Counterproductive Tendencies ✩ James Hetfield
⭒ introductory ⭒ (wordcount: 7.9k)
Part one of multiple: Bottle Caps and Rugburn
Ephemeral clouds temporarily obscure your already altered line of vision as you hesitantly trudge forward and off your shared front porch, the huff of uneasiness you let out nearly inaudible as your roommates continuously complain from behind you. You shakily exhale as the bottom of your right, overworn and half shoved on tennis shoe snags on a rough side of uneven pavement, and you attempt to unsteadily stabilize yourself with a blind hand in front of you. Relief floods through you as you feel your palm slide against and make contact with the large tree you remember to be in front of your newly assigned home and dormitory, your fingers bending inward to grip onto its damp curvature as you testily circle your ankle back and forth.
"Don't tell me you've already injured yourself, before you could go and tell our neighbors off for keeping us up until two in the morning." A voice from the still partially warm entrance of the front door teasingly drawls, causing your already squinting eyes to fall shut with barely concealed annoyance and exhaustion.
"Kept you five up, actually. I happened to have already been sleeping just fine," you respond dryly, kicking your foot back down and skidding it up to where your other one balances your weight, once you're sure it won't tense or strain. The thick material of your sock makes a soft, padded sound once it makes rough contact with the sole of your shoe, and you twist your upper half to peer back at the partially huddled group of women surrounding the highest step. "Why am I the one to go and talk to these guys, anyway? I've never even met them."
"You just answered your own question," another one rasps out, her hands gripping onto a thick blanket covering her broad and caving in shoulders, the tip of her nose bright red from the invasive and domineering wind. "They've never met you, which means that they'll give you even less shit than they usually give us. Fresh meat and all. Even assholes like them won't slam a door in your face the first time."
The eldest of the group sends you a small and almost genuine smile, before leaning forward on the side railing to raise a hand and gesture for you to keep moving forward and across the street. "They aren't as bad as they sound. They offered us beer once."
"Yeah, and then egged our house-" "Well, that was because one of you guys called the police, and they showed up right after we knocked on their door to talk to them about the noise-" "I told you we should've just stayed home that night. Now they know we're snitches. We told on them; we're fucking narcs."
You wince as a small pulse of pain travels to each one of your temples and down to the middle of your forehead, the one bright light on the side of the porch glaring its way into your peripheral vision as you wearily look up at the girls. You slowly blink to gather moisture for your sore and dry eyes and breathe out a quiet sound of disbelief as they continue to mindlessly talk over each other, before turning yourself back around to face the tree and throwing a halfhearted wave behind your goosebump-ridden back.
You ignore the increased volume in their voices as you do so and carefully make your way over and down the uneven pavement and curb, your face and bare lower legs numbing as the frosty air envelopes itself over your underdressed form.
You glance around and quickly begin to make your way over to a much larger and nicer house once you discover it to be the source of the loud music and barreling cheers, beer caps audibly crunching underneath your fast paced feet as soon as you make your first few steps onto the stranger's property. You make yourself walk impossibly faster to the half-shut front door, refusing to allow your anxiety to stop you from helping your roommates hopefully get some sleep and for them to finally shut up.
Before you can even reach forward to push the door open wider and take a step inside, it comes whipping open and loudly collides with the wall behind it, causing you to jump in fright and lean back as a man around your age peers down at you with unhidden interest, his eyes comically wide and concerningly bloodshot.
"If anyone asks you about that, you'll tell them it wasn't me, right? Dickheads already had me pay out of pocket for the last time someone cannonballed through our glass table, and it wasn't even me! It was some blonde chick who chugged too much during a keg stand and couldn't handle her lager."
You send him a confused thumbs up, his accent too thick and slurred for you to be able to discern the words tumbling out of his mouth. You can't help but cheer up as he sends you a wide and overenthusiastic grin at your agreeance, and a cold, already opened beer can is being pressed into your already tingling palms before you can even decline.
"For not being a dick about the damage I'm doing to my own property." He explains, his eyebrows raising as your facial expression morphs into animated relief.
"This is your place? Thank God, I thought I'd be looking around all night until I found you," you speedily breathe out, the man now leaning against the doorway and looking at you in drunken shock, as if he wasn't speaking even faster than you seconds before. "My roommates woke me up and pressured me to come over and ask you to turn the music down."
The man's expression quickly drops and almost turns mean, seemingly freezing midway into a grimace as he takes in your uncomfortable posture and tense shoulders. "You were put up to this?" He asks you skeptically, reaching out to take back the beer once he sees you raise your hands up to your mouth to blow hot air on your already windblown, red streaked knuckles and palms.
"I can sleep like the dead. My roommates, not so much," you admit, some of your anxiousness melting away as you watch his face crumple with understanding. "Said I'm fresh meat and you wouldn't be as rude to me as you usually are to them, at least on my first trip over here."
"So, they had you come over to a stranger's house, during a large party at two thirty in the morning, to confront your neighbors, who you were told were hostile and unwelcoming? On your probably, very first week of living there?" At your nod, the man shakes his head in disbelief, before studying you with an inquisitive look and nodding his head in the direction of the ongoing party behind himself.
"Come on in. I'll get you something warmer to wear, and I'll get my even less than shitty roommates to introduce themselves to you," he sends you a cheeky look and makes sure you're following him before moving forward and even further inside. "We won't give you shit this time, only if you didn't call the cops before coming over here first."
A loud bout of drunken laughter petals itself out of the man guiding you inside, and you take in a deep breath, before walking toward and into the large mass of strangers and their inebriated shouts and movements.
"Fuck it." You murmur to yourself, only looking back to see if your roommates were still waiting for you outside. A frown makes its way to your lips once you see that the side porch's light is now off, and the front door is now fully closed.
"Name's Lars, by the way," he nearly shouts at you as you two make it to a staircase, lightly gripping your elbow after you're nearly toppled over by rough and incessant, dance-powered shoves. "I've got a friend's room you can change in, don't worry." You nod despite your nerves and quickly match your footsteps with his as you two make your way up the stairs. You glance out a large set of windows in the hallway and allow your eyes to drink in the ever-growing amount of people dancing outside in the freezing cold air, their heads thrown back and laughter pouring out of them, careless of the wind and everything to all intents and purposes, trying to knock them off their feet. As you're handed an oversized white dress shirt, and a slightly larger than usual pair of jeans and left alone to change, you crouch down to sit on the carpeted floor and force yourself to suck in a much needed and trembling breath. You momentarily close your eyes, before sliding them back open and shoving your flimsy shirt over your head, your hair coming loose from its confines of an earlier and secure ponytail.
So much for a warm welcome and a new start.
A quiet curse pillows its way out of your pursed lips as you cup your ear and clumsily make your way onto your knees, your stray hairs tickling the sides of your face as you search for your missing earring and stud. Your socked feet nearly slide out from underneath you as you bring yourself down and use your elbows as leverage, closing one eye to look underneath the bed only a foot away from you.
"Oh, come on. You've got to be here somewhere." You whisper out hopelessly, a sound of defeat reverberating in your chest once you're unable to find it beneath the lifted mattress. You let out a groan and allow your arms to let up, the bottom of the dress shirt nearly covering you from the mid-thigh up, lifting as you flop on the floor and land on top of the discarded pair of ripped jeans. You lift your head to rest it on top of your clasped hands and freeze in place as your eyes make contact with bright blue eyes, already looking down at you.
Wavy, dirty blonde hair cascades and rests against beautifully scarred and dimpled skin, accompanied with red and plush lips, them already curved up in a bewildered yet amused grin. Black jeans accentuate long, muscled legs, and a band tee is stretched out against a toned and taut torso. A jean jacket is splayed across sculpted and fully formed biceps, and you have to force yourself to not let out a sound of humiliation as the stranger takes their time drinking in your form.
You can't stop your body from jolting as the man speaks out in the heady air, and your eyes narrow as he chortles out a gentle and mirthful sounding laugh. You push yourself up into a sitting position, your spread legs instinctively curling up underneath you and ankles tightly linking together as you intentionally avert your wide eyes and stare down at the embroidered carpet instead.
"As much as I truly don't mind the view, why exactly are you wearing my only dress shirt, and why are you sprawled out in my room? On the floor, specifically?" You try not to seem affected by the smooth and comforting cadence of his tone, willing yourself to swallow thickly and clear your voice before answering him.
"I didn't want to invade your privacy by getting into your bed without your permission," You blurt out, immediately regretting your choice of words as you take them in yourself. Before the man standing in the doorway can ask you any more questions, you rush to continue. "Lars brought me up here, told me to dress more warmly. This was the first thing I saw when I walked into your closet. I really didn't mean to intrude."
The blue-eyed man's expression insurmountably softens once he notices how out of place and hesitant and nervous you look, going as far to take a step further back from entering his own room to give you more space. He goes to open his mouth to reassure you, before momentarily freezing in place. "Wait, you're here with Lars?" He asks you, his jaw almost slack with shock.
You shake your head adamantly, for some reason having a strong urge to reassure the stranger that you came here on your own and with no one else. "I hate to be the one to tell you, sweetheart, but you could do a lot better. Gremlin can't even admit to breaking his own shit, imagine how he'd treat you," you can't help but catch onto the softness in his tone as he teasingly speaks about his friend, his adoration apparent even as he playfully speaks ill of him. "How about we get some pants on you, and we can sneak you out of here before he realizes you're gone?"
His smile is contagious, and you can't help but temporarily mirror his expression, the frown only coming back to your face once you fully take in your predicament. The man sees your face fall, and he decidedly enters the room and slowly makes his way over to you, sitting down next to you but leaves enough distance for you to still feel comfortable and in your own space.
"What's going on in there, doll?" He asks you and points to your head, his tone surprisingly gentle and in contrast of his clothing, which is emanating the smell of cheap whiskey and half rubbed off cologne. You watch as his hands rise and come to reach out and comfort you, only to stop midway and land on the carpet in between the two of you instead, the rings on his fingers catching light and creating artificial rays up to the top of his high ceiling.
"I don't think I can go back to my place tonight, not without waking up my dormmates and pissing them off even further. The only reason I came over here was to ask for you guys to keep it down, on their behalf," you pause as recognition and distaste culminates on his face, and you sigh and reiterate what you said to Lars earlier, once again. "I was already sleeping, but they woke me up to come over here. They said I was fresh meat, and that you wouldn't treat me as shitty as you've treated them."
An array of emotions temporarily shuffle themselves on the handsome man's face beside you, the emotion he soon settles on being incredulity. He makes sure to maintain eye contact with you before he goes to speak, his fingertips digging themselves into the fabric of the carpet to stop himself from reaching out for you again.
"The only reason we've ever given them shit; was because of the way they came off towards us first. The first time they came over, it was two years ago, and we were celebrating an album release. There was still natural light outside, and it was in the middle of the summer. And they come barging in through our door and threatening to call the police, said their summer studies were more important than whatever we felt like we needed to celebrate for. Spoke to us like we were shit, and when we decided to play music for the first time again a few weeks later, they came back again, only this time with the police," an amused smile tugs his lips upward, and your chest flutters at the sight. "So maybe we smoked a little too much one night, crossed the street and pegged their shit with frozen eggs and blast music a little too loudly when we aren't supposed to. Doesn't mean we're any less than them or any better, also doesn't mean that gives them the right to come over to ours, threaten us, and then talk to us like we're shit."
"Treats other's how you wish to be treated." You murmur, your eyes zeroing in on his and watching as his pupils dilate as he looks back at you. He nods back as if he's in a trance, his fingertips stretching out to brush against yours. This time, you reach forward and slide your own through the delicate and soft fabric, your first knuckles colliding with his. Yours still red, and his ring laden and a pale pink.
Music and shared laughter creates its own traveling sound up the stairs and into his bedroom, yet you two seem undisturbed and unbothered, as it attempts to blanket itself and tries to add on to the comfortable silence the two of you created. "What's your name?" You can't help but ask, a dazed and content look coinciding on both of your expressions as you do so, his thumbs rising from the carpet to brush against yours in a delicate caress.
"James." He simply answers, and your lips raise with the simplicity of it.
"Fitting." You muse, shifting your legs to stretch them out, a light blush dusting your cheeks as your socked feet make contact with his closest thigh. Footsteps traipse themselves up the stairs and pause near the entrance of James' room, and you both let out a laugh as Lars' head hesitantly pops in through the side of the doorway.
The relief on his face is both palpable, and shit-eating all at once. "Looks like I gave you the right room to change in after all," he begins, pleased. "Enough of the chit chat shit. I've got three hundred people downstairs close to passing out, but they're still begging for shots, and I've got three other band members curious about what kind of girl is special enough to keep James away from the alcohol for so long."
The shorter band member ducks down fast enough to miss the tennis shoe coming his way, letting out a hysterical laugh as it flies past him and parachutes down the flight of stairs instead, a resounding shout of muffled pain coming from the bottom of it.
You all share a mutual look of shock, before bursting into laughter. Tears spring to your eyes, and it's hard for you to decipher if they're actually from amusement or from relief. Relief from being around two now named strangers, who seem to be more welcoming to you than your own roommates, who promised to take you in and treat you well. Relief from having to hold back laughter, so you wouldn't be too loud and interrupt a study session, or an afternoon nap.
A ringed hand holds itself out to you once you stop laughing and lightly wipe at your eyes, your own widening as you realize the two of them must be waiting for you. You quickly take ahold of James' hand and avoid Lars' cheeky gaze, the large and calloused palm holding your hand currently helping to keep your own warm.
A shiver travels its way down your spine and goosebumps reappear on your lower legs as you're helped to stand upright, a light breath of laughter coming to life in between you two as you nearly slide from your socks again. Using James' unyielding and firm grasp on your hand for assistance, you squat down to grab ahold of the oversized denim that was offered to you earlier, and shyly wave the pair of jeans in the air near your decently covered chest. "Can you two turn around real quick?" You ask quietly, guilt overcoming you as you appear to provisionally put them out of getting back to their party once again. Lars turns around to face the doorway as soon as you finish your sentence, and James quickly walks over to the door and kicks it shut once you're fully stood back up and his shirt falls back down into place to bracket and cover your upper thighs.
You walk with caution in your socks over to the bed and lean against the bottom frame, before yanking them off entirely and shoving each of your bare feet through the larger legs of the denim. A sound of amusement tears itself out of your chest as you grip onto the waistband of them with both of your hands, and you call out for them to turn back around and see for themselves. Lars lets out a snort and James looks at you with a small smile, before exhaling a breathy chuckle and nodding his head towards his best friend. "You might be better off borrowing a pair of his, since he's closer to you in height and size."
You raise a hand to hide a laugh behind your palm as Lars lets out a half stilted, indignant sound, his bloodshot eyes staring up at his bandmate with unhidden betrayal and his hands coming up to hold onto his hips. "I'll have you know I still get plenty of chicks, short stature and all." You watch as James vehemently nods and runs a hand down his back, before reaching forward and reopening his bedroom door. Lars squares his shoulders and slides through the partial opening, only momentarily pausing to throw his head back to the side to send you both a playful glare. You can't help the wide smile that spreads your lips, the lighthearted sound escaping James' own making it even harder for you to hold back and hide your joviality.
"Is he always like this?" You ask, tired laughter chortling through you as James halfheartedly raises a hand to slowly shake it back and forth.
"Only since '81, when I met him." Your guys' joint amusement delicately turns back into comfortable silence, and the wide smile on your lips melts into a bashful grin. James watches you as you shift your weight on each foot and duck your head, tendrils of loose locks hiding your soft features from his various glimpses of you.
James twists his hand around the doorknob and almost nervously licks his lips. "I'm kind of glad your asshole roommates sent you over here," he starts, his breath stuttering in his chest as you lift your head back up to look at him. "I don't think we would have met if you wouldn't have been." His sentence ends in a near whisper, and your grip on your pants loosens, your fully covered feet making their way over to him on autopilot. You pause mid step, you two now only a breath of a distance away from each other.
"I don't know about that," you murmur, your eyes darting down to his parted lips, your own still lifted and feeling light. "I still think I would have made my way on over to you. To the both of you- all of you, I guess." A light blush dusts your cheeks as you stammer, and James nearly jumps as Lars suddenly reappears, his eyebrows raised and his reddened eyes knowing and glinting.
"Let's get you looking even more mismatched and fucked up for downstairs." He sarcastically cheers, sending a soft smile your way as he places a comfortable looking pair of sweatpants and non-slip socks in your awaiting hands. You thank him and let out a sigh of relief as they turn around to face the door again. You secure the sweats with the drawstring and tuck the bottom half of the dress shirt into the waistline, before bending down to carefully slide on the socks.
"Just to let you know, James has his own bathroom attached to his bedroom and it's only a few feet away." You look up at the sound of an audible slap and yelp, a laugh bellowing out of you as you watch James fluster and shake his head in disbelief. He quickly glances at you once you notify them you're fully dressed, his eyes wide with panic and his plush lips set in a frown. You lightly tap him on the shoulder and grin up at him, letting him know it was alright.
"I- we only stayed in the room because you asked for us to turn around," he excuses, his eyes meeting yours and his tone of voice lowering. "I didn't think you'd be comfortable with me leaving you alone, with such a big party going on downstairs. Anyone could have walked in, and I. I wanted to make sure you were alright." His best friend tosses his head down and hides a grin at his bandmate's uncharacteristic shy tone and body language. You look up at him in silent awe and slowly reach forward to squeeze his hand in thanks, your eyes widening as he instead twists his hand around to securely hold onto yours. Lars glances down at your joined hands and theatrically sighs, before yanking the rest of the door open, not even flinching as it bounces off the wall behind it and James curses him out loud.
"And that was your fault, because you didn't listen to me when I spoke to you guys about the protectant foam plaster," he accuses, his tone sharp but his words light. Lars sends you both an impatient look, before stepping out of the room and beckoning you guys' forward. "You ready to try out a black tooth grin?"
"What exactly is a black tooth grin?" You hesitantly ask, your expression turning cautious as James and Lars smile in unison and don't answer.
"Let's get fucked up, you fucks." Lars sighs out as you three eventually make your way back downstairs, the curse words in his sentence sounding like terms of endearment. You peer up at James once you step off the last stair and onto the bright and chilled tile, hesitantly squeezing his hand before delicately disentangling yours to let go.
"Are you sure it's alright for me to stay the night?" You nearly whisper, the current crowd around you making you feel completely out of your element and uneasy.
James' fingers firmly tighten around yours, before properly engulfing your digits with his, his bright blue eyes looking down at you intently, but gently at the same time.
"You are more than welcome, sweetheart." Lars' head snaps towards you two, and for a moment, you instinctively expect him to decline the offer or disagree. Instead, he sends you both a mirthful, wide shit-eating grin.
"Sweetheart. Fitting." He muses, over the top. James raises a hand to smack him on the back of the head, but he moves too quickly out of the way. "Cheeky, little eavesdropping shit." James mutters to himself, the wide and elated grin on his face counterproductive to the rough tone in his voice. You squeeze his hand reassuringly, smiling up at him as he beams down at you.
"Let's get fucked up, you fucks." You mimic without imitating your new friend's accent, biting back a laugh as James raises an eyebrow and lifts his arm to guide you toward the table full of alcohol. Your eyes widen as a multitude of unknown and already half empty bottles greet you on a table nearly ten feet long, so many bottles on it that they nearly slide off with each step you two take forward. Three pairs of inquisitive eyes make their way on over to you as you step forward to stand alongside James, the awkward smile on your face endearing enough to make them grin back at you and drunkenly introduce themselves. You turn your head to watch as James pours a copious amount of whisky and coke into a solo cup, grabbing a handful of ice and dropping it inside of the concoction before handing it over to you. You wince at the burn during your first sip, but grin as the sweetness of the soda soothes it soon after. James guides you over to a vacant seat once you finish greeting his friends and nearly has you sitting in his lap, letting out a physical laugh against your back as you playfully ask him if he could make you something stronger once you down your first drink.
"Oh, sweetheart. You're going to regret saying that to me, of all people."
"I just don't think you'd want me on your team is all," you drawl out tipsily, your movements feeling more at ease as you share a secretive smile with Cliff over the edge of your bottle. "I'm not that good at beer pong. Wouldn't want to slow you down or make you lose the game." James narrows his eyes at you as pitters of laughter follow soon after your words, before tossing back the rest of his drink and hastily standing up.
"Alright then. Jason, Kirk, you're with me." he announces, his own tone dazed but still energized. You bite back a laugh as you watch him partially stumble over to a cluttered table and attempt to shove all of its used contents into the nearest trash bin, him missing nearly ninety percent of it and the rest just narrowly making its way inside. You and Lars stand up at the same time and share a wild grin, you quickly following suit of him filling up solo cups and placing them in their assigned spots. Cliff makes his way over and stands in the middle of your side of the pool table, with Lars to his right and you to his left. Thick wafts of smoke encircle themselves around your head and give you a mild second hand high, as he simultaneously sucks on the handmade filter of a backwoods pre-rolled blunt and places his part of the betting money on the side of the table closest to Kirk.
"I saw you make those three beer bottles in that trash can ten feet away an hour ago. You make those same shots with these ping pong balls, we split the money evenly and you'll have something to tease James about," Cliff whispers to you, voice muffled as he inhales a large puff of marijuana mixed with nicotine and allows it to expel out of his nostrils. He shoots an innocent looking smile to James as he watches you two from across the table, his calloused fingertips teasing the precipice of his cup and his eyes rarely straying away from you. Your lips lift even higher as the two of you make eye contact, a blush making permanent dormancy on the apples of your cheeks as an uncontrollable smile lifts his own. You force yourself to look away as Cliff continues to speak. "Although I don't think that'll be a problem. You could miss every point and we'd still probably win; with the way he can't stop looking at you."
"Just stand there and send him a smile every few minutes, why don't you." Lars adds, ducking forward as you try to reach behind Cliff and hit him on his back.
"Just for that, I'm going to try and beat your highest score," you playfully threaten, your eyes lazily rolling to the side as your newly acquired friend cries out a childish ooh. You shift closer to Cliff and begin to pay attention as the game starts on James' side. "Is it dumb of me to feel bad for lying to him about not being good at beer pong?" You quietly ask him, your voice nearly inaudible over the few drunks staying the night and the rest of party goers slowly making their way out and home, their loud declarations of them having a good time making your ears ring. Cliff sends you an inquisitive look, before raising an eyebrow and lowering down his ashtray, his lip ticking upward on the side as Lars curses out loud and lifts up another solo cup. Kirk smirks and leans against the pool table, his slightly crooked middle finger reaching past the few cups left on their side to greet his best friend with his digit.
"I think it's nice of you to feel guilty for something as small as lying about not being good at beer pong. It shows the good in you," he pauses mid answer as he bounces his ball towards the largest cup on the opposite side of the table, his side smirk turning into a full-blown grin as Kirk huffs and hesitantly lifts up the goblet full of vodka. Cliff lightly nudges you with his elbow until you loosen up and breathe out a soft chuckle. "As long as you don't lie about serious shit and you treat him well, then you have nothing to worry about."
You hum, before stopping in place and shooting your eyes upward to quizzically look at him. "Was that a subtle threat?" You ask him, impressed and amused as he gives you an overexaggerated once over and throws his ball without even looking. As you gape and watch as his ball catches along the side of the rim of the cup and lands in the plastic alcoholic beverage with ease, Cliff sends James a wink and passes you a ball from the half empty bucket beside you.
You take a deep breath and push his half assed response to the back of your mind, the heels of your heavily socked feet lifting from the ground as you toss your ping pong ball over to their side of the table. You close your eyes and hold back a wince as silence envelops everyone around you, before jumping in shock as Lars reaches over past Cliff and grips your shoulders with a loud cheer. "You double tapped, which means someone has to drink from both cups, and you get another shot," a small, celebratory smile makes its way to your lips, it quickly turning into a small, mirthful smirk as James picks up both cups and pours them into one. "Drink it and weep, bitch."
James sends Lars a dirty look, before tossing the half-filled cup of beer back in a few large gulps, a grimace etched in his facial features as he bitterly swallows the room temperature lager. "Last time I checked, you and Kirk sucked ass the last four times we played and nearly gave yourselves alcohol poisoning."
Kirk lets out a resounding groan, the goblet nearly toppling over as he blindly drops it back down on the table, his forearms immediately wrapping themselves around his middle once both of his hands are free. "Don't talk about that, man. I'll throw up just from thinking about it," you send him a sympathetic look and toss him your spare elastic, nodding back at him as he shouts out a drunken thank you and haphazardly ties up his hair. "I think I might need to forfeit. Some crazy shit is going on down there."
Jason perks up and from his tired stupor on the side of the table, his eyes already half closed, and his arms open wide enough for Kirk to fall into. Kirk lets out a sigh of relief once he's embraced and able to lean against something that isn't an inanimate object, blindly reaching up to pat on his bandmate's curly hair in gratitude. "Sounds good to me, I've got another gig in the afternoon and the smell of Yuengling is getting to me."
Lars lets out an elongated yawn and Cliff nods to himself, before turning to you and tilting his head towards a downtrodden looking James. You speak up before you have the chance to second guess it, wanting and craving to see the youthful smile on his face once again.
"You and me," you propose, feeling shy as the rest of the guys pause their slow movements and look over at you. You keep your eyes trained on James, his blue irises reigniting and lighting up with your next words, his hands halting in the process of collecting the still filled cups. "Whoever double taps or gets the next two shots in a row, wins. Whoever loses owes the winner something."
James unfurls and realigns the cups in their original positions, sending you a cheeky grin as you teasingly toss a ping pong ball back and forth in between your cupped hands. "So, what do you say?"
"You know, sweetheart. A lucky double tap or two during a 3v3 doesn't necessarily mean you're going to be able to win against or beat me." Your jaw ticks as he proudly waits for your response, his ringed fingers curling around the thick edges of wood in anticipation for your response.
You take a deep breath and steady yourself, before simply saying, "Get ready to lose, big boy."
A wide grin lifts your entire face as you watch James chug down the last gulp in his final solo cup, his eyes displaying his obvious exhaustion and drunkenness as he tosses it down once he's finished. "I can't believe I just lost to a girl." You go to look around for the response from the boys, but grin to yourself once you remember that they all forced themselves to go to sleep about an hour ago.
You let out a laugh of disbelief and set down your half-finished bottle of water, meeting James halfway as he clumsily tries to clean up the mess on the table. "I guess I finally found your flaw." You announce, the second hand high and earlier inebriation slowly easing off and allowing you to feel clearer minded.
James places the garbage bag down and gently grabs ahold of your hands, using them as leverage to tug you forward and into his arms. "And what would that be?" You let out a teasing hum and laugh into his chest as he breathes out an impatient grunt. Taking a step back, you smile as his flushed cheeks and slightly disheveled hair come back into view.
"Not only are you the definition of a sore loser, but you're also misogynistic." You hold back a bout of laughter as he sputters and immediately begins to disagree.
"That's not true," he denies, unclasping one of his hands from yours to tilt your chin up and hold you in place with his thumb and index fingers. You playfully raise an eyebrow and allow yourself to giggle as he continues to vehemently disagree. "I respect you, respected you so much that I didn't even try to look at you while you were changing earlier," James' voice lowers into an unsure whisper, his thumb grazing the soft skin on your jawline. "I wanted to."
Your breath hitches in your chest at his confession, your free hand coming up to encircle itself around his raised wrist. You watch as his eyes deepen in color at your newfound touch, his eyelids starting to look weighed down. "Yeah?" You quietly ask him back, warmth pooling in your groin as he silently nods and ardently looks down at you. "I wanted you to look at me too."
James wets his lips and guides you forward with his grip on your chin, close to the point of your breaths mingling and nearly merging into one. "You said the loser owes the winner something," you dazingly blink and nod up at him, the tips of your toes rubbing against the front of his boots as you step closer, are guided closer. Your eyes hood as he brings himself down to your height, his natural scent and combination of cologne and alcohol enough to make your head feel as if it was swimming. James' thumb lightly tugs at your bottom lip, and you open your mouth obediently, your grip tightening around his wrist as he lets out a shuttered exhale. "Tell me what you want then," he pleads. "I'll give you anything. Just tell me."
You try to tell yourself that it's too soon, that he'll get tired of you once he gets what he wants. But you've never had a man look at you like this before. Not just looking like he wanted you, but wanted to engrave you into him, to make you a permanent by his side. You release his wrist and slide a hand into the thick locks near the nape of his neck and bring him in, impossibly closer, your heart feeling as if it was about to beat and land outside of your chest.
"Kiss me," you gasp into the electrified air, the warm puffs of exhalation of his breaths against you full on stop, before he lets out a sigh of relief and places his lips on top of yours.
Whisky and beer and mixed drinks are what you taste at first, but they all fall behind as his arms lower down to your middle and lift you from the ground, your own arms entangling themselves around his neck and your lips parting as an invitation as he kisses you breathless. Day old stubble brushes against your cupids bow as his tongue testily makes its way into your awaiting mouth, and you moan as he instinctively laps at the roof of your mouth and brings his teeth forward to nip at your bottom lip. You suck on his tongue and caress his with your own, wanting to familiarize yourself with the taste of his appendage and spit.
Your legs rise and wrap around his waist as he grips your flesh so firmly, you know they'll be fingerprints embedded in your skin for days after. You feel him grunt against you as you tug at the hair residing right above his scalp, thick spit trails keeping you both connected as you two part, the coolness in the air from the winter now long gone. Heat curls in your middle, and you have to stop yourself from lowering your sex to rub against his front.
James shudders and licks up the slabs of connective saliva that land on his chin, leaning towards you once more to share the taste, before despairingly disconnecting with you once again.
You both gasp for breath, your chests beating erratically and hands grasping so tightly onto each other that if one of you two were to try and pull away, the other would refuse and tighten their grip. You lean forward to rest your forehead against his and airily breathe in his scent. James' large palms rub their way up and down the spine of your back, and he lets out an adoration filled laugh as you only half successfully hold back a quiet yawn.
"Think I should take you up to the guest room." He murmurs in the silent room around you two, the soft and seemingly all-defining cadence in his tone making your eyelids feel even heavier. You peer up at him through blurry eyes, the exhaustion you felt earlier finally catching up with you now.
"I can't sleep with you?" You tiredly ask, a blood red flush making its way down your chest as James simply raises an eyebrow and rests his hands near the swell of your ass.
"If you come up to my room, the last thing we'll be doing is sleeping," he admits, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks. You absentmindedly lick your lips to chase the taste of him and freeze in place as his mouth impulsively opens for you. James lets out a groan and tosses his head back, his facial expression looking almost pained. His fingertips ground themselves into your backside and you let out a helpless moan, his own cock twitching with interest at the sound you emit. "I want to take my time with you, have to," he whispers in the space between you two. James tilts his head forward and places a gentle kiss to your forehead, before maneuvering you back down on your feet. His hands come down to cradle yours, and he brings them up to his chest. "I've rushed things before and fucked them up, but I don't want to do that with you. There's something special here, and I know you can feel it too."
You nod in agreeance and lightly rub the pads of your fingertips against his almost trembling knuckles. "I do. Of course I do, James." You reassure him gently, wishing to bring yourself back in his arms already.
"Let's take our time with this, figure this shit out and make it work," he says in a more stable tone, your admittance of returning what he felt giving him enough confidence to continue. "And when we figure all this out and everything settles through, the only place you'll be wanting to be at is my bedroom." Your grip tightens around his and you let out a huff of annoyance, a small smile gathering on your kissed red lips as James refuses to let you go as you try to tug your hands away.
"Okay," you agree, your eyelids fluttering shut as he lets go of one of your hands to cradle the side of your face instead. You tiredly reopen them and nearly gasp at the amorous look on his face, his pupils blown wide and the lightest shade of blue you've seen of them yet. "We'll wait and we'll take our time."
James leans back down once more, sliding his lips against yours in a slick and passionate kiss, before forcing himself to let you go and taking a step back. You pulse forward, every fiber in your being craving to be closer to a man you had just barely met, but felt like you already knew. Before you can overthink, a warm hand engulfs yours and gently tugs you forward. You fight back a shiver as a cold waft of air makes its way to your feet underneath the front door as you walk past it, and up the staircase. You let out a shocked bout of laughter as your feet are swept out from underneath you, and you relax against his chest as he carries you the rest of the way to your temporary room.
You hold back a sound of displeasure as you're placed back down and stepped away from again, a door only a few feet away from his a few inches away from you now. You swallow thickly and feel yourself flush as you watch James hungrily track the movement.
"Sweetheart, I need you to walk away from me first." You furrow your brows in confusion, before understanding. Fighting back the urge to step closer to him and grasp onto his solid warmth, you instead take a step back and grip onto his dress shirt instead.
"Goodnight." You murmur out, the electrified air that once surrounded you two downstairs, now feels stagnant and needy, hungry. James places his hands in his jean jacket and whispers the same sentiment, watching you slowly make your way into the guest bedroom, and even further away from the only person you currently wanted to be around.
You let out an exhausted sigh and run your hand against the wall until you find a light switch, automatically flinching as it's situated right in front of you and on top of a side table. You kick off the sweatpants and neatly fold them and place them on top of the dresser closest to the door, the ends of James' shirt falling down your thighs feeling like the ghost of his temporary and earlier touch.
You moan in relief once you situate yourself in bed and are under the covers, your nearly fully closed eyes snapping open and a tired smile encapsulating your entire face, as a gentle knock raps itself a few times against the wall separating the two of you. A gentle reminder that he was still there, and you two still had time. As you quickly find yourself falling asleep, the only words that come to mind are the words that you two had whispered to each other earlier, in your guys' first ever promise.
And to this day, you still wish for it to.
