Emoklok CH3-CH5
CH3
Pickles’ bedroom was dark and gloomy. Nathan could barely make out the poky silhouette of Pickles’ scrawny body underneath his thin comforter. The little redhead groaned and shifted slightly under the covers, untangling a freckled arm from his bedding and throwing it over his eyes.
“Dood. Not cool. Gerr outta my room,” mumbled Pickles.
Nathan took another deep breath. “No. Uh… we gotta talk.”
“Git. Out.”
Nathan responded by stomping to Pickles’ nightstand and flicking on the lamp.
Pickles growled angrily, sitting up and squinting in the light, shielding his pained eyes with a hand. “What the hell, dood,” whined the drummer.
“We gotta talk. What the fuck is wrong with you? Uhh.. the band. You missed two rehearsals.” The frontman sighed. This was so much harder than he’d imagined it’d be. Nathan’s brow furrowed. How do you stage a one-man intervention to help a creature immune to all forms of drugs and alcohol, and all without voicing any sort of empathy or caring? Nathan felt dizzy. All this problem solving was really… hard…
The frontman felt the floor tilt underneath him, and staggered to keep his footing. The movement attracted Pickles’ bleary eyes, who suddenly looked even more pissed.
“Yer bleedin’ all over my fuckin’ carpet, Nate. Go to the hospital and lemme alone,” said the drummer.
Nathan’s palms dripped blood. He reached out a hand to rest his fingertips on the wall for support, leaving four crimson streaks. “No… gotta.. fix. You’re all.. fucked up.” The singer’s voice was bizarrely tremulous.
Pickles snorted. “I’m fucked up? Look at yah. Siddown, moron,” Pickles offered brusquely, patting one edge of the enormous bed. As Nathan negotiated the few feet to the bedside, Pickles eased out of the bed and made for the bathroom. “Jest sit there and get steady,” he called, disappearing into the bathroom.
The still-naked redhead reappeared quickly, toting a stack of fluffy white towels and a black toiletry bag. Nathan grabbed at the towels, pressing his hands into them.
“Well, those are ruined. Leave one for me, yea?” Pickles said, his crooked smile making an appearance as Nathan’s palms bled all over. He wrapped the last towel around his hips, tucking it in deftly. “Aright, let’s have a look at yah,” he said, perching on the edge of the nightstand and pulling Nathan’s hands into his toweled lap.
“Jeez, Nate. Couldn’t you have picked a better time?” asked the redhead.
The singer flinched minutely as Pickles prodded a skinny finger into a particularly deep slash traversing Nathan’s thick palm, checking for any more glass.
“Here, hold this on top of those, hold tight,” said Pickles, tucking one of the already-soaked towels over Nathan’s palms. The drummer wiped his hands before opening his toiletry bag. He muttered as he rummaged through the sizeable bag. Pickles wasn’t really known for his patience, and began flinging things across the room as he failed to find what he wanted. Compacts of glittery, lurid eye-shadows split against the wall, followed shortly by an assortment of tweezers, razor blades, and spare buttons. Pickles finally found what he was after - a travel sized sewing kit.
The vocalist watched apprehensively as Pickles peered at the needle, threading it eventually. “Uh… what are you doing?” he asked, highly doubtful of the redhead’s medical training.
“Well, yah won’t get out. And I can’t have yah bleedin’ all over. And I’m pretty sober,” Pickles said with a shallow smile. He reached behind him on the nightstand for a bottle of vodka, shaking it at Nathan to prove his point; a tiny amount of clear liquid sloshed in the bottom of the sizeable vessel. Pickles dumped the last trickle of vodka over the needle and thread. “All right, gimme yer right,” ordered Doctor Pickles, holding out his hand for Nathan’s.
Nathan raised a seriously concerned eyebrow.
“Wha’s the matter? Don’t you trust me?”
Nathan rolled his stormy green eyes, sighed, and thrust a plate-sized hand into Pickles’, resigned to his fate at the hands of the wiry drummer.
“Alright, hang onto your hats, boys and girls,” said Pickles, thrusting a needle into Nathan’s skin, pushing the flaps of skin together with his spare fingers.
“Ow, ow, OW!” growled the singer, shifting in discomfort and squeezing his eyes shut.
“Yer such a baby, Nate. Hold still,” reprimanded Pickles, gripping the larger man’s hand harder. “It’ll be over in jest one second. Yer a tough mother fucker, that’s what you are. Tough. Mother. Fucker.” Pickles punctuated each stitch.
Nathan gritted his teeth and tuned into Pickles’ oddly soothing pep talk.
“Alright, NEXT!” barked the drummer. Nathan looked down in amazement at his repaired hand. Granted, it wasn’t exactly Martha Stewart, but it did look better then Jean-Pierre. Nathan offered his other hand, this time watching Pickles work. The redhead still had the deftness of a guitarist from the old days, and Nathan watched, fascinated, as Pickles mended the deep wounds. The black thread whipped over the gashes, the bleeding slowed to a trickle oozing between the stitches. Nathan’s eyes traveled up to Pickles’ intent face, completely concentrated on the task at hand.
Nathan almost rolled his eyes as he recognized the irony of this situation. For one thing, he’d come here to help Pickles, or at least bully the drummer into rejoining the world outside his bedroom. Instead, here was Pickles playing Doctor to Nathan’s hopelessly clumsy patient. Nathan noted with amazement that Pickles had also managed to be incredibly helpful and kind while avoiding mentioning any variety of caring. Well, except concern for his carpet. Damn. The drummer was good. Too good.
“Where’d you learn this?”
“Back in my old band. Those guys were even clumsier and more stubborn than you. Anyways, when they were all fucked up on drugs, they wouldn’t get to the hospital, so I’d jest fix ‘em up,” Pickles said, still absorbed in repairing Nathan’s hand. It wasn’t exactly the answer to the question Nathan had intended, but he stayed quiet. “Hell, I remember this one time, Tony’d gone and…” the drummer stopped talking suddenly, snipping the thread with a little pair of scissors. “There. All done. Yah better get those wrapped up eventually,” he said, relinquishing the frontman’s hands. “Can you go now?” asked the redhead petulantly, finally looking at Nathan.
Nathan’s stomach clenched as he fought another insane urge to reach out and touch the drummer’s tired face. “Uhh… thanks,” he mumbled awkwardly. “And no.”
Pickles’ annoyance flashed across his features. “Dood. What do yah want?”
“Just.. uhm… what’s goin’ on with you?”
Pickles laughed blandly. “I’m just fuckin’ sober, dood. That’s all.”
“You need to come to rehearsals. We have shit to work on,” said Nathan, trying another tact.
Pickles shrugged, finally looking uncomfortable. “I know. I’ve been shitty. It’s been shitty.”
Nathan tilted his head slightly. The big man shifted on the bed, pulling a leg up underneath him, and making it very clear that he was settling in for awhile.
Pickles sighed. Foiled by body language once again, he looked Nathan right in the eye, sage to emerald. “It’s not metal, dood.”
Nathan shrugged.
Slumping against the wall in defeat, the drummer tilted his head up to look at the ceiling. “Jest… feelin’ pretty lonely, I guess. Thinkin’ too much about shit. Been awhile since I had a friend.”
Nathan’s face twisted in discomfort as he struggled to come up with some appropriate words. “You got the band. We’re… uhh.. your friends,” he offered lamely.
Pickles snorted, his Adam’s apple leaping up his slender throat. “I think you know what I mean, Nate.”
And he did. The singer fidgeted, itching with discomfort. Of anyone in Mordhaus, he probably knew the most about Pickles’ track record, and he was aware of the type of friend Pickles was looking for. The frontman was often mystified as to Pickles’ love life. Of the band, only he and Pickles were really interested in pursuing long term romances. The Scandinavians had each other, and of course all the groupies they could handle. Murderface had his weapons. Nathan had the occasional night of fun with an excited fan, and he’d enjoyed his time with Rebecca. But Pickles was secretive about his sex life. He rarely indulged in quick gratification with fans backstage or at parties, like the rest of Dethklok. Nathan had a fuzzy idea of what had gone on in the Snakes ‘N Barrels era.
The big man grimaced in physical and emotional discomfort as he tried to piece together his bandmate’s twisted puzzle. The redhead had admitted to loneliness, thinking about the past. Suddenly, the light bulb lit up.
Nathan suddenly became painfully aware that he was sitting on his potentially gay, mostly naked bandmate’s bed. He stood abruptly.
Pickles unstuck his heavy eyelids to look at the vocalist, who was decidedly **not making eye contact.
Nathan swayed slightly, but stayed upright. “I, uh… I brought you some booze,” he said, retrieving the bottles from his pants and laying them cautiously on the bed, using his fingertips to avoid ripping his stitches and bleeding all over the place. “You, could, you know, come down to the kitchen when you run out,” suggested Nathan.
Pickles watched, inwardly entertained by the singer’s awkwardness. The redhead forced himself to suppress the first giggle he’d had in weeks.
“And… uhh… thanks. For this,” Nathan finished, gesturing at his stitched-up hands while backing out of the door. “Uhhh… bye.”
Pickles sighed as the door shut heavily. He considered going after the frontman for a moment. Instead, he reached over the bloody towels and grabbed a bottle of liquor at random, cracked the seal, and gulped down fiery swallows of the stuff. The little drummer let his head fall back against the wall, enjoying the sensation of the booze burning his throat, the heat radiating from his stomach, and the tickling of Nathan’s sticky blood drying on his hands.
.
CH4
Nathan pinched the bridge of his craggy nose in frustration. The Scandinavians were giving him yet another migraine.
Though the Nordic bickering never really ended, the volume had apparently been turned up by Toki making fun of Skwisgaar’s pruny fingers. Yes, really. You don’t insult the fingers of the fastest guitarist alive, worth a billion dollars apiece.
“They’s lookings like raisins!” laughed Toki, gleefully trying to grab the Swede’s fingertips for closer examination.
Skwisgaar glared, evading capture. “You’s just wants to hold my hands, Toki. Admits it.”
“Skwisgaar, I onlies want to hold ladies hands,” Toki whined, his expression darkening. Suddenly, the Norwegian grinned, seeing the opportunity for his favorite joke. “So, lets holds hands!”
Nathan resisted the urge to submerge his head underneath the hot, bubbling water and drown as Toki started singing the Beatles’ “I Wanna Hold Your Hand.”
When the guitarists started splashing each other, Toki chasing Skwisgaar around the hot tub, trying to alternately hold his hand and dunk him, Nathan gave up. The big vocalist hauled himself out of the tub with a disgusted grunt, gingerly using his bandaged hands. He toweled off roughly before slapping on some pajama pants and heading for the kitchen. For a large glass of migraine medicine. By which I mean booze.
Nathan nearly tripped over the drummer as he stomped into the kitchen. Pickles was on the floor, his head and shoulders propped up on a cabinet. The little redhead was surrounded by bottles, and grinned belatedly at Nathan.
“Naathan! Hey dood! Wha’s goin’ on?” slurred the drummer, hopelessly plastered, his t-shirt riding up on his chest to reveal his gaunt midsection.
“What the fuck, Pickles. Why are you on the floor?”
“Yah invited me. ‘Member? You said, when yer booze runs out, come to the ki’chen!” reminded Pickles, triumphant.
“That wasn’t… it hasn’t even been a day,” Nathan stumbled, heavy brows furrowing.
Pickles eyes glazed suddenly as the large bottle of whiskey in his hand slipped to the stone tiles and cracked. His head cracked into the edge of the cabinet, blood blooming from the short gash over Pickles’ eye, the wound narrowly missing the pair of rings in the redhead’s eyebrow. The drummer’s scrawny frame slid the last few inches to the floor as he passed out.
Nathan audibly groaned. All he wanted was to have a large drink and sleep off his migraine. Still, he recalled with guilt, Pickles had recently taken some pretty good care of him; the hospital staff had been impressed with the stitches. After ascertaining that they’d been sterile, Nathan’s palms had been slathered in antibacterial cream and bandaged.
Currently, however, the singer’s head was still killing him. And there was the best drummer on the planet passed out on his kitchen floor. Nathan rubbed his temples gingerly, considering calling a Klokateer to relocate Pickles to his room, or maybe just leaving him. The vocalist grimaced, feeling the slithering beast of guilt rising in his belly.
“Shit. All right,” growled Nathan to himself. He reached over Pickles’ prone body to grab two untouched bottles of the amber-colored booze, setting them on Pickles’ stomach. The big man knelt, hoisting the little redhead in his big arms and setting off down the hall, Pickles’ head flopping inelegantly over one of Nathan’s big forearms. The frontman was surprised at the feather-light burden.
Nathan propped open the door of Pickles’ bedroom with an elbow before easing himself and the man in his arms through the door. He dumped the smaller man on his bed, standing back to catch his breath. The drummer was light, but Nathan still wasn’t used to hauling dead weight around Mordhaus quickly enough to avoid the rest of the band. Nathan watched Pickles’ temple bleed in morbid fascination. He finally figured he’d better do something about that, and headed for the bathroom to find Pickles’ doctor kit.
Nathan walked back into the bedroom, eyes on unpeeling a band-aid he’d eventually located. He didn’t realize Pickles had regained consciousness until the drummer voiced his surprise at Nathan’s presence.
“Hey, Nathan! How… why are yah here? How di’ I…” the drummer trailed off, losing his train of thought entirely. He grinned. “I’m in bed,” he announced, pulling himself up to sit cross-legged.
“Hey,” said Nathan, feeling the itch of awkwardness creeping up on him. The big frontman really hoped Pickles wouldn’t remember being carried. He didn’t want to get some sort of reputation as a metal Mother Goose.
Pickles’ fine brows twisted as he felt the slick heat of his bleeding temple, and reached up a hand to examine his face. “Ugh! Fuck,” he said, pulling his bloodied fingertips away from his forehead. “How’d that… when’d that happen?”
“Earlier,” Nathan said curtly. He offered the band-aid to Pickles. “Here.”
Pickles reached out to take it, missing the mark by a couple of feet. He giggled, grinning apologetically at Nathan, and tilted his head to ask for help.
The larger man grimaced, and reached out to the drummer. The frontman wrapped a big palm underneath Pickles’ delicate jaw, holding him still to press the band-aid in place. It wasn’t the beautiful stitching job Pickles had provided to him, but it’d have to do.
Nathan was about to leave Pickles to sleep off his latest bender when the little drummer placed both his hands over Nathan’s, which was still on his face. Nathan watched, unable to react, as the drummer closed his eyes and sighed happily into the bandaged palm covering half his face.
Nathan cleared his throat awkwardly, prompting Pickles to look up at the big man with out-of-focus eyes. The drummer dropped his hands. “I need a drink,” muttered Nathan, reaching for one of the bottles he’d hauled up with Pickles. Nathan drained a quarter of the whiskey, wiping his thin mouth with the back of a wrist.
“Me too!” squealed Pickles, seizing the bottle from Nathan and returning to the center of the bed to swig back a gulp of the fiery stuff.
“Uhh… you’ve had enough, Pickles. Give it,” said Nathan, holding out a hand for the bottle.
Pickles just giggled drunkenly, taking another swallow and shaking his head at Nathan.
“Seriously,” growled the frontman, trying to sound as dangerous and threatening as possible.
“Make me,” leered the drummer, sporting a shit-eating grin and wiggling the half-gone bottle tauntingly at Nathan.
The big man growled angrily, reaching across the bed to extricate the booze. Pickles reeled back in time to avoid Nathan’s swipe. The bed squealed in protest as Nathan put his knee on the mattress and managed to take the bottle from Pickles. Nathan twisted, sitting on the bed and enjoying the spoils, giving Pickles a taunting look over the edge of the bottle at his lips.
Pickles swayed slightly, pouting theatrically. He took a big breath which puffed out his cheeks and fluttered his lips as he exhaled in defeat. The little redhead sidled up to the frontman, pressing his body against Nathan’s back and tugging at the vocalist’s firm grip on the bottle.
“Aw, c’mon, dood. Give it… give it back,” he slurred.
Nathan glowered, but Pickles was considerably too far gone to take the hint.
“Well, mebbe I’ll hafta distrac’you,” decided the drummer. He slung a thigh over Nathan’s lap, straddling the singer before he could react.
Nathan’s eyes got big as Pickles stared peeling off his t-shirt slowly, sensuously. The big man couldn’t help but stare at the drummer’s smooth stomach. While Pickles wasn’t defined like, say, Toki, the redhead was scrawny enough to have a flat, tight midsection. Which was currently rippling, his lean sinewy muscles bridging the gap from sharp ribs to the waistband of the drummer’s slightly-too-big jeans.
“Doodley… dooley… doodley doo,” the redhead sang under his breath disjointedly. He tugged the dark shirt off over his head, rolling his hips on the singer’s lap, grinding his pelvis against the bigger man’s. Pickles let his head fall back and chewed on his lips…
Lips, Nathan was quickly noticing, that were deliciously wet and smooth. Pickles moaned, running his teeth over his rosy mouth, sliding his hands up Nathan’s chest. The singer had to restrain himself for the third time in as many days from touching the shirtless drummer, though at the moment, he was resisting the urge to bite and lick at the redhead’s pale neck.
Pickles ran his hands from Nathan’s chest onto his, pinching his own nipples, his hips squirming hard into Nathan’s lap, before running his hands to his fly. Pickles slowly eased the first button on his pants open, snapping his head back up to gaze dizzily at the singer.
Watching the jeans gape open to reveal Pickles’ jagged hipbones, Nathan came to his senses. Placing a big hand on the drummer’s thin chest, his mind scrabbled to find something to say to get out of this situation. “Uhhh…. Maybe you should get some rest. You’re…” Nathan stopped abruptly as Pickles leaned in to nibble and lick at the frontman’s neck just above his shirt. Nathan breathed in sharply, his blood heating suddenly. “You’re pretty drunk,” finished Nathan, pushing Pickles back firmly.
The redhead rocked back on Nathan’s lap. “Whaddya mean? I’m feelin’ jest great,” he insisted. “Aren’t youuu feelin’ great, Nathan?” murmered Pickles, leaning in so that his warm breath wrapped around Nathan’s ear, close enough that his brilliant coppery hair tickled Nathan’s cheek.
Nathan’s cock twitched in spite of himself as Pickles pulled back, and closed his eyes, leaning in to kiss Nathan’s mouth. Nathan surrendered, wrapping his enormous hands around the drummer’s bony back. Their lips grazed…
And Pickles went limp in Nathan’s arms. Nathan jumped, but held onto the little body in his arms. Good thing, too; the drunk had passed out again, and probably would have fallen onto the floor had Nathan not been holding him.
Holding him, Nathan’s mind screamed. Suddenly, nothing was more important than getting out of Pickles’ room. The big frontman lifted the limp body off his lap and placed Pickles in bed with more tenderness than he’d ever admit to. Nathan found only enough time to hastily grab the unopened second bottle of whiskey before fleeing the room, his pasty cheeks filled with crimson embarrassment.
“Man, I haven’t scheen Picklesch in weeksch!” said Murderface, busily polishing a heavy antique rifle balanced across his thighs. He worked his fingers carefully into the intricate tooling on the weapon as Toki watched, fascinated. The Norwegian loved watching Murderface care for his arsenal; the care and love the bassist lavished on his collection was so bizarrely out of character.
Skwisgaar didn’t remove his eyes from the massive television screen in front of the couch. “I haven’t seens dat dildos either. Wonders whats happened to him. Maybe he has gones homes to Wis-condoms,” sneered the blonde, his lanky hands pinging on his Explorer.
Toki turned to look at the blonde, sweet face wrinkled in confusion. “Wis-condoms? They makes the condoms there?”
Murderface snorted, sprinkling the rhythm guitarist in front of him with spit. “No, moron, Wischcon-SCHIN,” he said. The bassist frowned. “I don’t think he woulda gone home.”
Nathan trudged into the living room, falling into the nearest chair gracelessly.
“What do you think, Nathan, where’sch Picklesch?” asked Murderface.
“Uhhh… why would I know?” said the vocalist, squirming slightly. The frontman was lucky his bandmates’ eyes were absorbed in their respective activities.
“We’s thinking mebbes you knows. Oh wells. Don’t needs him anyways,” scoffed the Swede.
“Hey, dat’s mean, Skiwsgaar! I loves Pickles!”
“Well, I knows dat.”
Murderface cut the blonde off before the Scandinavians got started. “Well, when didja lascht see ‘im?” he asked Nathan.
“Uhn.. couple nights, I guess,” answered Nathan. In reality, it had only been last night. However, Nathan could admit to slicing up his palms accidentally in Pickles’ room and getting stitched; that was adequately brutal. Indeed, his bandmates were pretty impressed with the black thread holding his palms together currently. But getting a lap dance and a painful boner from his incredibly drunk drummer was not exactly metal.
Nathan squirmed and stood. “Ugh. I’m gonna get a drink. Anyone else?”
“Ooh, ja, some ballses for Toki would be greats,” said Skwisgaar, smirking at Toki.
Nathan power walked out of the living room as the next great Nordic bitchslap-fest began. He felt safer the farther he was from the band, the farther his secret was from the rest of the guys.
Until he came face to face with the bony, white ankles of his secret, poking out from underneath the huge fridge door. Pickles was muttering under his breath as glass clinked in the fridge, rummaging for something. He closed the door with a simple bottle of water in his hands, coming face to face with Nathan.
“Agh! Yah scared me,” yelped the redhead. Nathan shrugged, trying desperately not to notice how cute Pickles was when startled, how he shivered in the cold air from the fridge, and how his freckled skin was peppered with goose-bumps. The big frontman was just grateful that the drummer wasn’t as drunk as last night, and was clothed in boxers and a t-shirt. Small mercies, Nathan thought wryly.
Nathan eventually realized he was staring at the drummer, who was looking at him rather oddly. Oh, right, conversation. “Uhhh…” Nathan cleared his throat. “So, what’s up?”
Pickles lifted an eyebrow. “Naht much.”
“Oh. Okay. We good?” asked Nathan, still trying to figure out how much the drummer remembered.
“Ah… why?” asked Pickles, his expression shifting into confusion and concern.
“You… uhh.. you were pretty drunk last night,” offered Nathan lamely.
“Oh, yea! Right. Yea, feelin’ good,” said Pickles, cracking open the water and taking a long sip.
Nathan watched the drummer’s delicate little throat swallow deeply. The frontman was getting all hot and bothered - heat spread from his groin to his face, and he prayed his cheeks didn’t flush and give him away.
“Hey, wasn’t I in here last night?” asked Pickles. Nathan shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Right. I was here, and then…” Pickles trailed off, setting the water down to rub his forehead. His finger bumped into the band-aid-covered gash over his left eye, prompting a little gasp of surprise from the drummer. “Yowch. When’d that happen?” he asked, looking at Nathan.
Who had apparently found something really interesting to study on the floor.
Pickles lowered his voice, talking to himself, searching for the answer in the countertop. “I was here… and then I was in my room. And you were there! And…” Pickles trailed off, his mind whirring so fast it was practically audible.
The little redhead looked up suddenly, recognition flashing across his face. Nathan bridged the distance between them in a step, bringing a hand up to caress the drummer’s cheek, his sharp jawline.
Both men had fear on their faces, and both of them were shivering slightly, and this time, not from the chill of the fridge. Nathan swallowed the terror in his throat, shut his eyes tightly, and kissed Pickles.
The frontman’s mind screamed, shrieked at him to stop. This was Pickles. A man. This was so, so gay and definitely not metal. Nathan pulled away from Pickles, looking into the man’s eyes. The vocalist’s fear, his insecurities drowned instantly into those clear, deep pools of sage. Nathan wasn’t surprised to see shock on Pickles’ face, but the throbbing sadness at the bottom of the drummer’s eyes was unexpected. And in that one moment, all Nathan wanted to do was help Pickles. Make the little man smile and laugh, for real, not the drunken façade of hilarity. Wrap the redhead in his big arms and heal every inch of his body, his soul.
Nathan leaned back in and kissed the smaller man again, stooping slightly, tilting the redhead’s head up gently to suck tenderly on the drummer’s bottom lip before slipping his tongue into Pickles’ mouth. Pickles responded warmly, turning his body to Nathan’s, wrapping his hands around the big man’s lower back. The drummer ran his slender hands up Nathan’s back, burying them in his long raven hair, tangling his fingers and tugging at the black locks. Pickles’ needy body, his lonely soul flared into life under Nathan’s heavy hands, the big fingertips and the growing bulge in Nathan’s pants pressing insistently into the drummer’s pelvis.
When they finally broke the kiss, Pickles murmured a cautious, “Dood…”
Nathan looked away, face flushed in embarrassment and lust. “Is this… uhh.. is this okay?”
Pickles nodded imperceptibly, sliding a hand under the hem of Nathan’s t-shirt to graze the soft skin at the small of his back with rough fingertips. The big man took a quick breath as his back arched, his body responding uncontrollably. He suddenly became aware of the dull sounds of the television in the big room just down the hall.
“Should probably move it on outta here,” Nathan said, reaching behind him to catch the drummer’s hand.
“Yea,” breathed the redhead, snapping out of his shocked lust. “Yah wanna carry me again?” Pickles teased, grinning crookedly up at the big man.
“Fuck you,” Nathan growled, a corner of his mouth twitching up in spite of himself. “You lead the way. No one’s seen you in weeks. You must have a secret… uhh.. route. Or something,” said Nathan, following the little drummer out of the kitchen.
.
CH 5
Nathan was surprised when Pickles stopped at Nathan’s room. The big man raised a heavy eyebrow at the little drummer.
“What? My room’s littered with glass for you to slice yourself up with,” shrugged the redhead, pushing open the heavy door. Pickles pranced into the room, throwing himself on Nathan’s vast bed. “Mmm, and your bed’s bigger. And you’ve got weed!” Pickles exclaimed in delight, noticing a mostly-full pipe on Nathan’s nightstand. “You’ve been holding out on me, yah big bastard!” he accused as he rummaged for a lighter, firing up the pipe and laying back to enjoy his spoils.
Nathan sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, his awkwardness returning. “Uhhh… so. We gonna talk about this?”
The redhead exhaled a particularly enormous lungful of acrid smoke, considering the question. He discarded the pipe, sliding to sit next to Nathan, his legs dangling from the bed. “What’s to talk about? I mean, other than yer stiffie in the kitchen, yer fag-a-delic crush on me, the fact that yah want mah cute self…” the redhead ticked off on his slender fingers.
He was rudely interrupted by the raven-haired vocalist, who pushed the drummer back on the bed, moving with surprising agility to straddle the smaller man. Nathan thrust his inquisitive tongue into the drummer’s mouth, pressing his still-hot groin against the redhead.
Pickles kissed the big man back, biting at his lips. He wrapped sinewy arms around the bigger man, tugging at the hem of Nathan’s shirt, finding a moment to pull it over his head. Raven hair spilled over Pickles’ speckled white skin as the drummer clawed at the vocalist’s strong back, pulling him closer with hungry fingers. The big man growled deep in his throat as Pickles’ fingernails left angry red welts on his back. Nathan reached a hand down to pull on the drummer’s shirt; the frontman didn’t even try to tug it off, preferring to pull hard enough to lift the redhead’s torso off the bed before the shirt gave way with a dramatic rrriiiiip!
Pickles fell the few short inches to the bed, exhaling sharply in surprise. “Little feisty, are we?” he asked, smiling crookedly up at the big man. Nathan twisted the redhead’s boxers in response, eliciting a groan from the redhead as the fabric constricted around his rapidly-hardening cock. The drummer pulled his bony knees up, shoving the bigger man aside to whip off his boxers.
Nathan ogled the redhead’s long cock; he’d seen Pickles naked before, but never in this context, and never with such an erection. Below the sexy, tantalizing trail of red hair that meandered down Pickles’ stomach, his cock curved upwards slightly. The big man felt himself twitch, unconsciously unbuttoning his too-tight pants with fevered fingers.
As Nathan climbed back onto the bed, Pickles reached a daring hand out to grope the frontman’s thick cock. The redhead could barely get his hand around the rock-hard shaft, but Pickles ran his palm up and down Nathan’s swollen member, teasing his balls with expert fingertips. Nathan moaned, the gravelly sound buzzing deep in his chest. He shifted, twisting onto his side to prop himself up over the little drummer, his hairy arms on either side of the scrawny, freckled body.
The redhead paused, looking at the black haired man over him. He smiled impishly, releasing the frontman’s cock from his well-practiced ministrations, and rolled onto his stomach underneath the bigger man. Pickles lifted his slender hips up, teasing Nathan with his smooth ass. The vocalist took the bait hungrily, running a rough hand firmly along Pickles’ hip, stroking the littler man’s body, fingering the soft crease between the redhead’s hip and thigh.
Pickles shivered with pleasure as Nathan’s big hands roamed along his sensitive, all-too-neglected body. The big man rubbed the drummer’s ass, kneading the warm, yielding flesh. The vocalist paused to slip a thick finger into his own mouth . Pickles gasped in surprise as the wet digit pressed against his puckered asshole, groaning into the mattress loudly as Nathan eased the first knuckle into his body.
The redhead laid a hand on Nathan’s thigh, checking the frontman. “Gaht any lube, Nate?” he asked breathily.
The dark-haired man nodded, untangling himself from the little drummer, who rolled onto his back. Nathan rummaged through his nightstand, producing a slim black bottle of lube and a condom. He threw the bottle at the little redhead.
Pickles unscrewed the lid, dripping the slick liquid onto his asshole. He rubbed his cock briskly, adding his sticky precum to the lube, and slid two of his slim fingers into his ass - they almost added to one of Nathan’s. The redhead began breathing heavily, enjoying the process of warming up his body. Eventually, however, the drummer noticed he was on his own.
Nathan was looking down at his hands, standing beside the bed and fidgeting with the unopened condom, his face flushed and conflicted.
“Nate?” asked Pickles, pausing, concern in his voice.
The big frontman couldn’t bring himself to look at the redhead. “So gay,” he muttered under his breath, his face angry. His body was betraying him, wanting Pickles more than he’d wanted anyone in years, his cock desperate to be buried in the scrawny little redhead.
Pickles furrowed his delicate brows, watching his bandmate’s shoulders clench and unclench in self-hate. The redhead extricated his fingers, sitting up to look at the frontman.
“Maybe…” he began, and was cut off by Nathan’s lips. The big man stooped to kiss the drummer hesitantly, almost… shyly, Pickles realized.
“Nate, have yah ever… done this?”
Nathan clenched his jaw, closing a fist around a handful of Pickles’ springy red dreads. “Uhh… not,” he swallowed. “Not really,” he admitted, looking guilty and uncomfortable.
Pickles raised an eyebrow, curious as to what constituted “not really,” but kept silent. Instead, he kissed the singer, assuring the big man with his soft lips, tempting Nathan with his hot tongue, his sharp teeth. The singer surrendered, clambering back onto the bed, letting Pickles take the condom from his big hand and do the honors. The raven-haired man groaned into Pickles’ mouth as the drummer rolled the rubber over his thick cock with nimble fingers.
Moving quickly, Pickles twisted underneath the frontman, rolling onto his stomach. He reached behind him, guiding Nathan’s throbbing cock closer, letting the heat of his asshole do the rest of the work. Instinct taking over, the vocalist’s throat rumbled as he pushed into the redhead’s slick asshole, wrapping his big hands around the drummer’s slim hips.
Pickles groaned underneath him, his hands clutching at Nathan’s sheets. Nathan froze, his body stiff over the redhead.
“Okay?” he asked, his tone scared and concerned.
Pickles chuckled breathlessly. “Go for it, dood. I’m not gahnna fuckin’ break,” he assured, proving his point by shoving his hips back at the vocalist’s, moaning.
Nathan took the hint, sliding his thick cock deep into Pickles’ ass. The little redhead gasped, shuddering in pleasure lined with pain. Pickles dug his fingers into the mattress, bracing himself as Nathan began thrusting, pushing into the drummer’s tight ass hard enough to move the gigantic bed. The redhead yowled in pleasure as Nathan filled his neglected body, arching his back up greedily.
The drummer’s eyes rolled back as Nathan wrapped a hand tremulously underneath Pickles’ hips, the big man’s fingers hesitantly exploring the redhead’s twitching cock. The little man wailed in frustration as Nathan stopped again.
“Pickles?”
The redhead groaned, wriggling under the vocalist. “What?”
Nathan’s brow furrowed. “I want to… uhhh…” he stammered, still embarrassed to say the words, even with his cock buried in his bandmate. He braced a big palm on the drummer’s lower back, pulling his stiff member out of the redhead’s asshole.
“Turn over?” asked Nathan softly.
Pickles obliged, surprise in his gleaming sage eyes. Nathan bent to kiss the smaller man, sliding his cock back into Pickles. “Much better,” breathed the big man, completely absorbed in watching the redhead shiver in pleasure with each thrust. The drummer’s eyes were slitted in pleasure, his mouth slightly open, lips curled up in ecstasy, his delicate chin tilted back.
Nathan nipped at the redhead’s tempting neck. Pickles moaned happily, writhing on the cock impaled in his ass. The frontman thrust deep and fast into the drummer. Pickles wrapped his legs around Nathan’s ass, locking his ankles and pulling the big man closer.
“Ungh!” gasped the drummer as he managed to force an extra half inch of Nathan inside his tight body. “Yer so thick, so good. Gahnna come. Fuck me!”
Nathan was quickly losing his control, and Pickles’ goading words and exquisitely sexy face were getting him closer and closer. He heard the rushing in his ears and growled as Pickles’ ass tightened around him. The redhead yelled as he came, arcing his back as his little body spasmed violently, spurting creamy cum between the two men
The sight of the drummer’s body being wracked by his orgasm drove Nathan right over the edge. The big man closed his eyes, his face contorted into an overwhelmed snarl, burying his cock in the redhead’s ass as wave after wave of shuddering pleasure crashed over his body.
Pickles clawed at the frontman’s back with trembling fingers, panting to catch his breath. “So good. Ah, so damn good,” his usually sharp voice unsteady and shivery.
Nathan lay chest to chest on the drummer, his heart pounding as he caught he breath for a long minute, supported on his elbows. He rolled off, flinging the condom across the room before shooting the drummer a look.
Pickles caught sight of the singer’s blank stare and prepared to be kicked out of the bizzarely homophobic vocalist’s room. The redhead slid to the edge of the bed, grimacing slightly as his thighs got reacquainted, and stepping onto his feet…
Only to be caught around the midsection by two big, warm arms and crushed to Nathan’s chest. Pickles’ eyes opened in surprise. He wrinkled his nose, tickled by the frontman’s wiry, sparse chest hairs.
Nathan smiled at the scrawny drummer in his arms, peeling back the bedding and wriggling underneath the sheets with the redhead clutched firmly against his body. His raven hair fanned out across the pillow, the vocalist closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.
Pickles extricated a pale arm, fiddling with the alarm clock on Nathan’s nightstand. The frontman opened a green eye, frowning at the little redhead.
“Uh… what are you doing?”
“Isn’t tomorrow the fifteenth? We hafta go to the employee review, or Murderface’ll gut us both,” whined the redhead, setting the alarm to the modest time of one o’clock in the afternoon.
“Fuck it. You can miss another day of work,” growled Nathan with a half-smile, pulling the drummer close before he could finish.
Pickles smiled into the silky dark hair, curling up against Nathan’s chest. The little redhead looked completely at peace as he drifted off to sleep.
. Posted to sausagefestival and mord_haus 2008.12.08.
Pickles’ bedroom was dark and gloomy. Nathan could barely make out the poky silhouette of Pickles’ scrawny body underneath his thin comforter. The little redhead groaned and shifted slightly under the covers, untangling a freckled arm from his bedding and throwing it over his eyes.
“Dood. Not cool. Gerr outta my room,” mumbled Pickles.
Nathan took another deep breath. “No. Uh… we gotta talk.”
“Git. Out.”
Nathan responded by stomping to Pickles’ nightstand and flicking on the lamp.
Pickles growled angrily, sitting up and squinting in the light, shielding his pained eyes with a hand. “What the hell, dood,” whined the drummer.
“We gotta talk. What the fuck is wrong with you? Uhh.. the band. You missed two rehearsals.” The frontman sighed. This was so much harder than he’d imagined it’d be. Nathan’s brow furrowed. How do you stage a one-man intervention to help a creature immune to all forms of drugs and alcohol, and all without voicing any sort of empathy or caring? Nathan felt dizzy. All this problem solving was really… hard…
The frontman felt the floor tilt underneath him, and staggered to keep his footing. The movement attracted Pickles’ bleary eyes, who suddenly looked even more pissed.
“Yer bleedin’ all over my fuckin’ carpet, Nate. Go to the hospital and lemme alone,” said the drummer.
Nathan’s palms dripped blood. He reached out a hand to rest his fingertips on the wall for support, leaving four crimson streaks. “No… gotta.. fix. You’re all.. fucked up.” The singer’s voice was bizarrely tremulous.
Pickles snorted. “I’m fucked up? Look at yah. Siddown, moron,” Pickles offered brusquely, patting one edge of the enormous bed. As Nathan negotiated the few feet to the bedside, Pickles eased out of the bed and made for the bathroom. “Jest sit there and get steady,” he called, disappearing into the bathroom.
The still-naked redhead reappeared quickly, toting a stack of fluffy white towels and a black toiletry bag. Nathan grabbed at the towels, pressing his hands into them.
“Well, those are ruined. Leave one for me, yea?” Pickles said, his crooked smile making an appearance as Nathan’s palms bled all over. He wrapped the last towel around his hips, tucking it in deftly. “Aright, let’s have a look at yah,” he said, perching on the edge of the nightstand and pulling Nathan’s hands into his toweled lap.
“Jeez, Nate. Couldn’t you have picked a better time?” asked the redhead.
The singer flinched minutely as Pickles prodded a skinny finger into a particularly deep slash traversing Nathan’s thick palm, checking for any more glass.
“Here, hold this on top of those, hold tight,” said Pickles, tucking one of the already-soaked towels over Nathan’s palms. The drummer wiped his hands before opening his toiletry bag. He muttered as he rummaged through the sizeable bag. Pickles wasn’t really known for his patience, and began flinging things across the room as he failed to find what he wanted. Compacts of glittery, lurid eye-shadows split against the wall, followed shortly by an assortment of tweezers, razor blades, and spare buttons. Pickles finally found what he was after - a travel sized sewing kit.
The vocalist watched apprehensively as Pickles peered at the needle, threading it eventually. “Uh… what are you doing?” he asked, highly doubtful of the redhead’s medical training.
“Well, yah won’t get out. And I can’t have yah bleedin’ all over. And I’m pretty sober,” Pickles said with a shallow smile. He reached behind him on the nightstand for a bottle of vodka, shaking it at Nathan to prove his point; a tiny amount of clear liquid sloshed in the bottom of the sizeable vessel. Pickles dumped the last trickle of vodka over the needle and thread. “All right, gimme yer right,” ordered Doctor Pickles, holding out his hand for Nathan’s.
Nathan raised a seriously concerned eyebrow.
“Wha’s the matter? Don’t you trust me?”
Nathan rolled his stormy green eyes, sighed, and thrust a plate-sized hand into Pickles’, resigned to his fate at the hands of the wiry drummer.
“Alright, hang onto your hats, boys and girls,” said Pickles, thrusting a needle into Nathan’s skin, pushing the flaps of skin together with his spare fingers.
“Ow, ow, OW!” growled the singer, shifting in discomfort and squeezing his eyes shut.
“Yer such a baby, Nate. Hold still,” reprimanded Pickles, gripping the larger man’s hand harder. “It’ll be over in jest one second. Yer a tough mother fucker, that’s what you are. Tough. Mother. Fucker.” Pickles punctuated each stitch.
Nathan gritted his teeth and tuned into Pickles’ oddly soothing pep talk.
“Alright, NEXT!” barked the drummer. Nathan looked down in amazement at his repaired hand. Granted, it wasn’t exactly Martha Stewart, but it did look better then Jean-Pierre. Nathan offered his other hand, this time watching Pickles work. The redhead still had the deftness of a guitarist from the old days, and Nathan watched, fascinated, as Pickles mended the deep wounds. The black thread whipped over the gashes, the bleeding slowed to a trickle oozing between the stitches. Nathan’s eyes traveled up to Pickles’ intent face, completely concentrated on the task at hand.
Nathan almost rolled his eyes as he recognized the irony of this situation. For one thing, he’d come here to help Pickles, or at least bully the drummer into rejoining the world outside his bedroom. Instead, here was Pickles playing Doctor to Nathan’s hopelessly clumsy patient. Nathan noted with amazement that Pickles had also managed to be incredibly helpful and kind while avoiding mentioning any variety of caring. Well, except concern for his carpet. Damn. The drummer was good. Too good.
“Where’d you learn this?”
“Back in my old band. Those guys were even clumsier and more stubborn than you. Anyways, when they were all fucked up on drugs, they wouldn’t get to the hospital, so I’d jest fix ‘em up,” Pickles said, still absorbed in repairing Nathan’s hand. It wasn’t exactly the answer to the question Nathan had intended, but he stayed quiet. “Hell, I remember this one time, Tony’d gone and…” the drummer stopped talking suddenly, snipping the thread with a little pair of scissors. “There. All done. Yah better get those wrapped up eventually,” he said, relinquishing the frontman’s hands. “Can you go now?” asked the redhead petulantly, finally looking at Nathan.
Nathan’s stomach clenched as he fought another insane urge to reach out and touch the drummer’s tired face. “Uhh… thanks,” he mumbled awkwardly. “And no.”
Pickles’ annoyance flashed across his features. “Dood. What do yah want?”
“Just.. uhm… what’s goin’ on with you?”
Pickles laughed blandly. “I’m just fuckin’ sober, dood. That’s all.”
“You need to come to rehearsals. We have shit to work on,” said Nathan, trying another tact.
Pickles shrugged, finally looking uncomfortable. “I know. I’ve been shitty. It’s been shitty.”
Nathan tilted his head slightly. The big man shifted on the bed, pulling a leg up underneath him, and making it very clear that he was settling in for awhile.
Pickles sighed. Foiled by body language once again, he looked Nathan right in the eye, sage to emerald. “It’s not metal, dood.”
Nathan shrugged.
Slumping against the wall in defeat, the drummer tilted his head up to look at the ceiling. “Jest… feelin’ pretty lonely, I guess. Thinkin’ too much about shit. Been awhile since I had a friend.”
Nathan’s face twisted in discomfort as he struggled to come up with some appropriate words. “You got the band. We’re… uhh.. your friends,” he offered lamely.
Pickles snorted, his Adam’s apple leaping up his slender throat. “I think you know what I mean, Nate.”
And he did. The singer fidgeted, itching with discomfort. Of anyone in Mordhaus, he probably knew the most about Pickles’ track record, and he was aware of the type of friend Pickles was looking for. The frontman was often mystified as to Pickles’ love life. Of the band, only he and Pickles were really interested in pursuing long term romances. The Scandinavians had each other, and of course all the groupies they could handle. Murderface had his weapons. Nathan had the occasional night of fun with an excited fan, and he’d enjoyed his time with Rebecca. But Pickles was secretive about his sex life. He rarely indulged in quick gratification with fans backstage or at parties, like the rest of Dethklok. Nathan had a fuzzy idea of what had gone on in the Snakes ‘N Barrels era.
The big man grimaced in physical and emotional discomfort as he tried to piece together his bandmate’s twisted puzzle. The redhead had admitted to loneliness, thinking about the past. Suddenly, the light bulb lit up.
Nathan suddenly became painfully aware that he was sitting on his potentially gay, mostly naked bandmate’s bed. He stood abruptly.
Pickles unstuck his heavy eyelids to look at the vocalist, who was decidedly **not making eye contact.
Nathan swayed slightly, but stayed upright. “I, uh… I brought you some booze,” he said, retrieving the bottles from his pants and laying them cautiously on the bed, using his fingertips to avoid ripping his stitches and bleeding all over the place. “You, could, you know, come down to the kitchen when you run out,” suggested Nathan.
Pickles watched, inwardly entertained by the singer’s awkwardness. The redhead forced himself to suppress the first giggle he’d had in weeks.
“And… uhh… thanks. For this,” Nathan finished, gesturing at his stitched-up hands while backing out of the door. “Uhhh… bye.”
Pickles sighed as the door shut heavily. He considered going after the frontman for a moment. Instead, he reached over the bloody towels and grabbed a bottle of liquor at random, cracked the seal, and gulped down fiery swallows of the stuff. The little drummer let his head fall back against the wall, enjoying the sensation of the booze burning his throat, the heat radiating from his stomach, and the tickling of Nathan’s sticky blood drying on his hands.
.
CH4
Nathan pinched the bridge of his craggy nose in frustration. The Scandinavians were giving him yet another migraine.
Though the Nordic bickering never really ended, the volume had apparently been turned up by Toki making fun of Skwisgaar’s pruny fingers. Yes, really. You don’t insult the fingers of the fastest guitarist alive, worth a billion dollars apiece.
“They’s lookings like raisins!” laughed Toki, gleefully trying to grab the Swede’s fingertips for closer examination.
Skwisgaar glared, evading capture. “You’s just wants to hold my hands, Toki. Admits it.”
“Skwisgaar, I onlies want to hold ladies hands,” Toki whined, his expression darkening. Suddenly, the Norwegian grinned, seeing the opportunity for his favorite joke. “So, lets holds hands!”
Nathan resisted the urge to submerge his head underneath the hot, bubbling water and drown as Toki started singing the Beatles’ “I Wanna Hold Your Hand.”
When the guitarists started splashing each other, Toki chasing Skwisgaar around the hot tub, trying to alternately hold his hand and dunk him, Nathan gave up. The big vocalist hauled himself out of the tub with a disgusted grunt, gingerly using his bandaged hands. He toweled off roughly before slapping on some pajama pants and heading for the kitchen. For a large glass of migraine medicine. By which I mean booze.
Nathan nearly tripped over the drummer as he stomped into the kitchen. Pickles was on the floor, his head and shoulders propped up on a cabinet. The little redhead was surrounded by bottles, and grinned belatedly at Nathan.
“Naathan! Hey dood! Wha’s goin’ on?” slurred the drummer, hopelessly plastered, his t-shirt riding up on his chest to reveal his gaunt midsection.
“What the fuck, Pickles. Why are you on the floor?”
“Yah invited me. ‘Member? You said, when yer booze runs out, come to the ki’chen!” reminded Pickles, triumphant.
“That wasn’t… it hasn’t even been a day,” Nathan stumbled, heavy brows furrowing.
Pickles eyes glazed suddenly as the large bottle of whiskey in his hand slipped to the stone tiles and cracked. His head cracked into the edge of the cabinet, blood blooming from the short gash over Pickles’ eye, the wound narrowly missing the pair of rings in the redhead’s eyebrow. The drummer’s scrawny frame slid the last few inches to the floor as he passed out.
Nathan audibly groaned. All he wanted was to have a large drink and sleep off his migraine. Still, he recalled with guilt, Pickles had recently taken some pretty good care of him; the hospital staff had been impressed with the stitches. After ascertaining that they’d been sterile, Nathan’s palms had been slathered in antibacterial cream and bandaged.
Currently, however, the singer’s head was still killing him. And there was the best drummer on the planet passed out on his kitchen floor. Nathan rubbed his temples gingerly, considering calling a Klokateer to relocate Pickles to his room, or maybe just leaving him. The vocalist grimaced, feeling the slithering beast of guilt rising in his belly.
“Shit. All right,” growled Nathan to himself. He reached over Pickles’ prone body to grab two untouched bottles of the amber-colored booze, setting them on Pickles’ stomach. The big man knelt, hoisting the little redhead in his big arms and setting off down the hall, Pickles’ head flopping inelegantly over one of Nathan’s big forearms. The frontman was surprised at the feather-light burden.
Nathan propped open the door of Pickles’ bedroom with an elbow before easing himself and the man in his arms through the door. He dumped the smaller man on his bed, standing back to catch his breath. The drummer was light, but Nathan still wasn’t used to hauling dead weight around Mordhaus quickly enough to avoid the rest of the band. Nathan watched Pickles’ temple bleed in morbid fascination. He finally figured he’d better do something about that, and headed for the bathroom to find Pickles’ doctor kit.
Nathan walked back into the bedroom, eyes on unpeeling a band-aid he’d eventually located. He didn’t realize Pickles had regained consciousness until the drummer voiced his surprise at Nathan’s presence.
“Hey, Nathan! How… why are yah here? How di’ I…” the drummer trailed off, losing his train of thought entirely. He grinned. “I’m in bed,” he announced, pulling himself up to sit cross-legged.
“Hey,” said Nathan, feeling the itch of awkwardness creeping up on him. The big frontman really hoped Pickles wouldn’t remember being carried. He didn’t want to get some sort of reputation as a metal Mother Goose.
Pickles’ fine brows twisted as he felt the slick heat of his bleeding temple, and reached up a hand to examine his face. “Ugh! Fuck,” he said, pulling his bloodied fingertips away from his forehead. “How’d that… when’d that happen?”
“Earlier,” Nathan said curtly. He offered the band-aid to Pickles. “Here.”
Pickles reached out to take it, missing the mark by a couple of feet. He giggled, grinning apologetically at Nathan, and tilted his head to ask for help.
The larger man grimaced, and reached out to the drummer. The frontman wrapped a big palm underneath Pickles’ delicate jaw, holding him still to press the band-aid in place. It wasn’t the beautiful stitching job Pickles had provided to him, but it’d have to do.
Nathan was about to leave Pickles to sleep off his latest bender when the little drummer placed both his hands over Nathan’s, which was still on his face. Nathan watched, unable to react, as the drummer closed his eyes and sighed happily into the bandaged palm covering half his face.
Nathan cleared his throat awkwardly, prompting Pickles to look up at the big man with out-of-focus eyes. The drummer dropped his hands. “I need a drink,” muttered Nathan, reaching for one of the bottles he’d hauled up with Pickles. Nathan drained a quarter of the whiskey, wiping his thin mouth with the back of a wrist.
“Me too!” squealed Pickles, seizing the bottle from Nathan and returning to the center of the bed to swig back a gulp of the fiery stuff.
“Uhh… you’ve had enough, Pickles. Give it,” said Nathan, holding out a hand for the bottle.
Pickles just giggled drunkenly, taking another swallow and shaking his head at Nathan.
“Seriously,” growled the frontman, trying to sound as dangerous and threatening as possible.
“Make me,” leered the drummer, sporting a shit-eating grin and wiggling the half-gone bottle tauntingly at Nathan.
The big man growled angrily, reaching across the bed to extricate the booze. Pickles reeled back in time to avoid Nathan’s swipe. The bed squealed in protest as Nathan put his knee on the mattress and managed to take the bottle from Pickles. Nathan twisted, sitting on the bed and enjoying the spoils, giving Pickles a taunting look over the edge of the bottle at his lips.
Pickles swayed slightly, pouting theatrically. He took a big breath which puffed out his cheeks and fluttered his lips as he exhaled in defeat. The little redhead sidled up to the frontman, pressing his body against Nathan’s back and tugging at the vocalist’s firm grip on the bottle.
“Aw, c’mon, dood. Give it… give it back,” he slurred.
Nathan glowered, but Pickles was considerably too far gone to take the hint.
“Well, mebbe I’ll hafta distrac’you,” decided the drummer. He slung a thigh over Nathan’s lap, straddling the singer before he could react.
Nathan’s eyes got big as Pickles stared peeling off his t-shirt slowly, sensuously. The big man couldn’t help but stare at the drummer’s smooth stomach. While Pickles wasn’t defined like, say, Toki, the redhead was scrawny enough to have a flat, tight midsection. Which was currently rippling, his lean sinewy muscles bridging the gap from sharp ribs to the waistband of the drummer’s slightly-too-big jeans.
“Doodley… dooley… doodley doo,” the redhead sang under his breath disjointedly. He tugged the dark shirt off over his head, rolling his hips on the singer’s lap, grinding his pelvis against the bigger man’s. Pickles let his head fall back and chewed on his lips…
Lips, Nathan was quickly noticing, that were deliciously wet and smooth. Pickles moaned, running his teeth over his rosy mouth, sliding his hands up Nathan’s chest. The singer had to restrain himself for the third time in as many days from touching the shirtless drummer, though at the moment, he was resisting the urge to bite and lick at the redhead’s pale neck.
Pickles ran his hands from Nathan’s chest onto his, pinching his own nipples, his hips squirming hard into Nathan’s lap, before running his hands to his fly. Pickles slowly eased the first button on his pants open, snapping his head back up to gaze dizzily at the singer.
Watching the jeans gape open to reveal Pickles’ jagged hipbones, Nathan came to his senses. Placing a big hand on the drummer’s thin chest, his mind scrabbled to find something to say to get out of this situation. “Uhhh…. Maybe you should get some rest. You’re…” Nathan stopped abruptly as Pickles leaned in to nibble and lick at the frontman’s neck just above his shirt. Nathan breathed in sharply, his blood heating suddenly. “You’re pretty drunk,” finished Nathan, pushing Pickles back firmly.
The redhead rocked back on Nathan’s lap. “Whaddya mean? I’m feelin’ jest great,” he insisted. “Aren’t youuu feelin’ great, Nathan?” murmered Pickles, leaning in so that his warm breath wrapped around Nathan’s ear, close enough that his brilliant coppery hair tickled Nathan’s cheek.
Nathan’s cock twitched in spite of himself as Pickles pulled back, and closed his eyes, leaning in to kiss Nathan’s mouth. Nathan surrendered, wrapping his enormous hands around the drummer’s bony back. Their lips grazed…
And Pickles went limp in Nathan’s arms. Nathan jumped, but held onto the little body in his arms. Good thing, too; the drunk had passed out again, and probably would have fallen onto the floor had Nathan not been holding him.
Holding him, Nathan’s mind screamed. Suddenly, nothing was more important than getting out of Pickles’ room. The big frontman lifted the limp body off his lap and placed Pickles in bed with more tenderness than he’d ever admit to. Nathan found only enough time to hastily grab the unopened second bottle of whiskey before fleeing the room, his pasty cheeks filled with crimson embarrassment.
“Man, I haven’t scheen Picklesch in weeksch!” said Murderface, busily polishing a heavy antique rifle balanced across his thighs. He worked his fingers carefully into the intricate tooling on the weapon as Toki watched, fascinated. The Norwegian loved watching Murderface care for his arsenal; the care and love the bassist lavished on his collection was so bizarrely out of character.
Skwisgaar didn’t remove his eyes from the massive television screen in front of the couch. “I haven’t seens dat dildos either. Wonders whats happened to him. Maybe he has gones homes to Wis-condoms,” sneered the blonde, his lanky hands pinging on his Explorer.
Toki turned to look at the blonde, sweet face wrinkled in confusion. “Wis-condoms? They makes the condoms there?”
Murderface snorted, sprinkling the rhythm guitarist in front of him with spit. “No, moron, Wischcon-SCHIN,” he said. The bassist frowned. “I don’t think he woulda gone home.”
Nathan trudged into the living room, falling into the nearest chair gracelessly.
“What do you think, Nathan, where’sch Picklesch?” asked Murderface.
“Uhhh… why would I know?” said the vocalist, squirming slightly. The frontman was lucky his bandmates’ eyes were absorbed in their respective activities.
“We’s thinking mebbes you knows. Oh wells. Don’t needs him anyways,” scoffed the Swede.
“Hey, dat’s mean, Skiwsgaar! I loves Pickles!”
“Well, I knows dat.”
Murderface cut the blonde off before the Scandinavians got started. “Well, when didja lascht see ‘im?” he asked Nathan.
“Uhn.. couple nights, I guess,” answered Nathan. In reality, it had only been last night. However, Nathan could admit to slicing up his palms accidentally in Pickles’ room and getting stitched; that was adequately brutal. Indeed, his bandmates were pretty impressed with the black thread holding his palms together currently. But getting a lap dance and a painful boner from his incredibly drunk drummer was not exactly metal.
Nathan squirmed and stood. “Ugh. I’m gonna get a drink. Anyone else?”
“Ooh, ja, some ballses for Toki would be greats,” said Skwisgaar, smirking at Toki.
Nathan power walked out of the living room as the next great Nordic bitchslap-fest began. He felt safer the farther he was from the band, the farther his secret was from the rest of the guys.
Until he came face to face with the bony, white ankles of his secret, poking out from underneath the huge fridge door. Pickles was muttering under his breath as glass clinked in the fridge, rummaging for something. He closed the door with a simple bottle of water in his hands, coming face to face with Nathan.
“Agh! Yah scared me,” yelped the redhead. Nathan shrugged, trying desperately not to notice how cute Pickles was when startled, how he shivered in the cold air from the fridge, and how his freckled skin was peppered with goose-bumps. The big frontman was just grateful that the drummer wasn’t as drunk as last night, and was clothed in boxers and a t-shirt. Small mercies, Nathan thought wryly.
Nathan eventually realized he was staring at the drummer, who was looking at him rather oddly. Oh, right, conversation. “Uhhh…” Nathan cleared his throat. “So, what’s up?”
Pickles lifted an eyebrow. “Naht much.”
“Oh. Okay. We good?” asked Nathan, still trying to figure out how much the drummer remembered.
“Ah… why?” asked Pickles, his expression shifting into confusion and concern.
“You… uhh.. you were pretty drunk last night,” offered Nathan lamely.
“Oh, yea! Right. Yea, feelin’ good,” said Pickles, cracking open the water and taking a long sip.
Nathan watched the drummer’s delicate little throat swallow deeply. The frontman was getting all hot and bothered - heat spread from his groin to his face, and he prayed his cheeks didn’t flush and give him away.
“Hey, wasn’t I in here last night?” asked Pickles. Nathan shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Right. I was here, and then…” Pickles trailed off, setting the water down to rub his forehead. His finger bumped into the band-aid-covered gash over his left eye, prompting a little gasp of surprise from the drummer. “Yowch. When’d that happen?” he asked, looking at Nathan.
Who had apparently found something really interesting to study on the floor.
Pickles lowered his voice, talking to himself, searching for the answer in the countertop. “I was here… and then I was in my room. And you were there! And…” Pickles trailed off, his mind whirring so fast it was practically audible.
The little redhead looked up suddenly, recognition flashing across his face. Nathan bridged the distance between them in a step, bringing a hand up to caress the drummer’s cheek, his sharp jawline.
Both men had fear on their faces, and both of them were shivering slightly, and this time, not from the chill of the fridge. Nathan swallowed the terror in his throat, shut his eyes tightly, and kissed Pickles.
The frontman’s mind screamed, shrieked at him to stop. This was Pickles. A man. This was so, so gay and definitely not metal. Nathan pulled away from Pickles, looking into the man’s eyes. The vocalist’s fear, his insecurities drowned instantly into those clear, deep pools of sage. Nathan wasn’t surprised to see shock on Pickles’ face, but the throbbing sadness at the bottom of the drummer’s eyes was unexpected. And in that one moment, all Nathan wanted to do was help Pickles. Make the little man smile and laugh, for real, not the drunken façade of hilarity. Wrap the redhead in his big arms and heal every inch of his body, his soul.
Nathan leaned back in and kissed the smaller man again, stooping slightly, tilting the redhead’s head up gently to suck tenderly on the drummer’s bottom lip before slipping his tongue into Pickles’ mouth. Pickles responded warmly, turning his body to Nathan’s, wrapping his hands around the big man’s lower back. The drummer ran his slender hands up Nathan’s back, burying them in his long raven hair, tangling his fingers and tugging at the black locks. Pickles’ needy body, his lonely soul flared into life under Nathan’s heavy hands, the big fingertips and the growing bulge in Nathan’s pants pressing insistently into the drummer’s pelvis.
When they finally broke the kiss, Pickles murmured a cautious, “Dood…”
Nathan looked away, face flushed in embarrassment and lust. “Is this… uhh.. is this okay?”
Pickles nodded imperceptibly, sliding a hand under the hem of Nathan’s t-shirt to graze the soft skin at the small of his back with rough fingertips. The big man took a quick breath as his back arched, his body responding uncontrollably. He suddenly became aware of the dull sounds of the television in the big room just down the hall.
“Should probably move it on outta here,” Nathan said, reaching behind him to catch the drummer’s hand.
“Yea,” breathed the redhead, snapping out of his shocked lust. “Yah wanna carry me again?” Pickles teased, grinning crookedly up at the big man.
“Fuck you,” Nathan growled, a corner of his mouth twitching up in spite of himself. “You lead the way. No one’s seen you in weeks. You must have a secret… uhh.. route. Or something,” said Nathan, following the little drummer out of the kitchen.
.
CH 5
Nathan was surprised when Pickles stopped at Nathan’s room. The big man raised a heavy eyebrow at the little drummer.
“What? My room’s littered with glass for you to slice yourself up with,” shrugged the redhead, pushing open the heavy door. Pickles pranced into the room, throwing himself on Nathan’s vast bed. “Mmm, and your bed’s bigger. And you’ve got weed!” Pickles exclaimed in delight, noticing a mostly-full pipe on Nathan’s nightstand. “You’ve been holding out on me, yah big bastard!” he accused as he rummaged for a lighter, firing up the pipe and laying back to enjoy his spoils.
Nathan sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, his awkwardness returning. “Uhhh… so. We gonna talk about this?”
The redhead exhaled a particularly enormous lungful of acrid smoke, considering the question. He discarded the pipe, sliding to sit next to Nathan, his legs dangling from the bed. “What’s to talk about? I mean, other than yer stiffie in the kitchen, yer fag-a-delic crush on me, the fact that yah want mah cute self…” the redhead ticked off on his slender fingers.
He was rudely interrupted by the raven-haired vocalist, who pushed the drummer back on the bed, moving with surprising agility to straddle the smaller man. Nathan thrust his inquisitive tongue into the drummer’s mouth, pressing his still-hot groin against the redhead.
Pickles kissed the big man back, biting at his lips. He wrapped sinewy arms around the bigger man, tugging at the hem of Nathan’s shirt, finding a moment to pull it over his head. Raven hair spilled over Pickles’ speckled white skin as the drummer clawed at the vocalist’s strong back, pulling him closer with hungry fingers. The big man growled deep in his throat as Pickles’ fingernails left angry red welts on his back. Nathan reached a hand down to pull on the drummer’s shirt; the frontman didn’t even try to tug it off, preferring to pull hard enough to lift the redhead’s torso off the bed before the shirt gave way with a dramatic rrriiiiip!
Pickles fell the few short inches to the bed, exhaling sharply in surprise. “Little feisty, are we?” he asked, smiling crookedly up at the big man. Nathan twisted the redhead’s boxers in response, eliciting a groan from the redhead as the fabric constricted around his rapidly-hardening cock. The drummer pulled his bony knees up, shoving the bigger man aside to whip off his boxers.
Nathan ogled the redhead’s long cock; he’d seen Pickles naked before, but never in this context, and never with such an erection. Below the sexy, tantalizing trail of red hair that meandered down Pickles’ stomach, his cock curved upwards slightly. The big man felt himself twitch, unconsciously unbuttoning his too-tight pants with fevered fingers.
As Nathan climbed back onto the bed, Pickles reached a daring hand out to grope the frontman’s thick cock. The redhead could barely get his hand around the rock-hard shaft, but Pickles ran his palm up and down Nathan’s swollen member, teasing his balls with expert fingertips. Nathan moaned, the gravelly sound buzzing deep in his chest. He shifted, twisting onto his side to prop himself up over the little drummer, his hairy arms on either side of the scrawny, freckled body.
The redhead paused, looking at the black haired man over him. He smiled impishly, releasing the frontman’s cock from his well-practiced ministrations, and rolled onto his stomach underneath the bigger man. Pickles lifted his slender hips up, teasing Nathan with his smooth ass. The vocalist took the bait hungrily, running a rough hand firmly along Pickles’ hip, stroking the littler man’s body, fingering the soft crease between the redhead’s hip and thigh.
Pickles shivered with pleasure as Nathan’s big hands roamed along his sensitive, all-too-neglected body. The big man rubbed the drummer’s ass, kneading the warm, yielding flesh. The vocalist paused to slip a thick finger into his own mouth . Pickles gasped in surprise as the wet digit pressed against his puckered asshole, groaning into the mattress loudly as Nathan eased the first knuckle into his body.
The redhead laid a hand on Nathan’s thigh, checking the frontman. “Gaht any lube, Nate?” he asked breathily.
The dark-haired man nodded, untangling himself from the little drummer, who rolled onto his back. Nathan rummaged through his nightstand, producing a slim black bottle of lube and a condom. He threw the bottle at the little redhead.
Pickles unscrewed the lid, dripping the slick liquid onto his asshole. He rubbed his cock briskly, adding his sticky precum to the lube, and slid two of his slim fingers into his ass - they almost added to one of Nathan’s. The redhead began breathing heavily, enjoying the process of warming up his body. Eventually, however, the drummer noticed he was on his own.
Nathan was looking down at his hands, standing beside the bed and fidgeting with the unopened condom, his face flushed and conflicted.
“Nate?” asked Pickles, pausing, concern in his voice.
The big frontman couldn’t bring himself to look at the redhead. “So gay,” he muttered under his breath, his face angry. His body was betraying him, wanting Pickles more than he’d wanted anyone in years, his cock desperate to be buried in the scrawny little redhead.
Pickles furrowed his delicate brows, watching his bandmate’s shoulders clench and unclench in self-hate. The redhead extricated his fingers, sitting up to look at the frontman.
“Maybe…” he began, and was cut off by Nathan’s lips. The big man stooped to kiss the drummer hesitantly, almost… shyly, Pickles realized.
“Nate, have yah ever… done this?”
Nathan clenched his jaw, closing a fist around a handful of Pickles’ springy red dreads. “Uhh… not,” he swallowed. “Not really,” he admitted, looking guilty and uncomfortable.
Pickles raised an eyebrow, curious as to what constituted “not really,” but kept silent. Instead, he kissed the singer, assuring the big man with his soft lips, tempting Nathan with his hot tongue, his sharp teeth. The singer surrendered, clambering back onto the bed, letting Pickles take the condom from his big hand and do the honors. The raven-haired man groaned into Pickles’ mouth as the drummer rolled the rubber over his thick cock with nimble fingers.
Moving quickly, Pickles twisted underneath the frontman, rolling onto his stomach. He reached behind him, guiding Nathan’s throbbing cock closer, letting the heat of his asshole do the rest of the work. Instinct taking over, the vocalist’s throat rumbled as he pushed into the redhead’s slick asshole, wrapping his big hands around the drummer’s slim hips.
Pickles groaned underneath him, his hands clutching at Nathan’s sheets. Nathan froze, his body stiff over the redhead.
“Okay?” he asked, his tone scared and concerned.
Pickles chuckled breathlessly. “Go for it, dood. I’m not gahnna fuckin’ break,” he assured, proving his point by shoving his hips back at the vocalist’s, moaning.
Nathan took the hint, sliding his thick cock deep into Pickles’ ass. The little redhead gasped, shuddering in pleasure lined with pain. Pickles dug his fingers into the mattress, bracing himself as Nathan began thrusting, pushing into the drummer’s tight ass hard enough to move the gigantic bed. The redhead yowled in pleasure as Nathan filled his neglected body, arching his back up greedily.
The drummer’s eyes rolled back as Nathan wrapped a hand tremulously underneath Pickles’ hips, the big man’s fingers hesitantly exploring the redhead’s twitching cock. The little man wailed in frustration as Nathan stopped again.
“Pickles?”
The redhead groaned, wriggling under the vocalist. “What?”
Nathan’s brow furrowed. “I want to… uhhh…” he stammered, still embarrassed to say the words, even with his cock buried in his bandmate. He braced a big palm on the drummer’s lower back, pulling his stiff member out of the redhead’s asshole.
“Turn over?” asked Nathan softly.
Pickles obliged, surprise in his gleaming sage eyes. Nathan bent to kiss the smaller man, sliding his cock back into Pickles. “Much better,” breathed the big man, completely absorbed in watching the redhead shiver in pleasure with each thrust. The drummer’s eyes were slitted in pleasure, his mouth slightly open, lips curled up in ecstasy, his delicate chin tilted back.
Nathan nipped at the redhead’s tempting neck. Pickles moaned happily, writhing on the cock impaled in his ass. The frontman thrust deep and fast into the drummer. Pickles wrapped his legs around Nathan’s ass, locking his ankles and pulling the big man closer.
“Ungh!” gasped the drummer as he managed to force an extra half inch of Nathan inside his tight body. “Yer so thick, so good. Gahnna come. Fuck me!”
Nathan was quickly losing his control, and Pickles’ goading words and exquisitely sexy face were getting him closer and closer. He heard the rushing in his ears and growled as Pickles’ ass tightened around him. The redhead yelled as he came, arcing his back as his little body spasmed violently, spurting creamy cum between the two men
The sight of the drummer’s body being wracked by his orgasm drove Nathan right over the edge. The big man closed his eyes, his face contorted into an overwhelmed snarl, burying his cock in the redhead’s ass as wave after wave of shuddering pleasure crashed over his body.
Pickles clawed at the frontman’s back with trembling fingers, panting to catch his breath. “So good. Ah, so damn good,” his usually sharp voice unsteady and shivery.
Nathan lay chest to chest on the drummer, his heart pounding as he caught he breath for a long minute, supported on his elbows. He rolled off, flinging the condom across the room before shooting the drummer a look.
Pickles caught sight of the singer’s blank stare and prepared to be kicked out of the bizzarely homophobic vocalist’s room. The redhead slid to the edge of the bed, grimacing slightly as his thighs got reacquainted, and stepping onto his feet…
Only to be caught around the midsection by two big, warm arms and crushed to Nathan’s chest. Pickles’ eyes opened in surprise. He wrinkled his nose, tickled by the frontman’s wiry, sparse chest hairs.
Nathan smiled at the scrawny drummer in his arms, peeling back the bedding and wriggling underneath the sheets with the redhead clutched firmly against his body. His raven hair fanned out across the pillow, the vocalist closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.
Pickles extricated a pale arm, fiddling with the alarm clock on Nathan’s nightstand. The frontman opened a green eye, frowning at the little redhead.
“Uh… what are you doing?”
“Isn’t tomorrow the fifteenth? We hafta go to the employee review, or Murderface’ll gut us both,” whined the redhead, setting the alarm to the modest time of one o’clock in the afternoon.
“Fuck it. You can miss another day of work,” growled Nathan with a half-smile, pulling the drummer close before he could finish.
Pickles smiled into the silky dark hair, curling up against Nathan’s chest. The little redhead looked completely at peace as he drifted off to sleep.
. Posted to sausagefestival and mord_haus 2008.12.08.