Dethklok- Intoxicate Me

Tease

I walk into the building for my shift late that night. As I walk into the main room, my heart drops. There stand five men, each with abnormally long hair. I avert my eyes as I make my way behind the bar.

Just do your job, I think. My eyes keep wandering over to the group. Questions bubble up in my head, general ones and... Personal ones. Why do they come here so often? Don't they have groupies lined up for miles just to get a chance to breathe in the same room at them? My mind is so preoccupied that I'm stuck in a daze when the group comes up to me.

"Uh, Bea?" Nathan asks. I blink tightly for a second before opening my eyes with a smile.

"Hey, Nathan, good to see you here," I gush, "You guys want anything?"

"Yeah, uh, just get us a round of shots," he takes a seat along with everyone else. Skwisgaar sits right in front of me, probably trying to tease me. It's not going to work, I'm not going to end up in his bed again.

"I'll get you guys something nice," I grin as I walk into the back room, letting the door shut behind me. My hands shake with excitement at the brilliant, albeit bitchy, plan my brain formed. I unbutton my shirt by two buttons and tie my hair in a loose bun. I grab a bottle of whiskey and bring it out to them, pouring shots for each of them.

As my hands delicately slide the small glass over to a man with shorter brown hair, I remain in place and lean over the counter towards him. He's a heavier man who's missing a tooth or two, and the excitement in his eyes as I get closer makes it hard to not burst out in laughter.

"So, you're in the band?" I ask quietly. He nods and begins to speak with a heavy lateral lisp, "Yeah, I play the bass... Sometimes with my d-ck," he crosses his arms and slides a hand through his hair as if what he'd just said to me was impressive. However, I go along with it, keeping Skwisgaar in my peripheral vision.

"Wow, that's gotta take a lot of skill, could you show me one day?"

Nathan and the others are trying so hard to stifle their laughter, which makes me want to laugh even more, but the look on Skwisgaar's face as well as Murderface's next comment is worth all the effort.

"Are we allowed to f-ck the bartenders?" He asks loudly, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. The rest of the guys start laughing hysterically, all except Skwisgaar. He glares at me as I give a small wink and walk into the back room to wash their shot glasses. A grin sticks on my face, the image of his angered expression still fresh in my mind.

"What's the f-cks was that's?" a thick Swedish accent calls from behind me. I turn to him and hold my hands up innocently.

"Just making small talk with your friends, that's all," I shrug. He forces a sarcastic laugh, "That's did nots looks like smalls talk to me!"

"Tell me, Skwisgaar," I drag a finger down the center of his chest, "Why do you care so much?"

He scoffs, opening his mouth to reply, likely with some sort of poorly spoken comeback. Instead his eyes meet mine and for a second his frustrated expression fades, only to return just as soon as it vanished.

"You knows what's?" he begins angrily, "I don'ts care! You ams nothings to me, and I ams leaving now!"

He storms out of the room, leaving me with yet another sly grin. Something tells me this isn't the last I'll see of the tall Swede.