Thoughts?

Sorry..

cowboys are frequently secretly fond of each other.

𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐄/𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 - 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤

warnings: none! just pure fluff!

i should make a part 2 to this w smut but idk… anyways enjoy!

Dave’s been eyeing Metallica’s new bassist—a cheery, expressive guy that has a smile that could end wars. The guy’s not only got amazing talent on the bass, but he’s got looks that kill, too. In fact, that’s the whole reason why he’d been keeping tabs on the auburnette.

Dave had reached out to a mutual friend, Jacob, asking for Jason’s number under the pretext that he’d forgotten it when Jason “gave it to him” a few days ago. The guy was baited on and easily handed over Jason’s number. 

Now the hardest part came. 

Calling Jason up. 

The phone rings once. Twice. And then he’s sent to voicemail. “Hey, it’s Jason. I’m busy right now, leave a message after the beep!” Jason’s usual upbeat tone evident in the message. After the beep, Dave tapped his finger against the leather sofa, beginning to speak. 

“Hey, uhh…it’s Dave Mustaine. Call me back when you’re free. I wanna talk.”

And then he puts down the phone, nervous and standing, pacing the room eagerly as he waits. His plan was simple. Talk, invite Jason out, sugar him up and invite him into his bed. He speculated that Jason was into guys—the way he went starry-eyed when a pretty guy gave him an ounce of attention, even when they’re just fans.

His blue eyes would light up, attentive and fixated. Scanning for details, carefully tucked into the confines of his mind. He’d nod and smile and sign their merch, before he’d be forced to move on to the next fan. 

“Jason’s gonna call back,” Dave muttered, a hint of nervous anticipation lacing his tone as he paced back and forth across the room. The leather couch creaked slightly under the weight of his restless pacing, and he ran a hand through his hair, already imagining the possibilities of the upcoming conversation.

“He’s gotta call back. He just has to.”

He paused to glance at the phone sitting innocently on the wall, as if staring at it would somehow summon a call from Jason. But the phone remained silent, taunting him with its lack of sound.

Minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an hour as Dave continued his restless pacing. His heart was fluttering erratically, betraying his anxiety as he repeatedly checked the phone for any sign of a missed call.

"He’s taking his sweet time," Dave muttered, a mixture of impatience and worry coloring his tone. 

He resumed his pacing, the sound of his footsteps on the hardwood floor blending with the faint hum of the air conditioner and adding to the growing tension in the room. Each passing moment seemed to amplify his unease.

A hundred seconds pass by like a hundred seasons, waiting for something, anything, from that pretty little bassist that he’s so enraptured by. And he’s so sure god is real now, because his phone rings, and Jason’s on the other line. 

“Hey man, it’s Jason. I’m surprised you called me. You wanted to talk?” Dave’s heart flutters at Jason’s soft tone, not as spunky and energetic as before. 

“Hey. Thanks for calling back. Um…I was wondering if you’d like to go to a bar with me and Jacob? Have some drinks and whatever.” That’s a lie—Jacob’s not coming and Dave’ll make sure of it. He squeezes his eyes shut as the call goes silent. He’ll become a monk, he swears, if Jason says yes. 

“Uh..yeah, sure. When?” The ginger nearly let out a victory cheer, but he reminds him that Jason’s on the other line. 

“10?” He offers, and Jason happily snatches up the bait. “Okay, sounds good! See you then.”

When the line cuts Dave drops the phone and lets out the loudest shout of excitement he’s ever made. 10PM seems too far away, but the reward he’ll get outweighs the hours of wait.

Jason, meanwhile, is happily humming to himself as he works on his bass lines, unaware of Dave’s plan. While he does think Dave’s a pretty guy, very eye-catching, what would he do with a guy like him? He’s far too plain for someone like Dave, they’re opposite ends of the spectrum! 

So he shoves his thoughts down and reminds himself it’s just a friendly meeting with a mutual friend and Dave. It’s just drinking with someone you barely know. Easy, right?

Jason finds it’s not so easy when he enters the bar, a knot in his throat as he scans the room for Jacob’s signature blonde mullet. He doesn’t see him, but spots a fiery mane of curls by a booth, and a somewhat familiar face to match. 

He saunters over, heart beating a mile a minute as he sits across from Dave. Maybe Jacob was just late. Hopefully he wasn’t left alone with Dave. He always liked to take his time, that man…

Dave can feel his heart stutter in his ribcage as he sees Jason waltz over, his auburn curls bouncing with each step, springy coils so full of life.

“Hey, Dave.” It’s so much more awkward to speak face to face with him than over the phone.

Dave looked up from his drink as Jason approached, a smile spreading across his face as he watched the younger man's curls bouncing with every movement.

"Hey, Jason."

Dave returned the greeting, his fingers drumming anxiously against the tabletop. He could feel the tension in the air thicken between them, making the conversation feel more difficult than it should have been. He took a small sip of his drink, trying to appear casual.

"I'm glad you could come."

“Good to see you. Where’s Jacob?”

Dave's smile faded slightly as Jason inquired about Jacob's whereabouts. He'd been expecting this question, of course. He shifted in his seat, feigning casualness.

"Jacob couldn’t make it tonight," he said, taking another small sip of his drink to buy himself time to think. "He got caught up with some things. But I didn't want to cancel on you so I figured we could hang out anyway."

Jason’s peachy lips form a frown, but it’s gone the next second. “It’s fine. Just don’t have any conversation starters, haha…” 

This is so awkward..

Dave chuckled softly at Jason's comment, trying to ease the tension. 

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Sometimes conversations just happen and sometimes..." he trailed off, pausing to run a hand through his hair. "Sometimes they don't."

The sound of chatter and clinking glasses fill the momentary pause, the air between them thick with unspoken words. Dave clears his throat, his eyes scanning over Jason's features, taking in the way the dim light casts shadows across his face and how his hair looks almost luminous.

Dave's fingers fidget with the hem of his shirt as he gathers his thoughts, trying to think of something, anything, to say. 

"So...um, how's the new gig with Metallica going?" he finally blurts out, his eyes fixed on the table in front of them. It's a generic question and a boring one at that, but it's the only thing he can think of at the moment.

“It’s good..in certain aspects.” Jason’s silvery blue eyes look down at his hands, and Dave can tell there’s something that’s wrong.

Dave notices the change in Jason's demeanor, sensing that there's something on the younger man's mind. He tilts his head slightly, his expression turning serious.

"What do you mean, in certain aspects?" he asks gently, hoping to encourage Jason to open up even slightly.

“The guys are…not the nicest.” He scratches his nape awkwardly, still unwilling to make eye contact with Dave. Dave knew the Metallica guys were douches, but to someone as nice as Jason?

Dave's eyebrows furrow at Jason's confession. He was aware of Lars and James not being nice to the bassist after Cliff’s passing, but still, hearing that they were treating someone as sweet as Jason badly stirred up a mixture of anger and protectiveness within him.

"They're giving you trouble?" he asked, his tone sharp. He reached forward, gently placing a hand on Jason's wrist in a comforting gesture.

Jason’s heart jumps, but his face remains passive. He’s sure his pale cheeks are reddening, and for the first time since he sat down, they lock eyes. Dave’s hazel eyes are deep and inviting, and he just wants to fall into their warmth forever.

“It’s nothing bad. Just some pranks, trashing my hotel room and whatever.”

Dave's gaze softened as he met Jason's eyes, noticing the way the younger man's cheeks were flushed. He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction at the small victory.

"Pranks? That sounds like them," Dave muttered, a hint of disdain in his tone. He gently squeezed Jason's wrist, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against the man’s skin.

"You shouldn’t have to deal with that bullshit. It's not right."

He relishes as Jason flushed further, his lips pouty in a frozen quiver, and he’s sure Jason interested in him. Otherwise, he’d have pulled his hand away, right?

Dave notices the way Jason's lips pout, his expression almost vulnerable, and it only amplifies his earlier determination to get the man in his bed. He leans forward, his hand on Jason's wrist shifting to a more intimate position, loosely gripping the man’s hand instead.

"Jason...I know this might sound cheesy, but...you deserve better than the bullshit they're putting you through. You're good. Too good to be treated like crap like that."

Jason laughs nervously, keeping his hand under Dave’s warm palm. His cheeks get redder and redder, and the ginger can’t help but watch how pretty he looks, even when all flustered. “It’s not a big deal—”

Dave cuts him off gently, his eyes fixed intently on the man's face. The sight of a flustered Jason is captivating, and Dave finds himself wishing he could make him even more red.

"Yes, it is. They shouldn’t be treating you like that. It's unacceptable." He leans even further forward, his free hand reaching up to brush stray curls away from Jason's face, his touch soft and gentle.

The hitch in Jason’s breath is audible and the bassist is sure Dave isn’t doing this out of friendliness. No friend would tuck hair behind his ear with such genuine affection. No way.

Dave is fully aware that his affection is beyond the realm of simple friendship. He studies Jason's reaction, noticing the hitch in the younger man's breath and the way he swallows hard. It fuels his determination to get the bassist alone.

He continues to lightly caress Jason’s curls, the soft strands of hair slipping through his fingers like silk. His thumb then moves to brush against Jason's cheek, a feather-like touch, barely there but deliberate and intimate.

Jason’s hypnotised by Dave, everything in the background fading out like it was some cheesy romance movie. But he swears there’s a spark between them because Dave’s eyes have such a genuine look of affection.

Dave is fully immersed in the moment as well. Every little reaction of Jason's is like a drug, fueling his growing sense of infatuation with the bassist. The dim lights of the bar cast a romantic glow over them both, as if the outside world doesn’t exist anymore.

"You're beautiful," Dave mutters as his thumb traces over Jason's lower lip, watching the way the man's lashes flutter in response.

“Thanks.” The auburnette says breathily, his face a tomato. 

Dave can’t help but smile as he watches Jason’s face flush an even deeper shade of scarlet. The sight is both adorable and seductive, and Dave finds himself wanting to see how flustered he can make him.

He doesn’t remove his hand from the man’s face, instead continuing to caress his skin gently. “You don’t hear that enough, do you?” he asks, his voice a low murmur.

He laughs, eyes crinkling as his signature smile spreads across his lips. His curls bounce as he tilts his head “Not as much as I’d like to.” 

Dave's heart flutters at the sound of Jason's laughter and the sight of his smile. He can't help but be enamored with the way the man's locks move with his movement, adding to his unassuming boyish charm. 

"That's a crime in my opinion." Dave replies, his tone a mix of playful and serious. "Such a pretty thing like you should be showered in compliments every day." His thumb drifts from Jason's cheek to lightly brush over his lip again, the action subtle and sensual.

“I wouldn’t mind if they came from you.” The bassist teases, emboldened by their mutual attraction.

The corner of Dave’s lips twitch as he hears Jason's words, the man's confident response pleasantly surprising him. He didn’t expect such a straightforward answer, but he’s certainly enjoying it.

"Oh yeah?” he purrs, leaning in slightly. His hazel eyes are fixed on Jason’s face, watching his every move. His hand moves down to the man’s neck, his thumb grazing over the sensitive skin there. "You’d let me shower you with compliments, pretty boy? You know, you should let me take you home instead."

“I think both would suffice..” He offers, and Jason feels like a teenager all over again, falling in love with this handsome ginger who’s somehow the first person to call him pretty.

A sly smile graces Dave’s lips at Jason’s words, the ginger’s confidence only increasing further. He’s enjoying this newfound flirtation, and the way Jason’s responding is exactly what he’d hoped for.

“Now, look at you, being all cheeky.” he mutters, his hand moving from the man’s neck to ghost over his shoulder, the skin there so warm and so inviting. “I like that.” 

He leans in even closer, his voice low and sultry. “You’d let me take you to my place then?”

“If you insist.”

A sly smile plays on Dave’s lips as Jason agrees, the hint of submission in his voice only serving to arouse Dave further. He moves his free hand to rest on the man’s thigh, his fingers lightly gripping the denim-covered muscle, giving a light squeeze.

“Let’s get out of here yeah?” He suggests, his gaze not leaving Jason’s flushed face. 

“My place isn’t far from here.”

𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒/𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐄 - 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

thanks to @thenaughtynun for giving me the motivation to write this

warnings: blow jobs, deepthroating, glasses kink, facials, slight hair-pulling,

nsfw below the cut :)

The first time James had seen Dave in those thin, wire-framed glasses that he used on occasion, he was enraptured. He looked like some kind of geek, like a computer programming nerd, though that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

It’s so tantalising, the way they perch on the bridge of his nose as he watches movies while sprawled out on their couch, and God, James never wanted to thank the divine more for myopia existing. His innocent adoration for Dave in glasses had soon enough morphed into something of an aching need to see his boyfriend utterly ruined in those specs. 

Come splattered across those delicate frames, lying low and crooked on his nosebridge. He’s have to wipe it off with his sleeve like some kind of dork cleaning his glasses, and somehow that thought was even more arousing than getting a blowie.

The thought took up most of the space in his mind, occupying most of his brain when he saw Dave walking around the house with them like a total slut. And James knows it isn’t his fault he looks so good in glasses, but it also kind of is, when he’s popping a boner every time he strolls past.

It was like a never ending hell of being turned on, unable to hide his very obvious arousal. God, it was torture, and Dave wasn’t even trying to be a tease (for once). 

It doesn’t help that Dave is very much an oblivious idiot, as well. So, whenever he catches James ogling his ass, he merely sends him a small grin, believing that he was being leered at because he was cute, not because of his glasses. Even worse, Dave always seemed to be wearing those damn glasses whenever they went somewhere together, the only time he took them off being in the car, where James couldn’t touch him..

It’s a late Sunday afternoon, and the two were currently relaxing at home, Dave settled into a comfortable looking sweater and his wire-frames,  scrolling through the TV channels. His eyebrows were furrowed in deep concentration, and James found himself unable to keep his eyes from trailing down the bridge of Dave’s nose, his eyes fixated on his boyfriend’s glasses. 

“What the hell are you staring at, James?” Dave murmurs without looking up, not missing a beat in his browsing.

James grits his teeth. Dave was such an oblivious idiot, but that was one thing he loved about him, as contradictory as that seemed. It wasn’t even like Dave was being purposely ignorant of the fact that he was the source of James’s obsession this time.. he was just naturally slow on the uptake. 

“Nothin’…” James muttered, still not taking his eyes off Dave. His fingers tapped nervously on the leather of the couch between them, his eyes flickering to his boyfriend’s specs, under the guise of staring him in the eyes.

Dave didn’t seem convinced, though, and he turned his head to face his boyfriend, finally peeling his eyes away from the television. “You need something or what?”

James hesitates for a moment, considering if he should just tell Dave the truth, or if he should just lie. The thing was, he knew Dave wouldn’t be opposed, not at all, but he wanted to see what his boyfriend would say, even if they both knew he wouldn’t mean it. 

Still, he didn’t want to be too blunt. Dave could be a pretty sensitive guy, and James would rather not say the wrong thing. “I want a blowjob.” Of course, he’s throwing all his considerations out the window because he wants—no, needs—to ruin Dave in those terribly erotic spectacles.

Dave stares at him for a moment, a blank look in his hazel eyes before he broke into a small scoff, shaking his head. “What, are you horny, Het? Go jerk off. You don’t need to give me a shitty excuse to tell me you want me to suck you off.”

Damn it. Dave could read him like a book, of course he could. Still, despite the fact that he knew Dave was kidding, he still acted offended, pretending like he really was giving an excuse. “I mean, don’t put it like that, I just want some attention, dude, come on… I haven’t gotten any in days, y’know? Come on, baby, please?” He whines, leaning forward and rubbing against him like some sort of cat, trying to get his attention. “Help a guy out.”

“You’re pathetic, I hope you know that.” Dave says, but he can’t keep a smirk from his face and he tilts his head, letting James nuzzle against him for a moment. “Can’t go a couple nights without head? Jesus, what are you, a teenage boy?”

“It’s been more than ‘a couple nights’.” James mumbles, sounding like a petulant child at this point, his body completely pressed against Dave’s by now. He can feel his cock growing stiflingly hard in his jeans, and he lets out a soft huff, moving up to press kisses to the side of Dave’s neck. “Just really want you tonight.”

That’s a half-truth. But he’s not going to tell Dave the real reason he’s all wound up or he’d never those glasses ever again.

It seems to work, though, because Dave lets out a soft huff of a sigh, placing one of his hands on the back of James’ neck, his fingers playing with the ends of his hair. “Okay, fine, alright. Fine, you win, you needy fuckin’ baby...” He sighs to himself, eyes rolling, but the teasing words lacked any sort of heat to them.

As Dave slides off the couch to sink to his knees, there’s that trembling sense of anticipation in his gut. Finally, he’ll get what he’s been wanting to see for the longest time, and the thought is even more blissful that it should be. 

Nimble hands pull his pants down to his mid-thigh, one step closer to freeing his aching dick from its confines. Then, he peels James’ boxers away, letting his cock spring free, a flushed and angry red. James practically salivates as Dave tucks his hair behind his ears, shuffling closer to hover his mouth over James’ throbbing length.

When Dave brings his mouth down, letting James sheath himself in that tight wet cavern that is his mouth, his hand settling to tightly grip those brassy curls as Dave hollows his cheeks and bobs up and down, able to take him to the hilt with a practiced ease. He groans as the shaft pushed past his throat, James shudders at the vibrations, pleasure tingling up his spine.

“Jesus—shit, ah, fuck—!”

Choking on a moan, James uses the back of his hand to cover his mouth, almost embarrassed by the lewd noises he lets out freely. However, the sounds encourage Dave even more, and he once again takes all of him, drool stating to dribble down his chin obscenely. 

Warm lips wrap around his cock perfectly, as if they were practically made for him, tonguing the base of James’ length. His eyes flutter shut, stars exploding behind his eyelids at the sensations, because Dave’s too damn good at blowjobs and knows exactly what makes him tick. 

“Fuck—”

Tears prickle the ginger’s eyes, his throat beginning to feel raw with each stab to the back of his throat with James’ tip, a had reaching down to cup and fondle his balls. James draws in a sharp breath, his grip on Dave’s hair increasing tenfold. Dave’s fingers dig into his thighs, and it would be stingingly painful if not for the bouts of pleasure his boyfriend presents to him. 

James’ balls throb gently in Dave’s hands, the thick vein on the underside of his shaft pulsating, twitching in his mouth like it was waiting for something to push him off the edge, to be granted his orgasm. So he increases his efforts tenfold, doing everything in his power to make James come even faster, wanting nothing more than to swallow his load and get back to Breaking Bad. 

“Dave, Dave, please, I’m gonna—”

Dave hums in response, the vibrations drawing a cry of ecstasy from his partner. He can feel James’ cock thicken in his mouth, strangled sounds wrenching themselves from his throat. As the blonde is about to come, he pulls Dave’s lecherous mouth off him, shooting ropes of spunk over his face and glasses. Taken aback, Dave doesn’t exactly know how to react well. 

“You fucker, you got it on my glasses!” Shooting a nasty glare at James, Dave looks as debauched as he had imagined, specs slanted and coated in his come, his seed dripping down his face. The man merely shrugs in response, with really nothing more to say. Dave doesn’t take his glasses off but grumbles something about having to clean them under his breath, another about getting a facial in front of Jesse Pinkman, and the look of his very come-coated face with those wiry frames has James jumping to full hardness again. 

“Hey, Dave…?” He asks, leaving his question unspoken, voice oh-so meek. 

“Yeah, yeah, help me outta my clothes.”

Everyone: “Cliff please save us!”

Cliff: “Fear not, for I shall indeed deliver you from this turmoil. By embracing the agrarian way of life, you will find solace and purpose. Through the act of farming, you will connect with the earth, attuning yourselves to the natural cycles of growth and renewal. This harmonious existence will bring you peace and fulfillment, allowing you to adapt and thrive in ways you have yet to imagine. Name all the animals after me!”

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.”

𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐊/𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐒 - 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

warnings: anal sex, riding, getting caught, getting blue balled

I’ve been putting off posting this for the longest time so here you go

nsfw under the cut :)

Kirk leaned against the couch, condensation dripping onto his pants from the beer in his hand. Usually, he’d care to sit it down on the coffee table, but right now his eyes were fixed on the Dane in front of him, bent over and rummaging through a pile of old VHS tapes. 

“We got ‘The Thing’? Or do you wanna watch ‘Dracula’ first?” Lars called from the pile. Kirk shrugged—not like Lars could see him do it. 

“Anything. It’s not like I haven’t watched them a million times.” 

Kirk can practically feel Lars roll his eyes. “‘The Thing’ it is.” And when Lars stands again, Kirk almost frowns at the loss. He settled into the seat next to Kirk after slipping the tape in, and he switched the lights off. 

Kirk soon enough forgot about Lars’ ass, and focuses on the film, mindlessly absorbed into the film, fingers oily from popcorn. Lars, unfortunately for Kirk, seemed like he had to give his opinion on everything that the characters did in the movie. 

“He’s not having a heart attack, dumbass! He’s obviously the thing!” Lars raised an arm and pointed at the screen agitatedly. This is why Kirk watched movies with Cliff, not the Dane. 

When Copper used the defibrillator on Norris the second time, his arms plunged into the mouth cavity of Norris’ metamorphosised body. Lars cried out again. 

“I told you! Told you he was! Ain’t that right?” Kirk sighed internally. “Yeah, man.” Lars muttered more bullshit about how he predicted everything, thinking he was some sort of clairvoyant. Kirk had seen the movie a million times, and from day one even he knew what was going to happen, but it seemed that Lars prided himself on having basic common sense.

Three beers down and watching the next few movies, Lars is spewing nonsense again—one more beer and he’d sound like a conspiracy theorist. Kirk would ask him to shut up, but he’s well past caring, his alcohol-addled mind choosing to muffle out Lars’ incessant yapping.

When Lars finally shuts up, Kirk doesn’t register. He’s enthralled by the movie when he hears Lars’ voice right by his ear. “Kirk.” The Filipino startles, popcorn jostling in his bowl. “Shit, what?” He asked, leaning away from him. 

“I’ve been calling you for like…this long.” Lars holds his arms out like a child in his inebriated state. “Whaddya want?” Kirk groans, rubbing his strained eyes. The Dane tilts his head like a curious dog, only lit by the blueish light from the TV. “I’m horny.” 

Kirk sputters. “Seriously?” His face flushed further, avoiding eye contact with him, eyes glued to the screen. Lars hummed in response, fingers trailing up Kirk’s thigh tentatively. He shivered, grasping Lars’ wrist. “Cant we just watch this..?” he slurs, but Lars insists on bothering him further by resting a hand on his chest, staring up at him with half-lidded eyes. His breath catches in his throat at the sight of Lars’ drunken grin, both of them drunk. Kirk barely retained any of his sobriety. 

“Please..?” Lars whispers, leaning in close with his breath ghosting against the shell of Kirk’s ear. It’s too hard to resist, to say no, and his decisions are influenced by the alcohol—so he lets Lars crawl on top of him, cling to him like glue and latch on with his lecherous teeth. 

The movie now plays forgotten in the background, the eerie horror now white noise. Lars lets his hands roam over Kirk’s tanned skin, warm against his cold hands. Goosebumps trail in his wake, skin pulling taut and hairs standing to attention. He’s like a vampire, lips attached to Kirk’s neck. He bites and sucks and laps over his skin greedily, making the older man squirm. Kirk’s hands rest on Lars’ narrow hips, cock already twitching in his boxers. 

Lars grinds against him, a strangled moan escaping his parted lips as he throws his head back. Kirk bucks his hips upwards, chasing the delicious friction. His fingers dig into the cool flesh of Lars’ waist under his shirt. 

Lars soon stops his grinding, and Kirk whines at the loss. But it’s all worth it because Lars shoves his pants down and tugs Kirk’s shorts off, hips hovering above Kirk’s erection. Maybe Lars had planned this, because the sneaky fuck had lube in his bag. He lubed up his own fingers and loosely stretched himself out, before slicking up Kirk and sinking down. 

Kirk chokes on his saliva—Lars wasted no time bouncing up and down on his cock like he was made for it. Jesus, either he loved the stretch or he had no feeling down there. Kirk’s hands rested on his hips again, following his movements with eagerness. 

“Fuck, Lars—Jesus, slow down..” Kirk drawled out, trying to keep up with the younger man. “I’m horny,” Lars repeats with a gasp, moaning out like a pornstar. Kirk was used to Lars’ already unusually high libido, but when he was drunk was a whole thing. “God—so good…thick fuckin cock.” Lars praises, the words going straight to Kirk’s head. 

“Fuck, you’re good..” He babbles on, spewing praises like Kirk’s the messiah. Kirk tips his head back, breathy whines escaping his lips. His hips buck upwards, meeting Lars halfway so that his cockhead brushes against Lars’ prostate maddeningly. 

Lars can feel his orgasm building up quick, with the way his cock pulses in sync with his heartbeat, standing tall and blurting precome. Kirk slams Lars’ hips down, and Lars grips his shoulders to hang on for the ride. Kirk screws his eyes shut and moves Lars’ hips up and down faster.

Lars moans, loud, and Kirk relishes in the sweet sounds. He wanted to hear more, see what else he could draw out of him. They’re both soon to reach their climax.

Until.

The clattering of keys and heavy-booted footsteps can be heard coming in fast from down the hallway, and the two freeze. 

They sober up in an instant, and Lars tries to pull off Kirk’s cock but there’s no time. They’re too late—the door opens, and James’ voice can be heard. 

“Hey guys—oh my god!”

Kirk and Lars share the same horrified expression—like they’d witnessed a murder. But nothing can beat the look on James’ face. James sounds and looks disgusted, covering his eyes like a child. Cliff is behind him, and he merely shakes his head like a disappointed parent. 

Kirk could feel the pressure in his gut immediately dissipate. Lars as well, both so close to a satisfying end, only to be stopped. 

“Yeah, I’m gone.” James gags, stumbling out the room dramatically. Cliff watches him for a second before turning back to them. He speaks like a parent chastising his children.

“Lock the door next time.” 

When Lars and Kirk are finally alone, their desires melted away, it’s awkward. So awkward, now that they’re thinking more clearly. Lars shifts uncomfortably on Kirk’s lap.

“Wow. They just blue balled us. What the hell!” He groaned, pulling himself off Kirk’s now flaccid dick. His own has softened, and he tosses Kirk’s pants to him while pulling his own up. What a way to have their night ruined. 

They would remind themselves to walk in on Cliff and James on purpose next time.

FEMTALLICA

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.

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.

Jason is a bottom no one can tell me otherwise