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They’re one song short.
They’re one song short and the album deadline is coming closer and closer. Charles can’t negotiate another deadline for them. They’re one song short and they’re fucked. Thank god their new producer managed to salvage some of the songs Nathan deleted. However, no salvaging of deleted songs could create the last song they needed. Despite them working their asses off (more than the usual slacking off and doing nothing), they’re still one song short.
But luckily, they had a week, and really, how hard could one song be?
Well.
“I’m going to kill someone. I’ll do it. I don’t care.”
Not well.
“Pickles I don’t think killing someone will get the lyrics finished any faster.”
“Wanna fucking bet?”
Nathan and Pickles were currently in Nathan’s room trying to write something, anything, to get a recording of the last song they needed in less than a week. They could wing the instrumentals for the song easy (Skwisgaar insists on rerecording Murderface and Toki’s parts anyways) but, the problem was they had no lyrics. Nathan had been struggling to think of a new idea that were brutal enough for the album, so Pickles decided to help him write a song. ‘Like the good old days!’, Nathan remembers him saying two hours ago, ‘You got a musical prodigy helping you, we’ll get done in no time flat!’ Said musical prodigy was groaning into one of Nathan’s pillow whispering curse words under his breath.
“This shit sucks. I fucking hate it. Fuck this. Fuck you.”
“Hm. Musical prodigy huh.”
Pickles lifts himself up from the bed and glares at Nathan, “Hey! I am! Give me a pair of drumsticks or guitar and I can play circles around you.”
“I know babe. But, uh, we’re supposed to be writing a song, right?”
“Don’t fucking remind me.”
Pickles flops back face first onto the bed with a groan. Nathan ignores him and looks at his notebook. He’s got a lot of ideas. Blood raining from the sky, hell opening up and consuming them all, stuff about the ocean (he’s been on an ocean kick as of late) and a whole buttload of brutal ideas, or at least Nathan thought they all were. Still, no matter how many times he writes about guts falling out of a person, no actual lyrics start to come out. Stupid brain, it never works when he wants it to. Nathan taps his pen against the paper, humming to one of the songs they’ve already worked on, then sighs.
“Look. Uh, Maybe….a song about guts? Like. Guts raining down and drowning you in blood. Something like that?“
“We have three songs about guts already,” Pickles rolls over onto his back and makes a face, “Besides, I don’t think I can stomach any more lyrics about a dude’s spleen or something like that.”
“Right, that is kinda gnarly, uh,” Nathan flips through his notepad, “A blood ocean? Gallons of blood, and there’s like. Sharks and shit in there.”
“We had a whole album about the water Nate.”
“So? Underwater is brutal as fuck.”
“It is but I don’t think the record label wants another ocean track y’know?”
Nathan huffs. Well he thought the ocean was brutal. Stupid record company didn’t know real death metal if it fucking hit them in the face and made them billions of dollars. Granted Nathan has done those things to his record label, but still, the point still stands.
“How the fuck can we not think of one more song?”
“We got a good ol’ fashioned case of burnout my friend,” Nathan looks up from his notepad and sees Pickles drinking, “Happens to all the greats y’know?”
“Where did you get that bottle from.”
“From my ass-look it doesn’t matter where I got the bottle from, focus! I’m just saying we’re going through some burnout after making a full album-“
“Almost a full album.”
“Whatever! Let me finish! The point is,” Pickles takes a swig before responding, “It’s natural to feel in a rut after the work we put in. We gotta let it come naturally. No matter how painful it is.”
Pickles always knows what to say at the right time to calm Nathan’s nerves. That best friend, well boyfriend, bond really connected them on a different level that the rest of the band never seemed to get. If that wasn’t good already, Pickles always knows what Nathan was trying to say even if he wasn’t saying it. Which was good. Nathan hates it when he stumbles over his words. Stupid autistic brain.
“You’re really smart.”
“Aw babe, don’t make me blush.”
“I’m serious you’re always good with the dumb shit.”
“Comes with the territory of being a dumbass!”
Nathan shifts up from his position on the bed to lay next to Pickles. As he leans against the headboard of the bed, Pickles leans against his shoulder. Nathan smiles and then looks down at his notebook.
“I still think this needs to get done, or uh, Charles might kill us. For real this time.”
“Nah, Charlie won’t do that. Maybe. Probably.”
“Probably?”
Pickles shrugs, “Dudes good with a sword. Anyway, we can get it done Nathan, don’t worry.”
Pickles pauses for a second, loos up at Nathan, and then smiles.
“Since we’re stuck,” Pickles cocks a pierced eyebrow up, “Can we-“
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“You’re going to say some shit like ‘oh how about I sit on your face to help with inspiration’. I am not eating you out to write this stupid song.”
“Homophobe.”
Nathan smacks him.
“Ow!”
“You deserve it. Anyway, you have any song ideas,” Nathan pauses before he adds, “That don’t involve us having sex.”
“Well now you’re just putting a wrench in all my plans,” Pickles sighs, “Have we bragged about how rich we are?”
“I mean, yeah, but uh, is that metal enough?”
“Maybe. Bragging about how much better we are than everyone else usually gets some people pissed off. Nothing more metal than pissing a couple douchebags off.”
That was true. Nathan loved to brag to douchebags how much better he was than him. If only those assholes in high school could see him now. Sure, inflated ego was bad, but sue him (you can’t) he’s the most famous death metal singer. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted with his money.
Wait. Hold on.
“Hm. I think I have an idea.”
“Lay it on me big guy.”
“What’s the most like, unnecessary purchase we’ve made recently.”
“Nathan that’s everything we’ve bought.”
“No! Think. We bought that thing recently.”
Pickles looks at his beer bottle, struggling to think. He drinks the last of it and the throws the empty bottle against the floor.
“Fuck I don’t know. I’m shit at guessing! Don’t bully a poor man and his ADHD!”
Nathan rolls his eyes.
“I’m talking about the Hatredcopter.”
Recently, Nathan and Pickles wanted to waste money as usual, and that led them to getting a helicopter. The helicopter was all fitted out with a fuck ton of weapons and was decorated to fit the Dethklok look. They named it the Hatredcopter, and sure they’ve almost crashed it a few times (which might have been the reason why their manager almost had a heart attack), and yeah one of those times they might have been doing it, but hey. It was their money they wasted; Nathan could blast his cum all over it if he damn well wants too.
“Oh? You wanna make a song about our sick fucking helicopter?”
“Yeah. Killing people with it. Shit like that.”
Pickles looks at Nathan for a second before letting out a laugh.
“Man, it’s just that easy huh? Alright, get your notebook ready,” Pickles sits up from Nathan’s shoulder, “I’m about to make some lyrical magic.”
And make some lyrical magic they do. For the next hour and a half, the two put their heads together to write a pretty brutal song. It sounds good. Pickles is already thinking of the drum part while Nathan reads over the lyrics. He squints at the lyrics thoughtfully.
There’s something missing.
“There’s something missing.”
“Aw no are you gonna say it’s not good enough again? We can’t dele-“
“No. It’s fine it’s just,” Nathan sighs as he stares at the lyrics he’s written, “Doesn’t feel finished.”
“What do you mean?”
Nathan shrugs. Don’t get him wrong the song sounds good. Brutal enough for the Dethklok’s image but it’s still missing that special something.
What could it be?
“Hmmmm.”
He looks at Pickles. Pickles looks concerned, probably afraid he was going to destroy another song again. Nathan then looks back at the lyrics. Then back at Pickles. Back at the lyrics.
Then it hits him.
“What if you sang on the track?”
“Who me? Nah, I’m all outta practice.”
“I hear you sing constantly.”
“Yeah but that’s different,” Pickles is red now, “Besides! I don’t think I can match your vocals dude. I’m too rock n roll you know?”
“I think you would sound nice.”
Pickles turns redder.
“W-well! Whatever! Fuck you!”
Nathan puts his notebook down and grabs Pickles’ hand.
“Pickles.”
“Yeah? What’s uh, going on?”
“We wrote this song together. I want you to sing it with me.”
“But! We’ve written like tons of songs together! What is so different about this?”
Nathan stops for a second. Why does he want Pickles to sing with him. He gathers his thoughts, takes a deep breath, and says the cheesy thing he’s ever thought of:
“Well. We weren’t a couple back then. I just want a song for us. Like uh, you know. Love song.”
A love song about killing people with their money but, it was perfect for two dark-filled souls like them. Pickles doesn’t reply to what is essentially Nathan’s love confession and shifts over onto Nathan’s lap. He holds Nathan’s face while Nathan hold on to Pickles’ hips.
“Nathan,” Pickles smiles, “That’s uh. Really gay.”
“I know.”
“But I love it.”
Then, in an instant, they’re kissing. Pickles moves against Nathan and Nathan pushes back very softly. Pickles’ lips are chapped but they still feel so soft against Nathan’s. He’s also grown used to the goatee that his boyfriend wears. It feels right to feel that itchy thing when he kisses his lover. The two eventually pull apart and Nathan smiles, eyes full of love. Pickles smiles back.
“So uh,” Pickles is blushing again, it’s really cute Nathan decides, “I’ll sing with you. But uh, can we record that together? Alone?”
‘Yeah,” Nathan pulls Pickles against his chest for a tight bear hug, “Anything you want babe.”
“Augh! You’re so sweet! Stop it!”
Pickles hits Nathan’s shoulder with a laugh. Nathan kisses Pickles’ neck in response.
“Hey! Don’t catch me off guard!”
“But it’s cute.”
Pickles rolls his eyes, still blushing, “Anyway, we’re done right? Cause I’m hungry as hell and I need to take a wicked piss, so unless you want piss on you, let me go.”
Nathan lets Pickles go, and he makes a beeline for the bathroom. Now alone with his thoughts, he looks down at the song they wrote. Their song.
Maybe their love language was a little more violent, but to Nathan that didn’t matter. To share this life with some as dark and brutal as him? He wouldn’t have it any other way.