Charles had decided on a very small, but quite luxurious facility suitable for Pickles' detoxification. He registered the drummer under a different name, created extensive contracts for each employee to sign relating to privacy and secured the biggest, most isolated room. The next week, on a Tuesday afternoon, he called the drummer into his office and relayed this information.
Pickles seemed slightly robotic to the whole situation, but this only served to alleviate the workload for Ofdensen; he was quite used to resistance, or protest from the boys. However, the drummer would simply nod his head and agree to whatever extravagancies had to be observed.
After his debriefing, the redhead rose and began to leave, barely having said a word. Charles sighed, feeling slightly frustrated, and decided to ask.
"Pickles…are you all right?"
Pickles stopped, leaving the door shut; he wasn't sure whether Ofdensen actually cared, and that was a little more than heart breaking.
Over the years, he'd developed quite the attachment to the manager. It had been completely unwelcome initially and led to some mistreatment on his part. He had no idea how to handle a "man crush", so he'd tried to act as indifferent to Charles as he could. He supposed now, it was only fair.
Charles narrowed his eyes slightly as Pickles made his way back to his desk. This time, the drummer stood right on the other side, looking down at the older man. He had an odd look in his beautiful, green eyes…a look of almost determination.
"No. Ah'm nat fine," he stated plainly.
Charles took in a slow, deep breath. He couldn't ignore the electrical charge between the two of them; it had always been present. He took pleasure in being particularly hard on Pickles—perhaps it was his sadistic side. But really, it was just fondness. He found the drummer to be the most mentally capable out of everyone in the band. He often thought his subtle teasing went unnoticed to Pickles, but it was clear that the younger man recognized it.
"Well, that's nothing new…" the manager added sarcastically, deciding to push the drummer's buttons.
"Don't tahk ta me like dat," Pickles dared, scowling slightly.
Charles simply smiled, seemingly completely relaxed.
"You know…I still believe you should stay here for treatment."
"Oh really, do ya now? And why's dat?"
Pickles tilted his head slightly after his question. He wasn't sure what he was trying to force from Ofdensen—perhaps just a response that wasn't mechanical. He figured that if he was a total smartass, then Charles would have no choice but to burst from his stoic shell.
But he remained placid.
"Because it would be in the best interest of the band."
Pickles grit his teeth slightly.
"Nobody cares if I go." It was more of a question than anything and Charles picked up on it. He actually felt a little taken aback.
Was Pickles wanting to hear someone tell him not to go? Hadn't that been what he'd just suggested? Though, of course, it had been in a business-like way. Perhaps he wanted reassurance that at least someone would miss him…
"Don't be silly," Charles breathed, sounding quite bored, "everyone would prefer it if you were here. Just look at Nathan."
Pickles laughed bitterly.
"He jes' wants me ta stay so we kin write."
Ofdensen considered Pickles for a moment, looking him up and down, just with his eyes. His gaze flickered to the door and his thoughts slowly began to darken…
He rose and strode over to the door. He locked it carefully and turned back to the drummer. Pickles swallowed hard, his determination faltering slightly. He couldn't help that nagging feeling that surfaced that told him he was in trouble. How childish.
"What would you like, Pickles?" Charles' voice became rather velvety, semi-taunting. "Do you want me to tell you that…I don't want you to go?"
He walked up slowly behind the drummer, but just stood there, waiting.
Pickles' instinctually leaned forward a bit, his hands on the desk. He could feel Ofdensen right behind him…close…close enough for this to be another one of his dreams.
"…maybe I do. Is dat true?"
How the hell was this happening? He'd almost thought he was imagining, for all those years, the static between them. But now it seemed as if Charles was privy to his mind, knowing that Pickles had always wanted him…but always wanted to deny it. It almost sounded as if the manager was seducing him. Would that be so hard to imagine?
Yes.
"Perhaps it is," Charles mused, and slid one hand up the drummer's back. It made Pickles' shudder. "But you can understand my caution."
His voice was almost bemused, torturous, and he continued as Pickles was paralyzed.
"You have no idea…the pressure that I endure..." He emphasized his words by running his other hand up to begin giving Pickles' a slow shoulder massage, working every muscle in the drummer's back. The younger man could not suppress a groan.
"Having to watch you…nearly every day…walk in and out of this office. Never giving me so much as a second glance…at least physically." He smiled. He was very intuitive and had picked up on Pickles' crush.
Pickles wasn't getting the underlying message and he felt he had to quickly redeem his behavior.
"No way, I-…ohhh dat feels good…mmm…um…oh, Ah've always…liked…"
Ofdensen nodded.
"Yes, Pickles, I know. Your attraction to me has not gone unnoticed because of ignorance; it just isn't wise for me to encourage it. In any way…"
There was almost a sarcastic tone to his voice, as he ran his hands around to Pickles' chest, stroking and brushing his nipples softly. He very obviously was encouraging it. The bastard.
Pickles' eyes went wide as he felt the manager press himself up against the back of him, his hands roaming. He shuddered again, unable to contain himself, and moaned once more.
"Ch-…Charles…"
"Aw, come on…" Ofdensen teased, moving his lips to the drummer's ear, "What happened to my affectionate nickname?"
"Heh, sarry, Charlie…"
Pickles used to call him Charlie back when the band first started. They'd been rather close, though Ofdensen had felt naïve then and had never approved of the drummer's lifestyle; women, sex, booze, drugs…
Now, Pickles' reputation with women was miniscule compared to the other guys', particularly Skwisgaar and Nathan. That part of his life had started to fade, apparently. Or perhaps he really was becoming attracted to men and unable to deal with it.
Regardless, Charles had no moral objections to taking advantage of Pickles' feelings towards him. He was pleasantly surprised at how submissive Pickles was being and how little he had to force; the power was intoxicating.
"Now…let me reiterate…" He flicked his tongue sensually out to caress the drummer's ear. "I want you to stay here for treatment…"
He smiled quite mischievously, knowing full well that he would get what he wanted in the end. Sending Pickles to rehab would take a lot of work, especially to quiet and pay off the media. It would be tremendously easier on the manager if he stayed. He was convinced that this was merely a stunt he would pull to get his way.
But Pickles was obviously taking this gesture differently. He was glad that he didn't actually have to confess anything to Charles; though he couldn't believe that he was in this position.
"Ch-Charlie…if…de udder guys start drinkin' around me-.."
"Don't worry about the other guys, I'll keep them in line."
His hands slid to Pickles' stomach and he caressed it lightly—he wasn't particularly ripped, probably because of drinking, but it was nice and flat, soft skin on top of hard muscle. The drummer had the kind of stomach that girls like to poke and tickle. It was "cute". Pickles was a rather small man, but this had always been endearing quality about him.
"If you trust me, I will take care of you…" Charles whispered. "You know I always do."
Pickles repressed yet another shiver and bit his bottom lip. Oh, how those words could mean so many things…and how he wished that they did. It wasn't hard to imagine, in the current position they were in. Charles' hands now moved to the drummer's rather narrow hips and rubbed slightly.
"Don't you trust me, Pickles?"
No one should trust Charles Ofdensen. If they knew him well enough, which no one really did, they'd realize that his underlying motives were always selfish. But Pickles chose to see what he wanted: that the manager cared for him. Foolish, really.
Pickles nodded.
"Yee-uh, I do…"
"Good," Charles purred, now trailing light kisses down the drummer's ear and neck. Pickles closed his eyes, in ecstasy. "Because I only want what's best for you."
"God…" Pickles breathed, straightening now so that he could let his body lean back into Charles a bit. He let his head fall back onto the manager's shoulder, keeping his eyes closed.
Charles effortlessly moved the drummer's dreads to reveal his neck for easier access. He smiled, leaning down to continue his kisses, though they became somewhat more. He bit the skin softly, and began sucking—hard enough to leave a mark, certainly. Pickles' light gasp thrilled him and his right hand ventured downward…
It stopped at the top of the drummer's jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them. Pickles' moan was more than encouraging and in one, swift movement, he had his hand wrapped around the younger man's partially hard flesh.
It came to life at the contact and Ofdensen licked up to the drummer's ear again, whispering.
"Mm….you feel good."
It was almost too much for Pickles—how had this happened so quickly? Of course he didn't mind it, but he didn't think he'd be so coherent for this part. If he had ever wanted to approach Ofdensen about his feelings, it would've been in a less than sober manner. Perhaps that's why getting sober had become so important to him; he was trying to push his need for the older man away.
Pickles whimpered as Charles squeezed lightly and began stroking his cock, continuing the extra stimulation on the drummer's neck.
"O-Ohhh….Charlie….dat feels…."
"Yes? Tell me…" He went back to making another conquering mark on the younger man's shoulder.
"…s-so….ohhhhh…."
Charles removed his hand once, only to wet it with his mouth and return, quite eagerly, to the drummer's erection. It wasn't long before Pickles had thrown himself forward, hands firmly on the desk, panting and pleading.
Ofdensen liked having hi m in this position. He could easily watch the affect he was having on the younger man and enjoy the benefit of his authority. Pickles' gasping became higher pitched as he neared his climax, his entire body shaking in want. No, in need.
But instead of increasing his speed, Ofdensen slowed and Pickles' mouth popped open, making an interrogative noise.
"You have to promise me…if you want me to finish," he said slyly, his other hand running up the drummer's back to rest on the back of his neck, in a very dominant position. He kept the drummer forward and bent down.
Pickles didn't really notice the extremely subservient pose he was forced to hold. He just wanted to cum. Oh GOD, he wanted to cum.
"Wh-…I-…" he sputtered, whimpering slightly, "p-pramise what?"
Ofdensen gave him a good squeeze, smiling to himself, raising an eyebrow.
"That you'll be treated here. That you'll allow me to transform a part of the medical wing."
He was feeling quite cocky, especially now. Pickles seemed to acquiesce to any command and he would utilize this to his benefit.
Pickles thought for a second, but then nodded fervently. He didn't want to leave Charles, anyway…not now that this had happened.
"O-Okee…I won't leave, Ah'll stay…" he furrowed his brow, closing his eyes tightly, "Please..."
Charles smiled and sped up his hand, stroking faster and putting pressure in all the right places, keeping his other hand at Pickles' neck. He could almost get off on this feeling of having the drummer completely obedient.
"O-Oh!"
Pickles writhed again, grateful as the building in his stomach spread warmth throughout his entire body and he came into the manager's hand. He collapsed forward, onto the desk, putting his cheek to the cold wood.
Charles smiled, taking in the sight of the drummer bent completely over his desk. It was tempting…but perhaps another day…
He retrieved a tissue to clean off his hand and helped Pickles stand, turning him around.
"I'll have the hospital ready for you on Friday."
Amazing how he could go back to being his manager so quickly. Pickles' eyes were heavy and he looked quite sexy after having gotten off. He held onto Charles a bit, to keep from wavering, as he came back to Earth. He smiled, a bit goofily.
"Okee."
He looked down at Charles' pants—nope. No erection. What the fuck?
Pickles was too high from the hand job to be too deeply disturbed about the manager's lack of arousal. Without thinking, he leaned up and kissed Ofdensen on the mouth softly.
Charles didn't kiss back, but he certainly didn't pull away. What he did do was clear his throat.
"Pickles?"
"Yee-uh?" He raised his eyebrows, pulling back.
"You have band rehearsal in five minutes."
Pickles smiled lazily and looked at the clock.
"Oh, yee-uh, I guess I do. Okee…"
He made his way to the door, turning back as he opened it.
"See ya…soon?"
A normal person would have felt a slight pang of guilt at the hope in the drummer's voice. But Charles simply smiled and nodded.
"Yes."
After Pickles left, the manager sat down in his cushy, leather chair and put his feet up on the desk, leaning back. He stared at the place where Pickles' hands had been, on the edge of the desk.
What he'd done was completely unethical. Had there been any proof against him, Pickles could have sued and had his job. But there wasn't and Ofdensen was sure of that. His office seemed to be the only place that didn't have any security cameras, and, not for the first time, he was glad of that.
At least now Pickles wasn't leaving for rehab. Mission accomplished.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Toki was much braver in the dark.
He was straddling Skwisgaar on the bed in their room. Yes, their room; Toki's bedroom had become mostly vacant, only utilized for dressing and building model planes these days. Since the Swede's room was bigger, with a much bigger bed, and didn't have creepy pictures of Toki's parents hanging on the walls, they'd chosen this one.
Toki pulled back from the heated kiss, smiling. Skwisgaar groaned slightly and tried to follow him—but the restraints were solid. Damn, Toki was getting good at knots.
The Norwegian shifted his hips, looking down hungrily at the naked blonde that lay stretched out underneath him. He was naked, too, and he made sure that Skwisgaar felt their cocks brush together lightly—but other than that, he was ignoring everything below the waist.
"Nnng….T-Toki, please…justs touch mes…" the lead guitarist pleaded. He was throbbing, this had been going on for way too long. The ropes that were tied to the headboard behind him burned his wrists if he squirmed too much.
The younger man only grinned wider, his voice soft.
"/n/ No, Skwisgaar…you have to earn it. /n/"
This made the Swede moan loudly, in a very needy way. He loved and hated this type of torture; but Toki was teaching him restraint and had told him that it would be worth it. He just had to remember that much.
"/s/ What do you want me to do, love? I'll do anything…/s/"
Toki giggled, tossing his long hair behind him and leaning down to put his lips very close to Skwisgaar's.
"/n/ I want you.../n/" His face grew quite serious. "/n/ …to let me in./n/"
The blonde's expression grew grave. He immediately lost the playfulness and pleading to his voice.
"Nos, Toki," He felt it best to break the intimacy of their Scandinavian speak. "Yous is nots goings to fucks me. I tolds you."
Toki pouted slightly and sat back up.
"Whys not?! I lets you fucks me alls da time!"
Skwisgaar shook his head.
"Dats is different. Yous is de bottom, yous likes it. Yous likes having someone into-sides of you…"
"Nos," Toki corrected, "I likes havings you insides of me."
His older lover sighed and Toki grew more frustrated, wishing he could explain.
"Don'ts yous trust me, Skwisgaar?"
Dark blue eyes met Toki's pale ones and there was clear hurt on Skwisgaar's face. Of course he trusted Toki; he trusted him enough with his heart, didn't he? But this…it was too painful. For reasons that the Norwegian couldn't, and wouldn't, understand.
"Unties me," the Swede instructed angrily.
"Nej."
Toki furrowed his brow, refusing to move. It was useless for the blonde to struggle; it only served to burn his wrists more.
"Lets me go! Yous nots fuckinks me!"
"Just tells me why, Skwisgaar!" Toki pleaded. He sounded much like a child being refused a lollipop before dinner.
The older man simply shook his head and kept it turned to one side after; he couldn't look at Toki right now…He looked so expectant, so wanting. And he could never give Toki what he wanted. His past kept him from opening his body in that way to anyone.
"I just can'ts. Its will hurt," he said pathetically, knowing this to be a poor excuse. Toki'd endured enormous pain during their first few times.
Toki crossed his arms huffily for a moment, before his stance relaxed. He leaned down and stroked Skwisgaar's face with one, calloused hand. He didn't understand, but he could feel the presence of an underlying, ominous reason behind his refusal.
"/n/ It's okay…I'm not going to force you. I just want to know why you don't want me inside of you…/n/"
Skwisgaar responded a bit better to this less juvenile behavior. He turned his face back to look at his lover's, his expression pained.
"/s/ I-…I've felt it before, okay? I don't want it again. /s/"
Toki looked confused.
Felt it before…? But he told me he'd never…
"/n/ I thought you'd never been with a guy before me? /n/"
The Swede sighed. It seemed that he'd have to spell it out for Toki, quite plainly.
"/s/ Well, I lied. But…it wasn't exactly my choice. He'd been a friend of my mom's…/s/"
Toki was finally catching on. His jaw dropped in a look of sheer horror and Skwisgaar had to look away again. He really had never wanted to get into this. Ever. Especially not with Toki. It was something he'd once punched Twinkletits for trying to coax out of him.
"/n/ Skwis, I…didn't know. I'm sorry. You were…raped?/n/"
Skwisgaar scowled at the word; it sounded so defenseless, so weak, so…not metal.
"/s/ Yeah, I guess. It was when I was twelve. Just…can we not talk about this anymore? /s/"
His wrists killed, his now wilting cock was painful and he didn't like the way Toki was staring at him in horror. He kept his gaze at the window.
Toki simply nodded. He didn't want to make Skwisgaar angry, or bring up bad memories; he knew how much he hated that himself. Mercifully, he reached down and began stroking the Swede's cock, bringing it back to life.
Skwisgaar was grateful. He let his head fall back onto the pillow and closed his eyes. He just wanted to fuck it all away and cloud his brain with pleasure. That usually solved all of his problems…or at least kept them subsided.
"/s/ Toki…mmm…just let me inside of you…but take control. It's okay to take control…/s/"
He wanted to be fucked; but not be the receiver. Toki thought he had a pretty good idea of what the blonde meant and he nodded again, leaning down to kiss him sweetly. He would give up, for now, but the issue wouldn't leave his mind. He cared about Skwisgaar; enough to want him in every way. Even if it meant helping him into new territory to overcome his fear of vulnerability.
The younger man began to get back into the swing of things, his own erection hardening and his body flushing with anticipation. He reached up, running his free hand down the length of Skwisgaar's restrained arms and then his chest, keeping the other busy on his cock. He absolutely adored the Swede's body—his lean, sinewy muscles and pale skin that so easily displayed the "love-bites" that Toki enjoyed leaving behind.
He leaned to the right, reaching over to the metal nightstand next to the bed. Opening the top drawer, he pulled out a familiar bottle.
"/s/ Hurry…/s/" Skwisgaar pleaded, arching his back a little, trying hard to restrain his orgasm—though it was becoming difficult with Toki's fervent stroking.
The younger man fumbled with the lube, furrowing his brow.
"/n/ Um…okay, hold on. /n/"
He ceased his groping and used both hands as he near-emptied the silky liquid onto his palms, as well as Skwisgaar's cock. He tossed the bottle aside and began slicking the Swede's rock hard flesh.
"/s/ Ohhhh-!/s/" The blonde's breath hitched in his throat. "/s/ Just do it already! Please! I need you…/s/"
Toki smiled. Being told he was needed never got old. He could listen to it all day, if it was coming from Skwisgaar.
"/n/ Okay, now stay still—I'm fucking you, remember? /n/"
He positioned himself, sitting forward a bit, before reaching down to place the Swede's cock at his entrance. He lowered himself, allowing Skwisgaar in, and moaned loudly. He moved both of his hands to the older man's chest; keeping him down, wanting to be in control, but also steadying himself.
Skwisgaar groaned, roughly, feeling his sensitive flesh surrounded by Toki's velvety innards. His first instinct was to buck his hips, which pushed himself further into the little Norwegian, who gasped.
"/n/ S-…Skwisgaar! …I-I'm fucking you, stop! Ohhh…/n/"
The Swede smiled, looking up at Toki with adoration. If this was how he could give himself to the younger man, then he would allow it.
"/s/ Then fuck me…/s/" he growled.
Toki tossed his hair to one side and began moving, riding the lead guitarist rhythmically. He was used to Skwisgaar's hands on his hips, and rather missed that, but he wanted to keep the man tied down. He felt more in control that way, and he was trying to establish his role as more of a sexual equal.
It was only a matter of time until Skwisgaar could barely contain himself; he'd been struggling against the ropes for so long that his wrists were beginning to bleed. In the back of his mind, the voice that always thought about guitar kept him worrying about the status of his hands. He couldn't arrive at practice with fucked up fingers because he wanted to give his boyfriend a sense of power in their relationship. Besides, Toki was beginning to whimper, whining in the same fashion he did when he begged to be dominated. It was driving Skwisgaar crazy.
"/s/ Pleeease….untie me…/s/" the Swede groaned.
Toki's head was hanging, his hair draped over his face, his arms beginning to shake a bit from holding up his body for so long.
"/n/ Nooo…/n/" He didn't want to lose his leading position…but he was beginning to ache for their usual arrangement. He hadn't realized how fond he'd grown of being able to pull Skwisgaar close, feel his soft, pale hair on him and wrap his legs tightly around his lover's body.
"/s/ Untie me, kitten, please…you've fucked me, now I want to fuck you. /s/"
Toki huffed for a moment before finally acquiescing; he usually succumbed to anything if there was an affectionate pet name involved. He reached up, easily untying the complicated knots and freeing the lead's hands. Skwisgaar touched his bruised wrists lightly.
"/s/ O-Ow….damn, Toki…/s/"
Toki frowned, moving to lay on his back beside the older man.
"/n/ You told me to make them impossible to get out of! Come oooon, fuck me, hurry up! /n/"
Skwisgaar had never disobeyed a command like that.
He quickly sped into high gear, flipping over so that he was on top of the Norwegian. He opened the younger man's legs, lifting them up to his sides and revealing his still wet opening. Not wasting any time, and slightly frustrated that he hadn't cum yet, he thrust into Toki, falling forward into an embrace.
Toki secured his legs around Skwisgaar's lower back, his body moving in time with the older man's thrusts.
"Ohhh….J-Jeg elsker deg," he sang, his head falling back.
Only after a few minutes of deep, heavy thrusting did Skwisgaar welcome the warm clenching of his stomach muscles. He released himself into Toki with one last string of incoherent Swedish and Toki arrived not long after, clawing at the blonde's smooth back.
They collapsed onto and into each other, murmuring their usual gibberish of promises and stroking each other's faces. After this moment of pure bliss, Skwisgaar pulled out of Toki and lay beside him. He opened his arms, allowing the younger man to snuggle onto his chest, and pulled the fur comforter around them.
"Dats…was goods, ja?" Skwisgaar asked, still slightly out of breath.
"Ja," Toki answered, his breathing normal; with the shape his body was in, it was near impossible for him to lose his stamina.
Somewhere in Skwisgaar's consciousness, he was aware of the fact that Toki was unhappy about something. The fact that it had recently surfaced—and the fact that it was about dicking him—was unsettling. He needed reassurance, something that told him that Toki was still happy with their arrangement.
"T…Toki? Um…I's nots go outs tomorrows, okay?"
Toki furrowed his brow, tracing circles on the older man's chest.
"Whats you mean? Were you goings to goes out?"
Skwisgaar sighed. He knew that they had a really long rehearsal planned for the next day on stage, and that the little Norwegian would most likely be tired afterwards, or in a bad mood from Skwisgaar's nitpicking. He'd planned to rush to a club and get some fucking out before coming back before Toki went to bed.
But now he wondered if it was worth the possible strain it could put on them. He was suddenly very aware of how annoying it must be that he's allowed to fuck whoever he wants.
"Well…ja, maybes. I's wasn'ts sures, but…I may be t'inkings I stays here wid you."
Toki smiled softly, not really understanding the real motives behind this generous decision; but he'd take it, of course.
"Okays." He sounded very content.
Skwisgaar nodded and hugged the younger man to him possessively, before closing his eyes.
"Mmm….god natt, Toki."
"God natt, Skwis."