Chapter Text
The rehearsal room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the open laptop in front of Charles as he sat at the head of the long table. Nathan was slouched in his chair, idly scrolling through his phone, while Murderface scratched at the peeling label on a beer bottle. Pickles sat across from Skwisgaar, both of them silent but radiating barely-contained tension.
Skwisgaar was hunched over his guitar, his long fingers flying across the fretboard in a rapid, chaotic melody. The instrument wasn’t plugged in, so the room was filled with the faint, muted sound of strings being played at a blistering pace.
Charles cleared his throat, glancing around at the group. “Alright, gentlemen, let’s get started. We need to talk about where we are with the album.”
Nathan grunted, not looking up from his phone. “It’s fuckin’ brutal. What else do you need to know?”
Charles adjusted his glasses, his patience visibly thinning. “Brutal is good, Nathan, but we need specifics. And I couldn’t help but notice Toki isn’t here. Where is he?”
Pickles stiffened slightly, glancing at Skwisgaar before answering. “Uh, he’s not feelin’ too great,” he said carefully.
Skwisgaar, his eyes fixed on his guitar, scoffed loudly. “Not feelin’ great because he ams hungover from last night, he was totallys wasted,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain. His fingers didn’t stop moving, the furious notes punctuating his words. “But it doesn’t matters. Toki don’ts write anyway. He just plays what I tells him to.”
Pickles shot him a warning glare. “Shut up, Skwisgaar.”
Skwisgaar finally looked up, his expression unreadable as he met Pickles’ eyes. For a moment, it seemed like he might say more, but the tension in Pickles’ posture and the sharpness in his glare stopped him. Skwisgaar smirked faintly, his fingers still flying over the strings.
The room fell into an awkward silence, everyone acutely aware of the tension crackling between the two of them.
Nathan frowned, looking up from his phone. “Alright, what the fuck is goin’ on with you two?” he demanded, gesturing between them.
“Nothing,” Pickles muttered under his breath, his voice tight. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he continued to glare at Skwisgaar.
Murderface snickered, taking a swig of his beer. “It’s, like, a lover’s spat or somethin’,” he mumbled, clearly amused by the situation.
“Enough,” Charles said firmly, holding up a hand. His gaze shifted between Pickles and Skwisgaar, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “Whatever this is, you two need to work it out. Preferably before it starts interfering with the band even more than it already is.”
Pickles and Skwisgaar didn’t respond, their glares locked in silent combat.
Charles sighed, turning back to his laptop. “Fine. Let’s focus on what we can work with for now.”
The meeting dragged on, with Charles trying to steer the conversation toward production schedules and deadlines while the others threw out half-hearted ideas. Throughout it all, Pickles and Skwisgaar barely looked at anyone else, their animosity filling the room like a cloud.
When the meeting finally wrapped up, Charles closed his laptop with a soft click and stood, glancing between the two of them once more. “You know,” he said casually, adjusting his tie, “it would be nice if you could resolve whatever’s causing this tension. It’s not exactly great for productivity.”
Skwisgaar didn’t reply, strumming a final flurry of notes on his guitar before standing and slinging it over his shoulder. He shot Pickles one last smirk before turning and walking out of the room.
Pickles watched him go, his fists clenching briefly before he exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax.
“Yeah, fuckin’ great meeting,” Nathan muttered as he stood, already pulling out his phone again. “Good talk, everyone.”
Murderface followed him out, humming a tuneless melody under his breath, leaving Pickles and Charles alone in the room.
Charles adjusted his glasses, watching Pickles carefully. “If this becomes any more of a problem,” he said quietly, “I’ll need to step in, Pickles.”
Pickles nodded faintly, his jaw tight. “I got it handled, man. Don’t worry.”
Charles didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push further. “Alright. Just… keep it from spilling over into the music.”
“Yeah,” Pickles muttered, standing and heading for the door. “Sure.”
As he stepped into the hallway, he caught sight of Skwisgaar lingering at the far end, leaning casually against the wall as if waiting for him. Their eyes met, the tension between them as sharp as ever.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, without a word, Skwisgaar turned and walked in the opposite direction, his stride confident and unhurried.
Pickles exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping slightly as he headed toward the kitchen, unsure what to do or how to handle this mess.
The tension in the mansion had been unbearable for days. The moments when Toki and Skwisgaar found themselves alone were usually charged with an uneasy silence, neither willing to acknowledge the storm brewing beneath the surface. But today was different.
The rehearsal room was empty, the hum of amps left on standby filling the space with an almost imperceptible buzz. Toki was seated on a stool, idly strumming his guitar, his face set in a brooding scowl. Skwisgaar stood near the corner, his own guitar slung casually over his shoulder as he tuned it.
He wasn’t looking at Toki. Not directly. But he didn’t need to—he could feel the younger guitarist’s presence as acutely as if he were standing right next to him. That anger, that simmering energy, practically radiated off Toki, and Skwisgaar couldn’t help himself. He craved the control he’d had over Toki before, the way he could get under his skin so effortlessly.
So, he decided to push his luck.
“Yous still mad, Toki?” Skwisgaar asked, his tone light but taunting as he plucked a few lazy notes. “You don’ts needs to be. I was just… havin’ fun wit’ you. You takes everythin’ so serious.”
Toki stiffened, his grip tightening on the neck of his guitar. He glanced up at Skwisgaar, his eyes narrowing. “Shut up, Skwisgaar,” he said sharply, his voice low and tense.
But Skwisgaar didn’t stop. “You used to gets all flustered,” he said, stepping closer, his smirk growing. “Now you’s all moody and pouty. I don’ts like it. It’s boring.”
Toki’s jaw clenched, and he stood abruptly, setting his guitar down on the stool behind him. “I said, shut the fuck up,” he snapped, his voice louder now, more dangerous.
Skwisgaar tilted his head, his smirk unfaltering. “Or what?”
Before Skwisgaar could react, Toki lunged at him, his fist connecting with Skwisgaar’s jaw in a burst of raw, pent-up anger. “Dra til helvete!” Toki cursed in Norwegian, his voice trembling with fury as he swung again.
Skwisgaar stumbled back as his head snapped to the side, stunned for only a second before his own anger flared. “Din jävla idiot!” he spat in Swedish, retaliating with a swing of his own. His fist collided with Toki’s shoulder, throwing him off balance as Skwisgaar shoved him backward.
The fight escalated almost instantly, neither willing to back down. They clawed and swung and cursed, their anger boiling over as they grappled with each other. Toki grabbed a fistful of Skwisgaar’s hair, yanking hard, while Skwisgaar retaliated by shoving him against the wall.
“Fan ta dig!” Skwisgaar growled, his voice sharp with frustration as Toki reversed their positions, exhaling hard as his chest hit the wall, Toki twisting his arm behind his back.
“Fuck you!” Toki shouted, gripping hard at Skwisgaar’s arm, before the taller man shoved himself away from the wall suddenly, knocking him backward before turning to tackle him in an instant.
They rolled to the floor, the scuffle turning into a chaotic tangle of limbs as each one tried to gain the upper hand. At some point, Toki managed to pin Skwisgaar down, his hands gripping Skwisgaar’s wrists as he leaned over him, his chest heaving with exertion.
Skwisgaar stared up at him, his pale blue eyes blazing with anger—and something else, something darker and harder to define. For a moment, neither of them moved, their ragged breathing filling the space between them.
Then, without warning, Skwisgaar wrenched one hand free and grabbed Toki by the head, suddenly pulling him down into a rough, desperate kiss. The force of it stunned Toki, his eyes widening as Skwisgaar’s lips pressed against his with searing intensity.
“Is dis what you wanted?” Skwisgaar hissed against his lips as the kiss broke just enough to speak, his voice sharp and biting, his breath hot against Toki’s mouth.
Toki froze for only a second before his anger flared again, mixing with a chaotic surge of something raw and electric. “Fuck you,” he growled again, leaning down to kiss Skwisgaar again, harder and more demanding. The kiss was a clash of teeth and tongues, rough and unrelenting, their earlier aggression bleeding into every movement. Skwisgaar’s free hand tangled into Toki’s hair, pulling hard enough to sting, while his other arm wrapped around Toki’s torso, his fingers digging into his back.
Toki pushed harder against him, his hands gripping Skwisgaar’s shoulders as if trying to anchor himself in the chaos. Their bodies pressed together, the heat between them spiraling out of control, both of them too caught up in the moment to think about what they were doing.
Then, Skwisgaar froze.
The realization hit him like a bucket of cold water—he was losing control, slipping into something he hadn’t planned for. Panic flared in his chest as he abruptly shoved Toki away, scrambling to his feet with a speed that left Toki momentarily stunned.
“Skwisgaar—” Toki started, his voice hoarse and confused, but Skwisgaar didn’t let him finish.
“No,” Skwisgaar said sharply, his voice as calm as he could muster as he backed away. “No, dis…” he paused, clearing his throat, continuing in Swedish to ensure Toki would not misunderstand. “Nej. Detta händer inte.”
Before Toki could say another word, Skwisgaar turned and left, briskly walking out of the room without looking back, his posture straight, but tense.
Toki sat there on the floor, his chest still heaving, his lips still tingling from the force of their kiss. His heart pounded erratically as he stared at the door Skwisgaar had just fled through, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief.
“What… the fuck,” Toki whispered to himself, running a trembling hand through his hair.
He couldn’t make sense of it—any of it. The anger, the kiss, the way Skwisgaar had gripped him, held him, and then just… left. It all felt like too much, too fast. Still, beneath the confusion, there was a spark of something else, something that made Toki’s pulse quicken and his stomach twist.
Toki leaned back against the wall, his breath finally starting to steady as he tried to piece together what had just happened. He didn’t understand it, but one thing was clear— things had been irrevocably changed.
The mansion felt heavy with an unspoken tension that even the other band members had started to notice. Toki and Skwisgaar were avoiding each other in a way that wasn’t typical of their usual dynamic. Skwisgaar, who normally thrived on his casual taunts and dismissive jabs, seemed to be going out of his way to keep his distance.
In the days following the fight—and whatever that had been in the rehearsal room—Skwisgaar had thrown himself headfirst into distraction. Every night, a new woman arrived at his door, their laughter echoing faintly through the halls. The others barely batted an eye at this—it wasn’t unusual for Skwisgaar—but for Toki, it felt like a knife twisting deeper each time he heard it.
He wasn’t sure how he felt, which was the worst part.
He wanted to hate Skwisgaar, to cling to the anger that had driven him to fight in the first place. But every time he thought about that kiss, the way Skwisgaar had grabbed him and pulled him down with such intensity, the anger became muddled with something else. Something confusing. Something he didn’t want to name.
Eventually, he found himself outside Pickles’ room again.
Pickles opened the door, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Toki, his expression softening immediately. “Hey, dude. You alright?”
Toki shrugged, glancing down the hallway before slipping inside. “Can I… can I talks to you?”
Pickles nodded, stepping aside to let him in. “Yeah, course. What’s goin’ on?”
Toki didn’t answer right away. He sat down heavily on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest as he stared at the carpet. Pickles closed the door, grabbing a beer and a fresh cigarette before sitting across from him.
“You’ve been all over the place lately, dude,” Pickles said, his voice gentle as he leaned back. “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”
Toki hesitated, chewing on his lip. “It’s… it’s Skwisgaar,” he admitted finally, his voice quiet.
Pickles stiffened slightly but kept his expression neutral. “Yeah? What about him?”
Toki let out a shaky breath, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “I wants to hate him,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “He’s been such a… such an asshole. Always messin’ with me, always makin’ me feel like I’s nothin’.”
Pickles nodded, taking a drag from his cigarette but staying quiet to let Toki keep going.
“But now he’s…” Toki trailed off, his hands clenching into fists. “All dose girls, Pickle. Every night. And I don’ts know why, but it makes me so mad. Like he’s tryin’ to prove somethin’.”
Pickles exhaled slowly, his chest tightening in a way that had become uncomfortably familiar whenever Toki brought up Skwisgaar. “Sounds like you’re jealous, man,” he said, keeping his tone light but kind.
Toki flinched, his cheeks flushing. “I don’ts wanna be jealous,” he muttered. “I don’ts even know why I feel like dis. I just… I…”
He buried his face in his hands, his voice muffled as he continued. “I kissed him.”
Pickles froze, his cigarette hovering in midair. “Wait—what?”
Toki peeked at him from between his fingers, his face burning. “In de rehearsal room,” he admitted, his voice small. “We was fightin’, and… and I kissed him. Or maybe he kissed me first. I don’ts remember. But it… it happened.”
Pickles blinked, taking a long drag from his cigarette as he tried to process that. His chest tightened painfully, jealousy and something sharper flaring up, but he shoved it down hard. Toki needed him, and his feelings—whatever the fuck they were—weren’t important right now.
“Well,” Pickles said after a pause, his voice calm and even, “that probably explains why he’s been actin’ so weird. He’s been avoidin’ you, right?”
Toki nodded slowly, his brow furrowing. “Yah. And he’s been… with all dose girls.”
Pickles gave him a small, reassuring smile. “Sounds to me like he’s freakin’ out, dude. You got to him, whether he wants to admit it or not.”
Toki frowned, his expression uncertain. “You thinks so?”
“Hell yeah,” Pickles said, stubbing out his cigarette. “Guys like Skwisgaar? They don’t handle losin’ control real well. If he’s avoidin’ you and tryin’ that hard to distract himself, it’s pretty obvious you’re in his head now.”
Toki let that sink in for a moment, his lips twitching faintly into a smile. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a tiny flicker of satisfaction in the mess of his emotions.
“He ams so… so confusing,” Toki said, leaning back against the wall with a sigh.
“Yeah, dude,” Pickles said, his voice softer now. “But you’ll figure it out. Just… don’t let him fuck with your head, alright? You’re better than that.”
Toki glanced at him, his expression softening. “Thanks, Pickle,” he murmured.
Pickles smiled, patting Toki’s knee. “Anytime, dude. You know I got your back.”
Without warning, Toki leaned into Pickles’ side, resting his head on his shoulder. Pickles stiffened for a moment but quickly relaxed, draping an arm around Toki in a loose, comforting embrace.
“You’re good people, Pickle,” Toki said softly, his voice thick with emotion.
Pickles chuckled lightly, his chest tightening again as he hugged Toki closer. “Yeah, well, somebody’s gotta look out for ya.”
Toki didn’t respond, just closed his eyes and let himself sink into the warmth of someone who, for once, didn’t make him feel small.
Before they knew it, they’d spent hours talking—well, Toki had spent hours talking, letting his tangled emotions about Skwisgaar spill out in bits and pieces while Pickles offered steady reassurances and occasional jokes to keep things from getting too heavy, despite the twist of anxiety or tension in his own body as Pickles listened.
Now, the conversation had lulled, and Toki was staring at the floor, fidgeting slightly as if debating something. Finally, he glanced up at Pickles, his expression hesitant.
“Can I… can I stay here wit’ you tonight?” Toki asked, his voice quiet.
Pickles blinked, caught off guard. “What? Uh…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn’t want to let Toki down, especially after everything the kid had been through, but it also felt dangerous—like he was treading too close to something he didn’t fully understand.
Still, he couldn’t bring himself to say no. Not after the way Toki had looked at him, like he was the only safe place left in the world.
“Yeah,” Pickles said finally, nodding. “Yeah, that’s fine, dude.”
Toki gave him a small, grateful smile and crawled onto the bed without hesitation, flopping onto his side and pulling the blanket over himself. Pickles watched him for a moment, then sighed and climbed in beside him, keeping a cautious distance as he turned off the lamp.
The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of their breathing. Pickles lay stiffly on his side, his thoughts racing as he stared into the darkness.
But as the minutes stretched on, Toki shifted in his sleep, unconsciously scooting closer until his head rested against Pickles’ back. By the time Pickles realized what was happening, Toki’s arm had draped itself across his waist, and his steady breaths were tickling the side of Pickles’ neck.
Pickles froze, his body going rigid as he stared up at the ceiling. Shit. Shit. What the fuck do I do?
He considered gently moving away, but the thought of waking Toki—or worse, making him feel unwelcome—made his chest ache. So, with a resigned sigh, he let himself relax, his arm coming up to rest lightly over Toki’s.
“It don’t mean nothin’,” Pickles muttered under his breath, as much to himself as to the quiet room. “He’s just… he’s just a cuddler. That’s all.”
But as the warmth of Toki’s body seeped into his, Pickles couldn’t help but let his eyes drift shut. And for the first time in days, he fell asleep easily.
The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Toki stirred first, blinking groggily as he took in his surroundings. He glanced over at Pickles, who was still asleep, his arm loosely draped across Toki’s side.
Toki smiled faintly, feeling more rested—and more at peace—than he had in a long time. He carefully slid out from under Pickles’ arm, doing his best not to wake him.
As he stood and stretched, Toki glanced back at Pickles, his heart swelling with gratitude. The drummer’s face was relaxed in sleep, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.
“Thanks, Pickle,” Toki whispered softly, grabbing his hoodie and pulling it on.
He moved toward the door, opening it as quietly as possible. But just as he stepped into the hallway, his breath caught.
Skwisgaar was there, leaving his own room.
For a moment, neither of them moved, their eyes locking in an unspoken exchange. Skwisgaar’s face flickered with a mix of emotions—confusion, jealousy, hurt—but he quickly masked it with a scowl.
Toki opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Skwisgaar turned sharply on his heel and stormed back into his room, slamming the door behind him.
Toki winced at the sound, his stomach twisting with guilt and something he couldn’t quite name. He stared at Skwisgaar’s door for a long moment, his heart pounding.
“Helvete,” Toki muttered under his breath, running a hand through his messy hair before heading back to his own room.
Inside his room, Skwisgaar leaned against the door, his chest heaving as he clenched his fists. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the image of Toki stepping out of Pickles’ room.
“Fan,” Skwisgaar growled, his voice low and angry.
He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to acknowledge the tightness in his chest or the bitter taste of jealousy on his tongue. But no matter how hard he tried, the thoughts wouldn’t leave him.
With a frustrated curse, Skwisgaar shoved away from the door and grabbed his guitar, the only thing he could count on to drown out the chaos in his head.
Pickles was leaning against the kitchen counter, nursing a mug of black coffee and trying to will away the fuzziness in his head from the night before. Toki had slept soundly, curled up against him, and even though Pickles had managed to sleep too, it hadn’t exactly been restful. His chest still ached faintly, that familiar, gnawing feeling creeping in whenever he thought about Toki—what he needed, what he deserved, and what he could never seem to stop feeling when it came to him.
The sound of footsteps broke his thoughts, heavy and deliberate, and Pickles looked up to see Skwisgaar standing in the doorway.
Even without a word, the tension in the air was suffocating. Skwisgaar’s blue eyes were sharp, his jaw set in a way that made it clear this wasn’t going to be a casual conversation.
“We needs to talk,” Skwisgaar said icily, stepping further into the kitchen.
Pickles raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. “Alright,” he said slowly, taking a sip of his coffee. “What’s this about?”
Skwisgaar crossed his arms, his fingers digging into his biceps. “I tolds you to stay away from Toki,” he said, his voice low but cutting.
Pickles frowned, his confusion evident. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”
Skwisgaar stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “You knows what I’m talkin’ about. He was in your room last night. I saw him leaves dis morning.”
For a moment, Pickles stared at him, his confusion giving way to realization. His green eyes flickered with something sharp, something knowing, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a faint smirk.
“Ohhhh,” Pickles said, dragging the word out. “Holy shit, dude. I get it now.”
Skwisgaar stiffened, his glare darkening. “Get what?”
Pickles set his mug down on the counter with deliberate slowness, crossing his arms as he leaned forward slightly. “You want him too,” he said, his voice quiet but laced with a kind of dangerous amusement. “Don’t you?”
Skwisgaar’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.
Pickles let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Man, that explains so much. You don’t just mess with him ‘cause you’re bored—you’re tryin’ to keep him on a leash, huh? You can’t stand the thought of him gettin’ too far away from you.”
“Shut up,” Skwisgaar snapped, a very faint tremor in his voice giving him away.
But Pickles wasn’t finished. The opportunity to twist the knife was too tempting, and after seeing what Skwisgaar had put Toki through, he wasn’t about to hold back.
“You need him,” Pickles said, his tone mocking now. “But guess what, dude? He doesn’t need you. You know who he does come to? Me. He comes to me ‘cause he wants to, ‘cause he likes bein’ around me. He trusts me.”
Skwisgaar’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. “He doesn’t knows what he’s doin’,” he said, his voice cold.
“Bullshit,” Pickles shot back, stepping closer now, his grin widening. “He knows exactly what he’s doin’. He knows I’m not gonna fuck with his head like you do. He knows I actually give a shit about him, that he’s safe with me.”
Skwisgaar’s face twisted, something raw flickering behind his eyes as Pickles kept going.
“Y’know what else, Skwisgaar?” Pickles said, his voice dropping to a cruel, taunting whisper. “He was happy when he left my room this morning. Smilin’, relaxed—like a fuckin’ weight was off his chest for the first time in weeks. You ever seen him like that after spendin’ time with you?”
Skwisgaar’s breath hitched, and he took an unsteady step back.
“’Cause I’ll tell ya what,” Pickles continued, his tone sharper now, “last time he came outta your room? He was panickin’, hyperventilatin’. That’s what you do to him, Skwisgaar. You break him down and make him think it’s his fault. You think that’s somethin’ he needs?”
Skwisgaar flinched, his pale face twisting with a mixture of guilt, anger, and something painfully close to despair.
Pickles leaned back, crossing his arms again as he let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Face it, man. He doesn’t need you. But you? You do need him. And that’s what’s killin’ you, isn’t it?”
Skwisgaar’s composure cracked, his expression raw as he turned and stormed out of the kitchen without another word. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the hall, followed by the slam of his bedroom door.
Pickles let out a slow breath, the adrenaline starting to fade as he picked up his coffee again. He took a long sip, the warmth doing little to ease the tightness in his chest.
“That’s what you fucking get, douchebag,” he muttered under his breath, his fingers tightening around the mug.
As he replayed the encounter in his mind, a faint pang of guilt was trying to worm its way in, but he pushed it away quickly, focusing instead on the satisfaction of finally giving Skwisgaar a taste of his own medicine.
Maybe now he’ll think twice before fuckin’ with Toki again.
The door to Toki’s room was slightly ajar when he returned, which immediately set him on edge. He pushed it open cautiously, his breath hitching as he saw the figure sitting on the edge of his bed.
Skwisgaar.
The blonde looked up, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Toki with an intensity that sent a shiver through him. Skwisgaar didn’t say anything at first, just let his gaze linger, heavy and unreadable, before offering a slow, almost lazy smile.
“Hey, Toki,” Skwisgaar said, his voice soft, syrupy smooth. “You’s finally back.”
Toki’s heart hammered in his chest, the nervous tension he’d carried for days warring with something warmer, something dangerous. “What… what are you doin’ here?” he asked, his voice wavering slightly.
Skwisgaar stood slowly, taking a step toward him, his movements fluid and deliberate. “I wanted to see you,” he said simply, his tone light but carrying an undercurrent of something that made Toki’s stomach twist.
Toki took a step back, his breath catching as Skwisgaar followed, closing the distance between them with an easy grace.
“You’ve been avoidin’ me,” Toki said, his voice stronger now, though he still felt like he was caught in a tide he couldn’t control.
“Ja,” Skwisgaar admitted with a faint chuckle, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from Toki’s face. His touch was light, almost reverent, and it made Toki’s knees feel weak. “Maybe I was stupid. I shouldn’t have stayed away.”
The shift in Skwisgaar’s demeanor was dizzying. He was unbearably sweet, his usual sharpness softened into a honeyed charm that made Toki feel like he was the only person in the world.
“You looks so nice tonight,” Skwisgaar murmured, his fingers grazing Toki’s cheek. “So… beautiful.”
Toki’s face burned, his breath hitching as the words washed over him. Skwisgaar leaned in slowly, his lips hovering just above Toki’s, and Toki didn’t resist.
When their mouths met, it was like a dam breaking. Toki melted into the kiss, his hands gripping Skwisgaar’s shoulders as he let himself get swept away by the intensity of it. Skwisgaar’s hands slid around his waist, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, turning messy and desperate in a matter of seconds.
Toki was drunk on the feeling, all of the frustration and confusion of the past few weeks dissolving into nothing as he clung to Skwisgaar… but just as quickly as it began, it stopped.
Skwisgaar pulled away abruptly, stepping back and running a hand through his hair. His smirk was back, faint but sharp, as he looked at Toki with an almost detached amusement.
“Dis was fun,” Skwisgaar said, his voice light, his gaze flicking toward the door.
“You’re still messin’ with me,” Toki said, his voice trembling with hurt and anger.
Skwisgaar froze, his eyes narrowing as he glanced towards Toki with a smirk. “What are you talkin’ about?”
«Why are you doing this to me?» Toki demanded, his voice rising as he slipped into Norwegian. He grabbed Skwisgaar by the wrist, pulling him back before he could leave. «Why do you keep starting this if you don’t mean it?»
Skwisgaar’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer. His eyes flicked away, his usual arrogance cracking under the weight of Toki’s words.
And that’s when it hit Toki. He stared at him, his chest heaving as the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Skwisgaar wasn’t stopping because he didn’t want this—he was stopping because he did.
«You do mean it,» Toki said, his voice quieter now, his grip loosening on Skwisgaar’s wrist. «You want me too… but you’re too scared. You don’t like not being in control.»
Skwisgaar’s breath hitched, and for a moment, Toki thought he might deny it, but the words never came.
Toki stepped closer, his anger softening into determination. «If you want me, just… stop fighting it,» he murmured, leaning in.
Before Skwisgaar could react, Toki pulled him into another kiss, this one just as fierce and desperate as before. Skwisgaar’s initial stiffness melted away almost instantly, his hands finding their way to Toki’s hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.
It was aggressive, messy, an explosion of everything they’d been holding back for weeks. Skwisgaar’s hands roamed Toki’s back, his grip firm and possessive, while Toki pressed against him like he couldn’t get close enough.
Skwisgaar tried to pull away again, his breath catching as if he were about to say something, but Toki wouldn’t let him. He tangled his fingers in Skwisgaar’s shirt, keeping him close as their mouths clashed again and again.
Finally, whatever resistance Skwisgaar had left crumbled entirely. He gave in, pulling Toki flush against him as his hands gripped at his hips, his movements almost frantic.
They didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, every kiss stoking the fire between them until neither of them could think of anything else. They wanted each other too badly, and for the first time, neither of them cared about what came next.
The room was chaos in seconds, the tension between Toki and Skwisgaar boiling over into something raw and unrestrained. The kiss deepened, teeth clashing and hands pulling at anything they could grab. Skwisgaar pushed Toki back against the wall with enough force to rattle the picture frames, his hands gripping Toki’s waist like a lifeline.
Toki wasn’t about to let Skwisgaar have the upper hand. He shoved back hard, flipping their positions and pinning Skwisgaar against the wall, his teeth grazing Skwisgaar’s jawline as his hands slid under his shirt, tugging at the fabric desperately.
“Idiot,” Skwisgaar muttered, his voice rough and breathless as he grabbed Toki by the shoulders, spinning him around and slamming him into the nearest dresser. The furniture groaned under the impact, the clutter on top of it scattering to the floor.
“Fuck you,” Toki spat, his voice low and full of fire as he yanked Skwisgaar’s shirt over his head, tossing it aside. His fingers tangled in Skwisgaar’s hair, pulling hard enough to make him growl.
Skwisgaar retaliated by grabbing the hem of Toki’s shirt and tearing it off in one quick motion, the sound of ripping fabric only fueling the frenzy. His lips crashed against Toki’s again, hot and insistent, his hands roaming with equal parts roughness and precision, finding Toki’s belt next and yanking it open.
They staggered backward, knocking over a chair and nearly tripping over it as they fought for control, their movements wild and uncoordinated. Toki shoved Skwisgaar onto the bed, but before he could follow through, Skwisgaar grabbed him by the wrist, yanking him down on top of him.
The bed creaked loudly under their combined weight as they wrestled for dominance, their bodies tangling as they kissed, bit, and clawed at each other. Toki managed to straddle Skwisgaar, his hands pressing down on his chest, but Skwisgaar twisted beneath him, rolling them over until he was on top.
“You’ll never wins,” Skwisgaar panted, his smirk full of defiance as he leaned down, his breath hot against Toki’s ear as he fumbled with his own belt now, quickly getting it undone.
Toki’s eyes flashed with anger, and he bucked his hips, throwing Skwisgaar off balance and flipping their positions again. “Wanna bet?” he shot back, his hands gripping Skwisgaar’s shoulders as he leaned down to bite at his neck, leaving a fresh red mark as his hand found the hem of Skwisgaar’s pants, pulling them open in one quick motion.
Clothes hit the floor as it was shed and discarded in a frenzy, some of it torn in their desperate struggle. Skin met skin, their bodies colliding as they pulled and pushed, neither willing to give an inch.
By the time they reached the bed again, they were both stripped bare, their breath ragged and their movements frantic. They fell into the mattress together, limbs tangled and slick with sweat, their hands and mouths exploring every inch of exposed skin.
It was a blur of heat and sensation—fingers digging into hips, teeth grazing over shoulders, nails raking down backs, leaving angry red trails in their wake. Every movement was a challenge, a demand, a refusal to let the other have the last word.
In the end, neither really won the fight for dominance – neither of them was quite so cruel as to hurt the other by forcing something unprepared. Though, they still had something important to prove to each other as they pressed close, each of them grabbing the other’s arousal roughly in their hand.
It almost turned into a competition, the sound of their breaths coming heavy and fast filling the room, trying to distract themselves by continuing to bite and suck at each other’s flesh as their hands worked almost frantically over the hot flesh gripped in them.
They made no other noise, as if each of them refused to give the other the satisfaction, their breaths just getting harder and shallower as the physical pleasure grew sharp, almost painful for them both as they struggled to hold back.
Toki sucked in a breath as it grew sharper, more insistent, not realizing he was even holding his breath until he was lightheaded. He exhaled, breathed in a ragged gasp as his lungs burned, black pinpricks at the periphery of his vision as he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to hold back any longer. He exhaled a shuddering breath as he came, spilling himself onto Skwisgaar’s abdomen, his body tensing and the hand gripping Skwisgaar tighter by reflex.
Though normally, Skwisgaar would probably have taken the opportunity to lord over Toki that he made him come first, the feel of his body tensing, the sound of his breaths, the look on his face… he gasped a whispered ‘ah!’ as his own peak hit him just then with surprising intensity. He arched his body up against Toki as his length pulsed in his hand, his own emission joining the one already pooling on his stomach, smearing both against the younger guitarist’s body as he did so.
By the time it was over, the bed was a mess of twisted sheets, their bodies covered in bruises, scratches, and bite marks…and the liquid remnants of what they had just done to each other. The room smelled of sweat and sex, the air thick and heavy as they rolled apart to lay side by side, their chests heaving as they struggled to catch their breath.
Neither of them spoke.
Toki stared at the ceiling, his mind racing and his body still thrumming with sensation. Beside him, Skwisgaar did the same, his jaw tight as he tried to process what the hell had just happened.
The silence was deafening, but neither dared to break it, their pride keeping them from acknowledging the whirlwind they’d just created together. They lay there for what felt like an eternity, their bodies spent, their breaths gradually evening out as the intensity of the moment faded into a tense, uncertain stillness, the sweat on their bodies going cold.
The silence in the room was suffocating.
Skwisgaar moved first. He sat up abruptly, his body tense and his movements jerky as if propelled by some unseen force. His eyes darted around the room, refusing to land on Toki as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and began gathering his scattered clothes in almost a panic.
He didn’t bother to get dressed. His hands trembled as he clutched his shirt and pants to his chest, his face set in a mask of cold determination as he scooped up his guitar from where it had fallen. His breath came in shallow bursts, and the muscles in his jaw flexed as he bit back the words he didn’t want to say.
Toki lay still, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his chest rising and falling slowly as he tried to steady his breathing. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He couldn’t.
Skwisgaar paused for half a second, his hand hovering over the door. He refused to glance back, but his lips parted ever so slightly as if he wanted to say something. The words didn’t come. With a sharp exhale, he yanked the door open and stepped out, letting it close behind him with a quiet click.
Toki closed his eyes, his heart sinking as the sound of Skwisgaar’s retreating footsteps echoed down the hallway.
For a long time, he lay there in silence, his body aching and his mind racing. He tried to make sense of what had just happened, but every thought twisted and knotted itself into something more confusing than before.
He wanted to hate Skwisgaar for leaving, for being too much of a coward to stay and face what they’d done. But part of him couldn’t blame him. Part of him felt just as lost, just as unsure of what came next.
Skwisgaar shut his own door behind him, leaning back against it as his chest heaved. The room felt too small, too warm, the air thick with the aftermath of what had just happened.
He let out a shaky breath, clutching his clothes tightly to his chest as he sank down to the floor. His mind was a whirlwind of panic and frustration, looping endlessly over the same thoughts: How did I let this happen? Why did I let this happen?
Because he’d wanted it.
That was the truth he couldn’t escape. He’d wanted it so badly that he’d let himself lose control completely, let Toki take something from him that he wasn’t sure he’d ever get back.
And the worst part? He wanted it again. Even now, as he sat there trembling with shame and anger, he could feel the pull—the memory of Toki’s touch, the heat of his skin, the way he’d kissed him like he was the only thing that mattered, the feel of his teeth marking his flesh…
Skwisgaar groaned, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes as if he could block out the thoughts, the feelings, the everything.
He stumbled to his feet, his movements frantic as he crossed the room to his bathroom. He flipped on the light, the harsh brightness making him wince as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
The scratches on his chest and shoulders stood out starkly against his pale skin, angry red lines that told a story he wasn’t ready to face. There were bite marks, too, faint but unmistakable, and his hair was a disheveled mess.
“Fan,” Skwisgaar muttered, his voice tight with frustration.
He turned on the shower, letting the water heat up as he leaned against the sink, his fingers gripping the edge so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
He hated this—hated the way he felt so out of control, so completely at the mercy of something he couldn’t name. He hated that he wanted Toki, that he’d wanted him enough to let this happen. And most of all, he hated that he couldn’t promise himself it wouldn’t happen again.
With a final, frustrated groan, he stepped into the shower, letting the scalding water cascade over him in the vain hope that it might wash away the marks, the memories, and the mess he’d made of everything.
After a long time, the water finally went cold, and he finally emerged, every movement sharp and agitated as if he could shake off the memory of what had happened. His wet hair clung to his neck and shoulders as he rubbed a towel over himself with a roughness bordering on violence, trying to scrub away the marks on his skin—the scratches, the bites, the phantom sensation of Toki’s mouth and hands that lingered even now.
“Fan,” he muttered again under his breath, throwing the towel aside and grabbing a clean shirt. His reflection in the fogged mirror caught his eye, and he froze, staring at the faintly warped image staring back at him.
His hands shaking, Skwisgaar quickly swiped the condensation away with his hand, bringing his face into focus. The reflection smirked, mocking him with a twisted version of his own arrogance. “You wanted it,” it said, its voice low and dripping with venom. “You still want it. Right now, if Toki came through that door—”
“Shut up,” Skwisgaar hissed out loud, but the voice in his head didn’t stop.
“You’d let him do it again, wouldn’t you?” the reflection sneered. “You’d let him grab you, pull you down onto that bed—”
“I said, shut up!” Skwisgaar snapped, his voice trembling as his hands clenched into fists.
The reflection’s smirk widened. “Pickle was right, you know,” it said. “You need him, but he doesn’t need you. And you can’t stand that.”
Skwisgaar’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening as he glared at the mocking image before him. His chest heaved with the effort of holding himself together, but his composure shattered in an instant.
With a cry of frustration, he punched the mirror, the glass splintering into a cracked web under the force of the blow. Glass shards rained down onto the sink, a few cutting into his knuckles as the reflection fractured into a hundred mocking fragments.
Pain bloomed in his hand, and panic quickly followed. Skwisgaar pulled his hand back, staring at the blood that trickled from his torn skin. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice shaking as he stumbled to the bathroom cabinet.
He fumbled with the first-aid kit, yanking it open and grabbing a wad of gauze. His hands trembled as he pressed it against his knuckles, his heart racing at the thought of what he might’ve done. What if I really hurt myself? What if I can’t play?
It wasn’t bad—the cuts were superficial, even if they bled like hell—but his panic didn’t subside until he flexed his fingers, reassured by the lack of serious pain. He let out a shaky breath, his grip on the gauze loosening slightly.
When he looked up, his fractured reflection stared back at him with a serious look, splintered by the spiderweb of cracks running through it.
“You’d better not hurt your hands,” the reflection said coldly, its voice echoing in his mind as it nodded behind him, indicating something there. “It’s all you have left now that you’ve lost control.”
Skwisgaar’s throat tightened, his fingers gripping the edge of the sink until his knuckles turned white. He shut his eyes, willing the voice to go away, to stop gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.
When he opened them again, his gaze flicked over in the direction his reflection had nodded in — to his guitar, propped against the wall where he’d left it. Without another word, he crossed the room, grabbed it, and sat down on the edge of his bed.
The familiar weight of the instrument in his hands brought him a measure of calm, but not enough. He began to play, his fingers moving frantically over the strings, the notes sharp and chaotic, echoing his inner turmoil.
Blood seeped through the gauze wrapped around his knuckles, smearing faintly against the strings as it dripped between his fingers, but Skwisgaar didn’t stop. He played harder, faster, as if the music could drown out everything else—the reflection’s mocking voice, the feeling of Toki’s touch, the realization that he had lost all control.
Because if he couldn’t stop the thoughts, at least he could try to outrun them.