Rating: T

Characters/Pairing: Nathan/Charles

Warnings: Language, blood

Disclaimer: Yes, I don't own Metalocalypse, much to the relief of the world at large.

It's not the first time Nathan's fallen asleep in Charles' chair, waiting for his manager to get back from who the hell knows where. But it's the first time he' seen him before the usual cleanup. The desktop is littered with bottles and food wrappers. He knows that'll piss Charlie off a bit, but he deserves it, because it's two in the morning and he's tired, and so God... damn... angry... that someone can make him feel this bad. He should be out celebrating with the band.

The doors swing open, and a dark figure storms in, surrounded by a task force of hooded men. The Elite Guard. His right hand men. The Originals. The blood seems to still be dripping off their black uniforms, mixing with the puddles of rainwater forming on the expensive carpet. Ofdensen's not wearing his glasses tonight, and he hasn't bothered to conceal the scar running down his cheek. He's no less filthy than his soldiers, perhaps even more so. A long, black coat hangs about his shoulders, making him look larger, and he sharply orders the Klokateers out. He's still wearing that crimson tie though; it reminds Nathan of the bells people put on cats, and how they always learn to stalk silently. There's no slightly nervous, awkward look. No umming or ahhing. Tonight he's a robot. No, worse than that, the singer decides, because a robot doesn't enjoy its work. He's all for brutal, for metal, for gore, for madness, Hell, he doesn't even care that much when it happens to him but this... It's not metal. It's not brutal.

His life is dysfunctional. He understands that. But it's when the figure stalks towards him, blood still spattered across his cheek, lips twisted in a predatory smile, that Nathan begins to feel, for perhaps the first time that he's out of his depth. Come morning, he'll wake up with Charlie curled up against his chest, a man who gets excited about profit margins and has the patience of a saint, and he'll make everything alright again. But tonight, he's looking a bloodstained Ofdensen straight in the eye and wondering what he's gotten himself in to. He drains the bottle in one go; hoping he won't remember this come morning.

Author's Note: I wrote this one for Nathan/Charles Month over at BrutalBusiness, and oh what a month it was. A bit more a darker flavour than my usual work, but stories where Nathan's not the alpha male fascinate me. Reviews make me dance a merry jig.