Inebriationklok

Summary: Nathan convinces Charles to get sloppy drunk with the guys. Rated NC-17. This is completely based off of an Easter egg from the season two DVDs. It can be found fairly easily on Youtube. It is worth looking for.

*

It's Nathan's demand that he gets "sloppy drunk" with the band. He can tell by the looks on their faces that they expect him to be puking and passed out in a matter of hours; in spite of himself, he is eager to prove that he can hold his alcohol.

Still, he does drink, a lot. He can feel the effects after an hour or so; his limbs feel more weighted; he thinks his head has swelled. Murderface has already heaved twice, and Toki and Skwisgaar are doing their best to pretend they're less drunk than they actually are by sitting down. Charles remains standing between Nathan and Pickles for the time being, pacing himself when they're not watching, keeping up with their momentum when they are.

Another hour passes, and everyone is energetic again. This is the fun part of being drunk, and Charles appreciates making Nathan laugh with his text messages. Eventually, Skwisgaar disappears somewhere, flanked on either side by girls who he will never call again, and Toki makes himself scarce also, probably to brood about Skwisgaar. Murderface is in and out, often challenging the other guys to eat and drink combinations of things that they mostly turn down.

When he leaves for the bathroom for the third time in an hour, Nathan leans close to Charles, snickering. "Pickles put a laxative in his beer," he grinned, and his breath is hot on Charles' face, but not nearly as awful as Charles expected it to be. Blearily, he makes a mental note to check on the bassist. Later. When he isn't trying to figure out whether someone's foot is accidently rubbing against his underneath the table, and whether or not he likes it.

*


A few rounds of "I've never ..." turn into unsolicited confessions. "I, I reahlly like girls with a lil', mm, hair down there," Pickles is saying. Eventually, this becomes a serious discussion about blow-jobs. "Like, I know we said we'd nehver tahlk about it again," the drummer drawled, "But sucking your own dick is like, the greatest feeling of accahmplishment that you will ehver have."

"Mores than winnings a Grammys?" Toki, newly reappeared from the depths of wherever, queries.

Pickles pauses to drink some more. "Wahy more than a Grammy."

"Wowee."

Nathan, who has been silent for several minutes, looks up suddenly. "I think a bigger accomplishment," he began dramatically, "Would be if you got someone to suck your dick because they were required to. Like ..." he pauses. "Like, it's their job. Because you're awesome."

"Thats would be pretty cools," Toki says wistfully.

Nathan hasn't left his current train of thought. "Like, say you're a rock star, like me. Or Pickles." Pickles grins. Toki frowns. "You can have any chick you want. But what you really want is someone who wants to give you a you-know just 'cause you're you. 'Cause they wanna do that for you, because you deserve it." He drains his glass and sets it down audibly. The bartender on duty rushes over to replenish it. Charles feels another kick and realizes that it's Nathan. They make eye contact.

"Ofdensen knows what I'm talking about," Nathan rumbles. He's definitely drunk, but there's something telling, intentional in his expression - 'he's goading me,' Charles realizes. Nathan grins. "Don't you, Ofdensen?"

Charles coughs. He's managed to avoid discussing his romantic conquests with the boys up to now. It's a good system to keep. "I imagine you would both be able to get someone to give you a blow-job just on the merit of being you," he affirms. Pickles, flattered, burps. Toki says something, but it's got a high, whiny tenor to it, and Charles isn't really paying attention. Nathan kicks him again.

"So like, uh." Nathan's never been very subtle, but Charles is still surprised by what comes out of his mouth next. "So if I wanted you to blow me, Ofdensen, would you do it? 'Cause I'm Nathan Explosion?"

Charles blinks at him behind glasses that are slightly askew. His tie hangs in polar opposite of its intended purpose loosely around his neck; his shirt is unbuttoned halfway. He starts to speak. He stops. He blinks again, gawking a little at Nathan. Nathan gawks back.

Finally, Charles shrugs. "Okay," he says.

*


Charles pages some Klokateers to bring them both back to Mordhaus. They bring the band helicopter, and the ride there is quick and silent. He presses some money into one of their hands, ensuring that the rest of the band will be carefully watched over and escorted back home safely at the night's end. Then they take the elevator up to Nathan's room. It's badly lit, but it doesn't seem to bother Nathan, and Charles doesn't need to read anything off of the front man's cock anyways, so it's a moot point.

It's awkward getting to Point B. For several minutes, Nathan just stares at him. Charles wonders if he's had a moment of clarity, and waits for him to change his mind or even get mad. Instead, Nathan beckons him, his mouth curled in a cocksure grin. "C'mere," he rasps. Charles does.

Nathan kisses him then, large hands bracing his shoulders, teeth nipping at Charles' lips. Charles nips back and Nathan pulls him closer instinctively grunting as their chests bump together slightly. It's nice, Charles thinks, warm, and he's never really figured Nathan for the type to be, well, gentle. He's not sure what or who to base the comparison off of, but he decides he likes it - this. He likes this.

Nathan rips his shirt before he can shrug it the rest of the way off - he's never been all that good with the details. He tosses it aside and stares at Charles' bare chest, his gaze hazy. Charles thinks he's pleased. Nathan starts undoing his fly; quickly, Charles takes over, sinking to his knees in the middle of the floor. "Nnn," Nathan grunts.

"Pardon me?"

"Hm, bed," Nathan says, and Charles stands up again. He watches Nathan descend onto the gigantic, custom-made bed on his back, long hair splayed everywhere. Like a King or a God, Nathan beckons him; like his faithful servant, Charles hurries to comply. Soon, he's crouched over Nathan's crotch. His glasses keep slipping down, so he takes them off, setting them on Nathan's night table.

With some effort on both their parts, Charles manages to tug Nathan's pants down enough to achieve the nudity required for the requested blow-job. Nathan's not wearing any underwear - freeballing, Charles has heard Murderface refer to it as - which only makes it easier for the both of them. Then he surprises the CFO by shoving off his heavy boots, and then kicking his pants down and off the rest of the way. As an after-thought, Nathan also tugs off his t-shirt, then folds his arms underneath his head, staring at Charles with a sense of entitlement and expectation.

He's beautiful. Charles has seen most of Nathan Explosion naked before, but not all at once, and never in such an intimate way. Nathan complains about how much he's let himself go since becoming Dethklok's lead singer, but his arms and legs are still nicely muscled, and his stomach could be flat again with only the barest effort. The crowning glory is definitely Nathan's face, carefully chiseled, with piercing green eyes, a dignified nose (his mom's, Nathan had once said), and waist-length hair, the color of tar.

He also, Charles can't help but notice, has a well-proportioned cock.

Nathan squirms a little when Charles reaches down to grip the base. He runs his fingers up Nathan's shaft, and the other man bites his lip. "Okay?" Charles queries, not entirely able to tell whether the expression on Nathan's face is one of harmless anticipation or disgust.

Nathan bares his teeth. "Just get on with it," he bites out. Charles does. He laps at Nathan's dick head with the flat of his tongue, and then teases him by making a swirling motion using only the tip. Nathan moans outright and swears a little. Charles takes it as incentive to continue. He fists most of Nathan's cock with one hand, sheathing it with his fingers as he swabs his tongue over the head, again and again.

"Ohhh ... fuck," Nathan offers. He reaches down with one beefy hand, rubbing the back of Charles' head, running his fingers through the other man's considerably shorter hair. He wants to see it mussed, he suddenly decides. Assuming his services are still being requested, Charles continues sucking Nathan's dick.

"Y-you're pretty good at that," Nathan offers through grunts. "It's like, uh ... 'knock knock?' 'Who's there?' 'Nathan Explosion.' 'Nathan Explosion who?' 'Nathan Explosion, the guy whose dick you're sucking.'" He chortles at his own joke. Charles rolls his eyes. "Hey." Nathan's voice is suddenly serious. He jabs a finger in Charles' face. "That was fucking hilarious, okay."

"Right." This is definitely the weirdest blow-job he's ever given, Charles thinks. Then Nathan surprises him again.

"You should like, let me fuck you."

Charles blinks. "You ... want to fuck me," he repeats. He looks down, but the only thing in his immediate field of vision is Nathan's giant dick. He looks back up. Nathan's expression is unreadable. One wrong move on Charles' part, and he's not sure what will happen.

Fortunately, Nathan seems to have already made up his mind about the course of events from there. He waits for Charles to rise to his knees on the bed, and then does the same. Then he leans over and begins unfastening the other man's pants. They come off, and then join the rest of their clothing on the ground. Nathan's giant paw encloses around Charles' own dick. Nathan smirks.

"Not too shabby, Ofdensen."

"Uh. Thank you," Charles replies. Nathan's hands are on his ass now, maneuvering him, molding him to his whims. Pretty soon, he's supporting himself on his hands and knees. Charles has done this before, but it's been a while. He wonders if it's rude to ask/remind Nathan to be gentle. It's not "brutal", but Charles enjoys the simple pleasures in life, like sitting down.

"So, uh," Charles offers casually. "You got some lube and condoms in that night stand?"

"Oh. Yeah," Nathan says. "Sorry." He crawls across the bed and rummages around. Charles hears the crinkling of the condom wrapper. It lands, empty, in his line of vision, the words "XXX-TRA LARGE" plastered across it. It's pretty accurate, he thinks.

Nathan seems to sense his nervousness. "Don't uh, worry," he grunts, and Charles can hear him fumbling with the tube of lubricant. "I'll be careful."

"Good to know," Charles remarks, and he realizes he's nervous.

It does hurt, quite a lot. Nathan's hand grips his waist, and Charles can hear the front man groan as he enters him. Charles groans, too. "You're ... tight," Nathan comments. It's probably a compliment. Charles hears only white noise for several long moments, every sensation concentrated on Nathan's movements, even after he stills. "Okay?" Nathan queries. He sounds eager. Nathan Explosion has never been a patient man.

Charles grips the bedsheets (black). "Yes," he utters after what probably seems like an eternity to Nathan. "Yes. Okay." Nathan moves forward a little; stops; repeats the movement. He does this a few times. His fingers massage Charles' waist, trying to soothe him.

"Good," Nathan mutters. A rhythm is achieved, slow, at first, and Nathan doesn't seem to realize that he has to use his hands. He snickers a couple of times when his dick slips. Casually, he slaps Charles' right ass-cheek, then the left; then the right again.

"Why are you doing that?"

"Just somethin' to do." Nathan hums. Then he ruts against Charles, and seems to take his task more seriously. Charles gasps when Nathan's cock is shoved into him suddenly. Nathan is grunting, even panting a little. He rides Charles' ass, smacking it for leverage, or maybe because he likes the sound. One hand grips Charles' shoulder, the other his opposite hip. Charles arches his back to meet Nathan's movements. It's hot and wet and laced with pain; with the feeling of being filled, to the brim.

"I'm gonna ... explode ... soon ..." Nathan tells him. He makes good on this shortly afterwards, yelling something unintelligible as he ejaculates. Charles' ass hole is suddenly warm. His cock hangs, half-erect. He will take care of it later.

Or maybe he won't. "Hey, you like this?" Nathan asks, and suddenly he's gripping Charles' dick in one massive hand. Both of them remaneuver into a half-prone position across the mattress, Nathan still inside of him. The lube will dry like that, Charles thinks, but he's not about to give up the opportunity for Nathan to jerk him off.

Nathan's hand-job technique is quick, short, powerful strokes. It's fitting. His thumb rubs over the head in a circular motion; his nails are blunt, which is good - he doubts Nathan would be very careful with them if they weren't regularly trimmed. The larger man nips at his neck, and then at his ear. It's nice. Charles moans.

"Come on, Ofdensen," Nathan grunts at him. "Come for me. Come for Nathan Explosion." He ups the ante of the hand-job. Charles feels the familiar, welcome sensation pooling in his abdomen. "Come on, Charles," Nathan growls in his ear.

"I'm trying, Nathan," he responds, ever patient. Nathan's other hand reaches down, toying with his balls, with his ass hole, freshly stretched by the singer's cock. Finally, blissfully, Charles comes, his head thrown back against Nathan's muscular shoulder. When he opens his eyes anew, Nathan is watching him, curiously, generally pleased.

"Hey, so ... 'knock knock?' 'Who's there?' 'Nathan Explosion.' 'Nathan Explosion who?' 'Nathan Explosion, th-'"

"'The guy who just fucked you'," Charles finishes.

Nathan pulls out of him, carefully. "How'd you know?" he mutters.

*


Nathan's private shower is big enough for both of them, though Charles has a feeling Nathan rarely lets anyone else use it. Charles plans to simply rinse off, check on the other boys, and settle into some paperwork, but Nathan has other ideas. Heavy arms snake out on either side of him after a brief shuffling noise. In one hand, Nathan holds a loofah.

"Make sure to wash under your balls," he offers, and Charles snorts.

"I'll take that into account."

Charles begins to wash himself in a perfunctory fashion. He's surprised to feel hands in his hair, but allows it. It doesn't take much for Nathan to work up a lather, but then he starts trying to style the cap of suds into various shapes. "You were pretty good last night," he rumbles as he sculpts Charles' soapy hair into a mohawk.

"Ah. Good." In complete honesty, he wasn't positive that Nathan would want to talk about what had transpired. He had been surprised enough when Nathan had wrapped a giant arm around his middle and urged him to stay the night. He now knew Nathan snored. He would have been surprised to learn that he didn't, though.

Nathan finishes sudsing him up, and Charles rinses off. Without asking, he grabs up the bottle of shampoo that Nathan is holding, pouring a sizeable amount into his palm. Nathan bends a little to accommodate him; his eyes close as Charles gently and thoroughly scrubs his long mop of hair. "That, uh, that's nice," Nathan mutters.

"Good," Charles says again. Eventually, he piles it all carefully atop Nathan's head, and then maneuvers around him until Nathan is standing directly underneath the spray. They don't say much after that; Charles exits the shower while Nathan finishes washing all of his important parts, and he's dressed by the time Nathan walks out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. There's not much to say, really; Charles is still the manager of Dethklok, and Nathan is still the fantasy stuff of millions of female fans. It's not the first tryst either of them have had after getting sloppy drunk, though it's the first one they've had with one another; it almost certainly won't be the last.

Nathan just glowers at him when he leaves.

When Charles gets to his office, he turns on every lamp in the room. He makes a cup of strong, black coffee, checks his messages, and looks through some papers on his desk while he waits for his computer to boot up. It's all automatic, inborn, robotic, neat: Money, scheduling, organization, business meetings. It's what he knows. It's best for everybody that he sticks to it.