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Sweet Robot	By : varenoea Category: +M through R > Metalocalypse > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2075 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Metalocalypse, any of the characters, settings or plot elements. No financial profit is being made with this story.

Chapter List
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It was later the same evening. After the concert. After a hot shower and a strong drink. Charles felt that he wasn’t a spring chicken any more, and shouldn’t have to do stunts like he did today. Only the drink had stopped his fingers from trembling after it was all over, and the equipment was wrapped up, and the band was safely being shipped off to Mordhaus.

He was hanging in his easy chair, wearing only his bathrobe, and was trying to make up his mind about watching some TV or calming himself down with some violent classical music. Something really pompous.

He didn’t have to make the choice. There was a knock at the door.

Charles sighed. “Yes please?”

“It’s me!”

That voice was unmistakable, as was the wording.

“Come in.”

Pickles let himself in. “Boy, it was hard to find you! I didn’t even know this part of the house!”
Charles smiled, his face somewhat cramped. “Is something wrong? You could have given me a call, you know.”

“A call won’t do.” Pickles closed the door. He looked out of breath, and his face looked puffy. “I gotta talk to… are you really living here?”

“Yes.” Charles was used to this kind of intelligence display. He didn’t think anything bad of it. His boys were the way they were.

“In the house? Don’t you wanna go home, don’t you have, you know, a wife and a family like all the normal jack-offs do?” Pickles started slouch around the room and inspect things. Charles didn’t exactly like this.

“I don’t have a wife or children.”

“Why’s that?” Pickles had just found the picture of Charles’ mother on his nightstand.

“I never wanted any. Pickles, would you stop sneaking around my room?”

“Dude, I’m just nosy. It just struck me that I don’t really know anything about you.”

“I’m tired. Can we talk about it in the morning?”

“Just a little more, okay? This is so bleak! Don’t you have any stuff?!”

Charles’ stuff, the details of his life, were stored away in clear plastic boxes in his wardrobe, and only taken out when needed. He said nothing.

“Don’t you get bored in here?” Pickles turned around and looked sympathetic. “Don’t you have anything you like, a hobby or whathaveyou?”

Charles shut his eyes. “Please, Pickles.”

When he opened them, Pickles’ face was very close to his own. Pickles said: “Man, your lip is split! How did that happen?”

“The concert. There was an attack on you, remember?”

“Oh yeah. We didn’t see much of it. Must have been really cool.” Pickles leaned over Charles, and extended his index finger. Charles twitched away from it as if he had been burnt. This was so not was he needed. Not Pickles getting physical on him. And he also didn’t need a finger in the wound. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Not much.”

Pickles seemed to consider something, and this set Charles’ alarm off immediately. But then Pickles just pulled a wooden chair close, sat on it the wrong way around and leaned his arms on the backrest, with his chin on top. “We give you a lot of trouble, don’t we.”

Charles nodded, and then shrugged.

“You said you like me.”

There it was. Charles exhaled. “Yeah. It’s nothing that you need to bother about.”

Pickles frowned. “Are you gay? Is that why you don’t have a wife?”

Charles needed a moment to realize that this wasn’t malice, or mockery, but sincere interest. “No. I’m not gay, I just… like men better than women, most of the time. Not all the time.”

“Funny”, said Pickles.

“Why’s that funny?”

“’cause you don’t look like a faggot.”

No offence. None taken. It was the same thing, again and again. Pickles had the emotional intelligence of an average cactus. “Faggot” wasn’t nasty when it came from him.

“I told you. I’m not gay. I just like men better than women, usually.”

Pickles crinkled his nose. “You know, with me, it’s the other way around. Only I look more like a faggot than you.”

“You… like women better than men?”

“Usually. Yes. But I do like you.” Pickles smiled, apprehensive and crooked.

Charles’ chest started to heave. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re drunk.”

“Sure as fuck I’m not.”

“Just look at you. You look bloated and your nose is glowing like a lighthouse.”

“’cause I have a fuckin’ summer cold!” Pickles lifted his head off his arms. “It’s the bloody cold, not booze!”

Charles wished he was anywhere but here. “I was upset when I said it. It’s not a thing I would normally do. I was agitated.”

“Yeah, right. I ain’t gonna let you back in the closet.”

He got up. “Pickles, this is silly. Let’s talk about it some other time. Now can I kick you out?”

Pickles was short, but surprisingly heavy, Charles noticed when he was thrown backward into the stone wall. Pickles’ chest and crotch were pressing against his.

“When was the last time you had really good shag?” Pickles asked with the sweetest (and most determined) smile.

Everybody with a notion of violating Charles’ personal space would have come across a speedy and painful end. But there is not much use for lethal close combat skills when the person on you is basically helpless, and very dear to your heart. Charles couldn’t move, for Pickles’ sake. A gnawing feeling of guilt in his belly said that he didn’t want to move at all.

Pickles’ calloused fingers were running over Charles’ temple. “Open your eyes, dude. Talk to me. This ain’t fair.”

Charles heard his own voice from very far away. “Pickles, let’s forget about it.”

“Aw really? Then that’s a biro in your pants here, I guess.”

His erection was filling up more and more. Pickles so close. He couldn’t help it. Yes, Pickles didn’t have much hair left. So what? Bald meant more testosterone.

Pickles moustache was tickling his neck as Pickles sniffed along his collar. “God, Charlie, you smell good. What are you hiding from, huh?”

“Pickles, this is no use. You’re too drunk to fuck.”

“Bullshit. I’m too fucked to drink.” Pickles looked up at him angrily. “I ain’t had a drop all day, because I had to think clearly about what you said. And think I did. And now I know that I want you.”

“This isn’t a good idea. I’m your manager. This could end up in disaster.”

“Oh yeah, bla bla, fuck that. You’re not in my band, and everything else is fair game.” Pickles nuzzled the bit of chest the bathrobe left open. The tickle from his lips and beard sent shivers all over Charles’ skin.

“Leave it. Let go of me, and I promise we’ll forget about the whole thing.”

“You say that now, but let’s see what you say when I got my tongue in your ass.”

Charles’ cock jumped. This was the last straw. He swallowed. He gave himself away. His breath came ragged out of his mouth. He was lost.

“You’re not made of stone, Charlie”, Pickles mumbled against his neck.

The warm breath was making him shiver. His nipples hardened almost painfully under his bathrobe. He lifted his hand to warm one with his fingers, but the hand was taken away and laid around Pickles’ waist. The wonderful warm feeling of flesh under his fingers – he couldn’t resist, he grabbed and squeezed it. Ran his hand deeper to Pickles’ jeans-clad buttocks, and squeezed one. He had nearly forgotten how good that felt.

“Show me the way, stud”, Pickles said and grinned.

Charles grabbed the back of Pickles’ head, and crushed their lips together. They fought for a second, before Pickles’ lower lip ended up between Charles’ lips. Pickles was squeezing his package through the bathrobe.

“This isn’t right”, panted Charles, struggled his mouth free and tried to escape Pickles’ tender assaults. “You nearly died of blood loss today. Are you even feeling alright?”

“My blood is all where it should be”, growled Pickles. “And you oughta take care of it where it is right now. ‘cause I’m just about to explode.” Pickles’ hand had sneaked under the bathrobe, and taken Charles’ cock into a firm grip. “And I got a hostage, so you better do as I say.”

Charles’ eyes rolled heavenward. Then he shoved Pickles off and pushed him to the (terribly white and boring) bed. Pushed him on his back, and let the bathrobe fall off his shoulders.
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Sweet Robot