Brutal Valentines

Chapter 3- Ain't no rest for the wicked
Told by Charles

9:00 am

I wake up with Pickles lying next to me, smelling slightly of vomit. I suppose I should be annoyed with him for drinking too much last night, but as the sunlight filters through the window, its rays turning my beloved’s dreads into a fiery halo, I just don't have the heart to be mad.

Besides, no matter how much I love him, I know eventually Pickles will end this affair we’re having, so I might as well enjoy him while I can and not let petty things spoil it for me.

I consider canceling today's meeting and just staying in bed with him, but no, the meeting—along with all other Dethklok business—must continue as usual. The Dethklok empire will not rest and neither will I. But even I can't be all work all the time. I smile, remembering a certain Valentines purchase I made for Pickles earlier this week. While the Dethklok empire never rests, I do plan on making time to be a bit wicked today.

Carnal thoughts aside, I better start pumping Pickles full of coffee now if I want the inevitable hangover gone by the meeting. I call and order a klokateer to bring in some coffee, aspirin, and a plate of eggs and toast, so operation Get Lover Functioning can commence.

Once I have everything in place, I gently shake Pickles’s arm. His eyes open a crack. “Pickles,” I whisper, “it's time to get up.”

He ignores me and rolls over to go back to sleep.

I shake him again.

“Five more minutes, Charlie?” he pleads sleepily.

“No now,” I say firmly; he groans and slowly sits up. I hand him the coffee to start with. He sips it gingerly.

Once the cup is partially drained, I get the aspirin and the eggs down him. After an hour and a half and a few more cups of coffee, Pickles looks like he feels human again.

Success.

I glance at my alarm clock. It's only 10:30. Plenty of time for a shower. I take Pickles’s hand and pull him with me into the bathroom.

I turn on the shower and step back, waiting for it to heat up. Pickles comes up and embraces me from behind. He starts kissing the back of my neck, his groin grinding against my ass.

I push back against him, growing hard from his attention. “I think th’ shower’s warm by now,” he mummers, gently pushing me inside.

The warm shower water rains down upon us as Pickles moves me against the shower wall. He pauses, grabbing a bottle of lube I keep on the shower shelf for mornings like these, then lathers up his hand and gently slides his fingers inside of me. Soon, he finds that place that feels so incredible. I cry and moan as he touches that spot over and over, sending waves of pleasure through my body.

I want more. “Please!” I beg.

Pickles chuckles softly continuing to draw out the finger play. “You wantin’ my cahck, babe?”

I find myself answering honestly. “Yes! Yes, I do! Please fuck me, Pickles.”

He obliges. I'm overcome with pain and pleasure as he enters me, my hands press up against the stall wall as he takes me harder and faster.

“Fuck, Charles, ya feel so good,” Pickles groans as he grips my hips tighter. The feel of Pickles inside of me, the sounds of his groans, the feel of his rough hands clutching my hips…I'm so close. I move a hand between my legs, stroking myself. It's not long before I cum. Pickles soon follows my orgasm with one of his own, cuming deep inside of me.

We stand in the shower afterward, our mouths and hands exploring each other as the water washes the sweat and semen off our bodies. Eventually, we give in to the inevitable and take a proper shower. While he's drying off, I grab the Valentines gift I got him out of the closet and put it on.

I don't think it's humanly possible for Pickles’s eyes to bulge anymore out of his skull. “Gahd, where did ya get does?” he asks.

“I bought them, of course.” I twirl around, trying not to feel like an idiot wearing women’s red silk underwear. Pickles drops his towel and comes over to me, moving his hand over my ass.

“Gahd, ye’re haht,” he groans. I gasp at his touch. More than anything, I want to let him throw me on the bed and fuck me again, but looking at the clock, I see it's 11:45. Sighing, I grab Pickles’s wrist. “We need to get dressed and head to the meeting, Pickles.”

He rolls his eyes and starts to toss on the clothes he wore yesterday as I put a suit on.

Like they say: there ain't no rest for the wicked.