In the Helicopter After the Tour Tumblr request: NathanxPickles tender fluff? If you want to. Nathan/Pickles.
Tours took a lot out of a man. Extended periods of time away from your own bed and the associated comfortable feeling of home drained you of energy, requiring more artificial substances to give you bursts long enough for the duration of a show, until you were tired and falling asleep on your other band members' shoulders and yawning all over the place, itching inside of yourself for return and recluse. Nathan and Pickles found themselves in this situation on a helicopter ride from someplace in Russia back to Mordhaus, Pickles's head on Nathan's shoulder and Nathan's head on Pickles's, sitting by themselves and separated from the sleeping pile of Toki, Skwisgaar and Murderface, laying on top of each other in that order. Nathan and Pickles weren't quite asleep but not quite awake, either, in that place where reality felt like a dream and sleep was crawling in but not quite there.
"Good show," Nathan mumbled, rolling his mouth into Pickles's dreads.
"Yeah," Pickles said.
"You know," Nathan said, speaking into Pickles's scalp, "your accent, like, goes away, when you're this tired."
"Really?" Pickles closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into Nathan's shoulder, moving his head up and down a bit. An old signal, Nathan picked his legs up and let Pickles come into his lap, Nathan leaning his back against the armrest of the couch they occupied. Pickles fit in Nathan's lap almost perfectly, his head against Nathan's chest and knees curled into his own, Nathan's arms wrapping around him.
"Yeah." Nathan sounded closer to sleep than Pickles. "Guess 'cause you speak slower. Or something."
"Sweet of you to notice." Pickles's mouth widened into a sloppy grin. "Real sweet." He patted Nathan's chest a few times.
"Ugh," Nathan said. There was no real emotion behind it. He rubbed Pickles's back up and down. "Good show," he said, again. "Good tour. I have some ideas for songs for the next album." There were gaps between his syllables and he punctuated the sentence with a yawn, voice betraying his exhaustion.
"'Course you do," Pickles said. He didn't mean anything behind it. "But we don't have to work for a while. Let's just…let's just sleep. For a long time. A real long time." He let his eyes flutter shut, replacing the image of his sleeping bandmates piled on top of each other with blackness.
"I'd…sleep…yeah." Nathan's voice faltered and he pulled Pickles tighter towards him, almost to the point of pain. His grip lessened as his consciousness slipped. Pickles placed a hand over Nathan's chest, felt his heartbeat beneath his shirt, finding it, along with the rise and fall of Nathan's breathing chest, matched his own. They fell asleep in sync.