Jason☹️ JASSSONNNN☹️☹️😭😭☹️ Jason.. Jassson.. Ja… Jaasson….jason… Jasoooonnn..

Jason☹️ JASSSONNNN☹️☹️😭😭☹️ jason.. jassson.. ja… jaasson….jason… Jasoooonnn.. JASON☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ JAAAAAASOOOONNH☹️☹️☹️☹️😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭☹️

results of the last poll:

since it was a tie there’s gonna be a second poll :)

results of the second poll:

okay thanks I’m gonna go write now

Tags

n3wstxd

8 notes View Post

n3wstxd

8 months ago

hii, could you please write about dave/lars rough sex or hatesex? something like putting lars in his place, yk. thank you!

𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐄/𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐒 - 𝐀𝐜𝐭 𝐔𝐩

warnings: anal sex, rough sex, hate sex, no prep, degradation, choking, brief violence, no aftercare, brat taming (?)

thanks for the wonderful idea anon! didn’t know I needed this in my life

nsfw under the cut :)

Megadeth and Metallica are playing the same music festival—things have been cordial between Dave and the rest of the band, but Lars has been doubling over on his bitchiness disguised as wanting to “reconcile”. Dave’s getting tired of it, even as he puts on a tough front.

And they’re soon alone in a room. Lars said he wanted to talk, smiling at him from across the room sardonically.

Dave rolls his eyes at Lars' mocking smile. Lars has been nothing but a thorn in Dave's side lately, and he's grown tired of his antics.

His ex was a handful to deal with, and his attempts at “reconciliation” were really just mean-spirited words with second meanings and sugared smiles. He doesn’t know how that new guy Jason would deal with them—hell, he’s heard that the poor lad’s been hazed. Maybe he should call him sometime—but not now.

Dave steps closer to Lars, the anger in his eyes palpable, "Lars, what's your problem man? Why you gotta be such a dick all the time?"

“I don’t have a problem, Dave.”

"Oh, really?" Dave scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest, "Then why do you keep throwing those damn snide remarks my way? You think it's funny to mess with me like this?"

“You’re the one who keeps reacting to them.”

"Cause they're annoying!" Dave snaps, his voice rising. "Why can't you just leave me alone instead of poking and prodding all the time?"

“Be the bigger man.” Lars drawls, that snarky look in his eye. He’s tempted to smack him silly…

Dave grits his teeth, Lars's words only serving to stoke the fire of his temper. "I already am, you fucking fairy.” “Call me that again,” says the harmless kitten to the ferocious tiger.

“I’ll call you whatever the hell I want, fairy.” Dave scornfully spits, getting up in Lars’ personal space.

Lars uses the flat side of his palm to push the hollow of Dave’s shoulder socket. “Go fuck yourself. Still bitter we broke up and I left you for Kirk?” Dave stumbles a few steps back from the push, rubbing his shoulder. "Please, you're one to talk," he shoots back, a bitter edge to his voice. "I'm not the one who ended things to go chase after some long-haired pretty boy."

He can't help but feel a pang of bitterness with the words, the memories of their break up still fresh in his mind. It had been a messy affair, and Dave had taken it hard. He knew he shouldn’t let Lars get under his skin like this, but sometimes it’s hard to hold back.

"Maybe if you had more to offer, I wouldn't have left your sorry ass." Lars shoots back, a smug smile on his lips.

Dave's eyes narrowed at the smirk on Lars's lips. "I’d leave you for Kirk too. Pretty little thing.” Lars’ green eyes narrow to hear slits, throwing his hair over his shoulder.

“Talk about my man again. Do it.”

Dave raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, did I strike a nerve? You get all possessive when it comes to your little guitar boy toy? I could take him from you any day. It’s not like you’re packing down there anyway."

Lars grits his teeth, coming up into Dave’s face. “Keep his name out your dirty mouth.”

Dave leans in, not backing down from the challenge, "Why? Are you worried I'll steal your precious little Kirk? Or is it the other way around? Maybe he's already eyeing his next guitar daddy."

He can see the irritation mounting in Lars’ face, and Dave can't help but revel in how easy it is to get under his skin. It's obvious Lars has a soft spot when it comes to Kirk, and Dave knows how to press all the right buttons.

Lars grabbed the collar of Dave’s shirt in his curled fist, dragging Dave down to his height so that they were nose-to-nose. “You really know how to make someone fucking mad. This is why you were booted from the band.”

Dave felt his temper flare as Lars grabbed his collar, yanking him down. He returned the glare, meeting Lars's eyes without faltering.

"Oh, spare me the high and mighty act," He snapped back. "You only kicked me out cause you knew I was a better musician than you’d ever be."

Lars’ fist curls—he just might swing and ruin Dave’s stupidly pretty face. Dave sees the fury in Lars's eyes, and he doesn't back down, even as he braces for the impending punch. Instead, he sneers, "Hit me. I dare you."

“You really asking for it?” Lars asks, his arm tensing as he draws it back in preparation to smack that smug look off Dave’s face. The ginger holds his ground, the smirk on his lips refusing to waver. “Come on. Do it. Show your fragile little ego at its finest.”

Lars’ lips twist into a snarl, and he really just might knock Dave silly. Dave's heart thumps in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He braces for the impact, knowing better than to back down now.

"What's the matter, fairy? Can't handle a little challenge?"

And Lars’ fist meets the side of his face. It’s a lot stronger than he expected, but he’s felt worse.

The blow lands hard, Dave's head snapping to the side with the force. He stumbles a couple steps back, hand coming up to his cheek instinctively.

"Is that all you've got?" Dave sneers, spitting out a bit of blood from where his teeth had dug into his lip.

The tension-filled couple of days leading up to their conflict had built up to this very moment—Lars and Dave moved from throwing words to punches. As the anger and tension between the two reached its boiling point, words turned into blows, and the fight escalated.

Dave lunged at Lars, throwing another punch aimed at his face. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed in the air as he made contact, his knuckles aching from the impact.

Lars’ head snaps to the side, and his skin is quick to redden, showing off the force of Dave’s fist with his cheekbone. He’s sure there’s a bruise forming as he turns back to face Dave, and he reaches for Dave’s longer hair to yank at.

Dave lets out a pained cry as Lars grabbed a fistful of his hair. Instinctively, he reaches up to grab hold of Lars's hand, trying to free his hair from the other man's ruthless grip.

"You're a real cocksucker, you know that?" Dave grits out through clenched teeth, his eyes filled with uncensored rage. He reached out, remembering the one move that made Lars drop anything he was doing.

He reached forward and roughly pinched his nipples, hard.

Lars automatically released his grip on Dave’s hair, letting out a half-yelp-half-moan.

Dave couldn't help but smirk as Lars released his hair, feeling a rush of triumph at the sound that escapes the man's lips. It's the reaction he was looking for, and he leans in with a taunting edge to his voice.

"You still whimper like a girl when I do that, huh?"

Lars’ face was red in embarrassment and anger—Dave always played dirty.

Dave's smirk grew wider as he saw the redness on Lars's face—it was a combination of embarrassment and anger, a reaction he had grown all too familiar with.

"Still can't handle a little pinch, huh?" Dave teases, his voice dripping with condescension.

He considers his options, and he has nothing else to loose, so in a swift motion, Lars grabs Dave’s hair in an iron grip and smashes their lips together.

Dave lets out a surprised noise as Lars grips his hair and pulls him into a rough, bruising kiss. The shock only lasts a moment, though, and then he's responding in kind, meeting Lars's aggression with his own hunger.

Their mouths mash together, all teeth and raw aggression. It's hard to tell who's in control, who's dominating this kiss, but one thing's for sure—there's no lack of passion, no lack of intensity.

Dave claws at Lars’ shirt, blunt nails raising red lines across the skin of his back. Lars has a tight hold on Dave’s hair, keeping him against his mouth. Being a little cunt, he even bites down hard on Dave’s tongue, sending tiny tears into Dave’s eyes.

Dave can't help but wince as Lars bites down hard on his tongue, the sharp pain drawing out a grunt of protest. But he doesn't pull away, doesn't back down, instead he responds with a tug on Lars's bottom lip, his teeth sinking in harder.

He's clawing at the fabric of Lars's shirt, his nails leaving red lines on the skin of the man's back. The heat between them is almost palpable, raw and fierce.

Lars pulls away for a moment—his lips are red and saliva-slick, but he doesn’t care. Dave backs him into a wall, larger frame looking over him as he feels the ginger bite and suck at his skin with as much vigour as a rabid dog.

Dave has Lars in a firm, almost possessive grip, his lean figure caging the shorter man against the hard surface. He's biting and sucking at Lars's skin with a voracious passion, the taste of the man's flesh and the feel of it beneath his teeth driving him wild.

He's pressing closer, every line of their bodies melded together. Lars might try to dominate, but Dave has something to prove.

Lars groans, his fingers wrapping around Dave’s neck. Not enough to cut off airflow, but to send a message.

Dave can feel the tight grip around his neck, Lars's fingers encircling his flesh in a gesture that's both sensual and commanding. He responds with a guttural noise, both a protest and a thrill.

The pressure against his throat stirs something primal in him, a need for control, but also a hint of excitement. He responds by pressing down against Lars, grinding his body against his, their hips aligned, their muscles taut.

Lars moans, his thumbs caressing the sides of Dave’s neck, pressing down on his carotid arteries. It’s enough o make Dave’s head spin hazily and for his aching hardness to increase.

Dave's skin tingles at the touch of Lars's thumbs along the sides of his neck, a moan escaping his lips as the pressure increases. His head feels light, and he can feel his body responding to the touch, heat pooling in his groin and a dizzying rush of sensation coursing through him.

"You little prick," he grits out, the words low and ragged, "You're playing dirty."

“You’d know a lot about that, wouldn’t you?” He drawls, taking advantage of Dave’s closeness to grind his teeth down on Dave’s lower lip.

"Can't help it you like it dirty,” Dave retorts, his voice a low growl. The bite on his lip makes his breath catch in his throat, a jolt of pleasure mixed with pain running through him.

He tightens his grip on Lars, pulling the man even closer—their bodies are flush, the heat between them almost overwhelming. He responds by retaliating with equal enthusiasm, his hand moving down to palming the growing tent in Lars’ jeans.

Lars sucks in a breath, the brunette pressing a little bit harder on Dave’s throat.

Dave feels the squeeze on his throat intensifies, drawing out a gasp from his lips. The lack of oxygen is doing something to his brain, making him delirious with need. His hips jerks forward, seeking friction.

He can't take his eyes off Lars, the look in the man's eyes that's both dangerous and arousing. "Keep that up, and I'll make you beg like a dog."

“I can choke you out.” Lars drawls, and the threat sounds pathetic.

Dave lets out an annoyed huff, trying to ignore the arousal the words provoke, the image they paint in his mind. "You can try.”

Lars sneers, and Dave moved them away from the wall over to a nearby table—the door is locked and the room is safely isolated from anyone else. Dave slams Lars’ chest down on the table, making him bend at the hips.

There's a fierce look in Dave's eye as he stands behind Lars, hands roughly grabbing his hips to hold him in place.

Lars winced as his chest hit the table, and he feels a strong hand pin his neck down flat, another undoing his fly with practised ease. Dave takes a moment to admire the sight of Lars bent over the table, pinned beneath his grip. His fingers move nimbly, working on the button and zipper of the man's jeans.

"You've really pushed my buttons," he mutters, his voice thick with irritation and desire.

“Boo Hoo.” Lars bites back, looking up at Dave through the corner of his eye. "Don't get smart, you little piece of shit." Dave responds, digging his nails cruelly into the flesh of Lars's hips. "You brought this on yourself."

“You gonna shut up and fuck me or are your panties still in a twist?” Lars snarks, unflinching at the bite of Dave’s nails.

The taunt sparks a flare of annoyance in Dave, as if Lars's words were an extra push on a sensitive nerve.

"Watch your mouth," he warns, delivering a sharp slap across Lars's bare ass. "I'm not taking your smart-ass attitude, got it?" Lars moans, enjoying the sting that came with the smack. The ginger hated Lars with a passion, but god did he love taming that stupid little brat.

Dave can see the effect his slap has on Lars, the way he moans and arches his back slightly. Dave knows it's a dangerous game they're playing, the line between pain and pleasure is razor thin, but the fact that he can get under Lars's skin like this is too good to pass up.

His hand comes down again, this time with more force, making the sound echo loudly in the small, secluded room.

Lars groans louder, and he turns his head back, needing to egg Dave on to fuck him with another statement. “Course’ you know how to smack someone—bet you do it all the time with Junior..”

Dave's face twists in annoyance. Lars's mention of Junior is a low blow, and it hits the target. The man isn't playing fair, but Dave isn't above dirty tricks himself.

"You know how to push my buttons," he growls, leaning down so that he's close to Lars's ear. His teeth graze the flesh of Lars's earlobe as he speaks. "Don’t fuckin’ say his name ever again."

There's a possessive edge to his voice, a hint of a threat behind his words. Dave won't stand for talk of his precious bassist, Junior, in their moments together. It's a line he won't allow Lars to cross.

Despite giving the warning, Dave doesn't want to focus on that right now, he's already pushed to the limit of his patience and there's something else that needs his attention. His hands grab at the waist of Lars's jeans, tugging them roughly further down to his ankles.

A tingle of excitement shoots up Lars’ spine, and he feels Dave’s hands move off him. Dave takes a moment to admire the sight of Lars, half-undressed and bent over the table waiting for him. He reaches for the bottle of lube he keeps in his pocket, opening it up with a snap.

"Lift your hips a little higher," he instructs, his voice rough.

“Make me.”

Dave's nostrils flare at Lars's defiant tone. The little brat is trying his patience, but he can't deny that his defiance only makes him more eager to take him down a peg.

"You're really asking for it, aren't you," he retorts, his hands moving to grasp Lars's hips, pushing up on them so that his ass is angled up. "You're a real pain in the ass, you know that? Should do you raw for that.."

Lars considers holding back on the snark—he’d rather not be bleeding from his ass the next few days. But he knows Dave isn’t that cruel…he thinks. The older man has a hand on his hips, bruisingly tight in his vice grip.

Dave can feel the tension between them crackling in the air. He's on the edge, and the thought of taking Lars rough and unprepared is a temptation. But he knows where the line is, knows not to cross it.

"You think I won't do it, don't you" He mutters, challenging tone in his voice.

“You won’t.” Lars says so superbly smug.

Dave growls, the stubbornness in Lars's voice fueling his annoyance. "You're sure of yourself, aren't you? You think you know me so well?” He’s determined to prove Lars wrong, so he takes it upon himself to do the bare minimum, to make sure it hurt.

There's a pause as Dave uncaps the bottle of lube, squeezing a generous amount onto his hand, slicking up his cock. He’s not going to be nice, not a single bit.

Dave lines himself up with Lars. The Dane pauses. “Hey, wait—“

"What, have you changed your mind now?" Dave taunts, his hands still on Lars's hips, holding him in place. He doesn’t wait for Lars before he’s pushing in.

A squeal of pain escapes Lars, his eyes blown wide. He’s not prepped, so the discomfort increases tenfold.

Dave cruelly snaps his hips forward into Lars, fisting his brown waves and forcing his head up. Lars, ever a slut for pain, moans and whimpers pathetically.

“Stop—slow down!” Lars protests. Dave leans down to growl in Lars’ ear, “You ask me to stop like you hate it. I know you’re a fucking slut for pain, you masochist.”

Lars’ cheeks and ass burn, one from embarrassment and the other from the stretch. The derogatory words somehow arouse him even further, the burning in his loins spiking, electric currents snaking up his spine.

Dave’s violently rutting into Lars like his life depended on it, ruthlessly hitting the younger man’s prostate dead-on. The burning stretch in his hole and the jolts of pleasure mix together in a mind-melting combination, and Lars can’t help but whine whorishly.

Drilling into him with such vigour, Dave knows his thighs will be sore tomorrow, but he doesn’t really care. All that matters is fucking Lars till he can’t walk and leaving him like that.

Maybe it’d teach him a lesson on being a cunt.

Dave’s hand lets go of Lars’ hair and moves to wrap his rough hand around the small expanse of Lars’ throat. The bastard whines when Dave pressed down on his carotids, lack of blood flowing to his brain doubling the pleasure he was drowning in.

Dave uses his neck as a small leverage as he brutally pistons his hips, his girthy cock splitting Lars into two. Dave grunts into Lars’ ear, his nails biting into the delicate skin of the Dane’s neck, littered with hickeys and rough bites.

“Do you whore yourself out to anyone who’ll take you? I’m sure James has fucked you at least once, Kirk definitely does, and maybe that Jason kid too. You this much of a slut for all of ‘em?” Dave mocks, hand squeezing tighter around Lars’ neck.

He thinks that his neck might snap, but his mind is going fuzzy and his vision is blurring out every few seconds. Somehow, the intense choking makes his orgasm crash down on him like bricks, splattering the concrete a milky white as his own vision fades to black.

The shorter man seizes around Dave every few seconds, the ginger’s climax building as his balls draw tight. With the consistent fluttering of Lars around him, Dave tightens his hold, and shoots his load deep in the confines of Lars’ ass.

He stands there, hunched over the younger man for a few seconds. Then he pulls out and releases Lars, wiping the come off his cock onto the boy’s shirt. He tucks himself back into his pants and zips himself up, leaving an unconscious Lars bent over and used on the table, come dripping down his thighs, walking out the room, whistling, as if that never happened.

Tags

dave mustaine lars ulrich n3wstxd

17 notes View Post

n3wstxd

4 months ago

𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒/𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐄 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐀 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

I’m back!! Yippee!! Yay!!

warnings: anal sex, first time bottoming, strap-ons, pegging, crying (very mild), overstimulation, trans James Hetfield :)

When James had first pitched the idea of pegging Dave, the older man had brushed off the comments like it was nothing more than a whisper in the wind. He had assumed that it was just curiosity, an interest that would blow over soon enough. Of course, he didn’t realise that his indifference would lead to the blonde becoming even more adamant on trying it.

Every time James had a chance, their conversation would stray towards Dave getting on his back for him, and his consistent pushing for them to try it psyched Dave out. He couldn’t possibly imagine James, who wouldn’t know a thing about fucking someone, even be able to last more than a minute before tiring out. Then again, the man was always full of surprises, but Dave was insistent on keeping his ass untouched. James chalked it up to his ego not allowing himself to get topped, something along those lines.

"No. I swear to god, James, I swear to-"

Dave cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could hear James’ persistent rambling again at his side, something about just trying it out and it feeling good, that he should try it once with him at the very least. The more annoyed he got, the more stubborn James got, and it was a cycle that frustrated the hell out him.

"James, you have to listen to me!" Dave finally blurted out, in a moment of irritation, looking over to his side. Blazing hazel eyes are filled with exasperation, and yet, James is unrelenting, determined to have a taste of Dave at his mercy.

"You're too soft," James pointed out, his smirk devious as Dave shot him another fed-up glare, "Too scared to even try something new." He knew fully well how that would irk Dave and his ego, how he’d prided himself on being sexually flexible and yet wouldn't allow himself to take it up the ass.

"What makes you think I would even enjoy it?" Dave tried to keep his voice steady, speaking defensively, despite how his heart had begun to race at the mere thought of it. James had a tendency to rile him up, despite his best efforts to not give in to what he said. The man always found a way to get at him, whether it was something as big as this, or a simple jab at his guitar playing.

"What's there to not enjoy about it?" James asked, feigning cluelessness. “I enjoy it lots when you fuck me—no difference.” “There is a difference, James. A very big one.” The blonde scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, pish-posh. What, you won’t let me fuck you because I don’t have a dick? Is that it?”

Immediately, Dave puts his hands up in surprise and defensiveness. “Hey, that’s not what I meant—”

"What DID you mean then? Am I not enough for you? You want a real man to top you?" James pushed, not moving his eyes from the ginger’s now terribly alarmed ones, putting on a disgruntled expression. He knew exactly how to ruffle Dave's feathers, to get a reaction out of him. He always relished in the way his bandmate would stutter under his gaze, how he'd struggle to keep his voice steady, or his expression neutral. It was all too easy to push Dave over the edge, a fact that James knew all too well. He'd always enjoyed seeing the ginger squirm when his tongue was sharp and his tone was harsh, making him all flushed and tongue-tied. Just like now.

"You idiot! You know you are, alright? Don’t put words in my mouth. I just don’t want to, okay?" He huffed, pulling his gaze away to stare at the ground. Dammit. He couldn't help the heat pooling in his gut, and while the thought did excite him, he was less than eager to go through with it.

"You're so damn stubborn, y'know that?" James murmured, taking a step closer to Dave. Hazel eyes roamed his face, studying his mannerisms and facial expressions intently. The heat in his gut was growing, his own excitement beginning to get the best of him, yet he still tried to hold onto some sense and reasoning.

"I just-" Dave trailed off, his voice cracking, his walls crumbling. Curse James, he always knew how to get what he wanted. "I don't think I'd like it…"

"And how would you know?" James retorted, his tone filled with a mix of frustration and amusement. "You haven't tried it. Why are you so scared of trying it?" He was really trying to test Dave, pestering him with endless questions, seeing how far he could get.

"I'm not scared...it's just...it's not something I want to try." Dave tried to keep his voice firm in spite of the way James could so easily get past all his defences. He can hear the pathetic waver in his voice, and so can James. The latter’s grin spreads, knowing that he has the older man backed into a corner.

"Come on," James began, his tone growing softer. "I'll be gentle with you. Please...?" His fingers gently traced the other man's jawline. "If you don’t like it, we can stop. I promise. Cross my heart.”

Dave was trying to remain steadfast, but all at once, his resolve was dissolving, weakening. He wanted this, wanted to try it, to ease the gnawing curiosity at the back of his mind, but he couldn't bear to relinquish his control. Eventually, he lets out a reluctant huff, eyes falling in defeat. "Fine," he grumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. His willpower was shattering at every moment—it's all too obvious to the blonde. "But you'd better be careful. If not, God so help me, James..."

"Don't worry, I will be," James assured, giving Dave that familiar gummy smile. Inwardly, he was rejoicing—he'd finally won. He'd finally, finally gotten his egotistic, stubborn, prideful partner to submit to his whims. He'd always wanted to try it, he just didn't have Dave on the same page as him.

Calloused fingers were still tracing the outline of the guitarist’s jaw, gently rubbing his thumbs along his plush lower lip. The thought of that mouth being on him—God, it was driving James insane already. But he restrains himself, tossing his guitar off his lap and dragging Dave off the couch.

"Come on," James urged as he leads Dave to the bedroom, the latter's heart pounding in his chest. He'd only had a fleeting imagination of this moment, but now that it was actually happening, it felt surreal—dreamlike. He was so focused on not stepping on his own feet that he'd almost forgotten to take a moment to glance at Dave. When he finally does, powder-blue eyes rake over the older man, taking in the way he fidgets under his intense gaze. Nervous and not as confident as he usually was—he looked like a wet cat, and James couldn't help the low hum that left his throat.

God, he couldn’t wait to bend him over.

“Wait—now?” Dave is quick to speak up, but all he manages after is an incoherent string of consonants. James can't help the chuckle that breaks out of his lips, watching as Dave scrambles to gather his words. He's all too eager to see the other man fall apart, watching him squirm under his gaze.

"Yeah, now," the blonde replied, a smirk tugging at his lips, "I've been thinking about it for too long now. It's time, don't you think?" In James language, that meant ‘I bought it a long time ago and was just waiting for the right moment.’ He leans back, giving Dave the chance to collect his thoughts before they’re fucked out of him.

Dave's deepen in a few shades of red, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest. "You've been…planning this or something-?" He asks, his voice coming out more like a squeak than he'd intended. He'd like to pretend he wasn't curious, wasn't even a little bit drawn to the idea, but he was. He always had been, somewhat.

"For...for how long?”

James grins, amused by Dave’s flustered state. "Months," he admits, leaning back against the headboard as Dave stands in front of him, eyes darting around his room desperately, trying to avoid his stare. "Ever since Lars first mentioned it that one time." It’d been such a throwaway comment, a simple joke between the two men that had discovered something deep within himself. When Lars had casually mentioned it, a spark was lit in James. He'd been dying to try it ever since, pushing the idea onto Dave at any given chance.

Dave swallows thickly, his gaze slowly trailing back to James, taking in the sight of him—so laid back and composed, as if they were talking about the weather. Dave was a bundle of nerves, the exact opposite of his friend. A shiver of anticipation runs through his body, and he fidgets with his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric anxiously.

James doesn’t waste a moment to get himself naked, revealing those mesmerising scars that run under his pecs that Dave always loved to trace the pads of his fingers against. He just stares, watching each fluid movement with such an intensity that James was sure he could feel the heat of his gaze drift across his body.

In a few hasty and graceful movements, James was already shedding his clothes and tossing them aside. Dave's eyes were glued to his friend's body, his gaze roving over the familiar expanse of pale skin. Dave, on the other hand, felt almost self conscious, like he was a blushy virgin all over again as he slowly started to strip, fingers trembling as he pulls off each piece of clothing one by one.

While Dave fumbled with his clothes, James was digging out a box hidden under clothes in their closet, a mauve colour and glossy like a magazine.

Once Dave had finally stripped himself naked, James was already sat down on the bed, the box neatly placed beside him, watching as Dave approached the bed hesitantly. still feeling all too shy to look the blonde in the eye. He's never felt so flustered in front of him, and James was doing his best to not make any other sound besides a hum of approval.

The ginger has never, ever been so timid, not even in his worst moments, and he himself wasn’t quite sure why he was acting like this. He hates it. He’s supposed to be the one making James all flustered and embarrassed. Relinquishing his control is an unfamiliar feeling, and it makes him feel weak. Like he has no control over whatever happens next.

And he can’t help but wonder, is this how James always feels with him?

"C'mere, sit down." James cooed, patting the spot next to him. His voice was gentle and soft, in stark contrast to Dave's nerves. The guitarist had never been so submissive in his life, and it was a huge turn on to James. He was used to the usual flirty banter, to the teasing he got used to, but this time he had Dave on the backpedal.

The box lays open on James’ lap, and the sight is rather daunting to Dave. There’s the typical leather harness, plain, with a few studded square rivets along the length of the straps. Then, there’s the dildo itself, deep violet—a colour that James had always taken a liking to. It was quite similar in size to Dave, perhaps a little less girthy, but still impressive nonetheless. Knowing his own size, he knows that it’s going to hurt, and when he looks at James with a wide-eyed expression, the blonde merely shrugs with a stupid grin.

Dave takes a tentative seat beside his friend, trying not to fidget as he stares at the box with a mixture of interest and trepidation. The sight of the different pieces inside is somewhat intimidating, and while he was excited, he was also nervous. His eyes flit to James, and when he sees that annoyingly nonchalant expression, a shudder runs down his spine.

"You…you really think it'll fit?" He asks, voice coming out as a strangled whisper, almost a squeak that he can't seem to control.

"I…we'll make it." James says, a gentle reassurance that makes Dave want to either roll his eyes or shudder in arousal. He glances down at the box again, eyes lingering on the purple toy with an almost hungry look, a shiver coming from the pit of his stomach. "That thing's big." Is all Dave manages to get out, voice low and somewhat strained. “Not too much of a difference from your dick.” James pats Dave’s shoulder like this is all so normal, as if they were talking about the weather. Dave hates how James is so unbothered, like he’s done this a million times.

Dave can't help the small gasp that gets caught in his throat, feeling his face grow hot at James' blunt words, but he tries to brush it off, keeping his gaze on the toy. "Stop it." He mutters gruffly, swallowing hard as he tries to keep his breathing steady.

His heart is pounding in his chest, his body heating up. He's both anxious and aroused, and he can't help but shiver as the tips of his fingers trace the soft ridges at the base of the toy, along the faux veins.

Then, quick as lightning, yanks his hand away like he’s touched hot coals, electricity sparking up his fingertips. It's stupid, acting like he’s never touched a dick before. And yet, this was the first time he would have one in him.

"Stop what?" James asks, feigning innocence, as if he's not trying to rile Dave up. He knows damn well what he's doing, he can see the way his friend's face flushes, and the way his fingers twitch with impatience at his sides. His own eyes roam over Dave's body hungrily, taking in every twitch, every shiver.

"I'm not doing anything." He mutters innocently, although the way his voice drops half an octave in a gravelly tone is anything but. Dave scoffs, rolling his eyes yet again. Gunmetal eyes take the sight in, eager to make them roll back in another way other than annoyance.

“Shut up and do what you have to already.” “Impatient, are we?” James teases, lips quirking up into another smile. He slides the box off his lap, making sure to take the bottle of lube out of it before. He settles himself to sit with his legs folded on the bed, beckoning Dave forward onto his lap.

With Dave’s legs spread, his broad back resting against James’ chest, the latter runs his hands up and down smooth, muscular thighs. Sure, Dave’s fingered James loads of times—he was no stranger to it—but the thought of doing it to himself was unnerving. The sound of a bottle cap opening echoes through the silent room, James coating his fingers in a more than generous amount of lube. A warm hand rests on Dave’s stomach, just shy of his cock, the other reaching between his legs. He gulps—there’s no turning back from this once it’s done.

He can't even bring himself to look, eyes fluttering shut, his hands clenching and unclenching, trying to keep himself under control despite the growing anxiety that was making itself very apparent. “Relax,” James chides, giving his thigh a gentle squeeze in reassurance.

"Easier said than done," Dave murmurs under his breath, his cheeks flushed. He feels a shiver run down his spine at the sound of James' voice, and his body instinctively tries to relax. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to lay more lax against his friend, his voice coming out a whisper. "Just…be careful."

"Don't worry, I will be," James assures, his tone softening, and his hand on Dave's stomach rubs a circle. His other hand gives a firm pat on Dave's inner thigh, coaxing him to spread his legs even wider, and Dave does so obediently, a soft gasp escaping. "That's it," He coos, encouraging in a gentle tone, almost like he was a mother soothing a child.

Shaky sighs escape Dave's lips, his breath catching as James caresses his skin, a flutter of nerves and excitement in his stomach. He tries to spread his legs more, but he's already as far open as he can get, and he's still trembling like some damn virgin. As he’s about to speak, a finger dips past his hole, plunging deep into him without warning. A strangled gasp escapes Dave, his blunt nails digging tiny crescents into James’ thigh. His face scrunches up, unused to the sensation. The blonde’s finger moves around a little, as if searching for something, his index curling and uncurling in ways that had Dave sucking in sharp breaths.

"Shh..." James soothes, his mouth brushing up against his ear, lips lightly grazing against the shell of the older man's ear. A quiet chuckle makes its way through his throat, amused at Dave's reaction. "Relax, stop clenching so hard." He murmurs, his voice quiet. Dave shudders, hands still digging into James’ thighs with such force, there might be bruises tomorrow.

"You're the one who's doing this—how the hell do you expect me to relax when you're sticking your finger up my ass?" Dave mutters, his words coming out strangled and breathless. He feels so out of control right now; he's never felt so vulnerable in his life and it's making him dizzy with anxiety. He's not used to not being in charge—the feeling of helplessness is absolutely maddening. "I can't...I can't just-"

"I have every damn reason to feel as vulnerable as you do," James growls in his ear, his tone taking a slightly harsher edge. His index and middle finder begin to work his boyfriend open, the sound of Dave’s ragged breathing filling the silence. "God, listen to yourself. You're rambling. You're acting like some sort of nervous bride."

The ginger squeezes his eyes shut, feeling James scissor and spread his fingers, drawing little groans and whines from him. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before, being stretched out, a strange sensation that he can’t see himself getting used to. Searching fingers prod against that spongey ball of nerves deep inside Dave, sending currents of pleasure up his spine, a loud and unintentional whimper ripping from his throat. His dick jolts, spurting precome across the expanse of his chest.

"God, James," Dave gasps, the sound of his voice a strangled sob, almost a cry, when the blonde gets three fingers in. "Stop tensing up, you need to relax, baby." "I'm not—I'm not trying to. It's—ah, ah, it's—” His words come out in a choked series of garbled sounds, and his head falls back against his bandmate’s shoulder, his fingers digging into the bed covers. James gives a smug hum, knowing that he’s found Dave’s prostate, focusing on that spot with unyielding fingers. The older man squirms and writhes, pathetic pleads for James to stop his relentless assault and give him a break going ignored.

"Look how responsive you are," James goads, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, voice smug and pleased that he’s reduced Dave to this quivering mess. He knows he should feel guilty—Dave is not at all used to being dominated and it shows. But god, the look on his face, the sound of his moans and whimpers. It's driving the singer crazy. "I thought you were a big man. Strong, tough." He leans his mouth to Dave’s ear, sucking on the lobe in a way that he knows drives him insane. "I thought you were so stoic, unbothered. And yet, you’re whining like a girl from a little bit of fingering.”

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," Dave gasps out, his breath coming out in short, jagged pants. He can't believe how right the older man is; this feels so embarrassing. He's supposed to be strong, dominant—yet here he is, a quivering and squirming mess just from a couple of fingers and a bit of tongue to his ear. "I—ah—I'm not whining," His protests sound weak to his own ears, and a strong hand grips James’ forearm, fingers wrapping around the limb as James’ fingers curled in him. Dave's terribly embarrassed by the filthily wet sounds that James' fingers make as they plunge in and out of him, lube smearing all across his inner thighs.

"Yeah, you are," James shoots back, his voice dripping with an amused amusement that only serves to rile Dave up further.

The teasing is starting to get boring, so James ups the ante, starting by pulling his fingers out, Dave’s cock twitching limply on his chest in its own little puddle of precome. The guitarist sighs, feeling the absence of James’ fingers with a loss of warmth and a newer, harsh cold emptiness.

Dave sucks in a breath, his chest heaving as he tries to steady his ragged breathing, trying to find the strength to form coherent words, his mind still hazy with the sensation of James' fingers still lingering inside him. He swallows hard, trying to push back the thoughts of embarrassment at how overwhelmed he feels, trying not to make a fool of himself. Sliding Dave off his lap, James eyes the plum-coloured box, eager to test his little toy. The ginger watches as James reaches for the box, heart pounding a frantic rhythm. It feels as though his entire body is buzzing, every nerve ending on fire with unmet need.

"Are you excited?" The guitarist asks, his voice low and sultry, an edge of dark humor lacing his words. He watches Dave’s face as the other man struggles to regain his bearings and regain the capacity to form words. "Don’t look so damn scared. It's just a toy."

"Shut up, it's not that," Dave mutters, feeling his face heat up as he struggles to regain his composure, his gaze focused on the box and the ominous purple strap-on inside. "I'm not scared. Just...just nervous. That's all." He can't meet the other man's eye, almost offended by the insinuation that he's scared of a small purple toy.

"Nervous?" James chuckles, his eyes flickering over the other man's face, the way his cheeks flush, how he won't meet his eyes. "You don't need to be nervous, c'mon." Dave shifts, letting out another huff of breath in frustration, and this time it's an amused huff, a hint of a laugh. "What are you gonna tell the guys?"

"Nothing," Dave mutters in response, not wanting to think of them right now. "I'm not gonna tell them a damn thing." "God, are you embarrassed or what?" James teases, lifting the toy out of the box, inspecting it.

"No," Dave replies firmly, his ego bruised. "I'm not embarrassed. It's just...I don't know. It's kind of intimate, is all. I'm not telling them. Never, in a million years." He averts his gaze again, trying to sound nonchalant; his voice holds just a hint of defensiveness to it. After all, they were close, but still, secrets are secrets.

"You're getting awfully uptight over a little toy," James teases, holding the toy up in front of the other man's face, his eyes narrowing in amusement. "It's just a toy, it's not that bad. It's not like we're going to tell the guys. What, do you think Lars would get jealous? I'm pretty sure Cliff’s seen something like this before anyway."

A flicker of irritation crosses Dave's face. "Don't...don't bring them into it," he mutters, averting his gaze. "It's not...it's not even about 'intimacy', it's just...it's just weird. The idea that I'm just...letting you do this to me."

James laughs, an amused smirk playing on his face. "Jesus, it's not that weird, man. Don't make it into something it's not. I just think this could be fun, and I've seen you get 'weird' with plenty of girls." He teases. "What's the difference, with me?" "I—Well—" Dave splutters, his cheeks darkening. "It's a little different. With girls, I feel more in control, and it's not like they're my bandmate. You're my best friend. It's not the same at all."

Another snort of laughter leaves James' lips. "You don't like it when you can't control the situation, do you?" He chuckles, the grip on the toy tightening. "You're a control freak, Dave. You can't handle not having all the power. It's your worst trait."

"I am not a control freak," Dave retorts defensively, tone tinged with the slightest bit of hostility. "I just...like to be in charge. It's how I've always been. I don't like not knowing what's going on, being left in the dark. It's uncomfortable."

"I know you don't," James says, a smirk playing on his lips as he studies Dave's face, taking in the flushed cheeks and the way he's trying so hard to appear cool and confident, even though the other man can see right through him. "You're not used to not being the one in charge. You're not used to not being the one with the power. I think it’s cute."

Dave's face flushes deeper, but he doesn't deny it. He'd always been a bit of a control freak. Being in power was a comfort to him. But the thought of letting go, of surrendering control, was unsettling. "You're pushing my buttons. Cut it out."

James gives a lamenting sigh, like Dave was his father telling him off. He stands and turns away from Dave, picking up the strap. Dave sucks in a harsh breath, unable to pull away as James fastens the strap to his hips and thighs. The dildo stands tall and proud, allowing Dave to take it all in with a less than enthusiastic grimace. The driver's pad of the strap was a vivid mix of surrealistic gold and violet swirls that reminded Dave of strange contemporary artworks.

"Get on your back." James all but commands, arms folded across the tanned expanse of his chest, a proud and smug little grin on his face that Dave so badly wanted to wipe off. Grumbling, the ginger complies, a little taken aback by James' authoritative tone. It was hard to believe this was the very same man that got stage fright whenever they would play a show. Okay, maybe it was a little hot to see jams in control, but that didn't mean he wanted a fucking dildo rearranging his guts.

Dave's hair fans out on the bedsheets like a warm fiery halo as he lies back, thighs still coated in a now drying layer of lube. James shuffles on the bed close enough to Dave that the strap was mere inches from the older man's cock. Dave's leg is thrown over James' shoulder, fisting the sheets as James squeezes out way too much lube onto his palm. Dave can't look away as James pumps his strap, slicking the silicone up until he's satisfied, before slipping a finger into Dave one last time just to tease.

"Get on with it," hisses Dave, and it draws a mirthful hum from James. "Impatient, are we? Don't worry, I'll give you exactly what you need." As Dave was about to follow up with a quip, he forgets all about what he was going to say when James grabs the base of the dildo, rubbing the tip of the at his soaked hole and guiding it in. Instantly, Dave tenses, chewing down on his lip as he feels himself being stretched wide over just the tip. "Shit, James-" He hisses, a hand reaching to James' chest to stop him from moving. "Deep breaths," James reminds, "and tell me when you're ready."

After a few moments, the guitarist reluctantly gives him the 'go-ahead' signal. Just when he thinks that maybe it isn't so bad, James pushes in a few inches, and holy fucking shit, he's so wet it fucking squelches.

Dave jerks, his body shying away from James, who laughs as he slides in a little further. His breathing is uneven and ragged despite his best attempts to get it under control, feeling like he's being split into two. "Relax, you're doing so good for me..." James purrs, fingers digging into the thigh that's propped up. "Jesus," Dave hisses, the stretch painful and foreign. Dave feels like every part of him is on fire, from the heat pooling in his gut to the unfamiliar ache between his thighs where he's trying to accommodate James. The more James pushes in, the more lube is pushed out to make way, dripping down in obscene rivulets onto the bedsheets. Each little thrust draws little gasps and groans, Dave's eyes screwed up as he finally takes the strap to the hilt, shuddering a breath as the pain and stretch make way for a new, strange pleasure.

And James, the little tease, traces a calloused finger around his stretched rim, smiling down at where they're connected.

A minute passes before Dave huffs, his eyes finally fluttering open. "Okay, you can-" Before Dave can actually finish his sentence, James all too eagerly pulls out and snaps his hips forward. Dave chokes on his words as James holds his hips in a near-bruising grip, beginning to fuck into him slow and hard. He can't filter himself, not when James is beaming down at him like he wasn't making Dave's eyes roll back from the force of his thrusts. They're slow but calculated to rub against his prostate, he wonders just how many times James must have done this.

"James--Jamie, please-!" Dave babbles, his toes curling as James pistons his hips into him, the dildo rubbing at his sweet spot with every unbearable movement. Any more of this relentless assault and Dave's brain would melt and ooze out of his ears, the simmering hotness in his belly becoming more like a burning flame. His neglected cock spurts a little precome with each roll of James' hips, dribbling down his length and pooling on his abdomen. "Fuck, Dave...you're so good for me. Just for me, right?" The blonde coos, kissing the side of his knee. "That's it, baby." James hoists Dave's other leg up over his shoulder, leaning down so that the man was nearly bent in half. "Fuck-!" Dave hisses, the James' strap rubbing against his prostate at an angle that made his mind numb. James takes on tentative thrust, another, one more, before he begins that thigh-quivering pace.

"Oh--oh-" Dave whines, a sound that has never, ever been heard by any of them. James stills, staring deep into Dave's eyes for a moment, before he ruts into Dave like he's never going to see him again.

Dave's face scrunches up, their breaths mingling, sweaty skin sliding against one another, moving his hands to dig into James' back. He's going to come soon, and James can sense it too, because he's angling his hips to meanly hit Dave's ball of nerves dead on with each thrust, hell-bent on making the older man come. He presses his body against Dave even more, folding Dave to fit his strap in deeper. Dave's stomach muscles quake, and his thighs ache from the position, but he's too far gone to care.

"James--oh god, I'm gonna-!"

Dave can feel the pleasure coiling him snap, and his orgasm comes right after, way too soon for both of them to react. It barrels through him so hard he can only manage a couple of garbled praises before he's covering his own chest with his come. James waits a few moments after Dave comes, letting the ginger come down from his high before he begins to snap his hips forward yet again. Dave clenches tight around the strap, hissing in oversensitivity.

"Wait, wait--" Dave cries, his cock twitching limply on his chest. James mercilessly fucks into him with that loving smile, holding Dave down tightly. Dave's still riding the aftershocks, which is becoming electricity in his belly. He can hear himself babbling curses and pleads for a rest, all going into deaf ears. James nails his prostate again and fuck, its unavoidable in this position, drawing pathetic little hiccupping cries as he blinks tears back. He can see James' twisted joy in seeing him so vulnerable, murmuring soft praises as Dave's second climax draws near. The thought of James just using him without much consideration for it being his first time is somehow incredibly hot to Dave, in spite of himself.

"JamesJamesJames--"

He can feel the pressure building up in his belly again, white-hot. His nails drag streaks down James' back again, and he's screwing his eyes shut, teeth clamping down on his lip before he's coming again, this time not explosive as the last. His dick weeps, come gathering on his belly, and he can barely hear James over the sound of his own breathing as he comes down from his own high. It's all a blur as James throws the dirtied blanket off the bed and wipes him clean with a washcloth. they're lying and facing each other, James bearing a shit eating grin Dave wants to smack off his face.

"You okay? Was it good?"

Dave scoffs, his usual attitude now back. "We're never doing this again, you hear me?"

James has a grin so cheeky it would put the Cheshire Cat to shame.

"Never say never."

Tags

dave mustaine james hetfield hetstaine metallica smut megadeth smut n3wstxd

38 notes View Post

n3wstxd

7 months ago

Hiiiii thank u for supporting my works! Could you do something with werewolf james and human jason? I’m thinking james bottoms and his claws scratch up jason’s back during sex.. so james, like the puppy he is, pleads with jason to lick the scratches better

𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍/𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 - 𝐓𝐢𝐥 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

warnings: mild blood, blood kink, scratching kink, wound licking, anal sex, rough sex, Jason’s too nice for his own good

okay wait you cooked with this req hold on

nsfw under the cut :)

Jason’s heavy breath ghosts against James’ sweaty neck, calloused hands gripping the blonde’s hips in a vice grip. Soft moans escape his lips, eyes screwed shut in concentration as he rams into James with reckless abandon, the younger man under him gutturally groaning.

Long legs wrap around his hips, bringing Jason ever closer to James, who has a hand tangled in the curly mess of Jason’s auburn hair.

Jason’s going easy on him—he’s always too tender and gentle when they have intimacy. Sometimes James has to remind the human that he’s not made of glass, that he wants him to push his limits.

With Jason’s soft touches, his gentle caresses and his tender nature it makes James’s mind fuzzy. He appreciates the tenderness Jason gives to him but sometimes it just is too much, James has to remind Jason that he won’t break, that he likes it rough at times.

“Harder,” James growls, his claws dragging up Jason’s back gently, as if egging him on.

“Please, c’mon,” James groans, arching his back, the sheets beneath him ruffled and crumpled, a mess from previous events. James feels Jason press a delicate kiss to his shoulder, and while he usually melts under his touch, right now he needs it rough, he wants to go hard.

Jason’s sweetness is starting to get on his nerves.

“Jason, please just-“ James begs softly. He’s desperate for his human to understand what he wants, he wants Jason to let loose, to just use him.

Jason seems to always be careful around him, he’s careful with his touches and his kissing, always being delicate and cautious. It’s starting to drive James insane with how soft he is being.

James groans in the back of his throat at yet another soft kiss on his shoulder, he’d never say any of this out loud for risk of Jason not understanding, but this is just too soft for him, he wants Jason to be rough, to slam into him, to give him it rough and hard, to break him.

His hand in Jason’s curls grips them roughly, drawing a whine of pain from the bassist. “James—” He chokes out, feeling the dangerously sharp nails against his scalp.

James tightens his grip, not a hair on Jason’s head will escape him, “Stop being so damn soft with me.” James growls out, moving his other hand to Jason’s neck, his large hand easily wrapping around it, his claws dangerously close.

“Just stop being so gentle,” James whines. While one hand stays around Jason’s pale neck, his other claws slide down his torso and grab his hip, urging him for him to move faster, harder. Jason’s always acting like he’s too delicate.

Jason, ever the people-pleaser, picks up the pace, blunt nails digging small crescents into his tanned skin.

James sighs in relief at this, it’s better than before, but Jason’s still not at that pace James wants, he’s still too gentle. Jason’s still not going fast enough, he’s still too careful. He wants Jason to break him, just let loose and give it to him rough, make him unable to walk straight, just push him to his limit.

“Jason,” he groans, the name is a mix between a plea and a growl. James’ grip on both Jason’s hair and his hip is tight, almost bruising.

He’s going faster but it’s still not enough, James is losing his mind with Jason’s soft nature, he’s being too kind with him and James wants more. “Faster,” James sighs, his other hand digging into Jason’s back, definitely leaving red marks in its wake.

Jason’s movements are still too careful, too soft for James, he needs Jason to just let go of his delicacy and go rough with him, to take him, to really give it to him rough, he wants it to hurt in the best way possible, he craves it. “C’mon please,” James begs now, he’s getting frustrated with Jason’s softness.

James’ tail flicks against the bed in agitation, Jason’s touches is making his mind turn to mush, but at the same, he just wants Jason to let go, to stop worrying so much about being careful with him, Jason needs to let go and give it to him hard, he wants it to hurt.

His tail wraps around Jason’s leg, an attempt to get him to go harder, to stop treating him like glass.

Jason’s pace seems to pick up a small bit, enough for James to notice the difference, but still just a tad too soft for his liking. James lets out a mix of a groan and a growl as his nails claw down his back, drawing red lines wherever they go. Jason just isn’t doing enough for him, he wants him to wreck him.

Jason hisses in pain, giving a particularly brutal thrust as retaliation. Fuck, that was good. That was perfect.

Finally. Finally Jason’s pace is what he wanted, he needed, he feels the familiar pain that accompanies Jason’s rough movements, a feeling James has come to love dearly. His hand retracts from Jason’s throat to grasp at the sheets

James lets out a guttural moan at the rough thrust, it’s what he’s been wanting all this time, Jason’s not being too soft anymore, he’s doing what James wants, it feels amazing..

James is finally getting what he’s been wanting, his nails dig into Jason’s back, definitely drawing blood this time, but he can’t find it in him to care when Jason’s got him so caught up in ecstasy.

It’s painful, it’s painful and good, it hurts in the best of ways and James loves it, he wants more, he needs more. He growls, low in the back of his throat, Jason finally getting the message. Jason finally understanding that James doesn’t want to be treated delicately like a god, that he wants him to use him, to treat him like he’s just a toy to derive pleasure from.

The sound of their skin slapping together is loud, it’s the only thing James can hear besides his own breathing, Jason’s breathing and the bed creaking beneath them, it’s music to his ears. James groans, Jason’s pace is the exactly what he wanted but he still wants more, he needs more. He wants Jason to break this time, to wreck him.

Jason’s pace gets faster, and the pain mixes in with the burning pleasure, it’s just what James wanted, Jason finally just letting go and giving it to him hard. Those rough hands fly to Jason’s back, digging into his skin slightly.

It’s rough and brutal, Jason’s letting go, not holding back, not being delicate, just giving it to him rough. James moans at that, his claws digging further into the human’s back, definitely drawing blood now.

Finally Jason’s getting it, just giving his all to him, not holding back at all. James feels Jason’s hands on his hips, bruises are already forming from his grip, he likes that, he wants Jason to ruin him.

Jason’s pace is perfect, all James can do now is lay there and take it, a mix between a moan and a growl escaping his lips occasionally.

“You like it rough, you little slut?” Jason rasps, sweat dripping down his arms as he props himself up over James.

Jason’s words has James’ breath catch in his throat, his words sending a wave of pleasure through his whole body, his tail thumping against the bed, Jason’s hitting him in all the best spots, just hitting him perfectly.

“Yes,” James groans, his breathing is ragged and his mind is fuzzy. At this point he’s completely lost his voice, he can barely form words, his tail is still thumping against the bed, Jason’s words affecting him more than the others.

Jason hisses as James claws at his back again. Sticky red blood smears across his back from the surface scratches, and he’s going to have a lot to explain should he get caught with such cuts.

James just loves the way Jason looks like this, the scratches he’s giving Jason, the red lines he’s leaving, his back all scratched up. Blood is smeared on his fingers from Jason’s back, and it’s beautiful to James.

He wants Jason to be like this, covered in his scratches, covered in his marks and to have red lines in his skin showing exactly where James has been.

The way Jason is giving it to him just has his mind completely fuzzy, all he can do is moan. The scratches Jason has aren’t deep, but they’re definitely going to leave a mark, probably going to be there for a couple of weeks. Jason’s pace is brutal and that just has James’ mind turning to mush and his breath catching in his throat.

Jason’s head tips back, whimpers spilling from his lips like revered words, and god, James loves it when he’s like that. He sounds so pathetic, even when he’s not the one getting ruined.

James loves the sounds Jason is letting out, it’s music to his ears, the little whimpers and moans.. He can’t even think right now, his mind can only focus on Jason and the overwhelming pleasure that’s coursing through him. Jason’s pace is perfect, he’s perfect, everything about him in this moment is perfect.

Jason’s pace has James completely at his mercy, his mind fuzzy to the point that he can’t even form a coherent thought, all he can do is lay there and whimper and moan, letting out the noises Jason loves to hear so much.

His tail is thumping against the bed, Jason hitting his prostate perfectly every time and James can’t do anything but lay there and feel the pleasure running through his veins.

As they simultaneously build up to their peaks, James’ nails break skin again, coating the shiny keratin in gore.

He can’t help but find a way to be gentle amidst the pleasure, James’ calloused fingers are rough against the scratches on Jason’s back and it’s a stark contrast from how brutal his touches have been previously.

Jason bites down hard on James’ shoulder, wincing as those sharp nails roam over the bloodied expanse of his back. The pain sinks into his flesh, but there’s an edge of pain that hits him just right, making it even more satisfying.

James bites down on his lip to try to prevent a whimper from escaping it at the bite, but fails, a small whimper escaping him. Jason’s bite was definitely going to leave a mark, a nice reminder that James can keep, that Jason is his.

Heat coils in Jason’s loins like a firework ready to burst, his eyes squeezing shut as he hits his high, fingers digging into James’ slim hips with an iron grip. “Fuuuuck—”

Jason’s grip on his hips and his voice combined with the perfect pace just has James’ head spinning, his back arching off the bed, a moan escaping him at the rough grip Jason has on his hips.

As they catch their breath, Jason’s lighter frame draped over James, they feel boneless. The both of them lay there for a little while, until James feels a liquid drip down onto his thigh from Jason’s back.

Jason’s beautiful wine-coloured blood, warm and hot against his cool skin.

James wraps his arms loosely around Jason’s waist, a small sigh escaping him. His eyes glance down to his thigh, where Jason’s blood is dripping onto his skin, it’s pretty. James almost can’t tear his eyes away from it, wanting to burn the image into his mind.

Shakily, Jason sits up and moves off James, wincing at the semi-deep cuts’ sting. James can’t help but want to see the damage, his handiwork.

James sits up as well as Jason gets off him, his hands gently grabbing Jason’s shoulder, gently turning him. He looks down at Jason’s back, the scratches he’d left there, the red lines running down his back, all of them with blood staining a couple of them.

He can’t help but be proud, he did that, he made Jason look like this, he did that to him. He wants Jason to keep those marks for as long as he can, he wants to see his scratches on him everyday.

“Turn around.” He commands, and Jason obeys like the good little human he is.

The red lines, the scratches that show exactly where James had been, the scratches that were all his doing, it’s gorgeous. Jason looks perfect like this, the scratches, the bruises and the marks. James can’t take his eyes off them, the scratches that are his to look at for as long as Jason keeps them, they’re his own creation.

To Jason, it’s a little bit concerning how much his back bleeds, trickling down his sweaty skin. To James, it’s so tantalising, reminiscent of a fresh kill to him. There’s the primal ache to just reach out and taste his gore, hot and a cherry red.

He swipes up the blood left on his thigh, popping the finger in his mouth for a little taste, maybe it’d satiate him..

Jason’s blood on his thigh and the taste of it on his tongue has him sighing contentedly. His blood reminds him of the time the two first met, when his blood had been on his fur, he doesn’t feel ashamed thinking about it any more, because Jason is his, he is Jason’s.

The blood from Jason on his tongue is bittersweet, it tastes metallic and like Jason, and there’s something primal inside James that just wants to keep tasting it, keep it pouring and keep this to himself, to his memory. A reminder of how he’d made Jason look like this, a reminder of how Jason is his in these moments, a reminder that Jason is his to ruin.

“…What are you doing? Are you crazy?” Jason says half-seriously. It’s not meant as an insult, but he certainly is bewildered.

James hums, pulling his finger out of his mouth. “It tastes as good as it smells,” he explains, not bothering to elaborate further.

He likes that Jason doesn’t understand him, that Jason won’t understand his desire to taste his blood, the way it reminds him of when they’d first met. It is comforting that Jason simply won’t get that.

“..Right, forgot you’ve got a taste for…blood.” Jason mutters, shaking his head.

James hums again, grabbing Jason’s hand and lacing their fingers together. Jason’s blood smells amazing, even just watching the small amount drip down on his back is wonderful, he wants to lick it off like a wound, a reminder that Jason is his, but he can’t, and it’s frustrating, he wishes Jason would just understand, he wants him to understand but he won’t.

“I should probably get that cleaned up.” He mutters, wiping his brow. “What would Kirk and Lars say…”

“What, you’re worried they’re gonna wonder what happened?” James guesses, letting his hand travel down Jason’s back.

He’s pretty sure they’ll probably ask about it, and Jason probably won’t give a direct answer. He’s sure Kirk and Lars will know what’s up, they’re smart enough to figure it out, well, maybe not Lars, but still.

It’s amusing to think about what Jason will say if they ask, because they’ll definitely ask him, James knows that. They’re probably gonna ask if he’s been getting laid, and Jason will either lie or tell them he got attacked by an animal, it’ll be hilarious.

On unsteady feet, Jason stands. He knows fully well that showering will be a pain in his ass now that he’s all cut up.

James looks at Jason, eyes roaming over his scratched back a bit more, before looking up. He watches Jason stand up, stumbling a bit at first. He seems to be a bit unsteady on his feet, but James’ eyes are now fixed on the scratches on his back, he can’t help but admire his own handiwork again. It’s gorgeous, really.

“Where ya goin’?”

“To get this mess cleaned up.”

A thought pops into James’ head—Jason’s wounds need to be cleaned, and he’s got a craving for more of that coppery blood. Why not kill two birds with one stone?

“Come back—I’ll help.”

“Don’t we need to go to the bathroom?” An eyebrow raised, Jason turns back, wiping at the blood that’s trailed down to his tailbone,

James’ eyes flicker down to the blood that’s trailed down Jason’s back, a sight he loves to see, loves to look at. He’s proud of the sight and the scratches he’s caused.

“It’s fine. We can get the sheets cleaned if it gets too messy.” He waves off Jason’s concerns, patting the spot in front of him.

“The sink—“

“Just sit.”

A small sigh escapes Jason, a small sigh that’s almost a huff. He can be stubborn, and James knows that, but he also knows Jason would probably prefer his wounds getting cleaned. So with that, Jason relents and sits back down in front of James, sighing as he does so.

James shifts behind Jason, glancing at all the scratches he has left on Jason’s back.

Softly, his fingers brush against the scratches on his back, a couple of them causing Jason to flinch at the pain. James is gentle for now, because the scratches are still fresh and painful, and he doesn’t want to hurt Jason any more than he already has.

After carefully checking the scratches, James leans in close to whisper to Jason.

“Can I lick ‘em?”

Instantaneously, Jason’s head whips around, and James gets a face full of curls.

“You..WHAT?” Jason looks so taken aback, like it’s a horrifying thing James just asked. “It tasted good,” James explains with a shrug, his fingers still gently brushing against the scratches he’d made. He knows Jason isn’t gonna understand, but it doesn’t hurt to try and explain anyway.

“Just a taste, I promise,” he adds, his tongue darting out of his mouth, the thought of licking those up making his mouth water.

“They’ll get infected!”

“They won’t,” James says softly, his fingers gently brushing against another scratch, watching as it drips a bit of blood. “Werewolf saliva prevents infection,” he lies, looking back up at Jason. “I just wanna taste,” he says, a bit of a whine escaping him.

“C’mon, please? Jase…”

James’ fingers brush against another one of the scratches, and his tongue involuntarily darts out, licking a bit of the blood from his finger.

He doesn’t understand why Jason is so against it, because it definitely isn’t going to give an infection, and it’s just something that he wants to do, he wants it. It’s like when dogs lick a wound.

Jason considers it—and the poor bastard accepts the lie, huffing and turning his back fully to James, sweeping his hair out of the way.

“Get on with it, whiny brute.”

James has a victorious feeling in his chest when Jason agrees to this, he can’t contain the proud smug on his lips as the human exposes his back for him.

The blonde shifts again, now he’s sat directly behind Jason, his eyes are fixated on the scratches he’d left on his skin. A small sigh escapes Jason’s lips and James takes it as the go ahead, before he leans in close, a hand gently on Jason’s thigh, the other on his waist to steady both them.

James pulls him close, his warm, unnaturally long tongue swiping at the weeping wounds, and Jason shivers. His saliva stings a little, cold against his heated skin. Warm hands fondle his body while James’ tongue favours the salty and coppery taste.

“Licking it til’ it’s all better, huh?” Jason muses, glancing back at James.

James pulls Jason as close as he can while being careful not to press against his wounds too much, his tongue gently swiping at Jason’s scratches. His hands gently caress Jason’s waist and thigh, taking his time to lick all the scratches clean.

James’ tongue laps at the various scratches he’d left on Jason’s back, his eyes occasionally glancing up to meet Jason’s. When Jason glances back at James, the werewolf pulls away for a second to answer.

“Mhm. Till it’s alllll better…” he purrs, before resuming licking at a particularly deep scratch.

He gathers up the blood from the scratches, his tongue swirling over them, his lips occasionally pressing against them in something that’s almost a kiss. He gets to them all, not a single scratch left without being cleaned, lapped at, or having his lips pressed against them.

He takes his time with licking Jason’s cuts clean, and when he’s done he’s satisfied with his work, his tongue flicks over the scratches one last time to catch any stray drops of blood that he may have missed.

James pulls away after making sure he’s gotten them all cleaned, a pleased hum escaping him as his tongue slips of his mouth. His hands are still on Jason’s waist and thigh, keeping him close.

He can’t stop looking at the scratches on the human’s pale skin, he loves the marks he’s made, and he loves that he’s cleaned them up.

He loves the way they look, having his own marks on Jason’s soft skin. But he thinks what he loves even more is the fact that he’s got Jason right now, his human, his beautiful human in his hold, he’s got him sitting in front of him, his back on full display for his eyes to see.

James pulls Jason even closer to his chest, the human’s back pressed against him, his arm wrapping around Jason’s waist, holding him flush against his chest.

“I should get these wrapped up..” Jason lifts James’ hands off his body, shuffling to the edge of the bed. His back feels cold from the now-drying saliva on his back. Gross…

A slight pang of disappointment hits James when Jason pulls away from his grip, shuffling to the edge of the bed to get up. Not being able to touch Jason like that, to hold him like that is almost torture, but he doesn’t voice his disappointment.

Instead, he watches in silence, his eyes looking at the scratches on Jason’s back, his mind running rampant as he thinks of the way Jason looked with them earlier.

Into the bathroom Jason goes, leaving James there on the bed alone. With nothing better to do, he follows his human in, holding onto the walls for support.

James follows Jason, his legs still a bit wobbly and shaky from their activities earlier, his hands holding onto the wall for support. He doesn’t say a word, he just follows, wanting to be close to Jason and watch him.

The auburnette finally gets a good look at his wounds—numerous scratches on his back, dried up blood faintly there. Yikes, it was worse than he thought. He twisted his body and dabbed at his wounds, wincing at the water on the warm washcloth.

James just watches in silence, leaning against the doorframe as his eyes flick over to Jason, watching the way Jason carefully dabs the washcloth against his back, wincing at the pain. He can’t help but feel a hint of pride in his chest at the sight.

“I might need a little help…” Jason murmurs, glancing over his shoulder at James.

James perks up at Jason’s words, quickly pushing himself off the doorframe, walking over to Jason. He knows what he means, and he’s ready and more than happy to help.

James steps up behind Jason, arms going around his waist, and he carefully takes the washcloth from Jason’s hands.

“Want me to do it?”

“Yeah.”

At Jason’s words, James is happy to do it, starting to dab at the scratches as gently as he can, not wanting to hurt Jason, his other arm still wrapped around his waist, holding him close.

His eyes look at the scratches he’d left on Jason’s back, admiring them, watching the way the washcloth rubs against them, and he does his best at being gentle, not wanting to press to hard or hurt Jason.

“Maybe next time I should wear something protective so I my back doesn’t get all fucked up.”

James’ hands stop for a second, his arms tightening a bit around Jason’s waist. The thought of Jason being protected from him in some way doesn’t sit right with him, because he knows that next time it’ll happen again.

“No,” James says, his mouth close to Jason’s ear, his voice slightly muffled by Jason’s hair, although his voice definitely held an edge of finality to it.

“I’d rather not have the wounds reopen..” He tries to justify—it’s a legitimate concern.

James’ eyebrows scrunch up a little at Jason’s words, his mind running rampant with a mix of emotion. Jason doesn’t understand, he doesn’t understand how it’s comforting for James to see his marks, he doesn’t understand how it would be unsettling for James if what they did earlier wasn’t a two way street.

He just sighs, his hands gently dabbing the washcloth against Jason’s wounds again.

James’ movements are gentle as he dabs the washcloth against the scratches, his eyebrows still furrowed at his annoyance at the words Jason had said. He’ll be damned if Jason ever protects himself in any way from him.

Jason’s words ring in his ears even long after he’s done cleaning the scratches, James’ movements are still gentle, but his grip around Jason’s waist is still tight, his face buried in the crook of Jason’s now cleaned up neck.

Jason carefully unrolls a roll of bandages, holding them out to James in an unspoken question.

James sighs again, but carefully takes the bandages, wrapping them around Jason’s back over his scratches, securing them so they won’t fall off or let anything through them, making sure they won’t come undone.

He’s still annoyed that Jason would even suggest protecting himself from him, but he tries not to let his annoyance shine through in his actions.

Jason turns back around and presses a chaste kiss to James’ temple, leaning up on his tippy toes. “Let’s go to bed.”

Despite his annoyance, James’ mood is softened slightly by Jason’s kiss, which has him nodding.

He grabs Jason’s hand, pulling him towards the bed, lying back down on it, keeping a hold of Jason’s hand, not wanting to let go or be far from him.

As sleep claims Jason, James traces the pattern on the bandages around Jason’s torso. Unfortunately for him, no tearing up Jason’s back for a while. And he’d have to see bandages instead of a beautifully scarred up back.

James lets out a small frustrated sigh at the bandages, his hand tracing over them, and his mind running rampant. The thought of Jason protecting himself from him is something he doesn’t like, and it makes his mind run wild with annoyance. He’ll have to talk to Jason about this.

James wraps his arms around Jason, hugging him close to the point it might’ve been too tight, his head buried in Jason’s messy curls.

The thought that he won’t be able to make Jason’s back worse for a while has him a bit upset, he wants to mark Jason up, make him his completely again, but he can’t.

That’ll change, he promises himself that. He will get Jason to stop doing that, he’ll convince him to stop protecting himself from him.

He’ll make sure of it.

Tags

metallica james hetfield jason newsted metallica smut n3wstxd

21 notes View Post

n3wstxd

7 months ago

hii if u don't mind could you maybe do some kirk/dave rough sex/hate sex???? top dave!

𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐄/𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐊 - 𝐃𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

warnings: degrading, degradation kink, slight humiliation kink, blow job(s), face-fucking, semi-public sex, Kirk’s a slut (we all knew that)

okay after this setting Dave actually takes Kirk back home I just don’t know how to progress from there but I’m just putting this out because yeah!!

nsfw under the cut :)

From across the bar, Dave glares down Kirk. He knows fully well who the guitarist is—his replacement in Metallica. How dare he waltz right into the band the same day he was kicked onto the streets like a dog? Resentment and bitterness towards him stewed in his heart, hazel eyes staring him down.

Kirk doesn’t seem to notice—he’s too busy laughing and chatting with his bandmates, though there is the small feeling of someone watching him…

Dave's stare is relentless though, studying each movement, each laugh that comes out of Kirk's mouth as if to scrutinize any sign of weakness he may have. It's a fierce gaze, a mixture of envy and anger, directed solely at the unsuspecting guitarist.

Beside him, Junior is a little concerned. He knew it was a bad idea to come to this place, and now Dave was mad and the whole evening would go wasted.

Dave sensed Junior's unease beside him and reluctantly diverted his gaze from Kirk for a moment. He looked at Junior, his expression still hard. "Relax, kid," he muttered, his voice gruff. "Why are you so nervous?”

Although Dave's words are supposed to reassure, they're said without much warmth, still too focused on Kirk across the room. He can still see the guitarist laughing and talking, like an annoying buzzing in his ear that he wished would stop. Frustration simmers within him, and his jaw clenches involuntarily.

Taking a swig of his drink, Dave's gaze once again finds its way back to Kirk, observing him with a mixture of jealousy and disdain. It's as if he cannot help but watch Kirk like a hawk, as if his mere presence is a taunt to his own misfortune.

Kirk walks off to the bathroom, and Dave decides he’ll take his chance. The guitarist turns to Junior, giving him a look that said “I’m going to do something you won’t like”, and Junior takes the hint, immediately moving from the bar to find some chick to spend the night with.

Dave, seizing the opportunity like a pouncing tiger, watches as Junior saunters off. He allows himself a sly smirk, pleased with himself for clearing the path.

With a steady determination, he peels himself away from the bar and starts making his way across the room towards the bathroom.

Dave's strides are confident as he weaves through the crowd, his eyes fixed on the door to the bathroom. He tries to appear nonchalant, but his heart is pumping with a mix of anticipation and anticipation.

He's aware that what he's about to do is probably not the wisest choice, but his bitterness towards Kirk is like a wildfire, burning hotter with each step he takes closer to the bathroom.

Dave reaches the door, a look of determination mixed with a hint of mischief in his eyes. He pauses a moment, taking a deep breath, the sound of the music and chatter in the bar just a faded hum in his ears. He grips the handle and pushes the door open, revealing the bathroom beyond.

It’s super empty. To be fair, the bathroom Kirk had gone into was quite secluded, and he never would’ve know it was there if not for Kirk.

Dave enters the restroom, the sound of the main room now muffled behind the closed door. He looks around, noticing the solitary nature of the bathroom. It's eerily quiet, save for the distant sounds of the bar's main area. It's perfect.

Dave stalks further into the bathroom, his boots softly echoing against the tiled floor. He comes to a stop by a sink right next to Kirk. The guitarist’s brown eyes fly up to see who it was. Kirk gives a small smile, familiarity shining in his eyes.

“Oh, hey, Dave.”

The fucker remembers his name…

Dave's expression darkens even further as recognition flashes in Kirk's eyes. A curt nod is given in return, his voice a low, gruff rumble.

“Kirk.”

He doesn’t bother with pleasantries, his irritation already brewing underneath the surface. Dave's eyes narrow, studying Kirk, his thoughts swirling with suppressed anger and jealousy.

He moves closer, positioning himself next to the guitarist. Their reflections are seen in the mirror above the sinks, Dave towering over Kirk by a few inches. The close proximity and intimate setting of the bathroom adds a layer of tension in the air.

Meanwhile, Kirk’s heart is hammering in his chest, and he gulps silently, wondering what the hell the ginger would want from him of all people. He barely knew the guy and yet he looked like he had his funeral all planned out.

Dave leans against the sink, his gaze meeting Kirk's in the mirror. He's silent for a long moment, his eyes taking in the guitarist's features, the nervousness in his expression, the gulp, the slight tremble in his hands. Dave can't help but smile wryly. He found it pathetic.

“You look like you've seen a ghost,” Dave says finally, his voice low and mocking. “Relax. I haven't got a baseball bat hidden somewhere.”

His tone is casual, but the underlying tension is palpable. Dave's eyes never leave Kirk's reflection, his gaze intense and unwavering.

He leans in a little closer, his voice dropping another octave. “I just want to talk...privately.”

The bathroom's dim lighting casts shadows across Dave's face, making his already fierce features more intense and imposing.

Kirk's heart is now slamming against his ribcage, his nerves on full throttle under Dave's intense gaze. He swallows again, hard.

“O-okay,” he stutters out, trying to remain calm despite the obvious implication of Dave's request. “What do you want to talk about?” Dave lets out a snort, a mocking smile playing across his lips. He doesn't move away, still standing only a few feet apart.

“You know, Kirk, I've been watching you,” Dave muses, his voice almost in a purr. “You seem...popular. The golden boy of Metallica.”The bitterness in Dave's tone is clear, his words spitting venom.

“Everyone seems to love you. Look at you now, getting fawned over by everyone in that room. I bet it feels good, huh?”

He steps closer, invading Kirk's personal space. The guitarist can feel Dave's warmth radiating off him, his scent filling the small area of the bathroom. Dave's eyes burn into Kirk's, his voice dropping even lower.

“Must be nice...having everything handed to you on a damn silver platter.”

Dave leans in slightly further, his body almost touching Kirk's. He can see the fear in the guitarist's eyes, the way his breaths shallow out, the way his Adam's apple bobs nervously. Dave revels in it, relishing in the power he has over Kirk in this moment.

“Must be nice,” Dave repeats, his voice a mere whisper now. He's close enough that his lips brush Kirk's ear with each word. “That they love you so much. That you get their applause...their admiration...their respect.”

Dave's breath is hot against Kirk's ear, sending shudders down his spine. The ginger's body is so close now, the heat coming off him mixing with the cold air of the bathroom. Dave seems to almost envelope Kirk, his presence overpowering and intimidating.

And Kirk can’t help but find it so arousing, having Dave looming over him. It’s got his blood thrumming, however much scared he was at the moment.

Dave's hand comes up, gripping Kirk's throat in a rough gesture. He uses it to pull Kirk closer, the guitarist pressed up against his body. Dave's chest is nearly touching the back of Kirk's, and he can feel the man's heart pounding through his shirt.

His other hand comes up to rest on Kirk's hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh with almost bruising force. Dave's mouth is hovering millimeters away from the nape of Kirk neck, his voice coming out as a dark, sultry purr.

“You have no idea how much I hate you,” Dave growls lowly, almost right into Kirk’s ear. “How much I have to bite my tongue whenever I see you up on that stage, with that stupid, pretty face of yours. Do you have any idea how much the thought of you makes me seethe inside?”

Dave's grip on Kirk's neck and hip tightens, his body pressed almost flush against the guitarist. His breath is coming fast now, quickened by his own anger and...something else.

“You look so damn perfect up there,” Dave continues, his voice filled with an underlying hint of lust. “So damn perfect...and I hate you for it.”

Kirk shudders, his jeans feeling a little tighter. He doesn’t resist Dave. To be honest, Dave had been an object of his fantasies for a little while, with those dark devious eyes and that smirk that always had him spilling onto his hand.

Dave noses along the side of Kirk's neck, inhaling his scent. It's driving him crazy, and he can't deny the effect the guitarist is having on him right now. His body is reacting in ways he refuses to admit, the mixture of anger and desire swirling inside him like a storm.

Dave's hands wander now, caressing and gripping Kirk's hips and sides in a possessive way. His mouth continues to explore the side of Kirk's neck, nipping and sucking, leaving little marks on the sensitive flesh.

“I should strangle you right now,” Dave husks, his voice a mix of anger and lust. “I should wrap my hands around your pretty little neck and squeeze until you’re gasping and begging for air.”

The words send a shiver down Kirk's spine, his body responding to the rough touch and harsh words. He swallows hard, his back arching a little without him realizing it, pushing him closer against Dave.

Dave can feel the response in Kirk's body, the subtle arching, the shivers, the quickening breaths. He smiles against Kirk's skin, his own breath coming out hot.

“You'd like that, wouldn’t you?” He growls lowly. “You'd like me to get rough with you...use you like I own you.”

One of Dave's hands moves to the front of Kirk's jeans, palming his growing hardness through the fabric. He smirks at the sharp intake of breath from the guitarist, his own body reacting eagerly to the contact.

“Look at you,” Dave hisses, his hand continuing to palm Kirk's through the denim. “You're so goddamn eager for it, aren't you? You'd let me do anything to you, right now. I bet you'd even get on your knees for me.”

The words make Kirk gasp, his hips canting into Dave’s hand involuntarily. A flush of shame and arousal washes over him, and he can’t help the way his body responds to the ginger. It’s maddening, the way Dave is talking to him, with so much anger and lust in his tone.

Dave's breath comes even harder now, ragged and hot against Kirk's ear. His hand continues to work over the guitarist, his touch rough and possessive.

“You have no goddamn clue, how badly I want to break you,” he murmurs, practically growling the words out. “How much I want to hear you begging and whining for more.”

Dave's lips are pressed against the side of Kirk's throat, his teeth scraping across the flesh. He can taste the guitarist’s desperation on his tongue, the neediness and vulnerability. Dave feels himself beginning to lose control, the anger and lust mixing together until they are an incoherent wave inside him.

“Say it,” he commands, his voice a rough, dark whisper. “Say you want me to break you.”

Kirk’s breathing is fast and heavy, his body tensed against Dave. He can feel the heat of the moment coursing through him, the need for it almost overwhelming. Dave’s words, his touch, it’s like a drug that he can’t get enough of.

“Break me,” he gasps, his voice ragged and pleading. “Please…break me…just please…I’ll do anything.”

Satisfaction and desire flood Dave at the words, a dark, possessive thrill coursing through him. He smirks as he leans in close, his teeth nipping at Kirk’s ear.

“Anything? Those are dangerous words, y'know.”

Kirk lets out a quiet whimper, the pain and pleasure mixing into a heady sensation. “I don’t care,” he pants out, his whole body feeling like molten fire. “Just…break me…use me…please…”

Dave’s grip in Kirk’s hair tightens, pulling his head further back. His lips trail down the exposed skin, nipping and sucking, marking the guitarist as his own.

“Careful what you ask for, sweetness,” he husks, the nickname a mockery as much as it is an endearment. “I might just take you up on that offer.”

Dave's lips have now found Kirk’s collarbone, tasting the skin there with his tongue. He lets his hand fall from Kirk's hair, sliding down his back to grip his ass, pulling him harder against him.

“If I do,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl, “then there’s no going back. Understand?”

Kirk’s breath comes out in a harsh gasp as Dave’s hand explores his body, his own hands coming up to clutch at the ginger’s shoulders. He nods, his words coming out in a needy, pleading whisper.

“Yes, I understand. I don’t care. Just…” He lets out a guttural moan as Dave’s lips move to a sensitive spot on his neck.

Dave's lips turn up into a sardonic smile against Kirk's neck at the needy sounds coming from the guitarist. His hands grip and squeeze relentlessly, pressing the smaller man against his body.

“God, you're so desperate it's pathetic,” he muses, his tone a combination of amusement and lust.

Dave’s hands are everywhere now, roaming across Kirk’s body as he presses him up against the wall. He lets his lips explore the sensitive flesh of the guitarist’s neck, biting and sucking at the tender spots.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with want. “You’re so willing, so eager. You’d do anything I asked you to, wouldn’t you?”

Kirk’s mind is a swirling mess of need and shame, the sensations and Dave’s words sending waves of both arousal and humiliation through him. He gasps and whines as Dave’s lips continue their assault on his neck, his body trembling beneath the ginger’s touch.

“Yes,” he manages out in a hoarse whisper, his voice raw and needy. “Yes…anything…please…”

Dave chuckles a little at Kirk's obvious neediness, his body and reaction fueling the fire in his gut. He pulls back from the guitarist's neck, his eyes raking over Kirk's flushed and panting form.

“You’re so vulnerable,” he taunts, his voice harsh and mocking. “So willing to let me do whatever I want to you. Are you like this with James and Lars? I bet you are..”

Kirk’s breath hitches at the words, his eyes widening at the mention of James and Lars. A wave of shame and guilt washes over him as he’s reminded of his bandmates, who are blissfully unaware of the things happening behind the bathroom door.

“No,” he manages to get out, his voice quiet and shaky. “I’m not like this with them…”

Dave laughs, the sound devoid of humor. “Sure you’re not,” he mocks cruelly. “I bet you beg and whine for their attention just as you are for me. You’d let them touch you and kiss you, wouldn’t you?”

Kirk tries to deny it, shaking his head weakly, but he can’t find the energy to do so, the truth sitting heavy in his gut. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t though of such things with his band mates, especially James.

But he also knew it would never happen, that such feelings were unrequited. So instead he just lets out a small whimper, his eyes dropping to the floor in shame.

Dave notices the change in Kirk’s expression and body language, the way the guitarist avoids his gaze and fidgets weakly. A cruel smile plays on his lips as he leans in closer, trapping Kirk against the wall.

“Oh,” he teases, his voice dripping with mockery. “That’s right, they’re not exactly interested in a needy guy like you, are they? That’s why you’re so desperate for it, why you’re letting ME have you like this.”

The sting of Dave’s words hit hard, a truth that cuts deep. Kirk can feel his eyes begin to prick with tears, a mixture of shame and hurt swirling inside him. He nods weakly, unable to deny it.

“Yes…” he whispers, his voice small and defeated. “Yes…I’m desperate…please…you’ll give it to me…right? You’ll give me what they won’t…”

Dave’s smirk turns more smug at the broken look on Kirk’s face, savoring the sight of the guitarist so vulnerable and pathetic. He likes him like this, begging and needy, all for him.

He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a low growl as he murmurs, “That’s right, I'll give you what you want, pretty boy. But you’re gonna have to do something for me first.”

The words send a thrill through Kirk’s body, his mind immediately going to what Dave wants. He nods again, more eager this time than before.

“Wh-what do you want me to do?” he asks, his voice soft.

Dave's grin widens, his hand coming up to grip Kirk's chin, tilting his head up to look at him.

“Get on your knees for me,” he commands, his tone gentle but firm. “Show me how desperate you are.”

The demand makes a flush of heat spread through Kirk, his body practically aching to comply. He doesn’t hesitate, slipping out from Dave to kneel on the floor in front of him. He looks up at the ginger, his eyes wide and pleading.

“Like this?” He asks meekly.

Dave looks down at Kirk, his gaze taking in the sight of the guitarist on his knees before him. A dark thrill goes through him as he looks at the other man, a heady mix of power and lust swirling together.

“Yes,” he responds, “just like that. You look so pretty down there, on your knees for me. I bet you like being on your knees, huh? Makes you feel like you belong to me, doesn’t it?”

The words go straight to Kirk’s core, making him shiver and whine unconsciously. It’s shameful, how badly he’s craving this, how good being on his knees for Dave makes him feel.

Dave sees the way Kirk’s entire demeanor shifts, the way he trembles and whines, and it only fuels the dominating fire that was starting to burn inside of him. He moves forward, standing directly in front of the kneeling guitarist, his hand coming up to grip the man’s hair once more.

“You know what to do.”

The command is clear, and Kirk is helpless to deny or resist it. His hands come up to Dave’s pants, unbuttoning and tugging them down until they pool at the ginger’s ankles, revealing his growing hardness.

He looks up at Dave, his eyes clouded with a mixture of submission and lust. “Can I…?” He asks, his voice soft and needy, asking Dave’s permission.

Dave lets out a low hum, his fingers tightening in Kirk’s hair at the pleading tone of his voice. The sight of the guitarist at his feet, so obedient and vulnerable, is beyond intoxicating.

“Go ahead, sweetness,” he purrs, his tone almost taunting. “Take me.”

The permission sends a jolt of excitement and anticipation through Kirk, making him shiver again. He leans forward, his eyes still locked with Dave’s like he can’t look away, and wraps his lips around the tip of the ginger’s throbbing cock.

His eyes never leave Dave’s, watching the ginger’s expressions carefully, taking in every little twitch and gasp. He takes it as a point of pride, how he’s able to affect Dave this way.

Dave lets out a low hiss as he watches Kirk take him in, his eyes dark and focused on the kneeling guitarist. It’s erotic and powerful, to watch as the other man goes to work on him.

“God damn,” he mutters out, his voice ragged and rough. “You look so good like this, sweetness. On your knees, my big cock in your pretty little mouth. You like it, don’t you?”

A shiver runs through Kirk again, his body and mind overwhelmed with how good this feels. The words, the tone, the dominant way Dave is talking to him, it’s all feeding the fire inside him that only wants more of it. He moans around Dave’s cock, trying to take more of his length down his throat.

Dave hisses again, gripping Kirk’s raven curls tight. The guitarist holds the sides of Dave’s hips. But it feels so good to be gagging and choking on Dave, knowing that his bandmates could walk in and find them.

The ginger hums smugly as Kirk finally takes him to the hilt, stroking his hair softly now. “I’m surprised you can take all of me—you done this before, little slut?” His cheeks burn in embarrassment, but he groans around Dave’s dick again.

He isn’t sure whether that’s a denial or confirmation, but either way, Dave’s got Kirk blowing him.

The ravenette starts to bob his head up and down, his blunt nails digging into the soft skin of Dave’s hips. He noses ginger pubes, the curls nestled neatly over his cock. As Kirk gets more used to the pace, he goes faster, and Dave chokes on a moan, eyes squeezing shut.

“Shit—”Is all he has to say, fisting Kirk’s hair again. Soon, he’s facefucking him, Kirk’s eyes prickling with tears. God, it burns, but it feels so good..

Tears trickle down the guitarist’s cheeks, drool dribbling down his chin, but it’s worth seeing Dave come undone from his work, hissing and groaning gutturally.

Kirk is pliant, letting Dave use him as he wishes. Dave takes advantage of that, using him like a fuck toy and chasing his own release. Kirk chokes on him a few times, but Dave doesn’t stop, and he won’t, not until he’s coming down Kirk’s throat.

The sounds they’re making are terribly obscene and loud. The thrill of knowing that anyone could walk in at any second has Kirk groaning around Dave’s cock again. Dave shudders, his release draws near and Kirk knows it. He relishes in it.

The ginger’s balls draw tight, and he shoved Kirk’s head down to his hilt, keeping him there as he finishes down his throat. Kirk takes it all, swallowing it and savouring the taste like it was holy water.

Kirk pulls off with a wet pop, and Dave runs a hand over his own flushed face. Even as his dick hangs limp now, Jesus, he’s big. And if he’ll let him, Kirk would gladly bend over for Dave.

“You’re a vacuum.” Dave mutters, tucking himself back into his jeans. Kirk grins and sticks his tongue out, letting Dave see his spend on his tongue. “Christ, you’re a little fucking whore, aren’t you?” He laughs breathlessly, helping Kirk up, who also chuckles.

“Take me back to your place.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Tags

metallica dave mustaine megadeth kirk hammett

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n3wstxd

7 months ago

waitress jason inspired by all those crazy waitress bits james and jason had. ok bye.