Metalocalypse Drabble Challenge #s 8-10
Apr. 25th, 2007 10:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsPrompt: School
Pairing: Nathan and Murderface
“What’re YOU looking at?”
Nathan’s low growl only made Murderface smirk and cross his arms over his chest. “Nicsh schpeech. Very realishtic. Liked the line about the tit-eating maggotsh in particular.”
Harvard’s green was in chaos all around them, the usual effect from the band’s presence. Most of his bandmates were gone, off with barely legal women or to a kegger, and Charles, wearing a very pinched expression, was talking to a livid-looking old man in faculty robes. It seemed like a good time to either jump into the fray of fighting and fucking bodies or make a quick escape. Nathan brushed back a lank strand of black hair and shrugged.
“I need a drink.”
“Whatchyou need ish to get rid of shome agresshion. Come on. Got an idea.”
Murderface was acting too cocky for comfort but Nathan, dealing with the reality of failing his GED and the anger that caused him, had nothing better to do. Besides, the bassist’s ideas usually involved mass destruction and he could really go for some of that. He followed the stocky man across the manicured campus and into a white columned building, stopping in surprise at both his surroundings and at the way Murderface casually dropped his shorts.
“Gonna piss on some books, Murderface?”
“That’sh a good idea. Maybe later. But right now you’re going to fuck me.”
“…I am?”
“Yesh.”
“…Why?”
“Becaush! We’re shticking it to all thoshe educated asholesh who think they’re better than ush jusht becaush they can read all thish schit.”
“…Okay.” Nathan didn’t really care about the symbolism or whatever the hell it was Murderface thought they were doing. It was probably just the bassist’s excuse to get pounded anyway. Whatever. The front man had a lot of pent up frustration he wanted to get rid of and fucking the shorter man sounded like a good way to start. No preamble, he moved behind Murderface and shoved him into the nearest shelf, smashing the man’s face into the unyielding spine of an ornithology text. His zipper coming down was loud in the hushed space and Nathan grunted, a grin growing on his face as the appeal of Murderface’s idea began to grow on him.
There wasn’t any lube and, being a masochist, Murderface wouldn’t have appreciated it anyway. Nathan pushed in to the hot, tight confines of his bassist’s ass and bit savagely along the man’s throat, teeth puncturing flesh and wringing forth coppery blood and a deep groan. Hard and fast, he slammed into Murderface, pushing his body into the shelves and making them shake. It was a brutal fucking, just the way Nathan needed, and a last shove sent the bassist over the edge, semen spattering on the books.
As they straightened, an ominous creaking sounded and the bookshelf began to rock. Slowly it toppled forward, hit the next one, and, domino-style, the first floor of Harvard’s library was wiped out. Murderface grinned, pulled up his shorts.
“Hey Nathan, know how to schpell shuccessh?”
“…No.”
“D-E-T-H-K-L-O-K.”
Prompt: Cemetary
Pairing: Murderface and Toki
Video shoots were fucking brutal. Long hours, stupid directors, hot lighting, and, in this case, itchy costumes. Murderface spat into the dirt around him. As usual, he had almost no screen time. Reality of being a bassist but it still grated from time to time. At least he got to die in a metal way, not killed by a stupid horse like Pickles. Being a gravedigger was definitely hardcore and so were axes. But his damn tunic felt like it was woolen and he was allergic to that stuff, made him itch. He just wanted to finish and go home, maybe break a few pieces of furniture or stab a minion. Too bad Skwisgaar was being a prima donna bitching at the director and holding up production.
Bored and uncomfortable, the bassist looked around the set. Pickles and Nathan were both over by craft services guzzling down booze but Toki was just leaning on his pitchfork. The kid actually looked good in rustic garb. The lines of his tunic softened him, made him appear almost cute and definitely…vulnerable. Murderface chuckled evilly as an idea suddenly burst into full-fledged life in his brain. Oh yes, this was going to be fun.
Toki came over eagerly when the bassist called to him. Clearly the rhythm guitarist was bored too. An invented excuse to have the Norwegian ‘come see thish cool thing’ found Toki jumping into the waist-deep grave, crouching down in the churned earth when Murderface told him to ‘look closher.’ The brunette started when a heavy hand dropped down onto head and the bassist twitched aside his tunic to reveal his throbbing erection.
“Dey’ll sees,” Toki protested, and Murderface privately gloated that that was the Norwegian’s main argument.
“It’sh a game kid. If you do it right, shtay low, we’ll get away with it.”
The rhythm guitarist looked like he was going to say more but the bassist thrust his hips forward, nudging the tip of his cock against soft lips. Toki frowned and then rolled his eyes.
“Okay but yous has got to buys me ice creams on de way home.”
“Shure, whatever. Now schuck it.”
Wet heat moved over Murderface’s cock, too slow for his liking, and he wove his fingers through silky brown strands. A piece of hay fluttered free as he pushed Toki faster and deeper, saliva trickling down the Norwegian’s chin as he tried to cope. It was good and his eyes were nearly crossed with the effort of keeping quiet. He did manage to choke out a command for Pickles to ‘bring me a drink, douche bag’ when it looked like the drummer was heading his way though, and his hand tightened in Toki’s hair when the younger man jerked and tried to pull away. The kid swallowed, having no choice with his face smooshed against Murderface’s groin, and then cautiously got to his feet. And they would have been completely home free if only Toki hadn’t ended up with dirt all over his knees.
Prompt: Woods
Pairing: Nathan and Pickles
“Cheddar heads!” Pickles shouted drunkenly as he leapt in the air.
The football easily cleared his outstretched fingers by a good foot and sailed into the woods. Nathan swore and stumbled towards his drummer. “What was that?”
“Ya asked me why I didn’t wanna play. Cheddar heads! You ever seen a Packers fan? Look like douche bags. ‘s why I don’ like football.”
“That’s a stupid reason.” The front man punched Pickles’ shoulder as he wove towards the trees. “Shouldn’ta lost the ball.”
“How tall ya think I am, dood? ‘sides, ‘m drunk as fuck and yer throw sucked.”
“Yeah well…you suck.”
“YOU suck.”
Swearing at each other, the two men crashed into the thick underbrush at the edge of the Mordhaus grounds. The football had vanished into the tangled foliage and Nathan cursed the redhead again as his jeans got caught on a thorny vine. Being drunk, stumbling around looking for a football in the woods, was not his idea of a good time.
“Stupid Pickles. Should’ve caught that. I’d’ve caught that easy.” Nathan grumbled under his breath as he scouted the ground, taking only minor pleasure as he heard the drummer yelp behind him as he encountered his own set of thorns. Fortunately only a few minutes later the singer spotted the football resting at the edge of a cluster of ferns. He bent over to pick it up, his shouted “I found the damn thing” covering rapidly approaching footsteps. Pickles hit Nathan solidly, sending the larger man off his feet and onto his face.
“What the fuck?!”
“Ain’t tacklin’ the dood who’s got the ball parta the game?” The drummer’s tone was innocent but he was belied by the hard length pressing against Nathan’s thigh.
“Yeah, but…” Nathan easily threw the redhead off his back and quickly moved to pin him. “…I don’t think THAT is.” He bucked for emphasis, making them both groan as denim-covered erections brushed together.
“Ya shouldn’t bend over like that.” Pickles grinned, unrepentant, and wormed a hand between them to open first his own jeans and then Nathan’s. “’sides, I’m tired of football. Let’s do somethin’ else.”
Nathan rolled his eyes but shoved his pants lower, amused when the drummer grabbed the football and tucked it beneath his head for a pillow. The front man’s large hand wrapped around his straining flesh, fingers stretching out to curl around Pickles’ too. A hiss escaped from the drummer and he slipped an arm up beneath Nathan’s t-shirt, fngernails raising red lines as he raked them down the broad back. Drunk and sloppy and surrounded by the tickling ferns they were crushing, it didn’t last long. Pickles jerked his head up, slammed his mouth against Nathan’s as he came and the singer pressed into a booze-flavored mouth with his tongue, groaning with his own release. Then, after catching their breath and haphazardly wiping off with the plants, they stumbled out of the woods. Nathan made Pickles go back ten minutes later for the forgotten football.
Pairing: Nathan and Murderface
“What’re YOU looking at?”
Nathan’s low growl only made Murderface smirk and cross his arms over his chest. “Nicsh schpeech. Very realishtic. Liked the line about the tit-eating maggotsh in particular.”
Harvard’s green was in chaos all around them, the usual effect from the band’s presence. Most of his bandmates were gone, off with barely legal women or to a kegger, and Charles, wearing a very pinched expression, was talking to a livid-looking old man in faculty robes. It seemed like a good time to either jump into the fray of fighting and fucking bodies or make a quick escape. Nathan brushed back a lank strand of black hair and shrugged.
“I need a drink.”
“Whatchyou need ish to get rid of shome agresshion. Come on. Got an idea.”
Murderface was acting too cocky for comfort but Nathan, dealing with the reality of failing his GED and the anger that caused him, had nothing better to do. Besides, the bassist’s ideas usually involved mass destruction and he could really go for some of that. He followed the stocky man across the manicured campus and into a white columned building, stopping in surprise at both his surroundings and at the way Murderface casually dropped his shorts.
“Gonna piss on some books, Murderface?”
“That’sh a good idea. Maybe later. But right now you’re going to fuck me.”
“…I am?”
“Yesh.”
“…Why?”
“Becaush! We’re shticking it to all thoshe educated asholesh who think they’re better than ush jusht becaush they can read all thish schit.”
“…Okay.” Nathan didn’t really care about the symbolism or whatever the hell it was Murderface thought they were doing. It was probably just the bassist’s excuse to get pounded anyway. Whatever. The front man had a lot of pent up frustration he wanted to get rid of and fucking the shorter man sounded like a good way to start. No preamble, he moved behind Murderface and shoved him into the nearest shelf, smashing the man’s face into the unyielding spine of an ornithology text. His zipper coming down was loud in the hushed space and Nathan grunted, a grin growing on his face as the appeal of Murderface’s idea began to grow on him.
There wasn’t any lube and, being a masochist, Murderface wouldn’t have appreciated it anyway. Nathan pushed in to the hot, tight confines of his bassist’s ass and bit savagely along the man’s throat, teeth puncturing flesh and wringing forth coppery blood and a deep groan. Hard and fast, he slammed into Murderface, pushing his body into the shelves and making them shake. It was a brutal fucking, just the way Nathan needed, and a last shove sent the bassist over the edge, semen spattering on the books.
As they straightened, an ominous creaking sounded and the bookshelf began to rock. Slowly it toppled forward, hit the next one, and, domino-style, the first floor of Harvard’s library was wiped out. Murderface grinned, pulled up his shorts.
“Hey Nathan, know how to schpell shuccessh?”
“…No.”
“D-E-T-H-K-L-O-K.”
Prompt: Cemetary
Pairing: Murderface and Toki
Video shoots were fucking brutal. Long hours, stupid directors, hot lighting, and, in this case, itchy costumes. Murderface spat into the dirt around him. As usual, he had almost no screen time. Reality of being a bassist but it still grated from time to time. At least he got to die in a metal way, not killed by a stupid horse like Pickles. Being a gravedigger was definitely hardcore and so were axes. But his damn tunic felt like it was woolen and he was allergic to that stuff, made him itch. He just wanted to finish and go home, maybe break a few pieces of furniture or stab a minion. Too bad Skwisgaar was being a prima donna bitching at the director and holding up production.
Bored and uncomfortable, the bassist looked around the set. Pickles and Nathan were both over by craft services guzzling down booze but Toki was just leaning on his pitchfork. The kid actually looked good in rustic garb. The lines of his tunic softened him, made him appear almost cute and definitely…vulnerable. Murderface chuckled evilly as an idea suddenly burst into full-fledged life in his brain. Oh yes, this was going to be fun.
Toki came over eagerly when the bassist called to him. Clearly the rhythm guitarist was bored too. An invented excuse to have the Norwegian ‘come see thish cool thing’ found Toki jumping into the waist-deep grave, crouching down in the churned earth when Murderface told him to ‘look closher.’ The brunette started when a heavy hand dropped down onto head and the bassist twitched aside his tunic to reveal his throbbing erection.
“Dey’ll sees,” Toki protested, and Murderface privately gloated that that was the Norwegian’s main argument.
“It’sh a game kid. If you do it right, shtay low, we’ll get away with it.”
The rhythm guitarist looked like he was going to say more but the bassist thrust his hips forward, nudging the tip of his cock against soft lips. Toki frowned and then rolled his eyes.
“Okay but yous has got to buys me ice creams on de way home.”
“Shure, whatever. Now schuck it.”
Wet heat moved over Murderface’s cock, too slow for his liking, and he wove his fingers through silky brown strands. A piece of hay fluttered free as he pushed Toki faster and deeper, saliva trickling down the Norwegian’s chin as he tried to cope. It was good and his eyes were nearly crossed with the effort of keeping quiet. He did manage to choke out a command for Pickles to ‘bring me a drink, douche bag’ when it looked like the drummer was heading his way though, and his hand tightened in Toki’s hair when the younger man jerked and tried to pull away. The kid swallowed, having no choice with his face smooshed against Murderface’s groin, and then cautiously got to his feet. And they would have been completely home free if only Toki hadn’t ended up with dirt all over his knees.
Prompt: Woods
Pairing: Nathan and Pickles
“Cheddar heads!” Pickles shouted drunkenly as he leapt in the air.
The football easily cleared his outstretched fingers by a good foot and sailed into the woods. Nathan swore and stumbled towards his drummer. “What was that?”
“Ya asked me why I didn’t wanna play. Cheddar heads! You ever seen a Packers fan? Look like douche bags. ‘s why I don’ like football.”
“That’s a stupid reason.” The front man punched Pickles’ shoulder as he wove towards the trees. “Shouldn’ta lost the ball.”
“How tall ya think I am, dood? ‘sides, ‘m drunk as fuck and yer throw sucked.”
“Yeah well…you suck.”
“YOU suck.”
Swearing at each other, the two men crashed into the thick underbrush at the edge of the Mordhaus grounds. The football had vanished into the tangled foliage and Nathan cursed the redhead again as his jeans got caught on a thorny vine. Being drunk, stumbling around looking for a football in the woods, was not his idea of a good time.
“Stupid Pickles. Should’ve caught that. I’d’ve caught that easy.” Nathan grumbled under his breath as he scouted the ground, taking only minor pleasure as he heard the drummer yelp behind him as he encountered his own set of thorns. Fortunately only a few minutes later the singer spotted the football resting at the edge of a cluster of ferns. He bent over to pick it up, his shouted “I found the damn thing” covering rapidly approaching footsteps. Pickles hit Nathan solidly, sending the larger man off his feet and onto his face.
“What the fuck?!”
“Ain’t tacklin’ the dood who’s got the ball parta the game?” The drummer’s tone was innocent but he was belied by the hard length pressing against Nathan’s thigh.
“Yeah, but…” Nathan easily threw the redhead off his back and quickly moved to pin him. “…I don’t think THAT is.” He bucked for emphasis, making them both groan as denim-covered erections brushed together.
“Ya shouldn’t bend over like that.” Pickles grinned, unrepentant, and wormed a hand between them to open first his own jeans and then Nathan’s. “’sides, I’m tired of football. Let’s do somethin’ else.”
Nathan rolled his eyes but shoved his pants lower, amused when the drummer grabbed the football and tucked it beneath his head for a pillow. The front man’s large hand wrapped around his straining flesh, fingers stretching out to curl around Pickles’ too. A hiss escaped from the drummer and he slipped an arm up beneath Nathan’s t-shirt, fngernails raising red lines as he raked them down the broad back. Drunk and sloppy and surrounded by the tickling ferns they were crushing, it didn’t last long. Pickles jerked his head up, slammed his mouth against Nathan’s as he came and the singer pressed into a booze-flavored mouth with his tongue, groaning with his own release. Then, after catching their breath and haphazardly wiping off with the plants, they stumbled out of the woods. Nathan made Pickles go back ten minutes later for the forgotten football.
