I WILL Get Him Pregnant Mark My Words

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.”

lars & james having a erotic fight ;3

this took forever i am so so so sorry! i also can’t write fighting. Like at all. i really suck at it. it’s also pretty short. sorry!!

Between Lust and Anger

1988

CW - spit kink, fighting, choking, frotting (i think it counts), blue balling, nipple play

Heineken was the basis of about half of Metallica’s interactions. 

It started with a beer spill. Plain and simple. A can of alcohol had slipped from the sweaty grip of Lars’ palm, painting James’ shoes, pants, and guitar cable. 

That’s all it took. In the Dane’s eyes, it wasn’t a big deal. There was the time where James had thrown up on Lars’ sneakers. And the time where James threw a glass bottle at Lars’ head. Both significantly worse than a little beer coating some shoes and a cable. But Lars knew better to bring up the past— he was already in for another annoying ramble of accented swears and nasty insults. 

“You asshole!”

Lars frowns, eyebrows furrowing. He almost argues that losing his beer is a lot more upsetting than getting it on James, but he swallows that thought down. James  angrily kicks the cable to the side, its light weight allowing it to skid across the hardwood floor with ease. The puddle of beer beneath him ripples from the sudden movement. 

“I didn’t fuckin’ mean to! It’s not my fault, dickhead! Don’t get so pissy, it’s just some beer..” Lars snarls, getting defensive. 

“Pissy? Fuck you! You are such a goddamn brat!” 

James nearly screams, throwing his hands in the air. It wasn’t unlikely for James to get upset over small things. Ever since Cliff left them, everything was a big deal. Especially when it came to Lars. The guitarist wasn’t good with feelings; his feelings either erupted like a volcano or stayed locked inside his heart, never to be shown. So when James realized he’s got some odd feelings towards Lars, something he can’t put his finger on, he responded by either feigning anger or showing him his real anger amplified like no one’s business. Real annoying to Lars. The shorter boy scoffs and crosses his arms. 

“Brat, huh? What makes me such a brat? You’re the one who can’t handle a little bit of beer on you. Get over it.” The drummer snaps back.

“Fucking- everything! You piss me off, go to hell!” 

A great example of James being more than dramatic. The boys usually found something else to blame it on. Beer, Cliff, a bad show, his mother.. It got to a point. Lars wonders if he gave James too much credit. If, maybe, he’s just like that. That it’s perhaps just in his nature to be.. well, an asshole. Because there’s no other way to put it. Lars was an asshole too, sure. He had a short fuse— but at least he had a fuse! James would simply explode when met with any kind of conflict. Something that Lars was drawn to, despite how frustrating it may be. And frustrated he was. The blonde seemed incapable of shutting his big mouth, hurling insults at Lars, and who was Lars to just sit there and take it? 

“I piss you off? How do you think I feel?! You get so worked up over nothing, I almost feel bad for you! Don’t you get it, James? You’re the bitch! You’re the asshole!”

James stares at him with a piercing, blue gaze. They aren’t so inviting and soft when the blonde is angry. Instead, a furious look burns into Lars when he meets eyes with James, and he can’t tell if that makes him more mad or more scared. He doesn’t get time to make up his mind. In a split second, James is reaching for the collar of Lars’ shirt to pull him closer. The situation had escalated in mere seconds. The shorter boy’s head spun with shock as  James lifted him several inches off the cold wooden floor and stared into those big, green eyes. 

“Call me a bitch again.”

Lars pauses. Stares into that icy cold gaze  for a few moments. His immediate thought is to tell James to let him go; but thinking it through, Lars doesn’t say that. His mind takes a few steps back. He really should just give in, call James a bitch. James deserved it, truly. Everyone else had to deal with Cliff’s passing and their own shit. You didn’t see him, Kirk, or Jason exploding at every minor inconvenience. He had to get his shit together eventually. 

But something about that piercing glare made Lars’ stomach turn with not only fear, but a warm tingle familiar to him. Like when a girl pressed against him and teased him, or when a groupie lowered her voice to ask Lars to fuck her. It’s something about those eyes. Or maybe the way James easily sweeps him off the ground like he weighs just a few pounds. Impressive, considering James is already tipsy. Lars opens his mouth to speak. James wants to play nasty? He can do that. He wants that.

“Bitch.”

With an angry yell, Lars is thrown to the ground with force. The back of the brunette’s head hits the hardwood floor with a loud thud and a yelp of pain almost as loud. He lays on the floor, discombobulated from the sharp hit to the head, and looks at the fuming James above him whose chest is rising up and down in a heavy, steady beat. Now isn’t the time to be having a masochist awakening from being treated like a damn doll— but Lars can’t seem to help it. The brunette’s heart races, still groaning from the pain. Lars tastes a metallic tang in his mouth and realizes he’s also bit his tongue from the fall. It’s still in tact. Thankfully. He huffs and spits the blood at James, who scoffs at him right back. The guitarist wipes the bloody spit off with the back of his palm. 

“Just.. just gonna stand there? Not gonna beat me up anymore, big guy?”

“Says you. You’re the one lying on the floor. All bark, no bite.” 

James might be right. He is right, actually. Lars is just trying to egg James on, knowing he’s no better than the blonde is. The drummers got to do something. To show he can fight back. That thought excites him a little; seeing James even more pissed from Lars pushing back. James was always hot. But angry James was a different kind of hot. And, if Lars really needed to live up to his brat title to see that, so be it. James deserved this anyways. With that final thought, Lars slips his foot behind the guitarist’s leg and sweeps from behind, tripping James and sending him forward. 

James yells with surprise and falls, stopping when he’s hovering above the boy. His knees and hands stop him from completely pressing against Lars— instead, he stares down at the drummer with an unreadable expression and gathers up a chunk of spit in his mouth to spew at Lars in hopes of distressing him. Because James is petty. Really goddamn petty. And, his arms and legs are busy holding him up, so the fastest way to piss Lars off is to spit in his face. Make him grimace and wriggle around in disgust. 

James breathes in. Spit comes flying out. It’s cold. Initial disgust from Lars turns into even deeper arousal, and he feels his cheeks flush. And when James’ quickly switches his balance so his free hand that doesn’t need to support him comes to wrap around his neck with force, they flush even more. His gasp for air makes him inhale the sticky saliva resting above his lip, and James can’t help but feel a part of him melt when he sees it. 

The guitarist shifts yet again, sure to keep his unforgiving grip on the smaller boy’s neck tight as ever. Their position now is even more suggestive. James is sitting up now, knees spread, Lars between them. Their clothed cocks are dangerously close to each other. One arm is reached down to the drummer’s neck to asphyxiate him with his hand, while the other rests beside him. Here Lars is— face red, covered in spit, gasping for air, looking at him with tears in his eyes. James groans softly. His cock twitches to life in his pants. 

Lars should be too busy gasping for air and attempting to get James off of him. He should be afraid, disgusted. He can’t help that he’s a little, well, really turned on. When you have James fucking Hetfield above you degrading you like you’re his bitch, it’s hard not to pop a boner. This leaves two of them with hard-ons. 

“You.. you’re pathetic.. pathetic whore.” James croaks out. His voice is hoarse from being tipsy, angry, and horny. 

Lars only whines in response. It doesn’t help James’ boner.

It’s a little jarring how fast James can go from anger to lust. Maybe it’s because the two are so intertwined in his mind. Anger is lust, and lust is anger. Different feelings to most, very different, but nearly interchangeable to the guitarist. He almost forgets he’s choking the drummer to hell and decides to let his iron grip smooth for a moment. Lars gasps for air, his own lust and anger intertwining fingers, and bucks his hips against James. It’s the first time they’ve felt such an electric shock from just a simple touch. Both feel something inside them snap, and James is quick to act on it. 

“You really are a fucking slut, huh? Bucking your hips against mine. You liked being choked. You liked being spit on. You’re getting off on this.” James teases. He doesn’t bring attention to the fact that he too, is getting off on this. 

Lars only weakly nods, opting to respond with no words yet again. Like he’s afraid that if he says something, he’ll break James out of the trance and he’ll realize how wrong this is and stop. The brunette would rather do anything but stop. So he rubs against James again, harder this time, and relishes in the sweet sound of his groan. It doesn’t take long for Lars to keep doing this, creating a broken rhythm of hips thrusts and jerks against the blonde’s cock. 

Lars had been inside a lot of women. They felt good, really good, usually. But nothing compares to the intense friction of jeans to jeans, cock to cock. It’s so good. And so wrong. James is his best friend, and best friends don’t dry hump each other. On the floor. After a fight. Especially not when your best friend is your bandmate. But it made everything so much better, knowing it’s wrong. Because the drummer could feel his cock pulsate with need as the two rub dicks, searching for pleasure when James’ whole world seemed to be pain. 

Huffing, Lars looks at James’ face. His face is contorted into a concentrated look. Sweat beads on his forehead as his hips roll in tandem with the smaller boy beneath him. Lars can’t tell if the blonde’s mind is going blank or if it’s spinning with a million thoughts. Either looks plausible; but it’s hard to focus on when his cock is dragging against his own with delicious precision. Wanton moans seep from both of their mouths. Just like the pre cum staining both of their boxers. 

James thinks, in the back of his mind, that he’s never seen Lars look so perfect before. Sure, it’s a similar look when he’s done playing a grueling show. Sweat covers his body. He’s got pink cheeks. Breathing heavily. It’s not the same when James is the reason behind this. The larger male on top snaps his hips particularly rough, hoping to hear a whine from Lars, and god does he deliver. It’s intoxicating. Makes James realize what he’s been missing out on. He needs more, more more more, so his hand sneaks up the brunette’s shirt to flick his pink nipple. 

A stifled moan and a sob is what he gets in response. It’s amusing; Lars reacts like a girl when his nipples are played with. Without missing a beat, James continues to toy with that pretty bud until Lars finally speaks up to babble nearly incoherently. 

“J-James.. fuck, fuck, close already, please….!”

James sighs in pleasure. 

“What makes you think I should make you cum, huh? I could just leave you here yknow-“

Lars sobs at that response, a loud cry emitting from his abused throat. 

“Please! Please don’t, I’m sorry, please, just make me cum!”

James grunts and speeds up his rutting. The two claw at the floor for dear life from the harsh pace. Surprisingly, he finishes before Lars, his orgasm hitting him like a truck. He stops his hips completely, letting himself cum in his jeans as he moans loudly. His erection throbs as white spurts coat his boxers and jeans, and Lars swears he could drool from the sight. It takes a bit, but James comes down from his orgasm and sits up. He assumes it’s his turn now. That James will show mercy and use his hand to finish him off. To make it even. 

He was stupid for thinking that. 

On wobbly legs, James stands up, and Lars looks confused. His erection still throbs in his pants. He was so close to release— wasn’t James gonna help him? Leaving him like this was cruel. There was no way James would just leave like that. He’s an asshole, Lars knows this, but when the dane was so close to finishing, how could he just leave like that? Lars watched as James walks out, leaving him on the floor in utter disbelief. 

“…Come back, you asshole!”

okay im posting the rest of it after all.

𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐊/𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 - 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲

warnings: drug usage, drinking to cope, first time(s), anal sex, sad sex

nsfw under the cut :)

Jason had drunk himself into a stupor. Both to forget the hazing from his bandmates and to numb the pain of being their punching bag, both metaphorically and physically.

That night’s show was a disaster in his eyes—his bass had mysteriously gone out during “My Friend of Misery”, preventing his beautiful bass solo from getting played. That, coupled with the fact that James and Lars nitpicked everything he did on stage after the show.

His eyes glazed over, slumped over on the couch as he thought. When he got drunk, he wasn’t boisterous like James, he wasn’t a gossiper like Lars or plain stupid like Kirk. He was quiet. Reserved. Lost in thought and sat to the side in thoughtful silence. 

Alone in his hotel room drinking a 6-pack all by himself, joint resting on an ashtray. Millions and millions of thoughts filled his head. Like a hot air balloon that threatened to burst, he quelled his thoughts with another puff of his joint. 

You could always rely on a good beer and joint combo to blank out any bad thoughts. 

He’s getting through the night already, he can’t tell what time it is but it sure as hell felt like forever. Jason had the windows open, the soft, cool wind blowing in, mixing with the smell of pot and the beer laden on his breath. 

When he’s finally unwinding, he’s coiled taut again by the sharp rapping against his foot. He places down his fourth beer of the night and stubs out his blunt, standing to open the door. 

And there stood the root sources of his own self-destructive act. 

“Can I help you guys?” He asked, slurring his words ever so slightly, door half-open. He knows he looks like a mess, his hair sticking up, eyes bloodshot and clearly zooted. The smell of weed drifts from his room into the hallway, and Jason’s eyes strain at the brightness in the hallway.

“Oh..uh…” started Lars. Jason tilted his head, waiting for whatever he had to say. “We were just wondering what you were doing since you left the afterparty so early.”

Jason shrugs. “Wasn’t in the mood.” James scoffs softly. “Obviously in the mood to drink and smoke by yourself.” In no mood to entertain them, he raised his eyebrows over half-lidded eyes. 

“Now you know what I was doing. G’night.” 

“Hey, wait—“

Before he can shut his door, a shoe blocks it in the last second. Jason holds back the urge to groan. “What?” He says annoyedly, opening the door a fraction to peek out. 

“Listen, you need to stop acting like a spoiled child. It isn’t our fault your bass went out.” James says defensively. Jason wants to roll his eyes. Wants to yell at him and say that it was, that he had planned it all, that he was the mastermind. But even in his inebriated state, he retained his sobriety and retained his temper.

“Uhuh.” Was all he had to say, rubbing one of his reddened eyes. “Jesus Christ…whatever, get mad at us. See if we care.” He saw James and Lars storm off in the other direction, no doubt speaking ill of him behind his back and planning their next “prank”. And as he moved to close his door, he was stopped again, but not by force this time.

“Wait.” 

He almost wanted to cry out in frustration. But he didn’t. He couldn’t be temperamental. He couldn’t. After all, he was supposed to be the calm one. 

Kirk stood outside his door—previously overshadowed by the two biggest egos in the hallway, Jason barely noticed his presence. But now it was the two of them. 

“..Yeah..?” Jason couldn’t bring himself to raise his voice. Kirk was always the most passive among the other three with his hazing, if one could even call it that. Sure, he participated in the beginning, but he got over his grief, and acknowledged Jason as another person with feelings. Not like he was a puppet built to destroy like James and Lars thought he was. 

“Can I come in? I just..I wanna talk.” Kirk stood in front of the gap in the door now, eyes locking with Jason’s. Against his better judgement, Jason opened the door. Kirk was let in, and Jason closed the door behind him, making sure to lock it. 

“I’m sorry about what happened…I didn’t know-“ “It’s fine. It’s not like you would’ve done anything like this. I think.” Kirk awkwardly shifted his weight from foot to foot. It hurt slightly to hear Jason speak like that.. “You can sit.”

Kirk flopped next to Jason, the two sitting and facing the open balcony window. The moonlight shone down with her smile, her crescent smile familiar to Jason after nights being alone and contemplating his decisions. 

“The guys don’t know what they’re doing. And I don’t take responsibility for their actions. But they’ll understand, not now, but maybe when they’re 40.” Kirk’s words are almost comforting. 

Almost. 

But it hurts. The reassurance of their realisation only when they’ve seen the world and what it’s for hurts. Why couldn’t they have their moment of clarity now? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Jason. But nothing was ever fair since Cliff passed. 

“It’s okay.” He mumbled. Kirk rested his head against Jason’s shoulder. It’s an intimate gesture—it’s not playful like when they’re in interviews or posing in photos. It’s like Kirk sees him. Sees through him and sees him right to his core.

“I’m sorry. About what I did. And what I didn’t do to stop them.” Jason wants to laugh bitterly. He knows that Kirk won’t do anything to stop them, not now and not anytime soon. As much as he’d like to believe his words, they’re as real as the groupies he hears them bang every night. 

They sit in silence. Contemplating. As if they had the same thought: “Jason’s suffering.” They share the same mind, even if it’s for a split second. 

It’s the closeness of Kirk to him, the way his warmth spreads and seeps through his clothes onto the cold husk of himself. He wants to believe those little white lies. He wants to believe that this would all stop. But how can one fool themself so easily? 

Kirk lifts his head and looks up at Jason. Jason looks back down at him. All this thinking and sitting in silence sobers him up further. Having deep thoughts drunk and high was fun, till it was with someone else. He always needed to retain control, before he let anything he didn’t mean to say aloud slip out. 

And when their gazes lock, the warmth in the eyes of Kirk’s enveloping the stony greyish blue in Jason’s, he wants to melt. Kirk looks at him with such tenderness. One unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. 

And before he can pull away his gaze, Kirk leans upwards, a hand caressing Jason’s jaw tenderly as his lips meet Kirk’s. Nothing properly registers in the younger man’s mind till Kirk slips a hand through his mussed curls, eyes closed. Once again, the loving action foreign, but not…unwelcome? 

Jason accept the gesture, albeit tentatively. What if Lars and James set him up to this? But it couldn’t be, that moment was too real and too raw to be a prank. You could fake depth but you couldn’t fake sincerity. 

And Kirk kissed him with all the sincerity of a long-lost lover finding his other half. 

Jason’s on his back now, hair sprawled out like an auburn halo, and Kirk thinks that he must be God’s favourite angel. 

So Kirk takes off each article of clothing all gentle and all tender, like he would shatter Jason if he were too rough. And as much as he hated being treated like a fragile little thing, it wasn’t derogatory with Kirk. It was all worshipful and admiration. 

Kirk maps out the plane expanses of Jason’s body with his hands, tracing each beauty mark and contour with his hands. Kirk was never like this with Lars, who liked it all teeth and friction and crazed lovemaking. It was a nice change of pace from the Dane. 

When Kirk’s hands slip lower and lower, Jason, always a loud presence on stage, let out a soft whine. Jason, who was all growls and guttural vocals, let himself a moment of vulnerability with Kirk. Fondling him now, the auburn man is all breathy gasps and pathetic little whines. It eggs Kirk on, and Jason mewls while bucking up into his hand. 

His hand moves faster, and they kiss again, as tender and loving as the first. Jason grants him that, that small sliver of his true side, and Kirk savours it like a drug. Jason gasps and writhes and moans Kirk’s name, and he drinks it all in. With Lars, he was the one getting boned six days from Sunday, but now he got to give Jason what he always wanted to receive. 

When Jason’s spend coats his hand, the man moans so sweetly. It’s oh so damn intimate and genuine, and it’s not pornstar-eqsue and fake like with groupies. It’s not like the animalistic growls with Lars. Sugar to his ears, icing of sin dripping off an angelcake. 

He strips himself down to match Jason, and he glanced up for permission. To take him. To have him. To show him how much he cared and adored him. Jason sat up. 

“I’ve never done this before—been with a guy, I mean.” The hesitation is clear, but Kirk gives him a reassuring smile. “I’ll make it good. You just have to trust me.” Trust Jason does, settling into his back. Kirk finds the lube easily, abandoned and barely used. Jason could find girls easily, but what wasn’t easy was letting them in during this dark period of time. 

Jason trusts him, and that’s all he needs before he’s got his fingers slicked up and has Jason’s legs spread. 

“Deep breaths, okay? It’s gonna feel weird, tell me if I need to stop.” One lubed fingers pushes past the tight ring of muscle, and Jason groans. It’s not uncomfortable or painful, but it’s a unique sensation. Kirk thrusts this finger in and out gently, and Jason lets himself be pliant. 

“I’m gonna add another, is that okay?” Kirk caressed the side of Jason’s face, his middle finger ready. Jason nodded, and in slipped the second. There was a slight stretch that had Jason squirming, not exactly unwelcome, though. It felt unique and almost good—but it all changed when Kirk crooked the ends of his fingers by a few degrees, brushing past a spot that made him see stars. 

“Fuck—“, he choked on a moan and his body curved upward. Kirk stilled, concern welling in his eyes. “What..what was that?” “That was your g-spot. Let me find that again , and you’ll know why it’s called that.”

When Kirk crooks his fingers further, his knuckles rub against the rubbery ball of nerves that set Jason’s loins aflame. He keens, toes curling as he grips the sheets. Kirk smiles and continues his assault on that spot, stars sparkling behind his eyelids. “How does that feel?”

“Kirk—that’s..oh, fuck-!” Jason moans, the familiar pressure building in his belly, and he’s sure he might come just from that. It’s all so overwhelmingly good that his mind spins, already muddled from the beers. Kirk set a steady rhythm, curling and scissoring his fingers in a way that had Jason keening. 

“Good?” The older man asks. It felt good to make Jason feel good, the bassist recently seemed to be down in the dumps after shows, no matter how high-energy he was on stage. “So good—“ he choked out, eyes squeezed shut as breathy moans escaped his parted lips. Precome pearled at his tip, dripping down the underside of his cock.

When Kirk retracts his fingers, he whines at the loss. “Why..” he asks, question left unspoken but understood. “I want you to come on my cock.” Flushing at the obscene words, Jason’s pale face went pink in a matter of seconds. How cute, Kirk thought. 

Squeezing a generous amount of lube, he slicked up his length, his clean hand pushing the hair out of Jason’s face. “You’re gorgeous, Jase.” He complimented, and Jason scoffs in embarrassment. 

Kirk lines himself up with Jason’s hole, and looks up at him for confirmation. The younger man nods, biting his lip. Kirk’s cock prods at him, before the head slips in. He lets Jason adjust, watching with care. 

Jason bites down a cry, Kirk softly rocking his hips and working Jason open further. It felt like he was being torn into two, unused to the stretch that came with having a dick up his ass. “Oh, fuuuck—“

Kirk’s hips stuttered as he felt the flutter of Jason’s hole around his dick, and it had Kirk gripping Jason’s hips tightly. Jason looked his hottest like this, back bowed in ecstasy and his ass stuffed like a thanksgiving turkey with Kirk’s dick. The elder carefully draped himself over Jason and tilted up his chin gently, leaning in against his chest and tilting his head so that he could look into his eyes. 

As he fucked him slow and gentle, they kept eye contact, Kirk analysing every expression Jason made. His face scrunched up, brow glistening with sweat.

Kirk was hitting Jason’s sweet spot dead in with each smartly calculated roll of his hips. Jason’s prostate felt raw, and it was all so much, it took everything not to come right then and there. Kirk gave him a particularly well-angled thrust, cock hitting Jason’s prostate like a bullseye. Kirk moans at his sheer tightness, gripping his thighs tight.

Kirk’s dick rubbed against it deliciously as he withdrew, only to slam in and nail it again, right on the dot. It made Jason arch his back into a taut bow against Kirk as the sparks lit up every nerve ending like lightning.

It was never-ending pleasure, and Jason didn’t even notice his orgasm, taking him by surprise when he spilled onto his chest. Kirk didn’t stop, still gently fucking into him and chasing his own pleasure now that Jason was satiated. With the younger man clenching around him like a vice, it was hard to continue past a few thrusts before he fills Jason, insides all warm and gooey. 

They lay there for a while, their panting filling the room. Their bodies are warm against the cool midnight air—it’s so serene and feels unreal. Everything blurs together. Their bodies and their passion and their shared intimacy under the gaze of the moon. 

Tender and soft, Jason’s curled against Kirk’s chest with his body painted with his and Kirk’s come, but he doesn’t mind. Kirk has an arm draped across his waist, breathing in the faint pot smell from Jason’s hair. 

Jason knows that Kirk’ll be gone in the morning, back in Lars’ bed like this encounter never happened. He was bound to Lars, and to leave him for Jason was unforgivable. This little affair was meant to be forgotten in the morning. To never be spoken of again, despite their passions for one another.

Kirk and Jason. Jason and Kirk. In another world they’d be inseparable. In another world, they’d be lovers. In another world, they wouldn’t have met the way they had. But God hates Jason, that’s why he makes him suffer. 

The one who suffers through it all, is God’s most beautiful angel. He is beautiful and he is pained, bound to fall far from God’s grace when the time comes. Bound to slip through Kirk’s fingers soon. 

So they’d let themselves have this. This tiny sliver of heaven a sanctuary to them, they, who are not granted it.

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. 

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

𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒/𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 - 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐫 (𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜)

hi guys I know I haven’t been online much recently (exams💔) but to make it up to you guys this is a series I’m working on rn!! it’s a 3 part series that I plan to finish really soon (within the next week hopefully) and uhh yeah!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63466180/chapters/162621559

snippet:

By this time the sun has completely set, leaving the street cast in the soft glow of street lamps. Jason peers through the window, expecting the guy to be gone by now, or at least distracted by something. However, the guy is still standing where he left him, arms folded across his chest with a cigarette between his index and middle finger. He takes a long drag, his eyes on Jason’s window, as if to say ‘I knew you’d be back’. Damn it.

It’s not his fault his studio directly overlooks the man’s house. And it’s also not his fault the guy is too eye-catching to ignore.

Jason swallows. Hard. He can’t look away, and he’s pretty sure if he tried to, he’d just look like a weird, shifty-eyed creep. So he awkwardly locks eyes with the guy across the way, who still has his gaze fixed on his face. The guy’s gaze is strong and unwavering, his ocean-blue eyes locked unwaveringly on Jason. Jason’s heart quickens under this intense gaze. The man, almost as if sensing his rising unease, offers a smile. Charming, almost teasing in the manner.

Fuck, Jason might’ve creamed his pants a little.

Jason swallows again, and to say he was feeling a little self-conscious right now was a huge understatement. This guy was attractive as hell, and the fact that he was standing across from him, arms folded, looking completely at ease, in the dark with only street lamps providing light, wasn’t helping. He looked like some kind of model, or something. Jason was getting a little flustered. His heart is beating a little too fast, now.

Besides that—what was he doing outside? Just smoking?

Jason is pulled out of his thoughts when the guy, without breaking eye contact, brings the cigarette to his lips and takes a long drag. The guy’s eyes flutter shut as he does this, looking completely blissed out for a moment before opening his eyes and exhaling a long puff of smoke. That is unfairly attractive. And it’s unfair to Jason.

telling my kids kurt cobain was jesus christ

i love the foursome or whatever that metallica song is called

Ok it is december 1st.