Work Text:
"Drain you of your sanity
Face the thing that should not be"
(The thing that should not be - Metallica)
A sigh of exhaustion leaves your lips as you make your way across the parking lot towards your old Camaro. The long shift has left you feeling drained of every bit of energy and you can't wait to collapse onto your couch with a big cup of coffee. Thinking of coffee… You wrap your arm around your traveling mug more tightly as you shift a bit to gain access to your worn-down leather purse that swings at your elbow. You struggle with the workpapers in the other hand as you rummage the purse for the keys to your car, letting out a tirade of curses and grunts while doing so. You can already feel the papers falling from your grip, but maybe, if you can hold on to them for a few more seconds it might just be enough to … nope. You drop the folder, along with your traveling mug and for a second, you don’t know whether you want to cry or laugh manically. You opt for the latter as you kneel down in order to collect your goods scattered all around you.
The ground in front of your eyes darkens by the shadow of a slim figure and you flinch. Instinctively, you look up and squint against the bright sun, even though you recognized those long legs sporting a heavy pair of biker boots as soon as you saw them. The figure kneels down eye-level with you and the both of you smile at each other.
"Chaotic as ever…" James shakes his head as he helps you gathering your stuff. "I knew you wouldn't make it to your car in one piece as soon as I saw you turning around the corner."
"So, you watched me struggling and decided not to give me hand? That's nice, Hetfield, really nice."
"I was too busy enjoying the show." He shrugs. "Besides, I'm giving you a hand now, ain't I?" You can't argue with that, you have to admit. James hands you the papers he collected and grabs your coffee mug as he stands up, stretching out a tattooed hand for support when you get back on your feet. You take it and look up into his eyes, immediately calling yourself stupid for doing so. You've always had a thing for those icy blues and the musky smell of his aftershave lingering between the two of you doesn't help one bit. Not that he knows. He would never know, you made sure of that. It's not serious, anyways – a crush, at best, and not even that, if you really think about it. James and you have been friends (or close acquaintances, or something in between) for almost two decades and not once has there been anything more to it – nor would there ever be. You know his kids and his … well, now ex-wife, and you'd never do anything to ruin that bond. Yes, you think that he's attractive, especially given his age, but you are basically family, as James once stated. And it's true: He's like a distant cousin that you see maybe once or twice a year and text for birthdays, holidays, or whenever you find a particularly funny meme that remind you of one another.
"You okay, little one?" he inquires, since you didn't reply to his previous question.
You shake your thoughts from your mind and sigh at the realization of him using that nickname with you. He knows you hate it – but then again, he also knows how to get your attention, if needed. "Perfectly fine, Jamie." He frowns. Not many people are allowed to call him that. In fact, you're pretty sure you're the only one getting away with it at this point. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
"Been waiting for you, y'know…" he nods his head in the direction of your Camaro 30 feet away.
"I didn't mean 'what were you doing before I got here', I mean 'why are you here?"' You draw that last word out longer than it needs to be as the two of you stroll towards your car.
"I … we just got back from Europe," he clears his throat and looks down to his feet. You know all their tour dates and follow all their socials, both public and private, so you're aware that he must've gotten back about two days ago. And James being James, he knows that you know, so you can only guess why he thinks he might get away with superfluous small talk. Before you have the chance to react, though, he goes on. "I dunno … I guess, I just need some time off."
"Off from … what?" You reach your car and James takes your traveling mug from you, so you can go on searching for the keys. Unlocking the car, you look up to him, since he seems to be shying away from a reply.
"Off from everything, I s'pose." His voice is barely audible. His gaze is glued to the ground and even with him looking down you can see him blinking rapidly. "I'm not feeling too well at the moment," he confesses and you know. Just like you always did – from the very first time you'd met him.
You feel the lump in your throat tighten and make an effort to get the following words out as unmistakable as possible: "Get in the car. We'll figure something out."
You drive home in uncomfortable silence, the only sounds being the classic rock channel blasting on the stereo. He turned the volume up as soon as you exited the parking lot and now stares out the window, occasionally biting the nail of his right thumb.
You turn into the driveway in front of your small farm house and side-eye him, before clearing your throat und turning off the ignition. "So, uh … do you have, like … any stuff with you?", you ask cautiously, wondering if he brought anything other than the clothes he's wearing. It wouldn’t be the first time if he didn't.
James nods, his breath fogging up the window. "I checked into the Holiday Inn earlier." The small town doesn’t leave much choice of housing, the only other options being a Super 8 and a run-down Inn with questionable patronage right by the highway.
"For how long?"
"Two nights," he shrugs. "Didn't know if I could, y'know, stay with you or whatever…"
You knit your brows. "Why wouldn't you be able to stay with me?", you wonder.
He turns to finally look at you. "I didn’t know whether or not you still were with … what's-his-face…"
"Dylan."
"Right. Dylan." James scoffs. You know he hates your ex's guts. With good reason, as you've come to know. "He still around?"
"Oh, hell no!"
He lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness. What the fuck were you thinking, dating that jackass?"
You can’t help but laugh. In fact, you asked yourself the same question plenty of times, looking back on the brief relationship. "I don't know, he was just really good looking, I guess … You know … him being so tall, that hair, the beard, those blue eyes, the tattoos and all…" As soon as those words are out of your mouth, you bite your lower lip. The realization that your ex was basically a modern version of an early-90s James hits you like a freight train. Fuck. However, the issue with Dylan was that he also behaved like an early-90s James when it came to booze, gambling and girls. Once the honeymoon phase was over and you came back to your senses, Dylan had spent a good portion of your savings and fucked pretty much every girl between the Seattle and San Diego. You're usually not one to throw a scene, but for him you made an exception; throwing most of his stuff right out in the street when you kicked him out – the rest of it making a pretty need bonfire in your backyard. "Nevermind", you sigh and pull the key, get out of the car and let James trail behind you as you make your way to your front door. You hear him clear his throat.
"Is it … do the same old rules still apply?", he asks and you turn to face him.
You know exactly what he's referring to, which confirms your guess as to why he showed up unannounced in a small town in Northern California in the first place. You nod. "Rule number one: no questions asked. Rule number two: no apologies."
His lips curl into a faint smile. "Thanks."
"Do you want to get your stuff right away or do you want to come in first?"
James shakes his head. "I'd rather crash for a moment and get them later, if that's okay with you."
Why wouldn't it be okay? The question is on the tip of your tongue but you swallow it down. It's his way of making sure accommodating him is as convenient as possible for you without breaking rule number two. "Make yourself at home while I clean up the guest room."
"I can help", James assures but you shake your head no.
"You go and get yourself some rest." You reply, giving him a stern look. "I don't want you to put up with my mess on top of yours."
He makes his way into your living room and you stand in the hallway for a few seconds before tending towards your designated guest room, which is mostly used as a storage space. You push the vacuum and a few boxes with holiday decorations out into the cramped corridor and look around. Some other boxes, most of which contain papers that you swear to organize ASAP, sit atop of the bed. You pile them up inside the closet, sit down on the edge of the bed and sigh deeply as you bury your face in your hands. This is a mess. And you don’t even know the full extent of it. James showing up out of nowhere means he either relapsed, or is on the verge of relapsing, but you can’t ask him, because rule number fucking one. The very rule that had been put into place by yourself, way back in the day, when the roles were reversed and you were the one in need of support.
You look up at the pictures on the wall that you are facing and the lump in your throat thickens. Some of them have been there since forever, when this tiny space was your room in the family home. It used to be your cocoon, shielding you from the ongoing fights between your mother and your absentee father, until she divorced him and he disappeared once and for all, leaving your struggling mother working two or three jobs at a time before she fell ill right before your graduation. You made the choice that no teenager should ever have to make: You ditched your plans to go to the Community College, got a job at Target and took care of your mom instead; fed her, washed her, calmed her down during her aggressive fits, and watched her disappear right before your eyes as dementia took her place instead. You weren’t really able to process it when she died because you had to keep going. Bills had to be paid and ends had to be met, which became more and more difficult as your drinking increased. When your boss pulled you aside and told you upfront that you had to either sober up or would lose your job, you joined a church group and since that wasn’t really your thing, eventually joined a local AA chapter. That’s where you met James.
During your first meeting you kept rather quiet, listening to the other people’s stories instead of sharing your own and finding yourself sneaking glances at him from time to time because he seemed somewhat familiar. Eventually, you shrugged it off, telling yourself that he was probably just a regular at the store and that was that. You were placed with him as your sponsor and after the meeting he asked if you wanted to grab a coffee somewhere to get to know each other a little better.
A slight smile makes its way onto your lips as you remember the conversation.
“So…”, he began, setting two cups of black coffee down on the table at the local Starbucks. “Sorry, I didn’t really catch your name there.” You gave it to him and he introduced himself again as well. “You, uh, you didn’t really say much during the meeting”, he stated. “You okay, kid?”
You nodded. “Yeah, it’s just … this is all very new still.”
“How long have you been on the wagon?”, James asked.
“Two months and eighteen days. You?” You didn’t dare look up but you could see that he was shifting in his seat.
“About five years or so”, he replied and your eyes widened in admiration. He seemed to notice. “Don’t worry … you’ll get there.” He smiled. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-one in October.”
“See? You’ve got plenty of time.”
Your heart sinks as you recall the months following that initial meeting. When the reality of your mother’s passing finally hit, it did so mercilessly. You were hit with the emptiness of the former family home, with the deafening silence welcoming you when you came home from work, with the realization that from now on you’d have to deal with everything in your life on your own. No one was coming to the rescue when you messed up, no one was there to cheer you on, no one was there for you to ask for advice. You were alone.
Except, you weren’t. James was there. James was there through tear-filled nights over the phone, he was there to cheer you on when you left your shitty retail job to start over as a nurse in a retirement home, and he celebrated each milestone of your sobriety with you. He was there when after a long and particularly tearful phone call, you drove to the liquor store to drown your despair in a puddle of Absolut, taking the bottle from you as you exited the store and returning it on your behalf – and then he took you home with him. It wasn’t until you saw the gold and platinum album certificates and the numerous awards lining up the corridor towards the guest room, that you realized who he was and what he did for a living. You laughed manically and apologized over and over for not connecting the dots sooner, but James waved it off with a warm smile, saying that it was called Alcoholics Anonymous for a reason and that he was actually happy you didn’t initially think of him as a rockstar. You knew Metallica, sure enough. You hadn’t been living under a rock. You liked their music and had some of the songs in your playlist, even, but you weren’t really paying attention to the band members or their shenanigans. You were only ever interested in James’ story and upbringing because of the similarity to yours. It had made the two of you click instantly – everything apart from that was just a distraction.
Looking back at that time, you feel like that was when you truly bonded. James taking you in to stay with his family for a couple of weeks to make sure you were okay, being the father-figure you never had, even though you never told him what brought you to your low-point. You didn’t want him to know that it was, in fact, your father who had shown up at your front-door, making your whole world crumble in an instant. You didn’t want James to know that some guy you barely knew still held that kind of power over you. You didn’t want him to know because you saw the way he was with his children and you didn’t want to get in the way of that. So, you set up that damn rule – no questions asked. James agreed and in turn set up rule number two, because he was fed up with you apologizing for any minor inconvenience you caused around the house.
You bury your face in your hands as you try to brush off the memories from seventeen years ago. The roles of sponsor and sponsee had since been reversed after James relapsed and re-entered rehab a few years ago. Even though you're not really his sponsor because the two of you are just too close for that.
Over the years, you had started listening to his music more, you were invited to shows and to family BBQs, you watched over his kids when Fran and him went on date nights. And even with him being more than twenty years your senior, you didn’t regard him as a father-figure anymore. It just felt way too wrong. He was a friend and you enjoyed being in his presence – perhaps a bit too much. When he called you to tell you about his divorce you were sorry. But that feeling was quickly replaced by some sort of content, maybe even satisfaction. He was single – but you were dating Dylan. You couldn’t just dump him over the faint glimpse of hope of being with James, though, could you? James had never made a pass at you, he had never made so much as a remark that he saw more than a friend in you. You had no reason to think your feelings were requited. You didn’t even know what those feelings were, anyway. Maybe they weren’t as much as a flicker of possibility, something that only came to mind because he’d been unattainable before, a notion of a thing that should not be.
Never meet your idols, they say.
You get up from the bed, grab some sheets from the closet and put them on, before heading to the living room. James’ feet are dangling over the arm rest of your couch because he's too tall to fit properly. He's fast asleep, lips slightly parted and droplets of saliva pooling at the corner of his mouth. You creep over to the big arm chair, careful as to not make any sounds that would wake James. The soft leather of the chair creaks underneath you and you grimace, instantly looking over to the couch. James stirs and rubs his eyes, taking a long look around to familiarize himself with his surroundings. Then he looks at you with a wide smile. Damn. “How long was I out?”
You shake your head. “Not long. Half an hour, maybe one.” You pull your legs up and close your arms around them. You study him for a brief moment, making sure not to stare too long to not make him feel like he is under observation. He looks tired – obviously – but other than that, he seems okay. He looks good, even, wearing a tight black longsleeve that reveals the large tattoo on his chest, and a dark pair of bootcut jeans. He sits up and combs his disheveled hair with his fingers before he sinks against the back rest of the couch. He hasn’t looked that good in ages, to be honest – if ever. If it weren’t for his initial statement that he wasn’t feeling too well, you never would have guessed. Something is off. Maybe it isn't alcohol this time? You work up the courage to confront him about it and clear your throat. “So … how bad is it? Did you relapse?”
You notice his expression drop and his eyes getting cloudy. “What happened to rule number one?”, he asks, his voice almost breaking.
“I’m sorry, James, but if I’m taking you in, then at least I have to know what I’m dealing with.” He doesn’t reply. “Please.”
He kneads his hands, eventually lingering at his left ring finger. “You know how even making the right choices can hurt like a bitch sometimes, right?” He doesn’t expect you to reply and instead goes on “Of course you fucking know…”
You can feel your heart sink. This is about Fran. So incredibly stupid of you to think you could ever be as close to him as she used to be. “You wanna talk about it?”, you barely recognize your own voice.
“Being on tour was so … different.” He shakes his head. “They all brought their wives and girlfriends along and I was the only one being single.” He sighs deeply. “And this might as well be our last big tour and I just don’t know what’s coming afterwards.” James swallows and you can see that he's fighting back tears. It breaks your heart seeing him like this. He looks up and you immediately drown in a sea of light blue. “So, no, I haven’t relapsed. But I can feel myself getting worse and I just need someone to tell me I’ll be okay.” He looks at you as if he wants you to say something, but you're unable to come up with the right words. You had expected him to be in a maelstrom of addiction again, not pouring his heart out like that. “And I need you to be that someone. You’ve always been my safe place.”
Your lips curl into a slight smile and you drop your feet back to the floor and make your way over to the couch to sit next to James. His head falls heavy against your shoulder and he immediately grabs your hand to hold onto it for support. “You’ll be okay”, you assure, but even to you it sounds lame.
“I don’t even know who I am without these assholes. I’ve been in this band my whole life and it’s all I know how to do. Before … when I came home from touring, there was this other life with Fran and the kids, but now…” He inhales deeply and you can feel his head getting even heavier. “She’s gone, and the kids are all grown-up and I feel so fucking … alone.”
“You’re not alone!”, you say hastily, turning your head to look at James but he looks way. You can only imagine what it must have felt like for him coming home to that big-ass ranch in Colorado and having the place all to himself. Even your small house used to feel too big for you at times. “And you can stay as long as you need to.”
“I gotta be back on tour in a few months.”
“Well, stay until then”, you suggest and shift, so that he has to lift his head to look at you. James puts his chin on your shoulder and leans his forehead against yours. You swallow harshly and close your eyes because it's fucking impossible to withstand his gaze. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
“You’re way too good, you know that?” His voice is low and sends shivers down your spine and right between your legs.
“Don’t say that”, you whisper, your eyes still closed.
“It’s true, though”, he says. “You’re okay with taking me in even though I’ve been a massive dick as of late. I wasn’t there, I didn’t catch up … did I even thank you for showing up when I got low back then?”
“Yeah, you did. But only like five-hundred times or so. There’s room for some more”, you reply jokingly, hoping it will mask your current insecurity. This is new. It is weird. You never felt insecure around James and you're afraid that it shows. Like he can tell you act different – and that's even scarier because you need to remain the same for him, so that he can feel at ease with you. This is about him. None of this is about you and your weird-ass feelings that have become stronger and more imminent recently, when you watched footage of the shows they played. His presence on stage had always drawn you in but now it almost seems like you're about to be completely absorbed by it. You just can't stop watching him. It's hard to shake off and snap out of it, but you have to – for him. You open your eyes and lift your head slightly to bring some distance between the two of you – right when James goes in for a forehead kiss, landing on your lips instead. It only lasts for a fraction of a moment before both of you jolt away and stare at each other in disbelief.
He's the first to find his voice again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to –”
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it”, you say huskily, pushing your hair out of your face.
“I wanted to … I didn’t … I…” He stammers and both of you are lost for words again. Before you know it, his hands are cupping your cheeks, mouths crushing against each other and your fingers bury themselves in the little curls at the nape of his neck. His tongue slides against your lower lip and you part your mouth slightly, allowing him to enter. A soft moan exits your throat as you both fall deeper into the kiss, his hot breath in your mouth and the taste of his slumber on your tongue. Then, James pulls back harshly and shakes his head. “We really shouldn’t be doing this.” You swallow, unable to answer. “Don’t get me wrong: I want to be doing this. God, I really do, but…”
“Then what’s stopping you?” you ask cautiously because you don’t know whether or not you want to know the answer.
“What isn’t?” He runs his RIFF-tattooed fingers through is hair and clenches the ones inked LIFE into a fist. “You’re way too good for me and I don’t want to corrupt you.” He looks up and sinks his clear eyes directly into the depths of your soul. His lips curl into a half-grin. “Look at you: you’ve had your shit together for years. And me? I'm about to fall off the wagon and I just can't do this to anyone else anymore. I can't do this to you."
Now your hands are cupping his face, as you look him deeply in the eyes. "How about you let me decide what you can or cannot do to me, hm?" You're not exactly sure how you worked up the courage for the following words but they're out before you can even consider interfering. "And right now, there's not much you could not do to me, to be honest."
James squeezes his eyes shut and you can see him fighting a war with himself. "You really shouldn't be saying things like that to me…"
Your thumb trails from his cheek to his lower lip, tracing it ever so gently. He pulls his lip in, slowly shaking his head 'no'. Your hands sink along with your heart as you stand up and struggle to regain your posture. "Alright, uh … let me just … go get some towels for you." You leave the living room and head to your bedroom instead, opening the closet and immediately leaning your head against the wooden door. How the hell could you've been so stupid to think that he might feel the same? And now you have to deal with the very real possibility of having ruined just about everything between you. Even if neither of you ever brings it up again, there's no way that you come out okay – and on top of that, you took advantage of James being raw and vulnerable. No way he would ever trust you again. "Fucking shit!", you mutter to yourself, slamming your right hand against the door.
"Shh, don't say that…" you jump at the sound of James' voice because you didn't notice him following you into your bedroom. He doesn't hesitate for a second before taking you in his big arms and pulling you close to his chest. "C'mere." You don't resist, and let the mixture of disheartenment and being fully enveloped by him take you over. He grabs your shoulders and pushes you a little, so that he can take a better look at you and you hate him for it. You can’t stand his gaze, can’t stand being surveyed by him, can’t stand being that close to him, yet not close enough. Not ever close enough. “Do you know why I’ve come here?” James asks and you shrug, shying away from his look.
“Because you’re struggling and you needed someone, I guess…”
“No, I mean, do you know why I’ve come here?” He pauses. “I could’ve gone anywhere. I could’ve checked myself in, I could have called one of my sponsors, or I could’ve buried myself in the solitude of my own house, but I didn’t. I came here. I came to see you. Do you know why?”
You shake your head and close your eyes, before turning away. You can feel the pressure behind your eyes building up and you know you won't be able to hold back tears if he keeps on staring at you like this. But James isn't having any of it. His calloused hand on your cheek makes you look at him again, only for you to realize he is much closer than before.
“I came here because I had to. I came here because I need you.”
“James, please don’t –”
He moves in closer yet again, until your bodies are flush against each other and then your arms cling onto his neck as his hands bury themselves in your hair, pulling you in for a feverishly heated kiss. You hold onto him for dear life in fear of being rejected again, but James slides one hand from your hair down to the small of your back, holding you in place as he moves backwards toward your bed. When his knees hit the edge, he sits down, pulling you into his lap with your legs on either side of his. You finally break the kiss, gasping for air, before going back in for another kiss, biting James’ lower lip. A low growl leaves his lips as he pulls back to study you. “You sure you want to be doing this?”
“Am I sure?!” Your eyes are wide with wonder.
“No need to hurry, we can take things slow”, he suggests.
“What, like you want to wait another seventeen years?”
“Honey, I’m not even sure I could wait another seventeen minutes, I was just playing nice.” He grins.
“No need to play nice with me…”, you reply with an unambiguous smile and he instantly takes the bait, grabbing your waist none too gently as he switches positions to lay you down on the soft comforter.
You spread your legs and he kneels between them, wasting no time to take off his shirt and exposing his bare torso, confirming your suspicions that he must have spent a considerable amount of time in the gym to get in shape for the tour. You don't recall ever seeing him that jacked. Your eyes trail from his broad shoulders, over the tattooed chest to his gray happy trail and your mouth waters instantly with what you notice in his jeans. James smiles, which means that he either manages to hide his usual shyness or he isn't feeling insecure at all with you. “You seem to like what you see”, he states and you nod kind of awkwardly. “I think it’s time I’d take a look as well.” He leans down and you sit up a bit to help him take off your t-shirt. He buries his face at your neck, placing wet kisses down to your collarbone and nipping at the tender skin, tracing his fingers along the underside of your bra to the back and unclasping it with one skilled hand. You take it off hastily and throw it across the room, not wanting to waste any more time, just in case he changes his mind again. James’ eyes widen as he stares at your breasts, immediately tilting his head down to lick and suck one nipple, caressing the other with his rough thumb, making you moan instantly. “Beautiful”, he murmurs, before he continues his licking and pinching your nipple slightly harder. His other hand trails over the soft skin of your belly, undoing the button and zipper of your worn-out jeans and you lift your butt to take them off. James chuckles as his eyes meet your panties. “Today is not Tuesday, sweetheart.”
“Well, I didn’t expect anyone to notice when I put them on this morning, but if it bugs you that much, I guess you have to take them off.” You pause for a moment, trying to recall your last waxing appointment, because your panties aren't the only thing that you didn’t expect anyone to see anytime soon. You notice James’s fingers tugging at the hem of the soft fabric and grab his wrist to hold him back. “It … uhm, it might not be perfectly neat down there, just so you know…”
“Oh yeah?” He raises an eyebrow. “As if I give a damn…” He leans in for a longing kiss, tugging at your panties again and you let him. He throws them aside and leans back down, stroking your knee and following along with his lips. Instinctively you run your fingers through his hair, arching your back to get closer to his teasingly slow mouth. Placing a strong hand on your groin to keep you in place, James pursues his way down your soft thigh, placing hot kisses and soft bites on the inside until his warm breath finally spreads between your legs. He stops his movements for a brief moment, making you look up and right into his bright blue eyes as he lowers his mouth to your pussy. Your grip in his hair tightens when he parts your folds with one long stroke of his tongue, spreading your wetness from your entrance up to your clit. You can’t help the loud moan coming from deep within your throat, your head falling back onto the covers of the bed but James is having none of it. He grabs one of your pillows and shoves it underneath your head, before returning his attention to your already throbbing midst. “I’d rather have you watch me”, he declares and you obey, blinking rapidly as he traces the tip of his right index finger along your labia, coating them with your wetness. “Damn, you’re gorgeous”, he praises, licking his lips and placing them directly on your clit. You hiss and close your eyes again, making him remove his mouth. “Nuh-uh, what did I just tell you?”, he asks.
“To watch you.” You open your eyes again to look down on him.
“Good girl.” His tongue flicks against the sensitive nub and you bit your lip. “Now…” he licks in a painfully slow circle, not once breaking eye-contact. “I’m gonna go on if you do as I say, okay?” You nod hastily. He licks your clit again, his finger dipping into your entrance. “So, are you going to be a good girl for me?” You nod again. “Then say it.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, James. I’ll do as you say”, you assure, voice trembling with anticipation.
He buries his head even lower between your legs, one hand still firmly placed on your lower belly to hold you still, the other spreading your thighs further to ease the access. Before you know it, James pushes one long finger into your hot pussy, drawing a sharp inhale from you. “So wet for me already”, he mumbles, the vibration of his low voice oh-so delicate against your aching clit. You remove one hand from his hair to play with your nipple, earning a satisfied smile from him. “That’s it, babe. Play with yourself.” He starts eating you out more feverishly now, humming against you and sending the vibrations right to the heat coiling up in your lower abdomen. He curls his finger against your sweet spot, your eyes widening with the sudden sensation. With how long it's been since you last got laid, you know it won’t take much longer and James treats you with some expert skills. He pushes another finger inside you, making you moan deeply as you stretch around him. “You like that, hm?”, he asks, sucking on your clit. “Want you to remember my fingers every time you watch me play…” His words push you closer to the edge, as you immediately imagine all the Live-videos being posted from the recent and upcoming shows. Damn. He’d be the death of you. You can feel your back arch even more and James’ hand pressing you down. “Don’t you move.” It's a command, not a request, but you just can’t help it. You writhe against his mouth shamelessly, desperate for more friction, for him to be inside you even deeper, for some sort of release that he's not willing to let you have just yet. You only notice that your eyes have fallen shut, when James pauses his action, leaving you almost whimpering with need. “Are you being disobedient?” His voice is deep and husky, his lips shimmering with your juices.
“No … no, I –“
“Only good girls get a reward, you know…” He pulls both his fingers from your pussy, leaving you feeling dreadfully empty. “Are you going to be a good girl again?”
“Yes, James”, you exclaim desperately. “Please…”
He grins and pushes right back into you again, circling your clit and making your toes curl. “So … fucking … gorgeous”, he accentuates every word with a flick of his tongue. “God, your cunt tastes like heaven!”
You can feel the familiar tension becoming almost unbearable and your legs starting to shake as they squeeze against his head. You let a series of grunts and profanities fall from your lips and can’t bring yourself to give a fuck if he sees when you squeeze your eyes shut.
James doesn’t slow down one bit as you grind shamelessly against him, replacing his tongue on your clit with his thumb. You whimper and bury your face in your hands, not knowing whether you want him to go easier on your overstimulated bundle of nerves, or to go on and fucking get to it already. “Shh, I know you’re close”, he says hoarsely, “cum for me, love. Let me see you.” He replaces his hand from his steady grip at your abs and gently grabs your wrist instead, to remove your hands from your face. “I need to watch you come undone for me.” He pushes the sweaty strands of hair back that stick to your forehead and locks eyes with you.
And you snap.
The burning heat inside you explodes between your thighs as you let out a loud “Fuck, James!” and your vision becomes blurred. He continues fingering you as you ride out your high, only pulling back when you come down from the very last wave of your climax, panting heavily. A satisfied smile spreads across your heated face as you pull him in for a deep kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.
“You did so well, love”, he praises, his hands trailing the contour of your nipples.
“Only for you.”
He smiles, placing another sloppy kiss onto your swollen lips. “I ain’t done with you just yet…” He slides off of you and then the bed to stand at the foot, fumbling with his belt buckle. He pushes his jeans over his hips and lets his boxer briefs follow suit. His erect cock springs free from its restraints, and instinctively, you push your legs together. He is big; bigger than you had before and certainly bigger than your shithead ex, who definitely must have felt like he had to compensate for something by sleeping around. James seems to notice your concerns about his size, because when he crawls back onto the bed and pushes your legs open with his knee, he immediately bents down to caress your heated face. “Shh, you’ll be fine”, he assures, kissing you softly and licking your lower lip as he inches closer.
You extend your hand to grab the base of his hard cock, stroking upwards in a smooth, slow motion. “Would you like me to return the favor?”, you ask, licking your lips.
“Some other time, yeah”, James replies. “Right now, though…”, he pauses and places his other knee between your legs, spreading them even further, “I just want to fuck you senseless.” You moan at his words and put your arms around his broad shoulders to pull him in for another passionate kiss. His hardness already pokes against your still sensitive pussy as his tongue devours your mouth. He reaches between the two of you to grab his cock, teasing your clit with its swollen head and mixing your wetness with his pre-cum. “I’ll go slow”, he promises, cupping your face with his large hands, while aligning himself with your entrance.
You hiss sharply and squeeze your eyes shut as he slowly thrusts into you, making sure to give you enough time to adjust to his size. You cling to his shoulders and try to focus on the feeling of him kissing your forehead, your eyebrows and the arch of your nose instead of the uncomfortable stretch.
“Fuck, you’re so tight, babe”, he groans against you ear, sending goosebumps down your neck and all over your body.
“It’s been awhile…” You open your eyes again, searching for his gaze.
James shifts his weight onto his elbows to take a concerned look at you. “Think you can manage?”
“I’ll be fine”, you assure, before relaxing around him. “Just don’t go at it right away, please?”
“Since you asked so nicely…”, he replies with a soft smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.” He pulls out almost all the way before pushing back in, making your insides burn with the sensation. Steadily, he picks up the pace and eventually shifts his angle, so that his thick head grazes your sweet spot with every thrust. You moan shamelessly and try to hold onto him more firmly, but he pulls away from your embrace. Straightening up, James pulls your legs onto his shoulders and places a wet kiss on your left ankle, before picking up the pace. You can see the sweat dripping from his forehead, as he looks down to where your heated bodies meet and move in perfect synchronicity. Letting out a deep growl, he shakes his head. “Damn, if only you could see yourself like this!”, he exclaims between moans, letting go of your leg and reaching for your aching clit with his thumb. “So … gorgeous with my cock buried inside you – fuck!”
You never imagined him to be that vocal, but damn, that man knows how to work his voice. You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, because it's just too much to bear. James caressing your clit, James pounding your pussy mercilessly, his gritted teeth, his hot breath spreading over your exposed skin, his grunts and moans against your ear. You don’t find the strength to hold onto him anymore and let your hands fall flat on your face instead, but it only takes a brief moment before he grabs your wrists with one big hand and holds them above your head.
“Need to see you, babe.” He slows his ruthless pace down a bit to take a stern look at you. “Will you keep your hands there?”, he asks. You nod silently, seemingly unable to form words. “Say it”, he demands.
“I – “, you swallow harshly, “I’ll keep my hands there, James.”
“Good girl…” His hand trails from your wrists to your chin, tilting it up a little to give you an appreciative kiss. Then, he picks up the pace again, driving himself into you hard and fast, hitting your cervix with each thrust, and the pain is so delicate it makes you whimper and brings tears to your eyes. It's a perfect contrast against his thumb slowly circling your nub and you can already feel yourself clenching around James’ cock. His other hand moves away from your face and to your tits again, gripping the soft flesh and pinching your nipples. You're so close and he fucking knows. Before you realize it, your right hand is covering your face again and James lets out a disappointed grunt. His thumb moves away from your clit instantly and he pulls out of you without so much as a warning, leaving you anxiously empty and aching for his cock. You know you're in trouble and you don’t dare look at him. “Turn around”, he commands, his deep voice making you shiver. You don’t object and cautiously turn to lay on your belly while he watches your every move with a raised eyebrow. Grabbing your hips, he pulls you on all fours, his right hand coming down on your ass with a light smack. You moan and hate yourself for enjoying it that much – even more so, when you hear him chuckle. “You like that, hm?”, he asks and slaps you once more.
You worry that your mouth will betray you again, so you squeeze your lips together and only reply with a low “mhm”.
“What’s that?” His grip on your hips tightens.
“Mhm”, you repeat. “Harder … please.”
James does as requested, his hand coming down with a loud slap this time, sure to leave a mark on your ass cheek. He doesn’t waste any time pushing his cock into you again, his pace just as hard and fast as before. He loosens his grip on your hip to circle his hand around your waist, searching for your most sensitive spot again and you let your head hang low between your shoulders as he does so. He reduced you to a moaning, gasping, whimpering mess and you love every second of it. You don’t know how much longer you can take it, though, the tension becoming overwhelming as he continues his pounding, the obscene sounds of him smacking into you filling the room. Your legs start to tremble and you can barely hold up, your climax coming inevitably closer. James smacks your ass again and you know you’ll hit it with his next thrust, but he pulls out again, literally making you whimper and plead to make you cum. He leans over you and your legs give in, his weight crushing on top of you as he pushes your hair away from your face “You’ve been a naughty little girl.” His hot breath on your ear makes you shudder. “Naughty girls don’t get to cum – not yet.”
“Jamessss…” you whine into the pillow and he slides back to position himself behind you again, grabbing your waist to pull you closer.
“Don’t worry, I’ll hold onto you”, he assures, pushing into your abused cunt yet again, digging his fingers into your hips. You feel completely exhausted already, unable to lift your head off the pillow as he thrusts into you slow and deep, hitting your spot over and over again. His right hand trails up your back and into your hair, grabs a fistful of it and pulls so hard it makes your back arch. “You like that, huh? Like it, when I fuck you like this?”, he growls and it makes you mewl an incoherent “uh-huh” in return. He smacks your ass once more, making you hiss with pleasure. “Say it!”
“Yes, James. I – shit! I love it when you fuck me like, ah! Like that.”
His grip in your hair loosens a little as he moves his hand to the nape of your neck, stroking lightly. “Such a beautiful slut for my cock … fuck!” His words are slurred and you can tell he is getting closer himself, his movements inside you becoming more frantic and less precise. He lets go of your hip and reaches around and between your legs again, with you visibly struggling to uphold your own weight. You twitch around his cock and he halts his movements inside you, letting you fuck yourself on his cock instead. “That’s it, babe. So close, aren’t you?”
You close your eyes, unable to withhold the tears streaming down your cheeks. “Mhm … please, James. Oh God…”
He leans in a little closer. “You. May. Cum.”
You let your mouth fall open as you gasp for air, a thin hiss coming from somewhere deep within your throat as the tension in your midst releases all at once, making your whole body shudder with pleasure and only James’ hands on your waist and in your hair holding you up. He grinds his hips into you as clench around his cock, eventually letting go of you when your body shuts down completely and collapses onto your bed. You can feel him driving himself into you two, three, four more times, before his cock starts twitching inside you and he coats your insides with waves of hot, sticky cum; your name on his lips like a fucking prayer. He breathes heavily as his weight crushes on top of you and he stays there for a few moments, before he carefully pulls himself from you. James rolls over to his side, softly stroking your hair, placing soft kissed on your wet cheeks, taking the tears away. You still lie flat on your belly, unable but also unwilling to move because you desperately need to relish in the feeling of his calloused fingers touching you ever so gently. “I really did a number on you there, didn’t I?”, he asks tentatively, his voice still hoarse.
“Mhm, kind of…”
“Sorry”, he apologizes and you know he means it.
“Don’t be.” You shift a little to place your head on your elbow and your hand traces his white mustache. “I wanted it”, you assure. “And I enjoyed it very much. Twice.”
James smiles lazily. “Please just promise me it won’t always be like this. I’m an old man – I might die from a heart attack.” You can’t help but chuckle. “Besides, I really want to show you that it doesn’t have to be this rough for you to feel good.”
Oh dear. If you thought he was going to be trouble when he showed up at your workplace earlier, you didn’t even know the half of it. Maybe he had been trouble from the very beginning, ever since he bought you that cup of coffee; ever since he’d taken you in to stay with him. Looking back, you had always watched Fran’s and his marriage jealously. Back then, you thought it was because you were sure you’d never have a relationship like that, even though you desperately wanted what they had. Now you are certain that it was in fact James you had wanted all along. It probably wouldn’t have been impossible, even. You knew that he was having plenty of extramarital affairs and flings back then. Why the hell did you wait so long to finally made a pass at him? “You could have had me ages ago, you know…”
He curls his nose and shakes his head. “No, because it would have ruined everything between us. I wasn’t ready to do what I had to back then.” He buries his hand in the hair at the back of your head and pulls you in for a slow and intimate kiss.
“What made you change your mind?”, you ask as you part.
James shrugs. “I realized that I was spending my life with the wrong woman by my side.”
Your heart leaps inside your chest and you close your eyes, as you feel post-coital tears dwell up again. “Okay, you need to stop this right now, or you’re going to turn me into a sobbing mess.” You say and hide your face behind your hands.
James gently takes them into his own and places a soft kiss on each knuckle. “Okay … how about we head in the shower and get ourselves cleaned up, before we go and grab my stuff, so that I can move in with you properly for the next few weeks?”
You smile softly at his proposal. “Sounds good.”
Who knew that maybe you should meet your idols after all.