Fic: we can roll all night
Title: we can roll all night
Summary: It's Charles's birthday.
Fandom: Metalocalypse
Word Count: 1198
Rating/Contents: NC-17, D/s, deepthroating
Pairing: Charles/Pickles
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: For the vehicular square on my
kink_bingo card. Two more!
It's cliche, Charles knows it is, the unmarked black stretch limousine with the tinted windows and the sunroof, better suited for prom night than the manager of the most successful musical group in history.
The fact that it's the center of a motorcade primarily composed of huge men in masks on motorcycles covered in spikes is immaterial.
There's just something about it, though, something that gets down into him, some childhood memory of seeing them and wondering who was inside, who was special enough to get to ride in one of those fabulous creations. As he steps out of the airport and into the bright sunlight, a thrill goes through him- today, Charles gets to be that person.
His chauffeur is waiting, holding the door for him; his assistant is close on his heels, tablet in hand and ready to work, but Charles dismisses him. Just this once, work can wait for the fifteen minutes it takes to get to the hotel.
When he steps into the limousine and the door closes behind him, there's someone waiting for him, someone Charles didn't expect to see so soon.
Pickles hits the button to raise the tinted glass between them and the driver before sliding to his knees in front of Charles. Charles gets the same satisfaction he always does when Pickles remembers his place and decides not to act out. He enjoys Pickles when he's bratty- which is good, because it's most of the time- but there's something about getting his submission without fighting for it.
"This is unexpected," Charles says mildly.
Pickles shrugs. "I figured, since it's your birthday and all-"
Charles frowns. "You remembered my birthday?"
"No," Pickles says honestly. "I had a guy remind me." That's pretty touching coming from Pickles, and Charles lets himself smile. "So I thought I'd come give you a present. And by a present, I mean a blowjob." He grins. "What else do you give the guy who has everything?"
In this moment, Charles realizes that he really does have everything he wants. Sales are up, the band hasn't set anything on fire in two whole days, he's enjoying his favorite cliche, and his boy is at his feet.
Charles spreads his legs wide, unzipping his pants. "Get to work, then."
Pickles reaches for his cock, pulling it free of his underwear and stroking it. "This isn't work," he says, flicking his tongue against the head. "This is fun."
Charles grabs him by the dreadlocks, pressing his head down to encourage him to get on with it. It's been at least twelve hours since he's had Pickles's mouth, which is far, far too long. Pickles doesn't keep him waiting, opening up and taking him down. Pickles is, thankfully, not one to fuck around about it; he sucks for all he's worth, going after him with the same single-minded determination every time.
The limo hits a bump; the movement pushes Charles's cock further down Pickles's throat, and there's something about that that does it for Charles, like the whole car's getting into the action. Now that he's thinking about it, he can feel the vibration of the limousine underneath him, muted by the shocks but still there. He spreads his legs wider and lets it move through him, adding to the sensation of Pickles's warm mouth around him.
It really doesn't get any better than this.
He takes his hand out of Pickles's hair and hits the button for the intercom. "I, ah, have some concerns about our speed," he says to the driver, his voice perfectly clear, and Pickles grins around his dick.
"Yes, sire," the driver answers. "Should I go faster, my lord?"
Pickles does something untoward with his tongue, and Charles has to bite his knuckle to keep from making a noise. "Slower," he says. "Stick to the speed limit for now."
"Of course, sire," the driver says, and Charles quickly turns off the intercom.
"Not a word," Charles says, pushing on Pickles's head again. "I'm creating a potential security situation for this. I expect the best."
Pickles says nothing; he doesn't really need to, not when his smirk is so expressive. He kneels up a little, bracing himself on Charles's thighs; it gives him just the right angle to take in more, until Charles's cock is almost inside his throat. He coughs a little, but he pushes down further, as far as Charles knows he can. Charles doesn't rush him; he just rests his hand on the back of Pickles's neck, encouraging without pushing.
His patience is rewarded, because just then Pickles opens up for him, letting his cock slide in that little extra bit. And then Pickles swallows, the motion doing indescribable things to him. Charles groans, clutching at Pickles's shoulder, and Pickles draws back, catching his breath.
"Slowly," he reminds Pickles, and Pickles nods; now he's too caught up in it to be a smartass, just how Charles likes to see him. He takes Charles's cock into his mouth again, sucking messily, making obscene, wonderful noises while he does it. He keeps it up until Charles feels like he's just going to melt into the seat, turned into jelly by Pickles's talented mouth.
"Sire," the driver's voice breaks in, and Charles slaps the back of the seat next to him in annoyance. "We are five minutes away from our destination."
"Got it covered," Pickles says, and he's sliding his lips down around Charles's cock before Charles can even protest. He does it fast enough that his eyes start watering, but Charles is a little too far gone to care about that. He pushes at his head, trying to make him go faster; Pickles does that swallowing trick again, and that's it, Charles comes right down his throat.
By the time Charles's brain starts working again, Pickles is sitting next to him. He offers Charles a handkerchief- the pocket square from his own suit coat, he notices, but it's the thought that counts- and Charles tidies himself up, tucking himself away and smoothing back his hair.
"Haven't done that in about twenty years," Pickles says hoarsely, accepting the bottle of water Charles gives him and drinking it down.
"You better not have been practicing," Charles says sharply.
Pickles grins at him. "Dude, you're not gonna be happy when you see how much we spent on bananas this month."
Charles snorts. "What am I ever going to do with you?" he says fondly.
"If you ever run out of ideas, I got some thoughts," Pickles says, with a leer.
The limousine rolls to a stop just as Charles leans over to give him one furtive kiss. They part quickly, before the door can open, and when they step into the hard sunlight, they're just musician and manager, nothing else.
And it'll stay that way until Pickles sees the whip Charles bought for himself.
Happy birthday to Charles.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/327992.html.
comments over there.
Summary: It's Charles's birthday.
Fandom: Metalocalypse
Word Count: 1198
Rating/Contents: NC-17, D/s, deepthroating
Pairing: Charles/Pickles
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: For the vehicular square on my
kink_bingo card. Two more!
It's cliche, Charles knows it is, the unmarked black stretch limousine with the tinted windows and the sunroof, better suited for prom night than the manager of the most successful musical group in history.
The fact that it's the center of a motorcade primarily composed of huge men in masks on motorcycles covered in spikes is immaterial.
There's just something about it, though, something that gets down into him, some childhood memory of seeing them and wondering who was inside, who was special enough to get to ride in one of those fabulous creations. As he steps out of the airport and into the bright sunlight, a thrill goes through him- today, Charles gets to be that person.
His chauffeur is waiting, holding the door for him; his assistant is close on his heels, tablet in hand and ready to work, but Charles dismisses him. Just this once, work can wait for the fifteen minutes it takes to get to the hotel.
When he steps into the limousine and the door closes behind him, there's someone waiting for him, someone Charles didn't expect to see so soon.
Pickles hits the button to raise the tinted glass between them and the driver before sliding to his knees in front of Charles. Charles gets the same satisfaction he always does when Pickles remembers his place and decides not to act out. He enjoys Pickles when he's bratty- which is good, because it's most of the time- but there's something about getting his submission without fighting for it.
"This is unexpected," Charles says mildly.
Pickles shrugs. "I figured, since it's your birthday and all-"
Charles frowns. "You remembered my birthday?"
"No," Pickles says honestly. "I had a guy remind me." That's pretty touching coming from Pickles, and Charles lets himself smile. "So I thought I'd come give you a present. And by a present, I mean a blowjob." He grins. "What else do you give the guy who has everything?"
In this moment, Charles realizes that he really does have everything he wants. Sales are up, the band hasn't set anything on fire in two whole days, he's enjoying his favorite cliche, and his boy is at his feet.
Charles spreads his legs wide, unzipping his pants. "Get to work, then."
Pickles reaches for his cock, pulling it free of his underwear and stroking it. "This isn't work," he says, flicking his tongue against the head. "This is fun."
Charles grabs him by the dreadlocks, pressing his head down to encourage him to get on with it. It's been at least twelve hours since he's had Pickles's mouth, which is far, far too long. Pickles doesn't keep him waiting, opening up and taking him down. Pickles is, thankfully, not one to fuck around about it; he sucks for all he's worth, going after him with the same single-minded determination every time.
The limo hits a bump; the movement pushes Charles's cock further down Pickles's throat, and there's something about that that does it for Charles, like the whole car's getting into the action. Now that he's thinking about it, he can feel the vibration of the limousine underneath him, muted by the shocks but still there. He spreads his legs wider and lets it move through him, adding to the sensation of Pickles's warm mouth around him.
It really doesn't get any better than this.
He takes his hand out of Pickles's hair and hits the button for the intercom. "I, ah, have some concerns about our speed," he says to the driver, his voice perfectly clear, and Pickles grins around his dick.
"Yes, sire," the driver answers. "Should I go faster, my lord?"
Pickles does something untoward with his tongue, and Charles has to bite his knuckle to keep from making a noise. "Slower," he says. "Stick to the speed limit for now."
"Of course, sire," the driver says, and Charles quickly turns off the intercom.
"Not a word," Charles says, pushing on Pickles's head again. "I'm creating a potential security situation for this. I expect the best."
Pickles says nothing; he doesn't really need to, not when his smirk is so expressive. He kneels up a little, bracing himself on Charles's thighs; it gives him just the right angle to take in more, until Charles's cock is almost inside his throat. He coughs a little, but he pushes down further, as far as Charles knows he can. Charles doesn't rush him; he just rests his hand on the back of Pickles's neck, encouraging without pushing.
His patience is rewarded, because just then Pickles opens up for him, letting his cock slide in that little extra bit. And then Pickles swallows, the motion doing indescribable things to him. Charles groans, clutching at Pickles's shoulder, and Pickles draws back, catching his breath.
"Slowly," he reminds Pickles, and Pickles nods; now he's too caught up in it to be a smartass, just how Charles likes to see him. He takes Charles's cock into his mouth again, sucking messily, making obscene, wonderful noises while he does it. He keeps it up until Charles feels like he's just going to melt into the seat, turned into jelly by Pickles's talented mouth.
"Sire," the driver's voice breaks in, and Charles slaps the back of the seat next to him in annoyance. "We are five minutes away from our destination."
"Got it covered," Pickles says, and he's sliding his lips down around Charles's cock before Charles can even protest. He does it fast enough that his eyes start watering, but Charles is a little too far gone to care about that. He pushes at his head, trying to make him go faster; Pickles does that swallowing trick again, and that's it, Charles comes right down his throat.
By the time Charles's brain starts working again, Pickles is sitting next to him. He offers Charles a handkerchief- the pocket square from his own suit coat, he notices, but it's the thought that counts- and Charles tidies himself up, tucking himself away and smoothing back his hair.
"Haven't done that in about twenty years," Pickles says hoarsely, accepting the bottle of water Charles gives him and drinking it down.
"You better not have been practicing," Charles says sharply.
Pickles grins at him. "Dude, you're not gonna be happy when you see how much we spent on bananas this month."
Charles snorts. "What am I ever going to do with you?" he says fondly.
"If you ever run out of ideas, I got some thoughts," Pickles says, with a leer.
The limousine rolls to a stop just as Charles leans over to give him one furtive kiss. They part quickly, before the door can open, and when they step into the hard sunlight, they're just musician and manager, nothing else.
And it'll stay that way until Pickles sees the whip Charles bought for himself.
Happy birthday to Charles.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/327992.html.
comments over there.