“Jus’… Touch it s’more…  It’ll get there.”

There was a frustrated edge to Pickles’s voice as his words slurred together.  Missy sighed, but continued her diligent efforts.  As her plucking hand began to cramp, she wondered if maybe she was being too gentle with him.  Her strokes became more deliberate, but Pickles still showed no physical signs of being in the mood as he continued to nurse his drink.  After a few minutes, he chugged down the rest and sat up.

“Do I gotta do everythin’ around here?” he grumbled as he tossed the bottle to the side.  When it clashed with the wall and shattered, he huffed, then knocked her hand away.  “Move.  You’re gonna rub it raw.”

His palm smeared precum down the shaft before giving it a few rough strokes.  He bit his bottom lip, focusing all his concentration on the task before him.  Missy’s own frustrations were replaced by pity as she watched the drummer get increasingly flustered.  There was not a doubt in her mind that the cocktail of liquor and drugs in his system rendered him useless for the night.

“Pickles…” she said, but her sympathetic plea fell on deaf ears.

“Oh, c’maaahn,” he grunted, tugging it some more.  “Come.  Th’.  Fuck.  Onnn…!”

He was bent forward now, causing his dreads to fall haphazardly as he attempted to rub himself to erection.  It was a pitiful sight, and if Missy wasn’t nearly as intoxicated as her partner and feeling sorry for him, second-hand embarrassment likely would have crept up on her.

“We don’t have to do this if…” Missy started, only to be cut off.

“Shhh… Just shush, Missy.  Lemme concentrate here, all right?  I’ll get it.  Gimme a minute.  An’ quit lookin’ at me, will ya?  You… You’re makin’ me all nervous…”

Missy put her hands up in surrender, then turned around.  She began to study the intricate interior of the Dethbus, trying not to pay any mind to the grunting and huffing behind her.  This wasn’t the first time he had whiskey dick, and it wouldn’t be the last.  Frankly, it was a surprise to her that his dick worked as often as it did, considering how many substances he constantly had in his system.

She heard another huff, then soft thud of a body hitting the mattress.

“Oh, my God…”  She spun around, seeing laying back, covering his face with his forearm.  “Are you crying?”

“No…”

She stared, definitely noting how he was blinking away moisture behind his arm.  He had to be absolutely shitfaced tonight to be this emotional.  She got up and sat beside him.  She pulled him upright and threw an arm around his shoulder, giving him a squeeze.  “Hey.  Don’t worry about it.  Let’s do something else.  Okay?”

“Like what?”

“Like, uh…”  She looked around the room, trying to think of something.  She ended up looking between his legs again, and it gave her an idea.  “How about I’ll give you a special massage,” she suggested.  “Where’s the lube?”

Pickles half-heartedly pointed at a drawer.  Missy reached over and opened it.  She dug around for a bit through the drumsticks and empty condom wrappers before locating a bottle.  She sat back down and patted the space in front of her.

“Lay down for me.”

Pickles did as she requested, but laid down on his stomach.  She couldn’t resist popping his behind.

“Other way, babe.”

When he rolled over, she squeezed some of the lube into her palm then tossed the bottle to the side.  She rubbed her palms, trying to warm the liquid up before touching his skin.  She then brough her hands down to his pelvis.

“Oh…”

“Still too cool?” she asked, pulling her hands away.

“Nah, ‘s fine…  Just… didn’t know you meant… that kind of massage.”

Missy chuckled, placing her hands back and gently rubbing the skin closer to the base of his cock.

“What were you hoping for?” she asked.  “Back rub?  Feet?”

“Nuh-uh…”  He closed his eyes, putting his hands behind his head.  “Doesn’t even matter now.  Can’t remember.  I like this.”

She took his length in both hands, petting it like one would a snake, lathering it up with the lube.  After doing this for a bit, one hand continued to stroke the shaft, while the other reached for his scrotum.  She watched his face as she did, noting him bite his lip and hold his breath.

“Breathe for me.  Nice and easy.”

He released his bottom lip and took a nice, big inhale, then a subsequent exhale.

“Good boy.”

That made him smirk, just like she knew it would.  She felt relief seeing that he wasn’t so frustrated now.  She watched him steady his breathing as she cupped, lightly tugged and squeezed his testicles. 

“Oh, God,” he groaned.  “You’re s’ good with your mouth I forget how good you are with your hands…”

“Damn right, I’m good with my hands,” said Missy, deciding to roll his balls between her fingers to really show off.  “It’s why I stick to bass instead of being a vocalist.”

“Doubt Murderface could give a handy like this.”

“Eugh, gross.  Let’s skip that mental image,” she laughed.  “Everyone knows I’m better at bass anyway.”

“No shit.  You can actually play yours…  And your hands are still soft.”

Her other hand was still gently stroking his cock, and she could feel a twitch of life returning to it.  She had to keep him distracted until it was fully erect.  Her hand left his balls, and the tips of her fingers teased the skin beneath them, rubbing soft circles on his taint.  He sucked in another deep breath.

“Keep breathing,” she reminded him as the blood continued to rush below.

“Kinda hard when you’re taking it away,” he joked.  “God, where’d you learn to do this shit?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged.  “Cosmopolitan?”

“You read that trash?”

“Hah, more than I’d like to admit…”

He was fully erect now, and she didn’t say anything as she moved to straddle his lap.  She felt like she earned this.  When she lowered herself onto him, he lifted his head.  Head still swimming with booze, it took him a moment to recognize that she’d managed to work him up.

“Oh,” he laughed, resting his hands on her hips as she began to roll them.  “Like a fuckin’ snake charmer.”