Categories > Celebrities > Metallica > I'm Bleeding Me.
Disclaimer: OK, Kirk is NOT really in love with James. I made it up. And as much as I want it to happen, it won't. I don't own Metallica or any of their songs. Not a hair on James Hetfield's head.
Note: Contains slashy nature but it's getting started so please bear with me. It takes time. The lyrics are mine so instead of stealing them, how about you go write your own.
Lying on my bed while the rest of me is dead...
Kirk scribbled down the lyric before pausing, fiddling with a button on his shirt. He couldn't think of anything to add to that song. He needed somebody's help, somebody who he loved very much.
That somebody had the softest, messiest hair Kirk had ever felt. Kirk had once had the pleasure of running his fingers through it.
That somebody had the deepest blue eyes that Kirk had ever stared into.
That somebody was dating their drummer Lars Ulrich.
That somebody was James Hetfield.
The same man standing in Kirk's hotel room doorway. He looked perfect to Kirk. Leaning on the frame, dragging on a cigarette.
He was wearing a sleeveless black vest and leather pants, his curly hair tousled as he paused to sweep it from his sapphire eyes.
Kirk's mouth went dry as James drifted towards him lifting the notebook from Kirk's fingers.
Kirk blushed as James' fingers brushed his own.
Those deep pools scanning the page before him.
"Dude, this looks like a..." James paused finishing reading but not quite knowing what word to use.
"Ballad? Love song?" Kirk asked, James nodded.
"Who is our little Kirk writing love songs for?" he teased as Kirk's cheeks went pink.
You know it's you, but you want me to say.
James laughed, placing the notebook back on the bed as he took another drag of his cigarette. He seemed to do it so gracefully. His blue eyes glazed as the smoke entered his lungs. His lips slightly parted on the end of the filter as he slowly inhaled. The smoke drifted past James' deep blue eyes curling through his chocolate coloured hair. Kirk was shook out of his trance by James' gentle exhaling. He turned back to his song, deep in thought. James stubbed out his cigarette and edged onto the bed drawing together his legs and crossing them.
Drop dead, please get out of my fuckin' head.
Note: Contains slashy nature but it's getting started so please bear with me. It takes time. The lyrics are mine so instead of stealing them, how about you go write your own.
Lying on my bed while the rest of me is dead...
Kirk scribbled down the lyric before pausing, fiddling with a button on his shirt. He couldn't think of anything to add to that song. He needed somebody's help, somebody who he loved very much.
That somebody had the softest, messiest hair Kirk had ever felt. Kirk had once had the pleasure of running his fingers through it.
That somebody had the deepest blue eyes that Kirk had ever stared into.
That somebody was dating their drummer Lars Ulrich.
That somebody was James Hetfield.
The same man standing in Kirk's hotel room doorway. He looked perfect to Kirk. Leaning on the frame, dragging on a cigarette.
He was wearing a sleeveless black vest and leather pants, his curly hair tousled as he paused to sweep it from his sapphire eyes.
Kirk's mouth went dry as James drifted towards him lifting the notebook from Kirk's fingers.
Kirk blushed as James' fingers brushed his own.
Those deep pools scanning the page before him.
"Dude, this looks like a..." James paused finishing reading but not quite knowing what word to use.
"Ballad? Love song?" Kirk asked, James nodded.
"Who is our little Kirk writing love songs for?" he teased as Kirk's cheeks went pink.
You know it's you, but you want me to say.
James laughed, placing the notebook back on the bed as he took another drag of his cigarette. He seemed to do it so gracefully. His blue eyes glazed as the smoke entered his lungs. His lips slightly parted on the end of the filter as he slowly inhaled. The smoke drifted past James' deep blue eyes curling through his chocolate coloured hair. Kirk was shook out of his trance by James' gentle exhaling. He turned back to his song, deep in thought. James stubbed out his cigarette and edged onto the bed drawing together his legs and crossing them.
Drop dead, please get out of my fuckin' head.
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