Metalocalypse Drabble Challenge #15
Jul. 10th, 2007 06:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsTheme: Flying
Pairing: Nathan and Charles
There is only one arena where the balance of power shifts, where Nathan’s control is absolute and Charles can do nothing to effect his decisions. On stage, microphone in hand, vast crowd literally killing themselves to get closer to him, Nathan is a god. His voice thunders out of the wall of speakers and brings every listener under his spell. Charles has learned to stay away, to hear the concerts through a filter of direct relays, but he can’t always avoid attending. And when he does, he is little better than any of the screaming fans bowed to Nathan’s will.
Coming off the stage, adrenaline pumping and the unbelievable high of performing rushing through his head, Charles is the first thing Nathan sees. The manager, still impeccable, is blinking and looking a bit shell-shocked. Vulnerable for once, and Nathan is soaring, his mind somewhere in the atmosphere, and he is completely confident when he grabs Charles and tows him into the dressing room.
He has enough presence of mind to lock the door when Nathan presses him back against it, the mouth that had been holding everyone spellbound whiskey-hot as it closes over his own. If they were back at Mordhaus this wouldn’t be happening. He could put Nathan off; distract him with any of a thousand suggestions, even use a little of his hidden martial strength if he had to. But this tiny cluttered room is part of Nathan’s kingdom and a rasp of the singer’s name, “Nate,” escapes his throat when the large hand dips into his pants and gives his cock a hard stroke.
There is vaseline on the table, greasy stuff that Skwisgaar uses to make his lips shine, and Nathan grabs it. Charles is pliant so long as they are kissing, tongues fighting even though Nathan will always win, and his pants come off without protest. It feels fucking fantastic when he can wrap a slick hand around his dick but it’s even better when he’s got his manager off the floor. Charles isn’t light but he knows how to shift his weight and his feet hook together at the ankles when Nathan finally slides all the way in. The pace is fast, brutal even, and the singer is overwhelming. Charles can only hang on and he bites his lip until it bleeds when Nathan’s hand again finds his erection trapped between them. Another euphoric high, different from singing and from letting the sound crash through, and for a brief moment they fly together.
It’s all over in another minute and when Charles’ feet hit the floor, the scales of power shift back to normal. His tie is straight and only a few wrinkles mar his pants when he leaves, a mild admonishment to not leave the arena without telling someone on his lips as he closes the door. Nathan grins and heads back out in search of a beer. Before he can go ten feet, a crowd of pliant groupies bearing liquor swarms him.
Pairing: Nathan and Charles
There is only one arena where the balance of power shifts, where Nathan’s control is absolute and Charles can do nothing to effect his decisions. On stage, microphone in hand, vast crowd literally killing themselves to get closer to him, Nathan is a god. His voice thunders out of the wall of speakers and brings every listener under his spell. Charles has learned to stay away, to hear the concerts through a filter of direct relays, but he can’t always avoid attending. And when he does, he is little better than any of the screaming fans bowed to Nathan’s will.
Coming off the stage, adrenaline pumping and the unbelievable high of performing rushing through his head, Charles is the first thing Nathan sees. The manager, still impeccable, is blinking and looking a bit shell-shocked. Vulnerable for once, and Nathan is soaring, his mind somewhere in the atmosphere, and he is completely confident when he grabs Charles and tows him into the dressing room.
He has enough presence of mind to lock the door when Nathan presses him back against it, the mouth that had been holding everyone spellbound whiskey-hot as it closes over his own. If they were back at Mordhaus this wouldn’t be happening. He could put Nathan off; distract him with any of a thousand suggestions, even use a little of his hidden martial strength if he had to. But this tiny cluttered room is part of Nathan’s kingdom and a rasp of the singer’s name, “Nate,” escapes his throat when the large hand dips into his pants and gives his cock a hard stroke.
There is vaseline on the table, greasy stuff that Skwisgaar uses to make his lips shine, and Nathan grabs it. Charles is pliant so long as they are kissing, tongues fighting even though Nathan will always win, and his pants come off without protest. It feels fucking fantastic when he can wrap a slick hand around his dick but it’s even better when he’s got his manager off the floor. Charles isn’t light but he knows how to shift his weight and his feet hook together at the ankles when Nathan finally slides all the way in. The pace is fast, brutal even, and the singer is overwhelming. Charles can only hang on and he bites his lip until it bleeds when Nathan’s hand again finds his erection trapped between them. Another euphoric high, different from singing and from letting the sound crash through, and for a brief moment they fly together.
It’s all over in another minute and when Charles’ feet hit the floor, the scales of power shift back to normal. His tie is straight and only a few wrinkles mar his pants when he leaves, a mild admonishment to not leave the arena without telling someone on his lips as he closes the door. Nathan grins and heads back out in search of a beer. Before he can go ten feet, a crowd of pliant groupies bearing liquor swarms him.
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no subject
Date: 2007-07-10 02:42 pm (UTC)Afternoon works really, because some of the stuff (i.e. two big ass tubs of kitchen stuff) is at my mom's. Do you mind going into Baltimore with me to get it? It's not too far, about 20 min or so.
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Date: 2007-07-11 04:04 am (UTC)