one who seemed of any encouragement to the drummer.
"Do whatcha gotta do, man. If you wanna get schober, then get schober."
Pickles smiled softly.
"Theenks, Murderface," he said softly before turning to leave.
Toki excused himself and briefly touched Skwisgaar's arm softly before following the drummer. He found him in his room, sitting on the bed with his face in his hands. The Norwegian bit his lip, contemplating turning around and leaving. But he decided firmly that this needed to be talked about…
"Pickle…"
Toki's soft voice made Pickles jump slightly. He hadn't realized that the much younger man had been standing in his doorway.
"Oh, hey…"
They stared at each other for what felt like eons, before Toki finally spoke again.
"Please don'ts go…because of me. Because ofs whats happened…"
Pickles motioned for Toki to come in and shut the door, so the Norwegian did just that. He took a few more steps into the room carefully and the drummer shook his head.
"Does Skwisgaar know?" he asked warily.
Toki shook his head.
"Nej, I…hasn'ts tolds him."
"Ah'm nat…leavin' cuz 'a you. I really jes'…need to get outta here. And get clean. It's somethin' I gatta do, Toki."
The guitarist nodded, not sure what to believe. It had only been a day since Pickles had stumbled into his room…muttered something about having always been in love with him…and pulled Toki into a passionate, soul-jerking kiss.
Only to pull away and utter his damning word. Name, actually. "Charles…"
Toki was surprised that Pickles had been drunk enough to mistake him for the manager, but he hadn't taken offense; he was just grateful that it wasn't him who the drummer was confessing his love for.
"Pickles, haves you…ever…thoughts about-"
But the older man cut him off immediately.
"I don't need ta think about anything, okee? It was…a mistake. I was drunk, it didn't mean nothin'."
Then why did his insides feel so twisted?
Toki swallowed back the rest of his words and nodded.
"Okays…just…keeps in touch, ja? And comes backs soon?" He looked truly hopeful.
Pickles smiled distantly. He'd always been fond of Toki, and those feelings were reciprocated; Pickles had always been the nicest to him, overall, even when he'd first joined the band.
"Yeah, sure, kid. I'll do dat. Now I gatta pack."
Toki left quickly after giving the drummer an awkward, tiny hug, shutting his door. Pickles put his face in his hands, sighing in a desperate way. Nathan really didn't want him to leave, mainly because it was going to delay the writing process for their next album.
But Pickles was determined. His drinking was going to lead to some slip-ups if he wasn't careful: ones that weren't as harmless as kissing Toki.
He just might end up confessing his obsession to Ofdensen…and that was the last thing he wanted.
