Metalocalypse Drabbles
Apr. 5th, 2007 06:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsGave myself a Metalocalypse challenge so this is #s 1 and 2 of 50...all will be at 500 words and smutty. Still working on other Metalocalypse stuff too, but I need to write more pr0n so this should be good practice.
Prompt: Day
Pairing: Chuck and Toki
It’s their time, theirs and theirs alone. No one else can be bothered to even begin to think about cracking open an eyeball, let alone climbing out of bed, before noon. So the morning belongs to the two of them. They have nearly all of Mordhaus to themselves, even though Charles spends most of his time in his office and Toki whiles away the hours either in his room or in front of the television or a video game machine. Even the staff is largely absent; most of the minions aren’t required to report before ten a.m. and the majority of the staff that is on hand is outside working on the grounds. The morning light, clear and golden, a hopeful cheery shade that Toki says is because the sun has just woken up and hasn’t had time to be worn down or angered by the cares of traveling through the sky, makes the rest of Dethklok flinch and hide beneath pillows, bottles, or another body.
Toki stretches, his arms raised high above his head, fingers spread as if to touch the sky, and Charles, on those days when he isn’t buried in a mountain of paperwork, watches the Norwegian’s t-shirt ride up until he catches a glimpse of toned skin. They take turns pressing down on one another’s shoulders, helping with stretches and the loosening of muscles. Toki, in sweatpants and his t-shirt and a beat-up pair of sneakers, his long brown hair pulled back in a tail with a spare rubber band, and Charles, in trainers and a tracksuit, try to jog together around the Mordhaus grounds at least twice a week. It’s a decent work out, at three and a half miles, and they’ve taken to racing the last half-mile even though Charles would never cop to it.
Sweaty and Toki usually laughing, they go in through the back door to Jean Pierre’s kitchen so the rhythm guitarist can swipe a muffin or a bagel or whatever happens to be handy. Charles gets his first cup of coffee and trails after Toki towards the big open shower the band had installed next to the gym only they, and occasionally Nathan, ever use. It’s like being back in high school, with plain white tiles and absolutely no privacy, and there’s a minion whose job requires him to arrive in Mordhaus at seven-thirty every day just to make sure the shower room is spotless.
They take turns; convenient that they do this twice a week, and Toki on his knees is beautiful. Charles, on the other hand, is surprising, hair slicked back by water and his glasses gone. They go slow, fingers touching jaw lines and tracing cheekbones, whoever’s turn it is making sure to lick every last bit of cock. It’s their time, completely private, and sometimes Toki wishes his band mates got up earlier and sometimes he’s glad they don’t. Afterwards they share breakfast before going their separate ways, the day off to a very good start.
Prompt: Night
Pairing: Nathan and Skwigaar
Four in the morning and Mordhaus is dark and mostly quiet. The television is on in the drummer’s bedroom but Nathan knows the redhead usually falls asleep in the middle of the re-run of WALKER:TEXAS RANGER. Toki is long abed; the Norwegian is a freak and gets up ungodly early to do whatever it is he does under the harsh, unforgiving light of the sun. Down in Murderface’s room there’s life. Strange noises and sounds, weird ones. Nathan doesn’t want to know and he takes a long pull from the bottle of whiskey in his hand before padding down the stone hallway towards the Swede’s room.
There’s no chance of Skwisgaar being asleep yet. The world’s fastest guitarist would consider it a personal failing if he was in bed for a purpose besides fucking before the first ray of the sun peeked over the horizon. Usually Nathan can hear them, his guitarist and his nightly sluts, from fifty yards down the hall. Tonight there aren’t any sceams or moans or sudden unexpected snatches of guitar and it makes him frown. No light from under the door either and Nathan opens it without any regard for Skwisgaar’s privacy. They don’t have that kind of respect for each other in Dethklok. Doors are locked if you don’t want anyone coming in and sometimes they still get knocked down anyway.
The sterile white room is empty and Nathan scowls, drains the rest of his bottle, and throws it so that it shatters and spreads a field of glass around the foot of Skwisgaar’s bed. Then he turns and heads for the garage. There’s a car missing but Nathan is damned if he knows which one, they have so fucking many, and he leans up against the wall in the spot where it belongs and waits. He’s lucky; Skwisgaar drives in less than ten minutes later and nearly blinds him with the headlights.
Not even five words are allowed out of the Swede’s mouth before Nathan moves. Skwisgaar smells like cigarettes and cheap perfume and it takes a little longer than usual for the dick under Nathan’s groping hand to harden. Turns out it was a Ferrari and the lead singer pushes his guitarist over the hood on his back and yanks the other man’s jeans off while the blond laughs and doesn’t help. His dick tastes like pussy and it makes Nathan growl, slide in with only the barest bit of spit on his own cock and Skwisgaar laughs again, half a groan. He makes sure to come all over the Swede’s stomach, rubbing his seed into the velvety skin of Skwisgaar’s cock, tight strokes until that pale flat expanse is painted again.
Skwisgaar wipes off with his shirt, leaves it on the floor of the garage for the minions to clean. Then, with another hour or two to kill before the arrival of dawn and bedtime, they head off to their respective rooms to drink. Nathan doesn’t warn him about the glass.
Prompt: Day
Pairing: Chuck and Toki
It’s their time, theirs and theirs alone. No one else can be bothered to even begin to think about cracking open an eyeball, let alone climbing out of bed, before noon. So the morning belongs to the two of them. They have nearly all of Mordhaus to themselves, even though Charles spends most of his time in his office and Toki whiles away the hours either in his room or in front of the television or a video game machine. Even the staff is largely absent; most of the minions aren’t required to report before ten a.m. and the majority of the staff that is on hand is outside working on the grounds. The morning light, clear and golden, a hopeful cheery shade that Toki says is because the sun has just woken up and hasn’t had time to be worn down or angered by the cares of traveling through the sky, makes the rest of Dethklok flinch and hide beneath pillows, bottles, or another body.
Toki stretches, his arms raised high above his head, fingers spread as if to touch the sky, and Charles, on those days when he isn’t buried in a mountain of paperwork, watches the Norwegian’s t-shirt ride up until he catches a glimpse of toned skin. They take turns pressing down on one another’s shoulders, helping with stretches and the loosening of muscles. Toki, in sweatpants and his t-shirt and a beat-up pair of sneakers, his long brown hair pulled back in a tail with a spare rubber band, and Charles, in trainers and a tracksuit, try to jog together around the Mordhaus grounds at least twice a week. It’s a decent work out, at three and a half miles, and they’ve taken to racing the last half-mile even though Charles would never cop to it.
Sweaty and Toki usually laughing, they go in through the back door to Jean Pierre’s kitchen so the rhythm guitarist can swipe a muffin or a bagel or whatever happens to be handy. Charles gets his first cup of coffee and trails after Toki towards the big open shower the band had installed next to the gym only they, and occasionally Nathan, ever use. It’s like being back in high school, with plain white tiles and absolutely no privacy, and there’s a minion whose job requires him to arrive in Mordhaus at seven-thirty every day just to make sure the shower room is spotless.
They take turns; convenient that they do this twice a week, and Toki on his knees is beautiful. Charles, on the other hand, is surprising, hair slicked back by water and his glasses gone. They go slow, fingers touching jaw lines and tracing cheekbones, whoever’s turn it is making sure to lick every last bit of cock. It’s their time, completely private, and sometimes Toki wishes his band mates got up earlier and sometimes he’s glad they don’t. Afterwards they share breakfast before going their separate ways, the day off to a very good start.
Prompt: Night
Pairing: Nathan and Skwigaar
Four in the morning and Mordhaus is dark and mostly quiet. The television is on in the drummer’s bedroom but Nathan knows the redhead usually falls asleep in the middle of the re-run of WALKER:TEXAS RANGER. Toki is long abed; the Norwegian is a freak and gets up ungodly early to do whatever it is he does under the harsh, unforgiving light of the sun. Down in Murderface’s room there’s life. Strange noises and sounds, weird ones. Nathan doesn’t want to know and he takes a long pull from the bottle of whiskey in his hand before padding down the stone hallway towards the Swede’s room.
There’s no chance of Skwisgaar being asleep yet. The world’s fastest guitarist would consider it a personal failing if he was in bed for a purpose besides fucking before the first ray of the sun peeked over the horizon. Usually Nathan can hear them, his guitarist and his nightly sluts, from fifty yards down the hall. Tonight there aren’t any sceams or moans or sudden unexpected snatches of guitar and it makes him frown. No light from under the door either and Nathan opens it without any regard for Skwisgaar’s privacy. They don’t have that kind of respect for each other in Dethklok. Doors are locked if you don’t want anyone coming in and sometimes they still get knocked down anyway.
The sterile white room is empty and Nathan scowls, drains the rest of his bottle, and throws it so that it shatters and spreads a field of glass around the foot of Skwisgaar’s bed. Then he turns and heads for the garage. There’s a car missing but Nathan is damned if he knows which one, they have so fucking many, and he leans up against the wall in the spot where it belongs and waits. He’s lucky; Skwisgaar drives in less than ten minutes later and nearly blinds him with the headlights.
Not even five words are allowed out of the Swede’s mouth before Nathan moves. Skwisgaar smells like cigarettes and cheap perfume and it takes a little longer than usual for the dick under Nathan’s groping hand to harden. Turns out it was a Ferrari and the lead singer pushes his guitarist over the hood on his back and yanks the other man’s jeans off while the blond laughs and doesn’t help. His dick tastes like pussy and it makes Nathan growl, slide in with only the barest bit of spit on his own cock and Skwisgaar laughs again, half a groan. He makes sure to come all over the Swede’s stomach, rubbing his seed into the velvety skin of Skwisgaar’s cock, tight strokes until that pale flat expanse is painted again.
Skwisgaar wipes off with his shirt, leaves it on the floor of the garage for the minions to clean. Then, with another hour or two to kill before the arrival of dawn and bedtime, they head off to their respective rooms to drink. Nathan doesn’t warn him about the glass.
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Date: 2007-04-13 03:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-14 10:25 am (UTC)