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Pop Rocks and Coke	By : sillyneko345 Category: +M through R > Metalocalypse > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2191 -:- 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: It was only a matter of time until I waded into Dethslash for real. And who could resist a pairing called Tickles? Seriously.

Characters: Belong to Small & Blacha.

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“Alright, I’ll give. I’m gonna ask. What’re you doin’ down there?”

“Huh?” Toki looked up from the floor, his upside-down face somewhat startled as ice blue eyes met the puzzled green of the drummer’s own. Caramel-brown hair fanned out in a disarrayed halo around his shoulders. “Oh, not’ings, really. Just being boreds.”

“Yeah? Yer rollin’ around down there like a dog, or somethin’.”

“Hey, I is not!”

Pickles snickered and went back to reading, the newest issue of Rolling Stone spread across his knees as he relaxed on an out of the way sofa in Dethklok’s main entertainment room. He had been trying to avoid company to preserve his magazine from both the mockery and physical destruction of his band mates and had been wary of Toki’s approach. But then all the kid had done was sit down next to the couch and chatter in an innocent sort of way, so it turned out his worry was unfounded. Reassured, Pickles had promptly tuned him out. Toki tended to migrate between band members in search of someone who would tolerate him, and was generally harmless.

“Yeah, ya kinda are.”

The young Norwegian had been flopping listlessly from side to side, humming under his breath. A model airplane lay abandoned beside him. The closest thing Pickles could find to compare him to was a dog on its back, using carpet fibers to scratch an itch it couldn’t reach. He grinned lopsidedly at the thought, causing Toki to pout up at him.

“Well, I’s one real boreds guy. You pays attentions to me and maybes I don’ts be boreds and acts like a dog.”

“What, you want me ta throw ya a stick?”

“No!” Toki popped upright, his head now level with the drummer’s elbow. “Just… I don’ts know… plays wit me, or somet’ing? No one else wills.”

“Play wit’cha?” The improvised curtain of a magazine was lowered enough for pierced brows to quirk skeptically. Pickles had mentally vowed to ignore his spastic little band mate’s antics, but couldn’t quite let the opportunity for a jibe pass. “What are ya, in Kindergarten? Go play wit’cherself.”

“Comes on. Just one round of DDR,” the rhythm guitarist wheedled, either not getting the crack or choosing to let it go without comment. Pickles bet it was the former. “Just one level on de videogames. I lets you picks which one, even!”

Pickles sighed, flipping the mag closed. “Toki, dood. I’m busy.”

“Aww… please?”

Knowing that his quiet time had officially been read its last rites, the drummer stood up. “Fer a dog, ya don’t mind very well. I’m gonna go read someplace quiet. So go play by yerself, little doggy.”

“Hmph!”

Satisfied that he had won, Pickles collected his magazine and struck out for the door as soon as he realized he was grasping at the empty space on the table beside him where a bottle should be. It was much harder to read and actually comprehend what one was reading while completely smashed, so for once he had forgone bringing in liquid refreshments. He stepped over Toki, who was once more lying prone on the floor. What he hadn’t counted on, though, was said Toki suddenly surging upright and slamming a shoulder into the inside of his knee.

“Whoa!” Caught off balance, Pickles flailed his arms in a futile effort to stay upright. One more good knock from the Norwegian had him falling backwards to sprawl ungracefully across the sofa, the Rolling Stone landing neatly over his face in a flurry of pages. “Toki, what the hell’re ya doin’?!”

“I’s beings a bad dog.” Laughing gleefully, Toki leaped upon his fallen friend and began to growl and snap playfully.

“Yer goofed up in’a head, is what ya are!” Smacking away the magazine, the redhead wedged a knee against Toki’s chest and tried to keep the teeth away. He didn’t really want to find out if Toki would actually bite him or not. “Lemme up, ya little psycho!”

“Not until you plays wit me!”

Pickles managed to flip over onto his stomach, hauling himself partially out from under the younger guitarist with a good grip on the arm of the sofa. A burst of startled laughter escaped him, though, as Toki secured a single dreadlock between his teeth and tugged. “Hey! Spit that out!”

“Makes me,” came the muffled response as Toki shook his head, quite dog-like, growling impishly all the while.

All the drummer could do was kick, squirm, and laugh as he was mercilessly “savaged.” Trying to save the least bit of face, he got his hands under the remaining tangles of dreads to cover the nape of his neck—it tickled like shit, and he couldn’t quit giggling. Like it or not, he was grudgingly beginning to have fun. Sometimes he actually missed impromptu weirdness like this that had once been so commonplace when he was young. But that was a long time ago. A different band. A different world.

Shaking off such thoughts, Pickles gave a hard kick. If Toki wanted to play rough, fine. The rhythm guitarist gave a yelp as he was sent tumbling off the couch and Pickles let out a victory whoop. What he hadn’t counted on was being pulled along for the drop. They hit the floor with a loud thump, the forgotten magazine fluttering down beside them as they laughed and struggled.

“Gives up yets?!”

“Oh, you wish, ya little douche-critter!” Under normal ass-kicking circumstances Pickles wouldn’t have hesitated to go straight for the hair and pull like a bitch—any one the others would do the same to him in a second. But this wasn’t a real fight, he reminded himself, and only tugged hard enough at handfuls of that caramel silk for Toki to be able to feel it.

Toki himself didn’t seem to have any reservations about playing dirty and went straight for the redhead’s ribs, tickling for all he was worth. Pickles immediately let out a high-pitched scream like to rival a teenage girl and redoubled his own offense. Okay, he would admit it. This was fun.

“You guys are fuckin’ noisy.”

The two on the floor froze, glancing up in shock as Nathan walked casually past.

Toki blinked first. “Oh, hi, Nat’ens. Whats you doing in here?”

“Gonna watch some TV. So keep it down, okay?”

Toki nodded “Okay, we can does dat. Hey… where’s you goings, Pickle?”

While Toki was distracted and no longer actively trying to keep him down, Pickles had weaseled away. Fun as the roughhousing had become, he had other plans. They didn’t involved being belittled by Nathan for un-metal behavior with Toki. On hands and knees he crawled around the low table in front of the couch, craftily reeling in his reading material on the way. “Like I told ya, I’m goin’ back ta my room. Have fun playin’ wit’cherself.”

With one last laugh he was on his feet and out the door into the hallway, surprisingly agile, leaving behind the pouting Norwegian. The drummer shook his head almost fondly as he padded back toward his section of the haus. He also made a mental note to spend a little more time with Toki, when he didn’t have anything else requiring attention on his agenda. If nothing else, the kid was always good for a little entertainment.

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A while later, Toki sulked as he wandered the halls of Mordhaus on a roundabout route to his own small room. Attempts at finding someone else to hang out with had not gone well. Nathan had soon banished him from the TV room for being “too fucking noisy.” He had been thrown out of Skwisgaar’s room almost as soon as he had arrived in favor of the evening’s accompaniment of GMILFs. He hadn’t even been able to find Murderface.

Reaching his room at last, the young guitarist kicked the door shut and sprawled upon his twin bed with a sigh. No one ever seemed to want to hang out with him. “Dis sucks a holy lots.”

He wished Pickles had stuck around. The drummer always seemed to be friendliest to the Norwegian on a consistent basis, not just from time to time when there was nothing better to do. Toki would have even sworn that Pickles had been having just as much fun while they were wrestling around earlier. He had been laughing, too, and none of the blows that had hit home had hurt Toki in the least. Yes, they had both had fun. So why had the redhead run off to read his stupid magazine and left poor Toki alone and lonely?

“Plays wit myself. Ha. Yeah, rights.” Toki pouted sullenly, pulling his Deddy Bear from its spot on the pillow. Deddy, at least, was always there for him. When all your pets died brutally, a stuffed facsimile could work wonders to ease unhappiness. “Whats is dere to do all bys myself?” he asked the bear. Not that he expected any kind of answer. “I don’ts gots no more models to build. De internet ams boring today. What am I gonna dos wit just Toki?” The thought of practicing with his guitar didn’t even cross his mind.

Sighing, he pulled Deddy into his arms and squeezed. That usually made him feel better. He took a deep breath and inhaled the soothing scent of… marijuana. Toki’s pale blue eyes popped open quizzically. Since when did Deddy smell like pot?

Uncertainly, the Norwegian held the toy at arm’s length. “Deddy, dids you takes up a habit I didn’ts knows about or somet’ing?”

It took him a few moments of suspicious sniffing to come to the only logical conclusion. A deep inhale with his nose buried in a handful of his own shirt confirmed it. Deddy didn’t smell different. Toki did. With a start, he realized what must have happened. He and Pickles had been rolling around literally on top of one another, and the scent of weed and whiskey that always clung to the drummer had simply rubbed off on him.

Well, dat makes sense, Toki thought. Surreptitiously he took another breath. It didn’t smell bad, actually. Far from it. The smell of smoke and booze naturally reminded him of Pickles, and that was oddly comforting. He smiled slightly as his eyes drifted closed, rubbing the fabric of the t-shirt against his cheek without even fully realizing he was doing so.

What he couldn’t help but notice, though, was the sudden tightness in his pants. Toki sat up straight with a small, embarrassed “eep!” Eyes darting quickly around his empty room, he pulled the hem of his trouble-making shirt down over the noticeable bulge in his lap despite the clear lack of an audience.

“Wowee… dat’s kinda weirds.”

Not that he didn’t feel the need to jack off from time to time. He did, occasionally. It was just that… he had never really thought about someone other than a woman when he did so. Sure he occasionally got all tingly when Nathan growled and bellowed onstage, or when Skwisgaar lounged bare and proud in the hot tub right next to him, but he had never gotten this strong of a reaction—or considered the possibility of jacking off because of it.

And he sure was considering. Slowly Toki released his grip on the shirt, letting it slide back up to its normal position. His lap was uncovered once more.

Toki knew what the rest of the guys thought, or adamantly claimed they thought, about being “gay.” He knew they would toss him to the yard wolves and possibly banish him from the band forever if they ever knew he was thinking about what he was thinking about right at that moment. But Toki thought a little differently than the other guys did, in more than a few areas. Just like he knew for a fact that chocolate chips really were an acceptable breakfast food, he knew that there was more to a person than “gay” and “straight.” There were plenty of people who were in between, he had the sense to see. He just had enough of a brain to keep differing opinions of that magnitude to himself. Going along to get along was more often than not the better way to go.

“Well,” he told himself slowly as the need to slip a hand down his pants continued to grow rather than ebb away as he had half hoped it would. “I guess dey can’t sees me now, cans dey?” Deddy Bear stared back with his ever-shining black button eyes and cheerfully stitched smile. “And Pickle did tells me to plays wit myself…”

Once the wires finally connected in his mind, there was no stopping it. Toki snickered to himself, flopping backward on his mattress without another thought. Deddy was found and placed in the crook of his neck and shoulder. He fondly believed that Deddy would approve of anything that made Toki feel good. Deddy was understanding that way. For that matter, so was Pickles, for the most part, so Toki wouldn’t feel bad if he just so happened to harbor an impure thought or two about his band mate while he had his fun.

A quick grope into the nightstand drawer produced the mostly full bottle of lube that Toki had shamelessly lifted from Skwisgaar when the blonde was careless enough to leave it sitting out. Toki felt no guilt; the man probably bought the stuff by the case and wouldn’t miss a solitary bottle. Flipping the cap with one hand, the young guitarist quickly unbuttoned his pants. Squirming out of their confines until he could feel the cool fabric of the bedspread against the backs of his legs felt good, and he pulled his shirt up, too. The scent of whiskey and weed hit him again and he moaned softly.

“Dis ams not wrong… dis ams not wrong…” The theory was stubbornly repeated as he slicked up a hand rough from guitar strings and wrapped it around himself. “Oooh…!” And even if it was wrong, he didn’t really care. It felt too damn good to stop.

As the up-down-squeeze-twist motion of one hand increased, the other rose to wrap in long brown hair. He tugged at it firmly but gently. Like Pickles had. Thinking of the drummer brought a little gasp and a half smile to his lips as he bucked up, twisting on the blankets. No matter that Pickles would probably perform an extended solo on his ass—and not in the good way—with those wickedly rapid-fire drumsticks if he suspected, the rhythm guitarist’s naughty side couldn’t find the inclination to halt that line of thinking.

Smiling green eyes. That crooked smirk. Bright, frizzy ropes of dreads. A propensity for wandering the house nearly naked. That slurred Wisconsinite accent that Toki found so fascinating.

In fact, Toki was still thinking of the redhead a few minutes later when he soaked his hand in more than lube. He quickly turned his head to muffle a little yelp of satisfaction in Deddy Bear’s cloth middle and pictured Pickles rolling his eyes good-naturedly that the stuffed toy was present at all on such an occasion. All in all, not a bad way to spend time on a bored Wednesday afternoon.

Somewhat sleepily the Norwegian dug up some tissues and tidied up, careful not to touch Deddy in the meantime. That done, he considered his options for a moment and shrugged. It couldn’t hurt to allow himself a little nap. No one was likely to come looking for him. The young guitarist often didn’t sleep well at night and now, while he actually felt tired, seemed like a fantastic time to catch up on his rest.

Toki crawled under his blankets without further thought on the matter, casual in only a shirt. It was his room. He could sleep without pants if he wanted. Deddy was tucked snugly under his chin. Combined with the pleasant post-orgasmic haze, it was incredibly warm and cozy.

The last coherent thought that flitted through Toki’s mind before drowsiness claimed him was that he really would have to go bother Pickles some more when he woke up. No harm in spending time with a friend, after all.

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To be continued, sooner or later…

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Pop Rocks and Coke