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Pop Rocks and Coke	By : sillyneko345 Category: +M through R > Metalocalypse > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2192 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the cartoon this fic is based on (Metalocalypse) and do not make any money for writing it.

Chapter List
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AN: More cute and metal, to tide over until they get around to providing more episodes. Soon. I hope I hope I hope.

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ShikaChouFan4Life: Thanks for reading! Everyone needs more cuteness in their lives.

Resplendentphobia: I’m glad you approve of Tickles! Thank you for reading.

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Characters: Belong to Small & Blacha.

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Toki's room wasn't far from the drummer's own, so it should have come as no surprise to Pickles when he returned from a booze run later that evening to find the rhythm guitarist there waiting for him. Not only waiting, but digging in his stuff.

Upon entering his room with sundry bottles of liquid happiness and kicking the door shut behind him, the redhead noticed that the opposite door, that of the closet across the large room, was open, and someone's lower half was protruding out of it. That someone was wearing a pair of blue pajama pants covered in big yellow stars. Guessing the owner wasn't difficult. Creeping up behind the Norwegian prowler on sneaker-shod, nearly silent feet, Pickles took a deep breath.

"WHA'THEHELLYADOIN'?" Pickles screamed, more for effect than because he was really angry.

Toki shrieked and spun to face the drummer, but unluckily dropped his foot right on top of a cue ball that had rolled from the cluttered closet. He went down with a yelp, backwards and right into the closet with a loud crash. A rain of boxes and miscellany showered down, nearly covering him.

"I guess that'll teach ya not ta mess around with other people's shit," Pickles mused as the startled guitarist thrashed and sputtered. "What're ya doin' in here, anyways?"

"Pickle, I sorries!" Toki gasped, trying in vain to struggle up out of the pile he had fallen into. "I comes in to sees you and you weren'ts here so I stays to waits for you and I gots bored and de closets door was open a liddle bit and—"

"Yeah, yeah." Reaching out, the drummer deftly swiped off a battered silk top hat that had fallen onto Toki's mussed head from the top shelf. Pickles had been seventeen, Tony twenty-something. He'd made fun of Tony for buying it, then refused to let him throw it away years later when it was full of rips and holes and stained beyond repair. Nobody wore that hat. Not even by accident. "Curiosity killed the cat, y'know."

Toki's face fell. "A cat is deads?"

"It's an expression, douche-critter."

"I is nots a douche-critter!"

"Whatever ya are, yer ass is gonna get kicked if ya don't pick up my shit. Lookit this mess." Pickles pointed to the motley collection that had fallen from the depths of the closet, conveniently cutting Toki off when the younger musician opened his mouth and looked ready to point out the piles of dirty laundry and stacks of empty booze bottles that littered the rest of the spacious room. "Not that other mess. This mess right here. The other mess don't count. And then ya can scram. I'm still busy."

Toki pouted, looking rebellious as usual, but for once did as he was told. Pickles wondered at the lack of argument from the sometimes spoiled kid, but wasn't going to complain. He could enjoy the evening's drinking much more without listening to Toki whine or getting into a brawl with him over the clean up.

There was welcome silence for a few minutes, during which Pickles debated which bottle to crack first and Toki dutifully picked up the spill and shoved it more or less back where it had come from. When he reached an upended shoebox, however, the snapshots and papers that had been inside crinkling under his bare feet, Toki seemed to take interest.

"Hey, Pickle?"
"Yep."

"Whats is dis stuff? Dese papers?"

The drummer looked up from where he had perched on the bed, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and tequila in the other. The toughest choice he'd had to make all day. When he saw exactly what Toki had, he blinked. "That? I dunno. What's it say?"

"I don'ts know. I can'ts read it." Toki turned the ragged piece of notebook paper in his hands, looking at it confusedly. "You know I's bad at readings English. And dis is like de chicken's scratches."

Well, that explained a lot. Toki could read enough English to get by, but if the words in question were handwritten, forget it. Pickles hoisted himself off the bed and ambled over. "Lemme see."

Toki handed off the paper and peered over the redhead's shoulder curiously. "Whats is it?"

Pickles had to grin. "It's a note Sammy wrote, a million years ago. Tellin' me an' Tony off fer somethin' we did. Back when we were all shacked up in shitty apartments in L.A., waitin' ta hit it big."

"Sammy?" The Norwegian's head cocked as he visibly thought the statement out. "Oh! De guys in your olds band."

"Yeah. I guess I kept it 'cause I thought it was funny."

"What dids you do dat makes him all mads?" Toki asked, genuinely curious.

Pickles stalled for half a beat, then made up his mind. What the hell. "Y'want me ta read it to ya?"

"Yeah!" Toki's pleased smile backed up the assertion.

Still grinning, Pickles began to read. "It says: 'Pickles and Tony; I don't know how to say this nicely… so I won't. I don't want you guys coming over here anymore when I'm not home. You eat all my food. You drink all my beer and smoke all my pot and use all my coke. You make a huge mess, and I don't know how you killed my parakeet with the spatula, but you did. And yeah, I know it was you two happy fuckers. You also tried to flush it and now my landlord is pissed because you flooded the bathroom. You flush FISH, you idiots, NOT birds. But the biggest issue here is that Janet won't… you know… with me now because I let you in, left you alone, and you used those good kitchen towels she gave me to clean up the flooded bathroom. She hand-stitched those towels, assholes, and you guys cram them in the toilet. When I don't get laid, Thunderbottom, it's a bad time for everyone. So I'm warning you two now. Stay OUT of my apartment. Don't make me tell Bullets what happened to his favorite shirt. I bet he'd love to hear about that time with the flaming blender.'"

Toki giggled uncontrollably. "For reals, dat's what it says? For reals?"

"Y-yeah!" Pickles was laughing so hard he had barely been able to finish reading the note. Oh, man, he had totally forgotten about that particular argument. Tears of mirth in his eyes, he knelt to paw through the rest of the box. "Dood, the shit we got up to. 'Specially me an' Tony. We were a riot."

"Lets me sees more! What happeneds here in dis picture?"

"That one? Oh, damn, this was the mornin' after the night Bullets accidentally brought the tranny hooker home. He was trashed, a'course. See his face when he figured out? Priceless!"

Sitting in the wreckage of his closet with the laughing guitarist, an hour managed to slip by almost without Pickles noticing. They found a Magic 8 Ball, which fascinated Toki to the point of distraction. ("Wowee! How does it know all dis?") Pickles uncovered an old Atari, and Toki extracted a promise that they would find a TV to plug it into later. ("I don'ts care if it's old, I wants to plays with it!") Somewhere in the middle of it all, jeans rolled up and bright red cowboy boots that he hadn't seen in literally years on his feet, Pickles found himself astonishingly close to happy.

Toki smiled cheerfully, a Slinky moving fluidly from one hand to the other in a tubular blur of neon colors. "Dis is so cool! I really likes it. Thanks for lettings me hangs out with you, Pickle. Is real fun."

It caught the drummer off guard. He really was letting Toki hang out, wasn't he? And he was actually enjoying it—to the point that he had barely noticed the lack of the liquor he hadn't had a chance to drink yet. It was a little unsettling. "Yeah, well. Maybe yer not so bad when yer not bein' a pissy, whiny crybaby."

Unaffected, the Norwegian grinned back. "Yeah, well, maybe I's only a pissy whiny cries-babies when everybody is mean to mes."

Surging up from his seat on the edge of the bed, Pickles kicked off the old boots. Toki, friendly and happy and smiling up at him in his goofy star-spangled pajama pants, was suddenly cute. Really cute. Damn cute. Shit. "Whatever. Stay there if ya wanna. I'm takin' a shower."

"Okay. I stays here and waits."

None the wiser, Toki continued to play with his new toy as Pickles beat a hasty retreat. Ignoble though it may be, removing himself from the source of temptation was better than the obvious alternative: the tried and true Murderface method of punching his crotch until the thought of Toki was no longer appealing.

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After a few more minutes of Slinky action, Toki set it aside. He looked around, wondering what else he should do while he waited. He was hesitant to resume snooping through Pickles' things before the drummer returned. Best not to push his luck, especially after finding that snapshot of a much younger redhead with his tongue firmly stuck inside a whiskey bottle and an infuriated middle finger flipped toward the camera. Pickles hadn't been too happy with the rediscovery of that particular photograph, even if Toki did think it was funny. Looking for something else to occupy himself with, he glanced around and happened to spot something to his liking on the nightstand next to the drummer's bed.

"Candy! Cool!"

Scampering over, Toki snatched up a small handful of the Smarties candies and popped them into his mouth without a thought. He didn't bother to wonder why Pickles of all people had candy in his room, or why said candy tasted a little funny. All he knew, as the fins began to close in on him across the floor a few minutes later, was that he should move to higher ground.

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When Pickles emerged from the shower a while later with dripping dreads and a much clearer state of mind, he felt quite refreshed. He also felt more in control of his recent tendency to think affectionately toward Toki. He was much happier when he pushed open the bathroom door and beheld—the aforementioned Norwegian, standing on his bed.

Toki, when he caught sight of the redhead, began to bounce on the mattress and yell frantically. "Pickle, Pickle! Gets off de floor, Pickle, quick! They's gonna eat you if you don'ts get off de floor!"

"What the hell?" Pierced red brows went up in surprise.

"De carpets sharks! Quick, Pickle, gets up on here on de bed wit' me! Dey can't climbs up here! Hurry!"

While his first response was to heed his band mate's agitated squeals and get off the floor as quickly as possible, Pickles managed to force himself to think the situation through. The lack of booze might have helped with that. Cautiously scooting over to the bed, warily scanning the floor for anything out of the ordinary, he soon noticed the disappearance of most of his candy.

"Dood, Toki, no wonder yer seein' weird shit! You just took half my LSD, ya little dick. I was savin' that."

Toki looked confused on top of his horror that Pickles was still within the grasp of whatever scary thing it was that he was seeing. "No I didn'ts, I just eats your candies. You gonna gets off de floor or you gonna die!"

"No, I'm not, because the goofy stuff yer seein' ain't real!" The redhead pointed firmly at his side table, the remaining candies, and the small vial next to the wrapper. "That candy was soaked in acid. Yer higher than the Hatredcopter, kid. Even I wouldn't take that much."

Now that he pointed it out, Pickles realized it was probably next to useless to argue with the younger man. The last time Pickles had taken the stuff himself he had tried to wrap Nathan's head in paper towels, believing that the singer's jet black hair had actually liquefied into ink. His jaw had hurt for days afterward; Nathan could throw a mean punch when he was annoyed. Not pretty.

"That can'ts be right," Toki argued, swaying slightly in the middle of the large bed as he tripped lightly on one leg of his overlong pajama pants. "I's hardly ever highs. You's high all de time. Maybe I's the one who ams normal and you's de one what ams high and you just don't knows it!"

Pickles' green eyes widened considerably as the smirk fell from his face. He glanced down at his bare feet nervously. That sort of logic was awfully hard to dispute. "Dood. Ya think?"

"Yeah I does! Gets up—"

Before the sentence could fully form Pickles found himself standing in the center of his bed, as far from the edges as he could get, Toki clinging fearfully to him. Better humiliated than dead on the off chance that the guitarist was actually right.

"Whats we do now, Pickle?"

The redhead chewed his bottom lip, thinking. The dresser and chairs were too far from the bed and each other to furniture jump to the door. Neither of the men had their dethphones. No one was likely to come looking for either of them that night. The walls were thick stone—no one would hear them calling for help, even if they did feel like being seen in such an un-metal predicament.

"Okay, look. Here's the deal. We wait until morning, right? Whichever one of us is high, they'll be crashed by then. Then we'll know if there's floor sharks fer real or not."

"Carpets sharks," Toki corrected.

"Toki… I ain't got carpet in here."

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Two hours later, Pickles was more convinced than ever that he was not, in fact, the one who was fucked up. Evidence had mounted when Toki became paranoid that the bed was sinking into the nonexistent carpet, and culminated in a fit of terror that the carved headboard of the drummer's bed had come to life and was about to devour them both. Pickles was not amused.

Luckily, he had left the unopened liquor bottles on the bed. When the young guitarist finally dropped into blessed sleep, snuggled up to Pickles' side like a leech with a Fu Manchu, Pickles was able to relax a bit and bring his blood alcohol content up to an acceptable level.

He tugged lightly at a long strand of caramel brown hair with the tips of his fingers, grinning. In the absence of his deddy bear, Toki was hugging the drummer's wiry arm close. Somehow, Pickles couldn't bring himself to believe that thinking Toki was adorable was bad. He couldn't remember why he had thought it was earlier. Oh, well. At least now he could indulge a bit in a favored, though most often suppressed, activity.

Buried deep in his emotional closet, Pickles was something of a cuddle-slut. Maybe it stemmed from the closest contact he ever got as a kid being a whap upside the head from Seth or their jerkoff dad. Whatever it was, he had never fought the urge to pile on top of his best pal Tony and the boys of Snakes 'n Barrels at any given down moment. He liked waking up hugging random groupie chicks on beds and couches and beach chairs almost as much as he enjoyed what happened with them the night before. And he sure didn't mind Toki curled up beside him now, breathing softly and twitching in his sleep. As long as no one else could see it, of course.

As if reading his mind, Toki squirmed even closer, letting out a small sigh in his sleep. Pickles had to smother his laughter with his free hand. Too cute. But then…

"Hey! Toki, what're ya doin'?"

Said guitarist had thrown a leg over Pickles' own, clearly making himself comfortable on both the drummer's bed and the drummer himself. When Pickles tried to scoot away, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable with the situation, he found himself pinned rather firmly in place. One of Toki's hands closed over his ribs, while his rumpled head landed on Pickles' chest and stayed. With another satisfied sigh, the Norwegian settled and became still again.

"You are like a feckin' koala, y'know that?"

The redhead sucked in a breath as Toki's leg insinuated itself more firmly between his own and a cheek nuzzled against his sternum. This could not possibly be metal. Though, if there was no chance anyone would see…

Casting a look at the door just to be sure, Pickles finally, tentatively, pulled his arm out from under Toki and laid it across the younger man's shoulders instead. Morning might be a little weird, especially if Toki had come down from orbit by then, but for now—for now, it was nice. He could allow Toki his clinging, just for one night. Enjoying Toki's warm presence, gently petting his cascading hair, Pickles pushed aside the half-full bottle of whiskey and settled in to sleep, lulled by the guitarist's soft snores.

Maybe Toki could hang out more often after all.

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To be continued…

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