Chapter Text
“Oh, there you are.” Said Wolfgang.
Nathan glanced at him silently, before returning his gaze to the mirror.
A towel tied at his waist and steam fogging the full-length mirror told Wolfgang he’d just stepped out of the shower. Considering the water on the floor beneath him, he had been standing in his bedroom for god knows how long, staring at his reflection with his usual resting bitch face.
It was times like this that Wolfgang wished he could read minds. It would make his job a lot easier.
He knew going in that the position of Charles’ assistant would have…unique challenges. The band’s public eccentricities were pretty much the only thing worth tuning in to the news for. He’d applied half as a joke when the position came up, expecting someone with more experience to easily get the job over him.
“You’re hired.” Charles had said, barely three sentences into their interview.
“Wh— Really?” Wolfgang had responded.
“Sure. You’re eager, have a sturdy build, and you seem friendly enough. Tell me, do you have any close family or friends that might miss you if you were gone?”
That had been when Wolfgang realized he might be a bit out of his league.
He was a little over two months in now, and his hunch had been thoroughly proven correct. This job probably would have killed someone weirder than Wolfgang by now, but luckily, he knew how to take a hit or two - literal, and metaphorical. He went through the brutal Klokateer training week before the position was official - made especially hard by the hostility he endured when the other recruits learned which position he was training for - which concluded with a gnarly brand on the back of his neck that he was grateful his hair covered up. Charles had given him the speech he’d clearly had plenty of practice repeating; all of his personal assistants had died horribly, each more brutal than the last. Wolfgang took his chances. Now, if he wasn’t defending the band in hand to hand combat against goons he still wasn’t clear about the affiliation of, he was going to the “good bodega” twenty miles away at 4 am because Toki was craving yogurt covered pretzels. It was kind of like babysitting, if the babies in question were adult men who could throw temper tantrums and punches with equal force.
It wasn’t an awful gig. Most of the time, just hearing the band members' conversations was payment enough - admittedly, the hefty salary helped too. Sure, life-or-death situations were a little more frequent than your average 9 to 5, but that had to be expected when working for the world’s biggest metal band. Getting to know the band members personally was something most people would kill to do, even if they treated him more like a butler than the manager’s assistant.
Seeing Nathan alone was a treat, though. It wasn’t that Wolfgang didn’t like the others, in their weird ways. Nathan was definitely not the most outwardly polite (that crown would go to Toki), nor was he the one that went the most out of their way to talk to him (this was probably Murderface, mostly just to be a dick), nor did he demand the least of an assistant (none of them deserved that title, but if it had to be given, Skwisgaar probably would claim the prize out of pure snobbishness). It was…something else. Something Wolfgang had decided to put back on the shelf for the sake of professionalism.
And yet, seeing him alone now, Wolfgang couldn’t help but linger. He’d come to Nathan’s bedroom to collect him for a meeting, and the door had been open. He should just tell him to get dressed and go, really. He’d get in trouble with Charles if he didn’t. And it would be wildly out of line to do anything else next to his dripping wet half-naked boss.
Wolfgang shoved aside his instincts and saddled beside Nathan at what he hoped was a respectful distance, looking at the two of them next to each other in the mirror.
They looked like two men whose paths never should have crossed.
Nathan was tall already, but he looked downright massive next to Wolfgang, who despite lifelong praying for a growth spurt had never scraped the five foot mark. Nathan’s hair hung down his shoulders, long and straight - Wolfgang had seen him brushing it once, and had to keep that memory sealed away in a tightly locked box. Wolfgang’s hair was unruly waves of brown, framing a cheerful face that he was sure was unremarkable. Nathan’s own half-obscured face looked as displeased as ever. His features were carved, not in the way of being sharp or overly defined like a model’s, more like…they were chosen for him. Nathan’s aquiline nose, his harsh frown lines and deep cut cheekbones - it was like the sliders were all set to “menacing”, “brooding”, “mysterious”. It was the kind of face that was impossible to picture as anything but a metal vocalist. Wolfgang thought for the first week or so that Nathan flat out hated him, with the way he sneered every time their eyes met. It was a relief to realize that his face was just kind of…like that.
Another thing Wolfgang had to acclimate to was seeing the band members in various states of undress, which was apparently very much par for the course. Some had more dignity than others, of course; he’d seen Murderface’s dick on television long before he even got the job, so seeing it casually in person was only slightly more shocking. This, however, was the most of Nathan’s skin Wolfgang has seen yet. His towel left enough to the imagination, sure, but what distracted Wolfgang was the way his stomach hung over it, the thin trail of body hair growing up from the center—
Wolfgang nonchalantly looked at his own face in the mirror, hoping it wasn’t obvious how much of an eyeful he just took.
“Wh’dya think.” Nathan mumbled.
“Hm?” Wolfgang said, looking up at him.
“What d’ya think.” Nathan repeated, barely any louder than before.
As it often was with Nathan, Wolfgang wasn’t sure how to respond. It didn’t sound like a question, yet it obviously was.
“What do I think…of what?” Wolfgang asked cautiously.
“Nevermind.” Nathan grumbled.
“No, no, go on.” Wolfgang said, internally gripping his heart still to stop it from fluttering.
Was he asking…what Wolfgang thought he was asking? Nathan spoke from his chest, low and grumbling, as if talking to himself. It was hard to understand him sometimes. In all honesty, it was hard to understand all of the bandmates most of the time. They certainly had…unique ways of speaking.
“No, it’s stupid. Nevermind.” Said Nathan.
“I bet its not stupid.” Wolfgang replied.
Nathan didn’t speak. But he didn’t walk away either. He just…stared.
“...what do I think of…you?” Wolfgang offered.
“No.” Nathan said gruffly. “Well…no. No. Nevermind.”
Wolfgang opened his mouth, then closed it. None of the things his brain was providing him to say seemed like they would be helpful.
If Nathan was asking him what he thought he was asking him…the answer was that he thought everything. He thought too much. He tried not to think that much, but he couldn’t help it.
“S’just. Y’know.” Nathan said, clarifying nothing.
Wolfgang watched Nathan’s eyes trail down his own body. Though his face gave nothing away, there was something behind his stare, some gears turning in his brain.
Under his breath, he mumbled something even less coherent.
“I didn’t hear that.” Wolfgang said.
“’ve jus’ let myself go.” Said Nathan, his permanently furrowed brow deepening.
Wolfgang looked at the Nathan reflected in the mirror with confusion.
This was probably too personal. Far too personal for just a manager’s assistant to deal with. The right thing to do would be to escort him downstairs to the meeting, then alert Charles, who could talk to him with no conflict of interest. That would be the right thing to do.
“What makes you think that?” Wolfgang said softly.
Nathan didn’t respond. He simply brought a rough hand to his stomach, holding it with a distinct air of resentment.
A thousand thoughts bubbled like boiling water in Wolfgang’s head. A thousand things he could say in response, most of them sure to break whatever semblance of professionalism they had. Nathan hadn’t struck him as the kind of guy that would be this…honest. Especially with someone he didn’t even consider a friend.
Shit, what was he supposed to say? What would Charles say? Probably something dismissive and a little condescending.
“I mean, the groupies like you all the same, right?” Wolfgang said, keeping his voice light and cheerful. “The amount of letters from girls you get is crazy, sorting through them is a nightmare.”
Nathan looked at the floor.
Okay. Either that wasn’t true, or he didn’t care.
“...but, you don’t like it, though. Your, uh, body, I mean.” Wolfgang said.
“This is stupid.” Nathan turned away.
“Wait—” Wolfgang said, overriding his instincts and grabbing Nathan’s wrist.
Nathan’s eyes flicked back, meeting Wolfgang’s.
God, they were intense. His eyes, that was. They were a startling emerald green, the only bright color on him. It made them stand out even more.
“It’s not stupid.” The words came from Wolfgang without his brain’s permission. “I mean, I think you—”
His conscious brain took over, smothering his train of thought with a pillow.
Nathan didn’t break his eye contact.
Wolfgang suddenly felt the room was far too hot. Was it really weirdly hot in here? He felt sweat forming on his back.
“What d’you think.” Nathan repeated, his voice low.
So he did mean that. What Wolfgang thought of his body.
He thought about it a lot. Too much. More than he was supposed to. More than he should let himself.
It was hard not to, though. Every glance sent a shock of electricity up Wolfgang, every stolen eyeful only making him want to see more. After a while his mantra had become “he’s your boss, he’s straight, he’s out of your league; he’s your boss, he’s straight, he’s out of your league—”
He couldn’t let himself look at Nathan like this. He wasn’t allowed. He was being given express direct permission, but he wasn’t allowed, right? He couldn’t be. Nathan needed someone to tell him he looked good, but he needed someone…someone that wasn’t gay.
Wolfgang wasn’t exactly out in the workplace. The Klokateers were free to speculate all they wanted (and he had heard their whisperings), but nobody had ever asked, so nobody had to know. He’d heard the word fag tossed around a few too many times for him to start wearing rainbows, let alone be out and proud as a gay trans man. The closest thing he had to flagging was his bulldog harness, which he’d gotten with his first paycheck. If someone knew, then they knew. And that would be fine.
But Nathan didn’t know. And if he found out, he’d never give Wolfgang the chance to look at him like this ever again. It was a bitter candy, filled with sugar for now and stomachaches for later.
“Hm. Told ya it was stupid.” Nathan huffed.
“”It’s not!” Said Wolfgang, maybe a little too quickly. “It’s not. I’m just…I’m not sure why you’re asking…me?”
Nathan looked down at him. God, did he ever look down at him. Most people towered over Wolfgang but Nathan straight up loomed.
Nathan hadn’t answered. Wolfgang let the question hang in the air, not sure what else to say. His opinion surely didn’t matter. He wasn’t even sure Nathan had ever called him by name, let alone cared what his opinion on anything might be. He had seemed like the kind of guy who didn’t care what anyone’s opinion might be. Why would he even remember Wolfgang in the first place? He was just one of thousands of Charles’ assistants, most of whom had chosen anonymity with face coverings and a number for a name.
“Dunno.” Said Nathan finally.
“Oh.” Wolfgang responded.
He had a glimmer of hope that there would be a reason, maybe even one he couldn’t even think to himself without feeling lightheaded. Of course, that had been stupid.
Wolfgang realized that the ball was in his court again. He was standing in front of the mic with no script. Nathan Explosion, his boss, his straight, out-of-his-league, half-naked boss, had asked him a question, so he damn well better answer.
“You’re, um. Very…attractive.” He said slowly, looking down Nathan’s chest.
“How.” Nathan said.
Fuck, he wanted specifics.
It wasn’t that Wolfgang couldn’t provide examples. It was just that he shouldn’t.
“Do you…do you want me to elaborate?” Wolfgang asked cautiously.
“Yes! Fuck!” Nathan said, flicking his head to look away.
Wolfgang flinched, startled by Nathan’s sudden impatience. He should be used to that by now, but he wasn’t.
He swiped glances down Nathan’s exposed skin like a cat stealing from its owner’s plate. Too much lingering felt like looking at the sun.
“...Your, uh, chest.” Wolfgang said, fidgeting awkwardly.
“What about it.” Said Nathan.
Fuck. Fuck! There really wasn’t a straight way to put this.
“Your. Pectorals.” Wolfgang chewed the inside of his lip. “They’re, uh, sick. Bro.”
Good save.
“Hm.” Nathan grumbled. “How’s that attractive, huh? Fat tits on a dude.”
Now there really wasn’t a straight way to put this.
“I think they’re— I mean, I definitely think girls would think they’re, um. Attractive. Because they’re. Large.” Wolfgang said.
Nathan let out a breath.
“M’not askin’agrl.” He mumbled.
Wolfgang tried his best to parse that, he really did.
“I said, I’m not askin’ a girl.” Nathan snarled. “I’m askin’. I’m askin’ you. Wolfgang.”
Wolfgang suddenly felt very strongly that a swarm of bees was hiving in his heart, and they all just stuck their stingers in at once. He did know his name. Wolfgang. He paid attention at least enough to know him, Nathan Explosion knew him. It sounded like the rumble of a thunderstorm from his throat. Wolfgang was sure he had never liked his own name more than now.
Now what the fuck did he mean by not asking a girl this?
“Me. Wolfgang.” Wolfgang repeated stupidly.
“Yeah, me Nathan. Now tell me why you like my tits.”
Ah! So this was a dream. This was all just a standard homoerotic dream, one with a new plot but very familiar characters. That’s what this was. Maybe if he tried really hard, he could remember this one in detail when he woke up—
“Forget it.” Nathan said, and for the first time, Wolfgang noticed that his ears were flushed red.
Before Wolfgang could say anything more, Nathan stomped into his bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
-
It hadn’t been a dream. Though Wolfgang wished that it had been.
The following few days had been, for lack of a better term, brutal. Wolfgang was doing his best to avoid being in the same room as Nathan, and if the circumstances called for it, he did his best to avoid his gaze.
What did it mean? What did any of that mean?
Was Nathan asking a man to call him attractive…some kind of bro thing? Some kind of straight male bonding activity Wolfgang had missed out on being the faggiest little kid in school? Was he just asking Wolfgang because he’d happened upon Nathan in a moment of weakness? When did he start remembering Wolfgang’s name? When would the echo of hearing it over and over again in his voice stop haunting his thoughts?
“Wolfgang.” Came a voice distinctly not Nathan’s.
“Yes, sir.” Wolfgang said as he snapped to attention.
“Heh. At ease, soldier.” Charles said.
Wolfgang’s tension released. Downtime was rare, which was a good thing. It was the times between tasks that Wolfgang’s brain started to wander like this. Sitting on the couch in Charles’ office used to be a treat, used for resting his feet and shooting shit with his superior. Now it just opened the rabbit hole. Charles’ friendly voice snapping him out of it was more of a flashlight than a beacon of hope, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
It was nice, being friends with your direct boss. Maybe friends was too strong of a word, but acquaintances was too distant a word in turn. Wolfgang wasn’t sure what Charles would call them. The boss had seemed intimidating at first, but the more he got to know him, the more relaxed both of them seemed to become. Maybe Charles had been looking for a kind face at Mordhaus too.
“Do me a favor. Can you check to see if the boys are recording? I have a call coming any second I can’t miss.” Charles held his thumb on his phone, his other fingers hovering over the handle.
Wolfgang’s tension came back like a slap to the face. He didn’t want to do that. He really didn’t want to do that. On a good day he wouldn’t want to. Telling the band members what to do was the worst part of his job. They always whined like toddlers being pulled from the playground to the car, and Wolfgang did not have enough DILF energy to father them into anything they didn’t want to do. Not to mention…Nathan. Being there.
“On it!” Wolfgang smiled, faking it with all of his might.
“Attaboy.” Charles nodded, his eyes still on the phone.
-
Wolfgang shut the door behind him gently, letting a sigh of frustration exit him out of earshot.
He mustered his courage, starting down the low-lit hallways. He passed a pair of hooded Klokateers, who whispered to each other conspiratorially. Par for the course. He didn’t feel the same drive to prove himself to them as he did while going through training week. If they deserved his job, they should have beaten him while they had a chance. The Klokateers could respect his authority or not, made no difference to him. Having a position that showed your face around here meant the whispering was unavoidable, and he earned his place whether they liked it or not.
He turned up a set of stairs, feet feeling heavier as he approached the band’s living quarters. He pushed on, badging through the entrance gate that separated the employees from residents and walking into the living room.
“Oh goods, its da butler.” Skwisgaar said, tilting his head back over the armrest of the couch he was splayed on.
Wolfgang had quickly given up on correcting this. “Manager’s assistant” and “butler” might as well be the same job title here.
“Oh, Wolfsgangs!” Toki perked up, waving at him briefly before returning his hands to the arcade cabinet he was playing at. “I was justs sayings that I was gettings hungries, are yous going out to get foods for us?”
Wolfgang glanced around for the others, seeing only the Scandinavians. Damn, he’d been hoping to get them all in one go.
“Well, I came to check on your, uh, recording status.” He said, leaning onto the back of the couch. “But I can get you takeout, if you want.”
“Ohs, yes please!” Toki said, his eyes lighting up. “I ams thinking, um, the Japanese takeouts place? The ones withs the sushis withs the spicests tunas?”
“Ja, I wants noodles, and the crab rangoons.” Skwisgaar added, his hands busy playing the guitar on his lap.
“Mm, the usual, got it. So, where’s the others? Recording, hopefully…?” Wolfgang asked, trying to steer them as gently as he could.
“I don’t know, I’m not their babysitters.” Said Skwisgaar.
Wolfgang wasn’t sure why he expected any answer other than that.
“Oh, but if you finds them, maybes they want takeout foods too?” Toki smiled broadly.
He was sure they would.
“Alright. I’ll get your takeout, and I’ll leave it in the recording studio.” Said Wolfgang.
He ignored the groans of disappointment in his wake as he continued on.
-
The next place to look was the kitchen, in which he found the two people he wanted to see least. Pickles and Murderface. It was nothing personal. It just meant that Nathan was alone.
“Oh, hey, guy. Over here.” Pickles beckoned him.
They were conspicuously standing in front of the stove. Wolfgang cautiously stepped forward.
“Dood. Murderface. Explain yourself to him.” Said Pickles, behind a barely-contained shit eating grin.
“Okaysch. I deshided. That I’m goingch to be the chef arounsch here from now on.” Murderface said behind a completely uncontained shit eating grin.
Part of Wolfgang wanted to entertain this, just to put off the inevitable. On the other hand, getting roped into whatever this was might end up being worse than facing Nathan.
“Okay.” Wolfgang said, still weighing his options.
“Soech I made thisch.” Murderface waved dramatically to the pot boiling on the stove. “Itsch dinner! Whatsch do you shthink?”
Whatever was in that pot, it looked like it would have been censored on network television. No part of that looked edible.
“Okay.” Wolfgang said, his options weighing heavier by the moment.
“If you likesch it scho much, why don’t you eatsch it?” Murderface enthusiastically held out a bowl and ladle.
Ah. A classic no-win scenario. If he denied the offer, Murderface would throw a tantrum and get Charles to reprimand him. If he accepted…Wolfgang didn’t even want to think about that. It was a good thing that Wolfgang was adept at finding the third door in lose-lose situations.
“...ah. I’m already ordering Japanese for Toki and Skwisgaar, actually.” Wolfgang said cheerfully. “Would you like anything?”
In a snap, the act was forgotten. These guys were easier than putty to manipulate.
“Oh! Are ya goin’ to, uh…oh gahd, what’s that place called, uh…Jayde Dragon or something? Yeah, just ask for the Pickles Roll. They’ll know what that is. I know the guy, they’ll know what it is. It’s not pickles. It’s Pickles. You know what I mean. They’ll know what I mean.”
“Ooh, I likesch, um, the thingsch with the little orange ballsch on top? Y’know, the orange ballsch? The ballsch? Y’know the ballsch?” Murderface made a pinching motion with his fingers.
“Oh, and do they have sah-key? I want the sah-key!” Pickles said, talking over Murderface.
“Tobiko roe and…the Pickles Roll. And sake. Got it. It’ll be waiting for you in the recording studio.” Wolfgang smiled pleasantly.
“Oh man, thanks! We— Heyyyy. You’re tryin’ to trick us into recording!” Pickles gasped.
“Where’s Nathan? I gotta get his order too.” Wolfgang said, sweeping past them.
“He’sch in the sauna. Fuckin’ loser. Been avoidin’ us ‘n schit all day.” Murderface spat.
Ah. What a nightmare.
-
Wolfgang tightened his grip on the handle to the sauna door.
He had a game plan. Pop your head in, say, “Hey, recording studio, thanks bye” and leave. It wasn’t an elegant plan, but did it need to be? All he needed to do was not look at any part of the man sitting in there, and he would be fine. It would be fine.
He took a deep breath, replastered his smile, and opened the door.
Steam billowed from the hot coals, rolling like mist from a horror movie. Wolfgang’s eyes adjusted to the low light, seeing first the glowing embers, then the empty rows of wooden benches, then—
There he was. Reclining on the far end of the sauna. His arm was draped casually over the back of the seat, his legs spread hedonistically far apart, his head tilted back against the wall, his eyes closed. His waterfall of hair laid like an oil painting over his bare shoulders, flowing like the strokes of a brush. Drips of condensation and sweat ran down every inch of him.
Ah. What was his plan again?
“I told you motherfucker to leave me the fuck alone.” Nathan grumbled, half-opening his eyes before recognizing who he was talking to and snapping to attention. “Oh. Fuck. Sorry.”
Wolfgang’s thoughts exactly.
“Thought you were Murderface. Come’n to bother me again.” Nathan mumbled.
“I’ve been called worse.” Wolfgang said, his brain tripping and falling once more.
Nathan eyed him, but didn’t say a word, which was worse than any verbal response he could have given.
“Um. You’re welcome to sit.” Nathan said, averting his gaze. “Or whatever.”
“I, uh, don’t think I am.” Said Wolfgang. “I mean, employees aren’t allowed to. Y’know. Goof off. I mean, I’m on the clock.”
When was he not on the clock?
“That’s bullshit, who came up with that? Charles? Fuck him. Fuck that guy. Sit down.” Nathan rumbled.
The fact that Dethklok had, in fact, come up with that, didn’t have a chance to cross Wolfgang’s mind. Direct commands from a boss overrides rules anyway.
Wolfgang sat down on the bench - a respectful distance, about one more Wolfgang could fit between them - feeling his clothes already sticking to the wood. That was gonna be awful when he stood back up, not to even mention what the moisture level was probably doing to the leather.
A moment passed, the sound of steam and each other breathing being the only sounds to hear. Wolfgang probably could have thrown himself onto the hot coals right then and there.
“Did you, uh. Need something.” Nathan asked.
Wolfgang was sure he did.
“Oh. Uh. Charles asked me to—” He started.
“Fuck that guy.” Nathan repeated.
Wolfgang wasn’t sure what to say.
Another moment passed. Wolfgang pondered the cyanide pills he’d been given on his first day.
“Aren’t you gonna. Take your clothes off.” Nathan mumbled.
Thank god for the hot steam, because if he wasn’t red already, he would have shot up several saturation notches.
“You’re in the sauna, so.” Said Nathan.
Right. A sauna. Which it is weird to wear clothes in. Just two guys in a sauna. Two bros. Nathan came here with his bros all the time. It wasn’t weird. It was fine.
“If that’s…okay.” Wolfgang said blankly.
Nathan nodded.
Slowly, Wolfgang unclipped his bulldog harness, shifting it off of his shoulders. Feeling already quite naked without it, he suppressed the urge to cover his chest with his hands as he placed it onto the bench next to him.
He glanced at Nathan. He felt the heat in his face rise even higher as their gazes locked; Nathan’s stoic expression was unchanged, yet his eyes…his eyes were eating him alive. He was watching intently, like the plot might thicken any time. Wolfgang was a leg of lamb Nathan was sinking his teeth into, and all he had done was remove his harness.
Nathan was silent still as Wolfgang untied his shoes and gently kicked them aside. He undid his belt, unhooking it from his knee garter and sliding it from the loops on his jeans. He placed it coiled alongside the harness, stealing another glance to Nathan, who was still watching like a crocodile eyeing an unsuspecting bird.
Next had to be the garter. Wolfgang thoroughly felt like a common whore as he slid it down his leg, then added it to the pile of leather straps. Why did he wear so many leather straps? Why couldn’t he have anticipated having to remove all of them in front of the sexiest man alive?
Down to a shirt and pants, Wolfgang swallowed dryly. Removing either would probably out him about as equally. On his chest lay two symmetrical scars, etching under his pecs like flashes of lightning. In his pants lay nothing but the good ol’ two incher of a t-dick. Nathan was watching too closely not to notice either, surely.
As casually as he could muster, he slid the jeans down his legs, exposing his boxer briefs to the warm air. Nathan watched.
No turning back now. He grabbed the edge of his shirt, pulling it over his head and off his arms.
He looked at Nathan, absolutely sure that he must have looked like a complete wreck. He was practically shaking with anxiety. Wolfgang, a man who’d looked death in the face and stabbed it in the eye with a pen, was shivering like an elderly Italian Greyhound. Why couldn’t he say something? Someone needed to say something.
“Scars are metal.” Said Nathan finally.
Wolfgang let out a breath.
“Thanks.” He replied, roughly folding his shirt and pants.
“S’just true.” Said Nathan.
No follow up question came. No “So how did you get those?” or “How did that happen?”, like Wolfgang was so used to hearing from those who didn’t Know.
Maybe Nathan did Know.
Probably not.
“Towel.” Nathan said, tossing him a roll from the basket.
“Oh.” Wolfgang said, catching it. “Thanks.”
OH.
Nude. Nude sauna. Naked in the sauna. Completely. No boxers. Nathan wasn’t wearing boxers. Nathan wasn’t wearing boxers. Again.
Every muscle in Wolfgang’s face was suddenly dedicated to not letting his gaze drop to Nathan’s towel-clad crotch. He hadn’t gotten a direct look at it earlier, completely out of shame for even perceiving it in the first place.
Now it was his turn. To be naked. With just a towel. That was how the sauna worked.
This was fine.
He’d been to public baths before. There was an art to this. Usually there wasn’t an audience, though. Especially not…this audience.
Wolfgang laid his towel across his lap, shuffling his boxers from underneath and letting them fall to the floor.
He could have sworn he heard Nathan grunt something. Something even more unintelligible than usual. He didn’t have the guts to ask him to repeat it.
A moment passed. Then another. The automatic steaming system splashed more water onto the coals, letting off a large billow of steam that coated Wolfgang’s lungs with the intense scent of smoke and clean water. Several moments drifted by, as the steam drifted around the dark ceiling. It was kind of…nice. Watching the clouds form and dissipate. When was the last time he’d been to a sauna, anyway? It had been a while. The last time had to have been when he—
“I just wanted to say. Uh.” Started Nathan, reminding Wolfgang where he was, and who he was with.
Wolfgang snapped his eyes to Nathan, who was no longer eating him alive, thank god.
“I wanted to say. S. Sor. Sss.” He continued, as if the word was stuck in his throat.
“...sorry?” Wolfgang supplied, confused.
“Yeah, that one.” Nathan nodded. “Um. For being weird. The other day. For saying something weird to you.”
Oh.
“S’cool, man.” Wolfgang said.
Hopefully that sounded straight enough. He looked over at Nathan, expecting to see his unchanging face again, but instead…instead he saw Nathan looking down. Looking at his stomach. His hand was in the same place he’d grabbed bitterly a few nights before.
“Fuck! Say something!” Wolfgang’s brain yelled. “Say something, or he’ll never know you were serious!”
“I meant it.” Words coming out of his mouth without input seemed to be becoming more common these days.
Nathan looked up.
“I mean. I meant what I said.” Wolfgang’s eyes couldn’t help shifting to his chest. “About you being attractive.”
His inner voice smacked him.
“For girls. Attractive to girls.” He added.
Good save.
Nathan blinked.
Wolfgang wished he could stuff the sentence back into his mouth, to hit rewind on the remote control. Instead, his words hung alongside the steam in the air. Nathan was apologizing for bringing it up, not inviting further discussion on the topic. Why the hell did he say that again? Wasn’t he supposed to be avoiding Nathan? Avoiding this altogether?
“I told you. I’m not askin’ a girl.” Nathan mumbled, cutting through Wolfgang’s internal monologue.
Despite the heat, Wolfgang was frozen.
“The girls don’t…I mean, they don’t. They just. They’re not fuckin’ me when I fuck them. They’re fuckin’ Nathan Explosion, they’re fuckin’ Dethklok.” He continued, his voice barely above a rumble. “They’re not even lookin’ at me. I’m not lookin’ at them. It’s just cum and move on, y’know?”
Wolfgang really, really didn’t.
“It’s just. I’m just a fat fuck now.” He gripped his stomach harder. “This isn’t sexy. This is—”
“Don’t say that.” Wolfgang interrupted.
Nathan looked as if he’d never been interrupted before in his entire life.
“Sorry. I just.” Wolfgang sucked in a breath he hoped was full of courage. “I think it’s sexy. You have a sexy body. Anyone who tells you otherwise is an idiot.”
Well, he said it. Time to pack his bags and find a new job. Oh, unless they have him killed. At least it would be over quickly.
“How.” Nathan said.
Now it was Wolfgang’s turn to blink.
“How.” He repeated, louder this time. “How is this sexy?”
He grabbed one of his own pecs in his hand, and a bolt of lightning went down Wolfgang’s stomach.
Fuck. He couldn’t even put it into words. There was no reason, yet every reason all at once.
It was his hands turn to act without permission. He reached forward, cupping his palm along the side of Nathan’s chest, his fingers flush with Nathan’s.
His skin was so warm. Even warmer than the hot air of the sauna.
Nathan’s eyebrows shot up.
Without thinking, Wolfgang leaned forward, pressing his other hand to the opposite side. Gently, he squeezed them together, curling his fingers in as he felt up the meat of his pectorals.
It felt like heaven. They were so soft, yet so firm at the same time, all slippery and plush. The hair dotting his inner chest was coarse, but dampened by the sweat and condensation. It was everything Wolfgang had pictured they would be like, and somehow even better than that. He wanted to stuff his face into it. He wanted to fall asleep with his cheek resting on them. He wanted a dick to frot between them. He wanted…he wanted.
Wolfgang looked up at Nathan, his eyes pleading, apologetic, lusting, needing more. Nathan looked back, his mouth open in surprise.
“They. They feel good.” Wolfgang managed to whisper, his voice hoarse. “They feel so good. And. And you should feel good, too.”
“I want to make you feel good”, went unspoken.
The opening of a door in the distance snapped him back to reality.
Oh god. Oh god.
Wolfgang stood, the towel dropping off of his lap for just a moment before he caught it and smashed it back into place with a clenched fist. He stepped back into his boxers, hoisting them up and scrambling to unfold his jeans.
Nathan sat still.
Wolfgang didn’t look back as he threw on his shirt, grabbing his shoes and leather as he bolted for the door and threw it open.
“Woah, slow down there.” Pickles said as Wolfgang almost ran into him face first. “I wanted to tell ya to get me a scorpion bowl too— Hey, where r’ya headed?”
“Sorry,” Wolfgang said shakily, dodging around him and towards the exit.