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Hit the Lights	By : ScrewTheDaisies Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Metallica Views: 2455 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Metallica. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Title: Hit the Lights
Author/Pseudonym: ScrewTheDaisies
Email: herself@heathergwells.com
Archive: Please ask
Rating: R
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction based loosely on the public personas of the members of the band Metallica. No harm or impeachment is intended by this work.
Summary: James and Lars: the early years.

Then, one night, he found himself stumbling--with James--up the walk to the house that James and Ron shared. They were so drunk that they had to lean against each other for support, which only caused them to trip over each other's feet. Fortunately, they did it one at a time and the one who wasn't tripping was almost always able to catch the one who was tripping before he actually hit the ground. Lars's stomach hurt from laughing about it. Once or twice he wondered if James hadn't started doing it on purpose just to keep the joke going. Didn't fucking matter.

Adding to Lars's good mood was the fact that he had convinced James to let him crash at the house, which probably meant on the couch, but he'd figure out how to maneuver his way into James's bedroom soon enough.

In the dark in front of the house, James leaned against the front door and pressed his forehead against the top of Lars's head. "You know, some fucking times, you do look like a fucking girl," he said. "A twelve year old fucking girl. Heh heh heh." He lifted his head and dropped it against the door. "I don't know where my keys are."

"Check your pockets?" Lars asked.

James half-heartedly slapped at the front right side of his jeans. Then he started to slide down the door. He grabbed onto the frame and caught himself, but he didn't look like he could let go without resuming his slide onto the porch.

Lars shook his head and reached for the other front pocket of James's jeans.

James shook his head. "They're in my jacket."

Sighing, Lars patted James's denim jacket. Bingo. He retrieved the keys, flipped through them, tried both of the keys that resembled house keys, and then realized the door had been unlocked all along. Maybe. He wasn't as drunk as James, but he was still pretty fucking far from sober. He battled with the door knob and then the door flew open, assisted by James's weight against it.

James's grip on the door frame kept him from falling in with it. He stumbled past Lars and then stopped short just inside the doorway. "Fuck."

Lars jostled him out of the way so he could pull the door shut behind them. Then he looked up to see what James had cursed about. The TV was on, the lights off. Someone sat in the chair by the TV. Lars couldn't tell whether or not that someone was watching the program or just sleeping sitting up. Five or six others lay passed out on the floor amid spent beer cans and crumpled potato chip bags. The room smelled of smoke, both cigarette and pot.

"Ron didn't fucking say anything about having a p," ," James said.

"What the fuck do you care? Maybe it just fucking happened at the last minute."

James teetered forward for a second, and then his feet followed, sending him lurching toward the bedroom. Lars hurried along behind, trying to suppress his grin; it looked as though he already had his excuse for not sleeping on the couch. Two people, if he counted the limbs flickering in the glow of the TV correctly, had already claimed it.

James swept open his bedroom door with one arm and then stood there, as though wondering what to do next. Lars reached under him and turned on the light. Someone cursed. The blankets on James's bed moved. A foot poked out.

With two strides and a growl, James crossed the room and yanked back the blankets. A surprised--and naked--couple, their legs entwined, blinked and squinted back at him.

"Get the fuck out of my bed!" James slid his hands under one side of the mattress and lifted it up, helping the two intruders onto the floor. The girl tried to keep the sheet with her while she felt around for her clothes, but James grabbed a corner of it and jerked it away. He balled it up in his arms. "Get the fuck out!"

They managed to get at least half of their things into their arms before James started kicking them toward the door. Lars stepped out of their way, watched them hustle toward the bathroom, and then pulled the door closed.

"Fuckers," James said. He collapsed face-down across the bed. "She was kind of cute, though."

Lars slipped the sheet out of the crook of James's arm and shook it out. Then he laid it across James and the bed. He retrieved the blanket from the floor and did the same. James rolled over, his arm lying across his forehead, his other hand pushing the blanket down to his waist. Lars climbed onto the bed and lay down next to him.

"I wonder if there's any beer leftover."

"I can go see."

When James didn't answer, Lars got up and went into the kitchen. He found nothing--almost literally--in the fridge, but there were two unopened cans lying on their sides on the counter amid a bunch of empties and some overflowing ashtrays. He carried them back to the bedroom.

James hadn't moved. Lars worried that he'd fallen asleep--with his shoes and clothes on even--but when he pressed one of the cans against the back of James's hand, he smacked his lips and reached for it.

"'S warm," he said, sitting up and popping the top.

"It's all there is."

He watched James drain it in a series of pulls, then crush the can in his hand and toss it into the corner of the room.

"Gotta take a leak," James muttered just before he rolled onto the floor. His hand grabbed for the bed. Lars watched him pull himself unsteadily to his feet. Then he lurched out of the room. Lars hoped he made it all the way to the bathroom before taking that leak. He also hoped that the unlucky couple who'd just vacated his bed weren't still hanging out in the bathroom. If they had any sense, they'd be halfway to their own houses right now. Lars popped open the second can of beer, took a couple sips, and set it down beside the bed.

A few minutes later, James returned, smacking the light off as he came through the door. He again fell onto the bed, landing across Lars's legs. Lars helped him crawl to one side and lie down on his back. James stretched his arms up and out to the sides, knocking Lars upside the head.

"Hey!"

"Shit. Sorry."

James dropped his hands to the pillow, laying them palms-up on either side of his head.

That vague idea of what to do next started to take shape in Lars's brain, albeit less objectively than usual considering the amount of alcohol he'd consumed that night. Fuck...okay, it wasn't well-thought out at all, but it was hot. Too fucking hot. If he waited a few minutes, though, his head would clear and he could keep himself from doing something stupid.

But it was too fucking hot an idea. He rolled over and laced his fingers between James's fingers, pressed his palms against James's palms, and then pushed himself up until he leaned over James's face.

"Hey?" James asked in a quiet voice.

"Hey." Lars lowered his face and brushed his lips over James's.

"Hey!" James pulled his head into the pillow. His fingers straightened and went rigid. Lars winced as his own fingers were ground between James's knuckles.

"What the fuck?"

In the dark, all Lars could clearly see were the whites of James's eyes. There was a lot of white right now.

"Shhh," he said. He laid his cheek alongside James's and then started talking softly, feeding James his cover story.

"You were drunk.

"You didn't know what you were doing.

"You just laid there.

"It was all my fault."

Then he scraped his teeth over James's neck, just below his ear. James's hands pushed up against his. Lars laid his forearms across James's and pressed back. "Shhh. You had too much to drink. There was no way you could stop me. You could barely fucking walk."

He slipped his leg over James's thigh, ground his hard-on against James's hip. And then he kissed him again, on the mouth, lips closed, breathing in the whole time, absorbing James's smell: gin, beer, other people's cigarettes, and, somewhere underneath, James himself, warm and male and slightly sweaty.

James's left arm, hip, and leg came up all at once and Lars tumbled onto the floor. A second later, a pillow landed on top of him.

"You'll be okay on down there, right?"

"Oh, sure."

Lars stuffed the pillow under his head and rolled onto his side. His fucking shoes were still on. He sat up, untied the laces, and pulled his sneakers off. Then he curled back up with the pillow.

Behind him, the bed creaked, then a sneaker thudded against the base of the opposite wall. A few seconds later, the other sneaker made a similar ruckus. Lars stared into the darkness in front him and sorted out the shapes of the various junk and clothes piles in James's room while he listened to James stand up and drop his jeans and shirt to the floor.

The bed groaned as James settled his weight back onto it. The sheet and blankets rustled as James pulled them up. And then there was silence.

After a few minutes, Lars heard James pick up his pillow, pound it into a new shape, and then drop his head back on it.

Another few minutes passed, then James flipped over.

Then Lars heard him kicking at the sheets.

Then he turned over one more time.

Lars opened his mouth to say something about how impossible it was to get any sleep with so much fucking noise going on, but just as the words were about to come out, something bounced against his side. He rolled onto his back. James's arm hung over the side of the bed; it had been his knuckles that had hit him, and now the backs of his fingers grazed Lars's stomach. Lars wondered if James realized his hand had gotten away from him. He looked up, about to say something about it, and was startled to find James's eyes staring back at him.

"You don't look comfortable down there," James said.

"I've slept in worse places."

"Get back on the bed."

Lars got up with his pillow and walked around the bed. Then he slipped between the sheets, keeping himself closer to the edge of the mattress than the middle.

James cleared his throat. Silent seconds passed. And then: "Are you gonna sleep in your clothes?"

"Uh... I guess not."

Lars pushed the sheet away and climbed unsteadily back to his feet. If James hadn't asked, he _would_ have slept in his clothes, partly to make James comfortable, but mostly because the minute he'd laid his body out on the mattress he realized how fucking overcome he was. Between the alcohol and the hour.... Christ, he was too old for this. Ha! At eighteen. _What are you gonna fucking do when you're forty?_

He reached out for the wall to steady himself. Then, when he felt a little more confident on his feet, he wrenched his t-shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. His jeans followed. He started to bend over and bring one of his feet up off the floor, then thought better of it and sat down on the side of the bed in order to pull off his socks. Once they were gone, all he had left was his underwear. He blinked twice, decided that if he was going to get comfortable he'd get completely fucking comfortable, and then stood, hooked his thumbs under the band, and yanked them down. After kicking them off his feet, he toppled onto the bed.

After half a minute of silence, James said, "I didn't mean you had to get fucking naked."

Lars started to sit up and roll out of bed again to retrieve his underwear, but three fingers on his hip stopped him.

"Don't worry about it."

Lars laid back down.

James didn't take his hand back.

Lars stared up at the ceiling. The sounds of his and James's breathing mingled.

James didn't take his fucking hand back.

In the e ofe of a few seconds, Lars had gone from flat-out exhausted to fully wired. His cock came awake, too, and began to crawl toward James's fingers. Slowly, Lars slid his hand under James's arm and across the mattress. He paused, licking the roof of his mouth, and then he lifted his hand and set it down on James's hip.

After a moment, when the world didn't come to a crashing halt, Lars walked his fingers across James's hip until he touched pubic hair. Then he set his palm down and waited.

Four long breaths later, James's fingers crept closer to Lars's groin.

Yes. Yes! This was fucking happening. Lars stretched his arm down and closed his fingers around James's cock. Fuck yeah. Raging hard on.

James's hand continued to play follow-the-leader, first groping for and then encircling Lars's cock.

For a full minute, the two of them lay on their backs in the dark without moving, and then Lars began to stroke, slowly. Seconds l, Ja, James did the same.

An ache developed in Lars's upper arm almost immediately. He realized he was holding his entire body tense out of the fear that any display of enjoyment on his part would frighten James away. Fuck this. He wasn't the type to settle, and wasn't this doing exactly that? Lying as far away from each other as possible, taking care only to touch each other's dicks...as soon as they were finished, they'd turn their backs to each other and it would be as though it'd never happened. Fuck that. He'd rather end up sleeping on the floor.

Lars rolled onto his side, releasing James's cock so that he could support himself with that arm and then capturing it again with the other hand before James could balk. Continuing with slow strokes, Lars studied James's face, or what he could make of it in the dark. Enough moonlight came in through the window to pick out the curve of James's cheek, the swell of his bottom lip....

Jamesshedshed his eyes at him, then turned his face away. At the same time, James's fist sped up as though to tell Lars to pay attention to the task at hand.

He let go of James's cock. Those eyes flashed again. Lars grinned, then drew the sheet away. God, that body was delicious. Scootching closer, Lars dipped his head and ran his tongue from the base of James's cock, right over its tip, and onto James's stomach. He nipped at the edge of James's belly button. James's free hand came up and pushed at top top of Lars's head.

He got the message: suck my cock, but don't fuck with the rest of my body. Yeah, we'll see.

Lars circled its head with his lips and lifted it away from James's body. His tongue fluttered over it for a few seconds, then he opened his mouth and let it fall, smacking back down onto James's abdomen. Then Lars caught it in his fingers again and bent his head. This time, though, he buried his face just below James's hip, nipping and licking at the tender, responsive flesh there, while at the same time strengthening his grip on James's cock.

James's hand tugged at Lars's hair and his hips bucked, but if he was looking to dump him off again, he wasn't trying hard enough, and his hand still worked Lars's cock, albeit a little more distractedly than it had a minute ago.

Lars tightened his own grip, but stopped stroking. He laid his forearm across James's stomach. Then he drew a patch of skin in the groove where James's thigh met his body between his teeth and sucked it. James twisted beneath him. His fingernails scraped Lars's scalp.

Lars let go of the pinch of skin, kissed it, and sat up. James's hand dropped back to the sheet. Lars lifted a knee and placed it between James's legs. Then he began to slide it upward so that he could straddle James's thigh.

Panic flared in James's eyes. His grip on Lars's cock loosened.

"Shhh. This is all I'm doing. Just this, sitting here."

He reached down and wrapped his hand around James's fist, sliding his fingers over James's fingers and the head of his own cock. Unfuckingbelievable. He became so entranced with James's hand moving under his hand and over his cock that he almost completely forgot that his other hand was working James's cock. He started to move his hips, just a little, his eyes rolling back as his balls slid back and forth over James's thigh.

"Fuck me," he said. "Fuck!" And then his eyes went wide. Fuck. He shouldn't have fucking said anything. He shot a look down at James to gauge how badly he'd fucked up.

Fuck me.

James's face clenched and his chin tilted upward. He pushed up into Lars's hand. His neck arched back and a soft, growly noise climbed out of his throat. Hot sperm spilled over Lars's hand and less than a second later, he was throwing his own head back and shooting into the air, his hand still clenched around s'ss's.

"Fuck," Lars said through clenched teeth. Fuck, that was good. His muscles trembled. He started to back off James but instead toppled sideways.

"Aw, fuck," James said. "Fuck. It's fucking all over me again."

Lars worked an eye open and saw James half-sitting, staring down at his stomach while holding the hand he'd used to jerk offs ins in the air.

"Next time," Lars said, "if we suck each other off, there won't be a mess."

James led oed off the bed. "Shit. It's fucking all over the place."

He fished his underwear off the floor and tried to pull them on one-handed.

"And there's not gonna be a fucking next time," he said as he got the underwear around his ankles. Then he stood and pointed his finger at Lars. "And--" He looked toward the door as though suddenly remembering the litter of bodies just outside. When he spoke next, it was in a stage whisper. "And I am not sucking your dick. Ever. Got it?"

"Mmmm." Lars curled his arm over his pillow and hugged it under his hands.

James cursed once more, then finished pulling his briefs up in silence.

In a minute, Lars heard James's footsteps patter around the bed. He expected to hear the door next, but instead there was a low growl in his ear.

"Put some fucking clothes on before I get back. Underwear at least. I don’t want your dick poking me while I'm asleep."

"Mm-hmm." Sleepily, he rolled over and reached for his underwear. He managed to pull them on without getting out of bed, and then he pulled the sheet and blanket up to his chin. He was asleep before James returned from the bathroom.

~Continued in Chapter 5~
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Hit the Lights