Even with a full night's rest and a hearty breakfast, Skwisgaar yawned as he headed up the Dethkopter's ramp at quarter to six the next evening. He didn't expect to see anyone else here this early except Charles, although Pickles too slumped down on one of the small recreation room's couches.
"Evening, Skwisgaar. Take a seat."
"Ams we having a meeting?" Skwisgaar dropped down opposite the drummer, Thunderhorse finding familiar purchase in his lap.
"Not exactly. I just wanted to speak with you all before you, ah. . .started drinking for the night."
"Well dood, yer alreddy too late." Pickles raised his beer to the manager.
Ignoring that, Charles left to remind the rest of the band of their impending departure time. The drummer tossed another beer across the way upon Skwisgaar's request, then as Nathan, Murderface, and finally Toki joined their numbers, the popping and subsequent click of tabs hitting the floor offered no window for Charles to find them absolutely sober.
"What do you want?" Nathan asked. "Go, talk. I already have to work tomorrow, so I don't have all the time in the world."
Charles cleared his throat. "I just wanted to remind you all that this is the last show you're scheduled to play until about this time next year. When we return, you need to get serious in the studio. It's been almost five months since I first brought up the album to you, and you still have nothing to show for it. If Crystal Mountain wants to release it in the spring, that means the deadline is going to be around—"
"They'll get the album when they get it."
"They have a business to run, Nathan—"
"They're not about to fuck with us for something as stupid as that, even if that fucking asshole is running the place," Nathan referred to Damien. "He's dumb, but not that dumb."
Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. "Good day, then."
While Pickles, Nathan, and Murderface littered the floor with emptied bottles, Toki curled up on the couch next to the drummer. Skwisgaar tapered off after a handful of beers, pleasantly relaxed but sober enough for his fingers to maintain their usual speed and precision. They moved by their own accord as he snuck glances out of the corner of his eye at the other guitarist.
How could someone that'd gone through half the shit Toki dealt with appear so peaceful in slumber? Too many nights when he first returned from Magnus' grasp did Skwisgaar sit up with him, watching stupid videos on the internet or just palling around until Toki felt distracted and relaxed enough to sleep. Of course, they never explicitly stated that intention; mutual respect toward obscuring Skwisgaar's compassion and Toki's unsettlement provided a suitable mask. Skwisgaar merely landed in Toki's company after all the sluts returned to their stable and second wind pushed his prospective bedtime further toward dawn. How did he go from palling around with Toki to consciously ensuring his days ended on a happy note? Granted, developing an attraction based on lust and then acting on it was a much greater leap.
Did Toki still have difficulty sleeping? The Norwegian never said anything, but sometimes Skwisgaar suspected that another body joining him under the covers wasn't on a whim. Toki came with chills too uncharacteristic of the season that ushered winter away. The urge to ask blurred with fatigue in the middle of the night, and disappeared by morning. There never seemed an appropriate time to ask, anyway; when Toki was happy, Skwisgaar didn't want to wreck that, and when something weighed on his mind, Skwisgaar would rather distract him with a blow job. It worked, so laud the system, right?
What all entailed, now that the two of them became so involved? The sex was easy in its own right, since Skwisgaar practiced it for over fifteen years. All he needed to do was tell Toki how he liked it and trust in the results. The longer this went on though, the more constantly they needed to redefine their relationship. Even if Toki held power over how and when Skwisgaar got off, it didn't veto the need for solace. How stupid and awkward would Skwisgaar sound though, to bring that up? Not to mention, doing so might help Toki realize that for all he shared with Skwisgaar, he didn't receive much in kind. Ugh, the thought of confiding how downright weird his childhood was caused the Swede's stomach to roll. Then again, Toki managed to choke out infinitely worse instances of abuse. Didn't Skwisgaar owe Toki something, by logic?
But he never asked, so why would Skwisgaar volunteer such information? No, wait, that wasn't true. Toki did ask, in his naive youth, and Skwisgaar just lied. We were poor, my mom's a whore, and that's all you need to know. Simple.
"Dood, tern on the TV. It's jest about time fer the Dethklok Minute."
Hold on, hold on. . ." Nathan fumbled with the remote. "Does it matter what time zone we're in?"
"Schtop, there it isch!"
"—Big day for Dethklok fans everywhere, as the sun rises over South Korea. Already, the death toll runs in the hundreds as fans trample each other on their way to where Seoul's Olympic Stadium was flattened in order to make room for the boys. According to a statement made by band manager Charles Offdensen in a press conference this afternoon, the gang's next concert will promote the new album! No comment on a timeframe, but if that doesn't mean soon, then we all might need to tighten our belts in preparation for a sleepy economy.
"Moving onto the boys themselves. . ." Skwisgaar zoned out while the host ran through Pickles and Nathan's latest preoccupations, then turned Murderface down for a high-five when the bassist got a mention. His gaze flicked back up to the television when his own name was said. ". . .still no mention on a special lady in the Lothario's life, although we can confirm that Skwigelf's constant parade of women through Mordhaus has ended! Loosen your lips, Skwisgaar—when does the world get to meet her?"
"Pfft," Skwisgaar scoffed. "Turns dat crap off."
"Hey Toki, hey." Nathan directed at the still-sleeping rhythm guitarist. "Wake up, you made it on the Dethklok Minute this time."
"Just lets him sleep." The blond narrowed his eyes at Pickles and Murderface as they subsided into stifled laughter. "Goes on den, gets it all out of your systems."
Nathan informing Skwisgaar the rest of the band knew about him and Toki remained the extent of the conversation. True to their words, Nathan, Murderface, and Pickles truly didn't care, and Skwisgaar and Toki aimed to keep it that way. The other guys caring could only manifest in two ways: either they ostracized and teased the living shit out of them, or their sensitivity bordered on inappropriate interest.
"Scho you and Toki, huh?" Murderface popped another beer cap on his teeth. "How doesch that even work? I mean, do you guysch hmrmhhm or do you hmrmhhm?"
"Ugh, fucks off. Weirdo creeps," Skwisgaar added under his breath with a shudder.
"It'sch not creepy! I'm juscht. . .curiousch!"
"Goes be curious by youself, how about? Gross."
Murderface threw his beer. "You can't be curiousch about anything around here without being called creepy! You're all scho repressched it killsch me, even you, and you're gay!"
"Pfft, I amn'ts gay. You's gay," Skwisgaar countered. "If I tells you what me and Toki does you sneak off saying you gots business to attend to and den you t'inks about it and pull your you-know-whats! I amn't conkribute to dat!"
"God, do you really?" Nathan narrowed his eyes at Murderface.
"Look who'sch talking, you're gay too."
"I already made it very clear to you that I'm not. Do we need to go through this again?"
Murderface flinched when Nathan raised a fist. "Fuck you asschholesch! If you all want to be fagsch, then go right ahead! I'm taking the taxzchi down to Schtraighttown—!"
"Whats is all this yellings?" Toki rubbed his eyes. "What you so mads about?"
"—And none of you are invited, not even you." Murderface pointed at the Norwegian. On his exit, he flipped them all off over his shoulder.
"Dood, why's he think I'm gay?" Pickles scratched his head.
"You was in that bands, forever agos." Toki sat up. "Is that really whats he freaking out abouts?"
"He was beings creepy. Pfft." Skwisgaar rolled his eyes. "Asking quetskin about t'ing like what we. . .uhh, ja."
Just as Skwisgaar expected, awkwardness laid a blanket over the room's occupants. Fucking Murderface, why did he have to bring it up, anyway? Could he really not control himself? The bassist storming from the room after accusing everyone of homosexuality wasn't exactly new, though. Taking that in stride, Skwisgaar shrugged and returned to his scales. The others followed his lead; Toki took control of the television remote while Nathan and Pickles freshened their beers. Given enough time, amiability replaced discomfort.
"Probably about time we practiced, huh?" Nathan pointed at the klokateer. "You, go find Murderface. Tell him to quit being a fucking baby and meet us in the back."
Usually, the deep annoyance that accompanied not being near another person connoted a boner to kill, for Skwisgaar. Headbanging along with the rest of them as their music dimmed the lights curtailed it to the point of bearability, but that stupid anxiety like he experienced the night before reemerged as a distinct variety. Unconsciously, he moved across their makeshift stage to stand as close to Toki as possible without getting in the way. The last time they played a show, Skwisgaar could care less; he got drunk with the guys, went through the motions of preparation and the subsequent performance, and chose a group of women over the younger man post-concert. Now, a handful of months later, he'd already skipped out on overconsumption, and the thought of fucking anyone but the one he concentrated on failed to provoke one iota of interest. At least he could handle the show. That's all that really mattered.
When they'd landed in the designated area near the Seoul stage and time pressed them to get ready, Skwisgaar immediately sought relief. "Let's me do it, ja?"
Toki hesitated with the white foundation sponge against his cheek. "You sure?"
"Pfft." Skwisgaar slid back onto the countertop. "Come here."
Although it wouldn't matter if Toki got corpse paint in his hair given the show's prospective special effects, Skwisgaar secured it at the back of his head. Toki kept his hands to himself to mind the other guys, only making things worse for the Swede.
"Jag har velat röra dig hela dagen." Skwisgaar maintained a straight face to further obscure the fondness behind his words. Toki said nothing, although his tightened cheeks suppressed a grin. The rest of the band filtered out one by one, not taking the care that Skwisgaar did, and when Pickles finally departed, Toki rested his hands on Skwisgaar's thighs.
"You beens pretty quiet again. Is that why?"
Skwisgaar nodded. This turbulence defied explanation. It had nothing to do with last night—or did it? A need to belong, to belong to, was so overwhelming. He needed to get a grip on himself and fast. Whatever he experienced, he refused to let it fuck up the band or this show. "I guess I amn'ts used to us not beings able to runs off whenever we feels like it, and dat was a pretties long flight. I don'ts know. Ams de best t'ing I cans figure."
Toki gently squeezed his legs. "Whats you doing after the show?"
"Honestlies, ams probably just going to comes onto you untils you cave."
Toki laughed. "I's games."
After a quick glance around to make sure no paparazzi or band members were in vicinity, Skwisgaar drew Toki closer by hooking his heels. Some of the corpse paint transferred over to his face as their noses rubbed, then dried where breath landed in spurts. What Skwisgaar wouldn't do for enough time to thoroughly entangle his fingers in Toki's hair. However, their professional lives awaited, pushing the Swede to hurriedly finish the younger man's paint so that he could requite the chore. Guitars slung on, they joined their bassist, frontman, and drummer in listening to the crowd chant their collective name. Even with earplugs in, the swell couldn't be missed as Pickles counted them in and the walls fell.
Skwisgaar didn't expect the show's effects to kick in so soon; a flock of drained birds plummeted from above during the first song, pelting numerous people in the audience. The moon became obscured by thick, congealed, red clouds. The first drop hit Skwisgaar on the arm, the next on his face. Not meant to bear such weight, the sky relinquished. Only between songs could Skwisgaar wipe away the blood rain that trickled relentlessly toward his eyes. The effect had better be fucking mind-blowing for the fans, because he would definitely turn this idea down if it came up again at a band meeting. He shouldn't need to worry about slipping.
Once he became more confident in his footing, Skwisgaar advanced to the front of the stage with Toki, flanking Nathan. Not since the disaster of an Ice Festival in Lillehammer did Toki request the entire spotlight, but he still liked to be included; Nathan departed for water as the two of them launched into the reworked solo, Murderface taking rhythm. Even weaving in and out with riffs and lines more suitable toward a lead guitar, Toki instinctually supported Skwisgaar. Here and there their fingerwork became indistinguishable, then their respective parts would dramatically diverge before colliding once again. Hypnotized just as effectively as the crowd, Skwisgaar put his fingers into autopilot as he flicked his hair back and glanced at the other man. Toki told him once that he made the same face during a solo as in the moment before he came, and now more than ever could Skwisgaar reciprocate the sentiment. It wasn't a furrowed brow and parted lips that drew a stare, but hair stringy and darkened by blood, corpse paint sliding down Toki's face, and a snarl that Skwisgaar easily recalled from memory. The muscles in his arms bulged to keep up musically, emphasized by an equally soaked shirt.
Nathan's imposing figure separating them snapped Skwisgaar back to the show. Like Toki, he shifted away in order to finish the song off. No matter what distance between them, their synchronization obliterated it. Skwisgaar forgot how powerful that could be, when they united as the world's two fastest and talented practitioners of their craft. Now that the show came to its inevitable close, he regretted how long it would be until they shared a stage like this again.
"Give me that towel." Nathan snatched one from the nearest klokateer. "Fuck, I can't get this metallic taste out of my mouth."
"Gross," Pickles commented as he stepped aside to dodge a glob of bloody spit. "Aim the other wee, Nate."
"I need a schower, then I need to get painted by naked ladiesch," Murderface stated. Not bothering with the towels, the only distinguishable feature through a healthy layer of bird blood were his eyes. "What'sch there to do in Schouth Korea? I wanna go fucking crazschy before we have to go home and schtart recording."
"You'll, ah, have to wait until the rain lets up." Charles shook some droplets off his umbrella. Even then, the wind had marred his suit with dark spots. "Good show, boys. We completely sold out on merch."
"Isch that all you care about, the numbersch?" Murderface narrowed his eyes. "Find usch schome schlutsch!"
"I already took the liberty. They're waiting further backstage for you."
"Awesome," Nathan said. "I'm gonna pick about six or seven to take in the shower with me."
"Yeeuh, me too! Come on Skwisgare, let's go pick some out before Murderfeece lays claim on all of 'em, heh."
"Actuallies. . ." Skwisgaar glanced at Toki, who towelled as much of the blood as possible from his hair. "I's gonna pass."
"Whet? But dood!"
"Juscht schut up, Picklesch." Murderface elbowed him. "Maybe now I'll actually get schome pusschy!"
Once they got dick deep in some sluts, the other guys wouldn't care who'd gone along. While they went one way, Skwisgaar followed Toki in the other, back to the Dethkopter. This brand of silence from the Norwegian always meant something good; as a result, Skwisgaar's jitteriness piqued when Toki's extended hand collided with his chest to stop him.
The rhythm guitarist looked him over with a smirk. "Ons your knees."
"Here?" They were out of sight, although Skwisgaar wouldn't exactly count this as privacy. A slap hard enough to offset his balance simultaneously ended his deliberation and sent all of his own thoughts from his mind.
"You knows better than to questions me." A hand weighed on the top of Skwisgaar's head. "Down."
Automatically, the Swede sat on his heels and folded his fingers together behind his back. While unzipping his fly, Toki nudged Skwisgaar with his boot. "Ups against the wall."
Assuming a blow job was in order, the blond earned another admonishment as he leaned forward to take it. For priding himself on his ability to read the Norwegian's needs, Skwisgaar wasn't exactly shaping up this time. A chuckle from the other man made him feel a little better; maybe Toki intentionally fucked with him.
Fingers ran through Skwisgaar's hair, tugging at the caked strands. "Opens up."
The Swede couldn't care less that Toki hadn't hit the shower yet. Between sweat, the ghost of blood, and the brunet's natural taste, heat pooled toward Skwisgaar's centre. To worsen his need, Toki's grip on his head tightened as he held it in place. All the energy from the show caught up to Skwisgaar as one gigantic wave. Even if Toki didn't look like he'd just returned from the butcher, he could fuck his face all night, if he wanted.
"Se på meg." When Skwisgaar obeyed, Toki wrenched the blond's head back and forth to make up for a slackening effort in his hips. "Du ser bra ut, dekket i blod."
If Skwisgaar could, he'd return the compliment. He'd never seen such an accurate representation of Toki's most feral side. To think, the best thing to come before this was the nonchalant clean-up following when Toki killed a man in Los Angeles—
Rather than deter Skwisgaar, that only made his blood pump harder. This man was capable of murder. Whatever his current compromising position, Skwisgaar experienced no fear. Toki had the opportunity to choke him to death, if he so chose. He could beat and bite Skwisgaar until his own blood mingled with that which already covered him. Toki could lose control of himself, and sure, maybe on occasion he crept a toe or two across boundaries, but Skwisgaar never feared the same fate as anyone that fell prey to the cloud of death surrounding the younger man. He was too important, too treasured.
"God gutt." Toki's head tilted back, and Skwisgaar's scalp stung in the resultant grip. "Svelget."
Vented aggression deflated the Norwegian. When their gazes met again as Toki tucked himself back into his pants, wide eyes replaced the previous leer. He smiled and helped Skwisgaar to his feet. "Come ons, lets get cleaned up and I'll takes care of you."
