FicWad

Twenty five fucking years we've been together. Well, been together without really being together, if you know what I mean. Is that some fucked up shit or what I ask myself as I sit here and watch him play his guitar from behind my drum set. I mean, hell, I know James better than I know myself. He knows me just as fucking well.

"Quit fucking dreaming back there and keep a fucking beat, dick." James says, throwing a look back at me. Fuck, how long has he been trying to catch my attention?

I shrug at him, trying my best to look unconcerned, but he probably saw right through me. Oh well, at least he turned back around and flipped the recorder back on. I start a new beat, just keeping rhythm for him right now, really, and he starts to play once again.

I try to keep my mind on it, really I do, but before long my mind has once again wandered and he's flipping the recorder back off and setting his guitar back down. Fuck, he doesn't look happy. Wonder if I should apologize? Naw, fuck it, it'd just make him madder than he already is.

Kirk throws an apologetic look over at me before standing and making an excuse about needing to get something from the kitchen. Rob? He doesn't even try, just climbs to his feet and follows after Kirk as quick as he can, and he's never even seen the 'real' Hetfield temper. How could he, he wasn't around in the 'good old days' of 'Alcohalica'. He's seen enough, I guess.

I worry for a minute that James is gonna lose it, because he's got his eyes closed and he's whispering to himself so low I can't hear him, but then he opens his eyes and turns to me, his expression one of infinite patience. I wonder how long that will last?

Fuck, I'm not gonna lie. I know damn good and well if it had been Kirk or Rob pulling this stunt James would have been screaming already. For me, though, he's always been more careful. Almost like he's afraid I'm gonna break or something. What the fuck ever.

"You wanna tell me what's going through that tiny little head of yours, Pixie?" James asks, tilting his head and grinning at me encouragingly.

Only fucking James can get away with calling me that. I fucking hate that name, but for James, it just sounds right. "Just because you're a fucking giant doesn't mean I'm tiny, fucker." I retort, shaking my head and grinning at him. I sit there for a moment, hoping he'll turn away, go back to playing or something like that, but he doesn't, he just keeps looking at me, waiting for something. The bastard knows me too fucking well. He knows I'll spill my guts if he waits long enough. What happened to the good old days when he didn't have the patience for my bullshit and he'd let it drop? "I was just wool-collecting." I tell him, shaking my head as he automatically corrects my English, telling me it's 'woolgathering'. "Whatever. Just thinking back. You know what today is?" I ask.

"Yeah. Twenty five years since we got our first song recorded. Come a long way, haven't we?" James asks, smiling, his eyes softening as he too thinks back to our early days. "Hey, why don't we go out tonight, celebrate?" He asks excitedly.

"Whatcha wanna do?" I ask, cocking my head, thinking that sounds like fun. We don't really go out much when we're in the studio. Hell, we don't do much more than sleep and work on the music when we're in the studio. I can tell by the mountain of paperwork I always have when we get done with recording, and I'm still doing some of it while we're here when I don't have to be playing.

"I don't know. Maybe hit White Castle; get a burger and some fries, head over to the drive in and catch a flick, then head to your room and blare some old Diamond Head? Make a night of it like we used to do before all the other shit came up and we just didn't have the time anymore?" James responds his eyes and tone both sounding pleading.

"Damn, you been thinking about it a lot, haven't you, fucker?" I ask, shaking my head as his eyes turn even more pleading. Fuck, the dick is giving me the puppy look, I'm a goner, and I may as well give in fucking gracefully. "Sounds like a good time. Let's do it." I tell him with growing enthusiasm for the idea.

"Do what?" Kirk asks, coming back into the studio with a glass of tea in his hand, Rob behind him with a bottle of water.

"Do this fucking song, dick." James tells him, turning back around and picking up his guitar.

Kirk and Rob both settle back into their places and we get to jamming again. This time I keep my mind on what I'm doing and we seem to settle into a pleasant routine for the rest of the day, making some good music. Both of them throw us some questioning glances at first, but then my bad playing is pretty much dropped. I guess they figure James straightened me out and there's no use beating a dead mule. It seems like no time at all and we're done for the day, the master for this song complete.

Normally at this point Kirk and Rob go ahead and go, but James and I stick around to do the mixing on the song we just finished. We just find it easier to mix as we go, saves a lot of time. I guess that's why Kirk's looking at us funny when James grabs his and my coats while Kirk and Rob are grabbing theirs. "You two aren't mixing tonight?" Kirk asks.

"Not tonight. We're taking the night off. We'll mix it tomorrow." I tell him.

"Cool, you guys need the break. Wanna go out and get a drink or something to wind down?" Rob asks, though I notice that Kirk is still staring at us.

"Another time. We have plans tonight." James tells him, softening the rebuke with a smile.

"Okay. See you tomorrow." Kirk says, and for some reason there's a blush on his face and now he's elbowing Rob and trying to drag him out of there. What the fuck is up with that, I wonder, giving James a questioning look, but he just shrugs at me and hands me my coat.

"You ready, Pixie?" He asks, waiting for my nod before throwing his arm around my shoulders and leading me out of the studio and to the Beast.

"I like the way that one turned out." I tell him as he starts the truck and pulls out of the parking lot. James just gives me a nod and a smile, and I can tell he doesn't want to talk about our new album tonight. That makes since, as we're taking a night away from it, so instead I decide to talk about the past some, and James seems to like that more, because we're reminiscing happily as we pull into the White Castle parking lot. Neither of us brought shades, or anything else to hide who we are, but fuck it. It's LA, and there are famous people on every street corner, we should be fine.

"I remember that house all the time. Sometimes I wish we could go back to that place. Dave, Cliff, you and I living in that tiny little 2 bedroom place, playing clubs every fucking night to pay the bills, but we were always having fun, you know?" I tell him. We had started on the house when we drove by it on our way here.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I wish we could, too. There's a lot of things I wish I could change, could go back to. We're not one of them, though." James says with a smile.

I wonder if I should tell him I wish I could change us, though. But I don't. Why would I after all these years? I told James once, a long time ago, how I felt about him. Back in that house, as a matter of fact. James told me no, it wasn't time for us yet. I accepted that it never would be about ten years ago. Doesn't mean I don't still love him more than my next breath, doesn't mean that I don't wish sometimes that it would finally be time for us, but I accepted it and found that just having him as my best friend was good enough for me. Course I had known that all along, really.

"I know what you mean. We been through a lot of shit, haven't we Missekat?" I ask, shaking my head. We've been to every extreme there is, hit every high and low out there, but we did it our fucking way, and to us, that's all that mattered.

"That's putting it lightly. Hey, maybe I would change one thing. I coulda kept playing bass, then we wouldn't have gone through bass players like they were water after a gig." He says jokingly. I know what he's really saying, though. He's saying he would change Cliff's death, and if there was any one thing about Metallica's history I could change, that would be my first choice, too.

"Naw, you were a shitty bassist. Why else would we have gotten Bob to do that one album?" I tease him. Memory Lane is all well and good, and I would love to travel down it with him tonight, but not the bad ones. Tonight should be about the good memories, that thought in mind, I shift the conversation slightly. "You know what I remember the most about those days?"

"The evil couch from hell?" James asks teasingly, and yeah, I remember that thing pretty damn good. So much so that I refuse to own a single solitary piece of green furniture, even now. So does James, for that matter.

"Well, that too," I laugh. "But I was actually gonna say the music. Seems like everything we did back then involved music. We were either playing in one of the clubs, or writing our own shit, or listening to records, or talking about music. Fuck, somebody asked me in an interview the other day how could I have known you for 10 years before finding out something so simple as your middle fucking name. I felt like a dick as I was letting that sink in...."

"Take a breath, Uli." James interrupts, opening the door to the restraint and stepping to the side to let me walk in first. "'Sides, why should you have felt bad? We've been best friends since the day we met, practically. Your way was evidently the right one, not whatever that asshole interviewer thought."

I have to smile at him when he says that. I guess I didn't realize it, but I was still feeling a little bad about it. James smiles back at me and puts his hand on the small of my back to urge me forward into the line, and once again I marvel at the easy affection he shows me now. To an extent it's always been there, I guess, but it seems to have grown more unthinking in the recent years. I know it has for me. There was a time, back in the beginning, when I wouldn't have so much as patted James's back if there were other people around without meeting his eyes first to silently let him know I was gonna touch him. Now? Hell, yesterday we were all in the studio eating lunch and there were no empty chairs, so I just climbed into James's lap without a second thought. Fuck, probably wouldn't have even realized I had done it if the guys hadn't made jokes about putting me in a high-chair complete with buckles because James wrapped his arm around my stomach.

James's chin on the top of my head brings me out of my thoughts and back to the present. Evidently he's already ordered for us, because we're standing at the end of the counter where they hand you your food, his arms are around me, his chin is on top of my head and he's holding a ticket. I'm leaned back against him with my hands resting on his forearms. I tilt my head back and he looks down at me questioningly, so I just sorta shrug at him and he grins at me.

"Why don't we skip the movie? You're too out of it to enjoy one tonight. Let's just kick back and relax by ourselves." James asks me, and since he doesn't seem that put out about it, I nod in agreement. Nothing I'd rather do than be alone with James, anyway. It'd be a hard fight, but it would even beat being onstage beating the fuck outta my drums. "Great. I know just where to go." James says, grabbing the bag the awestruck kid is holding out to us.

We turn to leave, and I notice a few nasty looks thrown our way from a table near us, hear a muttered comment that I don't quite catch, just the word 'faggots', but at least we're not being mauled for autographs. A few people have obviously taken pictures of us, but they had the respect to do it from a distance, so I don't care. Years ago, James would have knocked someone's teeth in for the nasty looks from that one table, but we've all grown up, and more comfortable with ourselves and the world in general. We're us, and the rest of the world can take a flying leap if they don't like it.

"Where we going?" I ask as we head back outside and towards the truck. James gives me a mysterious smile and keeps walking towards it. "Awe, come on, fucker. Tell me!" I demand, but he just picks me up and sets me in the passenger seat of the Beast, setting the food on my lap and closes the door. Damn him.

James climbs in behind the wheel and I gives me his pleading puppy expression, and I laugh, sitting back and deciding that if he wants to surprise me, he can. I won't try to weasel it out of him. I even lay my head back and close my eyes when he asks me to so I can't see where we're going.

He drives for about 20 minutes, and seems to be making a lot of turns. Damn, I'm tempted to just take a little peak, but I manage to hold back the urge. James wants to surprise me, who am I to ruin it. Finally he stops and gets out of the truck, telling me to wait here for a second, and keep my eyes shut.

A minute or so later, though with the anticipation is making it feel more like a year, James is back. He reaches in and scoops me out of the truck, our bag of food still in my lap, and begins carrying me, ignoring my laughing protests about his back.

"Seriously James, you're gonna kill your back with this shit! Put me down and let me walk." I laughingly tell him. I am worried about his back, but this is really nothing new when James is in a good mood. He likes to play around and goof off. I think he's trying to make up for the fun he missed out on in his childhood.

"The food weighs more than you do, Lars. Come to think of it, I think the bag's taller, too." He jokes, walking up some stairs. Now I'm really wondering where we are, and the smell's not really giving anything away. Finally he walks inside somewhere and shuts the door, setting me down on my feet. "You can open your eyes now, Pixie." He tells me somewhat nervously.

"Shit!" I exclaim as I look around. This is the house. Our house. The one from way back when. The only difference between then and now is it's clean, and we're the only ones here. Back then there were always a lot of people around, Dave, Cliff, Dave's groupies, our rodies, what the fuck ever. The only way we could be alone to talk or write was in our room, and even that didn't always work. "Even the furniture looks the same! Fuck, Missekat!"

"I, uh, bought it for us. A couple weeks back, got all the furniture moved in last weekend." James stutters. That's so fucking cute, that he's even stuttering the way he used to back then when he was shy and afraid of the world when he was offstage. My heart seizes and I don't know whether to hug him, look around at everything, or ask him what the fuck this is supposed to mean.

"I didn't even know it was up for sale." I reply, the urge to look around the one that wins out, and I'm bounding off to check out the furniture, the kitchen, the bathroom. James is with me the whole way, smiling now at my excitement.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't. Not really. I made the owners an offer they couldn't refuse. There's just so much of our fucking history tied into this house, I had to have it. We had to have it." James says, holding something out to me. I glance at the papers he's holding, immediately recognizing them as the deed to the house. All that fucking time I spend taking care of the business end of things has some uses, damnit. I smile when I see both our names listed as the owners.

"Did you mean to put my name there too, or was it just habit?" I tease. That's only so much of a joke, though. I can't tell you how many times one or the other of us have gotten a call about some contract or business venture or shit like that that we didn't know about, simply because it's habit for us to write both names. Anyone we deal with on a regular basis, or fuck, even know who we are, just call me, even if it was James who made the original deal. Fuck, the fucker over drafted his bank account once because he accidentally used the wrong account to pay for one of his fucking bikes, and even they called me.

"Well, I figured since we were married, we should own a fucking house together." James teases back. That, too, is an old joke. We went to court one day about 20 years ago and made each other our legal next of kin, gave each other legal power of attorney, all that good shit. We got done and Kirk and Jason started throwing rice at us when we got to the studio, congratulating us on our wedding. I remember primly informing them that married couples didn't have as many rights over each other as James and I did.

"That explains you carrying me over the threshold." I tease, firmly quieting that tiny voice that rears its ugly little head telling me that would make this our honeymoon. "I hate to be the one to break this to you, fucker, but we already own a house together, several of them as a matter of fact. Don't you ever pay attention to your portfolio?"

"Fuck me. Pixie, I'm trying to be romantic and shit here. Just fucking go with it, alright?" James bitches at me, then blushes a little before his voice calms and he begins stuttering once again. "Uh, I mean, well..."

I glance over at him from where I'm looking at the couch, examining it for stains and smells and he's looking at the floor, or more likely studiously not looking at me. Well fuck me sideways, James never 'tries to be romantic'. What the fuck is going on here? Is he trying to tell me it's time? Finally time for us to be US? I decide not to get my hopes up, but give him the clue that I'm receptive, that my feelings haven't changed. Like there's any doubt of that, right? "So, it's our first night in our new house, huh? Did you have a plan as to how we should celebrate that, Missekat?"

"Yeah, Pixie, I sure do. You gonna go along with it?" He asks me, finally looking up at me, and there's such heat and love in those icy blue eyes that I just want to melt to the floor in a puddle of goo. Whoever said his eyes were cold has never seen them when he looks at me. I've seen those eyes filled with anger, hate, love, compassion, any emotion you could imagine, with the single exception of passion. Well, sexual passion that is, I've seen the passion he has for music there as long as I've known him.

"James, we've been together on everything since we were 17 years old. That's not going to change now." I tell him, keeping my gaze locked with his as I stand up to my full height, trying to convey my willingness, fuck that, my want for what I think he's trying to tell me here.

"Good. We should start out with dinner then, huh?" He asks me, a mischievous look on his face. I'm on to his game, now. The bastard's up to something here, and he's going to do it his way, on his terms, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Were anyone else to try to run roughshod over me I would have a fit, but James is the one person on this earth I'll willingly give control to, always has been. Guess I'm going to have to do that again tonight.

We head over to the crappy dining room table set up in the kitchen, and James sets the bag down on the table before heading to the refrigerator to get us something to drink. I take a seat, yes, the same one I always sat in back in the old days, and grin as James sits down in his old seat beside me instead of across from me. Time seems to have slid backwards as we sit there eating, drinking, and talking. We talk about music, art, music, bikes, music, sports, music; basically everything but us, the band, or anything that would date where or when we are. It's easy to feel like the year is 1982 instead of 2006, so much so that when we finally finish eating I'm looking around wondering where Cliff and Dave are, and James seems to be just as bad off, because his voice has lowered into the whisper we used to use when we'd wake up first and were trying to not wake anyone else.

"Hey, let's listen to some music." James tells me when we finish and throw away our trash, waiting for my nod, he grins and continues. "You go pick something to listen to. I gotta take a piss, then I'll be right in."

I shake my head and head back to our room, since that's where we kept the record player. I wonder if he managed to find one of those and all our old albums, or if he caved and just put a CD player in there. This is James, though, and he doesn't do shit in half measures. Everything else is like it used to be, so I'll bet there's a crappy record player that we'll have to fuck with to get working and every record Diamond Head ever made sitting right next to it.

Grinning, I open the door to our bedroom, my mind already playing 'Am I Evil' for me, because that's what I've decided I want to hear, when I'm drawn to a complete standstill. My mind blanks and I've forgotten how to walk, much less breathe. Oh, the old posters are still on the wall, and there's a record player in there with a bunch of records, but that's where the resemblance stops. Where our piece of shit double bed with the broken frame and crappy sheets used to be there's now a double bed with an oak frame, the mattress and box spring looks anything but crappy, and we sure the fuck never had silk sheets on that bitch. Black silk sheets, at that. Did we used to even have sheets? The table that used to sit in the corner serving as a desk for us to write at is now actually a double desk with a pair of computers on it, one each, I guess.

I walk over to them and notice one of them is on. I've ever been curious, so I have to take a peek, when I notice the screen saver is words running across the screen. I don't catch it the first time, and the second I don't believe them. The third time I'm starting to believe my eyes, and the forth I just have to read again. I blink and read it a fifth time, just to make sure and about that time, James clears his throat in the doorway. "What the fuck?" I ask, finally finding my voice.

"That's one hell of an answer, fucker." James says with a grin. I guess he can tell I'm fucking speechless, because he doesn't seem offended. "I was thinking Denmark. You still have citizenship over there, and it's been legal there for years."

I glance back at the screen one more time, 'Marry me, Pixie' scrolling across it, and back at James, standing in the doorway. Anyone else would think he was calm and cool, but not me. I see the nervousness, the fear and apprehension in him. He's tense, his eyes are shuttered, and his hands are clenched slightly. It floors me that he has a doubt as to my answer. "Ja, back home in Denmark would be the perfect place. Nice quiet ceremony for just the family and our closest friends, and a concert for the reception?" I say with a grin, trying to figure out if there's any way we could do it with less than 100 people without offending anyone.

"Only you would want to give a concert in lue of a wedding reception." James tells me, shaking his head, the grin on his face turning more genuine, the tenseness draining from him with my answer.

"So, are you going to make me wait till our wedding night?" I tease.

"Well, I was thinking about it, but I figured you might balk, bossy little bit of baggage that you are." James responds, stepping fully into the room, the grin on his lips taking a feral edge as hunger rises in his eyes, and fuck, I always thought that would look horny as hell, but I'm not prepared for the reality of it.

My heart starts beating faster and I'm feeling more alive than I ever have, and let me tell you, that's really saying something. "Fuck, Missekat, do you know how long I've been waiting for this?" I ask him, moving forward to him, caught in his gaze like a fly in a spider web.

"Too fucking long." He says, his tone dead serious, then a bit of self recrimination creeps in. "I should have done this 25 fucking years ago, Pixie. I know that now. I was just afraid. Afraid it would fuck things up if anything went wrong, afraid you would leave me, afraid you would change your mind."

"Hey, fucker, rambling is generally considered my job." I tell him with a smile, steadily creeping closer to him, and he seems to realize that, because he becomes a whirlwind of action, stepping forward with long, sure strides and enfolding me into his embrace and his lips close over mine and fuck! Just fuck!

I can feel every inch of him pressing against me like he's trying to imprint his body on mine. He's so big, so strong, he makes me feel so safe and sheltered in his embrace, even though I know damn good and well if he ever let go he could break me without even trying. I'm not worried about that, though. James would sooner hit a wall than hurt me, he's proven that many a time over the years. I feel shivers traveling up and down my spine as his mouth opens and his tongue comes out to lick at my lips, coaxing my mouth open for it to come on in and play with my own. My tongue seems to know that this is it's mate because instead of battling with James's tongue like it had a tendency to do with all the other tongues that have come into my mouth it's passively caressing it, stroking and entangling with it and now my every sense of awareness seems to be gathered on my mouth, because I couldn't tell about anything else in the world at this moment.

I always thought that was a myth, the whole world fading away when you kissed that special someone. Turns out it's not, because it's sure happening to me. Fuck, if just kissing James makes me feel like this, I can't wait to find out what making love is going to feel like. Evidently James can't wait, either, because he just picked me up like I'm nothing and is walking single-mindedly towards the bed. There's nothing I can do but wrap my legs around his waist, hang on a little tighter around his neck, and continue kissing him like my life depends on it, and at this moment, I think it just might.

James lays me down on the bed, but I don't let go of him. Instead, I pull him right down on top of me, completely unwilling to relinquish his mouth. I've been waiting for this moment for over half our life, and now that it's here I'm torn between wanting us to take our time so I can savor every second of it, and wanting to hurry up and just fucking get him inside me. James seems to be just as torn, because he's kissing me like he never wants to stop, tearing at my clothes like he can't wait to get them off of me, yet he's not touching me anywhere that's going to get me off, just drive me out of my fucking mind. I'd ask him if he knows what he's doing, but that would require removing my mouth from his, so that's kind of not going to happen. Besides, he's doing well so far.

After what feels like forever the kissing we're doing no longer feels like enough and we're ripping each other's clothes off in earnest. In the back of my mind I hope James has some of our clothes in the closet and dresser in here because what we're wearing is basically rags at this point, but I don't really care all that much, I just want him naked against me, and that's all that matters. Finally we've managed to rip and tear and shimmy out of what we're wearing and its skin against skin, and fuck me, but that feels better than anything I've ever felt before, especially since our mouths are still locked together. I feel him everywhere, and I'm breathing him, tasting him, all my senses are filled with James and it's fucking unbelievable.

Finally his hands are moving further down my body, down my sides and around to cup my ass and lift me up to him. I help by wrapping a leg around his waist and holding on. Suddenly I feel a finger sliding inside me, and I arch even further up to him, clenching lightly around it before forcing the muscles to relax and let it in. I want this so fucking bad, and it feels so good that I have to keep reminding myself to relax, but James is taking forever, and I just want him, but he seems hell-bent on preparing me.

I don't want to wait, though, so I reach down between our bodies for his cock and try to guide it to me. James doesn't seem to take the hint at first, but after a minute he removes his fingers and thrusts his hips forward, allowing me to guide him inside me. Fuck, God, it hurts like a bitch at first, but at the same time it feels so fucking right, so fucking natural to have him inside me that the pain seems to melt away in just bare moments, leaving nothing behind but a residual burning sensation that heightens the pleasure I'm feeling as he starts to move inside me. In no time at all my own hips are thrusting back up to meet him and I bring my other leg up to wrap around his waist as well, lifting me higher to him and changing the angle of his penetration to rub across my prostate with every thrust.

A blinding pleasure is coursing through me, narrowing my world down once again to nothing but James's eyes, vibrant blue, and staring down at me with a burning love and need and passion unlike anything I have ever seen before. We're moving faster and faster, both of us set on this same collision course, and as much as I want to slow it down and enjoy this, fuck it there will be time for that later. I couldn't stop right now if I had to, it would kill me.

His hand comes down to my cock, stroking it firmly with every thrust. Our sweat-soaked bodies rub against one another and I know I can't hold out much longer under the dual pleasure of him inside me and his hand on my cock. Fuck, just the knowledge that this is James is enough to make me want to cum. I'm fucking proud of myself for lasting this fucking long. Next thing I know I'm arching even further up to him and screaming into his mouth as my cock explodes, cum shooting out to coat our tightly pressed stomachs. That seems to be all it takes to push him over the edge, or maybe he was waiting for me, I don't know, because his hand slides across to my hip, lifting me a little higher and he slams into me hard a couple more times before stiffening and growling into my mouth, his own cock exploding inside me to warm my insides even further.

James finally lifts his mouth from mine as he collapses on top of me, nuzzling into my neck. "If I'd have known it was gonna feel that fucking good I'd have done it 25 fucking years ago and fuck the fucking band." He says into my neck, and I can feel the grin on my neck, as well as hear it in his voice.

"Ja." I respond, for once in my life unable to come up with anything else to say.

"Lars, you alright, dick?" James asks, lifting up to look at me in confusion, I'm guessing from my witty response.

"Ja." Damn, I'm still fucking speechless. But James just grins at me, I'm guessing now that he can tell from the stupid grin on my face that I'm fine. I know he can, from his next response.

"Shit, maybe it's a good thing we didn't after all. Your mouth is what kept us going all these fucking years. Fuck if it isn't nice to finally have a way of shutting you up, though."


End.