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The Hills Ran Red; James/Lars, very light Kirk/Lars, R
Topic Started: February 20, 2011, 2:57 pm (6,101 Views)
ElisabethOrion
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I'm creatively constipated.
[ * ]
Awww :heart: :rolleyes:
Lol. I would've walked into the shower with James if I were Lars. :wink :lol:

CONTINUE!! :biggrin
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Jik Hyun
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Poor Twisted Me
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hate seein lars so distressed.
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Jungleland
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HUG PEOPLE
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And it's not gonna get better yet... But thanks people :D

--

The pressure in his throat and inside his chest gets worse during the gig, like the night before, and the night before that. Taking care of everything backstage at least takes his mind off what could happen to him. He's surrounded by the crew, he's surrounded by fans, he's not alone. It's business as usual until he gets back to the hotel.

Walking to the car, Lars hears some people yelling about just how fucking great the show was--he smiles a bit at that--and some groupies laughing in that inviting way. Their hands would always go near their breasts, not so subtly pointing to the obvious. Come on, don't look me in the eyes.

Only Jason sits beside him. "Fuck. I'm exhausted."

"The others staying there?"

"Last time I saw them they were having some good time. You know."

He knows. And he doesn't care. Jason doesn't seem to care much either, already dozing. They'll bang without them tonight.

He has to tell the lanky guy at the front desk to hurry the fuck up and give him his messages. For once, nobody calls Lars when he's ready to collapse on a bed. He still has a list of phone calls to give tomorrow in mind. Three... Arena, magazine, other magazine. He'll give them stuff to talk about.

He walks by Kirk's room.

He walks by James's room.

The bed in his own room looks inviting. Lars sits, bounces on the mattress without any joy, like out of habit, and stares ahead. His ears buzz. He waits, testing himself. He can be alone. He made it throught the night once, he can make it through the night again. He's not some scared child. Death isn't under his bed ready to grab him. He doesn't need James next to him.

"I'm good."

And there's nobody here to tell him he's right. Nobody even asked to know.

He needs James next to him.

Only a few minutes passed since he walked by the door. Stepping closer, he can hear sounds from the inside, unlike the last time. Noises only a woman can make. Porn, his brain feeds him. James came back before you and is enjoying some porn, he thinks, knocking on the door. He's not doing some groupie.

No answer. He knocks again. "I know you're here, dick!" His loud voice resonates in the empty corridor.

The whimpering stops.

When James opens the door, he doesn't have time to say or ask for anything first. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Are you alone in there?"

The glare worsens. "No."

Lars can't help but grin. "She hot?"

"Go back to your--"

A slurred voice talks over James's. "Oh my god, is that Lars?"

His grin gets larger. "Right here, bab--"

"Go the fuck back to your room. Or to Kirk's, I don't give a shit."

The door slams in his face.

They could have done it a second time. The two of them and one girl. One willing girl. And the thought of falling asleep with his back against James's chest and Jame's arm on his hip, like that time, messes with the regularity of his heartbeat.

He walks away as the noises start filtering through the door again. It's someone else he needs now. And after knocking and asking and babbling away, a naked Kirk welcomes him in with a roll of his eyes and a "come in already".

For a second, Lars thinks about crashing on the little couch instead. But if James of all people could stand it...

He can guess Kirk's round eyes looking at him once he's underneath the sheets, relieved to finally lay down and rest. He sighs.

"Hey." He can guess the big smile too.

"Hey."

"Is that why you asked where I was this morning?"

There's a pause, during which Lars wonders if he should tell him everything. "Yeah."

"So you were alone last night?" A hand ruffles his hair, and Kirk slides closer to him. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright, I..." The same hand rests on his shoulder. "I slept with James."

It's almost a giggle that comes out of Kirk's mouth. "Wow." He slides even closer, and the tone of his voice changes. "Did you sleep naked?"

"As if he'd fucking let me."

"He let you in his bed." The hand starts traveling down his side. "Guess he changed his mind?"

"He's kinda busy right now."

A more subtle laugh, and fingers squeeze his hip. "Don't sound so bitter, man. You should have seen those twins." There's a pause. Lars imagines he's remembering said twins and whatever they did to him and James. Things that make him sound bitter. "So I'm second best?"

"Uh... It's just... He's..."

"It's fine. I know why." He can almost see the white of his teeth.

You don't. I don't. "Do you?"

He hears the soft sound Kirk's head makes nodding against the pillow, and a yawn. "Sleep now." Kirk settles his hand more comfortably on his hip. "I'm right here."

Lars sighs again. "Thanks." He feels something close to peace.

And he dreams. He's bathing in a red sea. He's surrounded by red. And it's beating, he can feel it in his legs. And it's bleeding. It's his own heart, and after a few waves crash onto him, it completely stops. From somewhere in the crumbling sky, James's voice tells him he doesn't give a shit.

"Lars. It's okay."

His hands fasten around his throat. Kirk is gently shaking him awake, his eyebrows curled.

"Are you alright?"

No.

It throbs inside, but it's actually nothing worse than before. He can breathe. He's alive. "Yeah. I think."

"You scared me."

"Huh? Did I scream?"

Kirk takes a long look at him before shaking his head. "Time to get up anyway. What kind of dream was that?" he asks then, rolling toward the other end of the bed and sitting up. He's still for a while, like pondering the way to get on his feet.

"I was swimming in a red sea."

"Cool. Was it blood?" Kirk grins. Lars is not sure he should.

"Maybe. Who the fuck knows. Then everything stopped. I think something died. And then James--" Some kind of cackle. "What?"

"One night in his bed and you're dreaming about him." Kirk still has that grin, endearing and a little scary.

'I know why.'

"Fuck you. It's just because I talked to him. What he told me got stuck somewhere in my fucking brain."

Kirk stops walking, standing at the other end of the room. "Thought he was 'busy'."

"I didn't fucking know that before I knocked."

A beat.

"So what did he do? In the dream?"

"Said he didn't give a shit."

They stare at each other. Then Kirk shrugs, makes a face somehow saying 'what can you do', and sinks to the floor for what Lars assumes are a few morning push-ups.

Lars lets the weight of his head lead him back to the pillow. Business quickly pushes the bad thoughts out and invades his mind.

"So we have an interview for TV later today, wanna swap spit again? It'd finally be caught on fucking film."

There's a laugh from the floor. "Sure!"

"Hope Jason will be around."
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Isis
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TEA + CUDDLES

I love your James. I. ADORE. YOUR. JAMES.

AND I FUCKING ADORE YOUR KIRK I CANNOT ;klsdj;aldsgja;s dglasjdg; asjgalk;s jfljsf HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH LARS IS JUST, I DON'T EVENASKDFAS L;DKF I LOVE THIS.

You need to put in more Jason. He will be brilliant. Everyone is brilliant in this. This is just, so far, the best Load-era based fic I've ever read. Seriously. You're nailing this. I WILL JERK OFF THE COCK OF THIS FUCKING FIC FOREVER. asldjfalsdf god.

It's inspirational, dude. Seriously. SERIOUSLY.

ilyyyyy ;; :heart:
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junk story
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Frantic
[ * ]
omg this.
this is amazing. post more please, because ohmygod.
I love Lars' jumbled, messed up state of mind. and his interactions with everyone, and himself.
god. James is the perfect bastard. I love it. sjdhgslfkdjghdfg
dgsdkjghsldfjhg more please. <3
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larscriancinha
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Larsybaby
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LOVEDDD THIS!
I love everything about it. Amazing, once again. :biggrin :heart: Moarr.
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Lilith
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Jaimelicious

James... :drool :drool :drool :drool dearjesuschrist!! I want to be that fucking groupie...

I'm begining to suspect what's Lars' condition... :biggrin

Moar! :heart:
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Jungleland
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HUG PEOPLE
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Thanks, people :heart:

This part has a bit of sexing. And FYI, all those parts were written back in November.

--

And during said interview, Lars almost forgets about the kiss, engrossed in talking about what Metallica is and isn't, until Kirk casually leans on his shoulder and obviously expects something from him. He hesitates, then quickly press his lips against his. Some part of him notices that his heartbeat doesn't speed up much. He never compared before; the intimate touch of Kirk's lips and the simple touch of James's hands. It's not the same thing, not the same thing at all.

He tries to imagine waking up with his back against Kirk's chest and Kirk's arm around him. His stomach doesn't twist, his jeans don't get any tighter.

The nervous laugh of the interviewer interrupts his thoughts. She's all flustered. That, Lars likes. He starts smiling proudly. What would she look like if they downright made out for a few minutes? What would she look like if he told her about that threesome he had years ago? What would he look like then, after James beat him to a fucking pulp for telling the press? Heh.

**

By all means Metallica should have better planes than what he's sitting in right now. Lars eyes the setlist a few times, uselessly--and he barely cares anymore. He'll play what he'll have to play, bath in his own sweat, and get closer to death at the end of each song. To die on Fade To Black, once James informed everybody that death greets him warm...

There's a flash, for a second. He turns to one of those new digital cameras hiding part of a grinning James.

"Don't move."

Lars narrows his eyes, trying to see what it is exactly James is taking a picture of. Another flash, and the camera is back in James's lap, getting all of his attention. He turns his own eyes back to the setlist. It looks boring.

Then James asks, "Slept well?"

He can't immediately answer. "You give a shit now?" James snorts, keeps toying with the camera. "I stayed with Kirk. And I guess I'll stay with him from now on, don't fucking worry."

"How's your heart?" It's like he's only asking about the weather, but Lars stops staring at Bellz to answer him. James doesn't look back, looking instead at the white of clouds through the window.

"Um, I think it's been better." So far.

James nods. "You can sleep alone then."

"I didn't say it was completely gone. You never fucking know what could happen." Seeing James roll his eyes, he decides to change the subject before the questions start. Why are you so chickenshit? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why do you want to get into our beds? "So how was she?"

"Huh?" The blue eyes are back on him.

"That chick. How was she?"

James shrugs.

Lars licks his lips. "Then you could have fucking let me in if she was so boring instead of slamming the door in my face. Fuck, we could have--" He's staring at Bellz again, and something goes right, just click inside of his brain. It's the ideal opportunity to bring it up, and you know it. Next to him, James is still frowning. Do it. Ask him. Fucking ask him. "--remember when we had a threesome?"

The answer comes fast. "No."

"Yes, you fucking do." James glares at him. There's a warning there that he's happy to ignore. "How hot was that, uh? Better than with just one boring groupie. Don't you want to have that again? Uh?"

Eyebrows rise, and James says, "Sure."

Oh fuck. "Yeah? See--"

"With two chicks."

It's Lars's turn to roll his eyes. He passes one hand through his hair. Then, "Come on. Think about it. Any girl will go crazy if she knows she's going to fuck the both of us at the same fucking time. She'll do anything we fucking want. I mean, if we found one willing to do all that in 1989--" He hopes James doesn't find it strange he remembers the date. "--just imagine what the hell she would do right now. Right? We're fucking number one now. Live the life of a fucking number one, James."

"Whatever."

He knows how to be infuriating. A one-word answer after a whole babble. Well, Lars is going to take it as a fucking yes, okay. "Cool. I'll pick her."

"What?" The glare is back.

"You want to choose? You have a type now?"

"That's not--Fuck it. Choose her, fuck her, I don't give a shit."

The line echoes in his head, but he manages to grin. "You'll be fucking her too."

James says nothing more. Is that it? Did he win?

He can see James's fingers scratch on taut denim before James says, a lot more quietly, "I'm uh... I'm sorry about that night."

For once that James is apologizing, he has no idea what he's apologizing about. "Huh? Sorry about what?"

"You know." And he reaches for his drink, waiting for him next to the forgotten camera. His refuge for the rest of the conversation.

"No, I don't. What are you sorry about?"

Then the frown disappears, the look turns blank. The barriers are up. "Forget it."

"No, fucking tell me!"

"I said, forget it."

Think, Lars. What could it be? What could he be sorry about? What would you want him to be sorry about?

"Are you sorry you sneaked out during the night?"

James is gulping down his beer, but he can see the startled look. "Uh...no."

"Fine."

That may have given a few things away.

Lars lets it go, crumpling the setlist in his hand. He leans back in his seat and wishes for a smoke. Or more.

**

"Motherfucker, that one," Lars breathes.

Bleached hair, full thighs and big breasts. Not really different from all the others almost waiting in line for them like some kind of groupie store. This one has more leather on.

He throws a look at James over his shoulder, eyebrow raised.

James takes the time to take three gulps of beer before shrugging and looking away. He refused again, and again, until tonight. After the show, when the sweat and the alcohol and the adrenaline rush and the excitement from the gig--the crowd had been great, screaming and worshipping the stage he walked on--must have pushed him to finally nod at Lars. Nod a brief, but clearly visible yes.

It made Lars willing to ignore the noises floating around each of his heartbeat.

All those years ago, the girl was waiting for them near a bus they somehow had to take. They were on their way to beat the record of the most Jägers drunk in one night--now someone just needed to die on them to really reach that number. What happened between that and their falling into bed didn't matter enough for Lars to remember, and it doesn't matter tonight either. Much like her name.

It's his bed, his room. James will be able to sneak out this time again if he feels like it. But he's not going anywhere now, busy taking off a bra that was ready to burst. She immediately turned to him as soon as they were laying down--Lars expected it. He runs a single finger down her spine, listening to the sounds she makes, her reactions to what James is doing to her.

And it turns him on almost as much as if it was him James was touching.

His finger stops at James's hand, flat near the birth of her ass. His other hand goes down his own chest to his crotch.

She suddenly lets a small yelp out, throwing her head back. He doesn't need to see to know what happened--James bit her lip. And that's fucking hot.

His finger continue its course, sliding up James's forearm. He's sure he can see goosebumps rising.

Then she's on her back, under James, getting fucked slowly enough at first, and Lars keeps roaming his hand over James's arm, James's back, sliding closer to their bodies. James is not kissing her anymore, but trying to breathe normally into the pillow, his mouth near her shoulder.

For once, the noises in his chest give Lars the will to go on. Hope instead of despair. If tonight is the night, he needs to at least do this.

Fuck it all and fucking no regrets, right.

He starts by kissing her arm, then her shoulder, getting closer and closer to his goal. Closer to the smell of James's cologne mixed with his sweat and desire. He breathes it in, resting his hand on the back of James's neck. She has the good idea to blindly reach for his erection, take care of it for him. Now he can fully focus...

Soon. The thrusts get faster. Lars pretends to enjoy kissing what he can of her shoulder, even closer. Very soon. She comes with a loud whine, James biting her near the skin Lars kissed, then following her, tensing, eyes squeezing shut. Now. Lars only has to tighten the fingers on his neck, and bring the head to him. Right when the orgasm hits.

James is lost. His brain isn't going to register that the mouth he's moaning into isn't the girl's. It also has the bitter taste of gloss. It also feels good. And Lars explores his mouth as thoroughly as he can in that short span. Never has his heart beaten so fast.

All those years ago, he did the same thing. Almost. James somehow perfectly knew who he was kissing back then. He nuzzled his nose ring, a long lock of curly hair tickled his cheek. And he thought, that's it. Me and James. James and me. That's it. We crossed a line. This is the start of something new. Something good...

Finally, finally...


He lets the mouth go, and comes too when the very female hand stroking him rubs the head of his cock. He wants to imagine it's James. He can't.

There's no afterglow to bath in. The girl is between them now, already reaching for sheets and comforter to snuggle in, mumbling a "good night". She wiped her hand somewhere on the mattress, and Lars crings as she turns her back to him, probably thinking she can cuddle with James. Or his back...

He moves around, trying to avoid the wet spot.

At least he's not alone. At least he can hear James breathing.

And if he dies during the night, they can just kick his body off the bed and fuck again. Would they?

'Died after a threesome, how rock'n'roll.' No, James would deny participating. People wouldn't know they were three. 'Died fucking a groupie, how pathetic. That's Ulrich for you.'

He licks his lips. At least there's still the taste of James.
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larscriancinha
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Larsybaby
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kgfjfjfujfkjgvds. Loved every bit. :heart:
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Lilith
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Jaimelicious

oh, dearjesuschrist! :drool That was hot as hell!
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The Knife Master
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Blackened
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This was awesome, absolutely loved it! :biggrin
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Isis
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TEA + CUDDLES

... God.

Do you know how much I love this story? DO YOU? I think you do, lol, but, seriously, I can fangirl this for days. I can fangirl this forever. Again, this is so far THE BEST GODDAMN LOAD-ERA SLASH FIC I'VE EVER READ. AND I'VE READ A LOT. Every pairing, every style, every author. From 01 to now. Do not doubt for a goddamn second that you suck. This is brilliant, beautiful writing.

Lars' anxiety. His heart condition. His inner monologue. JAMES. JUST. JAMES. It's so obvious you've put time and effort into each of their personalities, that you researched heavily (and my Met-research nerd approves of this). Their relationship is so there. The push and pull, the resistance but the need, the subtle care, JAMES' FUCKING REPRESSION YOU BASTARD, their uneasiness, weird complicated dynamic, and the whole Kirk/Lars thing from the Load era. (I swear, once you put Jason into this, djfkdjfldjlskf.)

The sex is not vulgar. It's sexy writing. Anticipating. TENSE. GOD, YOU FUCKING WRITE TENSION LIKE lsdjfklsjdlkf -eats it- And just. God. THE THREESOME OKAY, GOOD GOD, WRITE ANOTHER ONE, WRITE MORE, James you bastard what the ksldjflksdjfk aslkdjfalks iwoeuroiw sadklf. And I love Lars. Like. Love him in this.

IDK what I'm saying anymore. Basically: WRITE MORE OR I KEEL YOU.

:heart:
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ElisabethOrion
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I'm creatively constipated.
[ * ]
Trinnyallica
February 27, 2011, 7:12 pm
... God.

Do you know how much I love this story? DO YOU? I think you do, lol, but, seriously, I can fangirl this for days. I can fangirl this forever. Again, this is so far THE BEST GODDAMN LOAD-ERA SLASH FIC I'VE EVER READ. AND I'VE READ A LOT. Every pairing, every style, every author. From 01 to now. Do not doubt for a goddamn second that you suck. This is brilliant, beautiful writing.

Lars' anxiety. His heart condition. His inner monologue. JAMES. JUST. JAMES. It's so obvious you've put time and effort into each of their personalities, that you researched heavily (and my Met-research nerd approves of this). Their relationship is so there. The push and pull, the resistance but the need, the subtle care, JAMES' FUCKING REPRESSION YOU BASTARD, their uneasiness, weird complicated dynamic, and the whole Kirk/Lars thing from the Load era. (I swear, once you put Jason into this, djfkdjfldjlskf.)

The sex is not vulgar. It's sexy writing. Anticipating. TENSE. GOD, YOU FUCKING WRITE TENSION LIKE lsdjfklsjdlkf -eats it- And just. God. THE THREESOME OKAY, GOOD GOD, WRITE ANOTHER ONE, WRITE MORE, James you bastard what the ksldjflksdjfk aslkdjfalks iwoeuroiw sadklf. And I love Lars. Like. Love him in this.

IDK what I'm saying anymore. Basically: WRITE MORE OR I KEEL YOU.

:heart:
+70239757 :blush: :biggrin
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Jungleland
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HUG PEOPLE
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^Much love ;; That's the kind of comment that makes your writing feel worthy :heart:

And thanks everybody, and hi, new readers! Thanks for checking that thing out.

Thanks thanks thanks :D :heart:

--

He's woken up by James getting out of the bed without any grace.

His eyes won't fully open, and there's something sticking some of his eyelids together. His eyeballs hurt. Good fucking morning.

But he made it through the night.

He watches James put his jeans on, feeling better at the sight, then meets his glare.

"I can't fucking believe you," James says. "And I said I was sorry. It was all you."

He's too tired for this. "Huh? What?"

James shakes his head, takes his t-shirt in hand and walks to the door. Then he abruptly comes back near the bed with three long strides and a finger pointing at Lars. He glances at the girl stirring beside him and lowers his voice. "Don't stick your fucking tongue down my throat ever again. I'm not Kirk. Keep the gay shit between you two."

Lars feels his eyes widen and his heart speed up. And even sleepy, his brain manages to come to a conclusion. "That's what you were fucking sorry about? Ki--"

The door slams close.

He almost wants to laugh.

"Mm good morning, Lars..."

"Good afternoon," he says, then stands up to put his own clothes on, mumbling a few curses.

He hears her sleepy voice again. "Hey, I didn't know you and James were that close. Well, there's that friend of mine who always thought there was something, but..."

Lars quickly gets his head through the tight collar of his shirt. "You run your mouth to anyone about that--" He points at her the way James just pointed at him. "--and I swear you won't get to see a Metallica show ever again, got that? Got that?" She nods. "Good. Get out."

She scowls. "Sherry was right, you're just an asshole."

He's too busy grumbling his way to the bathroom to answer anything.

Down in the lobby, James is moving his head to the music tss-tssing in his headphones, not looking at Lars when the elevator opens, not looking at anyone. His crossed arms shield him from the world.

He avoids Lars all day. Barely smashes any cymbal for him during the gig, doesn't stand too close to him during Master Of Puppets, doesn't walk repeatedly around the kit during For Whom The Bell Tolls.

Nothing changed. They're back at being cold to each other. And he ruined it all himself.

So when Kirk asks him if he wants to check out some club that looked dark and trashy, ideal for getting chicks and getting shitfaced, he immediately agrees.

The Bloody Mary scorches his throat--in such a good way--and the pounding of the bass mercifully drowns out the pounding of his heart. He's one with the music. He'll stop when it stops.

Who the fuck cares about James, anyway.

Asshole.

Repressed asshole.

Who the fuck cares about him. Not Lars. What if James wants nothing to do with him? It was merely some sudden urge he had. He only wanted comfort, and it somehow turned into something crazier. Why did he remember that fucking night in 1989? Crazy.

Why did he remember that night at all? So they had a threesome. So it was good. So James ended up grabbing his neck and drunkenly mash their lips together. No big deal. So he thought it was the start of a new relationship. So he had been longing for it for years and years, since the day James smiled at him for the first time, the day James got half-naked in front of him for the first time, the day James slept in his bed for the first time... No big deal.

He's Lars Ulrich. He deals.

James is James, and James doesn't deal. Repressed fucker.

Repressed asshole.

"You're gonna mope all night?"

Next to him, Kirk doesn't sit, only slightly bends to rest his forearms on the shiny black counter. The lights of the club fit him. Lights always naturally fit him, Lars notices. It's unfair how he manages to do that. "Fucking unfair."

"Okay?" He bumps a black nail against one of the empty glasses in front of Lars. "You're gone already."

"What? I'm right here." Lars empties another glass. It burns. Who the fuck cares about... "Do you care about James?"

Kirk stares and deadpans: "Do I care about James."

"Yeah, do you care about that dick? Cause I fucking don't." He searches for another full glass that's not here. "I fucking don't."

"Okay," Kirk says again. He smiles at the barmaid, takes the time to ask for a drink. Then, "I sorta thought you liked him."

He has to practically yell to be heard. Yet it feels like a secret being shared, and Lars perfectly hears the stress on one word. He watches the remains of red in the bottom of the glasses. Like the remains of a few little hearts after getting smashed into pulp.

And he shakes his head. "I don't fucking want to."

"Really?" Kirk asks without really asking, smiling at the barmaid again. She's wearing less eyeliner than him.

"Fuck him."

"Yeah, that's what I'm talking about." Kirk's voice seems to follow the rhythm of the pounding bass. Tal-king a-bout. Dun dun dun.

He starts drumming on his thighs, and tries to glare at Kirk at the same time. "What? Uh? What does that mean?"

"You know what it means."

Then there's a tall guy along with what Lars assumes is his girl standing between them, their heads going back and forth with hopeful but clearly stoned looks. "You guys are from Metallica right? Can we--"

And while Kirk grins--maybe it's fake, he can't tell--he blocks them out and yells for another fucking drink. Another kind of vodka.

He pretends he can't hear anyone over the noise of the music and the pounding in his head and in his chest for the rest of the night. He pretends the hurt, the strange weight inside is due to those murmurs. Or something worse.

The woman behind the counter stopped eyeing Kirk. She looks like she's reading Lars's mind--or trying to. Then she asks with some kind of pout, "Your girlfriend dumped you?"

He thinks about explaining at first, how nobody dumped him and that nobody sure as hell isn't female, then can hear himself calling James his girlfriend. His laugh is near hysterical. James is his girlfriend. A girlfriend with constant PMS. Ha ha ha.

Kirk is nice enough to call him a cab as soon as he's finally calming down.

Lars mumbles all the way to the hotel, looking at the rapidly passing city lights. He crosses the hall and the corridors stumbling pathetically. The hotel doors all look the same, but he knows where his room is.

Yes, he does.

There, the one with the blurry numbers. It's the door he has to open, and he knows it. His room.
Edited by Jungleland, March 2, 2011, 2:38 pm.
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Scorpion Flower
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Outlaw Torn
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Ui...His room... :biggrin I like the sound of that, I smell his room is another room. :lol:
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