Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Dethsub was hell.

Skwisgaar truly believed that.  The producer lady had rebuffed him instantly, hadn’t even thought about it - and that had never really happened to Skwisgaar before.  No, scrap that.  It had never happened to Skwisgaar before.  Just a tight “Nope.”  Not even a blink?  She was like Charles but a chick.  That was the kind of thought that could really shake a man to the bones.  That kind of shit would keep you up for days.

There was always Option B, the desperate and unfathomable affections of Toki Wartooth, to fall back into.  If he wanted.  If he would stoop so low.  When even his attempts at getting back in shape didn’t impress Charlene out there Skwisgaar was inclined to stoop so low, he supposed.  No matter how bad things got, how dry the pussy well became, he could always rely on little Toki.  Making eyes at him across the gym, just as thirsty himself.  It was time to make his move.

Skwisgaar did not plan it - just happened to be down near the submarine’s gym at fuck-off o’clock in the morning, chasing a midnight snack, when he noticed the entry’s electronic panel listed one occupant and had slipped in.  The only one of the guys who would possibly be up and in the gym at this hour was Toki.  Yes, what an opportunity… a coincidence… Toki would be overjoyed… he could just slide in here… shoulder up against the wall, bedroom eyes… hej, Tokis…

But when he got into the main gym area it was abandoned.  Skwisgaar crinkled his big honking nose with distaste.  He was sure he hadn’t read that panel wrong - and as he stood still, he thought he could just hear the edge of a shower running.  Yes.  Yes.  A restless anxiety surged in Skwisgaar as he cut a line to the showers, his tired, midnight-mind tripping over itself as he opened the automatic doors and pushed into the billowing steam inside.

The shower had just turned off as he entered.  There, in the steam, crossing between a partition, a figure.  Wrapping a towel around perfectly toned abs.  That was all Skwisgaar needed to see; he was feverish with whatever it was called when you were so hungry that it made you horny.  Horngry.  He didn’t hesitate a moment.  Toki liked it like that, liked the surprise element.  Skidded around the corner and just jumped the other man, ramming him into the wall and locking lips hard.

The next sequence of events would be hard for Skwisgaar to recall due to the concussion.  But it went something like this:

Desperate lips.  Skwisgaar’s clothed chest pressed against bare muscles. Powerful hands.  Digging into his side.  His neck.  Vertigo.  Air time.  Tiles.

Concussion.

The next thing he was aware of, the man was standing over him rigid formed, ready to strike with some krav maga bullshit, and then suddenly pulling back in disbelief, only just catching his towel in time before it fell from his narrow hips.  “Ah… Skwisgaar?” came Charles’ hesitant voice in the silence, and Skwisgaar groaned from the tiles.

“Ohhhhh, fuck shit!  Mudders fuckin… by Thor’s…” moaned the Swede and rolled onto his back helplessly, clutching his spinning head.  “Sorries!  I thoughts you ams Tokis, fucks it all!”

Besides Skwisgaar’s moans, there was nothing but silence.  When even those dropped away, Skwisgaar rolling to his knees on the tiles and clutching handfuls of his blonde hair over his bruised skull, Charles spoke again - halting.  Bewildered.  “You, ah, thought I was… Toki?”

Silence.  A big mistake.  No one was supposed to know.  Or else why keep it so sporadic, why swear it wasn’t real –

Skwisgaar raised his head to shoot the manager a glacial glower through his hair.  “No,” he said, his voice nearly quivering with certainty.  Charles just stared back at him, uncertain - looked strange after his shower, red-faced, his glasses gone, his hair towelled messy over his scalp almost in curls.  He was too fucking hairy for Skwisgaar anyway.  Skwisgaar snorted at the sight and got to his feet, shoulders raised, mortal with embarrassment.

“Okay,” said Charles eventually, awkward, and drew a sharp breath of displeasure as he took in the Swede.  “Look, ah.  I’m only going to say this once, Skwisgaar.  But if you ever touch me like that again, I will personally eject you from this submarine into the bottom of the Marianas Trench.  Without a life jacket.”

“Don’t even bothers,” snarled Skwisgaar, already turning his back on the manager.  “If dis happens again, I will does it unto myself!”