
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/969527.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Metalocalypse
  Relationship:
      Charles_Foster_Offdensen/Pickles_the_Drummer
  Character:
      Pickles_the_Drummer, Antonio_"Tony"_DiMarco_Thunderbottom, Charles_Foster
      Offdensen, Seth_(Metalocalypse)
  Additional Tags:
      Child_Abuse
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-09-16 Words: 1102
****** like a whore ******
by hatebeat
Summary
     It's hard not to be good at something if you've been doing it your
     whole life.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Pickles had been the epitome of drunkenness when he brought the girl to his
bedroom. Just the one. He had had about three of 'em keeping him company all
evening pretty steadily, but this one was the most insistent, and by time he
was ready to leave the company of his bandmates and their various conquests of
the evening, she was the one most determined to come with him, and Pickles was
too drunk to put much effort into it.
He took her by the hand and she followed him to bed.
She was a slutty little thing, forward, but submissive, and she wasn't usually
Pickles' type in that regard. When she asked him to tie her hands, he knew he
couldn't give this girl what she wanted, not really. Not tonight. But he
wrapped a belt around her wrists and bent her over the edge of his bed with a
hand resting firm on her neck, and by time he got his cock inside her, he was
already feeling tired of it all, but too drunk to do anything to change it.
There was a point when she turned her head just enough to look up at him,
giving him desperate, pleading eyes, and Pickles was struck by how wrong this
was, and how he didn't want to be doing this to this girl. Not tonight.
---
Once for a Snakes 'N Barrels after party, pretty early on, they had all gone to
this sleazy club that played the shittiest music any of them had ever heard,
but everyone's brains were blown high on coke. That was what you did there, and
nobody cared how shitty the music was because they were all feeling too good to
give a shit. The band waltzed in there still decked out in their stage clothes
and makeup and even if people hadn't heard of Snakes 'N Barrels yet, they knew
that these guys were somebodies.
It was easy to score some coke right in the door and they had already been
drinking for hours before and during the show, so not long after they got to
the club, the four of them were just as fucked as every other moron in the
place. Pickles found himself sitting in a guy's lap, a guy who was a good six
inches taller than him and had strong hands, who squeezed Pickles' ass like he
was a girl and took him by the arm like he thought he was in charge, and for
some reason, Pickles was happy to let him. They were all just hanging out in
the corner of the club, them and some other people, just chilling, trying to
talk over the music, and things started to happen, not just for Pickles, but
with all of them. Hands wandered, lips touched, and it got later.
"I want that ass," the guy whose lap he was in said right into his ear, rolling
his hips up so that Pickles could really feel it, and Pickles couldn't think of
any reason why it would be bad to get up and lead him to their tour bus parked
out back. The guy's buddy came with them, and Pickles didn't complain.
In the bus, the guy pushed him to his knees and his friend held Pickles' arms
behind his back by his elbows, keeping him down. The guy unzipped and grabbed
fistfuls of Pickles' hairspray-matted hair, controlling his face, making him
suck for all he was worth. Pickles was too high to fight back, but he was
starting to not want to do this anymore.
He didn't stop it, though. He was high and pliant and they took turns with his
ass and his mouth and he didn't lift a finger to stop them because even if he
tried, he wasn't sure he could, at that point.
They left him in his bunk with his makeup smeared across his face, and as he
started to come down, he was flooded with that feeling he always felt after
Seth was particularly cruel to him.
He needed a drink, but his ass was sore and his heart was pounding, so he
curled up and faked sleep, even after Tony came in and passed out in the bunk
with him, arm wrapped tightly around Pickles' chest.
---
"I don't want to."
"Just put your mouth on it, just a little. C'mon."
Pickles squirmed, trying to cover up, but his underwear was on the floor and
his pants were across the room.
"It's gross."
"Heh, look what a baby you are still. Just do it. Don't you wanna be able to
play with the big kids? Look, this is the kind of games we play, okay? So just
do it, then you can hang out with us."
Maybe Seth would be nice to him if he was cool enough, right? Hesitant, Pickles
leaned a little closer, sticking his tongue out... and then Seth grabbed him by
the hair, forcing his head down.
"Fuckin' do it, you little twerp, or I'll tell dad you were playing big kid
games. Heh, you know he'll beat your ass. Yeah, that's right... like that..."
Pickles squeezed his eyes shut to keep the tears in. He didn't let them out
until he was back in his own room and shut himself inside his closet.
---
Whenever Charles decided he wanted him, Pickles was more than happy to comply.
This whole arrangement was totally fine with him, even if sometimes he kind of
wished the guy would have a little more emotion. That wasn't brutal or
whatever, but he had wanted this long before Charles had, anyway.
Charles calling Pickles into his office for a mid-afternoon break from his
work, then, wasn't that unheard of, and it wasn't unheard of for him to take
off his necktie and secure Pickles' wrists with it, getting Pickles on his
knees under Charles' desk. Pickles was glad to have Charles' use his mouth, was
glad to have Charles give him orders, was glad for all of it. It was more
fulfilling than fucking any of their groupies.
Charles gave him what he needed, just like Pickles did for him.
"You're damned good at that," Charles conceded, his breath hitching, and
Pickles' eyes flitted it up to meet his without interrupting his work.
Yeah, Pickles was good at it. He knew that. He was better at it than he was at
playing drums or playing guitar or writing songs. He was better at it than he
was at doing drugs.
It was hard not to be good at something he'd been doing his whole life.
End Notes
     Tumblr user skelethal-boy illustrated a scene from this fic. Click
     here to check it out!
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