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Do it yourself!	By : varenoea Category: +M through R > Metalocalypse > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2070 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Metaocalypse or its characters, and this is a non-profitable work of fiction.

Chapter List
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“I’m not kidding, I mean, first she kisses me and then she kicks me in the balls, what kind of behaviour is that?” Nathan eats his eleventh breakfast egg and shakes his head in disbelief.

“And she hads a blow-dryer, what’s dat goods for?” Toki, coffee splatters on his shirt, looks around the table.

“The robot says it’s a loin extractor”, remarks Murderface.

“A whats?”

“To rip off your… family jewels.”

“What would she do with them?” Nathan crosses his legs and looks very uncomfortable.

“’cause sleepingks wit’ yous to get your sperms would bes too easy”, says Skwisgaar dryly.

“It would?”

“Jah. No. Dat was irony. Sorry. Maybe you wouldn’t does her.”

“Of course I would! She’s hot, man!”

“Really? Then I totally woulds too.”

“Me toos, but I hits her inna head wit’ a bottle, so I don’ts think she’d does me now.”

“Maybe I could wank into a bottle for her”, muses Nathan. “Toki, by the way, how did you know she was German? She didn’t sound German, and she looks like an Italian.”

“I haves a female intuitions.”

“No you don’ts.”

“Yes. For de females, I haves an intuition.”

“Little Toki’s got intuitions. Dat’s why de ladies love hims so much.” Skwisgaar rolls his eyes.

“Pickles, what’s up, you’ve been silent all along”, Nathan asks to the side.

“I’m thinking about Charles”, mumbles Pickles. “What do we know about him, guys?”

The other look up in surprise.

“Well, he’s the manager”, says Nathan a little lamely.

“He… does things. De calskulations and de managing and de laws stuff”, answers Skwisgaar.

“He’s got a middle names. I don’ts have a middle names”, adds Toki.

“Doods, I wanna find out some stuff about him.” Pickles leans forward.

“Good luck. He’s not in the library, and he’s not on Wikipedia. And as for everything else – if he doesn’t want you to know, you won’t find it”, says Murderface. “He’s a cunning bastard. Why do you give a shit anyway?”

“With all the time you spend sitting next to him, I’d just ask him if I were you”, says Nathan.

“Yeah. Just lazing around at the infirmary while we’re slaving away out here”, complains Murderface. “What is it you do all day?”

Pickles closes his eyes. “Okay. I threaten him and I beg him to take it slow, and if I find any technical device, I take it away from him, and I pull out the phone plug when I notice that he’s doing business calls, and then I stick my fingers in my ears and go la la la when he starts begging for his laptop again, and in the meantime I occasionally sit on him to keep him horizontal. Yesterday he pretended to go you-know-where, and doods, when he was away for more than ten minutes, I found out that he had somehow made it out of the infirmary and was nearly in the elevator up to his office.”

“Heh. Did he puts up a fights when you bring him back?” Skwisgaar leans over the table.

Pickles gives him a dark look. “No. He was stuck in a corner in front of the elevator, he couldn’t crawl any further. I had to carry him back, and they put him under sedatives and then he slept for the rest of the day.”

“How about strapping him down, have you tried that?” asks Nathan.

“Dood, that’s an idea.” Pickles cocks his head. “I was thinking, maybe I can get him a gameboy to keep him busy, though.”

Skwisgaar has an idea, and one he seems very proud of. “Hah no, gets him a chess. He’s dats type for chess.”

“Hm, yeah, that sounds good”, mumbles Nathan and scratches his chin. “I think I have one in my room. Never got the hang of chess, though.”

“But you know when you play chess, you need a partner”, says Murderface. “You can’t play chess alone.”

“Damns. Maybes he’s betters off wit’ de gameboy”, muses Toki.

“Dood, what you mean, your queen just kicked my king’s ass? I was gonna be a gentleman and let her make the next move!”

“I told you twice that you can’t do this in chess. If you don’t make your move when it’s your turn, you will get unpleasant consequences.”

“I can’t be a gentleman to the lady? What a crappy game is this?”

Charles sighs mildly. He’s pretty moved by Pickles’ attempts to learn chess. “It’s a bit like managing you guys”, he says and watches as Pickles’ white horse jumps forward. “You have to watch out and see what your opponent is planning, and if you don’t have your eyes everywhere at the same time, then someone shoots you out of the game like this”, and he makes a move and takes Pickles’ horse off the board, “and then you have a problem.” He smiles and hands Pickles the white horse. That was a pretty cool moment. Perfect timing.

Pickles hand reaches out, but not to take the horse. It wraps around Charles’ hand, horse and all, and Pickles grins. “Which one of them are you?”

“I don’t know.” He sighs and looks at the board, and then looks up just to find that Pickles has shoved the horse up his nose. “Pickles, I’m not sure if Nathan will appreciate mucous substance on his things when you give them back.”

“Nathan is writing a song about you now”, Pickles explains and pulls the horse out to wipe it clean on his shirt. “It’s called Shot through the Chest with a Crossbow.”

“It’s a very cool-sounding title. Is it going to be a single?”

“Probably. Skwisgaar has written some really catchy tunes to it.”

“Any ideas for the cover?”

“Yeah, we thought we could use some photographic evidence.”

“Like… what?” This doesn’t bode well.

“Well, they took some pictures before they pulled it out, for the medical record… so you could be on the cover for the single. Your chest, at least.”

“We’ll see.” Charles smiles. “Pickles, can you do me a huge favour?”

“Like what?”

“I could die for a bath, but the doctor won’t let me.”

Pickles’ brows come together. “Dood, that’s a bad idea.”

“Pickles, please.” Charles is reduced to giving Pickles puppy eyes. He hasn’t done puppy eyes in twenty years, at least. “I haven’t washed my hair in two weeks, it smells horrible, and there are parts of me that haven’t seen water for just as long. I feel like a big blob of dirt. Please.”

“When I got my dreads, I didn’t wash my hair in six months.”

“Yes, but… I don’t want dreads. How am I supposed to get better when I feel awful?”

“Hm. That doctor is a real party pooper.” Pickles’ resistance begins to crumble.

“He is.”

“I’m not sure if he’s a real doctor at all.”

“Maybe he’s just too strict. A little fun isn’t bad for one’s health.” Charles tries to ignore the nagging conscience in the back of his head, and the fluttering feeling in his chest. “You have a bathtub in your room, don’t you? We could just pretend to go on a trip around the yard, and he’d never know where I’ve been.”

Pickles’ innate liking for mischief has already taken over. “Okay”, he grins. “But then you have to let me win this crappy game.”

Quickly and secretly, Pickles wheels Charles through the long corridor, into his own room, to the bathroom. There are some advantages to it when nobody checks where you are. If Charles were working right now, there was no way he could secretly have brought anybody in here.

Charles’ mouth nearly begins to water at the sight of the deep, clean, white bathtub. But first… the mirror. The Mordhaus infirmary has no mirrors for the patients, and mostly there’s a good reason for that.

He struggles himself up against the sink and looks at himself.

Stubble is everywhere, the skin around his left eye is yellow (the sort that used to be purple), and there’s a scar under his right eye. Well, it will hardly be noticeable once he is wearing glasses again. The scar on his cheek is quite obvious, though. They just pulled the threads out yesterday, and there are still little red spots where the treads were. Now, there’s still a cut, pretty obvious, but nicely healed. It will probably be precisely as Pickles said: A nice, white line.

He needs a haircut. He snorts. “Whoah.”

“Never thought I’d ever see you with stubble”, snickers Pickles. “Dood, you know that when you take a bath now, I’m gonna see you naked!”

There’s a hot sting of embarrassment, but it’s not only because Pickles will see him in his birthday suit. It’s also because Pickles will know that Charles won’t mind if he does, and that’s nearly exhibitionism. “Yeah. Can’t be helped”, he says lightly.

Pickles stands leaned against the wall as Charles gets out of his bathrobe and pyjama, and unwraps the bandages around his chest.

“Looks nicely healed”, mumbles Pickles. “You’re not allowed to go into water with them, are you?”

“No”, smiles Charles. Glowing with anticipation, he crawls into the tub and settles in on the cold plastic happily. A little fumbling with the taps, and warm water begins to splash down on him. Charles squirms with delight.

“Dood, if you start feeling funny or anything, just call me, okay?” Pickles kneels down in front of the tub and runs his hand through Charles’ greasy hair. “And don’t go under water with that wound if it feels funny, either!”

“I’m gonna be fine. Thank you, Pickles. I’ll never forget that you did this for me.” Charles tries to ignore the hand.

“It’s not like I could say not to anything you ask, bastard.” Pickles puts two bottles on the rim of the tub. “Here’s shampoo.”

Charles feels Pickles’ hand linger on his ear and neck a little longer. “Can I ask you something – why now? After all these years, why have you decided that you care now?”

Pickles bites his lower lip. “Well, I guess… when you were lying there, so badly hurt and with all these bruises and all that blood on your face…”

In Charles’ chest, his heart turns into a runny warm camembert cheese. “Yeah?”

“It struck me how super sexy you look without your glasses on.” Pickles snickers.

Charles splashes water at him and laughs. “Sod off!”

When Pickles comes back, Charles is up to his neck in sudsy water and splashing happily. “You have no idea how good this feels”, he declares happily.

“Not feeling funny?”

“No. I’m fine. But I think we need to get going. They’re gonna… suspect.”

Pickles grins and offers Charles an arm. Charles gnaws his lip. “I don’t think that’ll work. Can I hold on to your neck?”

“Sure thing, dood.” Pickles bends over the tub and lets wet Charles cling to him. Charles wraps himself up in a towel and sits on the tub rim happily, blowing his hair dry. “I’ll never forget that you did this for me”, he grins. “I’m cheating on my own security system and doing things the house employees wouldn’t let me do. Hm. How are your experiments in autofellatio going, by the way?”

“What?”

“Did you… you know… reach things?”

“Ah!” Pickles smiles, glowing with satisfaction. “Yes. I did. I sucked my own cock. Can you believe that? You gotta try it. It’s awesome.”

For a second, Charles looks incredulous and envious. Then he smiles it off. “I don’t think I want to be able to do it if the price is that you look ridiculous and get spine problems.”

“Yeah. You never have problems getting anyone for that job, do you?” Pickles grins.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Well, I took the liberty and… used some of the sources you have on your laptop.”

Charles’ eyes narrow. “You shouldn’t have done that. Stay away from my private computer!”

“Oh, I didn’t snoop, I just used all these networks and stuff! You’re not on Wikipedia, interesting stuff. Bet you took care of that yourself.”

“Of course.”

“But I found you in a sex offender list.”

Charles lets the hairdryer sink into his lap. “How do you know it wasn’t fake?” he asks thoughtfully.

Pickles doesn’t answer that question. “Caught with six other boys in the showers. And that in a elite close combat camp of the army. Tisk tisk. Bet that’s why you didn’t end up in the military.”

"How do you know it wasn't fake?"

"And the story with the donkey."

"How... WHAT?! Donkey?"

"No, just kidding you, dood."

“How do you know the shower story wasn’t fake?”

“Charlie, if it wasn’t reliable, you wouldn’t have it on your laptop!” Pickles looks hurt.

“I don’t like it that you go snooping around in my private life. They were six adults, they could do whatever they wanted with whomever they wanted, thanks very much, and so can I.” Inside, Charles is fuming. No excitement, he remembers, and breathes deeply.

“Hah! You saw me sucking my own cock, and now I’m not allowed to know about a fuck that was like 20 years ago?!”

“I never asked to see you suck your cock, I wish I hadn’t! And you went searching explicitly!” Charles is losing his professionality here. “By the way, I’m your manager. You’re not mine.”

“But I am taking care of you now”, replies Pickles, more softly. “And if you feel like sucking someone’s cock again, any time, you can come to me.”

Charles considers throwing the hairdryer into the tub, just to make a point, but the water is nearly drained out by now.

Pickles is still snickering. “Okay now. You must be tired, let’s get you back into your little bed.”

Charles, as much as he hates the damn thing, sits down in the wheelchair again. He doesn’t like to admit it, but falling asleep with Pickles beside him is a very pleasant idea right now.

TBC
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Do it yourself!