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Skwisgaar’s favorite backstage activity was watching Murderface. His view was occasionally obscured by a woman on his lap, stroking his chest, vying for his attention, but he was good at covert glances. The bassist was not; He stormed from place to place, stopping only to sulk, his murky aura blackening everything around him. Conversations halted in his path and gazes were averted, not always politely. Murderface seemed no more or less disgruntled than usual by this behavior - he was too busy shooting his gaze between his bandmates and their scantily-clad companions with obvious envy. The swede’s lips curled in amusement as he stole glances at his unlucky bandmate.
He’d been rejected by every woman in the room who’d dared to stand alone long enough to be propositioned, and now he was drinking like a fish, shoving expensive food by the fistful into his mouth.
"Fuschs’m" William cursed through food, glaring at everyone in the room and the world in general. "FUCK ‘EM." He repeated, loudly, once he’d swalllowed. "Schkanksch. I DON’T NEED ANY SCHKANKSCH!!" He threw the mostly-empty bottle of brown liquor to the floor, shattering it. Everyone looked, and Murderface took the opportunity to flip them all the bird. He opened his mouth to say something abrasive, but this was a Dethklok backstage - a breaking bottle could only hold the floor for a split second at best. The chatter resumed, and his chance to get everyone’s attention slipped away just like that. He growled in childish fury, but no one was paying any attention to him.
No one, that is, but Skwisgaar.
When the blonde glanced back at Murderface, the bassist was glaring right at him. He suppressed a smirk, but halfway through gave up trying, and just looked right back at him while he groped a young tit attached to some girl who was simpering over him.
Murderface had more than had enough - He turned on his heel and stomped out of the room, shoving people out of the way, even ladies. His eyes burned, but he had his face screwed up, hands fisted at his sides. He stopped halfway out of the venue, realizing Knubbler probably had more ladies in the bus, doing all kinds of nasty shit to ‘em.
He felt a tear roll down his cheek, snorting some crap back up his nose as he wiped it away. He could smell the blood in them, reminded that they would be clear as day to anyone else that was nearby. The bass player licked his fingers and tried to wipe them away, smearing the white and black paint and blood all over his arm. Even Knubbler could get a lady to suck his hog. He was uglier than some coked out twig of a producer who didn’t even have eyeballs.
"You ams takes a vacations to criesbabies house?" Skwisgaar mocked, startling him. Murderface’s head snapped in the Swede’s direction, and then quickly away.
"GO AWAY!! I’M BUSCHY!" The brunette turned his body away as much as he could, keeping his head down, hands balled at his sides. "Ischn’t schomebody waiting for you?" He muttered.
"Yeah, dey ams." Long arms came down over his shoulders, the warmth of a body pressing against his back as Skwisgaar enclosed him in a hug as slowly and delicately as petals closing. Lips brushed the shell of his ear. "Williams… whats you doings to yourselves?" He nudged the arm smeared with blood and long, callous-hardened fingertips slid up the inside of his forearm, looking for a wound.
"Nothin’." Murderface tightened the arm to his side, disallowing the touch. The swede pressed a kiss to his temple. "What about your groupiesch?” He said, a twinge of hurt under the mocking tone.
"Deys nothing specials."
"Scho what doesch that make me?" Murderface grumbled.
"You?" Skwisgaar had his cheek pressed to the side of the bassist’s head, and he felt a grin spread on those wicked lips. "You ams a rare del-licks-ka-sees. And I feels like indulgings…" Murderface’s shoulders came up defensively, so the blonde halted his ministrations for the moment.
"…Why, though?" His voice was barely audible, and the unmistakable smell of iron was fresh in the air again. Skwisgaar could not see his face, but he knew what it meant. "I’m… I’m scho…” William’s shoulders were shaking a little, not with sobs - no, he was vibrating with the intensity of the self-hatred boiling inside him, the guitarist knew. It was almost tangible.
"You ams exactly what I want." He purred, soothingly.
"But I’m scho ugly-”
"Only to d’ems." The swede stroked the snare of brown locks that was their bass player’s glorious mane. "To me, yous gorgeous." That made Murderface turn his head toward Skwisgaar, who gladly swooped in to steal a kiss. Hot, stinking tears cut scarlet paths down his cheeks, and his facepaint was smeared all to hell, but the lead guitarist couldn’t care less.
Skwisgaar lapped the blood off William’s lips, relishing it as the shorter man slowly began to return his kiss. He could get addicted to this taste; Blood, shame, despair, self-loathing… it all mingled on his tongue, he felt like he could breathe it in.
"Th-" Murderface broke the kiss, eyes fluttering open to lock with icy blue ones in complete sincerity. "…Thanksch. For… schaying I’m gorgeousch." Skwisgaar smiled benevolently, gathering the bassist into his arms properly.
"Ofs course." He murmured, resting his head atop Murderface’s. "I appreciates yous beauty… evens if no ones else does."