Metalocalypse Drabble Challenge #12
May. 14th, 2007 06:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsPrompt: Bedroom
Pairing: Charles and Skwisgaar
Ofdensen’s bedroom was nothing like what Skwisgaar expected. He’d imagined the place, the few times he’d entertained the possibility of what currently hung heavy in the air between them, to be similar to his own. Clean and crisp and austere, almost totally impersonal. What lay before him was nearly the exact opposite. The manager’s bedroom was an oasis of comfort and homely familiarity, a private sanctuary for the man in the midst of Mordhaus’ overwhelming bulk.
It was tidy and mostly neat but books were piled off on one side of the large bed and a gray bathrobe was casually tossed over the back of an overstuffed armchair. Lived in, and Charles raised an eyebrow questioningly over the top of his spectacles as he picked up a remote and pushed a few buttons. Music filtered in from well-hidden speakers, Metallica but off of the S & M album. Skwisgaar gave the room another quick once over and threw his preconceptions away. It was Ofdensen’s space and Dethklok’s manager was nothing if not extremely competent.
At least the sheets were similar when he turned back the bedding; something cotton but with a thread count so ridiculously high that they felt smoother and softer than silk. Charles studied him, clearly curious but silent and content to wait and watch, and Skwisgaar dropped his shirt on the floor before lying back, usual flying fingers instead slow and teasing at his belt buckle. He kept eye contact, blue gaze watching as brown slowly darkened, and drank in the always-gratifying sight of someone else admiring him. His cock was nearly full by the time he kicked his jeans off, long legs shifting apart when he palmed his testicles. “Well? You waitings for a damn invitations?”
Charles lost his tie and his suit jacket and everything else, even his glasses, after that and it was Skwisgaar’s turn to drink in the view. Ofdensen was in better shape than his wardrobe let on, sturdy and solid, and he fit quite nicely between the guitarist’s open thighs. The lube wasn’t where the Swede had expected either, tucked back between the mattress and the headboard in even more immediate reach than the assumed bedside drawer. Efficient and quick and VERY attentive to his every twitch, Charles was a considerate lover up until his dick was finally buried deep inside.
Then he was an AMAZING one, and Skwisgaar, in the tiny corner of his mind not being overwhelmed with pleasure or trying to take technique notes, was glad he’d opted to get fucked. It was nice to relax and feel, to not have to do any work unless he wanted to, just taking all the manager had to give. His manager took excellent care of him, as he always did no matter the situation, and the guitarist was messy and content when he finally curled up on his side. Charles pulled the covers up and settled against him, privately amused to learn, as he went over a contract, Skwisgaar snored.
Pairing: Charles and Skwisgaar
Ofdensen’s bedroom was nothing like what Skwisgaar expected. He’d imagined the place, the few times he’d entertained the possibility of what currently hung heavy in the air between them, to be similar to his own. Clean and crisp and austere, almost totally impersonal. What lay before him was nearly the exact opposite. The manager’s bedroom was an oasis of comfort and homely familiarity, a private sanctuary for the man in the midst of Mordhaus’ overwhelming bulk.
It was tidy and mostly neat but books were piled off on one side of the large bed and a gray bathrobe was casually tossed over the back of an overstuffed armchair. Lived in, and Charles raised an eyebrow questioningly over the top of his spectacles as he picked up a remote and pushed a few buttons. Music filtered in from well-hidden speakers, Metallica but off of the S & M album. Skwisgaar gave the room another quick once over and threw his preconceptions away. It was Ofdensen’s space and Dethklok’s manager was nothing if not extremely competent.
At least the sheets were similar when he turned back the bedding; something cotton but with a thread count so ridiculously high that they felt smoother and softer than silk. Charles studied him, clearly curious but silent and content to wait and watch, and Skwisgaar dropped his shirt on the floor before lying back, usual flying fingers instead slow and teasing at his belt buckle. He kept eye contact, blue gaze watching as brown slowly darkened, and drank in the always-gratifying sight of someone else admiring him. His cock was nearly full by the time he kicked his jeans off, long legs shifting apart when he palmed his testicles. “Well? You waitings for a damn invitations?”
Charles lost his tie and his suit jacket and everything else, even his glasses, after that and it was Skwisgaar’s turn to drink in the view. Ofdensen was in better shape than his wardrobe let on, sturdy and solid, and he fit quite nicely between the guitarist’s open thighs. The lube wasn’t where the Swede had expected either, tucked back between the mattress and the headboard in even more immediate reach than the assumed bedside drawer. Efficient and quick and VERY attentive to his every twitch, Charles was a considerate lover up until his dick was finally buried deep inside.
Then he was an AMAZING one, and Skwisgaar, in the tiny corner of his mind not being overwhelmed with pleasure or trying to take technique notes, was glad he’d opted to get fucked. It was nice to relax and feel, to not have to do any work unless he wanted to, just taking all the manager had to give. His manager took excellent care of him, as he always did no matter the situation, and the guitarist was messy and content when he finally curled up on his side. Charles pulled the covers up and settled against him, privately amused to learn, as he went over a contract, Skwisgaar snored.
