Okay Im Posting The Rest Of It After All.

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!”

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.

cowboys are frequently secretly fond of each other.

mood rn

some sketches on this mini sketchbook I think I'm having an artblock fml

It’s not a want. It’s a NEED

self indulgent jameson.

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!”

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.”

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