The funeral passed by without further incident, Charles keeping close to Scout after her brush with her bitter ex-boyfriend, standing next to her as her mother was lowered into the ground, a comforting hand on her shoulder. She cried silently, shivering as she watched the casket being lowered into the earth, her veil fluttering lightly in the breeze. Pickles stood beside her, holding her hand, not caring if anyone had seen it or not. Scout was hurting, and he would be dammed if he couldn't help her through this.

So this was how it ended...?

Her mother going to rest forever more in a wooden box, buried six feet underground? All that remained memories and an elaborate rock that stated her name, and the dates that she entered the world and left it? Nothing left behind of her but the recollections of a hazy yesterday and the knowledge that they would never share another moment together? Her mother would be no more than forgotten dust, rotting way when she should have been dancing with her at her wedding? No fights over how lousy her husband was? No holding her hand as she became a mother herself? She wouldn't even get to see her graduate from high school...

So this was how it ended...

Watching the casket sink back into the earth, Scout realized that this was a turning point in her life, a time for new beginnings. She would lament the passing of her mother for many more nights to come, but she wouldn't be alone, nor would she stay sad... That was just life. Nothing personal, nothing cruel. It was just the natural order of things. There was a light at the end of this tunnel, she knew that now, it was now just a matter of reaching it. But this wasn't the end of the world...

- Metalocalypse -

Scout had remained behind at the grave as the others filed away, leaving to return to their ordinary lives, and in Dethklok's case, get wasted. Charles had wanted to remain by her side, to offer her some kind of advice, but he knew that there was nothing he could say at that moment to help her, so he too shuffled away, leaving her standing at the freshly dug grave, weeping freely. The only one that had remained by her side was Pickles, not once letting go of her hand during the ceremony, and not even after, as the others left them, one by one. They saw her agony, and they knew that they could say nothing to ease it (though some had tried anyways).

She returned a small smile, but he knew that it was as fake as something that wasn't real. She tried to keep her head high, to fool them into believing that she was fine, but he knew better, so he was there for her, holding her as she mourned. Hands clenching the back of his designer suit jacket, wrinkling it, tears staining the front, she remained in his arms, his hands against her back, letting her know that he was there for her, for whatever she needed.

"She's not going to get to see me do anything with my life." Scout was matter-of-fact, "Not graduate, not date, not marry, not anything. She wanted me to go on to be a world-famous violinist. I didn't want that, but she did. I didn't know what I wanted, but ever since I was little, I convinced myself that she knew what was best. She didn't. Do you know how I was even born? I was a mistake, made in the bathroom of some concert! I wasn't planned, but every step of my my life, every beat of my heart was planned for me. I'm surprised that she didn't have my husband lined up for me already. She was very strict. I never was allowed to do much of anything. Until I met you, I'd never even seen a guy's body before, not even in porn. She was so strict, I couldn't even keep myself as happy as I would have wanted to. I'm surprised I didn't go crazy and kill myself! She was so controlling... I think I might have hated her... I couldn't have loved her, not the way I forget her every time you hold me in your arms. She was so calculating, so cold. She never let me have fun outside of her concept of per-approved dildoness. I never even liked him, but she had talked me into dating that idiot... She wasn't good, but she tried to make me perfect. Pickles, I think I hated my mother..."

It sure sounded like it, but it wasn't the same way he hated his own, "Ya don't hate her. Ya just disagreed with her."

"More than half the time I only told her I loved her out of habit, there were moments I just wanted to punch her in the stupid face, for no reason whatsoever, and I just kind of went with whatever she said to avoid confrontation. She was a bitch, and I didn't love her. I care about her, yes, and I am heartbroken that she's gone, but I didn't love her. All the things I'm feeling, I think I'm feeling only because I have to." She had never said that out loud before, not even to herself in private, but it wasn't untrue.

He understood that complicated feeling all too well, knowing exactly what it felt like to hate your family but not wanting to see them suffer either, "Come on, why don't we go get a drink?"

Standing back she took stock of their location and just how alone they really were in that moment, no one around who could possibly ruin the moment, not for miles, "No, I want to do this with a clear head. Pickles, I'm ready... I want you."

Well, it was practically a proven fact that funerals made one horny, and she was surfing high on a wave of realization and empowerment, which could make one drunk for all intents and purposes. And though it might have seemed strange, to him, here, in this moment with her, it felt as if there couldn't have been a better time than if they had planned it. She, standing there in pure black like a fallen angel of death, the black so perfect on her pale skin, against her light hair, looked exquisite, the fire back in her grey eyes as she stared him down, the hungry wolf.

He needed no farther prompting. Pickles yanked her closer, smashing their bodies together so that there wasn't even enough room for bacteria to wriggle through, he pushed her gossamer veil over her head so that he could see her clearly. Flipping her veil over her face, his left hand slowly trailed down her back, stopping at her waist, the right brushing her cheek, his thumb gliding over her lips. Lowering his hand to her neck, guiding her forward, he kissed her, slipping his tongue passed her parted lips, tasting her mouth, exploring its slippery depths.

"Scout-"

She returned the kiss with passionate urgency, nibbling on his lower lip as she pulled away, their hips still joined, giving herself enough room for the next part. Fumbling with the small clasp at the top of her dress, she popped it open, revealing her chest to him, heaving excitedly underneath a silky black bra. She had seen him in all his naked glory (mostly by accident), but had held off on showing him her entire body, saving that show for a special occasion. Today might have been important, but that was no guarantee he'd get to see the girls. Things might have been moving fast, her body working against her mind, but she still had some morals!

Morals...? Scout? Pft...

Scout, shorter than Pickles and tired of standing (having stayed behind for quite some time), fell to her knees after a series of butterfly kisses and stolen breath, taking his zipper down with her, her fingers pulling on the button of his pants, his hands disappearing in her hair. If there was anything that they did do together (besides the boring romantic stuff such as sleeping together without being intimate), it was usually involving the mouth (primarily Scout's). What started out as lovely little dark marks that discreetly bloomed under clothes (the two very careful about where they marked each other), quickly turned into an oral relationship.

He prided himself a good teacher, though it helped significantly that she was fast leaner and very eager to please. In just a few sessions, she was blowing him like a pro (at least in his mind she was, and really that's all that matters), her tongue very wiggly. So it was without hesitation that she had pulled his cock from his pants and began to stroke it until it reached hardness. Once erected, she took in as much as she could, jerking her head back so she could lick the tip, wrapping her tongue around it as she continued to stroke him. She wasn't particularly found of this part, but he didn't need to know that, now did he? She knew that guys loved this part, so she was willing to lower herself for him.

"Scout," He repeated, feeling himself spring to life in her mouth, the pre-cum spilling down her face as he pulled out, "Lay down."

Obeying, she slowly backed away, sliding her tongue one last time along the underside of his shaft, laying down on the grass and fresh dirt. Hair raying out behind her in a circlet of bronze and honey, she blushed in embarrassment, looking away from him. Smiling down at her reassuringly, never having seen anything as beautiful as she was to him, he climbed on top of her, shoving her skirt out of the way so that he could be on top of her. Easing her face over so that he could look at her face, she grabbed his wrist, moving his hand down her chin, under her jaw, along her throat, and stopping over her heart.

"Pickles, I'm ready..."

Kissing her again, he ran his other hand up her thigh, "Scout, you sure you want to do this with a fuck up like me?"

Moving his hand passed her bra, their hands sailing under the glossy material, his finger passing over a pert nipple, she nodded, "I would rather die a virgin than be here with anyone other than you."

He laughed, "Now you're just trying ta flatter me. Do ya say that ta all the guys you bring around here?"

She smiled coyly, kissing his cheek, "Only the drummer."

- Metalocalypse -

Epilogue

The air smelled of stale weed, raspberry schnapps, vanilla-cinnamon, and sex. Heavy, sweaty, recent sex. Sex so recent, the perspiration was still hovering in the air, the moans not yet dead on lover's lips. Thankfully for the guilty party, there was no question as to why, the entire group adding their own fuel to the fire. As for the sweat dripping from their pores, the cover story was that they had began working out together, which wasn't entirely a lie. They were working out, just not in the conventional sense. It was the 'your father can not find out about this' kind of way.

"...So, any questions?" Charles wrapped up this meeting with relative quiet, half the band still wiped out from the party the previous night.

Scout, whom had been in attendance for the last several band meetings, looked at her father as if he had just stripped down, sang the Backstreet Boys, and announced his intentions to wed a camel, "What? Can you repeat that please?"

"We're starting touring season next weekend." He, being in the dark about his daughter's secret affair with Pickles, found it odd that she would object to the change in the schedule.

It wasn't so much the moving around that got her as the expectations the band had of hooking up with random sluts after shows. How in the hell was that going to work, considering Pickles couldn't tell them that he had a girlfriend? Unless someone wanted to part with their favorite organ, he had better not even try to get out of the talk she was planning on having with him about this. Hey, it had been a month since he had voted her hymen off the island, so she figured she was entitled to this much.


I don't own Metalocalypse, unfortunately...

I also do not condone drugs.

Nor underage sex with minors. Or any bad thing that might possibly occur in this story...

The end.

Of this story. However, there will be a sequel! So mawhahahwa! Oh yes, this isn't over yet, not now that the show is going on the road!

Special bonus round: Does anyone know where the line "voted her (the actual line 'your') hymen off the island" comes from?

And reviews are always welcome! No, seriously, they are very welcome.