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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
- 5
- 6
Charles is spreading butter on toast with trembling hands.

“Pickles?”

“Hmyeah?” Pickles lifts his head. Apparently he dozed off.

“I would like to apologize. For being like this. I’m sorry.”

Pickles says nothing, he just looks like someone broke his heart, and unfolds his arms. “Are you gonna stop being like that now?”

“I hope I can. I have to do something. I can’t stay like this.” Charles exhales deeply. His heart rate is dangerously high like this. “The fear is driving me crazy. Not just over me, also over you guys. I have to do something, when I really can’t do anything at all.” His hands are now trembling so hard he the knife slides out and lands on the bed sheet.

Pickles comes over to sit by his side. The warm, familiar smell sends a pang of guilt through Charles chest. Pickles was here, all this time, even though Charles was being an ass.

“I’m so fucking scared”, whispers Charles. “So fucking scared. I think it’s best to have a cyanide pill with me all the time. ‘cause if he gets me, I don’t want to be there to see what he does.”

“Charlie, I can see your jugular throbbing”, warns Pickles. “You’re not allowed excitement, you know that!”

Charles exhales, and it becomes pretty obvious that he’s hyperventilating. “No shit. Just thinking about it… my pulse must be about 180 now.” He looks up, shoulders slightly hunched, and the look in his eyes is enough to make Pickles flinch. “You know, recently I’ve thought a few times… I’ve really thought it would be best to just end it now, just so I don’t have to be afraid any more.”

Pickles blinks. It takes him a few seconds to understand what “end it” means here.

“That’s not you”, he finally manages. “You’re not like that!”

“No, I know. That’s not me. See? He’s already turning me into a whining coward, and he’s not even here.” Charles hyperventilates some more.

“Do you need a bag for your oxygen?”

“No.”

“You can have my asthma spray. Maybe that helps.”

“No. I just… I just need to get a single clear thought in my head. I’m not me right now.”

“You need a good wank.”

Charles looks up, and for a few seconds even holds his breath completely. “Wank. No, I don’t think that would help, but I appreciate your straight-forward approach to things.”

“Hah. That sounds a lot more like my Charlie!”

“And – I think I told you – please stop calling me your Charlie. I hate that.”

“Seriously, dood, you need a good wank. That’s gonna bring your feet back on the ground.”

“Even if I wanted to try – first, I couldn’t concentrate on sex fantasies now, and secondly, I don’t even know if it would work!”

“What?” asks Pickles, at first in dismay, but then sympathetically. “You got… problems?”

“Eh? No, I don’t have potency problems, but thank you very much for asking!”

“I thought… you know, managers always being so stressed out, you know, they have that reputation…”

“When you’re in a hole… stop digging! I just haven’t… since… you know.”

“Not once in two months?” Pickles blinks, and his eyes grow bigger and bigger.

Charles regrets very much that he even answered to Pickles’ wanking suggestion. “No. Now let’s talk about something else.”

“Not once??!”

Charles closes his eyes. “No. I’m not in a condition to... Now let’s talk about something else.”

“Dood, but you get morning wood, like, every day!”

Charles puts his head back and screams at the top of his lungs. It’s a very long and loud scream.

One of the snipers opens the door and looks in. “Everything okay, my masters?”

“Fine, fine”, says Pickles casually and waves him off. “He’s just, you know, coming clean with his sex life.”

“I will kill you. I will.” Charles’ jugular begins to throb again. The threat has brought back the idea of the sword of Damocles that is hanging above himself. He feels very weak and small suddenly. He feels giddy. The pillows are very inviting, and he sinks into them.

“Charlie?”

He shakes his head, eyes closed. Maybe if he doesn’t answer to that name any more, he’ll become someone else. “I can’t take it no more. I can’t do it”, he whispers.

There is a very soft touch on his lips. Moustache is tickling him. Pickles’ bottom lip is moving between his two. These thoughts run through his head, but he doesn’t put up a fight. He just lies still.

Pickles’ mouth leaves. “What, you gonna ignore me? Come on, slap me!”

Charles snorts. “You idiot. You don’t even know what’s out there”, he whispers hopelessly.

“Poor thing. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it for you.” Pickles soft voice is right beside his ear. He tries to fall asleep, but that lasts only two seconds. Because there is a hand under the cover now, and it’s sneaking into the front of his pyjama pants.

“Pickles?” His voice is hardly more than a breath. “What are you doing?!”

“Hmmm. I’d say I’m buttering your breakfast toast, but you wouldn’t believe me, would you.”

He can’t put up a fight when Pickles climbs on the bed beside him and presses his body along Charles’. He’s too starved, too desperate for comfort and attention, to push Pickles away. And yes, the hand on his cock is very very pleasant and distracting. Might as well go with the flow. He doesn’t have a thing to lose. Who knows if he’s still alive tomorrow.

“Buttering my toast. That is the most rotten masturbation euphemism I’ve ever heard”, he says.

“Aha. So we’re in no condition, are we.” Pickles has, by now, coaxed a full-blown erection out of Charles. And it feels terribly good, because damn, he hasn’t had it in two months. No touching, no orgasm, no nothing.

He feels that his breath is deepening, but also slowing down. “Pickles… this isn’t a good idea. Just stop now. Please.”

“Open your eyes”, says Pickles softly, and Charles finally does. The bright green eyes are right above his own, and the mouth comes back for a kiss. This time, he has no power to resist. His lips respond, very hesitantly, very shyly, but they rub against Pickles’.

Pickles’ hand starts unbuttoning his pyjama shirt, while the other is yanking at the pyjama pants and pulling them down. Pickles’ mouth is humming busily against his. Pickles shouldn’t be humming songs while he’s doing this. It looks disrespectful.

“So, Charlie, how do you like it best?”

“Uh…” His breath is coming ragged, already, but in a good way. Fuck. Pickles is doing Things with him, and he won’t stop any time soon. “I… I… I’m warning you. I’m on circulation drugs. I can’t have anal. That might potentially be fatal.”

“Why? ...I mean, how do the drugs know what you do in bed?” Pickles props his head up on his elbow and scratches his ear.

“No passive anal. You can’t fuck me. In the butt.”

“Ah, that was an option? You like it in the butt?” Pickles grins. “Charlie can’t be buggered at all. Hehe!”

“That was rotten”, Charles says, and Pickles bends down for another kiss.

Charles finds his hand on Pickles’ shoulder, and suddenly Pickles takes his other and throws the cover to the side and leads it to his own jeans-clad erection. Cold air is creeping all over Charles’ bed-sweaty skin. It feels good.

Pickles’ cock under the jeans feels good too. Full and strong. It’s good to feel something like this. Charles fumbles with the zipper, one-handed, and Pickles’ hand comes to help him. Pickles leans down and licks one broad, wet lick over Charles’ nipple.

His whole body responds to this. Arching off the bed, he’s opening his mouth wide and gasps. “Wow…”

Pickles’ freed erection is poking him in the hip now. He takes it into his hand, rubs his palm along the underside and feels sorry that he can’t get a better grip on it in this position. He tries to roll onto his side, but Pickles pushes him on his back and grins. “Wait. Let me handle this. Leave it all to me, baby. You’re sick.”

“What do you…?”

“We’ll take it real slow. Really gentle. Not more than you can handle. Tell me when you’re hurting!” Pickles kicks his legs off the bed and struggles out of his jeans.

Charles tries to sit up, but is pushed down again. “I wanna know…”

“I think you’re ready now.” Pickles, sans pants, swings one leg over Charles. It’s then Charles gets what he’s planning.

“No! No. Now listen, we can’t…”

“Oh, don’t worry, I got lube.” Pickles grins and lifts up a little plastic package.

Charles makes a desperate sound.

Pickles is looking down on him with these green, green eyes. Charles feels paralyzed, like a rabbit under a snake. “No, stop, this is…”

“I want you in me, I want you so bad, Charlie”, says Pickles in a raspy voice, and Charles can’t say another word. Pickles squeezes the lube on his palm, gets some on two fingers which vanish between his legs, and slathers the rest on Charles’ aching cock like he doesn’t give a damn. He holds on, holds it steady, and lowers himself.

Charles whimpers. He wants to scream, to protest, but only a tiny whimper comes out. There’s the friction. He’s a little bit inside. One inch inside Pickles’ ass. There’s nowhere his hips can escape, but even if he wasn’t caught between Pickles and the mattress, he couldn’t pull back. He wouldn’t be able to. The delicious tight wet heat around his cock is pulling him deeper, every bit of his being, and it’s all he wants and all he can think about. His cock has been neglected for so long, and now the bliss is so overwhelming he can’t do anything at all.

Pickles slowly lowers himself, and Charles whimpers again as he plunges deeper in. Pickles above him has his eyes closed. On his pale cheeks, red spots are appearing. His mouth is half-open. Little gasps and “oh God”s are coming out.

Inch after inch of his cock are being swallowed by Pickles’ body. And whatever resistance was still there inside him is shattered when he’s fully buried inside, and Pickles sits on his groin, finally, gasping and breathing heavily like he just did a very hard job.

Charles can’t speak. He can only look up, breathe, mouth wide open, and watch as Pickles begins to move very slowly. No bed-quaking. This is slow and delicious torture. Pickles' insides are hot, firm but soft and buttery - Charles nearly goes insane. He needs to come so badly, but the gentle friction isn’t going to let him get off hastily.

Pickles yanks his t-shirt over his head and continues to move, up and down, in slow circles, naked and gorgeous. Charles’ hands come around his hips and hold on to them.

“Oh my God… this is good!” He hears the whimper, but at first he doesn’t even get that it just came out of his own mouth.

Pickles beams down at him, proud and breathless. “See? I told you. That’s what you need, baby.”

They’re moving against each other. Charles can’t really thrust, and Pickles doesn’t want to bounce. So they’re getting there very slowly. But Charles, starved as he is, doesn’t last more than five minutes. By this time, Pickles has already made a mess on Charles’ chest, covered the arrow scar in his juice and laughed about it.

When Charles finally comes, it’s long, and so intense that it draws all the air out of his lungs. He thinks he’s going to lose his mind the second that Pickles gets up and his cock is pulled out. It’s more friction than he can take now. He’s just lying on his back, mouth open, still breathing deeply.

Pickles gets up off the bed and walks to the table, naked. Charles, for whose glass-less eyes Pickles is a blur of flesh right now, sits up on one elbow. And the nagging is coming back into his brain. “Fuck… no… I came … I came inside…”

“Yeah, so what?”

“What do you mean, so what?” Charles sits up straight and feels the well-known sense of worry. “You don’t even know… where I’ve been!”

“Yeah, but if there’s one guy who always controls everything, it’s you”, chuckles Pickles. “You’d never catch anything from anyone. And me – well, I was clean last time you had us tested.”

Well, yes. He’s right. It’s still stupid, but, well, Pickles is right. Charles leans back. He wishes he had his glasses within arm’s reach. He wants to see his cum run down Pickles’ leg. That would be hot.

He should feel drained now. His circulation is calming down to afterglow, and he should get tired and fall asleep, like you would in his condition.

But he isn’t. Not at all, in fact. He sits up again, scratches the back of his neck, squints his eyes and scans the room. Pickles is just putting on his jeans again. Dirty man. Without even cleaning himself up.

He shouldn’t be in bed, and sweaty and sticky with an aching back, like this.

“I need a shower now. Are you gonna help me?” asks Charles.

“Sure, dood!” Pickles comes over, sits by his side and kisses him very tenderly. Their noses rub against each other. Charles feels something he hasn’t felt in a long time. He’s in love. Up to his ears in warm, tickling I-wanna-hold-your-hand love.

“Okay now. If I can fuck, I can work too.”

Pickles looks doubtful. “I dunno. The thing is, it’s easy to fuck gently, but to work gently…”

Charles looks up sternly, and this time Pickles’ determination breaks pretty quickly. “I need my glasses. And I need my laptop. Really, Pickles. I have stuff to do.”

“Wouldn’t you like a cyanide pill or anything? You just said you wanted one, earlier.”

“Haha. Very funny.” Charles tries to look hard at Pickles, but he doesn’t stand much of a chance against this grin. “I have to catch up with the basic developments since I left. That’s all I’ll do for today. I promise.” He grins back at Pickles, and it’s a very dark grin. “I have to take it easy, after all. So that I’m up and around again soon. I have some butt to kick.”

Pickles takes his face into his hands and kisses him hard. “That’s my Charlie!”

“Don’t call me that.” Charles presses a quick kiss on Pickles’ mouth. “I need some clothes. Some slacks and a shirt, do I have any normal clothes here? Damn, all I’ve got is sweatpants and pyjamas!”

Pickles scratches his head. “Dood, don’t bite off more than you can chew!”

When the rest of the band come shuffling into the room, called in for a sudden band meeting, they’re pretty surprised. Charles is sitting on his bed, writing on a piece of paper, wearing a slightly crumpled shirt and slacks, barefoot, grinning at them over the rim of his glasses.

“Gentlemen”, he says, “we have some things to talk about.”

“Charles!” Toki jumps nearly one foot high in the air. “You’re okays!”

“Not perfectly okay, but much better, yes. I had a brief look at the overall situation. It seems you did remarkably well.”

“We dids?” Skwisgaar smiles. “I tells you. We’re brilliant ats dis.”

“Well, you wasted one hell of a lot of money, but I thought you would do much worse. We lost about a third of the money we made with the new album, but altogether, you kept things steady.”

“Oh”, mumbles Murderface, who hoped for something better.

“Are yous goingks back and manage us?” asks Toki.

“Not completely. I’m going to need your help to explain what exactly you did over the last eight weeks. I’m going to take it slow, but I’m definitely taking over again, bit by bit.”

“I woulds hug you, but dat’s not metal”, explains Toki, who can hardly stand still. Even Skwisgaar has a permanent grin fixed on his face.

“Suit yourself.” Charles smiles.

“We’re glad that you made it”, says Nathan, feeling left out and wanting to say something.

Charles grins even wider. “I had some help. I can’t thank Pickles enough for being my moral support.”

Pickles hasn’t said a word so far. He just smiles the very wide smile of a guy who just got laid very well. “Always happy to help you stand. Up. On your feet, I mean.”
- 5
- 6
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Do it yourself!