Author's Notes:
Characters' views do not necessarily reflect my own.
Somehow, I can't help feeling sorry for Dr. Rockso here.
I promise there's more actual plot in the next chapter.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Please don't sue me or I'll be a sad mouse and even poorer than I am now.
Contains (in this chapter): Profanity, sex, references to drug use
Caught Off Guard: Chapter Two
"So's you know hows you saids you wanted me to be fuckings you, but I ams too big?" Skwisgaar began, running a hand up Pickles's thigh, and feeling that he was wearing entirely too much clothing.
"Yeah." Pickles tilted his head back to rest against the blonde's shoulder as they lay together on the bed. "I mean, I think it can be done, but it ain't gonna be a quick thing we can do just like that."
"Ja, I knows. So I gots you somethings what might helps on the ways to that."
"Oh?" asked Pickles, sitting up and turning to face him.
Skwisgaar rolled over to open the drawer of the nightstand, and took out his new acquisition: a moderately-sized black dildo. (He'd taken care to find one that wasn't too big, and had felt that the aesthetics of the thing were important too, dismissing the plethora of lavender and hot pink models as "too much so for the ladies", as he'd scornfully told the saleswoman.)
"I thoughts we coulds start with this and justs see how it goes. No pressures."
"All right," said Pickles, allowing himself a small smile. "Let's try it."
Skwisgaar responded with a rather predatory grin as he ran the tip of the toy lightly down Pickles's cheek and then over his lips. Inspired, he ordered the redhead, "Sucks on it."
Pickles obliged, taking a few inches of the dildo into his mouth. He started to ease back, but then leaned forward and took in more of it, giving a quiet moan around it as he imagined that it was Skwisgaar's dick in his mouth.
"Ja, that ams more likes it," breathed Skwisgaar, pulling it away and leaving Pickles with a pouting expression of disappointment. "Gets undressed."
Without hesitation, Pickles stripped off his shirt, pants, and underwear, throwing them to the floor. Meanwhile, Skwisgaar occupied himself by pouring lube into his hand and rubbing his palms together to warm it. His object accomplished and Pickles fully naked, he moved to sit between the drummer's legs, and took the smaller man's half-hard cock in his hand. Pickles gasped at the touch of the warm, slick skin against his member.
"Oh God—Skwisgaar—that feels so good," he managed as the Swede stroked him and brought him to full erection. Skwisgaar leaned down to lick a drop of pre-cum from the tip of his cock, making the drummer gasp again.
To Pickles's dismay, Skwisgaar didn't continue. He sat back up, poured out more lube, and began easing one finger into him, moving slowly for fear of hurting the drummer. The older man may have been more experienced when it came to this kind of thing, but Skwisgaar assumed, correctly, that it has been a while since he'd done it. If Pickles hooked up with men, he limited it to oral sex, or else he topped them; he'd been hurt too many times before, physically, to want to receive anal from anyone before he trusted them.
"You likes that?" asked Skwisgaar, now working two fingers inside the drummer and observing with satisfaction the almost desperate way Pickles had begun to move his hips, thrusting against his hand, trying to drive his fingers in further.
"Mmm—yeah, I do. C'mon, I need more than that."
"Takes it easy, Pickle. I ams not wanting to hurts you."
"Ya ain't gonna hurt me, babe. Give me more. Please," he added.
"All rights," Skwisgaar agreed, though he made sure to continue fingering him as he leaned over to kiss him before proceeding. To his surprise, Pickles caught at him, kissing him passionately, one hand finding a hold in the blonde hair and the other grasping at the back of his shirt, clawing at him, pulling him in closer.
Panting, Skwisgaar finally broke away from the kiss. "Pickle, I was not expectskings that."
"I just—you, I've gotta have you."
"Ja, ja, all in goods time." Skwisgaar slid his fingers out of the drummer and now applied lube to the dildo, pressing it as gently as he could to the other man's entrance. Pickles made a sound of impatience and reached down to take hold of Skwisgaar's wrist, essentially forcing the guitarist to guide it into him.
"Ahh—that's—that's much better," murmured Pickles. "God, I wish I could just take it all right now." He looked up at Skwisgaar, eyes bright, chest rising and falling rapidly. "I want your cock in me."
Skwisgaar would have been lying if he'd said he didn't ardently desire the same thing, but the last thing in the world he wanted to do was to cause Pickles any pain.
"We will gets there, min älskling. Maybies not this times," he admitted, not without a trace of disappointment, "but eventuallies." As much as he wanted to fuck him, Skwisgaar was realistic, and he didn't know if Pickles could last long enough for him to work up to it. Already the drummer was biting his lip, breathing harder, having trouble keeping still, the occasional moan escaping him as Skwisgaar slowly worked the toy in and out of him.
Skwisgaar slid his hands beneath the other man's hips and helped him toward the edge of the bed, then knelt, thankful for the rug on his side of the bed. Continuing to penetrate Pickles with the dildo, searching continually for a better angle, he leaned forward to take his straining erection into his mouth, taking it in as deep as he could and running his tongue down the shaft when he couldn't take any more. He proved to be correct in his assumption about Pickles's ability to endure much more: after a few moments, the drummer gave himself up to making shallow thrusts into Skwisgaar's mouth.
"Yeah—Skwisgaar—yeah, come on, suck me, like that—" He came, crying out, as Skwisgaar held onto his hips, bracing himself for the warm liquid hitting the back of his throat. That had never been something he'd liked, but he didn't mind it quite so much when it was with Pickles. In fact, it turned him on that much more to be that close to the drummer as he came.
"Whoa, dood. That was intense," said Pickles once he'd caught his breath. "All right, just you wait. You're next."
#
"Move it, you clown! Christ, I'd swear you were trying to slow me down."
"I'm k-k-k-sorry," said Dr. Rockso. "I'm goin' as fast as I can. This box is heav-vy." Rockso burst into a fit of nervous giggles.
Tony stared at him in distaste, feeling a strong desire to kick the desperate painted smile right off the clown's pathetic face. He suppressed the urge. Dr. Rockso was still necessary to his plan—for now.
Between the two of them, they dragged the cardboard box into the back of the van, in the corner near the battered suitcase holding Tony's meager belongings, along with some cash and an assortment of booze and drugs. Next to that was the dirty blanket that Rockso slept on and under which he'd stashed a few more spandex suits and whatever he was using for makeup these days.
"Mister Tony?" Dr. Rockso asked, panting from the effort of heavy lifting.
"Yeah, what?"
"How we gonna find Pickles? I mean, how you gonna get him with all those guards around?"
At least now he was asking a sensible question. "Ah, you'd think so, but you'd be surprised." Warming to the subject, Tony lit a cigarette and offered one to the clown. "See, Pickles don't like to follow the rules. That's what gets him into trouble." He lit Rockso's cigarette and ignored the lewd wink that followed. "Sooner or later, he'll wanna go out to score some dope, or wander away when he's drunk, or sneak off on his own just 'cause he knows Offdensen doesn't want to let them out of his sight."
"Oh." Rockso nodded. "So what do we do k-k-k-now?"
Tony exhaled smoke, and his eyes glinted with an unpleasant confidence. "Now, we wait."
