This is, I suppose, a series of song fics. Originally written from 5 random songs on my mp3 player which were used as inspiration.

...

Marillion: King of Sunset Town

Charles stood on the balcony and surveyed his domain. His. It was all his. They were all his, whether they accepted it or not. Father, manager, friend, lover. He was all of those things and more. They could not survive, could not exist without him. He knew that, even if they didn't.

...

Creed: Six feet from the edge

As far as Pickles knew, he was the only one who ever visited them. No one else ever seemed to care. The stark white walls and the harsh smell of fear a far cry from money, fame, and glory. No one else cared. No one except him.
But then who else could ever know what they had been through?
He had been there since the beginning, seen all the highs, all the lows, and all those bits in between when they just struggled to survive each day as it passed.
No one else saw them like he did.
No one else loved them like he did.
No one.

...

Joe Satriani: Starry Night

Toki felt the snow melting from the warmth of his body, the water seeping into his clothes. He shivered.
What would it be like to just fall asleep? The cold called out to him, made him drowsy. Would anyone even notice he was gone? After all, he was only the second fastest guitarist in the world. Not the first. Never the first. No, that was all Swkisgaar. Always Swkisgaar.
Did he even care.
Of course he cared.
He hated Swkisgaar.
Hated him.
Hated.
Dimly he heard the crunching of boots on the snow.
"Dildos. Whats youse doings in the snow. You freezes. Stupid."
Familiar blond hair brushed his face as the swede picked him up and slung him over his shoulder, muttering about too much candy and diets.
He hated Swkisgaar.
Hated.
He had to keep telling himself that. It was the only way he could live with himself.

...

Threshold: Pilot in the sky of dreams

William sometimes wondered whether he would have turned out different if his parents hadn't died.
Less violent.
less depressed.
Less...gay.
He reflected on the last as he stroked the sleeping Nathans hair.
Nah, that one was unlikely.

...

Poison: Look what the cat dragged in.

The living room smelled of beer, vomit, and other substances Nathan didn't really want to try and identify.
In his preoccupation, he missed the sleeping form of Pickles, which was strategically placed directly in front of the doorway.
A nosedive straight into a puddle of stale beer is not a great way to start the day, by all accounts.
Nathan landing on him was a very rude awakening for Pickles.
Any attempts to get up were hampered by the fact that Nathans hair had somehow gotten caught in the drummers belt buckle.
Well this was awkward.
Too late, they heard footsteps coming down the hall.
Upon entering the living room, Murderface was greeted by the sight of the two beer soaked men in a tangled heap on the floor.
He chugged his beer thoughtfully.
"God, look what the cat dragged in eh."