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You would do anything for your band, wouldn’t you? This was the mantra of Charles Foster Offdensen, the one and only manager of the world-famous Dethklok. It was his job, even his duty in life to make sure that nothing happened to his band and he would do absolutely anything it took to keep them safe, along with doing whatever would make them happy. He wouldn’t change this for the world.
It’s been three months since the band and their staff took the voyage down to the ocean floor, and their manager could tell that they had all been much more worse for wear than usual. They were unmistakably horny, experiencing excess amounts of lust as the byproduct of their abrupt abstinence. The band made this everyone else’s problem, unable to function normally due to their lack of physical intimacy. It seemed as though they were going to great and even drastic measures in hopes of getting off, which was alarming and concerned Charles given that they were running out of time to complete their album. He had tried everything he could think of, such as holding meetings to discuss their ‘professionalism’ and eventually granting each member designated breaks during the day dedicated to ‘relieving’ themselves. There was nothing else he could do, he had given up and simply allowed them to grow impatient, to wait it out until they got back to the surface. That seemed to be working as well as it could.
He sighed deeply to himself, getting up from his chair before giving it a small push in. He stepped out of his somewhat office, shutting the door behind him before a voice rang out.
“Heyyyyyyyy Charlessssssss . . .”
The man looked over to the source of the noise, spotting the band’s drummer sporting a bottle of beer in his hand. He raised an eyebrow. “Ah, good evening Pickles.” He watched as the other man took a swig, the dark circles under his eyes more prominent than usual. His hair was twisted up into a messy bun, and he was still in the clothes he typically wore throughout the day. “You uh, been drinking?” Charles lifted the long sleeve of his robe, checking the time on his watch. “It’s quite late, you know.” Pickles made a lousy ‘pshh’ sound before he spoke.
“Yeahh . . . maybe a little, so what?” His words were slurred as he spoke, his eyes focused on Charles. “S’not like I can fuckin’ . . . smoke down here or anything.” It wasn’t unlike Pickles to drink, and he had a point. It also wasn’t Charles’ business what his band did recreationally, so he simply hummed at his comment as he stepped away.
“Alright, that’s fair. Uh, just get some rest soon whenever you can, okay? We’ve got a busy day tomorrow, it’ll do you some good.”
“Waaaait . . .” A groan escaped the other man.
Charles stopped, turning back to Pickles. “Yes?”
“Uhh . . .” He let out a hiccup as he spoke, unable to stand straight. “I have a . . . a question to ask youu . . .” Charles slowly inhaled through his nose before responding.
“Alright, go ahead.”
“Do you uh . . .” Pickles stepped closer to Charles, lowering his voice. “Maybe wanna . . . do somethin’ together?” Charles froze, slowly turning around to face away from the drummer. He stared down the dark and empty corridor. He knew that both of his colleagues had already been asked similar questions, but he never thought he would be a victim to them as well. This was clearly out of desperation, and Pickles’ drunken stupor couldn’t be helping.
“Pickles, if you’re trying to solicit sexual favors from me then the answer is no.”
“Whatttt . . .” Pickles groaned, his expression dramatic as he whined. “Wh - well, why not?”
Charles remained composed, neglecting eye contact with the other man. “You’re inebriated. I’m not comfortable with your consent in this state, and besides that, I am also your manager. That would be extremely unprofessional not only on my part but yours as well, so uh, I’ll just pretend this didn’t happen for both of our sakes.”
“C’monn, I’m not that fuckin’ drunk . . .” Pickles pressed his body against Charles’ side, laying his head on his shoulder with all of his weight. “And - and y’know . . . nobody’s gotta find out about all of this, it’ll just be our little secret.”
“I think you are just that, um, drunk actually.” Charles gently nudged the shorter man off of his body, slightly uncomfortable. He remained professional nonetheless. “Here, how about this - I’ll walk you over to your room.” The manager slipped one of his arms around Pickles, holding him up slightly better than the man had been holding himself.
“And then we’ll bone?”
Charles took another slow inhale. “No, Pickles. I just want to make sure you get there safely.”
“Mm . . .” Pickles drags his feet as the two make their way to his room, his noises of disapproval incessant the whole time. “But, like . . . aren’t you horny? When’s the last time you’ve done it, huh? Do you even get horny?”
“No comment.”
“So . . . so like you do get horny?”
“I’m not answering that, Pickles. Please bear a bit of professionalism with me.” He slowly cracked the door open, pulling Pickles inside. “I think it’s in your best interest to let this topic go.” He struggled with helping him into his bed, only barely managing to do so.
“Come onn, man can’t go without gettin’ off for this long. That’s like, not what man wanted. S’not what man intended.” The drummer sprawled out against his bed, one hand behind his head and the other under his shirt. Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“We’ll talk about this in the morning. Wake up, shower, take care of yourself and please eat some breakfast. Then come to my office, alright? Do not show up drunk, Pickles.”
“Fine, fine . . .” Pickles rolled over, shooing Charles away. He brought his knees up to his chest, nuzzling his head against his pillow. “I get it, whatever. I’ll talk with you tomorrow.”
ooo
Charles had chosen to forget about the events of last night, and as the hours of the next day kept passing by he found it easier to move on from the topic. Pickles never came to his office, it was already 6:00 P.M. and he hadn’t heard a thing from him all day. He assumed that he had completely forgotten about the meeting he had set up for them, considering that he was extremely drunk when he mentioned it. That was most likely for the better, as the matter at hand was nothing short of awkward for Charles to talk about.
That is until a knock at his office echoed throughout the room. The manager was taken aback, not expecting anyone at this time as the band’s engineer was supposed to be working with them at this hour. “Yes, come in.” He shouted, fully assuming that it would be Abigail on the other side. His eyes widened when Pickles opened the door.
He looked . . . nervous, neglecting to step inside the office and instead opting to stand in the doorway. He started playing with his hands but promptly stopped, shoving them in his pockets. He avoided eye contact.
“Hey, uh . . . so were we supposed to talk today, or . . . something?”
Charles folded his hands together on his desk. “Yes, I would like to have a word with you. Please, have a seat.” The drummer awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck, reluctantly sitting down in front of Charles. He grabbed the arms of the chair, staring down into his lap.
“Well, first of all . . .” Charles leaned back in his seat, examining the other man’s body. It was clear that he had just woken up, his attire and hair unchanged from last night. His eyes were full of something akin to regret, guilt, or maybe even sorrow as he avoided eye contact. It seemed as though he remembered what had happened last night, but he would get to that later. “How are you doing?”
Pickles looked up at him, confused. “How . . . am I doing?” He averted his gaze back down. “Uh, I mean . . . I just woke up, so . . .” He shrugged. “Not a lot going on, y’know.” Charles nodded, keeping his composure despite his disappointment. He looked down at a small calendar on his desk, flicking through it with one hand as he spoke. “Alright, well uh . . . that’s another thing I’ll have to talk to you about, then.” He grabbed a pen, jotting down some abbreviations and circling a few dates before resuming his original position with his hands clasped. He watched Pickles’ expression change, contorting into confusion before he spoke up again.
“Do you remember anything from last night? Maybe even, uh . . . have an idea as to what I need to talk to you about?” He raised his eyebrow quizzically. “You were quite drunk, so . . . it’s alright if you don’t remember.”
Pickles was silent for a moment, a long one at that. “Uh . . .” He started, looking down to his left. “I mean, I’ve got an idea but . . . I’m not sure. I was, um . . . really tired.” He tried to laugh, he really did but it was a poor attempt. “Sorry, uh. It’s not funny, y’know? Uh, but yeah, I don’t really remember. Sorry.” Charles could tell that he knew something, but to the extent he was unsure. He wouldn’t press, simply moving the conversation forward.
His manager sighed, rubbing his temples briefly. “Okay, well, I won’t beat around the bush, then.” Charles waited until he looked up, making eye contact and then speaking. “Pickles, you tried to solicit sexual favors from me and said other inappropriate things as well. I shouldn’t have to explain why that’s extremely unprofessional of you.”
“Fuck . . .” Pickles’ eyes widened as he looked away, his breathing visibly heavier. “Um . . . yeah, wow, okay, I uh . . . I had a feeling that’s what it was, but . . .” He gripped the arms of his chair tighter, in thought momentarily. “I’m really sorry, Charles. That’s fucked up.” He sheepishly looked back up at him. “I guess that means I’m in trouble, right?”
Charles inhaled slowly. “Um, no . . .” He adjusted in his seat. “I’m choosing to ignore it for now since your cognition was clearly impaired. I know you didn’t mean it.”
Pickles raised his eyebrow, his arms now laying across his legs as his upper body leaned forward. “Wait, sorry . . . what do you mean?”
He continued, thinking nothing of it. “I’m saying that I know you didn’t mean what you said, about uh . . . in your words wanting to ‘bone’ me. I know that these past few months have been nothing short of troublesome for you all and that you’re all just desperate for action . . . for lack of better words.” He chuckled dryly. “Really, I didn’t take it personally, given I was just who was around.”
The drummer shook his head. “Wait, you thought I was just gonna use you?”
Charles raised his eyebrow, taken aback by the question. “Uh, sorry?”
Pickles appeared dumbfounded. “You uh, you said that you ‘knew I didn’t mean what I said?’ The part about you bein’ ‘just who was around?’ Are you not just sayin’ that you thought I wanted to ‘bone’ because you were my only option? What are you talkin’ about?”
The manager wasn’t fully understanding the point in Pickles bringing this up, not expecting him to analyze his wording like that. It felt misplaced, unusual for someone like him. He silently fixed his glasses, readjusting them properly against his nose. “I really don’t see why that matters, Pickles. I didn’t mean to assume. You’re just, uh . . . quite literally the only person who has asked me that. I think that I made a fair assumption.”
“No, that’s not a fair assumption because it’s makin’ me sound desperate when I’m not!” Pickles raised his voice, his grip on the chair noticeably tighter as he was almost out of his seat. “You’re sayin’ I only asked you because you were my only option but you’re not! I could bone anyone on this fuckin’ submarine if I really wanted to - I asked you for a reason!”
Charles froze, staring at Pickles. The drummer immediately realized that he had fucked up, quick to cover his mouth right after he spewed his anger at his manager. Charles kept his hands folded in his lap, one leg leisurely crossed over the other. His expression was completely and utterly blank, typically frightening to those who had to see it. While externally he was unmoved, inside his thoughts raced around like a whirlwind. Pickles was clearly upset, it was obvious that he didn’t like being seen as desperate but it was unorthodox for him to truly read into what he said like that. Charles thought that he maybe alluded to it once as he spoke, so why did it bother the other man so much? Perhaps this was something he wouldn’t understand, given that between the two of them . . . he had far less expertise in this field. His voice was cold and unwavering, blunt and low.
“This has gotten out of hand.” Charles stood up, turning away from Pickles with his hands behind his back. “Go lock my door, please.”
Silence. Charles didn’t once look behind him, the sound of the other man’s chair against the ground the only indication that he had finally moved - then the small click of the door’s lock, and finally the leather of the seat squishing under his weight. This happened in long, drawn-out moments, and the man only moved from his towering position once Pickles had sat back down. He crossed over to a cabinet behind his desk, acquiring a hefty bottle of Scotch before finally facing him again.
You would do anything for your band, wouldn’t you?
Fear. The green eyes staring up at him were nothing short of terrified, the man’s lips stretched into somewhat of a frown as he watched the taller man. Charles walked back to his desk, placing the bottle atop its surface.
“Charles, I uh . . . I really am so sorry, heh, about that . . .”
He remained standing, holding eye contact for a moment before focusing on a corner of the room. His eyebrows slightly knit together, only for a moment until he quickly neutralized his expression back to normal.
“Our lives force us to make decisions every day.” He started, slipping his right arm out of his blazer. “We have ideals that we follow, whether those are brought on by ourselves or outsider perspectives.” He pulled the garment off of his shoulders, fully taking it off. “Some people will do anything to keep their ideals intact, they follow a path of self-righteousness that they choose for themselves.”
Charles crossed to a coat hanger, propping his blazer onto one of the hooks. “What they fail to realize, however . . . is that they have full control over themselves, and they’re often blinded by what they deem to be the ‘correct’ thing to do in a given scenario.” He carefully walked over to the corner of the room that he had eyed earlier, modestly crouching next to the wall. With a pluck, he pulled a cord from the outlet he was faced with - and the security camera above him powered down. “Not everyone thinks the way that I do, and not everyone is as decisive or quick to think.” He stood up, gingerly brushing his knees off. “But one thing is for certain . . .”
Charles reapproached his desk, sitting down in his chair. He took a hand to the top of his tie, loosening it with a slight cock of his head. He folded his hands on top of his desk.
“Consider yourself lucky - because I give up.”
Pickles immediately raised an eyebrow. “Wait, uh . . . I’m sorry, I don’t get what you’re puttin’ down here. You give up?”
“Yes, I give up.” He grabbed the bottle of whiskey, popping off its lid before taking a swig straight from it. He used his other hand to brush through his hair, leaning back into his seat and relaxing his posture. “My ideals clearly aren’t working. We’ve been at the bottom of the ocean for three months now, and not only do we not have an album yet but we have a submarine full of extremely distressed individuals.” He sighed, taking another swig before setting the bottle down. “I would do anything for this band. If lust is the answer, so be it.” He spread his legs slightly apart before patting on his thigh. “Come here.”
Pickles’ eyes immediately widened. “Woah, woah, wait - is this like, a test or something? You’re not serious, are you?”
“No, it’s not a test. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? I’m granting you a sort of . . . freedom, if you will. I suggest you take it before I change my mind. I’m only doing this once.”
The drummer looked him up and down, chuckling in disbelief before getting up. He slowly moved around the desk, now staring down at his lap. He was at least smiling now, if only out of confusion. “Like, right on your lap?”
Charles held his arms out. “That is where I was suggesting, yes.” Pickles stood there for a moment before climbing onto his lap, awkwardly laughing as he did so. He squirmed a bit, wrapping his arms around his manager’s neck. Charles’ hands slipped down to the other’s waist, holding him in place. This was . . . different. He never once had someone else on his lap like this, and while he was expecting the other man to accept his offer he didn’t realize just how strangely it would all feel. It wasn’t necessarily bad, just new, and he found himself trying to distract his mind from all of the weight pressed against him.
“If I’m bein’ honest . . .” Pickles started. “I didn’t think you had it in you.” He chuckled, loosening up. Charles raised an eyebrow.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, like . . .” He shrugged. “I dunno. You don’t seem like the type of guy to fool around - go to strip clubs, bang hookers . . . I thought you were abstinent or something.”
Charles chuckled. “I mean, yes, you would be correct - those aren’t things I do, no, but I was young once.” He couldn’t help but smile, absentmindedly tucking a loose lock behind the other’s ear. “I’ve been with my fair share of people, I’m just far too busy nowadays to worry about anything like that when I have a band as famous as yours to manage.”
“Woah . . .” Pickles squinted. “Wait, so you haven’t had sex in, like, 20 years?”
Charles chuckled, immediately turning his head away from the other man. He looked down into his shoulder, his cheeks flushing red. “Um . . .” He kept laughing. “That doesn’t really matter. That’s . . . a bit of a crass question, don’t you think?” He didn’t expect him to ask the question in such a blunt way, and he really didn’t want to admit that he was right. “I take care of myself in other . . . private ways.”
“Holy shit.” Pickles grinned, taking one hand to Charles’ chin and tilting his head up to face him. He leaned in closer, squinting into his eyes and lowering his voice. “I’m gonna ride you like a fuckin’ racehorse.” Before he knew it, the space between them was broken, and Charles could feel his heartbeat getting faster. The warm and sickly feeling was familiar, thought to be long lost by the manager and it almost overwhelmed him. He tried to remain calm, letting himself relax as they kissed. It was nicer than he remembered, a bit different than what he was expecting and it started out soft and meticulously, carefully planned as they moved.
This was . . . wrong, wasn’t it? He felt dread in the pit of his stomach, wondering if this was truly the right thing to do. His decision had genuine reason, thought put into it based on the band’s current situation and he believed that this was the right thing to do - so why did he feel so guilty? He pulled away, feeling awful that he did so but it had to be done.
“Uh, sorry.” He looked past him at the bottle of scotch. “Could you hand me that?”
Pickles turned his head, chuckling. “Yeah.” He clambered slightly, grabbing the bottle from the desk. He took a swig himself, smiling down at Charles as he did so - it was no secret that he was attractive. He had eyes cut from emeralds and this close you could really see the freckles scattered across his nose. While Charles was not romantically attracted to him, even he could see just like everyone else that he was quite pretty. “Here, open up.”
Charles raised an eyebrow, the opening of the bottle now being pressed to his lower lip. He chuckled, obliging and tilting his head back.
“Yeah, that’s it.” Pickles grinned, pouring the liquid into the other’s mouth. “Woah, this is crazy. You’re just lettin’ me do it.” He eventually put the bottle back down, placing both of his hands on either side of Charles’ face. “What else will you let me do? Can I boss you around this time?” He smirked, chuckling.
The manager snickered, finding the whole ordeal to be slightly ridiculous. His face was red hot, unexpectant to the whiskey being poured into his mouth for him. He had to admit that it was hot, especially since the person pouring it for him was on his lap. “If that’s what you want to do, then yes.” He let his hands caress the other’s sides, and as his lips approached him again he shut his eyes.
This kiss was much deeper, much more passionate than the first. Soft groans escaped the man in his lap, and the room was eerily silent save for that and the wet sounds of their mouths colliding. Pickles was in full control, his grip on the other man’s face preventing him from moving his head in any way. He found himself humming in content, not so much moaning like him and this seemed to be a problem. Before he knew it he felt more pressure against his lap, the notion creating more dread in his stomach. The drummer grinded against his bulge, slowly with long thrusts against his body and it elicited a shaky whine from the manager. He immediately found himself embarrassed, pressing his lips shut to prevent himself from making noise.
“Come on, don’t do that.” He took a thumb to Charles’ lips, parting them open with a sinister smile. “Let me hear you.” Pickles shoved more pressure against his bulge, and he started feeling himself grow harder beneath him.
“Mmh, fuck . . .” He uttered out under his breath, not expecting to cuss so early on.
“Fuck, that’s good . . .” Pickles chuckled, leaning in. “I want you to keep on doing that for me, okay?” He caressed his lower lip with his thumb. “You know, for someone that hasn’t gotten any pussy in over 20 years . . . you’re not bad at this.” He smiled down at him.
Charles let out a half-assed laugh. “It’s, um . . . actually been a bit longer than that, I think.”
Pickles raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. “I thought you said it’s been 20 years?”
“Since I’ve had sex, yes.”
“Wait . . .” The drummer stared at him for a moment, grinning when it clicked. “So you prefer dick? Are you, like, gay gay?”
“Oh my God.” Charles looked away for a moment. “Um, no, I wouldn’t say I have a preference for, uh, parts.” He grinned in embarrassment. “I have more experience with penises, but . . . that doesn’t mean I prefer them. I, um, do prefer men, though.”
“Holy shit.” Pickles sighed. “I owe Nathan so much money.”
“Wait, I’m sorry - did you . . . make a bet with Nathan about my sexuality?”
Pickles grinned sheepishly. “Sorry?”
Charles chuckled at first, softly before erupting in giggles. He was quick to cover his mouth. He tried to stop as fast as he could, breathing in slowly. “Alright, I should have expected that.”
“You know, you’re a lot more fun than I thought you would be.” Pickles gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “You should do this more often.”
“I seriously doubt that.” Charles let his hands wander as he spoke. “And what, have sex with everyone else in the band, too?”
“Haha, no way!” The drummer brushed through the other man’s hair. “You wouldn’t, like, actually do that, would you?”
“No, I highly doubt it. Though, I also assumed that this would never happen, either.”
“I don’t think it’d kill you to have some fun, though.” Pickles started playing with the other man’s tie. “Like, to loosen up like this more often? I’d love to see that, I think everyone wants to see more of that side of you.” He looked down at Charles, grinning before yanking on his tie. “But we’ll talk about that later. I’m still not done with you yet.”
He let out a quick whine at the tug, their lips together once again and this time it was sloppier than ever. Oh, he felt so desperate under him, at his every whim like putty in his hands. He can’t remember the last time he felt this way in particular, so atrociously down bad for attention, the slightest of touches. Fuck, it felt good. He was utterly embarrassed every time he whimpered into the other man’s mouth, but the smirk on the other end welcomed it. As their lips parted he felt the drummer’s tongue prodding into his mouth, and while he was surprised at first he welcomed the gesture. He slipped his own into the other’s warm, wet mouth, the manager growing painfully hard as they slowly danced in harmony. Fuck, this was getting to him - badly. He found himself wanting more, but a loud whine of surprise quickly brought their kiss to a halt.
“Wait, wait a fuckin’ second.” Pickles took a moment to catch his breath, staring down at his manager with wide eyes. Charles didn’t expect him to pull away so quickly or even make a noise like that. He was utterly confused, staring up at him with knit eyebrows. “Do you . . . is your tongue pierced?”
Charles stared at him for a moment. “Oh, um . . . yes, it is. I forgot about that.”
“You forgot?” Pickles laughs. “How do you just forget - I have NEVER noticed that!”
Charles smiles. “I’ve had it for years. I don’t really look at my own tongue and I suppose I’ve just gotten used to it being a part of me.”
“Open your mouth, let me see.”
He opened his mouth, letting his tongue hang out. He watched as Pickles eyed the silver ball, shaking his head in true disbelief.
“I never . . . EVER would’ve taken you for a guy that would have his tongue pierced.”
Charles slipped his tongue back into his mouth. “I was quite different in college.”
“Really?” The drummer laughed. “I thought you were like, a geek in college.”
“I mean, I was in some ways. I had to impress my parents after all, but that was only in my classes. They didn’t need to know what I did outside of that.” He raised his eyebrow. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”
“You hardly open your mouth!” Pickles laughed, leaning back in closer to his face. “Fuck, Charles. I’m gonna ruin you.”
The blunt statement made him flush profusely . . . ruin him? He didn’t have the time to think about it, his lips against the other’s again. His stomach was tying up into knots, his cock painfully hard and the pressure against his slacks wasn’t helping. He used his hands to guide the other’s hips, aiding him in grinding against his bulge. He was glad he had something to drink, though it wasn’t much it made him feel more relaxed about this. He tried letting go, his kiss getting sloppier and wetter. A few noises escaped him, the man panting in between their oral battle. It was getting harder to keep up with him, his focus slowly shifting away from the kiss and to the pain in his pants. He didn’t expect it to hurt so much, maybe he was misremembering how it used to feel, but he needed to get off badly.
“Aww.” Pickles only pulled away ever so slightly, breaking the trail of saliva to whisper against the other’s lips. “You’re as hard as a rock and all I did was kiss you.”
“You’ve been grinding on me.” Charles spoke flatly, humiliated but unwilling to admit it.
“Yeah, but that’s nothing.” The drummer slipped off of his lap, giggling when his manager hummed in dismay. “Aw, don’t worry, I’ll get back on in a second.” He watched as Pickles began to unbutton his pants, clumsily yanking them down with his briefs before kicking them off and discarding them to the floor. Charles kept his head up, his eyes locked on the other man’s as he began to unfasten his belt. He unbuttoned his pants, struggling them off with a knowing smirk as he chuckled. He let them fall to his ankles, his cock springing out.
Pickles smiled, staring the whole time. “Not bad . . .” He spoke, resuming closer to Charles. “I can work with this.” He crawled back onto his lap, balancing himself upright on his knees.
“Please don’t hurt yourself.”
The drummer scoffed. “Are you kidding? I’ve done this hundreds of times, I know what I’m doing.” He very carefully wrapped his fingers around the other man’s length, slowly angling it towards himself. His touch made him shiver, but Charles stopped him before he continued.
“Wait, you don’t want me to, um . . .” He coughed awkwardly. “You know . . . put a condom on first, or something?”
“Oh.” Pickles thought for a moment. “Well, no. I’m infertile. We’ll be fine.”
“Infertile . . .” He repeated. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I, like, never use condoms.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It’s fine. I don’t have crabs or anything, now are you gonna let me fuck you or what?”
Charles’ eyes widened. “Right, yes.”
“That’s what I thought.” Pickles grinned, slowly lowering himself onto the hard cock beneath him. Charles braced for this, unable to stop himself from letting out a small gasp once he was inside of him. He tilted his head back, pressing his lips shut and closing his eyes tightly to avoid making any noise. Oh fuck, it felt good. He focused on the sensation of his length sliding against the warm and wet flesh, pressing far back into his pressure points and without realizing it he was a moaning mess. His hands snaked up the other’s shirt, holding onto his waist delicately as best he could. His palms dug into the fair skin once the drummer got started, thrusting himself up and down on his cock very slowly.
“Oh my God . . .” Charles uttered, his voice breathy and weak. “Um, fuck . . .” He whined quietly, holding on a bit tighter.
“Jesus Christ, you’re sensitive.” Pickles laughed. “I’m going really slow.”
“I know . . .” His manager sighed. “I know, damnit. I didn’t . . .” He panted out, immediately overwhelmed by the feeling of being inside of him. It was soaking wet, his adrenaline was at an all-time high as his length pressed against the soft interior. “You’re so good, fuck, you feel so good . . .”
“It’s so hot when you talk like that.” Pickles leaned in, giving him a drawn-out kiss. “I wanna hear more of that, keep talking.”
“It’s . . . it’s hard to talk . . .” Charles stared down in between the two, watching his cock enter the other man over and over again. It, too, was wet, and covered in his arousal fluid. “Oh my God.” He whined, closing his eyes.
“You want me to go faster?”
“Yes.” Charles spoke quickly, opening his eyes to look up at Pickles. He was holding himself up by the arms of the chair, looking down at him with a weak smile. Charles couldn’t contain himself any longer, the moment he started to go faster he was a mess of whines. “Fuck, you’re good . . .” He was too out of it to feel embarrassed, letting himself focus on nothing but the other’s actions. He listened carefully as the drummer started groaning himself, both of their cries for gratification overpowering the wet and sloppy slaps under them. He found himself thrusting his hips up into Pickles, banging himself into him deeper than they had been going.
“Oh fuck!” Pickles let out an exhausted laugh. “I didn’t . . . expect you to do that!” He started to ride him faster, grabbing onto his hair and yanking down so that they were face-to-face. “You’re as filthy as everyone else here, aren’t you? You’re just real good at hiding it.”
“I’m - really not, I promise you that!” Charles’ whole body felt like it was boiling hot, the tension in his stomach unbearable as he thrusted. “Fuck, it - it hurts! Oh my God, I . . . keep going . . .” He could hardly formulate coherent sentences, resorting to whining and crying as a means of communication.
“Yeah, you like that?” Pickles was doing slightly better, only now slowly starting to deteriorate. “Fucking Christ, I needed this so bad . . . you’re suuch a good manager, Charles, did y’know that?”
His manager nodded. “I . . . I try - mmh, I try to be . . . I - I would do . . . anything for you all.”
“Yeah? Even let me ride you like this?”
“Mhm . . .”
“That’s fucking metal.” Pickles chuckled, initiating another long and passionate kiss between the two. It was extremely lazy, sloppy and hardly a kiss as the two were unable to stop moaning. The praise honestly kind of got to Charles, making him feel even closer to finishing. He didn’t want to cum so quickly, he didn’t want to disappoint a member of the band he was so dedicated to. He tried to keep it together, holding it in for as long as he could but dammit, Pickles was making it hard.
“Oh, you’re such a good manager . . .” He whined to him, leaning in close and whispering into his ear. “You’re so good at this, Charles. You’re so fucking hot when you’re like this, and swearing like no one can hear you.” He picked up the pace, groaning to him. “You’re bad.”
“Pickles that’s enough, I - hh, mmm . . .” He panted out, unable to keep himself ‘composed’ for much longer. “Fuck, you need to get off I - I can’t cum inside of you.”
“What?” Pickles grunted. “Why not?”
“That’s . . . that’s a bit far, Pickles . . .” He breathed out, whining. “I can’t do that.”
“Dude, it’s fine . . .” The drummer was clearly out of breath, working up a sweat just like the man he was riding. “I - I said I’m infertile.”
“No . . . I - I really shouldn’t . . .”
“It’ll feel really good. Come on, do you want me to cum with you?”
“At the . . . the same time?” Charles looked up at him with wide eyes, still doubtful.
“Mhm.” Pickles hummed, brushing through his hair again. “You just gotta trust me on this.”
The manager thought for a moment, grunting. “Fine, but you’re not telling anyone about this.”
Pickles chuckled. “What are you gonna do if I do tell someone?”
Charles glared up at him with a malevolent smile. “I don’t think you want to know.”
“Fuck, it’s hot when you’re threatening.” Pickles looked down, panting. “Okay, so just cum when I tell you to, got it?” He worked against the length, the head of the other man’s cock thrusting against him. “Mmh, fuck, I’m close . . .” He whined out, looking back up.
“Oh, Pickles.” Charles started, speaking as softly and sweetly as he could. It was hard to sound composed, but he felt it was only fair to give the drummer the same treatment he gave him moments prior. “Aren’t you just the prettiest drummer anyone’s ever heard?”
“What?” Pickles whined, making eye contact.
“You’re a really good drummer, the best in the world, even. That’s why you’re in Dethklok.”
“Heh . . .” He chuckled. “Don’t lie to me.”
“Oh, but I’m not lying. You’re talented.”
Pickles whined. “Keep going . . .”
“You have something no one else does, you have an ear for percussion. It’s one thing to be good with one instrument, but your talent isn’t just in the drums. You can sing, too, can’t you? And what a beautiful voice you have . . .”
“Okay, go ahead! Cum right now!” His voice was full of desperation.
Charles trusted his initiative, doing as he was asked. His cries were completely drowned out by the other man’s despite how loud he was, and it was at this moment that he was grateful for the soundproof walls. He felt the walls around his cock get even warmer, stickier and a lot more slippery. “Oh my God . . .” He whispered out, looking down and noticing the excess amounts of cum leaking down him.
“Holy shit . . .” Pickles slowed down, coming to a stop. He panted, hardly able to keep his head up. “That was . . . so fuckin’ good.”
“Yeah.” Charles spoke quietly, unable to raise his voice or resume back to his normal way of speaking. “I don’t know what to say, um . . . usually I know what to say, but . . .”
“Hey, it’s fine.” He smiled down at him. “You don’t gotta say anything.” Pickles slowly lifted himself off of Charles’ lap, standing up and leaning his back against the desk for support.
“You should probably get yourself cleaned up . . .” He gently suggested, attempting to stand but quickly giving up. “How the hell can you stand up after all of that?”
Pickles laughed. “What can I say? I’m experienced.” He recovered his briefs, stepping into them clumsily. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, though. I’ll go shower soon.” He stared at Charles for a moment before smiling. “Did you have fun, though? I mean, it sounded like it.”
Charles chuckled, wiping his sleeve across his forehead. He already had to shower soon as well, so he didn’t mind getting dirtier. “Yes, I did have fun, I must admit.”
“That’s good.” The drummer retrieved his pants, pulling them up over his legs. “That means I was doing something right.” He fastened them around his waist, standing in front of his manager in silence for a moment. “Hey, uhh . . . Charles?”
“Hm?” He inquired, tilting his head.
Pickles bent down, leaning in closer to Charles’ face. He placed one of his hands beneath his chin, tilting his head up towards him.
“Can I steal one more? Just for the road?”
Charles laughed, loudly at that before looking back up at Pickles. “You know what? Sure.”
He planted a soft kiss onto his lips, letting himself linger for a moment before pulling away. “I meant what I said, about you being a great manager.”
“I’m glad you think so, I’m happy to hear it.”
Pickles let go, stepping away from Charles and making his way over to the door.
“Oh - um, Pickles?”
He stopped, turning around to face him again. “Yeah? What’s up?”
Charles let out somewhat of a laugh, a short-lived one as he pushed himself closer to the desk. He peeked at the small calendar from earlier, scanning it before looking back up at the other man across the room.
“Do you want me to, um . . . pencil you in for next week?” He gave him a cheesy smile.
Pickles stood there silently for a moment, eventually erupting in giggles.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll be here.”
“Alright, until then.”
Pickles unlocked the door, smiling.
“Until then, Charles.”