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tikificTitle: The Truth about Subs and Schlubs (Mythklok Interstitial)
Fandom: Metalocalypse
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cursing. Also, I may be the only damn person in the fandom, but I don't give a crap: I DON'T FUCKING LIKE ABIGAIL. If'n you do, with all respect, do yourself a favor and go read something else.
Summary: Charles gives his side of the sub mission
Notes: My reaction go Goingdown Klok.
Lord Ganesh sat back, stretching that place in his lower back that always needed one. As his son was safely ensconced for the weekend with his beloved grandfather, and Sariel claimed he needed to “catch up” on something or other, Ganesh was passing the time in one of his favorite fashions: he was sitting out on the deck at their suite in Mordhaus, reading a book. A terribly, terribly trashy book.
“Oh, you're not reading that!”
Ganesh paused, frosty tiki drink halfway to his lips, and looked up from his hardback, peering over the reading glasses he swore up and down he did not really require. He held up the book and grinned at Sariel. “The Truth about Subs and Schlubs you mean? The tell all book by your former producer, Ms. Abigail Remeltindtdrinc? I am finding it quite entertaining, actually.”
“You pick it up in the fairy tale section?” snarked Charles, snatching up Ganesh's frosty cocktail and taking a considered slurp.
“Tally ho?” ventured Ganesh, his grin widening.
“You know what you want?” asked Charles, who was quite suddenly wriggling into the chaise lounge next to Ganesh.
“You know, jaanu, you always tell me these deck chairs haven't sufficient room for two....” said Ganesh, who now found himself and his reading material underneath a rather rude angel.
“You want the straight story! What really happened in the DethSub!” announced Charles. “Hey, can you move your arm? No, not that arm, that arm! Yeah, that's good.”
“Are you quite comfortable?” grumbled Ganesh, who seemed to have sharp angel elbows poking him everywhere.
“Yeah, I'm great! So, first off, takes a look at this....”
Ganesh peered at Charles' many-spiked Dethphone. “Er. Yes.” He adjusted his unneeded reading glasses, a puzzled look on his handsome face. “Is this an image of William Murderface? With his mustache somewhat trimmed?”
“No. That's Abigail. Sans makeup.”
“What?” Ganesh fumbled for his hardback, and regarded the author photo on the dustcover. “I'm sorry, this is the same person? You are kidding, right?” It must be that puckish angel humor, he reckoned.
“Good lighting! It's key!” insisted Charles. “Plus it creates a pleasant atmosphere. Anyway,” he said, taking a generous pull of Ganesh's tiki drink, “You didn't think I'd spend three months babbling stuff like, 'Shake it down, maties?'”
“Actually, that sounds quite like something you might say....”
“So, anyway....”
“Guys! Guys! GUYS!”
“Ja, ja, ja, always ams wit' da babblingses,” muttered Skwisgaar, affectionately patting the leg of the swimsuit-clad girl in his lap.
“Dood,” allowed Pickles, who was trying to juggle twins.
“Whatdya want, ROBOT?” sneered Murderface, who did not have any girls at all either around or in his lap.
Charles gazed across the vast and brutal underwater meeting room table. “Guys, you have three months, and you've each been allotted 30 groupies apiece,” Charles said primly.
“Ams not sufficisacockles!” wailed Skwisgaar.
“It's true, Charles. A man has NEEDS,” protested Nathan, who leaned back so the groupie currently hovering over him could get a better angle on massaging his shoulder.
“Well, yes, but while we're down here, remember, we are supposed to be recording-” Charles began.
“Why ams we not has some of Toki's groupies?” suggested Skwisgaar.
“Heys!” protested Toki.
“You ams now knows what to do wit' dem anyways!” sniffed Skwisgaar.
“I ams knows.”
“Pffft,” scoffed Skwisgaar. “Ams you even knows what goings downs is?”
“Ja! I knows! It ams when da goil loses da contactickle lens....”
“Tokiiii,” moaned Nathan. “Oh, hey, that feels good, right there,” he told the groupie masseuse.
“Guys, we have a complete compliment of groupies for each of you. No more! Just, try to make do, OK?” There were moans and groans from around the table.
“CHARLES!” demanded Abigail, who had just marched into the room.
“Uh, yes, uh, Abigail,” sighed Charles.
“Are you looking at my chest again?” Abigail demanded of Nathan.
“Uhhhhhh,” explained Nathan.
“Nathan's staring at my chest again! You know, I HAVE EYES, BUSTER!” said Abigail, crossing her arms and scowling.
“Uh, Abigail, you know,” soothed Charles, “you are standing up while everyone else here is sitting down. So, your, uh... Your, uh....”
“My what?”
“We're looking RIGHT AT YOUR TITTIES. They're at EYE LEVEL. Which is pretty convenient,” explained Nathan.
“Uh, thanks Nathan,” said Charles. “Did you need something, Abigail?”
“I'm getting tired of being sexually harassed by your band! I know you all want me, deep down!”
“We ams not wants yous,” scoffed Skwisgaar. “We has da professionababble relations.”
“Uh, well, I wouldn't be too schertain of that,” hedged Murderface.
“Except Murderface. He's clearly a closet case,” stated Abigail.
“WHAT?” said Murderface.
“OK, Abigail, maybe to make everyone more comfortable-” started Charles.
“And you want me too. It's all right, I'm used to being an irresistible young woman working in a sexually charged, hostile environment!” Abigail told him.
“Uh, actually, I'm, uh, happily married....” said Charles.
“But she's on shore? I know how men are!”
“Uh, he, actually.”
Abigali blinked. “Wait, no kidding?” she asked, suddenly excited.
“Uh, yeah,” said Charles, warming up. “Ganesh. Ganesh is my husband. And we have a young son-”
“You could be my gay husband then! OK, for the rest of the trip, you can listen to me whining about how men suck and encourage me when I'm neurotic and help me pick out my outfits.”
“Uh, Abigail, I don't think-”
“And then we can get a drunk together. This will be great. YOU GUYS, YOU ALL SUCK!” she hailed as she left.
“Charlesch,” whispered Murderface. “Bro, if you're her bescht gay friend, how can I get into her pantsch.”
“I don't have any idea,” sighed Charles.
“Asshole,” grumbled Murderface.
“Hey, you guys wanna get a room?”
Ganesh broke off his clinch with Sariel (and it was, admittedly, getting a bit steamy out there on the patio). “Nathan? What are you doing out on Skwisgaar's balcony?” he called up.
“I thought maybe you were gonna dance with those bikini girls today!” Nathan called down.
“Maybe later, Nathan. I am a little busy at present!” Ganesh called up.
“Busy doing what exactly? You look like you're SCREWING AROUND!”
“I'm telling him the submarine story,” Charles called.
“Oh, god, not that story,” muttered Nathan, in a terribly loud voice that Charles and Ganesh could easily hear. “Why don't you tell a GOOD STORY? Like when we went to the Amazon and all got fucked up on yopo? That was a cool story.”
“That was a cool story. Though I wish you had brought them hoodies,” said Charles.
“It's always fucking hoodies with you,” grumbled Nathan.
“But I'm telling him the sub story now!” said Charles.
“Ehhhhhhh,” sighed Nathan.
“Ehhhhh,” sighed Nathan. “So, what is this crap supposed to be?”
At this point, they had been down in the DethSubmarine for more months than the boys could count (two months, to be precise, but these are musicians we're talking about). But they had not yet ventured into this particular room.
Toki skated happily by on a pair of roller skates. “Ams da gymnasicockum! For ams gettings in da goods shape.”
Nathan looked after his weird, weird, band mate, and then around at all the spiked barbells and spiked rowing machines and spiked treadmills. “Eh. What for?”
“Bro,” suggested Murderface, “maybe if we buff up a little schmidgen, we could get lucky with Abigail!”
“What? Buff up?” snorted Nathan. “Why wouldn't she wanna PIECE OF THIS?” he asked, tugging at his belly, which had, though a combination of lack of exercise and chip-eating, only expanded during the underwater sojourn.
“Maybe you ams feels betters about yourselfs!” chirped Toki.
“Skwisgaar, will you fucking tell Toki to QUIT SKATING AROUND! It's hurting my neck!” protested Nathan.
“I ams not controlses hims! Hims ams does what he wants!” sighed Skwisgaar, sitting back on a chin-up machine to tune up his Gibson.
“Doods, I'm bored,” griped Pickles. “Wanna git sahm beer?”
“Yeah, that sounds good, let's get outta this place,” said Nathan. He rose, and the other guys started to follow. With one exception.
“You might likes da sucksercize!” said Toki, skating past Nathan.
“Toki, quit being a fucking pain! As if any of us care you're all ripped and stuff,” grumbled Nathan.
“Hey,” said Murderface, as they filed out, “You know, Toki isch pretty ripped.”
“SHUT UP THAT'S GAY!” said Nathan. “And what do YOU WANT?” he demanded of Charles, who had just wandered up
“Oh, getting some exercise in our DethGym?” asked Charles.
“NO!” said Nathan.
“Uh. Yeah, I didn't think so. Anyway, I have a few notes from the captain. He wanted to bring to your attention that the torpedo tubes are not for dirty laundry....”
“Dood! I t'ought da coin lawndry down here wuz too entertinin',” laughed Pickles.
“We gotta be well dressched if we're gonna schine with Abigail,” noted Murderface.
“Uh, also, on that note,” continued Charles, “Abigail wished me to tell you, yet again, that you should not sexually harass her.”
“WE'RE NOT SEXUALLY HARASSING HER,” rumbled Nathan. “Uh, except as much as we're supposed to be. You know. Because she's a women. And we're men. Well, you wouldn't know,” he told Charles, who scowled. “But I mean, as other guys would know.”
“Look, whatever it is, could you just stop it?” asked Charles. “For me? I am really getting sick of sipping white wine spritzers and watching the Oxygen network with her.”
“Dood, is it dat bad?” Pickles sympathized.
“Well, Bad Girl Smackdown isn't so bad I guess,” Charles admitted. “Anyway. I wanna get done and get this record out. Revive the world economy. Blah blah blah.”
“Blahs blahs blahs!” giggled Toki, who skated by.
“Can we schexschually harassch Toki?” asked Murderface wistfully.
“No. No you may not, William,” scolded Charles.
“Damn,” cursed Murderface.
“Oh, gods. What you're doing. Just keep doing it. Oh. Hey,” muttered Charles.
Ganesh popped up from under the covers. “The story was a bit muffled whilst I was under there. So, the boys did not utilize the weight room?”
“They're Dethklok. What did you expect?” said Charles, his hand now atop Ganesh's head.
“So, they did not, in fact, sport gleaming six pack abs?”
“Uh, no. No, they did not,” said Charles, pushing down on Ganesh's head.
“And what about Abigail?”
“She'd been sitting on her ass watching reality TV, so you guess,” said Charles, continuing to push on Ganesh.
“Darling,” said Ganesh, grabbing away Charles' hand, a big grin spreading on his face. “Turn over.”
“Oh, uh, you know!” said Charles. “I was just reading. You know ass fucking is not necessarily the ultimate act of sexual relations?”
“Mmm, it's not?” asked Ganesh.
“Uh, no. It's not. I read it on Bumblr!”
Ganesh chose this particular moment to move in for a very heated kiss. When he was quite done pushing his tongue as far as he could into Sariel's throat, he pulled back just a fraction. “Darling?” he purred.
“Uhhhhh.... Yeah?”
“Turn the fuck over....”
“I'm bored.”
“Yeah.”
Abigail and Nathan, alone in the recording studio, exchange a resentful glare. They were stuck together here as everyone else had been deployed. Nathan wasn't quite sure what “deployed” meant, but he was sure as fuck glad he wasn't anywhere near Toki, as he was pretty darned sure there was gonna be some big gay song there.
“It's your fucking fault for taking so long with the fucking recording,” grumbled Nathan.
“It's your fucking fault for playing like a bunch of stumblebums,” countered Abigail.
“Eh,” said Nathan, who was really too bored to come up with anything else. He looked around. “Still bored.”
“We could have sex,” said Abigail. “I see you looking at my tits.”
“I mostly look at your ASS these days. It's hard to miss,” grumbled Nathan.
“But I don't have sex with people I work with,” she added.
“Oh. OK. Then we could GO DOWN on each other. That's not really sex,” explained Nathan, who was old enough to remember the Clinton administration.
“Hey. You're right!” said Abigail. “In three fucking months, that's the first smart thing out of your mouth.”
“Yeah. Thanks. OK, you first,” he said, going for his belt.
“Fuck you. You first.”
“Fuck you!” said Nathan.
They sat, glaring, for several more minutes.
“OK, we flip for it,” suggested Nathan, grinning slyly and slipping a two-headed Facebones coin from his pocket.
“OK,” said Abigail as he flipped. “HEADS.”
Nathan anxiously watched the coin land. “Oh. Shit!” he said.
“Oral sex is sex! So is manual sex! As well as mutual masturbation, anal sex....”
“Jaanu?” mumbled Sariel, blowing out the soapy water that had gotten in his mouth.
“Yes, what?” asked Ganesh, who while lecturing in regards to intimate relations was carefully washing Sariel's hair in the shower.
“This is Dethklok. Remember,” said Sariel, tilting back his head so he could look up at Ganesh.
Ganesh frowned and pushed Sariel's head under the wet hot spray of water. “So, you claim you never at any point told them, Tally ho?”
“Well, never say never,” admitted the angel.
“And the album?” asked Ganesh.
“Well, that's another story for another time,” grinned Sariel.
“Yes? What is that terrible banging sound, anyway?” Ganesh asked, as there was a pounding on the pipes.
“Oh, that's probably Nathan and Skwisgaar,” said Sariel. “Banging on the pipes with a Gibson. They want the dance number. You know, with the girls.”
“Well, I guess I shall have to indulge them. So,” said Ganesh, turning off the shower and grabbing a towel. “In your opinion, The Truth About Subs and Schlubs is an exaggeration?”
“It is not an exaggeration. It is in fact a wall to wall fabrication!”
“Hmmm. Well, I might finish reading it anyway. It is entertaining,” said Ganesh, donning a robe and taking up the book from where it rested on a hamper. The banging continued. “But first I suppose I should go provide some entertainment for your band.” He reluctantly put the book back down.
“Yep.” said Sariel.
“I shall see you later,” said Ganesh, departing.
Sariel picked up the book and thumbed through it. “Have at it, matey,” he grinned, dumping the book in the trash can.
Fandom: Metalocalypse
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cursing. Also, I may be the only damn person in the fandom, but I don't give a crap: I DON'T FUCKING LIKE ABIGAIL. If'n you do, with all respect, do yourself a favor and go read something else.
Summary: Charles gives his side of the sub mission
Notes: My reaction go Goingdown Klok.
Lord Ganesh sat back, stretching that place in his lower back that always needed one. As his son was safely ensconced for the weekend with his beloved grandfather, and Sariel claimed he needed to “catch up” on something or other, Ganesh was passing the time in one of his favorite fashions: he was sitting out on the deck at their suite in Mordhaus, reading a book. A terribly, terribly trashy book.
“Oh, you're not reading that!”
Ganesh paused, frosty tiki drink halfway to his lips, and looked up from his hardback, peering over the reading glasses he swore up and down he did not really require. He held up the book and grinned at Sariel. “The Truth about Subs and Schlubs you mean? The tell all book by your former producer, Ms. Abigail Remeltindtdrinc? I am finding it quite entertaining, actually.”
“You pick it up in the fairy tale section?” snarked Charles, snatching up Ganesh's frosty cocktail and taking a considered slurp.
“Tally ho?” ventured Ganesh, his grin widening.
“You know what you want?” asked Charles, who was quite suddenly wriggling into the chaise lounge next to Ganesh.
“You know, jaanu, you always tell me these deck chairs haven't sufficient room for two....” said Ganesh, who now found himself and his reading material underneath a rather rude angel.
“You want the straight story! What really happened in the DethSub!” announced Charles. “Hey, can you move your arm? No, not that arm, that arm! Yeah, that's good.”
“Are you quite comfortable?” grumbled Ganesh, who seemed to have sharp angel elbows poking him everywhere.
“Yeah, I'm great! So, first off, takes a look at this....”
Ganesh peered at Charles' many-spiked Dethphone. “Er. Yes.” He adjusted his unneeded reading glasses, a puzzled look on his handsome face. “Is this an image of William Murderface? With his mustache somewhat trimmed?”
“No. That's Abigail. Sans makeup.”
“What?” Ganesh fumbled for his hardback, and regarded the author photo on the dustcover. “I'm sorry, this is the same person? You are kidding, right?” It must be that puckish angel humor, he reckoned.
“Good lighting! It's key!” insisted Charles. “Plus it creates a pleasant atmosphere. Anyway,” he said, taking a generous pull of Ganesh's tiki drink, “You didn't think I'd spend three months babbling stuff like, 'Shake it down, maties?'”
“Actually, that sounds quite like something you might say....”
“So, anyway....”
“Guys! Guys! GUYS!”
“Ja, ja, ja, always ams wit' da babblingses,” muttered Skwisgaar, affectionately patting the leg of the swimsuit-clad girl in his lap.
“Dood,” allowed Pickles, who was trying to juggle twins.
“Whatdya want, ROBOT?” sneered Murderface, who did not have any girls at all either around or in his lap.
Charles gazed across the vast and brutal underwater meeting room table. “Guys, you have three months, and you've each been allotted 30 groupies apiece,” Charles said primly.
“Ams not sufficisacockles!” wailed Skwisgaar.
“It's true, Charles. A man has NEEDS,” protested Nathan, who leaned back so the groupie currently hovering over him could get a better angle on massaging his shoulder.
“Well, yes, but while we're down here, remember, we are supposed to be recording-” Charles began.
“Why ams we not has some of Toki's groupies?” suggested Skwisgaar.
“Heys!” protested Toki.
“You ams now knows what to do wit' dem anyways!” sniffed Skwisgaar.
“I ams knows.”
“Pffft,” scoffed Skwisgaar. “Ams you even knows what goings downs is?”
“Ja! I knows! It ams when da goil loses da contactickle lens....”
“Tokiiii,” moaned Nathan. “Oh, hey, that feels good, right there,” he told the groupie masseuse.
“Guys, we have a complete compliment of groupies for each of you. No more! Just, try to make do, OK?” There were moans and groans from around the table.
“CHARLES!” demanded Abigail, who had just marched into the room.
“Uh, yes, uh, Abigail,” sighed Charles.
“Are you looking at my chest again?” Abigail demanded of Nathan.
“Uhhhhhh,” explained Nathan.
“Nathan's staring at my chest again! You know, I HAVE EYES, BUSTER!” said Abigail, crossing her arms and scowling.
“Uh, Abigail, you know,” soothed Charles, “you are standing up while everyone else here is sitting down. So, your, uh... Your, uh....”
“My what?”
“We're looking RIGHT AT YOUR TITTIES. They're at EYE LEVEL. Which is pretty convenient,” explained Nathan.
“Uh, thanks Nathan,” said Charles. “Did you need something, Abigail?”
“I'm getting tired of being sexually harassed by your band! I know you all want me, deep down!”
“We ams not wants yous,” scoffed Skwisgaar. “We has da professionababble relations.”
“Uh, well, I wouldn't be too schertain of that,” hedged Murderface.
“Except Murderface. He's clearly a closet case,” stated Abigail.
“WHAT?” said Murderface.
“OK, Abigail, maybe to make everyone more comfortable-” started Charles.
“And you want me too. It's all right, I'm used to being an irresistible young woman working in a sexually charged, hostile environment!” Abigail told him.
“Uh, actually, I'm, uh, happily married....” said Charles.
“But she's on shore? I know how men are!”
“Uh, he, actually.”
Abigali blinked. “Wait, no kidding?” she asked, suddenly excited.
“Uh, yeah,” said Charles, warming up. “Ganesh. Ganesh is my husband. And we have a young son-”
“You could be my gay husband then! OK, for the rest of the trip, you can listen to me whining about how men suck and encourage me when I'm neurotic and help me pick out my outfits.”
“Uh, Abigail, I don't think-”
“And then we can get a drunk together. This will be great. YOU GUYS, YOU ALL SUCK!” she hailed as she left.
“Charlesch,” whispered Murderface. “Bro, if you're her bescht gay friend, how can I get into her pantsch.”
“I don't have any idea,” sighed Charles.
“Asshole,” grumbled Murderface.
“Hey, you guys wanna get a room?”
Ganesh broke off his clinch with Sariel (and it was, admittedly, getting a bit steamy out there on the patio). “Nathan? What are you doing out on Skwisgaar's balcony?” he called up.
“I thought maybe you were gonna dance with those bikini girls today!” Nathan called down.
“Maybe later, Nathan. I am a little busy at present!” Ganesh called up.
“Busy doing what exactly? You look like you're SCREWING AROUND!”
“I'm telling him the submarine story,” Charles called.
“Oh, god, not that story,” muttered Nathan, in a terribly loud voice that Charles and Ganesh could easily hear. “Why don't you tell a GOOD STORY? Like when we went to the Amazon and all got fucked up on yopo? That was a cool story.”
“That was a cool story. Though I wish you had brought them hoodies,” said Charles.
“It's always fucking hoodies with you,” grumbled Nathan.
“But I'm telling him the sub story now!” said Charles.
“Ehhhhhhh,” sighed Nathan.
“Ehhhhh,” sighed Nathan. “So, what is this crap supposed to be?”
At this point, they had been down in the DethSubmarine for more months than the boys could count (two months, to be precise, but these are musicians we're talking about). But they had not yet ventured into this particular room.
Toki skated happily by on a pair of roller skates. “Ams da gymnasicockum! For ams gettings in da goods shape.”
Nathan looked after his weird, weird, band mate, and then around at all the spiked barbells and spiked rowing machines and spiked treadmills. “Eh. What for?”
“Bro,” suggested Murderface, “maybe if we buff up a little schmidgen, we could get lucky with Abigail!”
“What? Buff up?” snorted Nathan. “Why wouldn't she wanna PIECE OF THIS?” he asked, tugging at his belly, which had, though a combination of lack of exercise and chip-eating, only expanded during the underwater sojourn.
“Maybe you ams feels betters about yourselfs!” chirped Toki.
“Skwisgaar, will you fucking tell Toki to QUIT SKATING AROUND! It's hurting my neck!” protested Nathan.
“I ams not controlses hims! Hims ams does what he wants!” sighed Skwisgaar, sitting back on a chin-up machine to tune up his Gibson.
“Doods, I'm bored,” griped Pickles. “Wanna git sahm beer?”
“Yeah, that sounds good, let's get outta this place,” said Nathan. He rose, and the other guys started to follow. With one exception.
“You might likes da sucksercize!” said Toki, skating past Nathan.
“Toki, quit being a fucking pain! As if any of us care you're all ripped and stuff,” grumbled Nathan.
“Hey,” said Murderface, as they filed out, “You know, Toki isch pretty ripped.”
“SHUT UP THAT'S GAY!” said Nathan. “And what do YOU WANT?” he demanded of Charles, who had just wandered up
“Oh, getting some exercise in our DethGym?” asked Charles.
“NO!” said Nathan.
“Uh. Yeah, I didn't think so. Anyway, I have a few notes from the captain. He wanted to bring to your attention that the torpedo tubes are not for dirty laundry....”
“Dood! I t'ought da coin lawndry down here wuz too entertinin',” laughed Pickles.
“We gotta be well dressched if we're gonna schine with Abigail,” noted Murderface.
“Uh, also, on that note,” continued Charles, “Abigail wished me to tell you, yet again, that you should not sexually harass her.”
“WE'RE NOT SEXUALLY HARASSING HER,” rumbled Nathan. “Uh, except as much as we're supposed to be. You know. Because she's a women. And we're men. Well, you wouldn't know,” he told Charles, who scowled. “But I mean, as other guys would know.”
“Look, whatever it is, could you just stop it?” asked Charles. “For me? I am really getting sick of sipping white wine spritzers and watching the Oxygen network with her.”
“Dood, is it dat bad?” Pickles sympathized.
“Well, Bad Girl Smackdown isn't so bad I guess,” Charles admitted. “Anyway. I wanna get done and get this record out. Revive the world economy. Blah blah blah.”
“Blahs blahs blahs!” giggled Toki, who skated by.
“Can we schexschually harassch Toki?” asked Murderface wistfully.
“No. No you may not, William,” scolded Charles.
“Damn,” cursed Murderface.
“Oh, gods. What you're doing. Just keep doing it. Oh. Hey,” muttered Charles.
Ganesh popped up from under the covers. “The story was a bit muffled whilst I was under there. So, the boys did not utilize the weight room?”
“They're Dethklok. What did you expect?” said Charles, his hand now atop Ganesh's head.
“So, they did not, in fact, sport gleaming six pack abs?”
“Uh, no. No, they did not,” said Charles, pushing down on Ganesh's head.
“And what about Abigail?”
“She'd been sitting on her ass watching reality TV, so you guess,” said Charles, continuing to push on Ganesh.
“Darling,” said Ganesh, grabbing away Charles' hand, a big grin spreading on his face. “Turn over.”
“Oh, uh, you know!” said Charles. “I was just reading. You know ass fucking is not necessarily the ultimate act of sexual relations?”
“Mmm, it's not?” asked Ganesh.
“Uh, no. It's not. I read it on Bumblr!”
Ganesh chose this particular moment to move in for a very heated kiss. When he was quite done pushing his tongue as far as he could into Sariel's throat, he pulled back just a fraction. “Darling?” he purred.
“Uhhhhh.... Yeah?”
“Turn the fuck over....”
“I'm bored.”
“Yeah.”
Abigail and Nathan, alone in the recording studio, exchange a resentful glare. They were stuck together here as everyone else had been deployed. Nathan wasn't quite sure what “deployed” meant, but he was sure as fuck glad he wasn't anywhere near Toki, as he was pretty darned sure there was gonna be some big gay song there.
“It's your fucking fault for taking so long with the fucking recording,” grumbled Nathan.
“It's your fucking fault for playing like a bunch of stumblebums,” countered Abigail.
“Eh,” said Nathan, who was really too bored to come up with anything else. He looked around. “Still bored.”
“We could have sex,” said Abigail. “I see you looking at my tits.”
“I mostly look at your ASS these days. It's hard to miss,” grumbled Nathan.
“But I don't have sex with people I work with,” she added.
“Oh. OK. Then we could GO DOWN on each other. That's not really sex,” explained Nathan, who was old enough to remember the Clinton administration.
“Hey. You're right!” said Abigail. “In three fucking months, that's the first smart thing out of your mouth.”
“Yeah. Thanks. OK, you first,” he said, going for his belt.
“Fuck you. You first.”
“Fuck you!” said Nathan.
They sat, glaring, for several more minutes.
“OK, we flip for it,” suggested Nathan, grinning slyly and slipping a two-headed Facebones coin from his pocket.
“OK,” said Abigail as he flipped. “HEADS.”
Nathan anxiously watched the coin land. “Oh. Shit!” he said.
“Oral sex is sex! So is manual sex! As well as mutual masturbation, anal sex....”
“Jaanu?” mumbled Sariel, blowing out the soapy water that had gotten in his mouth.
“Yes, what?” asked Ganesh, who while lecturing in regards to intimate relations was carefully washing Sariel's hair in the shower.
“This is Dethklok. Remember,” said Sariel, tilting back his head so he could look up at Ganesh.
Ganesh frowned and pushed Sariel's head under the wet hot spray of water. “So, you claim you never at any point told them, Tally ho?”
“Well, never say never,” admitted the angel.
“And the album?” asked Ganesh.
“Well, that's another story for another time,” grinned Sariel.
“Yes? What is that terrible banging sound, anyway?” Ganesh asked, as there was a pounding on the pipes.
“Oh, that's probably Nathan and Skwisgaar,” said Sariel. “Banging on the pipes with a Gibson. They want the dance number. You know, with the girls.”
“Well, I guess I shall have to indulge them. So,” said Ganesh, turning off the shower and grabbing a towel. “In your opinion, The Truth About Subs and Schlubs is an exaggeration?”
“It is not an exaggeration. It is in fact a wall to wall fabrication!”
“Hmmm. Well, I might finish reading it anyway. It is entertaining,” said Ganesh, donning a robe and taking up the book from where it rested on a hamper. The banging continued. “But first I suppose I should go provide some entertainment for your band.” He reluctantly put the book back down.
“Yep.” said Sariel.
“I shall see you later,” said Ganesh, departing.
Sariel picked up the book and thumbed through it. “Have at it, matey,” he grinned, dumping the book in the trash can.
