Author: The Magic Rat.
Pairing: Nathan/Charles (implied) Toki/Skwisgaar.
Warnings: Metal heads being adorable.
Word Count: 3873
Disclaimer: Metalocalypse, the members of Dethklok, and lyrics to Dethklok songs belong to Brendon Small, Cartoon Network and Turner Music. Copyright for all stories and original characters such as Badger the Roadie is with the author, and may not be published, copied, distributed or archived without the author's prior written consent.
Summary: Toki’s fantasy gets interrupted by a chatty and unwelcome visitor.
Author’s notes: Commission for Moth2Fic, who wanted Metal – any pairing. Thank you to the incomparable Miss Enide-Dear for help with the creative Swedish insults.
They were tired. They were sick. They were on their way home after eight months on the road.
The bus was parked near a wide grassy expanse beside a lake. It was a public park, but the weather had turned chilly, and the park was relatively remote from the small town. Few people would venture to it on a cool fall evening, and the band was left more or less in peace. They didn’t have to stop there, they just wanted to. The roadies as well were exhausted, and a nice long pause seemed just the ticket. Pickles was seated on the grass, letting the swans eat grain from his hands. Nathan and Murderface were playing cards… although what game was anyone’s guess. And Skwisgaar was laid out on what could only be called a giant black velvet pillow beneath a tree. He had tripped back stage after the last concert of the tour and sprained everything from the knee down. As a result, Skwisgaar was in a fair amount of pain, and while pain pills were metal, crutches were not. It was far more metal to be carried around like a ceremonial tiger… and be waited on by a certain Norwegian guitar player who was only too eager to do it.
“Hey Tokis. Pass my tapes.”
“Oh I tapes you ankle, Skwisgaar,” said Toki.
Skwisgaar seemed as if he may protest that, but it would take too much effort. Finally he closed his eyes and nodded.
“Okies. If you wants.”
Toki moved close, carefully taking Skwisgaar’s ankle in his hand and gently unwinding the old tape. He felt his throat tighten, and the butterflies in his stomach took flight. Any chance, any opportunity to touch him was such a joy…
Toki slowly removed the old tape, setting it aside, admiring the fine bones in the long ankle he held. Skwisgaar had incredible ankles, delicate but strong, and beautifully shaped. Well actually at the moment it was purple and swollen, and he was lucky he hadn’t snapped it to bits when he fell, but it was still the most beautiful thing Toki had ever seen.
Toki looked up, and was surprised to see a girl seated nearby on the grass. His first instinct was to look for the roadies, and was relieved to see one of them perched on the roof of the bus with a sniper rifle. He looked back to the girl.
“Hi,” he said warily.
“I’m Glenda. I live in town.”
“Nice to meets you.”
“I saw your bus.”
“Ja is hards to miss,” he grumbled.
Toki turned his attention back to Skwisgaar’s ankle and began carefully taping it.
“So how long are you here for?” she asked.
Toki wished the girl would go away. He didn’t understand why some chicks thought any guy would automatically drop anything he was doing to go chase a skirt.
“Don’ts know,” he said.
“There’s not much to do here,” she said. “But tomorrow is Friday and there’s usually something fun at the pub. Usually trivia.”
Trivia. Oh yeah, now there was a pass-time for him. He could barely keep track of his own feet. The only sort of trivia he was any good at was Closet Trivia, when he and the guys would sit in the closet and guess band names.
“I don’ts like trivia.”
“But trivia is fun!”
“It is if you is knowings some.”
“Well I could help you.”
“No, is fine. I don’t wants to go.”
He slipped the tape around the ankle, making sure it was snug, but not too tight, supporting the….
“Do you like horses?”
He looked over his shoulder at her. She was smiling widely, sitting with her hands braced behind her on the grass, back arched, large breasts proudly displayed.
“I love horses. They’re so beautiful and strong.”
Toki did not like horses. Nathan did, which was great because horses seemed to like him. As for Toki, when he was six one had picked him up by the arm, shook him like a rag doll and then threw him at least a dozen feet. He didn’t care for a repeat of that.
“Ja dey beautifuls an’ strongs all right,” said Toki. “An’ dey is bites.”
“Oh no they don’t, they’re sweet!”
Six year old Toki threw a tantrum of disagreement. Adult Toki continued taping Skwisgaar’s ankle and said nothing. He just wanted to focus on Skwisgaar, before the golden beauty decided that he didn’t want Toki touching him after all. Glenda noticed Skwisgaar’s boots in the grass.
“Oh what cool boots! I love boots. Shoes too. Boots and shoes. I have a zillion pairs. See these? Aren’t they cute?”
Toki glanced at the pointlessly high and girlie shoes. Cute was not the word that came to mind. More like painful and uncomfortable.
“I guess dey okay. Nots goods for you ankles, t’ough.”
“Oh girls will suffer to look cute,” she said airily.
“I wouldn’ts,” mumbled Toki. He knew at least a dozen female gears who wouldn’t, either. Okay, Gear #8485757438-4 would, but he was an odd boy.
He adjusted the tape, slowly wrapping the long…
“I sprained my ankle once. Not that badly though. But he’s a lot taller than I am. He has way more ankle to sprain. I’m sort of short. That’s why I wear spikes. Y’know you have beautiful hair. You should wear it….”
Toki pointedly pulled away from her as she reached for his long brown hair. “I don’ts like peoples playings wit’ my hair,” he said quietly.
“But it would be really cute if…”
Toki pulled further back. Skwisgaar decided that he’d endured enough of this and woke up long enough to get a couple of Gears to carry him back onto the tour bus. Despondent and crestfallen, Toki watched as Skwisgaar was carried inside.
“Aw now I never gets to tapes his ankle,” said Toki mournfully.
“Dood, Murderface’s ass has a big crack in it you can tape,” said Pickles.
“Now ish that nische?”
“No,” said Nathan. Then he chuckled. “Funny though.”
Toki gazed towards the tour bus, still holding the tape, knowing that right now some Gear would be carefully taping the long slender ankle, working his way up the defined calf to wrap the knee…
“Well why don’t we go for a walk?” suggested Glenda brightly.
Toki turned his head to look at her. “Why don’ts you go fucks off?”
Murderface coughed in surprise. Toki was aware of his three band mates staring at him in astonishment, but he didn’t care. All he had wanted since he met Skwisgaar was five fucking minutes with him, a chance to touch him and revel in his beauty. Skwisgaar had given it to him on a plate and this…. self-absorbed moron had wrecked it. Glenda stared at him in confusion and outrage.
“You can’t talk to me that way! Why do you think you are?”
Toki raised an eyebrow. “Betters question is who you is t’ink you is?”
He turned away and walked down to the pond, hurt and infuriated, and sat on the grass. Moments later, a quiet little presence sat down beside him. An entourage of hopeful swans came with him.
“Hi Pickle,” said Toki morosely.
“Toki you know you could always just… maybe ask Skwisgaar if he still wants you to tape his sprain up for him,” said Pickles, sharing the last of the grain he had with the birds.
Toki shook his head. “No. Is too hards to gets near him, you know whats he like.”
Pickles gazed at him, green eyes full of very un-metal caring. “You know he loves you.”
“Ja,” said Toki bitterly. “Is whole problem. He loves me, I loves him, an’ we all know how well love is workings out for any of us. I hads a chance to spends a few minutes wit’ him and totals stranger is havings to comes over an’ ruins it.”
Pickles was trying to think of something comforting to say, when they heard a scream from the tour bus. A distinctly Scandinavian scream. Moments later Nathan appeared in the doorway of the bus, grinning.
“Guess who fell down the stairs and broke his leg?”
Fortunately, the tour had been over when Skwisgaar did his swan dive off the stairs, so the band simply went home. The break was not too severe, but it meant Skwisgaar was pretty much bedridden for several weeks. Actually he could have got up and used his crutches if he wanted to, but crutches were not metal. Neither were wheelchairs. Lying in bed and whining wasn’t especially metal, either, but that was the option that won. He was determined to be the princess in the tower, awaiting rescue from the horror of his cast-entrapment.
The other members of Dethklok responded in their usual way – they set out to make his life hell.
It was Murderface who got the ball rolling. Bored after weeks of doing next to nothing, he finally began working on his solo project in earnest. The problem with that was… well... Murderface didn’t have any actual talent. He was an extremely good bass player, but writing music was beyond him. So was writing lyrics. He improvised some bass lines and a few guitar lines, but wasn’t happy with the overall effect. He needed a drum line. That meant playing the drums. So he marched down to Pickles’ room to ask a favour.
“Picklesh can I borrow your drumsh?”
Pickles was lying face down on his bed, so drunk and high his condition would have given a doctor panic attacks, but he became surprisingly lucid when Murderface asked about his drums.
“Dood I don’t want you playing my drums.”
“Well I need shome percussion.”
“You need a breath mint. Seriously.”
“Ish that sho?” He walked over to Pickles, seating himself on the bed and bending down to breathe into his friend’s face; “Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii….
Pickles squiggled and flailed his arms in an attempt to get away from the reek. “DOOD! Git out of here, that’s… gahd that’s repulsive
“Sho doesh that mean I can borrow your drumsh?”
“No! If you need drums I’ll play them for you, just… stop breathing on me. What were you eating?”
“A delightful combination of ground raw garlic, onionsh, limburger cheeshe, shauerkraut, and paschtrami, scherved on warm toashted bread. I call it a Murderwich.”
Pickles coughed. “Yeah that would murder a witch. Dood that would murder pretty much anyone.”
Pickles came to help Murderface with his solo album, the pair spending hours together in the huge rehearsal space, arguing over sound and pacing and phrasing. Pickles could play lead guitar, but what they needed was a rhythm man. So Toki came to help, and the sound began to come together in a really rather amazing way. Murderface may not have been able to write worth a damn, but it turned out he had quite an amazing talent for musical arrangement. Then one night when Nathan came in to do some background vocals, Murderface had an idea.
“Toki can you do the thing where the guitar kinda… I don’t know what the word ish… that howling shound, like a werewolf in pain.”
“You mean likes da dying whale sound on Murmaider?”
“Oh I can’ts do dat,” said Toki.
Murderface raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“‘Cause I nots goods enough, dat was Skwisgaar makes all da sounds likes da animals an’ stuff. I can’ts do dat.”
The four stood in silence, considering the implications.
“Dood that means we have to get Skwisgaar on his feet,” said Pickles. “Or the solo album is dead in its tracks.”
“Yeah I got a question about that,” said Nathan. “Is this Murderface’s solo project, or a Dethklok album?”
“It’sh a sholo project,” said Murderface. “With you guysh on it.”
“Yeah the other members of Queen used to play on each other’s solo projects all the time,” said Pickles. “No reason we can’t do that for Murderface.”
Nathan shrugged. “Well let’s see if we can’t get Skwisgaar out of bed.”
Quietly they entered Skwisgaar’s bedroom. He was seated on the bed, only wearing pyjama pants and an undershirt, playing his guitar. He pretended not to notice his four bandmates, but there was an expression in the blue eyes that indicated he likely knew what was coming. Murderface went into his ‘parental’ role.
“Hey, big guy,” Murderface said softly, seating himself on the bed. “How you feeling?”
Skwisgaar didn’t say anything, hoping if he just ignored his friends they would leave him alone. The cast was off by now, but Skwisgaar seemed very reluctant to put any weight on his ankle; likely recalling stories of people re-breaking their legs after the cast was finally removed. Murderface gently rubbed his back.
“You like that? Hmm? Yeah, that’sh nische, ishn’t it?”
Pickles, Nathan, and Toki all exchanged glances as the expression in Skwisgaar’s eyes implied Murderface was pushing his luck. Then Toki dared to approach the bed as well. He sat down beside Skwisgaar. He wanted to say something encouraging, but one quick inhale took care of that
“Wowee, Skwisgaar, you stinkies. Makes my eyes burn.”
“Yeah you are a little ripe there dood,” said Pickles.
Skwisgaar curled his lip. “You is comes in here to tells me I smells bad?”
“Not exactly,” said Nathan. “But… well… we know you’re scared to use that leg, and… uh…”
“We wants you come plays wit’ us again,” said Toki.
“No,” pouted Skwisgaar. “Don’ts want to.”
“Come on, is time to get up,” Toki gently urged.
“No I don’ts want to,” Skwisgaar repeated, clearly becoming irritated.
“We know how you feel, pal,” said Murderface softly. Then he added, “But we’re bashtards, sho we’re gonna make you.”
There came a weak but familiar snort of disdain. “Ja you wishes you could.”
Murderface was short, but he was stocky and quite powerful. He scooped the long lean body into his arms and picked Skwisgaar up. Skwisgaar glared at him.
“What, you is hearings I has maybes found some digs-nity an’ you cames to gets it?”
Murderface shifted Skwisgaar’s body so the tall guitar player was hanging around his neck like a strange snake. “Yeah, we juscht can’t have anyone around here having any dignity, that’sh not metal.”
“That smell’s pretty brutal though,” said Nathan.
“What is digs-nity?” asked Toki.
“It’s something we never had,” said Pickles.
“Well dens we is not havings to worries about it,” said Toki. “Nots likes we can lose it if we nots have it.”
There was a long pause. Somewhere in the distance a cricket chirped.
“What were we talking about?” asked Nathan.
“We were gonna play bathe-the-blonde,” said Pickles.
“I am nots wantings a bath,” grumbled Skwisgaar.
“You need a bath,” said Nathan.
“I AM NOTS WANTINGS A BATH!”
“Only one thing to do,” said Nathan. “Everyone who thinks Skwisgaar needs a bath?”
“AYE!” called four voices.
“I NOTS NEEDINGKS NO MOTHERF//guitar riff//KINGKS BATH!”
“Motion carried,” said Nathan. “Let’s dump him in the tub.”
“Gå och knulla dig själv!”
Skwisgaar was carried, growling and snarling and swearing, to the hot tub in the main fire hall. His clothes were peeled off and thrown into the fire, and Skwisgaar was loaded unceremoniously into the tub. Moments later he was being scrubbed from four different angles. Charles walked in just then to find out what the noise was about. He watched four of his “boys” scrub a highly irate guitar player, who was very happy to use all the words he knew in two languages to express how much fun he wasn’t having.
“So…” said Charles carefully, watching what appeared to be a soap-riot. “Skwisgaar, are you okay in there?”
“Dra åt Helvete, era jävlar!”
“All right then, I’ll leave you boys to… whatever the hell you’re doing now.”
“Come join us!” called Nathan.
Charles watched the explosion of soggy metalheads wrestling in the hot tub. “No, I think I’m better off over here.”
“Yes,” agreed Charles willingly. “Yes I am. But someone has to survive to call the hot tub repair guy.”
Skwisgaar’s “bath” lasted until Skwisgaar finally gave in and it wasn’t fun anymore. Still he did seem to feel better, and he didn’t depart when his bandmates finally left him alone. Eventually they made themselves some drinks, and settled together to watch a movie.
“Is goods to has you out here, Skwisgaar,” said Toki quietly.
Skwisgaar huffed, but said nothing.
“It is,” said Pickles. “We missed you.”
Skwisgaar just hung his head, saying nothing.
“I liked him better when he was all pissed off,” said Nathan.
“I still pissed off,” said Skwisgaar. “Juts nots ats you dildos.”
“Awww….” said Murderface. “And we tried scho hard…”
Skwisgaar smiled slightly. “Pfft. Can’ts even pissings me offs good.”
They hung out, they drank, they watched movies. Over time, Nathan crept off to “go see what Charles was up to”, because they absolutely were not having a secret affair that everyone in the house knew about, with the possible exception of Gear #8485757438-4. Pickles and Murderface went off in quest of cheese, and that left Toki alone in the hot tub with Skwisgaar. He watched his friend fuss with the ankle that had given him so much trouble over the past few months; first with a sprain, then with a break. No wonder he didn’t want to walk on it. However, after a while, it was clear Skwisgaar wanted out of the hot tub. He carefully pushed himself out of the water and onto the edge of the tub, his long leg outstretched before him. And Toki had a brainstorm.
“You wants me to wraps it fors you?”
Skwisgaar thought about that, and then nodded. “Ja maybes dat bes best idea.”
Toki exploded from the tub in a fit of over-enthusiasm usually reserved for small children when they hear the car pulling in the driveway that means Daddy is home with the pony. Skwisgaar watched the wildly excited and stark naked idiot tear off down the hallway in quest of tensor bandages and aromatic oils. He returned within minutes, trembling visibly, wanting nothing more than to touch him. Skwisgaar was suspicious, but saw no reason to push the matter.
“Toki is you beings all right?”
“Why you asks?” Toki inquired innocently.
Skwisgaar raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more about Toki’s obvious excitement.
“Puts you pants on.”
“Why? You gots no pants on.”
This was very true. All right, fine, so neither of them were wearing pants. Toki poured some of the aromatic oils into his hands and rubbed his palms together, warming it. Supposedly they would help the bones to recover quickly, and to prevent sores being caused by the bandages, but mostly it smelled good. Oh gods… he was finally going to get to….
Pickles tore into the hot tub chamber, Murderface thundering after him in hot pursuit. Bringing up the rear was Badger; their oldest and highest-ranking gear, and Pickles’ self-appointed foster-father.
“YOU KIDS BEHAVE!” Badger shouted, knowing his command would never be followed.
“He’s going to kill me!” yodelled Pickles.
“YOU SCHON OF A BITCH! WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU…!!”
Toki never found out what the fight was about. All he knew was once again Skwisgaar was gone, scooped up and taken to safety by another gear who didn’t want Skwisgaar to be stepped on. Within thirty seconds, Toki was all alone with greasy hands and no Skwisgaar, listening to Pickles yodel off down the hall.
“Fine,” he said to the empty room. “Maybe I ams just killings myself now.”
He was packing up the tape and oils, when his dethphone went off. He opened it, and read the text message he saw.
‘Hey dildo. You is supposed to bes tapings my ankle.
Maybe suicide could wait.
Why the hell was Skwisgaar texting with an accent?
Toki shrugged and scooped up the oil and bandages, and headed for Skwisgaar’s room.
Finally. FINALLY. He got what he wanted, and it was almost better than sex. He got to wrap his hand around the slender bones, carefully rubbing the oils into the white skin, massaging the warming ointment over the affected joints, and then carefully wrapping the bandages around the long ankle. It was elating and exciting and thrilling and SO many things…
“Toki is just an ankle, calm down.”
Crap. Trust Skwisgaar to find a way to kill his buzz. Well he was too happy to let it affect him. Skwisgaar sat up, yawning.
“I needs to finds new room to sleep in tonights; dis one all stinkies froms da oil.”
“You wants to sleeps in my room tonights, Skwisgaar?” asked Toki.
Skwisgaar shook his head. “You beds is too small.”
“We goes to da guest bedsroom den.”
Skwisgaar gave him a sidelong look. “Why you is wantings to comes wit’ me? I can sleeps alone.”
“I wants to bes wit’ you,” said Toki.
The two gazed at each other for a long moment, then Skwisgaar blew Toki’s damaged little brain to Hell by nodding. “Ja okies.”
Before Toki could squeal like a five year old at Disneyland, Skwisgaar pointed a warning finger at him.
“You makes a noise, I leaves you here.”
“I bes good, Skwisgaar.”
“I am doubtings that.”
They went to the guest bedroom – one of numerous chambers set up for friends, drunk party guests, and Gears who were currently homeless. They settled beneath the covers together, comfortably close.
“…..I hates you.”
Skwisgaar pressed close, burying his face in Toki’s long hair. “I hates you too.”
“Maybes,” said Toki, “since my bed too small, an’ you beds all stinky now, we coulds makes dis our room. An’ we coulds shares it.”
“Why woulds we do dat?”
“I don’ts know. Because we’s pals? An’… I likes beings wit’ you.”
Skwisgaar pressed a little closer. “We talks it over in da mornings, little Toki.”
“You always has me.”
“Oh boys, just what I am always wantings.”
“I mean…you nots needings ever worries abouts beings alone. You gots us. You gots me.”
“I gots no sleeps.”
Toki sighed heavily, then rolled over to face Skwisgaar. “You gots alls da romance ofs two dogs in da park.”
Skwisgaar sighed quietly. “We talks abouts it in da mornings, little Toki. But I makes no promises.”
“You loves me?”
Toki grinned “I don’ts loves you neither.”
Skwisgaar smiled, then gave him a soft little kiss. “Goes to sleep, Toki.”
Skwisgaar fell asleep rather quickly. Toki simply watched him.