Toki had gone straight to bed upon returning to Mordhaus, still dressed in his concert clothes and makeup. Skwisgaar was courteous enough—just barely—to wrestle off his bandmate's boots when he checked on him later; afterwards he sauntered downstairs to the living room where the rest of the band was hanging out and getting drunk and/or stoned to cope with the stress. Skwisgaar dropped himself into a chair and sighed heavily, staring at the suspended TV with disinterest. It had already been a hell of a night, and it wasn't even 2 a.m. yet.

The asexual newscaster was speaking in that typical, bland, accent-less voice: "…from the investigation reported that over 300 fans were killed in as little as 20 minutes due to an audience stampede that left many hundreds more injured. Eyewitness reports from fans in the crowd are largely unsympathetic, and dozens have been committed to local hospitals for attempted suicide. One survivor of a self-inflicted hammer blow to the head quoted before slipping into a coma, 'It was the most brutal f***ing song ever, like Heaven and Hell having a threesome with metal. I have no reason to live now, because life will not get any better than that.'

"Dethklok has not yet commented on this tragedy but it is expected that the band will-"

Skwisgaar put his heel to a pedal and turned off the TV. "Idi-otts-tick," he muttered, crossing his arms. "No one is talks about Nathan's dying yet. Dat's a little selvesflish? I guess whats dey don't knows won'ts kills dem…but it wills. I hopes dey all suicides when Nathan's die."

"Huh. I guess now would be a bad time t' tell ya that Nate'n ain't dyin," Pickles murmured, flicking his lighter and sucking a drag off his hash pipe. He held it in for a few seconds before sighing lazily.

"Whhhut," uttered Murderface and Skwisgaar flatly. Oh. The looks on their faces. I'd draw you a picture but this isn't an illustrated story. Yet.

"He ain't dyin. I dunno what th' hell you guys 'r talkin about, but Nate'n ain't dyin. S'nuthin wrong with 'im."

"You mean…he'sh not schitting himshelf to death?"

Pickles chuckled. "S'at whatcha thought?"

"Pfft, duhs. He only goes to de basthrooms likes every hours."

"Yeah. T' beat off."

"Oh."

"But den why dids he alway says…?"

Pickles smirked that typical crooked smirk of his whenever he was buzzed and feeling invincible. "He's gotta thing fer Toki. Happened after Toki broke his legs fallin down the basement stairs. Lust 'r somethin, maybe love. Nate can't look at 'im without gettin stiff. S'why he wrote that shitty song. Audience hate. Bad vibes. Mental scars. Negative association. Bam. No more Tokiholism."

"My god," Murderface gawped. "We had it all wrong. We…are the shtupidesht fuckersh alive."

"Yyyep."

Skwisgaar look utterly scandalized. "Nathan's is in loves with Toki?"

Pickles shrugged one shoulder. "Dunno. But the song that was s'posed ta cure 'im ended up a smash hit. So he's still fucked. Hate ta be in his shoes."

"Sho what now?"

"Beats me. I figured it'd work, the love song thing. Didn't plan fer you three t' go n' fuck things up. Guess that was yer big secret huh? Well. Congrats. Ya got my respect."

Skwisgaar was on his feet and walking away.

"Where d'you think you're going?" Murderface gargled.

"What's it to yous?" Skwisgaar muttered. "It's is nots any bee's nests of yours. You is not de mudder of me, so buzz offs to your's little bee's nest and starts minding it." And then he was gone.

Pickles turned to Murderface and the two shared the same annoyed expression. "He has got some lip on 'im, don't he?"

"Ah don't worry," the bassist grumbled. "He'zsh prob'ly jusht having hizsh period or shumthing."

The Dethklok frontman didn't make it back to Mordhaus until half past four. He had stayed at the concert, signed a few autographs, punched a few fans, then spent a long time backstage by himself with a bottle of Bacardi. Trying not to think.

He hadn't even seen it coming. He should have. He must be the stupidest fucker alive. Anyone else probably could have seen it, but no. Not Nathan. Dumb ol' Nathan high-school-dropout Explosion, with an I.Q. barely comparable to his shoe size. Fucking Toki. This shit was all his fault. Nathan hated him.

Hated him for saying that.

I loves you, Nate'ns. I really fucking loves you. I loves you, Nate'ns…

Over and over, like a broken record. And Nathan, being Nathan, couldn't deal. He was pissed. Pissed at himself. Pissed at the world. Pissed that the dumb kid he was trying not to fall in love with had ruined his life with three fucking words. So he blamed it all on Toki, made him cry, and then ran away from it all like a coward.

"I am a fuckin coward," Nathan admitted under his breath. "A fuckin coward."

Why couldn't he be a man about it? Why couldn't he have said something to Toki and just settled this bullshit once and for all? It wasn't Toki's fault. Toki was a clueless airhead with all the sense of a 10 year-old. He wasn't guilty of anything except for being so brutally goddamn cute. So whose fault was it?

Love's. Love is to blame for everything, Nathan realised. War, crime, poverty, Boston, terrorism, bird flu, everything. It all filters down to somebody's love for something. Love of violence, misery, money, religion, geese, really shitty music. Love turns men into pussies and women into Shannon Doherty. Love dissects your brain and rewires it all wrong, making you enjoy the feeling of being in immense pain without ever really realising it. Love fucks up your friendships, your wardrobe, your career. And you let it. Because by the time it's infected your brain you're too stupid to do anything but sit back and watch it dismantle the rest of your life. You're a zombie. And the only cure for zombism is a shotgun blast to the head. No hope. There ain't no cure, there ain't no cure, there ain't no cure for love.

I loves you, Nate'ns. I really fucking loves you.

"Goddd," Nathan groaned, thumping his forehead against the wall. "God god god god GOD."

"Are you…praying?" Nathan turned his head to see Ofdensen standing in the doorway of the dressing room, eyebrows quirked. "If I'm interrupting some sort of wall-denting mantra, I can come back later."

"No," came the replying grunt. "I'm just…whatever." Sigh. "Think I wanna go home."

"The limo is waiting outside. I'll walk you there. Youu…look like you need some help anyway."

"What's that s'posed to-" Nathan then answered his own question by taking a step in one direction while his upper body went in another. He wobbled, weaved and stumbled.

Ofdensen sighed. "Come along, Nathan. You've had a rough night."

"No shit? …gimme a fuckin hand here."

As Nathan trudged wearily down the hall with one hand on his manager's shoulder, he thought about love and how unfair and cruel it was. He thought about it on the ride back to Mordhaus, and he was still thinking about it as he sat at the bar in the kitchen at 4:42 in the morning. And then—at long long last—something happened in that alcohol-dulled brain of his and the notion came to him like an overdue FedEx shipment: he didn't love Toki. The things he felt for his rhythm guitarist had nothing to do with love. Because love was hideous and evil, and not the cool kind of hideous and evil either. When Nathan thought of Toki's sadistic, smiling face he didn't want to put on argyle socks and wear a sweater. Hell no. He wanted to pin Toki down and shove his dick inside him and hear him scream about how great it felt. That wasn't love. It was way too merciful. And it wasn't lust. It was way too intimate.

So what was it? What did Nathan feel? It acted like love. It looked like love and smelled and tasted just like it, but it was a completely different brand. It wasn't some no-name generic knockoff. No, this was something patented and protected by serious federal fucking law. It was the real thing, the whatever-the-hell everyone was trying to imitate and doing a piss poor job of it.

It was like a hack version of a really great programme, stripped of all the adware and spyware and registration codes and all of that unnecessary shit until nothing remained but the core, the original, what it was supposed to be all along before corporate greed tried to twist it into something gross and unnatural. This was love refined, but so refined that to call it love wouldn't be right.

It was the anti-love. The original love that had gotten cloned and betrayed and was now facing off with its evil twin, and some hysterical lady had to decide which one to shoot when they both looked and acted alike. And she had no idea that the one who called himself the Anti was actually the good guy. She would shoot him down, real love would die, and everyone would ask for their money back at the end of the movie. Anti-love would lose. The box office would lose. There was no happy ending.

I loves you, Nate'ns. I really fucking loves you.

Do you, Toki? Or are you just saying that because no other word fits? Is the word you're looking for the same one I'm trying to find? 'Cause if it is…I think I want us to find it together. I'm so sorry for how I treated you. If you ever talk to me again I swear on every fuckin thing there is to swear on that I'll make it up to you. Somehow. I'll do it. 'Cause…you deserve it. More than any other person. I'll make everything right again, if you let me. And I'll sign it all with

Anti-love,

Nate'ns

Toki woke up dying of thirst. He smacked his lips and rubbed his eyes, which stung and burned like all the fires of hell. It must be the makeup. Got into his eyes or something. Owwie. He rolled over and squinted at the clock on his headboard. 4:55. Either that or 11:20. Who cared? Not Toki. He rolled back over and discovered that his fishnet shirt had made a grille pattern all over his torso, and he'd also gotten black smudges all over Teddy from holding him against his face. He was also burning up in these fucking pants and they were sticking to his skin and he still had his socks on. He couldn't go back to sleep like this.

So Toki got up and drowsily shuffled to his bedroom door, opened it, stepped nonchalantly over Skwisgaar's sleeping body (who had been keeping guard for all of ten minutes), and went down the hall to the bathroom. He didn't want to click on the lights but he had to, and it was so bright that he decided that it just wasn't worth it and turned them back off again. Now he was really blind. He tugged off the tight fishnet shirt and scraped off each of his socks with his toes, then decided to do something about his thirst. Luckily he knew his way around Mordhaus enough that he didn't need eyes to find his way to the kitchen, so that was where he headed.

They had two kitchens actually: one kitchen for professionals where for-real food was prepared, and one kitchen made just for the band that had a giant fridge filled with booze and sliced deli meat and cabinets stocked with junk and candy. It was every alcoholic minor's dream. It was also where Nathan sat slumped over the bar, surrounded by empty bottles.

Toki padded across the tiles completely unawares, opened the fridge and clinked his way among the bottles and cans until he found a carton of Skwisgaar's soymilk. He stood up and tilted the carton back, guzzled away…then his eyes drifted to the side and noticed Nathan's hulking form at the bar.

"Nklurrgh!"

Brief anatomy-slash-pseudo-health lesson: there are deep vomits (from the stomach and small intestine) and then there are shallow vomits (from the lower esophagus and throat). Toki shallow vomited soymilk out his mouth and nose and back into the carton as he simultaneously screamed. Soymilk exploded—loudly—out of his face, to put it another way. And the noise caused Nathan to jump awake with a start.

"Fuck the what…?" he groaned, looking around.

Toki did what Tokis are best at doing and ducked behind the open fridge door and pretended he was a cute little cocktail frank with a fancy toothpick sticking through the middle and a mustache at one end. Unfortunately you could see his bare feet awash in a puddle of soymilk from the other side, so the Li'l Smokies make-believe didn't last very long.

"That you, Pickles?"

"Uh…" Toki stammered. "Yehh! I jest…gittin's sum beee-ers. Uh. Ney-ver minds meeee, Nuh-Nate'ns."

Guess which word gave it away. (Hint Answer: it was the last one.)

"…Toki?"

The Norwegian froze (he wasn't that far from it—the fridge was blowing cold air on him) and looked upwards very slowly to see Nathan gazing down at him expressionlessly. "Haa…hi," he said in a very small voice.

Nathan leaned on the fridge door and arched his eyebrows worriedly. "You've gotta milk mustache." Pause. "Uh. Milk. In your…mustache. On your whole face actually."

"I knows. I…sneeze."

Pause.

"Why're you hiding down there?"

"I is…hot?"

"…but you're shivering."

"Candy's high. Diabete. I gots…Parkingstone's Degrees."

Nathan didn't buy any of the three. "Stand up, Toki."

Toki stood up. Reluctantly. Nathan reached out, noting the way the guitarist flinched, as if expecting to be hit. That was a stab in the heart. "I'm not mad at you," he rumbled softly, placing a hand on Toki's bare shoulder. "…woah. You're freezing."

"I in de fr-fridgelator. Where is freezings."

"Well close the door. C'mon."

The fridge was closed, barfy carton of soymilk put right back where it was supposed to go, and Nathan and Toki stood silently in the dark kitchen for a very long time. Actually it was a very short time, but the awkward silence made it seem like a very long time. Toki looked at the floor between them and tried to keep the tears from coming to his eyes. He was sick of crying like a baby…although it would probably be a great way to flush the shit out of his stinging eyes. He bottled it up anyway; he wasn't going to give that cruel bastard the pleasure of wringing another drop out of him.

"I'm sorry for. The way. I acted earlier," Nathan said with great difficulty. "I didn't mean to get so…well. Yeah I did. You fucked me over in front of thousands of people. That was shitty." Pause. "But you stole the show. It really sounded…great. I didn't. Know you could sing."

Toki half-shrugged a "whatever" and continued to avoid Nathan's eyes.

"I'm sorry I've been such an asshole to you. It's been. For a long time now, I…" Find the words, find the words. Lyrical visionary, find the words. "What's wrong with your eyes?" Oh yeah. Nice save, chicken shit.

Nathan lifted Toki's chin and looked at his face. "Wow. Those things are…bloodshot. Like a roadmap. You fall asleep in that shit?"

"What does you cares? They're not-"

"You're gonna go blind."

"Is none of your con-"

"And it's all over your face."

"I doesn't gives a-"

"You should wash it off before-"

"I not takes order from you now SHUT UP!" Toki slapped Nathan's hand away, Nathan brought up his other hand, Toki blocked it with his forearm, Nathan reached out with his first hand and grabbed Toki by the back of the neck, hauled him in like a marlin, and smashed the Norwegian against his body. Instant reaction. Toki's arms wrapped around Nathan's shoulders and squeezed as the larger man did as much. Tight. It was hard to tell if it was a stranglehold or a hug. The lack of a live audience and four corners could only mean it was a hug.

Toki let out a sob against Nathan's shoulder and bit him for no real reason. Maybe for making him cry again. Soymilk and black makeup stained Nathan's shirt. Nathan didn't mind/care/give a dead rat's ass. He was just glad to be touching Toki. Just fucking touching him. That's all. It felt so good. He finally understood what those millions of smarmy jackoffs meant when they said they "never wanted to let go". But they didn't really know. They weren't in anti-love. No, he and Toki were the first. The last. The only. That's what it felt like. Exclusive rights, members only. Badges and everything, a two-man task force sent to blow the shit out of that poseur bastard called love. It was going down. Its ass was grass. Toast. Dead meat. A dead meat and grass sandwich on burnt toast. God Nathan felt fucking INVINCIBLE, like he could punt a Panzer tank 75 yards and mow down a line of Incredible Hulks standing shoulder-to-shoulder.

He gripped Toki's bare skin tightly, feeling it warm under his touch. He pressed his nose into the brown hair and growled softly, "It's not your fault. It's mine. It…was never your fault. That song…you know. Fuck it. I don't care. You're more important. And I'm sorry I didn't treat you like…that I didn't treat you better. What you deserve. 'Cause what you did tonight, Toki, it was fuckin incredible. And I really meant it when I said it took balls to pull it off. I'm…I am so goddamn proud. Of you. To have you in the band. I'm not just saying that. I mean it. Mean it with every fuckin…every breath of my…god I don't give a shit anymore, Toki. I really don't. Just know that I'm sorry for everything and don't let go of me."

"I won't," came the muffled reply. "I dies with you."

"…well. Uh, that's…a bit extreme. You don't ha-"

"What's is de other's use of me? I has not anothers. De band's is my life. You won't goes to Death's house alone, Nate'ns. I comes with you."

"…Toki. I don't think you under…" Pause. "You act like I'm gonna die tomorrow. Is that…wait. You think I'm dying?"

Toki pulled back, revealing clean trails down his cack-smudged cheeks where tears had run their courses. "I knows you is. I knows since forever ago. Dyings of a gut's sickness."

The look on Nathan's face was almost hilarious. "Uh. No I'm not."

The look on Toki's face after Nathan said that actually was hilarious. "Yes you is."

"No. I'm not."

"…a liver's sickness then?"

"No."

"…barbecue sauce-bloods?"

"No."

"…fibromyalgia?"

"The hell's that?"

"YOU IS NOT DYING?"

"NO. I never WAS."

Toki smiled joyously for the first time in ages, then he hauled off and punched Nathan right in the jaw. Nathan bit the inside of his cheek and spat bloody chiclets and broken teeth across the kitchen counter as he took a backwards dive in slow motion. He sprawled out onto the floor with a resounding THUD, like he'd just been decked by Mohammad Ali's white Scandinavian nephew, and waited for his lower mandible to fall off. Because that's what it felt like it was going to do.

Toki was on Nathan like black on metal, straddling his waist and delivering a nice variety of slaps, thrashes, chokings and kisses between breathless cries of "you dumb sons of a bitch" and "I loves you so much". Nathan didn't know what was going on for the first few seconds, and it didn't sink in that Toki was pecking all over his face like a lovesick hen until he was ready to pass out from a combination of alcohol, unforeseen violence and the ungodly hour. How he avoided going unconscious was a miracle, but he certainly didn't want to miss out on the nice part of getting his ass kicked by Toki Wartooth.

He caught Toki's swinging arms in his fists and growled, "You're gonna have to do better than that." Push. Twist. Shove. Toki was on the floor. Slipping in soymilk. Whoops. Flat on his back. Nathan came down over him. Toki butted his forehead against Nathan's. Nathan reeled and lost his grip, regained it in a fistful of brown hair. Toki latched both hands into Nathan's black hair and almost ripped it out by the roots when he jerked him downwards. Right into his face.

Noses collided. Lips met. Mouths opened. Tongues touched. It tasted like vodka and blood and soymilk. Hair tangled, dragged through makeup and sweat and snarls of tightly clenched fingers. Deeper now. The taste was revolting but the feeling of warm slippery flesh made up for it. Toki twisted his hands in Nathan's hair as the heavier man put his full weight upon him. The pressure felt good but it made breathing hard. Harder than it already was.

Toki broke away with a gasp and Nathan crawled up onto his hands and knees, hair draping down like a dark curtain. For a second or two they both remained motionless, catching their breath and wondering if they had really done what they thought they had just done.

"Dids we just…?"

"Yeah." Pant. "Yeah I think we did."

"Wowie."

"No shit."

"…I really likes it."

"Me too."

They met each other's eyes. Nathan reached down and combed a few strands of hair out of Toki's mouth, then made a concerned expression. "You really need to get that black stuff off your face. You'll look like hell in the morning."

"Not as much as you wills." Toki gently tapped the tender spot on Nathan's jaw that was already beginning to bruise. "I kicks your butts."

"I let you."

"Yeah right."

"I could split you in two any day of the week, Toki."

"Tries it. I dares you."

Nathan leered at the implications. "Careful what you wish for." He sat up, the lewd smile faded. "C'mon. You need to get that stuff off your face. You look worse than Alice Cooper after a day at the garage."

He helped Toki to his feet and together they set off in search of a B-A-S-T-H-R-O-H-M-N-S-E.

Toki had started out with a washcloth to the face but then the black makeup started to run all over the place and it made a real mess, so he decided that it would just be easier to take a shower. The second floor bathroom was spacious enough, so while Toki hosed off all evidence of the concert, Nathan leaned over the sink and inspected the damage to his face. Not too bad. A few busted teeth, mostly molars. Nothing serious. Couple shreds of still-bleeding flesh. That was going to bother him for weeks. Jesus Christ, that kid could throw a punch. The left side of Nathan's jaw was already beginning to turn a gruesome shade of yellow-green. He was lucky it didn't get punched right off. That would have been awesome. Brutal, but awesome.

Toki plodded out of the shower stall looking fresh faced and dead tired, with his hair wrapped up in a towel and dressed in the Mordhaus-standard black bathrobe with the band logo on the back. He yawned loudly and stood next to Nathan at the bathroom counter, gazing at his reflection.

"I fucking tire. I gonna goes to bed now."

Nathan finished gargling and spat blood-tinted mouthwash into the sink. "Okay. Hey Toki?"

"Mm?"

"Are we…good? I mean, are we cool? After. What happened in the kitchen."

Toki looked like he was going to shrug but his shoulders never made the effort. "Sure. You makes me cry, I beats you in de face, we kiss and makes up. S'fine. Everybody's does it."

"Uh. Alright. As long as we're cool."

"Yeah, we cool."

Pause. "Okay. Uh…see you in the…tomorrow then."

"G'nite, Nate'ns." And then Toki disappeared out the door.

Nathan sighed and put both hands on either side of the sink, leaning heavily on the counter and hanging his head. He stared at the traces of blood and mouthwash in the sink and decided to take a shower as well. Because he smelled like B.O. and soymilk. And also because kissing Toki had gotten Not-So-Li'l-Nathan's hopes up. So the Dethklok frontman peeled off his clothes, got in the shower, washed off, jerked off, rinsed off, shut off, dried off and walked off. He didn't even want to know what time it was. All he wanted was to sleep uninterrupted for the next 17 hours. He'd think about what the hell he was going to do with all this unresolved sexual tension tomorrow.

But when Nathan entered his room he was greeted by an unexpected surprise.

"Oh fuck me," he groaned under his breath.

Toki, who—en route to his room—had suddenly gotten too tired to make it back to his makeup-stained twin bed on the third floor, had decided to do like usual and invite himself into Nathan's personal quarters, making a nice little nest in the middle of the oversized bed. He was at this moment curled up with his back to the door, his wet hair let loose from the towel and getting the pillows all damp. And his toes peeked out from beneath the black sheets like those cute little cocktail franks I mentioned earlier. It was the most endearing, distressing and obnoxiously adorable thing in the whole world. Nathan began to get the feeling that some cosmic force somewhere was fucking with him, like he was trapped in a horrible story written by a raving lunatic with a thing for homoerotic clichés. Well fuck that shit. If it was homoerotic clichés they wanted, homoerotic clichés they shall have.

Nathan, conveniently dressed in nothing but a towel around his hips, shut the door behind himself and walked to the edge of his bed. He stared down at his guitarist's peaceful, snoozing form. "Toki," he said very very softly, "if you don't wake up and get out of my bed right now…I'm afraid I'm gonna have to fuck you. I don't wanna…" Yeah. And Hell ain't hot. "…but I'll do it if you make me. You have to the count of three." Pause. "One two three. Alright. I warned you."

He climbed into bed, making the mattress dip and squeak under his weight. He put his hand on Toki's shoulder, rolling him over onto his back, and crawled between his legs. Toki stirred and mumbled groggily, eyes fluttering open. Shit. Nathan froze and waited for him to reckon the predicament he was in.

"Nate'ns?" Toki asked with that calm sort of confused-but-not-really-alarmed tone of voice. He looked down at the large, mostly-naked man who was crouched between his spread legs.

"Hi," grunted Nathan awkwardly. "You're in my bed. I've got an erection and I wanna stick it in you. Is that okay?"

"What?" Toki sat up on his elbows, eyes wide with surprise.

"I don't know how. I mean. I think I know. How to…do it." God this was so embarrassing. "I'll wear a condom. And use lubrication. I'll…try. To be gentle."

"Wha-you gonna to…wh-what's de hell you needs a condo for?"

"Condom."

"Condemn?"

"A rubber."

"Condemn a rubber?"

"NO."

"What de hell's you talking about!"

"I know you're not this stupid, Toki."

"I not stupid, I doesn't understands de fucking word!"

Nathan sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. God there was no right way to do this. "Alright. Look. Relax. Lay back." He gently pushed Toki down onto the pillows; he didn't resist at all. "Just…yeah. Relax. Get comfortable."

Worry began to set it. You could see it in the way those brown eyebrows arched up in the centre of Toki's forehead. "Nathan, what's you doing?"

"I have no fuckin idea." No sense in lying. He'd find out sooner or later.

"Is…we…gonna has sex or somethings?"

"I thi…yeah I. I think so. Pretty sure."

"Oh."

Silence fell. They stared at each other. You couldn't get any more un-romantic than this, but it fit in perfectly with the whole anti-love thing. Nathan reached down and untied Toki's robe, opening it wide and revealing the gloriously naked body of a Greek Norwegian god. Seriously. The kid was chiseled. Nathan never felt so fat and ugly in his whole life. He was overreacting of course. Luckily the light was dim enough that he didn't completely lose his cool. Besides, he had other things that made up for his out-of-shapeness.

Nathan unwrapped the towel from his hips and tossed it to the side, then watched Toki break into a sweat and squirm. "Nate'nnns," he said lowly, eyes transfixed on the obvious, "this is not gonna works."

"Yes it will."

"No ways. That thing's…is so big."

"Thank you."

"No. I means, is too big."

"It'll fit."

"No it won't."

"I can make it."

"As ifs. Goodbye-" Toki started to crawl away but Nathan reached out and put a hand on his chest, holding him in place. "Please Nate'ns," he whimpered. Oh that sounded hot. "You gonna kill me with that."

"No I won't, stop worrying."

"Then makes it get smaller."

"I can't."

"Nathan-"

"Toki." He took the brunette's face in his hands. "Goddammit. Trust me. I am not gonna hurt you."

Toki frowned apprehensively. "You promise?"

"No."

"Does you loves me?"

"No."

Toki looked scared and confused. You would be too if English wasn't your first language and you had to talk yourself out of getting cloven in twain by a dick of Goliath proportions. "Then why does you wants to doos this to me?"

"Because I don't love you."

"What's de hell you are talking about!" Toki wailed, thrashing around like a fish in the bottom of a canoe. "I doesn't understands!"

"It's complicated. Hey. Stop that. Shh sh sh." Nathan leaned down and nuzzled Toki's cheek comfortingly; he stopped squirming and lay still, allowing the larger man's hands to stroke up and down his bare chest in a way that felt very nice.

"Ooh," Toki murmured, surprised.

"Feels good?"

"Yehhhh. I didn't…knew you could be so gently."

"It's not like I break everything I touch," Nathan rumbled, massaging Toki's chest and reaching up to caress his neck in a very uncharacteristically-Nathan way. "I can be…nice. Sometimes."

"But you's likes a bull in a Chinese store most of de…ooh." Nathan was tracing circles around Toki's taut, pebbly nipple with one painted fingernail. Blue eyes slowly became dark and murky as the pleasure seeped in. "Ooh that feel…"

"Nice?"

"Yyyeh." Toki smiled, eyes half closed.

Nathan grinned slightly and brought his hand to the Norwegian's cheek, touching it delicately and rubbing his thumb along the fine hair of his mustache. He petted his eyebrows and combed the damp hair out of his eyes, slowly and wordlessly reassuring Toki that he didn't mean to sexually annihilate him.

"See?" Nathan murmured. "I can make this…good. For us both."

Toki looked a little doubtful, torn between common sense and basic instinct. The only problem was he didn't have much experience in either of those two fields, so he ended up giving in to the one he had been born with. And it sure as shit wasn't common sense.

"Okay," he consented. "But behaves. No beast's acting. I am…a delicate flower."

Says the guy sporting a six pack and pecs you could polish diamonds on. But Nathan wasn't in the mood to split hairs right now. No, he was in the mood to split Tokis. And he actually had permission.

"I'll try," he uttered. That was the best he could offer. He wasn't going to make a promise if there was any chance he could break it, because for all his metalness Nathan hated liars more than pop music and he didn't exactly want to go around broadcasting that he was a man of some morals. Loose morals. But still morals.

He tucked his damp, dark hair behind his ear before leaning down and meeting Toki's lips in a kiss. It tasted a lot better than before, still like blood, but at least the soymilk flavor was gone. Nathan trailed his large hand down Toki's side, following a path along his hip, his thigh, sliding under to grip the back of Toki's knee. That produced a snicker.

"Ticklish?" Nathan murmured, pulling away and rolling his lips.

"A little."

Nathan did the same with Toki's other side, but this time he didn't snicker.

"I really likes that," he murmured, reaching down to place his smaller hands over Nathan's.

"Like what?"

"When you touching me. Alls over likes that." He guided the singer's hand down his muscular belly. "I wants you to does it heres too. Down…"

He didn't have to finish. Nathan knew, and he gently took Toki's wakening cock into his hand, stroking it firmly and causing the Norwegian to close his eyes and breathe through his mouth.

"Yyyyeah," he sighed heavily, a hint of a smile curving his mouth. "I likes this."

So did Nathan but he kept quiet, absorbed in his own thoughts as he continued to fondle Toki. He never really realized how satisfying it could be to make someone else feel good instead of just taking all the pleasure for himself. This was different from groupies and girlfriends (aside from the obvious fact that this time his partner was minus one vagina). He must really not love Toki a whole lot to be doing something this gay and insane.

The slim body beneath him arched slightly, hips pressing upward needfully. When he looked down at those smoldering blue eyes, Nathan stopped thinking altogether and let the wild animal inside him out of its cage. But Toki was ready to fight it, and they went at each other with raw, savage passion.

It all happened so quickly from there; they kissed as if starved for affection all their lives, ravenous and sloppy. When that fell short of satisfying their hunger they took to nipping and biting, Toki pulling sharply on Nathan's hair if he bit too hard. No blood drawn yet, but lasting marks were certainly delivered. Hips met, grinding hot flesh together. Fingers gripped and dug in, leaving crescent shaped indentions and red lines. Legs hugged Nathan's waist and squeezed. Nothing on earth could feel better than this.

"Alright," he grunted deeply, pulling away. "Alright. I…gotta. Getta."

"What's ever, just hurry," Toki snapped, wiping the saliva from his mustache and gathering his long hair behind his head.

Nathan clambered over to the bedside table, taking care to avoid smashing his sensitive equipment into Toki's knees, and rummaged around in the drawer until he found what he needed. Toki watched, half-delirious with desire and just a little bit fascinated, as Nathan struggled hilariously with the condom packet and snarled curses at everything until he finally got it open. With a little bit of magic from that endless tube of fun (a.k.a. self-warming lubricant), they were almost ready to rock 'n roll. Or something a little more metal.

Nathan slathered his fingers in K-Y and hoped like hell that Toki wouldn't freak out by what was going to happen next. The little krumkake handled it very well—he gripped the covers and bit his lower lip and let Nathan put one of his large fingers into him. Nathan let him get used to it before playing around a bit, adding another finger, spreading and stretching and trying not to do anything that would make Toki squeal in pain. Because those squeals were really-deadly-almighty sexy and Nathan didn't need to hear them or else he'd lose his mind and get violent. And he didn't want to hurt Toki. Because he anti-loved him more than anything he had never loved before.

No words were spoken as Nathan withdrew his hand and assumed The Position. Toki knew what was coming and tried to relax and yet brace himself at the same time; it slid in fairly easy, still pretty tight, and Nathan kept pressing until Toki let out a shout of "FUCK!" and grimaced in agony.

"Stay calm," Nathan half-growled, half-purred. "Don't tense up."

There were tears in Toki's eyes and he was clenching his teeth.

"Put your legs…yeah. Higher. Breathe. You can bite me. Scratch me, anything. Just…" He rocked forward and then back, and Toki moaned. "Relax."

Strong arms wrapped around Nathan's shoulders and squeezed, and at the fourth stroke Toki finally let out a long, low snarl of approval. "Oh yeah…right theres. Again, Nate'ns."

Nate'ns was only too happy to oblige.

It turned out that Toki was a screamer. Nathan had guessed that long ago and been right. The kid yelled a lot on a regular basis, so it was natural that he'd be just as vocally passionate when he was getting nailed good and hard.

"Ooh yeah," he moaned, eyes closed tight and brows knitted together in concentration while Nathan pounded him into the mattress with each mighty grunt-driven thrust. "Oh yeah. Fuck. Oh yeah! Woohooyehh, that's what'm talkin' about YEAH! Hard! Hard! Nnnnh fucks yeah…"

It was half sexy and half aggravating—it was Toki summed up in four words.

His legs were spread wide, one held at Nathan's gyrating hip and the other secured beneath one mighty arm. Toki braced himself against the headboard for leverage (and also to keep his head from being driven into the wood) and his arms, though strong, were aching and shaking from the exertion.

Nathan huffed and grunted like a beast, dark hair falling forward and shadowing his face. Nothing could feel better than what he was feeling right now. Even with a condom, this was the best fuck Nathan knew he'd ever had in his life. Maybe it was from waiting so long. Maybe it was the risk involved. Maybe it was because he was really queer. Maybe it was just anti-love. Or maybe it wasn't a goddamn thing at all. Whatever it was, he never imagined Toki would feel so great on his cock, not like this oh no. Not like this. Not this good. Never this good.

"You're perfect," he growled, grinding his pelvis forward until he felt the soft heat of Toki's balls against his skin. "You feel perfect." In to the hilt. Out halfway. In to the hilt again. The bed squeaked and rattled. Toki shrieked in ecstasy and writhed on the massive thing inside him. Nathan didn't even care if the whole haus heard. Let them hear it. This was something worth hearing.

"God I don't love you," he snarled as he sank himself into Toki again and again, faster and faster, quickly driving himself to the brink. "I don't love you so much. Fuck, Toki. Fuck I don't love you, Toki."

"I fucking…OH GODS I fucking…doesn't loves. Nate'ns, I…oh yeah. Oh hellig jævla-" A string of guttural Norwegian suddenly spilled from Toki's mouth; it sounded vulgar as hell but Nathan really liked it, and when Toki spattered cum all over his belly the singer released a bellowing death growl, thrusting rapidly and shallowly as he came a few seconds later.

There. It was done. They had done it. And the world was still here. Nothing bad had happened after all.

Nathan hovered on his hands and knees over his anti-lover, and noticed for either the first or millionth time how fucking gorgeous he really was: panting heavily with eyes closed, those honey-brown tendrils tangled all over his blushing face and snarled into knots in the pillow, and those flushed cheeks and rosy lips that oh Christ he had to kiss them RIGHT NOW-

It was totally gay and not metal to be so sentimental, but Nathan didn't give a damn. He wanted to kiss Toki and nothing was going to stop him. It took Toki by surprise at first, this sudden burst of affection, but he was soon kissing back, reaching up and holding Nathan by the ears until they both had satisfied themselves. They parted slowly, not really knowing when to stop planting shallow kisses on each other's lips. Follow-up kisses. Just-in-case-I-did-something-wrong kisses.

Toki smiled breathlessly and rubbed his rounded nose against Nathan's sharp one. "I understands, I think," he whispered. "De not-love. Be-cause loves are evil. So you un-love me insteads."

"That's right," Nathan replied, sitting up and displaying a rare smirk. "See. I knew you weren't that stupid."

"Just foreign."

Nathan let out a snort of amusement and gingerly peeled off his rubber, tossing it on the floor somewhere and settling back down into bed. Toki, his bathrobe still dangling off one arm, rolled over and nestled against Nathan's side as if that was where he was supposed to be. Nathan wasn't big on cuddling but he decided to make an exception just this once, and discovered that it actually wasn't as bad as he thought it was. Of course, having meaningful intercourse with somebody is bound to bring out some sort of repressed cuddling gene.

Nathan snaked an arm beneath Toki's warm neck and they both found a comfortable way of braiding their bodies together. Their hair was going to be a bitch to comb through tomorrow. But who cared about tomorrow? Not Nathan and Toki, the anti-lovers. No, they weren't going to think about anything yet. It was too early to do that. They were just going to take it easy for now, enjoy the awesome music they had made at the concert and the awesome sex they just had, and give a hearty "fuck you" to everything else.

Because they were still mother-metal-fuckers. They hadn't changed at all. A monster named love had tried to break them, betray them, make them turn on each other, but anti-love had saved the day. The beast had been slain and they would now grow rich off its carcass. It was a fantastic ending. The fans would win. Dethklok would win. Even that dumbass box office metaphor I had thrown in 5,473 words ago would win. Everything would be alright now. Everything was fine. And the world's greatest band still had plenty of leg room to kick off the ass of the music industry.

Nathan was almost asleep when suddenly his eyes shot open and he stared at the ceiling, petrified. It had come to him just now, of all times, like those little nagging details that don't surface until you're falling asleep six months after the fact and you're so gripped with horror at the heart-stopping recollection that you can hardly seem to move.

"Tuh…Toki."

"Mm?" came the sleepy mumble.

"…when was the last time we fed the rats?"

Silence.

"Oh hell."