Work Text:
1985, Stanford University
Charles Offdensen had never really thought about what he wanted to do with his life.
Born into a family of successful lawyers, Charles had grown up assuming he would become one as well, following in the footsteps of his mother, father, and two older brothers. But it wasn't as if it was expected out of him-- in fact, his mother had always noted how gifted he was at piano, and his father had praised him for being a fencing prodigy. The two of them made sure that, regardless of whatever career path Charles chose, they'd support his decision.
With a 12-year streak of straight A's and perfect attendance under his belt, there were no doors closed to Charles, no shortage of colleges ready to accept him. The problem was, Charles didn’t have a preference or a plan. The only thing he really enjoyed was fencing, but even that wasn’t something he wanted to make a career out of. His problem was too many choices, and when it came down to it, Charles just decided to pick his parents’ alma mater, where his two older brothers were approaching their own final semester.
Even after picking a college, there were still so many decisions to make. Did he want to work for himself or join an already established company of lawyers? Did he plan to defend the general public or would it be preferable to sit on a corporate council? There was a lot to think about. Fortunately, he’d never had much of a social life to worry about or work around. Part of him hoped that maybe college would change things. Maybe he’d find a friend group he could actually tolerate, or a social outing he wasn’t miserable at.
It was nice to imagine, but Charles knew better than to assume. He knew everything would fall into place in time anyway, as it always did. For the moment, he was young and smart enough to be able to dabble here and there without making any sort of commitments. As every other adult kept telling him, he was young and his whole life was still ahead of him!
It made not having any friends easier, and as far as lovers went, Charles had never found himself really interested in anyone. His studies kept him busy, fencing kept him occupied, and puberty hadn’t exactly turned him into the raging sex machine that his older brothers were. To them, life was about getting pussy as often as possible. To Charles, well… He could do without all the lipstick and hairspray and high heels girls paraded themselves in. It just wasn’t for him.
Billy and Teddy could have all the girls, as far as he was concerned.
The night that changed, Charles was barely into his first semester at Stanford. Finished with his government paper for Mr. Pierson’s class, he’d decided to take it to his brother Tommy to have it looked over before it was inevitably turned in on Monday morning. It was a Friday night and Charles wasn’t surprised to see that his brothers’ dormitory was throwing another party. Their fraternity threw one every weekend it seemed, but Charles had never actually attended one before.
Three stories up, and Charles found his big brothers engrossed in a tense game of Beer Pong where apparently each point not only meant the loser took a drink, but also took off a piece of clothing. He'd seen his brothers half dressed before, had seen many people half and fully undressed in fact, but this was his first experience at a college party seeing topless girls strut around in thongs and men in boxer shorts spilling beer all over themselves. Sure, he'd seen Animal House just like every other red-blooded American teenage boy, but he figured that kind of thing only happened in movies.
It had stopped him in his tracks, seeing so much bare flesh in front of him, girls and boys alike grinding against each other while Zazz Blammymatazz blasted from an open doorway. Even his brothers, both in their boxer shorts and flushed red from alcohol, had girls in their undies clinging to their sides, cheering and howling as the ping pong ball was swatted back and forth with paddles. Charles couldn't stop staring at all the jiggling breasts spilling out of bras, and the baseball player bubble butts men proudly displayed in their tighty-whiteys. It was a visual smorgasbord of young hot bodies glistening with sweat and reeking of beer. It made the hair on the back of Charles' neck stand up, made his stomach do flips underneath his suddenly too-tight button-up dress shirt. Compared to every other person there, he was severely overdressed.
Billy finally noticed his little brother and barked a laugh, elbowing Tommy in the side. "Hey look who's here, it's Momma's Boy!"
Tommy squinted drunkenly in Charles' direction and waved. "'Sup bro! Be done in a minute. Grab a beer ‘n’ take a seat."
Inwardly sighing, Charles decided that maybe one drink wouldn't be so bad. After all, the party was certainly more entertaining than his quiet dorm room two buildings down. The problem was, Charles didn't know anyone there besides his brothers. He'd seen a few of the people around campus before, but only briefly in passing, and had never spoken a word to any of them. But didn't they say that alcohol was a social lubricant? He figured finding the keg should be his first priority.
Dodging drunk guys and trying very hard not to stare at any bared breasts, Charles navigated towards the keg, which ended up being dry anyway. Looking around for another keg or maybe a cooler, his eyes settled on a group of kids on a sectional seated in front of a table with shot glasses on it. Some were full, some empty, and some were knocked over.
On the couch sat two young boys, flanked on each side by a gaggle of cooing girls. One of them had long, dirty black hair and a tight fitting black shirt with the arms cut off. The other kid had long hair too, blonde with ice blue eyes to match, and a sleeveless v-neck. In his lap was an electric guitar, unplugged, that he strummed while girls tittered and groped his arms. It seemed like they were all distracted enough to not mind if Charles came over and swiped a glass or two.
Approaching the table, Charles heard the black-haired kid say, "Yeah, we're gonna be huge fuckin' rockstars. We're gonna make Zazz Blammymatazz look like pussies. My friend here Skwis, is the best guitar player in the fuckin' world ."
Charles snorted quietly at the blatant self-assurance, searching around the table for beer but only finding shot glasses and bottles of hard liquor. On the floor between the couch and table, another kid lay passed out drunk, all of his clothes gone except for his own pair of white briefs that looked piss stained even in the dark lighting.
"Is he gonna be OK?" Charles asked loud enough to be heard, and the black-haired kid looked first up at him, then at the boy on the floor.
"Who, Willy here?" the kid asked, nudging a steel-toed black combat boot into the sleeping kid's arm. "Yeah, he'll be fine. Just watch your step, I think he pissed himself"
With a surprised, uncomfortable laugh, Charles responded "Noted, thanks."
The kids couldn't have been 15, and though they obviously were the youngest ones at the party, Charles felt drawn to them somehow. Probably in the same way that all the girls mooning at them felt drawn. They had a charisma beyond their years, a charm that Charles believed actually could carry them into some sort of rock stardom.
Or maybe it was just the fact that Charles had never met anyone in a band before. Maybe these kids were nothing special. But something told him they were, especially the black-haired one… He was big, obviously worked out, and had bright green eyes that seemed to sparkle in the dim light of the party.
"Yous gonna stares all nights or sits down?" The blonde asked, and Charles realized he'd been staring for an inappropriate amount of time.
Charles felt his face turn crimson immediately. "No, sorry, I was- I was looking for something to drink. Do you mind if I...?"
Not waiting for an answer, Charles grabbed one of the full shot glasses and sat on an unoccupied end of the sectional. He threw back the shot without thinking and instantly regretted it as the taste of black licorice overwhelmed his taste buds in a fiery path down the back of his throat. Doing his best to keep a stone face so as not to betray and embarrass himself, Charles held the liquor down and put his glass with the other empty ones. He decided he hated whatever the hell that had been– the taste and smell both.
The kid with black hair gave Charles a slightly amused look and pulled a flask out from between the couch cushions. He took a swig and passed it to the redheaded girl to his right, whose long, pale leg was thrown over his. "You want some? It's Jack. Better'n that nasty shit," he said, pointing at the shot glasses on the table. "Fuck Jager." To his left, the blonde kid stopped strumming his guitar long enough to reach forward and grab one of the full shot glasses.
"Yous ams a pussy, Nathan. Jager is for reals mens, that's whys yous don't likes it." The guitarist said with a smirk, downing the dark liquid easily before going back to his guitar and the girls fawning over him.
Nathan rolled his eyes. "Fuck you, Skwisgaar. I've got more hair on my balls than you and you know it. How's that for bein’ a real man."
Charles cleared his throat, trying to ignore the lingering burn from his shot. His chest felt very warm, and his cheeks did too. "I'm Charles. You two go to school here? I haven't seen you before." The flask passed down between two young women before arriving at him, and Charles, not wanting to seem like a square, took a quick swig. It wasn't as awful as the shot had been, but it was still pretty bad. He stood up and leaned over to give the flask back to the kid– Nathan , he corrected himself, before plopping back down.
"Nah. Fuck that. College, I mean." Nathan said in dismissal, and took another pull from the flask before replacing the top and stuffing it back between the couch cushions. Charles briefly wondered how many mouths had been on that thing, and made a mental note to brush his teeth extra well before bed that night.
Nathan continued, "I'm not going to spend a bunch of money on some bullshit classes to be some big-shot wage-slave businessman. Sounds boring. I'm just here for the booze and the bitches." He grinned broadly at this, and put his arm around the drunk redhead beside him who in turn pressed herself closer to Nathan. She looked several years older than the kid, but still no older than Charles himself. "We're in a band, me and Skwis and Willy there. And our other friend Pickles. He's in Juvie right now, but as soon as he gets out, we're putting on our first show."
Despite the fact that Charles didn't agree with Nathan's stance on college, he found Nathan's cocksure attitude worthy of admiration. These kids seemed like greasy metalhead delinquents, the kind of boys his mother warned him to stay away from as a kid. Charles was in his first of seven years of schooling to do something he wasn't even sure he wanted to do. But these long-haired, starry-eyed boys with black nail polish and girls on their arms, they knew what they wanted. They were going to be rockstars and that was that. It was impressive to Charles, who found his own indecisiveness a little embarrassing.
Beside Nathan, the redhead squirmed against him and whispered something into his ear that made his green eyes narrow and sparkle. Nathan growled and kissed her hard, and the two continued to make out like the horny teens they were.
Charles felt his face go hotter and he looked away, pushing his glasses further up from where they'd slid down his nose. He began to people-watch, trying to ignore the heavy petting going on just a few feet away from him on the other end of the sectional. After a moment, a weight settled against his side and a glass of Jager was held up in front of his face by one of the girls who'd previously been vying for Nathan's attention. Her pink glitter fingernails sparkled in the light and when Charles looked at her, her matching pink lips parted to show a mouth full of braces. A glance behind her showed that Nathan had started slipping his hand between the redhead's thighs and up her skirt, the two obviously not caring that they were in a room full of people at a public party. Charles swallowed and looked back to the girl in front of him who was batting her dark painted lashes at him.
"T-thanks," he mumbled, and took the shot. He could smell the black licorice before he even put it to his mouth. Screwing his eyes shut, he threw the shot back with a visible wince. The girl beside him giggled, took the empty glass from him, and slid in closer, putting her hand on his thigh. Charles felt hot all over, feverish, smothered by the sudden scent of perfume like cotton candy wafting off of the girl, and he couldn't seem to find the words to tell her no as she put her mouth to his neck and began kissing it.
While the girl's Madonna crimped hair and large black hair bow blocked most of his vision, Charles could still see enough over her teased hair to get a good view of Nathan with his face in the redhead's breasts. Beside Nathan, Skwisgaar was still fingering his fret while two different girls tried to vie for his attention, one with her hand down his v-neck and the other with her hand at Skwisgaar's belt buckle. Charles tho, couldn't stop watching Nathan for some reason. Lips nibbled gently at his own collar, but he couldn't tear himself away from the sight of Nathan laving his wet, flat tongue over a heaving breast. It made Charles feel dizzy to watch, made his mouth water and his pants feel tight.
In his 18 years, Charles had never really felt enticed by sex. He knew he was a bit of a late bloomer, but never thought too much about it. But here and now, as delicate fingers fumbled at the buttons of his dress shirt, Charles began to think maybe he'd been missing out. Maybe there was something to the wild hormonal urges he'd learned about from his older brothers and the R-rated movies they watched.
A heavy hand clapped down suddenly on Charles' shoulder and he looked up to see Billy towering over him from behind the couch, a sloppy grin on his face. "Hey Chucky. Tryna' get some? That’s gross, dude." The girl who'd been necking Charles pulled away and scowled at Billy for interrupting her.
Billy smirked. "Scram, slut." And she did, smoothing down her mini skirt and disappearing into the throng of partygoers. Billy hopped over the couch and sat down, throwing his arm around Charles. "Don't worry about her bro, she probably has herpes. Anyway, what did you want? Why're you here? This is a big boy's party. Unless you have tits, which you don’t."
A little tipsy at this point after two shots of Jager and a swig of Jack, Charles huffed and nodded in the direction of Nathan and Skwisgaar. " They're younger than I am, and they were allowed in. I wanted to ask you and Tommy to look at my project for class on Monday."
But Billy had stopped paying attention almost immediately, zeroing in on the boys in question. His jaw clenched and he stood to his full 6'3" height, hands on bare hips as he was still undressed to his boxers. "Hey you faggots, you long-haired freaks. Get the fuck outta here. This ain't a babysitter's club!"
Raising his head from where he'd had his face buried in a beautiful pair of tits, Nathan looked up at Billy and growled, his face flushed with alcohol and arousal. "The fuck you say t’me?"
Charles had always thought his brothers were assholes, but he'd never seen them in a social setting like this. It was embarrassing to watch as Billy barked at the boys to get out, and even more so when Billy made a grab for Skwisgaar's guitar. But before Charles could get up and tell Billy to knock it off, the situation sharply escalated.
In a flash, Nathan shrugged off the girl he'd been fondling and jumped at Billy, throwing a punch so hard it could be heard over the sound of Dr. Rockzo crooning about cocaine. Unfortunately for young Nathan, Billy was a good foot taller than him, and built like a brick shithouse to boot. The punch landed with plenty of force and accuracy, but it might as well have been a mosquito bite for all the effect it had.
The girls on the sectional immediately started squealing and fled. Setting his guitar aside after making sure Billy hadn’t molested it too badly, Skwisgaar then hopped up to throw his own punch. But it was caught by Tommy, who'd rushed over to assist his twin brother.
Nathan threw another punch that missed, grazed Billy's jaw, and Charles finally found the wherewithal to stand up and shout, " NO ! CUT IT OUT!" before stupidly throwing himself in the middle of the brawl. Whether it was to defend both his brothers or the kids he was guilty of drawing attention to, Charles didn’t know. " BILLY STO– OOF!!”
A fist flew into Charles' stomach and it was lights out, quick as it had all begun.
---
Later, the first thing Charles felt was the prickly tickle of grass beneath his fingers. Consciousness floated in like a slow fog, and he realized he was lying on the ground with an unfamiliar hardness under his head, not quite hard as the ground but not nearly soft enough to be a pillow. His lips parted in a groan and his hand went to his brow as he attempted to pull himself up into a sitting position.
“Hey man, slow. Got the wind knocked outta you.” came a low growl from behind him, and Charles looked back to see that it had been Nathan’s lap his head was resting on. A smirk curled thin lips framed by long tendrils of black, unwashed hair.
Charles noticed the thin line of kohl smudged around both of Nathan’s green eyes, and he grunted in acknowledgement like a dumb caveman before tearing his gaze away. "You punched me?" he croaked, words slurred by alcohol and grogginess. He didn't often drink, and the liquor had been a bit too strong in retrospect.
"Yeah bud. Sorry. But that was a while ago. No use being mad about it now.” Nathan reasoned naturally, taking the flask out and uncapping it. “You were out for a hot minute. Here, have a drink. You’ll feel better."
The flask pressed against Charles' arm and he waved it away with another groan. "Nah. No thanks. Had enough."
It was just them two on the lawn in front of the dormitory building, and from above, the sound of the party floated out onto the balcony three stories up, obviously still in full swing despite the fight earlier. The front door opened and a girl with a short skirt and bare feet strolled out on unsteady legs, carrying her heels by the straps and sniffling loudly. Beside him, Nathan whistled and tried to peek under the girl’s skirt. She flipped them off and kept walking as Charles shook his head and chuckled.
"Where's your friend?" Charles asked, his voice groggy. A brief search and he found his glasses nearby, bent horribly out of shape. His spare pair was in his own dorm room, two buildings down. "And your uh... girlfriend?"
Nathan flicked open a zippo and lit a cigarette that was also bent out of shape but still intact enough to smoke. "Skwisgaar is somewhere knee deep in pussy," he stated, taking a slow drag. "And the girl? Fuck if I know. Wasn't my girlfriend. Don't even know her fuckin' name."
Charles watched intently as Nathan's cheeks hollowed on a deep inhale, accentuating his high cheekbones and sharp jawline. Nathan's eyes flicked to his and he opened his mouth, blowing the smoke out in a perfect ring. He smiled and offered the cigarette to Charles, who'd never smoked before in his life but the idea of putting his mouth to the filter where Nathan's had just been was too enticing to pass up.
The paper was ever so slightly damp from Nathan's saliva and Charles closed his eyes and inhaled, enjoying the feeling, thinking of it as a sort of indirect kiss. Of course, never having smoked before, Charles inhaled too deeply and coughed the cigarette out of his mouth where it broke in two on impact with the hard, dead grass. He coughed wildly and apologized, feeling his lungs seize up and his eyes water.
"You fuckin' mongoloid," Nathan huffed, picking the cigarette up and trying to mash it back together. It was futile. The cherry fell after a moment and Nathan sighed, tossing the two pieces away into a bush. "You owe me a cigarette, Charles."
Wiping tears from his watering eyes, Charles coughed once more into his hand and nodded. "Yeah, sure. Definitely."
They were silent for a moment, the only sound other than the music upstairs being the crickets in bushes and Charles' heart beating a little fast in his chest. He realized he'd been staring too long again at Nathan's face, but instead of outright looking away, he let his gaze drop down to take in the sight of Nathan's muscled arms, the clear lines outlining large biceps and the light freckles dusting his tanned skin. The shirt Nathan wore was frayed at the seams, the words Iron Maiden faded across the front, and a glance down further showed that it rode up just enough for Charles to see a navel with a line of dark hair disappearing into the top of jeans that rode low on well-defined hips.
"Hey buddy, I don't swing that way. Eyes up here," Nathan declared, but there was no animosity in it, the words coming out more like a friendly cuff than a scolding. When Charles' eyes snapped back up to meet Nathan's, the kid grinned broader than ever. "I know I'm fuckin' hot. Don't worry, I take it as a compliment. When I'm famous, I'll need all the groupies I can get. Dudes, chicks, whatever."
The hot blush on Charles’ cheeks spread to his ears and neck, and he looked away with a nervous laugh before getting on his feet and dusting the dirt off his jeans. "When you're famous enough to have groupies, send me a flier. Maybe I'll take time out of my busy lawyer schedule to give you guys a listen."
Nathan raised his eyebrows and uncapped his flask again. "Lawyer, huh? Shoulda known. You look like it. Hmm." He downed the last of what was left in his flask and stood up as well, stretching his arms and legs. "Keep studyin', nerd. When Pickles gets outta Juvie, I'm gonna come find you and you're gonna come to our first show. Maybe if you're good at lawyerin' you can rep us and get us signed."
Unsure if it was a joke or not, Charles nodded in thought. A confident smile suddenly tugged at the corner of his mouth and he joked, "You'd have to be good enough to afford me."
"Damn!" Nathan laughed, and stepped closer to Charles. "Oh I'm good, don't you worry. Real fuckin' good." He purred and slapped Charles' ass hard enough to get a yelp out of the older boy before stepping off the curb and pulling a set of keys out of his pocket.
Charles watched as Nathan approached a large black, beat-up rust bucket of a van at the curb, heading towards the passenger side. He opened the door, leaned in to rummage around in the glove box for a moment, and finally stepped back out to present Charles with a crumpled piece of paper with a phone number written on it. "Call me some time. This obviously wasn’t your scene. I’d love to get you somewhere more comfortable.”
Charles felt his heart pound a little harder as Nathan came closer and pushed the crumpled paper against his chest with a painted forefinger. He grabbed the proffered paper and watched in charmed silence as Nathan trotted off to the van, this time on the driver's side.
Quickly, a thought came to Charles. He called out, "Hey! Wait a minute! What's your band name!?"
With all the flair of a front man on stage ready to perform, Nathan threw up devil horns and howled,
"MOTHERFUCKIN' DETHKLOK BABY !"
Charles Offdensen finally knew without a doubt what he wanted to do with his life.
He wanted to be Dethklok's manager.