Chapter Text
Studio lights are too bright for normal people. Sometimes, they are too bright even for a star like Mister Doctor Detonator, who’s used to having spotlights and such things pointed right at his face, on the stage. Nothing on earth could ever outshine the best vocalist the metal scene had ever seen — his long, silky hair, darker than the night; his pale skin and his sculpted body, adorned with some manly body hair; his bangs, perfectly trimmed and styled… And, above everything, there was his voice. His unique, outstanding voice, a pearl among all the rubbish that people with lay ears would call metal. Some would say he had an angelic voice, but they would be answered with a middle finger, since Mister Doctor Detonator is a faithful follower of The Metal God, and angels aren’t very metal.
So, lights aren’t something to bother Detonator. He was a divinity himself, as The Metal God had turned him into one, and He also provided him the ability to endure all the hardship that might come his way in the journey of metal. But these studio lights still are a pain in the ass, and the manful voice echoing in the room, arising from the mouth of this bandmate Metal Avenger, wasn’t doing anything to make it better.
“Actually, Mötley Crüe copied my style. W.A.S.P did it too, at least a bit.” said Metal Avenger, the bassist. His hair was long, bright brown curls falling over his shoulders and framing his face in a nice way. His brown eyes were a nice contrast of Detonator’s blue ones, and his skin was somewhat more tanned too, at least a bit. Metal Avenger smelled like alcohol, sweat and sex, some of the most metal smells someone could have, and it fit him kinda nicely. “Some trash bands like Anthrax also did it.” stated the bassist, a frown of disapproval and disgust in his face.
The podcast host agreed, holding his cigarette and taking a sip of his beer before turning towards Detonator.
“Meanwhile your hair has a completely different style.” said the host, his fingers playing with the almost-just-a-butt that he still saw as a cigarette. “It’s straight, shiny, I like it. The bangs too. It’s a completely different style, ya know?”
Mister Doctor Detonator wasn’t a coward. He was a lot of things (some of them maybe enough to put a man in jail), but he wasn’t a coward. He had endured a lot of jokes about his hair during all his years as the vocalist of Massacration, jokes only people without culture and the bare minimum knowledge about metal could tell, and he always knew a way to turn the tables and honor his hair; afterall, it had been a present from the Metal God, and he wasn’t one to allow lay people badmouth such present.
“This kind of bangs were worn a lot by some female children's program host style in the 80s. Xuxa, Mara Maravilha, Angélica…” stated Detonator, his beautiful voice making all the malice leave the host's eyes and soul. He wasn’t a bad person, just needed some more time to learn about the wonders of metal.
“I had a girlfriend with hair like his.” said Metal Avenger, taking a big sip of his fifth beer.of the night.
Mister Doctor Detonator wasn’t a coward, but there were some… subjects that he would gladly not talk about for the rest of his life. Metal Avenger’s girlfriend was one of them. He could talk about metal and Metal Land; he could sing all his songs, rhapsodize Metal Land’s anthem; he could talk about his own missing cock, that was amputated years ago as a payment for The Metal God for giving him his marvelous voice — but he would rather get his dick cut off again, somehow, than talk about Metal Avenger’s girlfriend.
“Did you?” Asked the host, grinning. “With hair just like his?”
“Exactly the same. She even wore some very tight pants, just like his.”
Detonator arched an eyebrow, glaring at Metal Avenger. That guy was a great bassist (not that Detonator would ever admit that out loud), but man, he was such an asshole. A motherfucker, even. The damned thing happened years ago and he still couldn’t let it sink in the past, as it should. If he wasn’t a really amazing bassist, Detonator would have convinced Metal Land’s council to just banish that fucker after the first time he did this kind of shit.
“Even her ass looked like his, ya know?” Metal Avenger said that with his most average neutral expression, but there was something behind his eyes. Something the host didn’t see, but it was there for Detonator. And it made his stomach turn in a very, very terrible way.
Suddenly, it was gone. The host was laughing and so was Metal Avenger, and the only thing Detonator could do was to stay quiet, trying to not look too uncomfortable.
“Oh, but it wasn’t him. It was my girlfriend.”
“Of course it wasn’t me.”
It was a fine night. Most nights are fine when you’re young, drunk and euphoric, particularly after playing the biggest show you ever did (sometimes “the biggest show you ever did” happens on a seedy bar on the side of the road, but that’s kinda normal for bands at the beginning of their career). With musical instruments covered and on the backs of each of their owners, the five of them were sitting in the most sinister bus stop ever, voices a bit too loud for 3pm. But there were no neighbors to complain about it, and even if there were , it wasn’t one of their major problems right now.
“How the fuck did you guys not checked how much money we had before leaving?” shouted Blondie Hammett, so mad he almost dropped his beer. “Y’all know how fucking hard it is to find fucking one Real bills outside Metal Land? How the fuck we’re supposed to get home now?!”
“That was a lot of fucks.” Said Detonator, his voice slurred.
Detonator had the decency to look a bit ashamed after the look Blondie gave him. Not too much, because Blondie had taught him that it wasn’t very metal to feel ashamed, but he could afford a little bit of shame for being a dumbass and forgetting about the money to pay their tickets back home. The vocalist was a little dizzy — his black hair, not long enough to reach the middle of his back, but definitely below his shoulders, had some split ends badly disguised by the sweat moistening it; his skin was too pale, his limbs not too muscular and without any hair, giving him some twink-ish look that was highly increased by his beautiful, pale eyes. He was a mess, but they were still learning about how to be metal and, if it’s worth something, his bandmates looked even worse than him.
While Detonator was drunk but still could manage to feel a little shame, Headmaster was totally wasted, throwing up behind the bus stop. Jimmy the Hammer seemed to be not so fucked up as Headmaster, but he had smoken something at the bar and looked like he couldn’t here anything except for the sweet sound of the beer can in Hammett’s hand (Jimmy tried to take the can of Blondie’s hand, but got a crooked punch in the nose as a response).
And there was Metal Avenger, with his hair barely reaching his shoulders; his tanned skin, not from the sun, but from the long hours spent in front of a pizza oven in his day job; his dark eyes, a bit blurred with all the alcohol, but still more sober than anyone would expect. Detonator thought it was very metal, to drink one and a half bottles of vodka by himself and be more sober than the drummer who only drank three beers, and drunk as he was, he would’ve said it out loud if it wasn’t for Blondie to start shouting again.
“Now what the fuck are we supposed to do? The bus will come in what, five minutes? How much do we have?”
“...Five minutes?” Jimmy said, but regretted it immediately as Hammett slapped him.
“Moron! How much money do we fucking have?!”
Still throwing up, Headmaster handed one Real to Blondie, but the poor bill was so wet the bus driver would curse them for at least two generations, when he noticed that the hummingbird wasn’t even visible anymore. Jimmy didn’t have a single penny. Detonator had some coins, and they were enough to reach one Real, but the damn bus only accepts paper money. The only ones with the right amount and kind of money were Blondie Hammett and Metal Avenger.
Detonator was drunk. He was seventeen, was young, he was silly, and really, really drunk. He had worked with Metal Avenger for three months, only, but the man looked more metal to him than he could ever be. If someone in that band had in his destiny to become a legend in the history of Metal Land, it was him, with his brown curly hair and his tanned skin and his beautiful lips and–.
“Stop.” the vocalist thought, his eyes fixed on the irregular ground underneath his feet. “Rule number 1: no boiolation* in metal.”
“Well, so you guys get home and tomorrow one of you will come back to bring us some money.” Said Headmaster, when he finally stopped vomiting. “There’s another bus at 8, I think? Not sure tho.”
“You have the money to go home.” Blondie said.
“Probably will throw up in the bus if I go with y’all. Jimmy can g-”
“Detonator will go with us, great!” Metal Avenger said, covering Jimmy’s mouth with his hand and smiling to Headmaster. “Thanks man, you’re such a fucking cool guy. Really nice to have you in the band.”
Before Jimmy could start a fight with Metal Avenger, the bus to Metal Land arrived at the bus stop, and the three chosen ones got in. Blondie Hammett was too tired, and just as he reached his seat at the front of the bus, the guy fell into sleep, snoring really fucking loud. Detonator and Metal Avenger, wishing to avoid listening the guitarist snores during the whole trip, sat at the back of the bus, looking for some time at all the empty seats there — the only seats taken where their own and Hammett’s and, if they had asked with just a little bit of kindness, the bus driver would have given a ride to their bandmates for free. But kindness wasn’t very metal, so the others could wait till morning.
They had been quiet for quite a time before Detonator felt a discreet hand running up his thigh. His leather skinny pants were starting to feel kinda uncomfortable only with the long period of use and sweat underneath the fabric, but as the hand rose and started rubbing his cock, he felt like his pants were shrinking, tightening him more and more.
“I like your hair.” Said Metal Avenger, and his manly voice had a sweet touch in his speech. Somehow, it sounded even more metal in him than his normal voice could ever. “You should try some bangs, in the future. Must fit you nicely.”
“...Thanks. I will.” Was what Detonator said, feeling a little too overwhelmed to formulate something better to say. Metal Avenger’s hand was steady and warm, almost comforting, if it can make any sense.
“My place or yours?” Was all Metal Avenger had to ask, his nose brushing against the vocalist’s cheek.
“Mine.”
Detonator had beautiful blue eyes, the kind of eyes some mad scientist would love to rip out and keep in a beautiful, well kept jar, to relish the view anytime. The kind of eyes Metal Avenger could keep looking the whole night, the whole week, well, his whole life, if he was allowed. But he knew he wasn’t — Detonator had already talked with everyone about making his sacrifice to the Metal God, to finally achieve the most metal voice any living being could even achieve. The price to pay for it, however, wasn’t cheap: his dick, from glans to base, leaving behind just his balls.
Detonator was young. He wasn’t a virgin, of course (because in the 80s, saying you're a virgin in the metal scene is asking to be taken as a joke for the rest of your life, and lying a little can't hurt anyone), but he didn’t have a big body count, so as not to run the risk of falling in love with someone who couldn’t understand why would a guy give his own dick as a sacrifice to the Metal God. Still, here he was, back on the mattress, all naked and spread to Metal Avenger’s will.
Metal Avenger, whose hands were so sweet and gentle, yet so warm and strong. Metal Avenger, who still looked extremely metal as he kissed, sucked, and bit every piece of skin he could. Metal Avenger, the only one who can understand that, even if Detonator isn’t just as metal as him right now, he will grow stronger, and better, and after his sacrifice, everything will be fine. Because Detonator can see himself at Metal Avengers eyes, and he can see all the love there, all the happiness masked by his serious metal expression.
They fuck, they kiss, and they sleep, holding each other and they don’t give a fuck about anything in the world expect themselves.
It’s morning, and Detonator wakes up alone, and his bed is colder than ever.
“Oh, but it wasn’t him. It was my girlfriend. But I liked her so much. She was hot.”
The host laughed. Detonator kept his serious face, wishing he could somehow shove all his memories in a little box and throw the box somewhere he could never find it again. He likes to think he would be able to do it, if Metal Avenger just did the same. But the man keeps talking about that night, and the look he gives Detonator everytime makes a turmoil out of him.
Detonator was old, he was sober, and he wasn’t stupid: his mind knew that it had been just a one-night stand. Such a shame his heart didn’t believe it.