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dethtallica · 2 months ago

Note

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!”

#metallica #james hetfield #lars ulrich #fanfic #jlars #hetrich #metallica smut #metallica rpf

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imacrowcawcaw · 5 years ago

Text

Eyes of Juniper Ch. 1 (A Metallica Fic)

Ao3 Link

Author (as known on Various sites): Lady Lover- Rockfic, Luluthechoosingcrow - AO3, theladylovingcrow - Deviantart and Wattpad, @sammy_bluebells - Instagram, @imacrowcawcaw - main Tumblr, @insannywestan - Sanny shipping Tumblr Pairing: Lars Ulrich/James Hetfield, Kirk Hammett/Cliff Burton, Lars/Female Character (briefly), Lars/Male Character (kinda, more just awkward one sided flirting then Lars gets rescued by his knight in a ratty Motorhead shirt) Fandom: Metallica Tags/warnings: Sex-swap AU, early 80s era 'tallica, smut, gay smut, also het smut since the whole gender switch thing, drinking and alcohol, lots of cussing and profanity, should warn that Lars goes into detail about taking a piss cuz ya know it's new to him, Idk I'll add tags per chapter as I think of shit

Notes:

1. Okay, so I spent like months thinking about whether to do this or not. On the one hand, yes this has so much potential to be fun (and I've seen some other sex swap stories i like). On the other hand, a lot of the whole sex/Gender swap thing is really stereotypical gender shit and goes against what I personally believe. But, creative juices won out and I'll try to keep true to character as much as possible while also making this funny and not too misogynistic (if that's possible).

2. This is a work in progress! I started it a year and a half ago, and now a friend is helping me continue

3. This story is inspired by the song 'Jewel of the Summertime' by Audioslave (on their album Revelations) I love this song and it is awesome you should totally go listen to it.

4. The witch-lady is inspired by Aine, Celtic goddess of love, summer, wealth, and sovereignty. I literally just googled 'goddess of love' then scrolled through a list to find someone other than Aphrodite (don't get me wrong I love Greek mythology but it just wasn't right for this fic) and came across this girl. I only did a quick Wikipedia read, I'm not planning on going too heavy into her myth and more just using her for the plot but.... If anybody is more well versed in Celtic mythology and I seem to get something wrong, please feel free to comment and I'll try my best to make it accurate!

5. Woo damn that was a lot of stuff, I don't blame you if you didn't bother reading it. Now, on with the show!

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1984 (Lars' POV)

The first thing I felt when I woke up was this odd sense of.... well, just something being fuckin' off. Like I was missing something, but also like I had gained something? I felt like a brand-new person, although in my gut I was still me.... Man, I must have had WAY too much Jager last night, it's fucking with my head.

I slowly peeled the itchy fleece blanket off of my body and rolled onto the floor, which was about a foot from the bare mattress. We really needed to invest in some sheets, especially if we wanted to keep bringing chicks back to the house. Apparently, most girls are not at all impressed by stained, lumpy mattresses with almost no bedding on them.

Speaking of girls and mattresses, didn't I bring one home last night? I raised my head slightly from its position from the threadbare carpet and looked at the bed, trying to see if Anna (Was that her name?) was still there. Yep, there was a naked hippy still passed out in my bed, sweet!

I groaned quietly as I stood and shuffled my way out the door and down the hall to the bathroom. It was then I noticed that I didn't really have the usual alcohol-and-early-morning-and-piss induced erection, but my bladder was still straining. Huh, weird.

Whatever. I just wanted to pee, get rid of that feeling in my gut, and get that dead possum taste out of my mouth. Pushing open the door and wincing as the creaky hinges screeched through my headache, I pulled down my boxers and reached for my dick.... What the fuck?

WHAT THE FUCK?

WHERE WAS MY MOTHERFUCKIN DICK?!

Trying not to panic, I looked down, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment so I wouldn't have to see right away. But, of course, that kind of defeated the purpose of looking down, so I opened them again. No dick. The hell was going on?

Taking a deep, calming breath, I tried to think through this rationally. My dick, for whatever reason, was not where it was supposed to be. But, my bladder was still full and begging to be released, so obviously my system or whatever was still working. That need to pee was turning into a burning pain, so I tried to come up with a solution. If I don't have a cock, then I can piss through....what, exactly? Is there anything down there at all? What is even going on!?

Pulling in another deep breath through my nose, I let it hiss out between clenched teeth as I slowly, so slowly, touched my fingers to my abdomen and moved them downwards, dreading what I would find. Annnnnd....... Yep, there it was.

Velvety soft lips, slick, pungent juices; anatomy I knew so well but never, EVER expected to feel on myself. My crisis would have to wait a minute, though, 'cause my bladder was going to explode and no dick be damned I needed to do something about it.

Gingerly sitting my ass down on the toilet (god, so weird sitting down just to piss) I tried to slowly let it out. The feeling was...well there was certainly relief of the pressure, but it also felt strange in a way I couldn't really describe. I could possibly get used to it, not that I'm planning on staying like this or anything.

Cringing as I wiped, I slowly pulled the boxers back up to my hips that I just now noticed were a little wider than usual. And my hands, were they smaller? Softer? My chest too....HOLY SHIT I HAVE BOOBS! That, I might be able to get used to.

I turned to the mirror, and was quite shocked at what I saw. There was a girl standing there, with large, doe-like green eyes staring back at me from underneath brown bangs. She had a nice tan on her upper body, although her breasts were still pale where she clutched at them, small rosy nipples poking through her fingers. A pair of black cotton boxers stretched tight around the small curve of her hips, but hung loose around her milky thighs that almost touched. And this...this chick was me. ME.

Shaking my head, I splashed some water onto my face and rubbed my eyes, hoping it was just a fucked up dream. No such luck.

I was considering hiding in the bathroom forever, because no way in hell could I let the guys see me like this, let alone figure out how to explain, when I heard a scream. It sounded a lot like Kirk's voice, so I pushed my problems to the back of my head and ran into the hallway, stopping dead in my tracks at what I saw.

Anna, or whatever her name was, stood at the top of the stairs, dressed in flowing black robes with green Celtic designs all over them. She had jewels and charms hanging from her waist, wrists, neck, and ears, each tinkling as she tossed some sort of... Powder onto a very shocked looking Kirk. Or at least, I was pretty sure it was Kirk. He (she?) seemed to be in the same boat as me as far as bodies were concerned at the moment.

With a final dusting of powder, witchy-chick turned to me and smirked. "I hope you learn your lesson, I'll be back in a week. And as for you...." She turned to Kirk, "Well, you're just too damn cute! I couldn't resist seeing what a pretty girl you'd make!"

"This is your fault? You bitch! " I yelled. "Why the hell did you do this to us? Who are you? Change us back, then get the fuck out! I don't wanna be a damn girl, and neither does Kirk!" God this was fucking insane, that chick was crazy!

She hissed at me, eyes flashing in a way that could not be human. "Now you listen, GIRL. You'll stay like this for as long as I deem fit. You need to learn some respect for women, and being one is the best way to do that. I suppose you don't remember what you did last night?" She asked, looking bored and ready lo go fuck up someone else's life.

I thought hard, then it came creeping back to me. The bar, the Jager, the flirting with a group of girls, copping a feel and getting slapped, then her changing her mind and coming home with me, talking dirty in her ear, then unworldly sex, her whispering what sounded like a spell in my ear as I came... Holy shit.

"Is this about me grabbing your ass? I'm sorry! Please don't do this!" I begged, finally starting to let the situation sink in and desperation set. This could not be happening.

"Hmph," she snorted, "Begging isn't going to get you anywhere. I've seen humans beg for much less, and they still didn't get it. No, you'll love your life as a woman for a week, both of you, and hopefully you'll come to realize the struggles and terror that comes with it. If you've learned your lessons and are truly sorry, then you will be turned back. If not... Well you'll just have to stay like this until you do."

And just like that, she turned with a flourish and disappeared into thin air. My morning could not get any crazier, I was sure if it. But, because I wasn't actually sure and was suddenly doubting all logical occurrences in the world, I knocked on the wooden railing. That done, I turned towards Kirk.

He (seriously, do I call us he's or she's now? This is so fucked up) was shaking like a leaf, looking like he'd fall over any moment. I went over to grab him, calm him down, something.

"Shh shh, it's all right, Kirk," I muttered in his ear, awkwardly patting his back. I never thought I'd need to, but it really fucking sucks I can't comfort him any better than this. It was like this sour feeling in my chest that nestled in right next to my heart, whispering how awful I was at this and how he's probably mad at me for getting him into this situation.

Before I could ask him if he wanted to punt me out of a window, though, I heard some shuffling and talking coming from downstairs. James and Cliff were headed up here. As much as I wanted to hide for a week until my fuckin' "lesson" was up, I couldn't exactly drag Kirk into the hall closet in his current state, so I stood my ground.

"Hey, ladies, we do appreciate the service you've done our ugly ass friends, but could you keep the cat fight down until you've left the house?"

Ah, James, the man still didn't know how to talk to women after all this time. He was either too shy to form a sentence, or he put on this macho bravado that turned him into a drink asshole. Either way, this lady was not pleased.

By now I guess the guys had reached the landing Kirk and I were at and saw me hugging him, because Cliff chimed in, "Aww, they've made up! Good! Now, can I ask what exactly you two were telling about so loudly that it woke me and my boy James up? Did Lars do something?"

My back straightened at that, and I turned my head to him indignantly. "I did fucking not!" I retorted, even though apparently this whole situation was my fault. No need for them to know that, though.

"Holy shit, Lars!?!" James screamed.

I sighed. "Hi, Jamie."

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Chapter 2

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