Story Notes:

Just because the world needs more of this pairing. It's honestly not my favourite but someone somewhere loves it, and they are my favourite characters! Viva le Slash!

(You can thank dexter_fishbourne and his lover-ly spellchecking skills for the new and improved readability of this story! He is win incarnate)

Author's Chapter Notes:

I do not, nor will i ever (sadly) own Dethklok, Metalocalypes, or Pickles' dreads.


Pickles knew a lot about nothing, and nothing about a lot of things.

He knew that the mark of a good drink lay in either its ability to get you shit-faced after a single serving, or in how well the fruity flavour covered the ridiculous amount of alcohol it contained. He knew that his Scandinavian band mates weren't nearly as stupid as their mangled-English led most people to believe. Most of all, he knew that anything that happened in the eighties was nothing to be ashamed of, but never never to be mentioned to anyone who wasn't there (or anyone who was too drugged out to remember).

What he didn't know was why the little Toki in his glass was rubbing his hand up his legs.

Pickles gulped the last of his appletini (with extra 'tini'), dropping the jumbo-sized wineglass carelessly beside himself on the couch among it's brethren. He set his slightly intoxicated stare on the life-sized rhythm guitarist, watching curiously as he ran his large hand up bare shin, over... and over... and over again. The hand never went down his leg, or strayed any further north than his knee, but more interesting was the almost clinical way he did it, trying different speeds and pressures, but never cupping his hand or making the movement more (or less) suggestive.

After a few minutes of silent staring, Pickles finally gave in. "Wat are ya doin', Toki?"

"It's am makin' a funny sounds." Toki never missed a beat, his eyes only flicking up to the Yooper's face for a brief moment. Rub. Rub. Rub.

"Wat's makin' a sound? I don't hear nuthin'." Pickles screwed up his face, making an exaggerated 'listening' expression to prove his point. "Well, not 'cept you rubbin' my leg."

"Ja, dat ams dat sounds. Likes a hairsbrush!" Toki ran his hand up again, showcasing his new discovery. "You's hairs."

Pickles kicked up his free leg, scrutinizing the pale flesh, finding short bristly hairs sticking out. He hadn't shaved his legs since their last performance so they were long enough to make a sandpaper-y sound when rubbed. He usually kept up with the tedious chore, due only to the pain that came with painted hair. It might be easier to tell the hot naked groupies not to paint him, but who was he to take away from their fun?

"They make a funny sound, eh?" Pickles scratched his goatee, a lopsided smirk crawling towards his right ear. "Know what else makes a funny sound?"

"What ams dat?" Toki perked up like a puppy. A six-foot, muscular puppy, that is.

"Come 'ere." He crooked his fingers and the guitarist put his hands on either side of Pickles' knees, pulling himself up. "Cloooserrr..." Toki's legs unbent, bringing their faces less then a foot apart.

"..What ams it, Pickle?" Toki's voice was less obnoxious than usual, bordering on timid as he stared at the older man from less than a foot away. The drummer's smirk seemed to permiate his eyes as he moved foreward slowly, only stopping when their noses were about to touch.

"Give ya a real funny sound..." he murmured huskily, eyes hooded as he leaned foreward. Toki's eyes closed expectantly, waiting for Pickles to bridge the gap..

"..Swan bite!!" Toki's eyes flew open, just in time to see Pickles' evil grin as he gave him a hard pinch on the ass. The Norwegian screeched, awkwardly trying to jump away only to land face-first on the floor. The yooper whooped and hollered joyfully at the success of his prank, pointing at the disoriented guitarist. "Dood! I SO got you! Didja think I was gonna kiss ya, ya fag?!"

"P-Pickle! Dat... dat was mean!!" Toki held his hands over his injured rump, face beet-red. "Why yous pinch my bottoms!?"

"Awww, it was jest a lil' Swan Bite, Toki." Pickles grinned wildly at him, pushing himself onto unsteady feet. He wobbled towards the guitarist, holding his hand out. "Sawry, dood, still buddies?" He gave his winning smile, a smile that no woman, groupie, or Toki Wartooth could resist.

Toki held his hand up, still unhappy but trying to smile at the joke he didn't find funny. "Yeah, yous stills my friend, Pickle..."

"Good." Pickle grasped the hand tightly, pulling Toki's face to meet his lips. The kiss he gave was pleasant though chaste kiss, and he flashed a smirk when he pulled away. "Glad we're still cool Toki, even if ya are a fag!" He gave him a good-natured pat on the head before turning and strutting to his room to pass out.

Toki stared after his friend in disbelief, one hand on his sore ass and the other on his tingling lips, confused at the unlikely expression of friendship. "Americans sure is weird."