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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
- 4
- 5
AN: The non-completion of this fic weighed on my conscience for months. I’m sorry it took so long to finish! But it’s done now, and here it is.
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Anonanon: Thanks for your continued readership, and for keeping on me to update! The story deserved to be finished, haha.
Ameute: Here is the next chapter! Sorry for the cliffhanger last time, haha.
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Characters: Belong to Small & Blacha
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As he shrugged out of his shirt and flopped out on his bed, Pickles was pleased with the world in general. He was sore, and now Toki was so nicely offering to massage the sore away. Justice was clearly prevailing on a cosmic level.
“Make sure you warm that junk up before ya touch me with it. My skin’s all delicate an’ sensitive an’ all that shit.”
“I wills,” Toki chirped, and sure enough the wet slap of his palms connecting with each other rang out a second later. “I’s making it all nice and warms, just like you does.”
“Yeah, I really ought’a stop doin’ that. It’s too nice. I’ll let Nat’an an’ Murderface an’ Skwisgaar freeze. None’a them ever rubbed my back fer me.”
Toki just laughed his little birdy laugh and dropped his hands to the redhead’s shoulders. The strong smell of the rosemary that permeated the cooking oil wafted through the air—not the lavender or citrus or whatever that usually came along with this sort of thing, but still nice, Pickles decided.
Nice. What else was nice? Toki was nice. Toki was a nice kid. A real sweet little shit. Why Pickles had ever thought he was annoying was beyond him. He hummed appreciatively as Toki’s strong hands dug into the tense muscles of his upper back. He would keep Toki around forever and ever if he would keep being this nice to a poor, beat up drummer.
Pickles crossed his arms under his chin and relaxed completely into the attention.
For once in his life, Toki wasn’t chattering. He was all quiet concentration as he leaned over Pickles, studiously massaging. “You minds if I moves a liddle bit? I can’ts reach too well.”
“Huh? Oh, sure. Knock yerself out. Do whatever.”
“Okays! Thanks, Pickle.” Toki proceeded to do just that. He scooted up the bed until he could sit down on the backs of Pickles’ thighs. From there he could reach freckled shoulders without bending in half to do it.
The warm weight, the firm kneading, the positive attention all pooled together to quickly turn Pickles into a giant puddle of compliancy. A breathy huff escaped him.
“You sounds like a cat,” Toki laughed.
“Wha? No I don’t.”
“You does! A big orange kitty cat what ams purring when you gets petted.”
… was it the drummer’s imagination, or did Toki sound like he was getting purry himself? His voice was going husky and a little lower than usual. Pickles kind of liked it. Maybe Toki would be a decent singer, if he could ever learn to pronounce English lyrics right. A singer that purred like a kitty. Amused by the idea, Pickles shifted up to prop on his arms so he could glance back at Toki—maybe see if the kid had managed to sprout cat ears suddenly, y’know, normal stuff like that—and his meandering line of thought came to a screeching halt.
“You got a boner.” It wasn’t a question.
Toki froze in the middle of what had become a very literal petting, face going red as a cherry popsicle under his Fu Manchu. “No I doesn’t.”
“Uh, yeah, ya do.”
“No I doesn’t!”
“Dood, Toki, yes ya do!” Pickles shoved himself even higher on his arms and pointedly bucked back against the guitarist. “I ain’t a fourteen-year-old chick, I know damn well what a boner feels like.”
They stared at each other for several moments, Toki wide-eyed like a dog about to be creamed by a speeding semi and Pickles sizing him up as shrewdly as someone so drunk could. He had known that the kid had a mad dude-crush on him, but this was a bit unexpected.
Well… it had been quite a while since he’d been with another guy, the drummer reasoned. Toki was pretty cute. And Toki was already putting the moves on him. Why the hell not. Just a short foray into the cardinal sin of homo couldn’t hurt.
“Okay. Here’s the deal. Get up an’ take off yer pants.”
“Ams you serious?” Toki breathed, eyes wider than ever in awe and disbelief.
“If I wasn’t serious I’da punched yer lights out by now, ya little dumbass. Now fer the last time, get off’a me an’ get naked. I’mna walk ya through this.”
Without another word Toki scrambled to obey. Pickles rolled over as the extra weight left him and likewise shed his own clothes, if a bit more sloppily. He might not have expected something like this, but who was he to rebuke the generous hand of fate when it handed him such an enthusiastic, if a bit inexperienced, partner?
And enthusiastic Toki certainly was. The dog he was channeling had completely recovered from its brush with death by semi and was making a complete fool of itself in anticipation of… whatever was happening here. Was this a game to him, or some kind of treat?
Going by the look of sheer glee on his face as he sized Pickles up, “treat” was exactly what Toki was thinking. He pounced, grabbing the drummer and dumping him back against the headboard with a little “whoa!” of drunken confusion. It took every ounce of mental effort Pickles could muster to remember to grab the oil bottle and keep it from spilling all over the damn bed.
“What’re ya doin’?” he asked confusedly, still reeling from the quick move.
“I’s gonna figures out how to does dis once and fors all!” Toki grinned triumphantly as he loomed over the smaller drummer. “Don’t worries, I’s been practicings.”
Pickles gulped as long-fingered hands landed on his pale thighs with a definite sense of purpose. “Oh yeah? On what?”
“Pops-cockles,” came the matter-of-fact answer. “Ands bananas.”
“Wit fruit roll-ups ‘round ‘em?” Pickles grinned lopsidedly, loosening up a bit as Toki rolled his eyes.
“You just shooshes, okays? It will bes good, you sees!”
Pickles didn’t argue. Mouth on dick was always better than mouth not on dick, even if said mouth didn’t know what the hell it was doing. He simply shut his trap and let Toki put his practice to good use.
As it turned out, Toki was just as amateur as predicted. But he was also just as eager as predicted, tackling the challenge like he did everything he seriously put his mind to. Despite the potent cocktail still pumping through his system Pickles had surprisingly little trouble getting his body into the spirit of things.
“Yer alright, kid,” he purred blissfully, a long section of caramel-colored hair tangled around his undamaged wrist. “No wonder ya always wanna suck cock—yer a damn prodigy. Natural talent!”
Toki beamed as best he could at the praise and kept right on trucking. The drummer, however, had slightly different plans for how the encounter would resolve itself. He used the impromptu leash of hair to pull the Norwegian from between his legs.
“Hey! I thoughts you say I’s doing goods!” Toki whined.
“Oh, ya are. Totally are. But I can get a BJ any ol’ time from any ol’ groupie. So can you. So can any’a the guys. I got a better idea what we can do.”
“Ja?” Toki grinned up at him like Christmas had come early and all the presents under the giant Mordhaus tree were for him.
“Yeah. But you get in the bedside drawer there an’ grab some decent lube. No way is my ass gonna smell like a freakin’ herb garden.”
And that was how, after some slightly awkward maneuvering and some slightly more awkward prep, Toki Wartooth was officially inducted into the Brotherhood of Dudes Who Occasionally Do It with Other Dudes. Unsurprisingly at that point, he took to it like a duck to water.
“Dood, I… I totally forgot how much… how much fuckin’ fun this shit can be,” Pickles panted happily, lube-smeared hands digging into blankets and pillows.
Toki, meanwhile, just panted, like a husky running the Iditarod. Yeah, he was havin’ all kinds of fun, too.
Neither had it in them to carry on for too much longer. Pickles, spurred on by the oral head start he’d been given, cut in the metaphorical line and went first, yowling mindless praises and curses. Toki was hot on his heels with a string of garbled Norwegian muffled in a wild spill of red dreadlocks.
They lay in a jumble afterward, staring blankly at the high ceiling. Pickles was first to break the silence with a good-natured whine. “Dood, I can’t reach my smokes. You get ‘em.”
“Uh, sures.” Toki wobbled his unsteady way on hands and knees across the rumpled bedding. Green eyes watched him lazily as he collected the cigarettes and lighter. “Um, Pickle…?”
The drummer happily accepted the pack and lit up, propping his back against the headboard. “Oh, ya want one? Sure thing, kiddo.”
“Oh, uh, thanks you.” Toki’s eyes crossed as he looked down at the cigarette suddenly protruding from his lips. He crawled up to recline tentatively next to Pickles, looking rather lost. “I was gonna says dat I… I really didn’t means for any of dis to happens. For all of dat to go so fars.”
“Ah, well. Life’s crazy like that sometimes, douche-critter.” Pickles sighed contentedly, smoke spiraling around his head. “Jest enjoy the crazy shit when it comes. No big deal.”
Toki seemed to relax a bit. “Ja, I guess you ams right. Is no big deals—oh dears Odin!” Suddenly he gasped in horror, the cigarette landing in his blanket-covered lap. “Whats is Nat’ans gonna say? He’s gonna think we ams such real gay guys! Does you thinks he be real mads?”
“Well, I dunno,” the redhead answered casually, tapping his own ash off the edge of the bed. “He might be real mad at you, anyway.”
“Huh?” Toki looked up in alarm. “Whys just he gonna be mads at me and not you toos?”
“Cause I’m the drummer. I’m the best drummer on’a planet. Drummer’s a big part’a the band. Real big part. I help write the music, too. Nate’n knows he can’t replace me, so he’s gotta put up with my shit, y’know? No offense, but rhythm? Maybe not so irreplaceable. Jest sayin’.”
“… maybe we better keeps dis betweens just us, huh Pickle?” Toki’s ice blue eyes were wide. His cigarette began to smoke in the covers.
Pickles grinned. His young bandmate’s inherent blabbering problem: Solved. Easy as that. “No problem. I can keep a secret if you can.”
“Oh, thanks you, Pickle!” Limp with relief, Toki slumped against the drummer.
Pickles leaned over him to flick the smoldering butt off the blankets before his bed caught fire. He fully intended to chill in it for a while and smoke alarms weren’t part of his plan.
“It just ams toos bad dat I can’ts go tell Skwisgaar abouts gettings laid,” Toki sighed a moment later. “He ams always pissings me off real bad. ‘Oh, liddle Toki ams never gettings any, but I’s a real big mans slut what gets all of de goils.’ Boy he makes me mads!”
Pickles snickered. “Dood, I would totally never sleep with Skwisgaar. Ever. His crotch’s got more critters than a pettin’ zoo.” He flicked his own cigarette away. “So, fer the record, you did somethin’ he ain’t never gonna get ta do.”
Toki grinned happily. “Hey, ja, dat ams right!”
“Sure is. Plus, yer a smart kid. I bet you can find some way ta get back at Skwis if he gets on yer nerves.”
“Maybe I takes his big bottle of de lubes and spills it all over de stairs nears to his rooms…”
“Gahd, yer vicious!” Pickles laughed, dropping an arm around the grinning guitarist. “Well, that was fun. I may freak out when I sober up, but it was still fun. We ought’a do it again sometime. But fer now I’m votin’ we take a nap. Sound good?”
“Sounds real goods. Sleeps well, Pickle.” Toki snuggled—yes, snuggled, there was no other word for it—against the drummer’s side and was snoring in minutes.
Pickles watched him for a while, fighting off deeper than average thoughts with a stick, before he too settled down. Thinking could wait a while. He slept better with Toki beside him, anyway.
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The end.
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- 4
- 5
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Pop Rocks and Coke