[Based around Pickles/Charles, but also a little Toki/Skwisgaar mixed in. Set amidst season two. I do NOT own Metalocalypse or any characters therein; they belong to Brendon Small and Tommy Blacha!!!!]
Chapter 1: Out of the Closet
It was true that Charles had listened to Snake 'n Barrels. Hell, he'd even been to a show of theirs back in the early 90's, and seen Pickles live…crazy hair and all. But he wouldn't go so far as to say he was a fan…of the band, anyway. He had been that night on a date: a very strange date that had ended in a huffy taxi ride home, far away from his drunken accompaniment.
At the time, he thought the music to be a bit dreadful, being so far from what he normally listened to. But he did remember being captivated for a different reason: the lead singer.
It wasn't just on stage that Pickles radiated an attractive charisma; and Charles had a vivid memory of when he had accidentally bumped into the singer while getting bottled water from a concession stand.
The venue was outside, in a large park near St. Louis. Despite the stormy gloom over Charles' mood because of his horny and embarrassing date, the weather had been beautiful, with a slight breeze.
Charles had paid the vendor and reached out to get his water. He felt his hand brush against another man's and looked sharply to his left. There, in all of his glory, stood Pickles: a kid barely over eighteen, his hair wild and green eyes kind.
"Oh hey, sorry der, mister," he gestured to the water, "Thought dat was mine, heh."
He put his hands in his back pockets and rocked on his heels, looking sheepish. How could the lead singer of such a successful band apologize about almost taking some random guy's water?
"It's…quite all right," Charles breathed, feeling slightly taken aback. Pickles' overwhelming Midwestern accent was endearing.
Pickles was handed a different water and he nodded to the older man. "You a fan?"
Charles chuckled to himself. Of…the band? No. "Um…" He decided to take the less rude route. "I'm here on a date, actually."
"Oooohh, a date," he winked at Ofdensen, missing the irritated undertone to Charles' statement, "Well, good luck wit dat."
He raised his water to Charles, as if to toast him, and patted him on the back in a friendly way. Then he was gone, surrounded by a swarm of groupies, friends and band mates.
It was a short memory, but a pleasant one nonetheless. After all, it had been Charles' idea for Nathan to recruit Pickles as a member; at the time he'd thought of lead guitar, but after seeing Pickles' work on the drums, he knew Nathan had to be sold.
That was a long time ago, back when the band was first starting out. Back when Ofdensen was paying slightly out of pocket to help skyrocket the band to stardom.
The mere thought of those penniless days made Charles shiver as he now sat in his comfortable, leather chair in his office at Mordhaus. It was many years ago that Pickles had joined Dethklok, and even more years since Charles had first met him. Pickles never mentioned having seen Ofdensen anywhere before, and Charles certainly wasn't going to bring up the bottled water incident.
He mainly wore suits nowadays anyway, and back then he had actually worn jeans to the show. How embarrassing.
Despite Ofdensen's reluctance to show favoritism within Dethklok, he had formed a closer friendship with the drummer; mostly because Pickles was the only one Ofdensen could stand to be around for long periods of time….and also because Pickles was still stunningly attractive to him.
But Pickles was also the only member interested in the business side of things, having dealt with many endeavors during his stint with Snake 'n Barrels. He most definitely didn't see Ofdensen as boring, like the other guys did. Occasionally Pickles would want to know Dethklok's budget (which, of course, was always very high), their profit margin or other such details that the others probably couldn't even comprehend.
However, on this particular day, Pickles approached Ofdensen's office with a different motive.
Charles knew when it was Pickles at his door. He was the only one who knocked. Nathan, Skwisgaar and Murderface would usually just burst in, a jumble of complaints and ideas, and Toki always wandered in aimlessly, sometimes looking for the game room, or for a glass of milk.
After the few soft knocks, Charles cleared his throat. "Come in, Pickles."
The red haired drummer always had that same sheepish, apologetic look on his face when he walked into this particular office: as if he were interrupting a meeting. It always reminded Ofdensen of the night he first laid eyes on the man: never awkward, but always considerate.
"Uh, hey Charlie," he murmured, always affectionately informal with his manager, shutting the door carefully behind him and plopping down into the comfortable seat in front of the desk.
"Good afternoon, Pickles."
Pickles smiled when he realized that Charles hadn't been doing any real work. He mostly feigned his apologies about interrupting anyway—he loved to interrupt the man and feel important while he got off of his phone call, or closed his date book, just for him.
Ofdensen shifted a bit, with Pickles just staring at him and smiling his crooked smile.
"What can I, uh…do for you?"
Pickles was still smirking. "Ya can go drink wit us."
Charles frowned. Quite prissily, he looked at his watch. Was it really 10:30 at night?
The manager sighed, knowing he had a promise to fulfill with Pickles. A promise he had made one night when he knew Pickles had been wasted. He'd hoped he'd forgotten.
"I'm not sure that tonight is the right time," he began, but Pickles cut him off.
"Ah, c'mon, Charlie! Ya prahmised me! Remember?"
Charles knew that Pickles had won as soon as he'd look at him with those puppy dog, crystal green eyes. Damn him. If only the drummer knew how much Charles bended to his will.
But the manager tried hard to hold fast. "I have a meeting very early in the morning."
"So?" Pickles got up and walked around Charles' desk before lifting himself up to sit on it, facing the manager. He looked down at him and furrowed his brow. "We're worried about ya."
"We?" Ofdensen raised his eyebrows.
"Yeah, ya know, the guys. Well…mostly me. Ya work too hard 'n I wantcha to go out with me 'n loosen up!" He leaned forward and grabbed Ofdensen's tie, something Charles hadn't been ready for. Pickles started to loosen it, his eyes watching the knot with concentration.
Instinctually, Charles knocked Pickles' hands away. He immediately regretted ending their physical contact, but figured it was just as well.
"Alright," he sighed, giving into the one man in the world who held his strings and could make him dance. "I'll go."
"YEAH!" Pickles jumped up with such excitement that it made Charles chuckle. "Dats what ahm tahkin' about! I'll tell de udder guys!" And with that, he was gone in a flash.
The night began at a local club to which they were accustomed: well, all except Charles. He remained in his business suit and felt very out of place. He tried to ignore the random, snide comments about his attire or demeanor from the band and looked down at the scotch placed in front of him by Pickles.
"Heys, maybe wes get Ofdensens laids tonights!" Skwisgaar mused, widening his eyes and glancing around at everyone as if he'd just figured out the truth to human existence.
Nathan laughed his short, grunty laugh and nodded. "Hey yeah, that'd be fucking awesome."
"You want usch to getcha laid, pal?" Murderface clapped Charles on the back a little too hard. The bassist had already downed two tequila shots.
Ofdensen waved his hand in a dismissive manner, afraid to even touch his drink with these guys around him.
"No, no thank you. I'm…quite fine."
Pickles scoffed, "Quite fine? I don't think so, man, I mean…when WAS the last time ya got laid?"
Everyone seemed to lean in, even Toki, who had been distracted by the tourists playing darts in the corner of the bar.
"I don't really find that a suitable topic for discussion, guys," Charles said flatly, looking a little annoyed. He didn't even want to think about how long it had really been.
"Ohh, now, comes on misters tightys pants, whats kinds of ladies do yous like, ah?" Skwisgaar prodded, "I cans helps you gets her!"
Toki frowned. "Uh, Skwisgaar, you know maybes not everyones wants da types o' ladies that you gets?"
"Uhh, whats de hells does dats mean?!"
"Yous knows what it means, you stupids…er-…goats-face!"
"Tokis, yous is SO annoyings lately!"
"Shuts up, I hates it when you talks about the stupids ladies likes you ams da…da best lady-getter in da worlds or somesing!"
The extra electricity between Toki and Skwisgaar was undeniable. They had been at each other's throats more than usual lately. As mandated by himself, Ofdensen generally waited for bloodshed before he intervened with a fight between two band mates.
Skwisgaar relaxed, regaining his cool. "Pfft, Toki's just jealous 'cause he doesn'ts gets womens to fucks him."
And at that, Toki stood up abruptly and stormed away from the booth, settling into a seat at the bar.
"O..kee…" Pickles directed his attention back to Charles, "Dood, c'man, one chick?"
This really didn't feel like the right time to tell the boys he was gay, so he just sighed and shook his head.
"I'm not in the mood."
Skwisgaar grunted in a disappointed way, already visibly frazzled by Toki's behavior and now even more upset that he couldn't help Ofdensen scam on some chicks. He eventually locked eyes with a big-chested brunette and slinked away. Pickles shook his head slowly, still in awe of the Swede's ability to talk any girl into sleeping with him…even if it was in a public restroom at a grungy club.
After about an hour, Nathan joined Toki at the bar, liking the idea of sitting with a companion in silence. He felt better about that than forcing conversation with the others, and seeing this advantage, Murderface soon followed.
Pickles downed his fifth shot and threw his arm over Charles' shoulder.
"At least ya didn't wear yer tie tonight," he chuckled, his voice low.
Ofdensen was starting to feel his third drink. He wasn't a lightweight, but he hadn't forced down so much hard liquor in a long time.
"Mm-hmm," he murmured, "I can…loosen up."
"I know ya can, Charlie." Pickles rested his head on the manager's shoulder, closing his eyes to keep the room from spinning out of control.
Ofdensen knew that Pickles was completely oblivious about his feelings toward the drummer. Only once had Pickles drunkenly asked Charles if he thought he was pretty, only to pass out seconds later. But it was hard for Charles to think that Pickles didn't at least feel a tiny bit of affection for him. After all, he wasn't as hands-on with anyone else, as far as Charles knew, and Pickles was definitely cuddly with him.
Feeling buzzed and careless, Charles thought it best to call a Klokateer to pick them up. No one seemed to be in the right state of mind to drive, not even himself. After he hung up the phone, Pickles laughed, still on his shoulder, eyes still closed.
"Ya had to call a DD, huh? Too drunk ta drive, eh? Dat's hot."
Charles would take the comment in stride, but he couldn't help but smile to himself.
Once home, each member meandered back to their rooms to pass out, throw up, or angrily slam their door, as in Toki's case. But Pickles followed Ofdensen the entire way, even back to his tidy bedroom.
Charles decided not to protest and he shut the door after they had both stumbled in. He blinked hard, trying to gain his composure and make it to the bed in one piece. He laid his glasses gingerly on his desk as Pickles threw himself onto the bed. Charles began to undress as the drummer stared up at the ceiling.
"Ya know," he began in a soft and philosophical tone that one can only take on when inebriated, "I don't blame ya. For nat wantin' ta get wit a girl tonight. I hate dat, too…all the pressure from those guys."
Ofdensen crawled into bed in just his silk pajama pants and helped Pickles wiggle underneath the covers. He removed the drummer's shoes for him and then lay back.
"Mmm," was all he said at first. But then, deciding it was time for Pickles to know, and to possibly forget in the morning, he sighed heavily, still feeling warm and loose.
"Pickles, I…didn't just not want to get with a girl tonight. I…don't want to get with a girl any night. I'm gay."
There was momentary silence as Pickles' brain worked to process this new information. Charles felt himself sober up a bit at the fear of creeping out the other man and driving him away.
But Pickles just smiled. "Really? I guess…I just thought ya worked too hard ta have time, but…shit. I guess I shoulda known."
"Really?" Charles furrowed his brow and looked back at Pickles. God his skin looked incredible in the moonlight.
"Yeah, I mean…ya know, like dat one night I saw ya at my Snakes 'n Barrels concert. I think you were wit a guy, right?"
Ofdensen hardly gets caught off-guard, but his jaw dropped.
"Uh…yeah…I didn't know you remembered that."
Pickles smiled a warm, drunken grin. "A'course I did. You were cute."
Charles would chalk almost everything up to alcohol when Pickles was drunk. Anything went, verbally, as far as he was concerned. He shifted a bit in the bed, about ready to suggest that Pickles get some sleep, when the redhead carefully threw his arm over the older man's stomach. He laid his head on Ofdensen's shoulder, sighing contently.
"Dis is nice. Feels good," he muttered. His senses would probably tell him a lot would feel good right now.
"Yeah…" Charles was cautious. He had sobered up, but was probably still drunk enough to let Pickles talk him into anything. If the younger man decided to do so. Which he wouldn't.
Just before his cynical thoughts overtook him, he felt light kisses on his bare shoulder, Pickles' hand tracing tiny circles on the manager's stomach.
This can't be real…
But Pickles was drunk…and probably just very horny. Charles did happen to be the closest thing nearby with two legs; although, Pickles had never been much of a slut, even when he was wasted. Just overly-friendly, that's all.
Drunk, high, caught in the moment, secretly repressed—Charles didn't care about the answer to his question as to why Pickles was now shifting and straddling him. How could he? With this beautiful man, now sitting atop him and smiling down at him as if he wasn't inebriated at all.
" Tell me what ya like about me, Charlie," his voice was innocent enough, but slightly taunting, as he ran a finger down the older man's chest.
Charles' breath had caught in his throat and he struggled for a good thirty seconds before he was able to form words.
"Y-You're…beautiful, Pickles," he stammered and the other man chuckled. "Beautiful and talented and smart…very smart."
"…ya really think ahm smart?" Pickles cocked his head to the side, still smiling. He could feel Ofdensen getting hard underneath him. He didn't mind.
"Of course I do."
Pickles leaned down and lazily captured Ofdensen's lips in a sluggish, yet meaningful, kiss. He'd never been so complimented before—well, at least not from someone who wasn't a die-hard, screaming, brainless fan. Charles more than willingly kissed him back, his hands rising to rest on the drummer's surprisingly narrow hips.
Pickles closed his eyes. It just felt so good—being here, on Ofdensen's lap, feeling his strong hands on him, completely encapsulated by the moment. In a rush of adrenaline, Pickles reached down between them to slightly stroke the other man's hard flesh. Ofdensen nearly choked.
"Pickles-..!" He reached down at first to try and stop him, but Pickles took it as encouragement and squeezed. Still too buzzed to reject such physical sensations, Charles simply went limp and accepted what he thought to be a favor.
But Pickles didn't seem inexperienced at all. His own short, terse breaths and the way he bit his bottom lip indicated that he rather liked watching the manager squirm with pleasure underneath him. Normally, Charles prided himself in his restraint, allowing the sensations to build—but with Pickles, the one man he'd never dreamed would be touching his cock, it was much easier to cum. After a few short moments, Pickles' hand was covered in the warm liquid. He pumped Charles slowly, riding it out, until he felt the older man's entire body relax.
Wiping his hand idly on the comforter, he plopped down beside him, watching his face. Charles' eyes were still closed, his breathing still staggered.
"Heh, glad ya liked it."
Charles regained his composure slightly and rolled his head to look at Pickles lying beside him. He smiled softly, in a reverie, unable to think about anything but his growing lust for the younger man. Normally, he was much better at determining what was and wasn't appropriate for co-workers to do together. But Pickles so often blurred those lines for him and he didn't wish to think about it tonight.
Charles more than wanted to return the favor to Pickles. He smiled as he pushed the drummer back, hovering over him as he locked their lips once more in a needy and passionate kiss. Pickles' was throbbing and happy for the chance at release.
He wasted no time, stroking Pickles, causing the drummer to buck up at his hand unwillingly in a pleading manner. Charles gladly took the plea and began to trail his kisses south, at no protest from the redhead. At any other time, he wouldn't have pushed his luck, going this far; but tonight was different. It was like a dream.
He slowly removed Pickles' jeans, followed by his underwear. He took the hard flesh in his hand, giving it a nice lick and watching Pickles' reaction. He got the one he wanted—the drummer threw his head back in ecstasy, a small "yesss…." escaping his lips. But then he lifted his head and looked down at Ofdensen with expectation and need. He liked to watch.
Charles sure as hell didn't mind putting on a show, having quite a talent in this area. He played to Pickles' tender spots, using his hand when necessary for extra stimulation. After about a solid 10 minutes of working on Pickles' cock, the drummer reached down to tap Ofdensen's shoulder hurriedly.
"Ch-Charlie…a-ahm gonna…a-ahh…"
His voice changed into the breathy uttering that began his climax. Charles didn't pull away, coaxing a mind-blowing orgasm out of him. Pickles gasped and moaned and in a few, quick spurts, he came into Charles' mouth. The manager swallowed it all politely, so as to not make a mess.
Pickles' body went limp as he laid back, recovering, his body shaking slightly.
"Ahh, fuck, fuck me, Jesus Chris, that was…w-wow…"
Charles smiled, feeling quite pleased with himself. He took the opportunity that Pickles' open stance provided and cuddled up on the redhead's chest. He sighed, closing his eyes, surprised at how heavily they drooped. Wow. He really was drunk.
"So yer outta the closet now, Charlie…"
Pickles's slight laughter was followed quickly by quiet snoring.