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A flash of lightning illuminated the body as it fell out of rotation to land hard on the firm gym mat and Nathan decided that he’d seen enough, sliding into the workout room as much as any beefcake can really slide.
“Mmmm...hey?”
The bespeckled head jerked up at the sound, meeting the speaker’s gaze with a feral look in his eyes. He leapt into a crouch. Lightning lit up his new glasses.
I liked the old frames better, Nathan thought, but he must have said it aloud because Charles flinched and the glare in his eyes faded, softened by recognition. He stared like he was seeing Nathan for the first time, and the singer shifted his weight, uncomfortable.
In the center of the Mordhaus’s surprisingly modest gymnasium, Charles rose from his crouch. He been practicing the same sequence of moves for three hours. Nathan hadn’t been too drunk to notice that the Manager didn’t sleep anymore.
“You, uhhhh...doing okay?”
Charles paused before answering. “...Of course, Nathan. Of course I am.” Another pause. “What are you doing up?”
Nathan shook his head at the distracting question. “You threw a chair. Don’t think I’ve seen you practice that move before.”
Charles parted his lips in quiet surprise. “Yes, Nathan, I suppose that’s true. I always tell you boys that a good fighter is a level-headed fighter.” He looked past Nathan to the small archer’s windows lining the gym’s interior wall. “I wasn’t aware you’d made a habit of watching me practice.”
“You move like water,” Nathan said, shrugging like the statement explained anything. Charles nodded like he understood. “You sure you’re okay? You were, uh, screaming pretty loud. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that.” He cast his eyes to the spot next to Charles’s left foot, and took a few steps towards the man. “You burst a fucking blood vessel in your eye.”
Charles raised a hand to his face, fingers tracing one scarred eyelid. “They’re new eyes, Nathan. They’re probably not used to the strain.”
“You’re shaking,” Nathan said, and closed the distance between them. “See?”
And he reached a broad hand out, fingers splayed, to lay across Charles’s trembling torso. The singer half laughed aloud: “This is the first time I’ve touched you.” His head spun at the thought of it.
Charles took a moment to appreciate the sight of Nathan’s hand on his rib. His tremors calmed just slightly. Nathan took this as a sign to continue. With blunt fingers he trailed up Charles’ torso, brushing a dusty nipple, tracing collarbones, and coming rest under the Manager’s chin, gripping with one expansive paw. Charles met his furrowed expression with a smoldering look. His breathing picked up again.
“I’m not shaking. Shaking is not ‘brutal’.”
“It’s totally brutal,” Nathan argued. “Like throwing a chair. Or losing control and going apeshit while you’re practicing a...whaddaya call it? Kallas?”
“Kata, Nathan.” And the way Charles said his name sent a shot of arousal straight to Nathan’s cock. Oh God.
“Well, whatever,” he continued, “I’ve never seen you like that. I uh, can’t believe you’re fucking here. I can’t believe you’re alive. It’s. Been hard. Yeah. Whatever. What the fuck were you fighting just then?”
Charles tensed again, straining even through his arousal. Thunder rolled overhead. “I told you. That’s a story for another time. You needn’t worry about--”
“--Worry? Time? Fucking...” Nathan broke eye contact. “Murderface acted out more. God, he’s been ten times the douchrag he usually is. Skwisgaar was celibate, mostly. Pickles and Toki carried photos of you. For nine months. We spent all our fucking money!”
“And you, Nathan? Did you cope better than the others? You’re the band leader.”
“I fucking tried,” he rumbled. “And not to gay or anything but, uh, I didn’t need a fucking picture. You face is tattooed to the back of my fucking eyelids. It was brutal. I heard your voice in my head every time I opened my mouth.” Looking up, Nathan swung both arms down to cup Charles ass, and scooped the manager flush to his body. Charles could feel the man’s chest vibrate. “Never fucking do that again!”
“I’m sorry, Nathan! You know I would never leave you boys for less than a very go--”
“Stop talking now. You’ve been with us for fifteen years now. You fucking . . . I dunno . . . when we started this shit I was. Hmm. Different. Angry. All lyrics, no focus, get it? You worked with me. Like a football coach, or something. Whatever. And then you were gone. And we had to keep going! Like fucking robots! Blind fucking robots. What the hell, man?
“You’re like, our fucking compass or something. You steer. We need you. I need you. I need your emotionless robotic, umm. Dammit! Composure, or something. Do you, do you understand? Do you get it? And for once, I think you need something too. Something from us. I just, don’t know what.”
“Well Nathan, I’m steering a boat in the middle of a storm. I need an anchor.”
“I’m a fucking anchor.” And Nathan dipped, and took that hot temptation of a mouth in a blistering kiss, tongue darting past surprised lips. Charles seized, then moaned, melting into the kiss, wrapping himself around the bigger man. Nathan grabbed a fistful of dark copper hair, repositioning his mouth for better access. Charles bit Nathan’s lip, growling. Nathan kissed deeper. They rolled tongues across teeth, deeper, stealing air from each other, breaking apart to gasp for air and then coming back together in a crash of sound and light. Electricity passed from fingertips to flesh, sensation striking the nerves and lips meeting again as several stories above their head the sky opened and dumped its burden. Rain poured down, thunder rolled steady through the cloud-lining.
Oblivious to the storm, they kissed.
Fin