Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It starts out as completely innocuous; Lars has no idea that the gentle hand he places on the small of Jason’s back would earn him such a sultry little whine. Embarrassed and taken aback, Jason withers into himself in shame and Lars just laughs it off, surprised at the noise that came out of his mouth. It ignites something in the drummer, something that wants another taste, and from that moment on Lars goes out of his way to place his hands on the older man in hopes of prying more sounds from him.

It’s as innocent as readjusting the bass strap on Jason’s shoulder when Lars notices it’s starting to slide. Drumsticks in hand, he excuses himself from behind the kit and saunters over to Jason, who’s neck deep in the melody he’s plucking out on his bass. The drummer ghosts calloused fingers over his bandmate’s shoulder where they linger for just a second too long, and—Aaah!—another surprised whine, something between a yelp and moan and it makes Lars’s skin crawl (but in a good way) and Lars is so activated by it that he wishes he could bottle it up and save it for later. Mildly startled, Jason jerks at Lars’s touch only to look up and lock eyes with the drummer and there’s a certain tension in their gazes as they hold it.

“Strap was slipping. Thought I’d fix it for for you.”
Lars wets his bottom lip with his tongue and Jason notices. He can’t help but be enticed by the suggestion, feels it’s an invitation, but his good judgement urges him to think nothing of it.
“Oh, uhhh….thanks.”

Jason’s posture is sheepish because he’s still very aware of the noise he made, but he’s quick to re-immerse himself in the melody he’s been working on and Lars can’t help but smile inwardly before leaving the practise room to go grab a beer. He got what he wanted, and that’s enough to keep him sated for now.

It eventually evolves into poking and prodding, then groping and grasping, and then one night Lars finally has Jason exactly where he wants him—with Jason’s chest pinned against the dressing room door and body like putty in Lars’s hands. The drummer runs his fingers down an exposed back, still slick with sweat from the show but Lars really doesn’t care, because the nearly obscene moan that’s wrenched from the bassist as Lars brings a hand down firmly on his ass is so, so very worth it.  

“Goddammit, just hurry up already, you’re killing me,” comes Jason’s command and his voice is shaky and needy, but Lars doesn’t want to give him what he wants. He still can’t get enough of those noises, because every little whimper and whine goes straight to his cock and he’s enjoying it—very much so. Instead, Lars yanks down Jason’s jeans and grabs a handful of ass—there’s not much, admittedly, so the drummer really has to dig his fingers in—and the resulting sound out of Jason’s mouth is practically pornographic. He leans back into the drummer’s firm grip, which prompts Lars to grasp a handful of sandy curls with his free hand and wrench back Jason’s head, forcing him to arc his body beautifully against the door. Lars sees Jason biting down on his lip like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do and he brings his mouth up to the bassist’s ear, allowing his lips to linger just long enough to force out a slow and painful whine from between clenched teeth.

“Go ahead, do it. Why hold back? It’s just us two in here,” Lars suggests as he releases his hold on Jason’s ass and brings two fingers up to his bandmate’s mouth. Jason knows exactly what to do and it sends a chill down Lars’s spine as he feels his fingers being slicked up with spit. He keeps his grip on the bassist’s ponytail firm as he brings his other hand back and lines his fingers up right at Jason’s entrance, before gently pressing a digit against it. It’s hard holding back the smug grin that tugs at the corner of Lars’s mouth as he’s greeted with yet another hot moan; Jason reflexively bucks his hips, tries to press back against Lars, but the drummer isn’t about to give him what he wants, and opts for giving him a sharp yank on his hair instead.

“C’mon, Jase, just let it out already,” Lars hisses into Jason’s ear as he presses the tips of his fingers into Jason’s ass so he can slowly warm him up, which elicits a soft whine from his bandmate. “Because I’m gonna finger-fuck you, and you’re going to moan for me all the way. Got it?” And with that, Lars punctuates his sentence by burying his fingers down to the knuckle, and the cry he earns from Jason sounds sweeter than the loudest applause he’s ever gotten on stage.

Everything happens all at once after that; the sounds of wet squelching and breathy moans fill the otherwise empty dressing room as Jason is relentlessly fucked, fast and hard. He leans an arm up against the door for support because his legs are threatening to buckle at any moment now, and it just feels so good and there’s really nothing he can do to stop himself from holding back any longer.

“Fuck, Lars, fuuuuuuck…keep going.”  

Lars is more than happy to oblige as he picks up the pace, fingers pumping in and out of the bassist in a hurried rhythm. He trades his grip on Jason’s hair for a grip on his cock instead, which causes a string of colourful expletives to erupt from the bassist. 

“Oh god oh fuck oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—that’s it, keep going, keep going, keep fucking me, just like that. Please, Lars—ahhh—please.”

Jason feels like his chest is going to explode; between the rough fucking his ass is being delivered and his cock being pumped in time with it, it’s just a matter of seconds before his legs give out and he’s being pressed up completely flat against the door, Lars’s chest flush to his back and holding his weight against him so he can continue the ruthless attack on his ass. Lars can’t help but smirk as he hears Jason’s nails scraping against the door and, coupled with the moans and whines that fall in place with the thrusts and pumps, he knows he’s won this round. He’s savouring every little noise he can pry from the bassist and holding on to it like it’s something precious.

Jason doesn’t even notice the saliva that’s pooled in his mouth until it starts actually dripping from his chin, but he doesn’t care, everything feels too good and he’s so close, so close, and when Lars slows his pace to try and stuff a third finger into Jason’s ass, that’s all it takes to have him cumming into the drummer’s hand. He lets out a final, drawn-out moan from deep in his core, all breath and bliss, as he rides out his orgasm and his world is shaken from the inside-out.

Before he can slide down the door and fall to his knees, small but strong arms hook themselves under him and get him back on his feet. It’s hard to stand, but he has help from Lars, and once he’s managed to pull his jeans back up around his waist and relocate his shirt, the drummer starts walking him out of the room and through the halls of the venue to the tour bus.

“That was fun,” the smaller man chimes as if they hadn’t just fucked in a filthy dressing room. “We should do that again. Besides, the noises you make really get me going. They’re pretty hot.”

Jason isn’t sure whether to accuse Lars of being full of shit or not, but quite frankly, he could care less, and instead he just laughs it off and lets Lars lead him by the hand out of the concert venue. Once they’re out in the parking lot and the tour bus is in view they make sure to put some safe distance between them. However, before they duck through the door and head inside, Lars makes sure to brush his fingers against the small of Jason’s back and get one last squeak out of him.

Just for fun, this time.

Chapter Text

Kirk picks up on it, too, but in a much more subtle way.

Deviously subtle, if one may.

Kirk is perceptive—much more so than other people his age—and so when he and Jason are piled on top of each other on the couch of the darkened hotel room, Jason nestled with his back flush against Kirk’s chest and with old Bela Lugosi flicks playing on the TV, Kirk knows exactly what he’s doing when he lightly digs his nails into Jason’s thigh and just presses.

The resulting squeak is just all too sweet—half whine, half moan—and it makes Kirk’s breath hitch in his throat just a little bit because oh God Lars was right. The guitarist watches Jason as his face flushes red hot and Kirk decides he’s going to let Newkid just squirm against him for a little bit before he releases his grip on his thigh. As Kirk’s grip loosens, Jason dissolves into nervous laughter, just barely audible over the drone of the tv. He cranes his neck back to say something to his bandmate but when the two mens’ eyes meet, it makes Jason feel like a human lightning rod.

Kirk is soft—his face is sculpted and curved in all of the right places enough as to make his appearance disarming and there’s weight to those words, because he really is the sweetest one of the bunch. But now, as Jason looks into those brown doe eyes, he notices there’s something predatory in them that makes the bassist’s breath snag and his blood freeze—and, unfortunately, it’s also going straight to his cock. He swallows the unease down and just blames it on nerves because he’s very close to Kirk right now, and Kirk’s hand is very far up his thigh right now, and for once Jason regrets wearing such tight jeans because there’s no way Kirk is going to miss how unbelievably hard he is right now.

“Sorry man, there was a scary part on the tv and it made me jump. Didn’t mean to press that hard into your leg.”

“You’re full of shit,” Jason snorts playfully. “You’ve made me sit through this movie a thousand times, you know where all the scary parts are. Also, I hate to break it to you, but Dracula isn’t scary. That is a plastic fuckin’ bat on a string, dude.”

Kirk chooses feigning innocence over admitting Jason is right and gives the younger man a harmless shrug, which earns him a playful nudge in the ribs.
“C’mon, Kirk. You know I’m right.”

Kirk opts to continue watching the movie instead of giving in to Jason’s teasing and the bassist is quick to follow suit, taking a moment to get comfy and wiggle a little closer into the guitarist’s embrace. The two are quickly caught up in Dracula again, but it doesn’t stop Kirk’s mind from wandering back to those delicious little noises that Jason let slip out, and Jason can’t help but try not to think about just how closely pressed against certain parts of Kirk he is at the moment. He’d be an absolute liar if he didn’t admit that it was activating something in him. Instead of entertaining certain thoughts, however, he swallows down his nerves and frustrations and decides it would be better to not try and hook up with his lead guitarist—he was already hooking up with Lars enough as is, he didn’t need to be fucking fifty-percent of Metallica by bagging Kirk, too.

“You know…Bela Lugosi was a huge hoe,” Kirk eventually chimes in, causing Jason to erupt with laughter. His laughter is like a brass bell, its ring filling the room, filling Kirk’s ears, filling a hole in him that he didn’t realise needed to be filled for a long time now.

Jason is laughing so hard he’s snorting—head thrown back, eyes pinched shut, honest to goodness just snort-laughing. Kirk tries not to smile—this isn’t the reaction he was going for but he’s not going to stop Jason because there’s just something about his laughter that’s delightful and wonderful and beautiful—so he draws his mouth into a thin line and lets the bassist giggle it out.

“I’m sorry, Kirk, but the way you said it just—just,” Jason has a hand over his eyes now and is fighting back the laughs, “I just never thought I’d see the day you called Bela Lugosi a hoe.”

This earns a soft chuckle from Kirk, but he mostly just rolls his eyes and gives Jason a playful squeeze of the thigh, which quickly turns Jason’s laughter into darling little whines and Kirk can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Ahhh—nnghh—okay, okay, I’ll stop laughing at your vampire husband,” Jason concedes, shriveling at the touch but still not removing Kirk’s hand because maybe, maybe Jason likes it there. “So tell me, just how much of a hoe was Bela Lugosi?”
“Oh, he was married five times. Enormous Hoe.”
“And you’re currently going through a divorce. Who’s the Hoe now, Kirk?”
“Those are big words coming from someone who got married and divorced within the same calendar year.”

Jason bristles at the comment but knows he doesn’t have a leg to stand on, so he opts for the playful elbow in Kirk’s ribs once again who simply laughs it off.

“Sounds like you and Bela have a lot in common, huh Kirk?”
“Hold up,” the guitarist cuts. “You’re gonna miss my favourite part.”
“Is it the part where the lame special effects bore me to tears? I swear, if I have to see another bat on a string tonight…”
“Nah, better,” Kirk’s voice is lower, softer now, and Jason can feel the hand resting on his thigh start to creep up, up towards his belly.

The bassist suddenly feels like he’s trying to swallow down sand as those nimble guitarists fingers make their way up his leg and linger for just a split second too long next to his groin and he can hear his own knuckles cracking as he grips the couch like it’s the last thing he’s going to do, because goddamn Kirk is just inches from ghosting those skinny fingers over his cock and—nnnnnnghh.

That’s when Kirk hears it; the softest of whines, barely louder than a whisper, and so full of want and need and greed and good fucking God that’s hot.

Kirk can’t stop there, though; He has other plans in mind. He continues to trace his fingers up to Jason’s navel, then up and over his chest, and eventually he rests his hand at the base of his bandmate’s collarbone which in itself earns him a stifled whimper.

“This is the part where Dracula is about to get Mina,” Kirk breathes into Jason’s ear, voice low and hot heavy and when he runs a single finger up Jason’s neck he can just feel the full body shudder that follows and he savours the long, drawn out moan that comes with it.

“Surely you’re familiar with this scene, right Jase…” Kirk mumbles as he laces his fingers in Jason’s hair and pulls his head to the side, exposing his neck, and presses his lips against the delicate skin. “…The part where Dracula goes in for the bite…”

Jason prickles at the warmth, lets out a suggestive little whine from the touch, and that’s all it takes for Kirk to start filling in the gaps in his imagination of how verbal Jason could be if stimulated by…other things. Slowly, he starts peppering the bassist’s neck with kisses, who’s more than eager to punctuate each one with a delectable moan. The guitarist’s free hand ghosts its way down to the waistband of Jason’s jeans to fumble with the button and as fingers work it loose, Jason threatens to come undone, too.

“Oh yeah…nnghh...I’m familiar,” the bassist’s voice wobbles, so saturated with need that there’s no point in hiding it. “But I wouldn’t mind a—ahhhh—live reenactment…”

Kirk may as well have been on fire; he feels his face flush, the sweat starting to bead at his temples, the blood rushing straight down to his cock, and he’s so glad that Jason can’t see him getting so hot and bothered at the simplest request. Instead, he humors him by taking a small stretch of the skin on Jason’s neck between his teeth and nipping lightly.

Jason grinds out a moan and arcs his back against Kirk, hands scrambling for anything, anything at all to grip onto, because he can already feel deep in his bones that this is going to be on hell of a ride. He eventually finds Kirk’s thigh and holds on like it’s the last thing he’ll do, because if Kirk keeps nipping and biting at his neck then he’s going to completely unravel.

The guitarist slips a hand down the bassist’s jeans, the button now successfully undone, and it really isn’t hard finding Jason’s cock and pulling it from his pants because its already stiff and leaking precum everywhere. Kirk wraps his fingers around it and swirls a thumb over the head before giving it a good pump, wrenching a sharp cry from Jason.

“Oh…what’s this? You’re not enjoying this, are you, Newkid?”

The only response Kirk is met with is a sultry whine from the back of Jason’s throat. The guitarist can feel the younger man’s chest rising and falling with each laboured breath, feel strong fingers digging into his thigh, feel him squirming under his touch and Kirk is drinking in all he can, savouring the moment like he’ll never get another chance. He starts up a steady rhythm, working his hand slowly from the base of Jason’s shaft up to the head and back down, and with each slow stroke Kirk is rewarded with a delicate whimper. It doesn’t take long for Kirk to be able to work Jason like clay in his hands, to get him exactly where he wants him, and shit, when Lars said Jason was easy, Kirk never thought Jason would be this easy.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, if you could just work my cock at the same speed you play guitar,” Jason spits; he’s starting to come apart at the seams and it takes every ounce of Kirk’s constitution to not completely ravish him then and there, as much as he’d like to. Instead, Kirk untwists his fingers knotted in Jason’s curls and brings them down to gently wrap around his exposed neck. He presses a thumb up and under the bassist’s jaw, eliciting a shudder from his bandmate, and he smiles against Jason’s neck as he continues to alternate between kisses and bites.

“Lars told me about how you begged like some slut to be fucked…is that true, Jase?”

Kirk can feel the bassist’s Adam’s apple bob beneath his fingers as his words snag in his throat; it’s obvious Jason wasn’t expecting him to be the type to talk dirty—that’s more of Lars’s thing, anyways. Between the smattering of kisses and lovebites to his neck and the handjob he’s being administered, it takes the bassist more than just a moment to gather enough composure to speak.

“…Fucking really?” Jason gasps out between moans, “I should’ve known the fucker was one of the kiss-and-tell types—nnnghhh.”
“Well, I’m glad he is,” Kirk adds, quickening his pace, “because I’d have never known how absolutely lovely you’d sound as I have my way with you.”
“Goddammit Kirk, I’m gonna cum if you keep that up—ahhh, fuuuuck.”
“Isn’t that the point, Jase?” Kirk speeds up yet again and the bassist chokes back a whine that makes his skin crawl. “Don’t you want it, Jason?”
“I—,” Jason’s voice quivers, wobbles like a top that’ll inevitably fall, “—I do.”
 “What was that, Jase?”

Kirk is toying with him now and Jason knows it.
He’s not about to stop him.

“Say that you want it.”
“I—I want it.”

Both men are panting now, chests heaving, bullets of sweat dripping from temples and noses and chins and Kirk just strokes faster, bites harder, and all Jason can do is melt into him. The bassist feels a hot spring coiling in his belly and if he can just get Kirk to keep going, keep going, keep going…

“How badly do you want it, Jase?”
“Very badly—nnghhh—just let me cum, please.”
“Please what?”
“Please, Kirk, I’m gonna fuckin’ die if you don’t let me—ahhhhhhhhhgodfuckingdammit—”

Kirk doesn’t respond; instead, he bites down on Jason’s neck one last time, nice and hard, and that’s all it takes to push Jason over the edge. The younger man lets out a whine so sharp and loud that he brings a hand up to his mouth to try and stifle it as he spills himself over Kirk’s fingers and across his own belly. Stars fill his vision as he loses all control for a sweet second that can’t last long enough and it leaves him shaking and breathless.

He crumples into a pile against Kirk, who just laughs softly as he runs a hand through the bassist’s sweat-slicked hair, and they both share a silent moment to collect themselves because goddamn that was good.

Eventually, Kirk slips out from behind Jason and helps him to his feet. He leads him by the hand to the bathroom and before Jason can question his motives, Kirk cuts him off.

“Shower. Now. We’re both disgusting, and you’ve got jizz splattered all over your shirt and stomach.”
“Damn. This is my favourite Samhain shirt, too.”
“I know. Just imagine what Glenn Danzig would think if he knew you spooged all over his face.”
“Danzig doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”
“You’re disgusting, Jason.”
“Just sayin’. Don’t knock it 'til you try it.”
“How about you try and change my mind by letting me decorate that pretty face of yours in the shower, then?”

Jason can’t help but grin and laugh softly, knowing exactly what he just walked himself into and doing absolutely nothing to stop it.

“Sure, let’s see if I can change your mind.”

Chapter Text

James is much more wild in his convictions than Lars or Kirk will ever be; loud, opinionated, and unafraid, the blond is quick to act without provocation and with even less regard for those around him. Like a king, he holds his head high—and a King of sorts he is: to his bandmates, to his fans, to the world—and he could be a very good King when he wanted to be. He’s generous with his affections when they’re earned, but he was also known to be cruel in his punishments when they were warranted.

When the Mighty Het speaks, everyone is expected to listen.

Which is why, when Jason blatantly disregards James’s questioning at the bar after the show, James goes quiet, pulls his mouth into a fragile line and glares knives at him from across the table. Jason offers the guitarist nothing but a coy smile in return and goes back to nursing his scotch, laughing at whatever Lars is bitching about. This goes on for several minutes before James decides enough is enough and finally excuses himself from the table. He circles around to Jason’s side like a large bird of prey and drags the bassist out through the back door by the collar of his leather jacket.

Once he gets him out in the cold February night, tucked away in the quiet little alley between the bar and the strip club next door, James doesn’t hesitate to slam Newkid’s back up againt the brick wall and shake him down.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Het, what the hell is your problem?”
“My problem?” James’s words are pointed, “My problem is you, Newdick.”

He can barely make out the eyeroll Jason gives him in the neon glow of the strip club sign; this isn’t the first time the bassist has been openly insolent towards him and he very well knows it’s not going to be the last, but hey; James is drunk, James is pissed off, and the way that Jason and Lars totally skipped over Leper Messiah and went straight to Harvester of Sorrow during the show earlier that evening is not going to fucking fly with him—at all—so now Jason will be answering to him.
“You always have a fucking problem with me, Het,” Jason needles, completely unphased by James’s aggression because this really isn’t anything new. “Come back when you’ve got something fresh and exciting to burn me with.”

The bassist slips out from James’s grip and turns on his heel, but before he can bolt back to the bar door James snags a fistful of sandy brown curls and yanks—hard. He reels Jason back like a fish on a line and Jason really can’t stop him because he’s small, so much smaller than James, skinny and lean, and weighs virtually nothing in comparison to the titan that James is. So when James lands his bear paw of a hand into the small of Jason’s back and slams him chest-first into the brick wall this time, Jason really can’t stop the wind from being forced out of his lungs—along with the most inappropriate whine he’s ever made.

He’s not sure which stuns him more—the fact that James just pinned him against a wall or the noise that escaped his mouth—but what he does know is that he doesn’t like either of those things, especially since he’s started to develop quite the reputation for his ability to make…certain sounds. James has one hand on the small of his back, the other wrapped tightly around his left wrist, and when Jason tries to bring a foot up to donkey-kick James off of him he’s met with a boot in the back of the knee. He’s pinned—for good—and when the fight finally leaves him and the adrenaline wears off, James brings his mouth up to his ear and it’s so close that Jason can smell the Vodka and Whiskey and Jagermeister on his breath and oh god, hey there boner, it’s been a hot second.

“Alright, Newshit,” the singer snarls, “You ready to stop fighting me and fucking listen?”
“Listen to what?” Jason grinds out, cheek pressed against the brick, “Is this about cutting Leper Messiah from the set? Because that wasn’t my call, you know. Why don’t you go ask your boyfriend why he decided to cut it instead of giving me the fucking third degree for once.”

Jason can hear the growl and that’s a sign that he’s getting under Hetfield’s skin. He isn’t sure if he really wants to poke the lion tonight, but he’s had a considerable amount of scotch and hey, he’s feeling a little ballsy.

“Listen, Newfag. Let’s get a few things straight. First: This is my band; I call the shots. Second: Lars ain’t my boyfriend. I ain’t into that gay shit. Besides, we all know he’s been fucking you stupid in the back of every bus, plane, and hotel we’ve stepped foot in each night, without fail, since the tour started. We can hear you, Jason.”

James can feel Jason flex against his grip so he closes the gap between them, pressing himself flush against the bassist’s back. They’re close now—a little too close, even—and Jason’s heart is pounding so damn hard in his chest he’s afraid it’s going to break ribs. He steels himself for what he’s going to say next and prefaces it with nervous laughter to try and shake the anxiety, because he really doesn’t know how Hetfield is going to take this.

“Man, you’re either wildly ignorant or fucking stupid,” Jason starts and there’s a hot edge to his voice, “First of all, a correction: I’m the one fucking Lars, thanks much.”

Jason pauses just in time to hear James swallow nervously; got him.

“Second, I’m fucking Lars and Kirk.”

The grip on his wrist tightens, the pressure on the small of his back increases, and the boot behind his knee digs in so much it’s starting to hurt, and with that Jason knows he’s won.

“Third, you say you’re not into this ‘gay shit’, but the enormous cock digging right into my ass cheek says otherwise, Het.”

For the second time that night, enough is enough. James wheels Jason around and smashes his back against the brick, snagging him by the collar and holding him in place like a nail. Jason just sputters out a laugh, breath condensing in the cold air, because it’s so obvious to see who’s coming out on top this round and all it succeeds in doing is making James even more pissed than he already is.

“You wanna say that again, Newfag?”
“Nah man. Glass Houses.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Glass houses, Het. People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. Maybe if you picked up a book every once in a while you'd be able to have a conversation without screaming at me.”
“I ain’t fuckin’ around!”
“Well I am—literally. I’ve been screwing your band in my spare time and, quite frankly, I think that you’re all hurt-feelings-and-shit because you’re jealous. You’re jealous that Kirk and Lars aren’t riding your dick as much as you want them to, and you’re jealous that me, Newkid, the ‘fuckin’ new guy’, is getting more attention than you. How’s it feel to be King Nothing, James?”

Even in the dull neon glow, Jason can see the colour drain from the singer’s face, bottom lip trembling, eyes wide in astonishment. Then, in what’s probably the most twisted, fucked up turn of events Jason has ever experienced, James opts to close the distance between them not by slugging him in the face for once, but by stepping forwards and crushing their lips together.

They’re all teeth and nails and spitfire; fingers knot themselves into hair, teeth click, lips and necks are nipped, and hands rake into each other like talons. It’s like the cresting of a wave; the tension that’s been building since day one has finally come to its zenith and now it’s all the two men can do to stop from tearing each other apart—not out of spite, but out of need.

“Godfuckingdammit, I hate you sometimes,” James gasps when they break for air, only for Jason to clutch a fistful of blond hair and smash their mouths back together.
“Do you hate me because I make you frustrated,” Jason interrupts between kisses, “Or do you hate me because I’m right.”
“No comment,” the singer growls against Jason’s lips and the bassist can’t help but smile against him.
“You’ve wanted to fuck me since the start,” the bassist pokes, letting his string of suspicions lead him along because he knows he’s right, and so does James, “You’ve been wanting to fuck me ever since I stumbled nervously into that audition room a year and a half ago.”
“Shut your mouth, Jase.”

Jase.

“You know I’m right, James. But how about instead of playing this constant stupid-ass game of capture the crown—‘Ego trip for the Mighty Het’ bullshit—how about we solve this like sensible adults and just fuck each other already?”

James pauses as if this is a concept that's completely new to him. So, instead of asking James for what he wants, Jason drags his hands up to the singer’s shoulders and puts just enough pressure on them to make it very obvious that he wants James down on his knees.

“How about you start by sucking my dick since you want it so badly?”

There’s hesitation in James’s eyes because there’s so many variables—they’re outside, in the dark, in the cold, and all it’d take is for some dumb punk to poke their head out the back door of the bar and that’d be the end of them—and yet he finds himself sinking down to his knees anyways. Once he’s kneeling on the ice and cement, he looks up just in time to see Jason mouthing a silent oh my God and James knows that’s his cue to start fumbling with the fly on the bassist’s jeans. His fingers are cold and uncooperative—hell, it’s been snowing for this leg of the tour—and it’s all the singer can do to get the zipper down, but once he succeeds and begins pawing at the front of Jason’s boxer-briefs, he hears the bassist let the softest little noise slip out. It’s something between a stutter and a breathless cry and the way Jason lets his shoulders slump, the way he’s staring down at James all slack-jawed with half-lidded eyes is just going straight to James’s dick because yeah, maybe Newkid was right about the jealousy shit all along, and maybe James just wants Jason all to himself.

 “You know you’re beautiful when you’re on your knees like that, James?”

Oh boy.  

James sucks in a breath and holds it because it looks like Jason’s a talker and he already has it so bad for his voice to begin with. He actively recalls the first time he heard the bassist take up the second stage mic and back him on vocals—his voice was all grit and gravel and energy and just the memory of it is still enough to send an electric jolt down James’s spine.

It also really doesn’t help that he’s more than familiar with Jason’s sex sounds, too—it’s not like the bassist is particularly quiet when he fucks, and hotel, motel, and tour bus walls may as well be made of paper—and it’s allowed James to get very well acquainted with the bassist’s more carnal vernacular.
Which, of course, has resulted in James developing the unfortunate interest in how he could get Jason to utter those delicious noises himself. James would be a liar if he denied ever jerking it to the imagined sounds of Jason whining his name.

James would also be a filthy fucking liar if he denied ever having jerked it to the actual sounds of Jason whining someone’s name.

Which is why now that James is on his knees and fumbling to get Jason’s dick out of his pants with trembling hands, James feels like he’s going to choke and gag on his own hunger because it’s not like this is a scenario that’s been keeping him awake for countless nights.

“Having some trouble there, bud?”

There’s a wobble in Jason’s voice and it’s obvious that this is something he’s been wanting, too, and when James finally manages to free the bassist’s already very stiff cock from the fabric, he’s rewarded with an approving purr from deep in Jason’s throat that threatens to make him implode.

And now, James is staring right down the shaft of a big ol’ cock and not having the slightest clue as to what to do with it, despite getting this far, because he never really thought he would and unfortunately James is the shoot first, ask questions later type.

Admittedly he’s feeling just a little washed away in the tides because holy shit this is really happening and holy shit it’s a lot bigger than he expected, and it’s intimidating. Truth be told, he never really put out this much effort with Lars or Kirk because they were always much more eager to give than he was, so he really doesn’t know where to start when it comes to the fine art of wrangling dick—especially wrangling big dick—so when Jason sees the deer-in-the-headlights expression on the singer’s face he can’t help but let out a fluttery little laugh at his helplessness. He brings a hand down to cup James’s face and runs calloused fingers over a cold-nipped and rosy cheek.

“You start by putting your mouth around my cock, Het,” it’s less of a suggestion and more of a command, rolled lazily off of Jason’s tongue, and it all but completely dissolves James. “So open that pretty mouth of yours and get suckin’ like you’ve been pining to do ever since we met.”

James doesn’t waste any more time; he wraps his fingers around the base of Jason’s shaft and they must have been a little too cold for comfort because Jason lets out a nasally whine, prompting James to administer a few good strokes in hopes the bassist will follow up with just a few more.

“Ah, ahh, ahhhhhh—less hand, more mouth.”

He hooks a thumb over James’s lip and the singer lets him gently pry his mouth open. It takes just a bit of leading James by the jaw before the head of Jason’s cock is pressed against his lips.

“You gonna suck my dick, James?”

Jason’s voice is like liquid gold and it makes James so fucking hard he feels like he’s going to shatter.
To fuck with self-control—he starts with running his tongue up Jason’s length, leaving a warm trail of saliva along the way and earning him a savoury growl from the bassist that makes him shudder. He swirls his tongue over the head and just takes in the taste of salt and musk and Jason, feels fingers twist themselves in his hair, and he feels like he’s going to choke.

“Ahhhhhh, fuck, James…”

The blond hollows his cheeks and sinks down, down, down the bassist’s shaft until he actually gags and when he pulls off little globs of saliva are webbing themselves between his lips and Jason’s cock, and Jason scritches the back of James’s head as if to reward him for his enthusiasm.

“Easy there. How ‘bout we try again?”

The praise just goes straight to James’s cock and he shifts on his knees, uprights his posture just a little more as to get a better angle and latches himself back onto the bassist, but is careful to take just a few inches this time. The singer starts up tempo with shallow bobs of his head and Jason can’t help but twist his grip in James’s hair because goddamn it feels good. His bandmate’s rhythm is sloppy and a little awkward—it’s obvious he hasn’t had much practise—but when Jason looks down and sees James going at it with half of his cock crammed in his mouth, cheeks hollowed, golden eyelashes fluttering as he slowly works out a comfortable rhythm, the bassist has to throw all of his weight back against the bricks because if he doesn’t, his knees are going to buckle and give out on him, 'cuz goddamn is Het just gorgeous sucking on his cock like that. He pinches his eyes shut and grips both hands in the singer’s hair now as James works his shaft one delectable inch at a time.

“Fuuuuuuuck, James, you’re doing great—” Jason encourages, giving a gentle push on the back of James’s head and the blond responds by choking down just a little more of his cock. Jason runs a tongue over chapped lips as he lets little pants slip out, chest heaving as he feels the pressure building in his hips like a rubber band about to snap, and it's obvious he won’t be lasting for much longer. James has a hold on Jason’s thighs now, fingers digging into the denim of his jeans and the bassist bucks his hips at the contact. He feels James gag and the wet and sloppy noises of the singer choking on his cock, coupled with the sensation of a throat constricting around his shaft, nearly has Jason in pieces.

“Fucking hell, Het, keep that up and I’m going—” Jason is struggling to speak now, “Ahhhhh, ahhhh fuck—”

James attempts to laugh, which really comes out as a soft hum against the bassist’s cock and fuck does it feel great. There’s no point in holding back the noises now and every time James slides his mouth down Jason’s cock to the hilt, nose bumping into a bed of sandy curls, Jason punctuates it with a sharp whine. James throws a hand into the mix; he grips the base of Jason’s cock with two fingers and a thumb and pumps in sync with the bobs of his head. The bassist lets out a growl and bucks his hips, matching James’s pace and not quite being able to get enough of that warm, wet mouth because this is something that he’s been needing for a long time now

“Keep going, keep going, keep going—” there’s an urgency in Jason's voice now and James feels the grip on his hair tightening, “Fuck, James, keep going, I’m gonna bust one right in that pretty mouth of yours.”

It’s easy to see that Jason is two steps from coming unglued and all of the praise is more than enough to keep egging James on. He kicks up the pace and increases the suction even though his jaw is absolutely killing him and the back of his throat is raw and there’s saliva dripping from his chin and oh fuck—

Jason cums loud and hard—the hands clamped on the back of James’s head hold him in place as he fills the singer’s mouth with a hot load. James forces down a gag, digs his nails into the bassist’s thighs until his mouth is all filled up, and pulls himself off of Jason’s cock with a tiny little pop. He spits into the snow and gives the shaken bassist an unapologetic smile as he gets back on his feet, wiping at the corner of his mouth with the back of a hand.

It takes Jason a moment to finally peel himself off the wall and stand, albeit on wobbly legs, and James is just giving him this shit-eating grin and he really just needs a moment to register what happened because he still can’t wrap his brain around the fact that the one and only James Hetfield just sucked him off in a fucking back alley behind a bar.

“Jesus fucking Christ, James, and I thought Lars was a vacuum,” Jason manages as he does up the fly and button on his jeans. He hikes his leather jacket higher up on his shoulders and gives himself a once over before cramming his hands in his pockets like nothing happened, turning on his heel, and making his way towards the street.

He seats himself on the curb and attempts to light the joint from his pocket with no luck; his fingers are too stiff and frozen from being out in the elements and right when he’s about to give up, he hears the click of a bic and sees James holding the lighter under his nose. He accepts the offer, puffing the joint and taking a hit as James gets comfy on the curb next to him, and the two musicians share a quiet moment as they pass the joint between them.

“Hey, what was that name you called me earlier?” James eventually breaks the silence and Jason gives him a stupid look.
“What?”
“When we were fighting earlier. That name you called me—It was like, King…something or other, fuckit, I can’t remember.”
“What, ‘King Nothing’?”
“That’s it.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry if that cut deep. Heat of the moment kinda deal, didn't mean to hurt any feelings, man.”
“Nah. I think that’d make a badass song title. Just sayin’.”

Jason just grins and gives James a playful shove and James shoves back, and then both men are shoving until they crumple into one another, shoulder to shoulder, and dissolve into laughter. If this was James post-blowjob, all smiles and laughs and giggles, then they’d just have to do this more often.

And, well, both of them were more than okay with that.

Jason snubs the joint on the sole of his shoe and rises to his feet, then extends a hand to James. For the first time ever, James lets his bassist hoist him up and they stumble their way back to the bar, Jason leading James by the hand, their fingers laced together as they slip back in through the out door.