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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.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
Title: Hit the Lights - Chapter 6
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.

Once again, time passed and the relationship between Lars and James descended back into some semblance of normalcy. Dave joined the band, replacing Lloyd on guitar. The four of them--Lars, James, Ron, and Dave--talked about putting together their demo and had just about ad tod to put "Hit the Lights" on it, along with two covers: Sweet Savage's "Killing Time" and Savage's "Let it Loose." Lars had no doubt the demo was going to do even more for them than the track on Metal Massacre. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw their greatness lying just down the road. All it would take was work and determination to get there.

And he'd almost fucked it all up. He saw that now. Thank fucking God for their friendship or their common vision or what the fuck ever it was that kept James from just finding another drummer.

_Was_ it their friendship, though? Lars found himself wondering again what James kept him around for. There were better drummers out there, maybe not beating down James's door, but they were out there. He worried that James was using him: for the magazines, the albums, the fact that he'd spent a month with Diamond Head, the track on Brian's compilation album, fucking Torben's money when he could get some out of him.

Lars was having one of those insecure moments now. He sat behind his drum kit, blew his hair out of face, and tried not to feel left out. James and Ron were joking around on the other end of the garage. Dave hadn't shown up yet. They could fucking get started without Dave, but James and Ron were into whatever they found so fucking funny. Lars didn't get it; they didn't bother explaining. Fuck 'em. Lars started banging away, burning off his annoyance and anxiety.

He saw movement by the garage door out of the corner of his eye. Dave. Fuck him, too. He had his latest chick with him and she'd brought a handful of friends with her. Smashing away at the drums, he nodded at the chicks as they filed into the garage.

Then one of his sticks flipped out of his fingers. He foundselfself completely and embarrassingly distracted by a red-headed girl with an enormous smile. Wow.

"Uh, hey, what'd you think of that?" he asked her. "That's fucking part of the song, you know, dropping the stick. We're going for a different kind of sound."

She laughed. He grinned and bent to find his stick.

When he sat back up, Ron and Dave were slipping their instruments over their heads. James adjusted his mike. Lars wasn't completely sold on this idea of James's that he would just sing. The man looked _right_ with a guitar in his hands, but arguing about it had gotten him no where. Ozzy just sings, Rob Halford just sings, Paul Di'anno, Sean Harris.... James's examples of 'the way it was done' were endless. Exasperated, Lars had deferred to him. He had a feeling James would come around. He could tell by the way his hands twitched whenever he turned his head and watched Dave play.

Meanwhile, the girls who had come in with Dave settled onto a couch that Ron and Lloyd had rescued from someone's trash pile. Lars smiled in their direction. Only the red-head noticed. She'd been looking at him.

"So," he said, twirling his sticks. "What are we gonna play for the ladies tonight?"

James glanced over his shoulder at Lars and drew his eyebrows together, then he shook his head and spoke slowly into the mike. "I don't fucking care."

"Right. 'Killing Time' it is, then, for a warm-One,One, two..."

Practice broke up well after dark. Lars was startle see see the time. He'd taken a shit job working the graveyard shift and he was just about late for it. It didn't stop him from catching up with the red-head as they all left.

"Hey, what'd you think?" he asked. "Are we fucking good or what?"

She laughed. "You're all right."

"We're fucking awesome. We're going places. You just wait. Hey, are you busy tomorrow night?"

"Not ye

"You wanna go do something? What's your name?"

She laughed again. "Kelly."

***

Thursday afternoon, Lars sauntered into the garage. James was alone inside, sitting on the beat-up couch, his guitar across his lap. His head jerked up when Lars walked in. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"What? When?"

"Last night!"

Lars wrinkled his brow. "Out. I didn't realize I had to check in."

"Never fucking mind."

"Okay. Where's Dave? Ron?"

t! It! I guess they don't hto cto check in, either."

"You wanna grab something to eat, then, until they get here?"

"No, I want to work on this fucking song. You think you can spare a few minutes for that?"

Eager to not further provoke James's mood, Lars slipped behind his drum kit and fidgeted with the bass pedal. "Ready when you are," he said finally.

"Right. Let's do it."

It actually went well. James began to loosen up and after an hour of fucking up and cracking up, the atmosphere was a hundred percent better. Then Dave showed up.

"'Bout fucking time. Where've you been?" Lars asked Dave, his tone light.

Dave threw his jacket at the chair. Three chicks followed him into the garage. One of them was Kelly, which put a huge smile on Lars's face, especially when she came right over to kit, leaned down, and gave him a kiss.

"Hey, babe," he said.

"Hey."
ave ave a good time last night?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"What the fuck is this?" James asked. "A band or the fucking Dating Game?"

"Where's the beer?" Dave asked.

"If it were up your fucking ass--"

"Hey! Why don't we go get some beer?" Lars asked, coming out from behind the kit. He slipped his arm around Kelly's waist.

James threw his guitar onto the couch and stormed off toward the house.

Dave shrugged.

Lars scrubbed his face with his free hand and then said, "Come on. There's a store down the road where the guy behind the counter lets me buy without an I.D."

When they hit the sidewalk, Kelly asked, "What's up his ass?"

"Who fucking knows? He was like that when I showed up."

When they returned with a case of Heineken, Dave, James, and Ron--who had shown up while he and Kelly were out--were jamming. Lars dropped the beer on a shelf, passed a bottle to Kelly, and opened one for himself. He watched the guys play for a minute, enjoying their intensity. James was fucking into it, and he had his guitar in his hands, thank fucking God, though yesterday he'd mentioned something about getting the guy from Ruthless to come sing for them. When the fuck was he going to realize that he wasn't going to be happy with the sound until he was doing both rhythm guitar _and_ vocals himself?

Lars took a long pull off his beer. Kelly went and sat on the arm of the couch and leaned against one of her friends. The two of them whispered in each others' ear and giggled. The third one leaned across to see what was going on.

Lars saw James's gaze flick across the girls, saw annoyance register on his face before his eyes disappeared once again beneath his mane of hair.

Whatthefuckever. The song ended. Lars caught the necks of three bottles in his fingers and carried them across the room, passing one off to each of the guys. James didn't even bother to look at him when he accepted the beer. Didn't even open the beer, just turned and set it on a windowsill.

"I've gotta get to work," Lars said to Kelly. He planted a kiss on her lips before heading behind his drum kit.

James leaned his guitar against the wall, grabbed his beer, and wandered out the door. Lars threw his sticks in the air and put his hands on his thighs. Dave and Ron looked at him, but he didn’t know what to tell them. He shrugged and turned his eyes toward the ceiling.

"Shit," Dave said. "If you two aren't going to bother to play at the same time tonight... How 'bout you give me a call when you've worked it out?" He motioned for his girlfriend to get up. Kelly and the other girl stood, too.

Lars rubbed his hands over his face. Kelly raised an eyebrow. She looked like she wanted to leave with the others. Fuck. He could go with them.... No. Band business first. He got up, gave Kelly a kiss, and told her he'd call her. She glanced back at him on her way out with a look that almost changed his mind, but priorities were priorities.

"You going, too, Ron?"

"Unless you think I should stick around?"

"Nah. Go."

Lars followed Ron to the door and watched James--standing at the side of the lawn with his arms folded across his chest, the beer bottle poking out underneath--watch everyone take off. After they pulled away, James's glanced in his direction.

Lars scowled. "Well, good fucking job. You scared them all away. Proud of yourself?"

"Fuck you, Ulrich."

"Yeah...I'll be inside when you're done sulking or brooding or whatever the fuck it is you're doing."

James answered by turning his back. Lars sighed and dragged himself into the garage. He retrieved his sticks from the floor and dropped himself onto the couch. Laying his foot across his knee, he drummed lightly down on the side of his shin. Fuck. He had to take a leak, plus there might be something to eat in the kitchen, and if nothing else there was a TV in the house and he could kill time staring at that while waiting for James's PMS to pass.

'Good Times' was on the tube. Dy-no-mite, he thought sarcastically. With an empty bladder and a nearly empty bag of Doritos, Lars sat down to watch.

During the commercial break, Lars crumpled the now empty bag and threw it away. Then he looked out the front window. At first he didn't see James, but when he pressed his cheek against the glass, he caught sight of, or, or his knee at least, sitting on trontront stoop. 'Good Times' was back on, but it wasn't the most captivating episode ever made. Florida and James were celebrating their 20th wedding anniversary. Yawn. So he could go back to watching that, or he could move things along with James.

Lars opened the front door and looked down at the back of James's bowed head. "You want to talk about what's going on?"

James lifted it to his lips, then brought it up to his eyes as though he couldn't believe it was empty. "Nope, but I do want to get another fucking beer."

Lars moved aside. James brushed by him and headed to the kitchen. Lars heard the refrigerator door open, and then James called out, "Where's the fucking beer? Didn't you just buy a fucking case of beer?"

He leaned his head back against the doorframe. "It's still in the garage."

"Good fucking place for it."

Lars was about to ask if he wanted him to go get it, but stopped himself. The beer was in the garage because they were supposed to be in the garage. Playing. If James wanted the beer, he could get it himself.

"Are you going back outside?" Lars called. He turned his head and was startled to see James standing in the living room looking at him.

"What the fuck's it matter?"

"I was gonna shut the front door."

"Shut the fucking door, then."

Lars did. When he turned back to the room, he saw James's bedroom door swing shut. Fuck it. He had a good idea of where he could find Kelly and the others. He could just take off, hang out, have fun, maybe get laid. It'd be preferable to this bullshit. He crossed the room and banged on James's door.

"Hey!" Lars called through the door. "I'm leaving, okay? I know when I'm not fucking wanted."

The door flew open. James pressed one hand against the frame, draped the other over the top of the door. "Good fucking riddance, then."

Lars tried to keep from snapping. "What the fuck's up with you? Just tell me. Fucking go ahead and get it off your chest."

James's eyebrows arced up. "There's nothing to get off my chest."

Lars snorted. "Had me fooled."

"You gonna go find them?"

"What about it?"

"Fuck it. Do what you want." He turned away and swung the door closed.

Lars caught it before shut all the way and swept it back open. "What the fuck is your problem? You don't like Dave? You don't like all of them? What?"

James furrowed his brow. "Dave's not a fucking problem."

"Then what is?"

"Nothing. Go hang out with your girlfriend. Have a gay old fucking time." He bounced onto his bed and sat with his back against the wall, picking at the strings trailing from the hole in the knee of his jeans.

Lars looked back at the front door, then he sighed. He stepped into James's room and shoved the door closed behind him. Two and two were starting to add up. He placed a knee on the bed.

"I thought you were leaving."

"If you want me to."

"How many times do I have to tell you to fucking go ahead and go before you believe it?"

"You don't sound sincere."

"Fuck you. Want to get something to eat?" James asked.

Lars leaned across the bed and swept James's hair away from his neck. James glanced at him, then quickly looked down at his own hands in his lap. Lars brushed his lips over the skin on James's neck. He breathed in the scent of Irish Spring soap, Suave shampoo, and whatever was cheap in shaving cream these days.

James cleared his throat. "What about Kim?"

"Kelly."

"Her."

"Is it her that bothers you? Would you like it better if I was seeing some other chick?"

"Maybe," James said, a hopeful note jumping into his voice. Sig Sighing, Lars settled himself beside James, his back against the wall, too. He could let James play that game, let him think maybe it's just Kelly in particular, and then next time Lars gets a girlfriend then there's something wrong with her, too, and so on. The end result of that: Lars never gets laid again.

He reached over and picked up one of James's hands. He felt a slight tug, a resistance, but then James gave it to him. Lars laid it on his thigh. He circled his thumb over the meaty pad where James's thumb connected to his palm. Then he flattened James's fingers, slid his hand up over James's. The rough skin on the tips of his fingers scratched his palm.

"You want to talk about what's going on?" Lars asked.

"No."

Lars pressed his thumb into James's palm and massaged it, marveling at the contrast between the strength of that hand and the delicate bones within.

"You want to do something about what's going on?"

James tipped his head back against the wall. He stared at the ceiling. Then he asked, "What the fuck _is_ going on? I'm not--I don't fucking look at guys think, 'Fuck, yeah, I want a piece of that.' I don't fucking look at you and think that. But if you don't break up with that cunt...."

"If I don't break up with her, what?"

Lars watched James's Adam's apple bob.

"Fuck it." James dropped his foot the floor and started to pull his hand away. Lars held on.

"No, not 'fuck it.' Fucking sit here a fucking minute and work it out." He jerked James's hand. James reluctantly settled back against the wall again, his leg still hanging off the side of the bed.

Aware of the fact that James could shut this down at any moment, Lars's mind raced for the next step, the next _right_ thing to do. James hadn't pulled away when he'd kissed his neck, and he'd allowed Lars to keep a hold of his hand this long. The signs were good; James needed to be pulled through his insecurities and self-doubts and the fact that he was still sitting here said that maybe, just maybe, this was the time.

"Look at me."

James's eyes moved in his direction, but his head stayed put. Lars placed his fingers on James's jaw and turned him until they looked into each other's eyes. James's quickly looked down, his head dipping. Lars brought it back up, and then he kissed him, keeping his eyes open so that he could watch James's reaction.

James's eyes widened--for a second Lars thought he was going to run again--and then they snapped closed. The second Lars moved away, James's gaze dropped back down into his lap. Lars didn't let it deter him. He moved in for a bolder kiss, letting his lips part slightly, pressing harder against James's mouth.

His heart jumped when James pressed back. Letting his eyes fall closed, he moved his hand to the nape of James's neck, up under his hair, and then broke the kiss again, pressing his forehead against James's.

Then one of James's arms wrapped around him, hugging him tight. James slid his face away and buried it in Lars's shoulder. Lars rubbed the back of James's neck, giving him time, enjoying the moment, especially when James's other arm slid around his back. Its meaning wasn't lost on Lars; up until now, in all their experiements, James had kept one hand to himself, his way of saying that he wasn't fully a part of what was going on.

"I'm sorry," James said into Lars's shoulder.

Lars laughed. "For what?"

James's grip relaxed. He lifted his head and sat back. "I don't know. I just feel like I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you're sorry, all right. A sorry motherfucker. Look at you." He tugged James's hair.

"Look at you."

And for a change, James _was_ looking at him. Lars quickly found he couldn't take the scrutiny. He swooped in and sucked James's bottom lip between his. The next kiss was open-mouthed, and after a minute of that, Lars brought his tongue into it, teasing the opening of James's mouth. The next time he slipped his tongue over James's lips his eyebrows went up in surprise; James's tongue was waiting for him. So much for teasing. Lars shoved his tongue deep into James's mouth, pushing James's head back against the wall. One of James's hands slid up to the back of his head and soon James was pushing back just as hard. The kiss quickly became wet and greedy. The skin around Lars's mouth tingled from James's stubble. He broke free for a breath of fresh air and to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fuck," he said.

James grinned.

"So, was it as bad as you were expecting?" Lars asked.

"What, swapping spit?"

"Yeah."

James rubbed his chin. "A little scratchy."

"Yeah, well, now you know how chicks feel."

"I have no clue how chicks feel." He pulled Lars in for another kiss. Without breaking contact, Lars shuffled around until he straddled James's thigh.

When the kiss did end and Lars sat back, one knee on either side of James's leg, James asked, "Is it okay if we keep this to ourselves?"

"If you can stop acting like a jealous bitch in front of company."

"I did that, didn't I?"

Lars made lifted his eyebrows as high as they'd go and then they both laughed. After it died away, Lars said, "so, what are we--I don't mean like, are we boyfriends--"

"Damn straight. Don't ever fucking call me that."

"I should call you my bitch instead?"

"Fuck no. You're _my_ bitch."

"Oh, I see. Just 'cause I look like a twelve year old girl, I have to be the bitch."

"Well, that and you're fucking chatty."

"Fucking chatty," Lars repeated, grinning. "Seriously, what I'm asking is...are we really gonna do this? I'm gonna break up with Kelly and then unbeknownst to the rest of the world, we're gonna...?"

"Gonna what?"

"That's what I'm asking you."

James's gaze wandered away. Lars watched him chew on his bottom lip. He'd be a little worried if it weren't for the fact that James's hands had slipped down onto his thighs. James gave them a quick squeeze, then looked up again. "We're gonna see what happens?"

"All right. That's an answer I can live with, I think."

"You think?" But James was smiling a little.

Lars shrugged, then laughed. "Okay, I'll take whatever I can get."

Squeezing his thighs again, his thumbs sliding an inch closer toward Lars's crotch, James raised his eyebrows and said, "Are we gonna fucking talk all night?"

"Listen to you!"

"What? It's not like I haven't touched your fucking dick before. Dick."

"Yeah, but you know what you haven't done?"

"Hey! One fucking new thing at a time, okay?"

Lars grinned. He leaned forward and put his face in James's hair, close to his ear. At the same time, he brought his thumb to James's mouth. Then he asked, "Yeah, but have you thought about it at all?" He rubbed James's lower lip with the pad of his thumb, then slipped it into his warm mouth. James closed his lips aruond it and ran his tongue underneath.

Lars suddenly sure as fuck hoped James had thought about it, or would think about it. Soon.

Slowly, he drew his thumb out. Then he looked at James and it hit him. Holy fucking shit! He had what he'd wanted; here was James, his hands on Lars, his chin red in patches from beard burn, not running away, not even looking away. Well, he was starting to laugh nervously and look away, but it was a different thing from the eye contact avoidance James had practiced before.

"Hey," Lars said.

"What?" Looking at him like they were talking about music or dinner or beer. Lars wanted to run into the street and yell the news to every passer-by, except that he didn't want them to know any more than James wanted them to. Metallica wouldn't get very far in the heavy metal world if word got out that its founders were fucking each other. But as long as they were careful....

"Well, are we gonna fucking talk all night?" he asked.

James hands crept up Lars's thighs. "Not if you finally fucking stop chattering."

"Well, maybe if you had something to occupy my mouth with...."

James cocked an eyebrow. "I'vI've got something."

And Lars was more than ready to go after it, but first he had to have one more taste of James's mouth. All those years ago, when he'd experimented with his schoolmate, Patrick, it had been a whole different thing. There'd been no stubble. Patrick hadn't smelled like this. He hadn't _felt_ the way James felt now, under his hands.

And there hadn't been the band, or this certainty about his future. Right now, right this minute, Lars didn't have everything he'd ever wanted, but he did have everything he needed to get it. As he broke the kiss and slipped his hand down over James's chest, he stopped for a moment to feel the heart that beat beneath the Judas Priest concert T. Yes, he had everything he needed.

~end~ Thank you for reading.
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Hit the Lights