Birthday Ficcage
Jun. 19th, 2008 02:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsTitle: Little Bunny
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Nathan/Toki
Word Count: 5129
On day forty-six of a seventy-five day tour, Nathan had had enough. A musical perfectionist, he was the same way on stage as he was in the recording booth. But there weren’t any Pro-Tools at his fingertips to fix the mistakes so they grated on him and built up until he couldn’t take it any more. He lost it, all of what little control he had, in a spectacular tantrum that rivaled the best he had ever previously thrown. Murderface took the brunt of it, the bassist being at the time the primary greasy fingerprint on Nathan’s sparkling window of musical glory. Grapefruit-sized fists lifted two hundred and thirty-four pounds of struggling, cursing man up as Nathan glared into defiant yellow-green eyes.
“Get it right,” he snarled. “It’s over and done and we can’t go back so stop being such a big fuckin’ baby and do your goddamn job.”
Flecks of spittle flew from his lips on every sibilant; hit the bassist mainly on the bridge of his squashed, oft-broken nose. Murderface’s eyes narrowed, defiant sullenness changing into growing rage at the rude treatment, and he hocked a spit wad with pinpoint accuracy through the gap in his teeth, smacking Nathan squarely in one cat-green eye. The front man bellowed in outrage and the bassist was airborne, flying a good eight feet only to crash into the table laden with at least half of the band’s post-performance alcohol needs. The cheap pressboard crumpled under the impact and bottles and cans went scattering in every direction. Murderface, lying at an awkward angle with at least one or two cans digging into his spine, was drenched in liquor but he was still alive. A muttered curse and a loud groan of pain attested to his state of consciousness and Nathan, satisfied that he wouldn’t have to find another bassist and that his point had been made, stomped past the wreckage and the silent but watchful presence of his other band mates to head for the bus.
“…Wowwee.” Toki’s exclamation was soft, at least for him, as he and Pickles picked their way through the blatant evidence of alcohol abuse towards the prone form of the bassist. “Nathans sure is mad.” Skwisgaar, deigning to observe but not to help, sniffed at the Norwegian’s comments.
“Dat is no surprise. Moirderface hads dat coming. T’ird time in a rows dat he fucks up dat line. You better watch outs, Toki, or yous will be next. I heards dat sloppy noise during de bridge on ‘Wasted Hell.’
“Shuts up, Skwisgaar!” Toki was immediately defiant in the face of the Swede’s never-ending criticism but before he could build up a real head of steam and start the second fight of the evening, Pickles interrupted.
“Go an’ get a roadie er sumthin’, Skwisgaar. Tell ‘em we need towels and a shitload a more booze.”
Strong fingers gripped Toki’s forearm, tugged his attention back to the main problem. “C’mon, kid. I ain’t gonna be able ta lift ‘im m’self.”
More cursing, mainly from the drummer, filled the air as the unfortunate bassist was eased first into a sitting position and then finally to his feet. Murderface was dazed, and quite probably concussed given the relative docility of his actions in the face of Nathan throwing him across the room, but he stubbornly refused any and all attempts by his band mates and the roadies to send him to a hospital for examination. Ultimately he was at least convinced of the utility of a shower and he went off somewhat unsteadily and reeking of booze with two roadies to play nursemaid in search of some cleaner clothes and a faucet.
The rest of Dethklok eyed the wreckage and made a beeline for the new table that had been set up to replace the one that Nathan and Murderface’s body had destroyed. Beer, bottle of wine, and two-gallon jug of cheap vodka in hand, the remaining band members retreated to the battered couch that was de rigueur for backstage lounging. Toki, concern writ clear on his youthful face, slammed back his can with almost as much vigor as Pickles was showing towards his jug.
“Guys, what’s wrong with Nathans? He’s nots alsways so mads on tour like dis.”
“Dats is aschualy a good questions, Toki.” Skwisgaar stretched out his long legs and sank back into the couch. “Too bads I don’t knows de answer.”
Outside of the stadium, Nathan paced like a caged panther up and down the massive Dethklok tour bus. A frown marred his large brow and his usually bright green eyes were dull. Discontent ate at him, vague dull stabs of dissatisfaction in his gut, and a growl worked its way up his throat and out from his snarling lips. The black, bone-framed mirror never stood a chance and there were still glinting bits of glass in the carpet when the rest of the band finally came aboard.
\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/
That had only been the beginning of Nathan’s so-seeming ‘tour of discontent.’ Never the easiest man to be around at the best of times, on tour Nathan was often short-tempered and irritable during the extended road trips but this was the worst that his band mates had ever seen. Murderface, once he was somewhat recovered from his cracked skull, had his revenge and an ever-escalating war began the two. Skwisgaar wasn’t any help. The Swede’s self-preservation instincts took over and he alternated between silent brooding, orgy mode, and being a general prick. He was good at dishing it out but Skwisgaar wasn’t nearly so adept at taking it, quite probably because of his upbringing at Serveta’s negligent whorish hands. Pickles coped the way he always did, by getting spectacularly drunk or high or both, but he made himself useful in one area. While he wasn’t quite the perfectionist Nathan was in the recording booth, the drummer did strongly believe in putting on a good show. He probably cared more about that than the rest of Dethklok and he was the one who, hung over or tripping or even still staggeringly drunk, managed to herd the rest of them out on stage each night and drove them through their performances with relentless beats and angry bloodshot glares. As for Toki, the poor Norwegian didn’t quite know what to do.
Nathan was the band member that Toki respected the most and to have that person snapping and growling at him was a terrible blow to the rhythm guitarist’s fragile ego. More often than not, Nathan wasn’t actually mad at Toki personally but the Norwegian was somewhat emotionally clueless and wasn’t able to make that distinction. Skwisgaar, his eternal rival, was no help and Murderface was downright scary once he holed himself up in his room on the tour bus and started shooting crossbow bolts through the door at anyone who knocked. Pickles tried, when he was conscious and moderately sober, to take care of the kid but those times grew rarer and rarer as the miles and nights and venues flew by. By the last week of the tour, Toki was miserable. Nathan and Murderface had gotten into a fight, knives and broken beer bottles held at the ready, and both were already bleeding when the rest of the band burst in to see what the hell all the noise was about. The situation was bad enough that Pickles actually acted. With a nod to Toki, he charged the bassist and knocked Murderface into the hot tub. Toki, in turn, hit Nathan with a tackle the singer’s old football coach would have been proud of, sending the front man to the ground and the deadly glass out of his hands.
Of course neither Nathan nor Murderface stayed down for long but by then Skwisgaar was back with a pack of roadies and a tranquilizer gun. Murderface, as angry as a rogue bull elephant, went down ranting but Nathan was felled more like a tree. As he toppled, it seemed to Toki that his eyes were locked onto the Norwegian, silent and accusing. It was finally more than the Norwegian could take and he spent a cold wet night on the roof of the DethBus. Getting soaked and turned into an icicle by freezing rain had been a bad idea and Toki played the last few dates of the tour by dint of sheer determination and lots and lots of Dayquil. None of the band members were really speaking to each other by the time they got back to Mordland. Seeing Charles waiting in the doorway, light glinting off his glasses and obscuring his thoughts, was a relief and Dethklok gratefully gave themselves over to his capable hands.
\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/
Stress relief, especially the kind the band needed post-tour, had taken an incredibly strange turn for Dethklok about two years ago. It had been Ofdensen’s idea but for once the robot butler had been on to something and he had even managed to rein in his penny-pinching ways to see that it happened. For being five of the most powerful men on the planet, Dethklok didn’t really have a lot of responsibilities. That changed somewhat on tour, if only because they felt responsible to themselves and to their music if not their jack-off fans. They always came home wound up and would spend sometimes months devoted to nothing but mayhem and debauchery in order to feel normal again. Ofdensen, realizing that what they were doing was running from responsibility, took all of that away from them. All of it was gone at first, even some of the most basic elements of choice, and while the boys chafed at the restrictions and bitched about them when they had the chance, they always submitted because it worked. It worked faster and better than all their old methods and it was pretty kinky and kind of metal to boot.
The Dungeon, not to be confused with Mordhaus’ regular old dungeon where Charles secretly had the band’s enemies tortured or with Murderface’s incredibly morbid bedroom, was located two stories beneath the ground and was accessible by precisely four points, one of which only Charles knew about. The employees of The Dungeon were screened even more carefully than the usual Mordhaus hooded servants and they were paid very well for their discretion and for their agreeing to live out the rest of their lives under Charles’ and Dethklok’s control on pain of death. Despite its name, The Dungeon was actually quite different in some ways from the rest of Dethklok’s home. Charles had furnished it rather than the band and so it was well lit, clean, and ventilated. Warm oak floors, soft wool rugs in neutral colors, and cleverly designed and hidden skylights gave the area an open, homey feeling and sliding partitions could be used to rearrange the space into multiple configurations on a whim. In The Dungeon, Charles was in charge and Dethklok had to obey him. He made a surprisingly good master for a lawyerly bean counter and he had never, despite the temptation, taken advantage of his power over the band when in The Dungeon. The talented employees handled their jobs with skill and dedication and thus far Dethklok had never regretted going along with their manager’s idea.
Nathan, following the band’s return from the most recent tour, was beginning to have second thoughts. The Dungeon just wasn’t working the way it had in the past and that was somewhat disturbing to the lead singer. It was mildly alarming to think that he had become so jaded that even The Dungeon, which was approaching the height of excess, couldn’t help him regain his equilibrium. A week spent in harness next to Skwisgaar had left him a bit calmer and with a still-smarting ass but the same discontent that had haunted him on the road still churned in his gut. A stop-over with Helga, Olga, and Murderface had given him the chance to make wordless amends and pick up a few new tricks but it still hadn’t been enough to placate him. What he wanted was what had always been absent for him in The Dungeon – a chance at total control and to make an apology that showed how deeply he felt without having to worry about it coming back to haunt him in Mordhaus proper. There was a twisted sort of caring to be found in being the master and that was what he had thought he had wanted to have with the bassist. But Murderface belonged utterly to his Bulgarian twins and they to him and, as Nathan had realized, William wasn’t quite who he wanted to care for after all. He’d mistreated more than the bassist during the tour and not everyone’s feelings could be assuaged by dominatrices and their beatings. The one he wanted, though, had vanished. Ofdensen had whisked Toki and Pickles away for some private coddling as soon as the pair had stepped off the bus and Nathan hadn’t seen them since.
Bored but comfortable in just an old pair of sweatpants, he was wandering down one of the curious sunlit subterranean corridors, no clear destination in mind beyond a vague desire to find Ofdensen and his missing band mates, when he heard it. Music, the first to reach his ears in nearly two weeks, caught his attention and drew him around a corner to stop in front of a door. It was open a bit, enough that Nathan could see a small fire burning in the hearth and an overstuffed leather chair drawn up to take advantage of the warmth, but he couldn’t see the source of the music. Hesitation lasted all of five seconds before he pushed open the door. It had been open after all, and Nathan wasn’t in the mood to play the submissive any more. He stopped after he’d only taken three steps, drawn up short by the sight in front of him. Black leather ears, lined with soft black fur, perched atop a sleek head and Nathan could just see a strip of black leather curving around a tanned throat from where he stood. Fingers moved absently over the guitar’s fret board, popping into view above the top of the couch for the lower notes. Nathan cleared his throat and the music stopped as pale blue eyes sought and found his.
“What…what are you doing there…um…little…uh…little bunny?” he asked, hoping that didn’t sound as cheesy as he was afraid it did.
Toki’s response couldn’t have been more perfect. He gave a shy smile and dropped his eyes. “Waitings for yous.”
“Waiting for…for me?” That answer had been pretty fucking surprising but good too. Nathan knew he’d been hard on the kid, not as bad as he’d been towards Murderface but the Norwegian was kind of like a rather dim puppy, trying to encourage an unhappy master and not catching on to all the kicks that meant ‘stay away.’ Murderface and Pickles could take that kind of abuse and Skwisgaar was smart enough to keep out of the line of fire. But Toki wasn’t exactly socially proficient even by Dethklok’s lax standards and he’d kept on putting himself right in front of the anger train that had been Nathan Explosion On Tour. Looking back, the singer could see that all the kid had wanted was to bring him some sort of comfort, for whatever reason, but at the time Toki had only been one more annoyance to get out of his hair. But the brutal cold the guitarist had caught had probably been his fault and he hadn’t really meant most of what he’d said either. Toki was a damn good guy, at least when he wasn’t bringing clowns home or trying to be a demon, and Nathan had to admit he’d always had a soft spot for the Norwegian that he just didn’t have for the rest of his band mates.
“Ja,” Toki replied softly, looking up at Nathan through his lashes. “Just for yous.”
A scattering of notes punctuated his reply, drawing Nathan’s attention back to the guitarist and out of his thoughts. This was his chance but how to make it come out right? Writing brutal songs about the true blackness of the world came easily to the singer but other words did not. He took another step, eyes trained on Toki, and wondered how to start. He wanted to know why and he wanted to get out an apology quickly so it was over with and he wanted to see what else Toki was doing on the other side of that couch. Nathan’s mouth opened but nothing came out besides air and a few monosyllabic noises. Toki smiled at that and cocked his head.
“Nathans? Youse okay?”
His mouth snapped shut abruptly and Nathan nodded. “Yeah…and…er…you? Still sick?”
“No. Charlies and Pickle take cares of me and I is all betters now. And I wanted to sees you.”
“How come?” It came out more bitter and frustrated than he’d wanted and Nathan ducked his head to watch Toki out of the curtain of his dark hair.
The smile disappeared and Toki looked serious for a moment. “’Cause yous is impote – importants to me. And Charlies says you has a hard times expressing youself and dat if I wantsted to, if I wantsted you, dis was de best way to does it.”
It felt surprisingly good to know that Toki wanted him and that he was important in a way that Nathan sensed went beyond just being the front man for the band they both happened to be in. And the manager was right. He did have trouble expressing himself with words in this sort of situation but he could show how he felt, how important Toki was to him as well. They were in the Dungeon after all, and he knew what that meant. Actions spoke far louder than any but Ofdensen’s words down here. If Toki wanted him, he would be more than happy to oblige. Nathan straightened up and the smile reappeared on Toki’s face.
“I wants to be yous little bunny right now, Nathans.”
“And what should I do with my…um…my little bunny?” Nathan asked, voice gone deep and rumbling as he stepped around the couch to drink in the view. Toki’s Flying V blocked the core of his body but it was clear that the Norwegian was naked other than for a few choice accessories. The ears and the collar of course, but there were also small clamps affixed to his nipples and the way he was sprawled across the cushions suggested that the plush seat wasn’t actually all that comfortable at the moment.
“Any’tings you wants.” The smile on Toki’s face got a bit wider, no longer quite so demure now that Nathan had agreed to play. He made no move to put aside his guitar however, although his fingers had stilled on the strings. “Any’tings at all for yous, Nathan.”
That sounded damn good indeed and his dick definitely agreed as it finished stiffening, making a nice tent in the front of his soft black sweatpants. Nathan palmed his crotch, smirking when the move inspired Toki to lick his lips, and decided that the overstuffed armchair he’d first noticed would serve his purposes. The singer backed away slowly, teasing the Norwegian as he eased his sweatpants off his hips. His cock stood tall and proud against his stomach and Nathan gave it a good squeeze before he sat down on the chair. Black fabric went flying as he kicked his sweatpants the rest of the way off and then the front man leaned back and spread his thighs. Toki’s eyes were locked onto his erection and that was fucking HOT and damned perfect.
“Lose the guitar, little bunny, and come here.” No more hesitation could be heard in the singer’s voice. He knew exactly where he stood in this situation, what he wanted, and the commanding words came easily. Toki was quick to obey, setting aside his instrument and rising from the couch. Tanned abs and a silver-circled cock that looked like it had to be aching for release heated Nathan’s blood and he growled low in his throat when Toki took a hesitant step forward. “On your hands and knees.”
The Norwegian dropped instantly, leaning forward to press his palms to the thick woolen rug, and Nathan bit back a groan as he spotted the tip of a fluffy black tail. Toki slunk forward, pale blue eyes glued to Nathan’s and bright with some emotion the singer could not name. Though he wasn’t slow, Toki’s progress across the floor seemed to take forever to Nathan and his cock throbbed in sympathetic time to each and every bob and quiver of Toki’s that he managed to see. Toki, his usually rather childish rhythm guitarist, was pure sensuality as he crawled towards the singer and it was all Nathan could do to keep from hurtling out of his chair and taking him. And then, too long but almost before the front man realized, Toki was there between his legs, settling on his knees and staring up in undisguised lust.
“Touch me,” Nathan rasped, jerking up when Toki obeyed and wrapped calloused fingers around his cock. His grip was firm and slightly rough, masculinity clear in the way his fingers knew just how to touch. Nathan grunted and arched into Toki’s fist, one hand gouging crescents into the leather while the other reached out towards the guitarist. The ears were soft, supple, a perfect contrast of textures, but the brunette’s hair was softer still, silken and smooth as Nathan wove it through his fingers. His thumb grazed a cheek and Toki’s eyes went to half-mast in pleasure at the petting though he never faltered. His hands felt fucking awesome but, Nathan reasoned as he traced a fingertip around the Norwegian’s mouth, his mouth would be even better. “Lick it,” he demanded, punctuating the order by catching hold of one clamped nipple and tugging.
Toki moaned at the spark of sensation and followed the pull of Nathan’s fingers on his flesh, scooting closer and lowering his head. The rhythm guitarist kept his gaze on Nathan’s face, urging him wordlessly to watch as he touched just the tip of his tongue to the singer’s slit, tasting him. A sharp hiss escaped the larger man as Toki lapped delicately at the head of his cock, the action so familiar that Nathan knew he’d never again be able to watch the Norwegian eat any of his favorite orange guitar popsicles without getting a boner. Toki took him exactly at his words, flattening his tongue against the front man’s thick shaft and tracing spiraling patterns of wet heat that teased and tempted without being completely satisfying. Nathan held out as long as he could, knowing that he’d be the first to give from the mischievous glimmer in Toki’s eyes, but curious to see if he could make the younger man impatient. But Toki looked perfectly content and Nathan needed more. He caught the Norwegian’s chin and urged it up so that he could stare down at glistening lips and the slight smile framed by Toki’s fu manchu. “Do it, little bunny. Suck me.”
A widening of Toki’s smile was Nathan’s answer and then the guitarist reached up to adjust his ears, bending the wires hidden inside back and out of the way. As soon as the possible obstruction had been handled, Toki ducked back down. Hot breath bathed the tip of Nathan’s cock before soft lips finally wrapped around him and slid down. Toki’s mouth was even better than his tongue, hotter and more fulfilling, and damn but the kid was good, greedy even as he kept on feeding Nathan’s cock towards the back of his throat. When he swallowed, Nathan let out a loud ‘holy fuck!’ and sank deeper back into the sanctuary of the chair. It wasn’t the best technique he’d ever had but it came close and it was fucking TOKI and that more than made up the difference. The singer cupped the back of Toki’s head, teaching him the proper pace, and the Norwegian was quick to catch on. He moved over Nathan’s cock, tongue and teeth working in concert to drive the front man higher, and he moaned in satisfaction when Nathan stroked a finger over his bulging cheek.
His balls were getting tighter and that feeling was building in the pit of his stomach. The temptation to let the Norwegian swallow, to pull out at the last minute and see his seed painting Toki’s face and clinging to his mustache, was almost overwhelming but there was something Nathan wanted even more. Regretfully he tugged on the guitarist’s hair, urging him up. A swollen mouth greeted him and Nathan moved before he quite knew what he was doing, claiming it. Toki kissed like a man too, their teeth clashing and scraping over tender flesh, but he yielded to Nathan’s growling force. When he’d kissed Toki breathless, Nathan finally stopped and drew back, smug satisfaction written on his face. He had one more part of Toki to plunder. “Show me your tail, bunny.”
Sensuality marked every movement as Toki obeyed, crossing the carpet on hands and knees to stop in front of the fire. He dropped to his elbows and spread his knees wide, tossing Nathan a challenging grin as he looked back over one shoulder. Nathan didn’t notice, his attention rooted to the black fur that disappeared between the Norwegian’s buttocks and to the glimpse of Toki’s testicles hanging low and heavy between his legs. The singer dropped out of his chair and crossed the carpet with his own predatory crawl, green eyes hungry and intent. Massive hands gripped Toki’s ass, kneading and squeezing the toned muscles. And then Nathan grabbed the fluffy tail and pulled.
Gasping, Toki’s head fell and he bit his hand to keep silent as the attached plug was removed in a single motion from his body. Nathan tossed it aside, forgotten already, and spread the guitarist open. Lube glistened around Toki’s clenching hole and the singer carefully swirled his finger across the twitching opening and brought it to his lips. Raspberry. Ofdensen deserved a raise. With no further preamble, Nathan tightened his grip and hauled Toki’s ass up to meet his tongue. The Norwegian let out a choked cry and scrambled to keep from face-planting as Nathan sucked at his anus, face buried between his cheeks. The hot penetration of the singer’s tongue made him give up and Toki rested his cheek against the rug and moaned. It seemed to last forever, the front man getting impossibly deeper and deeper inside him, until the guitarist couldn’t take any more and begged for mercy.
“Please, Nathans! Fucks me already! Please!”
Nathan chuckled, low and dark, the vibrations against his sensitive flesh making Toki squirm. “As you wish, little bunny.”
In one swift moment, Toki found himself rolled onto his back, his knees pressed up against his chest and his feet resting on the singer’s shoulders. Nathan loomed over him, cock hard and hot against his hole, and the front man’s canines were prominent in his grin. He pressed in slowly, feeling Toki’s muscles yield and close around his cock, and the Norwegian’s head thumped against the carpet at the burning stretch. Four long beats of his heart passed, pulse thumping in his throat, as Toki was filled but finally he could feel Nathan’s balls snug against the curve of his ass. The singer was large and he seemed as hard as steel but he started slowly as he worked in and out of the guitarist. Toki stared up into Nathan’s blazing green eyes and let out a shaky breath. Then, fingers finding and toying with one of his clamped nipples, he bared his teeth. “Fucks me!”
Nathan complied, hips snapping as he sped up to pound into the Norwegian. Toki’s eyes slid shut and he grabbed onto Nathan’s forearms in a tight grip as he was fucked. His head began to shake back and forth on the carpet, bunny ears knocked askew, and he let out a small whimper at a particularly hard and accurate thrust. “Agains, Nathan. Right there.”
He was a demanding little bunny but Nathan was happy to meet them. Toki’s body was snug and blood-hot and he looked good enough to eat as he writhed. Nathan leaned over, forcing the guitarist nearly in half, and latched onto his neck. Teeth dug into his flesh, first bruising and then puncturing his skin, and Toki howled and arched up into Nathan’s thrusts. Caught between Nathan’s cock and Nathan’s mouth, Toki could only stare blindly at the ceiling and reach for his aching dick. He stroked it, knuckles thumping against the singer’s stomach, and whined at the bite of the ring denying him release.
“Nat’ans! Please!”
Toki was a frantic wild thing, bucking and jerking and cursing in broken Norwegian, and Nathan lifted his head, the taste of the guitarist’s blood on his tongue, to stare. Desperate pale blue eyes pleaded with him and Nathan, feeling a familiar coiling in his gut, reared up. He pulled Toki’s hand away and fumbled with the ring’s catch, finally springing it. Toki let out a near sob of relief, hand joining Nathan’s on his cock. Three harsh strokes later, Toki stiffened and came all over his chest with a loud cry. He was impossibly tight as Nathan slammed into him, the singer holding off his own release by only the thinnest margins of control. But finally Toki’s eyes opened again and Nathan let out a snarled ‘Toki!’ before he came deep in the guitarist’s body.
Sweat and semen decorated Toki’s body but he didn’t seem to notice as he pounced on the singer. Nathan had pulled out and collapsed in front of the fire, catching his breath and enjoying his post-orgasmic haze, and he soon found himself holding a surprisingly heavy Norwegian as well. Toki, slick and sticky, draped himself half over the front man and nuzzled his face into Nathan’s shoulder. Cuddling after sex wasn’t something the lead singer did with his groupies but with Toki he wasn’t really surprised to find that he didn’t mind. There were still things that needed to be said, issues addressed, but Nathan decided all of that could wait until later. There were more important priorities to be taken care of first. He curled an arm over the rhythm guitarist’s waist and murmured one last command. “Go to sleep, little bunny.” A soft snore, marred by a chuckle, was his answer and Nathan lightly swatted Toki on the rear before following suit. It was the first peaceful sleep he had since they’d left for the tour.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Nathan/Toki
Word Count: 5129
On day forty-six of a seventy-five day tour, Nathan had had enough. A musical perfectionist, he was the same way on stage as he was in the recording booth. But there weren’t any Pro-Tools at his fingertips to fix the mistakes so they grated on him and built up until he couldn’t take it any more. He lost it, all of what little control he had, in a spectacular tantrum that rivaled the best he had ever previously thrown. Murderface took the brunt of it, the bassist being at the time the primary greasy fingerprint on Nathan’s sparkling window of musical glory. Grapefruit-sized fists lifted two hundred and thirty-four pounds of struggling, cursing man up as Nathan glared into defiant yellow-green eyes.
“Get it right,” he snarled. “It’s over and done and we can’t go back so stop being such a big fuckin’ baby and do your goddamn job.”
Flecks of spittle flew from his lips on every sibilant; hit the bassist mainly on the bridge of his squashed, oft-broken nose. Murderface’s eyes narrowed, defiant sullenness changing into growing rage at the rude treatment, and he hocked a spit wad with pinpoint accuracy through the gap in his teeth, smacking Nathan squarely in one cat-green eye. The front man bellowed in outrage and the bassist was airborne, flying a good eight feet only to crash into the table laden with at least half of the band’s post-performance alcohol needs. The cheap pressboard crumpled under the impact and bottles and cans went scattering in every direction. Murderface, lying at an awkward angle with at least one or two cans digging into his spine, was drenched in liquor but he was still alive. A muttered curse and a loud groan of pain attested to his state of consciousness and Nathan, satisfied that he wouldn’t have to find another bassist and that his point had been made, stomped past the wreckage and the silent but watchful presence of his other band mates to head for the bus.
“…Wowwee.” Toki’s exclamation was soft, at least for him, as he and Pickles picked their way through the blatant evidence of alcohol abuse towards the prone form of the bassist. “Nathans sure is mad.” Skwisgaar, deigning to observe but not to help, sniffed at the Norwegian’s comments.
“Dat is no surprise. Moirderface hads dat coming. T’ird time in a rows dat he fucks up dat line. You better watch outs, Toki, or yous will be next. I heards dat sloppy noise during de bridge on ‘Wasted Hell.’
“Shuts up, Skwisgaar!” Toki was immediately defiant in the face of the Swede’s never-ending criticism but before he could build up a real head of steam and start the second fight of the evening, Pickles interrupted.
“Go an’ get a roadie er sumthin’, Skwisgaar. Tell ‘em we need towels and a shitload a more booze.”
Strong fingers gripped Toki’s forearm, tugged his attention back to the main problem. “C’mon, kid. I ain’t gonna be able ta lift ‘im m’self.”
More cursing, mainly from the drummer, filled the air as the unfortunate bassist was eased first into a sitting position and then finally to his feet. Murderface was dazed, and quite probably concussed given the relative docility of his actions in the face of Nathan throwing him across the room, but he stubbornly refused any and all attempts by his band mates and the roadies to send him to a hospital for examination. Ultimately he was at least convinced of the utility of a shower and he went off somewhat unsteadily and reeking of booze with two roadies to play nursemaid in search of some cleaner clothes and a faucet.
The rest of Dethklok eyed the wreckage and made a beeline for the new table that had been set up to replace the one that Nathan and Murderface’s body had destroyed. Beer, bottle of wine, and two-gallon jug of cheap vodka in hand, the remaining band members retreated to the battered couch that was de rigueur for backstage lounging. Toki, concern writ clear on his youthful face, slammed back his can with almost as much vigor as Pickles was showing towards his jug.
“Guys, what’s wrong with Nathans? He’s nots alsways so mads on tour like dis.”
“Dats is aschualy a good questions, Toki.” Skwisgaar stretched out his long legs and sank back into the couch. “Too bads I don’t knows de answer.”
Outside of the stadium, Nathan paced like a caged panther up and down the massive Dethklok tour bus. A frown marred his large brow and his usually bright green eyes were dull. Discontent ate at him, vague dull stabs of dissatisfaction in his gut, and a growl worked its way up his throat and out from his snarling lips. The black, bone-framed mirror never stood a chance and there were still glinting bits of glass in the carpet when the rest of the band finally came aboard.
\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/
That had only been the beginning of Nathan’s so-seeming ‘tour of discontent.’ Never the easiest man to be around at the best of times, on tour Nathan was often short-tempered and irritable during the extended road trips but this was the worst that his band mates had ever seen. Murderface, once he was somewhat recovered from his cracked skull, had his revenge and an ever-escalating war began the two. Skwisgaar wasn’t any help. The Swede’s self-preservation instincts took over and he alternated between silent brooding, orgy mode, and being a general prick. He was good at dishing it out but Skwisgaar wasn’t nearly so adept at taking it, quite probably because of his upbringing at Serveta’s negligent whorish hands. Pickles coped the way he always did, by getting spectacularly drunk or high or both, but he made himself useful in one area. While he wasn’t quite the perfectionist Nathan was in the recording booth, the drummer did strongly believe in putting on a good show. He probably cared more about that than the rest of Dethklok and he was the one who, hung over or tripping or even still staggeringly drunk, managed to herd the rest of them out on stage each night and drove them through their performances with relentless beats and angry bloodshot glares. As for Toki, the poor Norwegian didn’t quite know what to do.
Nathan was the band member that Toki respected the most and to have that person snapping and growling at him was a terrible blow to the rhythm guitarist’s fragile ego. More often than not, Nathan wasn’t actually mad at Toki personally but the Norwegian was somewhat emotionally clueless and wasn’t able to make that distinction. Skwisgaar, his eternal rival, was no help and Murderface was downright scary once he holed himself up in his room on the tour bus and started shooting crossbow bolts through the door at anyone who knocked. Pickles tried, when he was conscious and moderately sober, to take care of the kid but those times grew rarer and rarer as the miles and nights and venues flew by. By the last week of the tour, Toki was miserable. Nathan and Murderface had gotten into a fight, knives and broken beer bottles held at the ready, and both were already bleeding when the rest of the band burst in to see what the hell all the noise was about. The situation was bad enough that Pickles actually acted. With a nod to Toki, he charged the bassist and knocked Murderface into the hot tub. Toki, in turn, hit Nathan with a tackle the singer’s old football coach would have been proud of, sending the front man to the ground and the deadly glass out of his hands.
Of course neither Nathan nor Murderface stayed down for long but by then Skwisgaar was back with a pack of roadies and a tranquilizer gun. Murderface, as angry as a rogue bull elephant, went down ranting but Nathan was felled more like a tree. As he toppled, it seemed to Toki that his eyes were locked onto the Norwegian, silent and accusing. It was finally more than the Norwegian could take and he spent a cold wet night on the roof of the DethBus. Getting soaked and turned into an icicle by freezing rain had been a bad idea and Toki played the last few dates of the tour by dint of sheer determination and lots and lots of Dayquil. None of the band members were really speaking to each other by the time they got back to Mordland. Seeing Charles waiting in the doorway, light glinting off his glasses and obscuring his thoughts, was a relief and Dethklok gratefully gave themselves over to his capable hands.
\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/\m/
Stress relief, especially the kind the band needed post-tour, had taken an incredibly strange turn for Dethklok about two years ago. It had been Ofdensen’s idea but for once the robot butler had been on to something and he had even managed to rein in his penny-pinching ways to see that it happened. For being five of the most powerful men on the planet, Dethklok didn’t really have a lot of responsibilities. That changed somewhat on tour, if only because they felt responsible to themselves and to their music if not their jack-off fans. They always came home wound up and would spend sometimes months devoted to nothing but mayhem and debauchery in order to feel normal again. Ofdensen, realizing that what they were doing was running from responsibility, took all of that away from them. All of it was gone at first, even some of the most basic elements of choice, and while the boys chafed at the restrictions and bitched about them when they had the chance, they always submitted because it worked. It worked faster and better than all their old methods and it was pretty kinky and kind of metal to boot.
The Dungeon, not to be confused with Mordhaus’ regular old dungeon where Charles secretly had the band’s enemies tortured or with Murderface’s incredibly morbid bedroom, was located two stories beneath the ground and was accessible by precisely four points, one of which only Charles knew about. The employees of The Dungeon were screened even more carefully than the usual Mordhaus hooded servants and they were paid very well for their discretion and for their agreeing to live out the rest of their lives under Charles’ and Dethklok’s control on pain of death. Despite its name, The Dungeon was actually quite different in some ways from the rest of Dethklok’s home. Charles had furnished it rather than the band and so it was well lit, clean, and ventilated. Warm oak floors, soft wool rugs in neutral colors, and cleverly designed and hidden skylights gave the area an open, homey feeling and sliding partitions could be used to rearrange the space into multiple configurations on a whim. In The Dungeon, Charles was in charge and Dethklok had to obey him. He made a surprisingly good master for a lawyerly bean counter and he had never, despite the temptation, taken advantage of his power over the band when in The Dungeon. The talented employees handled their jobs with skill and dedication and thus far Dethklok had never regretted going along with their manager’s idea.
Nathan, following the band’s return from the most recent tour, was beginning to have second thoughts. The Dungeon just wasn’t working the way it had in the past and that was somewhat disturbing to the lead singer. It was mildly alarming to think that he had become so jaded that even The Dungeon, which was approaching the height of excess, couldn’t help him regain his equilibrium. A week spent in harness next to Skwisgaar had left him a bit calmer and with a still-smarting ass but the same discontent that had haunted him on the road still churned in his gut. A stop-over with Helga, Olga, and Murderface had given him the chance to make wordless amends and pick up a few new tricks but it still hadn’t been enough to placate him. What he wanted was what had always been absent for him in The Dungeon – a chance at total control and to make an apology that showed how deeply he felt without having to worry about it coming back to haunt him in Mordhaus proper. There was a twisted sort of caring to be found in being the master and that was what he had thought he had wanted to have with the bassist. But Murderface belonged utterly to his Bulgarian twins and they to him and, as Nathan had realized, William wasn’t quite who he wanted to care for after all. He’d mistreated more than the bassist during the tour and not everyone’s feelings could be assuaged by dominatrices and their beatings. The one he wanted, though, had vanished. Ofdensen had whisked Toki and Pickles away for some private coddling as soon as the pair had stepped off the bus and Nathan hadn’t seen them since.
Bored but comfortable in just an old pair of sweatpants, he was wandering down one of the curious sunlit subterranean corridors, no clear destination in mind beyond a vague desire to find Ofdensen and his missing band mates, when he heard it. Music, the first to reach his ears in nearly two weeks, caught his attention and drew him around a corner to stop in front of a door. It was open a bit, enough that Nathan could see a small fire burning in the hearth and an overstuffed leather chair drawn up to take advantage of the warmth, but he couldn’t see the source of the music. Hesitation lasted all of five seconds before he pushed open the door. It had been open after all, and Nathan wasn’t in the mood to play the submissive any more. He stopped after he’d only taken three steps, drawn up short by the sight in front of him. Black leather ears, lined with soft black fur, perched atop a sleek head and Nathan could just see a strip of black leather curving around a tanned throat from where he stood. Fingers moved absently over the guitar’s fret board, popping into view above the top of the couch for the lower notes. Nathan cleared his throat and the music stopped as pale blue eyes sought and found his.
“What…what are you doing there…um…little…uh…little bunny?” he asked, hoping that didn’t sound as cheesy as he was afraid it did.
Toki’s response couldn’t have been more perfect. He gave a shy smile and dropped his eyes. “Waitings for yous.”
“Waiting for…for me?” That answer had been pretty fucking surprising but good too. Nathan knew he’d been hard on the kid, not as bad as he’d been towards Murderface but the Norwegian was kind of like a rather dim puppy, trying to encourage an unhappy master and not catching on to all the kicks that meant ‘stay away.’ Murderface and Pickles could take that kind of abuse and Skwisgaar was smart enough to keep out of the line of fire. But Toki wasn’t exactly socially proficient even by Dethklok’s lax standards and he’d kept on putting himself right in front of the anger train that had been Nathan Explosion On Tour. Looking back, the singer could see that all the kid had wanted was to bring him some sort of comfort, for whatever reason, but at the time Toki had only been one more annoyance to get out of his hair. But the brutal cold the guitarist had caught had probably been his fault and he hadn’t really meant most of what he’d said either. Toki was a damn good guy, at least when he wasn’t bringing clowns home or trying to be a demon, and Nathan had to admit he’d always had a soft spot for the Norwegian that he just didn’t have for the rest of his band mates.
“Ja,” Toki replied softly, looking up at Nathan through his lashes. “Just for yous.”
A scattering of notes punctuated his reply, drawing Nathan’s attention back to the guitarist and out of his thoughts. This was his chance but how to make it come out right? Writing brutal songs about the true blackness of the world came easily to the singer but other words did not. He took another step, eyes trained on Toki, and wondered how to start. He wanted to know why and he wanted to get out an apology quickly so it was over with and he wanted to see what else Toki was doing on the other side of that couch. Nathan’s mouth opened but nothing came out besides air and a few monosyllabic noises. Toki smiled at that and cocked his head.
“Nathans? Youse okay?”
His mouth snapped shut abruptly and Nathan nodded. “Yeah…and…er…you? Still sick?”
“No. Charlies and Pickle take cares of me and I is all betters now. And I wanted to sees you.”
“How come?” It came out more bitter and frustrated than he’d wanted and Nathan ducked his head to watch Toki out of the curtain of his dark hair.
The smile disappeared and Toki looked serious for a moment. “’Cause yous is impote – importants to me. And Charlies says you has a hard times expressing youself and dat if I wantsted to, if I wantsted you, dis was de best way to does it.”
It felt surprisingly good to know that Toki wanted him and that he was important in a way that Nathan sensed went beyond just being the front man for the band they both happened to be in. And the manager was right. He did have trouble expressing himself with words in this sort of situation but he could show how he felt, how important Toki was to him as well. They were in the Dungeon after all, and he knew what that meant. Actions spoke far louder than any but Ofdensen’s words down here. If Toki wanted him, he would be more than happy to oblige. Nathan straightened up and the smile reappeared on Toki’s face.
“I wants to be yous little bunny right now, Nathans.”
“And what should I do with my…um…my little bunny?” Nathan asked, voice gone deep and rumbling as he stepped around the couch to drink in the view. Toki’s Flying V blocked the core of his body but it was clear that the Norwegian was naked other than for a few choice accessories. The ears and the collar of course, but there were also small clamps affixed to his nipples and the way he was sprawled across the cushions suggested that the plush seat wasn’t actually all that comfortable at the moment.
“Any’tings you wants.” The smile on Toki’s face got a bit wider, no longer quite so demure now that Nathan had agreed to play. He made no move to put aside his guitar however, although his fingers had stilled on the strings. “Any’tings at all for yous, Nathan.”
That sounded damn good indeed and his dick definitely agreed as it finished stiffening, making a nice tent in the front of his soft black sweatpants. Nathan palmed his crotch, smirking when the move inspired Toki to lick his lips, and decided that the overstuffed armchair he’d first noticed would serve his purposes. The singer backed away slowly, teasing the Norwegian as he eased his sweatpants off his hips. His cock stood tall and proud against his stomach and Nathan gave it a good squeeze before he sat down on the chair. Black fabric went flying as he kicked his sweatpants the rest of the way off and then the front man leaned back and spread his thighs. Toki’s eyes were locked onto his erection and that was fucking HOT and damned perfect.
“Lose the guitar, little bunny, and come here.” No more hesitation could be heard in the singer’s voice. He knew exactly where he stood in this situation, what he wanted, and the commanding words came easily. Toki was quick to obey, setting aside his instrument and rising from the couch. Tanned abs and a silver-circled cock that looked like it had to be aching for release heated Nathan’s blood and he growled low in his throat when Toki took a hesitant step forward. “On your hands and knees.”
The Norwegian dropped instantly, leaning forward to press his palms to the thick woolen rug, and Nathan bit back a groan as he spotted the tip of a fluffy black tail. Toki slunk forward, pale blue eyes glued to Nathan’s and bright with some emotion the singer could not name. Though he wasn’t slow, Toki’s progress across the floor seemed to take forever to Nathan and his cock throbbed in sympathetic time to each and every bob and quiver of Toki’s that he managed to see. Toki, his usually rather childish rhythm guitarist, was pure sensuality as he crawled towards the singer and it was all Nathan could do to keep from hurtling out of his chair and taking him. And then, too long but almost before the front man realized, Toki was there between his legs, settling on his knees and staring up in undisguised lust.
“Touch me,” Nathan rasped, jerking up when Toki obeyed and wrapped calloused fingers around his cock. His grip was firm and slightly rough, masculinity clear in the way his fingers knew just how to touch. Nathan grunted and arched into Toki’s fist, one hand gouging crescents into the leather while the other reached out towards the guitarist. The ears were soft, supple, a perfect contrast of textures, but the brunette’s hair was softer still, silken and smooth as Nathan wove it through his fingers. His thumb grazed a cheek and Toki’s eyes went to half-mast in pleasure at the petting though he never faltered. His hands felt fucking awesome but, Nathan reasoned as he traced a fingertip around the Norwegian’s mouth, his mouth would be even better. “Lick it,” he demanded, punctuating the order by catching hold of one clamped nipple and tugging.
Toki moaned at the spark of sensation and followed the pull of Nathan’s fingers on his flesh, scooting closer and lowering his head. The rhythm guitarist kept his gaze on Nathan’s face, urging him wordlessly to watch as he touched just the tip of his tongue to the singer’s slit, tasting him. A sharp hiss escaped the larger man as Toki lapped delicately at the head of his cock, the action so familiar that Nathan knew he’d never again be able to watch the Norwegian eat any of his favorite orange guitar popsicles without getting a boner. Toki took him exactly at his words, flattening his tongue against the front man’s thick shaft and tracing spiraling patterns of wet heat that teased and tempted without being completely satisfying. Nathan held out as long as he could, knowing that he’d be the first to give from the mischievous glimmer in Toki’s eyes, but curious to see if he could make the younger man impatient. But Toki looked perfectly content and Nathan needed more. He caught the Norwegian’s chin and urged it up so that he could stare down at glistening lips and the slight smile framed by Toki’s fu manchu. “Do it, little bunny. Suck me.”
A widening of Toki’s smile was Nathan’s answer and then the guitarist reached up to adjust his ears, bending the wires hidden inside back and out of the way. As soon as the possible obstruction had been handled, Toki ducked back down. Hot breath bathed the tip of Nathan’s cock before soft lips finally wrapped around him and slid down. Toki’s mouth was even better than his tongue, hotter and more fulfilling, and damn but the kid was good, greedy even as he kept on feeding Nathan’s cock towards the back of his throat. When he swallowed, Nathan let out a loud ‘holy fuck!’ and sank deeper back into the sanctuary of the chair. It wasn’t the best technique he’d ever had but it came close and it was fucking TOKI and that more than made up the difference. The singer cupped the back of Toki’s head, teaching him the proper pace, and the Norwegian was quick to catch on. He moved over Nathan’s cock, tongue and teeth working in concert to drive the front man higher, and he moaned in satisfaction when Nathan stroked a finger over his bulging cheek.
His balls were getting tighter and that feeling was building in the pit of his stomach. The temptation to let the Norwegian swallow, to pull out at the last minute and see his seed painting Toki’s face and clinging to his mustache, was almost overwhelming but there was something Nathan wanted even more. Regretfully he tugged on the guitarist’s hair, urging him up. A swollen mouth greeted him and Nathan moved before he quite knew what he was doing, claiming it. Toki kissed like a man too, their teeth clashing and scraping over tender flesh, but he yielded to Nathan’s growling force. When he’d kissed Toki breathless, Nathan finally stopped and drew back, smug satisfaction written on his face. He had one more part of Toki to plunder. “Show me your tail, bunny.”
Sensuality marked every movement as Toki obeyed, crossing the carpet on hands and knees to stop in front of the fire. He dropped to his elbows and spread his knees wide, tossing Nathan a challenging grin as he looked back over one shoulder. Nathan didn’t notice, his attention rooted to the black fur that disappeared between the Norwegian’s buttocks and to the glimpse of Toki’s testicles hanging low and heavy between his legs. The singer dropped out of his chair and crossed the carpet with his own predatory crawl, green eyes hungry and intent. Massive hands gripped Toki’s ass, kneading and squeezing the toned muscles. And then Nathan grabbed the fluffy tail and pulled.
Gasping, Toki’s head fell and he bit his hand to keep silent as the attached plug was removed in a single motion from his body. Nathan tossed it aside, forgotten already, and spread the guitarist open. Lube glistened around Toki’s clenching hole and the singer carefully swirled his finger across the twitching opening and brought it to his lips. Raspberry. Ofdensen deserved a raise. With no further preamble, Nathan tightened his grip and hauled Toki’s ass up to meet his tongue. The Norwegian let out a choked cry and scrambled to keep from face-planting as Nathan sucked at his anus, face buried between his cheeks. The hot penetration of the singer’s tongue made him give up and Toki rested his cheek against the rug and moaned. It seemed to last forever, the front man getting impossibly deeper and deeper inside him, until the guitarist couldn’t take any more and begged for mercy.
“Please, Nathans! Fucks me already! Please!”
Nathan chuckled, low and dark, the vibrations against his sensitive flesh making Toki squirm. “As you wish, little bunny.”
In one swift moment, Toki found himself rolled onto his back, his knees pressed up against his chest and his feet resting on the singer’s shoulders. Nathan loomed over him, cock hard and hot against his hole, and the front man’s canines were prominent in his grin. He pressed in slowly, feeling Toki’s muscles yield and close around his cock, and the Norwegian’s head thumped against the carpet at the burning stretch. Four long beats of his heart passed, pulse thumping in his throat, as Toki was filled but finally he could feel Nathan’s balls snug against the curve of his ass. The singer was large and he seemed as hard as steel but he started slowly as he worked in and out of the guitarist. Toki stared up into Nathan’s blazing green eyes and let out a shaky breath. Then, fingers finding and toying with one of his clamped nipples, he bared his teeth. “Fucks me!”
Nathan complied, hips snapping as he sped up to pound into the Norwegian. Toki’s eyes slid shut and he grabbed onto Nathan’s forearms in a tight grip as he was fucked. His head began to shake back and forth on the carpet, bunny ears knocked askew, and he let out a small whimper at a particularly hard and accurate thrust. “Agains, Nathan. Right there.”
He was a demanding little bunny but Nathan was happy to meet them. Toki’s body was snug and blood-hot and he looked good enough to eat as he writhed. Nathan leaned over, forcing the guitarist nearly in half, and latched onto his neck. Teeth dug into his flesh, first bruising and then puncturing his skin, and Toki howled and arched up into Nathan’s thrusts. Caught between Nathan’s cock and Nathan’s mouth, Toki could only stare blindly at the ceiling and reach for his aching dick. He stroked it, knuckles thumping against the singer’s stomach, and whined at the bite of the ring denying him release.
“Nat’ans! Please!”
Toki was a frantic wild thing, bucking and jerking and cursing in broken Norwegian, and Nathan lifted his head, the taste of the guitarist’s blood on his tongue, to stare. Desperate pale blue eyes pleaded with him and Nathan, feeling a familiar coiling in his gut, reared up. He pulled Toki’s hand away and fumbled with the ring’s catch, finally springing it. Toki let out a near sob of relief, hand joining Nathan’s on his cock. Three harsh strokes later, Toki stiffened and came all over his chest with a loud cry. He was impossibly tight as Nathan slammed into him, the singer holding off his own release by only the thinnest margins of control. But finally Toki’s eyes opened again and Nathan let out a snarled ‘Toki!’ before he came deep in the guitarist’s body.
Sweat and semen decorated Toki’s body but he didn’t seem to notice as he pounced on the singer. Nathan had pulled out and collapsed in front of the fire, catching his breath and enjoying his post-orgasmic haze, and he soon found himself holding a surprisingly heavy Norwegian as well. Toki, slick and sticky, draped himself half over the front man and nuzzled his face into Nathan’s shoulder. Cuddling after sex wasn’t something the lead singer did with his groupies but with Toki he wasn’t really surprised to find that he didn’t mind. There were still things that needed to be said, issues addressed, but Nathan decided all of that could wait until later. There were more important priorities to be taken care of first. He curled an arm over the rhythm guitarist’s waist and murmured one last command. “Go to sleep, little bunny.” A soft snore, marred by a chuckle, was his answer and Nathan lightly swatted Toki on the rear before following suit. It was the first peaceful sleep he had since they’d left for the tour.
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Date: 2008-06-23 04:08 pm (UTC)no subject
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