Author's Note: Usually I only post finished one-shots, but I figure there's a first time for everything, so we'll see how it goes with an in-progress story. Sequel to "Melt."
Contains (in this chapter): Profanity, drug references, mild sexual language
Caught Off Guard: Chapter One
Skwisgaar paced along the cold flagstone floor of his room. He was waiting for Pickles to arrive for their afternoon rendezvous, and his nerves buzzed with pleasant anticipation, not only to see the drummer in private, secretly, in the middle of the day while the rest of the band were around yet occupied with their own activities, but also because of what he'd discreetly acquired the day before—and discretion was not something that Skwisgaar normally cared much about. The thought of what was in store—if Pickles agreed to it—already had his cock beginning to swell, but that feeling was, somehow, all tangled up with an excitement at the fact that he and Pickles would shortly be together by themselves, on their own terms, and able to touch and hold each other away from the (so far) oblivious eyes of their bandmates.
Now, there came a light tap at the door before it swung open to admit Pickles. He had barely had time to step inside and latch the door behind him before Skwisgaar reached his side and pulled him into a close embrace, resting his cheek against the top of the other man's head, still not fully accustomed to the rough feel of dreadlocks against his skin.
"You ams so little," he murmured, unable to suppress a teasing smile as he leaned down to kiss the drummer on the temple.
"I ain't little, dood. You're just tall."
"Maybies," agreed Skwisgaar, this time bending down further to kiss him properly on the mouth. Pickles returned the kiss with enthusiasm and gave a small sigh of enjoyment as they finally broke apart.
"Come heres," he whispered, his voice husky with need, taking Pickles by the hand and pulling him toward the bed. The other man gladly acquiesced.
#
"Oh, Mister Tony, I don't k-k-k-think this is a good idea," said Dr. Rockso nervously, pressing himself against the rust-flecked door of the van. The defunct warehouse offered little shadow to hide them in the midday sun, but there was little danger of anyone taking notice of them.
"Shut it, clown," snarled Tony from beneath the vehicle. "Get over here and help me change this tire."
"But Pickles is friends with T-T-Toki," Rockso began again, nervous fingers picking at the worn, snagged material of his dirty jumpsuit, "and Toki always helps me—"
"I said shut it! If that homicidal manager of theirs knew you had anything to do with what happened last time, you'd be done for. But you help me out again now, and soon we'll be well out of that bastard's reach. Besides, you know what's in it for you if we pull this off."
"C-c-cocaine?" he asked hopefully.
"You got it, pal."
Dr. Rockso swallowed hard, nodded, and slunk around the van to assist Tony. "I sure hope we don't get c-c-c-caught this time."