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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 - Chapter 5
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.

The next morning, James wasnin bin bed when Lars woke. He wondered if James had evene bae back to the room the night before. He felt an ache in his chest at the thought that James had slept in the bathtub or kicked someone off the couch just to avoid coming back in here, but after scrutinizing the indent in the pillow beside his and the arrangement of the sheets, he convinced himself that James had in fact slept beside him. Satisfied with hi detective work, he got up and got into his clothes.

He found James on thech mch munching on a bowl of cereal. Lars detoured into the bathroom to take a leak, then found a somewhat clean bowl in the kitchen and fixed himself a bowl of Capt'n Crunch. He couldn't find any normal sized spoons lying around so he rinsed off a tablespoon and shuffled into the living room.

"Where's Ron...and everyone else?" Lars asked as he settled on the couch beside James.

James shoveled another spoonful in his mouth and said something around it that sounded like, "Fuck if I know."

"Holy fuck, is it really almost four o'clock?"

James grunted.

"No wonder they're all fucking gone then. So what's going on tonight?"

James dumped the milk in the bottom of his cereal bowl down his throat. Then he dropped the spoon into the bowl and the bowl onto the coffee table.

"Let's just fucking play tonight," Lars said. "What do you say to that? Let's fucking jam."

"All right," James said finally.

James was tense around Lars for the next day or two, but soon things evened out again. And then they found themselves in Lars's bedroom, reading magazines.

The drink du jour was Jägermeister, icy cold. The music--Sabbath's "Never Say Die"--wasn't cranked as loud as it had been the last time they'd been there together, but it was loud enough to enjoy. And Lars, for once, wasn't busy plotting. He lay on his bed, on his side, flipping through the pages of the latest Creem Magazine. Then he felt the mattress sink behind him.

"Take a look at this," James said, stretching out behind Lars and reaching his side to drop a sheet of paper on top of the page that Lars was reading. Lars didn't miss the fact that James's hand, after it released the paper, came to rest on his hip. But first, there was the paper in front of him.

"Shit! Fucking cool."

"It still needs work, but it's a start."

"What do you mean it needs wort'st's fucking awesome. Metallica. Our own fucking logo. Wouldould take this down to the t-shirt shop right away and get a thousand fucking made."

James laughed. "Yeah, you and whose money?"

"Fuck it. The fucking money will come."

James ducked his head behind Lars's. His finger rubbed at one of the rivets in the coin pocket of Lars's jeans. After a moment, he asked, "Do you really think it's good?"

"What the fuck? Did I say it was good? No, I said it was fucking awesome. And it fucking is. Met-fucking-tallica. It looks fucking perfect." He wasn't lying. If he had been able to imagine a logo, this was what it would have been. It was perfect. Heavy. Metal. Completely, absolutely fucking right. "Did you do this just now, like _just_ fucking now?"

James hand slipped down over Lars's crotch, almost nonchalantly, his fingertips just brushing the fabric over Lars's fly. "I've been playing with it. That's the best so far."

James's thumb scraped over the bulge in his pants. Lars's breath quickened. He stared at the logo. "It's fucking awesome," he said again, talking to himself, talking about James's boldness as well as the logo.

The heel of James's hand rolled across Lars's crotch. Lars carefully set the sheet of paper with the logo on it onto his nightstand, then half-rolled toward James, his elbow knocking the forgotten magazine to the floor. He slipped his hand over James's and pressed James's hand against his cock. Then he pulled James's hand away, rolled until he was fully on his back, and brought James's hand up by his shoulder, forcing James to lean over him.

"What?" James asked.

Lars slipped his other hand behind James's head and lifted his face toward James's. His eyes watched James's lips, parted slightly, waiting. Then, in the split second before their lips would have made contact, James jerked away. Lars watched him flop onto his back on the other side of the bed.

With his gaze fixed on the ceiling and his eyebrows drawn down, James said, "What the fuck is your problem?"

Lars dropped his head back onto the pillow.

"You fucking lied to me," James continued. "You said this was just to...just to fucking get off without the hassle of finding a chick. But that's not it, is it? That's not all it is to you."

"James...fuck. If I just wanted a furtive grope in my pants, then I _would_ just jerk off. Just because we're doing this for, fuck, for fucking convenience sake, that doesn’t mean it doesn't have to be...you know, something more than jerking off." Lars resisted the urge to turn over, grab James by the shirt, and visually engage him. Eye contact worked for Lars, but it worked against him with James. Lars's fingers pulled the blanket beneath him into a twist, not out of anger, nor frustration, or at least not completely outfrusfrustration, but just to hold himself back. Then he said, "I don't see why it can't be fun, too, if we're going to do it at all."

"Because only fags find it fun, asshole."

The mattress shifted as James sat up, slid to the end, and put his feet on the floor. Lars raised up on his elbows and stared at the curve of James's back.

In a quiet voice, Lars said, "So maybe I'm a fag, then, or part fag, or whatthefuckever."

James didn't move.

"Listen, I don’t want to go walking around the fucking mall holding hands or necking in the back of the movie theater or anything. I don't see you...us...that way. You know what I do see?"

"No, Lars, what the fuck do you see?" Still hunched over, his forearms on his knees. The fingers that Lars could see were curled into a fist.

Lars sat upright, started to move down the bed toward James, but then thought better of it. "I see us ruling the fucking world of metal."

Now James cranked his head around to gawk at Lars. "What the fuck does that have to do with this?"

"I don't know...my awe...my belief in you, in us, in this thing we're doing--this musical thing, I mean, not the other thing--it's like it's just spilling over and just fucking becoming everything. It's coloring every thought I have." Lars, one hand twisted inside the other, let out a stream of air, and then said, "That doesn't fucking explain it either. Nothing does. I get a hard-on when I look at you and there's no explanation for it. Okay?"

Disgust crossed James's face before he looked away.

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm just as at least as fucking surprised as you, right? I mean, yeah, I experimented a little when I was younger, but that really was a lack-of-chicks convenience thing. I wasn't into to that...person....at all." Person sounded better than boy or guy right now, at least he hoped it did. "I mean, I didn't think about him. I just, if I did, it was like...it wasn't like I was thinking about him, I was thinking about what he could do for me."

James showed a slice of an eye over his shoulder. "But you think about me." He didn't sound flattered.

"Yes. Okay? Yes."

James's head ducked away again. "Did you kiss him?"

"Yes. I hadn't kissed anyone before so, yes, to see what it was like."

"If he were here now, would you kiss him?"

"Well...yes, maybe." Lars scratched his head. "I mean...it's fucking part of sex, James. Sometimes. It depends, I guess, on my mood, on what I'm in the mood for: quick and dirty or something maybe more involved and fun. Sometimes, if I could get away with not kissing a chick, with just having her drop to her knees, or even just stick her hand in my pants, hey, that rocks. But other times I want the whole deal, you know?"

James's next question ran right over the end of what Lars was saying. "What else did you do with this guy?"

Lars swiped at the side of his face in an attempt to rub the growing flush out of it. "Just...we just...we got each other off, that's all."

"How. I mean, did you...." Lars could hear James swallow back the words. "How far did you go?" he finished.

Lars sighed. "Just...fuck, it was just hand jobs and blow jobs, okay?"

"That's it?"

"Yes."

"No...?"

"No!"

"Did you think about...?"

"James! Stop it, what do you care?"

"I don't!"

"Good!"

Bill Was vos vocals filled the ensuing silence with "Oh, but the world's still on fire. Chain the hope you take on, liar. This fire. We're on fire, we're on fire."

James stood, his back to Lars. As song died and the record's groove released the needle, he said, "I can't be what you want."

"What about the band?" Lars asked as James headed for the door.
I doI don’t know. I'll have to think about that."

And then he was gone. The next album dropped down and the turntable's arm automatically moved in and settled down. After a pop, the guitar lead-in to Judas Priest's "Delivering the Goods" climbed out of the speakers.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck. MotherFUCKER." Why the fuck did he have to go and push him? Things were going well, they were going fine, and he had to fucking keep pushing, just had to fucking do it. Fuck! He cranked the stereo up and paced the room, swearing and beating himself up. There was no way to fucking fix this. No fucking way. Fuck!

It took James four days to think it through; that's how much time passed before Lars got the phone call.

"I have to work tomorrow, but afterwards, you, me, Ron, and Dave can get together and play some shit, okay?"

"Sure," Lars said, trying to keep the relief out of his voice. It had been a long four days, not a minute of which had escaped without Lars trying to rewrite history in his head. If only he'd said this, done that, not done the other thing.... All of it ended the same way: then maybe I'd have won him over.

"Lars?"

"Yeah?"

"The last few weeks? They never happened."

"Gotcha."

"They never will happen."

"Okay."

"You can deal?"

"Yep." He'd resigned himself to the fact that he'd taken the wrong path somewhere and changed his future with James irrevocably. Now it was time to save the band. Any fucking thing to save the band.

"See you tomorrow then."

"See you tomorrow."

~Concluded in Chapter 6~
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Hit the Lights