What kind of orgy leaves a sense of deeper love?
“Where’s the kid?”
“Huh?” Nathan stood in the house’s doorway, gazing blankly at Pickles’ scowl of impatient rage.
“Where’s the kid, Nate? Where’s Toki, we came here with – ”
“Uhh, dunno – ” Nathan looked back into the dark house, the stale sweat smell emanating from the gloom, and a vein popped in Pickles’ brow in the chilly early morning light.
“Then you better go get him, huh? And hurry up, limo’s waiting.”
Nathan turned away with a growl, his lip curled, but slunk back into the dark of the corridor anyway. He resented Pickles’ delegation, the little douchebag's silhouette grey as he headed out across the lawn, and stomped down the corridor again to search for their guitarist. Sure, Pickles hadn’t got a lot of sleep, but like… it was hard to feel pity for someone when the cause of their sleepless night had been copious fucking.
The lounge showed every sign of abandoned excess when he reached it. Nathan hated waking up after orgies, there was just something so fucking bleak about it, something so normal. With these guys especially, not real Satanists but just older guys who liked the vibe - and so beyond the inverted crosses and naked bodies, Nathan was uncomfortably aware that really it was just a lounge room. There was probably some pictures of their hosts' families on a side table somewhere, turned to face the wall. At least Mordhaus had the dignity to always look dramatic as shit.
Picking his way around the unconscious bodies in the lounge, the snuffed candles from their pentagram choking up the air, Nathan struggled to spot anyone even Toki-like in shape. Turning over another body with long hair there was nothing but a woman’s face and smears of blood from their mock sacrifice (the goat they'd acquired for that express purpose had gone missing early, putting a dampener on everyone's night). Nathan was pretty sure he’d hit that, her, the woman, but the night was a blur. He couldn’t even remember seeing Toki in the chaos, the flickering candles, the blood…
Which was weird, really, cos that was totally up the little freak’s alley.
You know, or else he and Pickles wouldn't have even bothered bringing him down here. They'd tried bringing Charles before and that had just gone atrociously. Something about that guy sucked the drama out of every situation. When you were in an orgy lounge room with Charles, something about him just made it blindingly obvious that you were in a lounge room. In a lounge room with Charles. When it was just Pickles and him, the theatre ran high, as if Pickles could call up some dark, many tentacled god to embrace them, the tendrils of the night. With Charles, you were just some middle-aged dudes in a lounge room about to take your clothes off and have weird, awkward sex, and no amount of inverted pentagrams was going to make that better. There'd been a conversation about lampshades. God.
In the kitchen, he found Glenn, one of their hosts, half dressed in flannel pyjama bottoms - black cats, very unlucky - and starting on post-orgy breakfast preparation, cracking eggs into a large bowl. The room was lighter than the gloomy, post-sex lounge, even though it was still too early for any light except the greyish dawn, the sound of the first birds, the coffee machine peculating. The small man looked up over his shoulder as Nathan entered, flicking back his long hair, smiling benevolently over his shoulder and leaning on the kitchen bench - Nathan liked him, he liked them cute.
“Just like you to sneak out early, Nate. You looking for something?” he chirped, and Nathan just grunted in reply. Glenn stabbed his thumb towards another doorway. “He ended up with us. In the master bedroom.”
“Thanks,” said Nathan, but paused, fixing Glenn with a protective stare, almost willing him to say something damning about the night before. The man held up his hand in surrender, defensive.
"Ah, nope, don't look at me! I didn't do nothing! Kid just wanted to cuddle, man."
Nathan dragged out in the direction he'd pointed, and sure enough, there was Toki on the men’s bed, curled on the black blankets fully dressed, his arms around a small black form. Did Glenn have a dog now? A little dog? That didn't seem like him, Glenn was more of a big dog guy... and no sign of Henry, either, but he wasn’t one for pillowtalk really.
“Toki, wake up. We’re leaving.” Nathan leaned his knee on the edge of the double bed to shake Toki’s shoulder, the Norwegian squirming in on himself. The dog looked up at Nathan with slit eyes as Toki buried his face in its fur and let out a baa. Oh. That’s where the goat had gotten to.
“Toki. C'mon. Pickles is pissed.”
“Fuck Pickle.” Toki raised his head, his hair mussed badly, and took in Nathan with tired eyes before collapsing back onto the blankets. “Sorry, you gots plenties of dat last night, huh.”
“Fuck off, Toki.” Nathan glanced around, the amazing pain in his balls Pickles was going to be if he took too long playing over his sluggish mind, and shook Toki again. “Get up, or I’ll just fucking drag you.”
The kid lay there a moment, face hidden in his hair, and then stretched out his arms to Nathan. “Only if yous carries me.”
Nathan glared at him. This wasn’t what he’d intended.
The hulking frontman gave a groan of annoyance, rolling his eyes, but the sooner this was over the better. He grabbed Toki's arms and dragged him to the edge of the bed, then scooped the guy into his arms. The little shit took a moment to get his bearings but then curled against Nathan’s chest where he was cradled. Fucking bastard. No one carried Nathan home when he was hungover.
Nathan turned to leave.
“My friend!” Toki shot out an arm towards the goat, balanced on the mattress on its prim little hooves, and Nathan almost dropped him in fury.
“No. It’s, uh, Glenn’s friend. It’s not coming with us!”
“But I wants – !”
“No fuckin way am I feeding a goat! We’re out. Damn!”
Nathan hurried the Norwegian out, weaving through the doorways and barely grunting to Glenn in the kitchen (although Toki waved), only pausing in the foyer as Toki put out a hand to catch the front doorway, the door still open on the front yard. Jesus fuck, what was the matter now?
The little shit was gazing up at him through his messy hair, smiling shyly, and as he scowled down at him, Toki put up a slender hand to stroke his cheek. “Thank for takesin me here… everyone's real nice. Them guys, real nice... I has a gooders time. Really.”
And for two seconds he was touched. Truly moved. And then Toki punched him in the jaw with his other fist, causing Nathan to drop him with a yell, the Norwegian scrambling to his feet and out of swipe reach immediately.
“PSYCHE! Ha-ha, fucks you, yous big gay homo!”
Nathan held in the roar just long enough to see Toki sprint across the front lawn, dewy with morning, to the idling, open limo, Pickles jeering from the car door, and then he let it loose into the suburban street, gut tearing, unfettered rage.
He was gonna fucking kill Toki Wartooth.