Chapter Text
My counterpart, my foolish heart;
a man must learn to rule his tender part.
---
James wasn’t exactly sure why he’d chosen to go to the mall. He was already in a bad mood, his agitation relentless, this underlying anger that always was there bubbling up to the surface unprompted; he felt restless, dissatisfied. But he couldn’t take being home any longer. There was a palpable emptiness there, only ever shifting when an argument arose. Today, it was over nothing, really, but when his blood had gone turbulent and hot in his veins and he was curling his hands into fists, he decided he just needed to get out. The bus ride was a daze, a loosely connected experience in which his ears were tuned into every other sound, and the ongoing stopping and starting of the wheels jostled his body back and forth in the seat.
No one could hang out today. Cliff, Kirk and Lars were all busy, too busy to satiate their sulking, seething friend, which meant James was left to wander through the mall alone. It was relatively quiet, given the weekday afternoon, and at least was warm. The winter day beyond its walls was exceptionally brisk and unfriendly, with a dreadfully overcast sky and cold rain that created little rapid drum beats on the roof.
There was another problem, though--James was pretty much broke. Not that he had any real intention of buying anything, but it would just be nice to be able to. He kind of needed at least one new pair of jeans, maybe a pair of sneakers; he definitely knew going into the little record shop in the west wing would be a mistake. Not that it was as good as any of the filled-to-the-brim record stores of downtown, but he knew he’d find something there that he couldn’t afford. Just more discouragement.
He walked around, mostly just passing by shops uninterested, dodging housewives and the occasional teenagers probably skipping school along the way. No one seemed to notice him at all. The only person who looked directly at him was a mall cop walking past, his face too placid and friendly to be intimidating at all, even despite the all-black, structured uniform. The mall cop’s eyes went from James’ leather jacket to his face in less than a second--James furrowed his brow, not sure if the guy was sizing him up or not, but the man only gave him a smile, crescent dimples at the sides of his mouth as his cool but seemingly kind eyes met James’ own.
He thought it was a little weird. James certainly didn’t fit most of the crowd around him. But it wasn’t as though he was planning on doing anything worthy of a cop’s intervention anyway. Until he saw the ring, that is.
It was a posh little shop, full of overpriced baubles and gifts, not much for men at all. James mostly was there to peruse for his sister, see if there was anything he could come back for and get them for Christmas once he actually got some cash. Some of the stuff was really neat--necklaces with weighty gemstones, brightly colored scarves, tiny little “handmade” trinkets, gilded gold incense holders. But what really caught his eye was a shiny silver ring, the band thick and leading into carefully threaded “tufts” of fur, the entire surface a bold, big wolf’s head. Head bowed, he ran his fingers over each little groove and angle, feeling the smooth snout, the sharp ears and then the cut blue crystals that made its eyes. It was brilliant. He wanted it. And it was way too expensive.
The woman working the register didn’t seem like she was paying attention. James lifted the ring away from its velveteen casing and rolled it between his fingers, over his palm; he looked back up to the woman, still seeming to pay him no mind, and then, surprising even himself, he slipped the ring into the pocket of his jacket, thanked the woman for letting him look around and walked out.
James wasn’t a thief. Not really. Certainly had never stolen something as nice as a heavy silver ring. Part of him felt bad--that woman at the register probably owned the store herself, probably built it on her own and probably loved everything she curated for it. But another part of him said, fuck it, fuck the mall, fuck money, fuck the people who could afford outlandish, gaudy shit and not bat an eye when they handed over their cash or waved their credit cards around.
He didn’t get very far, only a few stores down, before James saw that same mall cop headed his way. He still looked friendly enough, but he was clearly headed in a straight line for James. James’ heart fluttered but he kept going, hoping he was wrong and that he wouldn’t get arrested for something so trivial, so stupid. It wasn’t like he stole something from Tiffany’s, after all. But the mall cop stopped right in front of him, holding one arm out in front of himself to halt James, too.
“Hold on,” he said, lowering his hand. It was already hard to take the guy seriously--the sharp cheekbones and jaw couldn’t totally deter from the soft, gentleness of his eyes, and while he looked built and more than physically capable of chasing James down, he was also shorter by a few inches. It was almost a bit comical to have this man be literally halting him as James stood fully erect, careening over him.
“Um, yeah?” James asked, instinctively puffing his chest up all while his shoulders slumped down a bit, a contradicting mix of desperately not wanting to be seen, let alone singled out, while preparing for action.
“Got a call,” the mall cop replied, his casual tone seeming a lot less like a possible act with how relaxed his body language was. No stiffness, no aggressive projection of his masculinity or superiority. “Were you checking out some jewelry a few minutes ago?”
James’ heart started to race again. His eyes darted from the man’s to the patch on his chest that said in threaded yellow: NEWSTED. Stupid name for a stupid mall cop. He just really didn’t want this to be a thing. If it meant he had to walk back to the shop in humiliation and hand back the ring, he would, as long as it was left at that. But he also knew that you never confessed shit to cops, and he figured as stupid as they were, mall cops fell under that umbrella.
“Maybe,” he replied. “I’ve looked at lots of things today, Officer Newsted.”
The mall cop actually chuckled, shocking James even more. “Wise-ass. So would you mind if you showed me what you have in your pockets?”
James was getting angry then, any humor in the situation lost, any sympathy for the shop owner gone. “I don’t have to show you shit.”
Newsted leaned forward and lowered his voice, though the corridor was empty. “Listen, the owner called me and told me it looked like you might’ve slipped something into your jacket. She looked--there’s a ring missing from the case. A silver wolf ring.” He leaned back again, the friendliness overshadowed by a sudden, visible wave of tiredness in his eyes. “She mentioned something about pressing charges. I figured I’d talk to you first and see if we can sort it out.”
“I didn’t take anything, man,” James protested, blood rising to his cheeks. This mall cop wasn’t even old, he probably had a decade on James, what the hell was he doing working such a superfluous, shitty gig left for retired real shitty cops?
Newsted sighed. “Alright. Come on,” he said, starting to turn. He didn’t touch James, only reached out and waved him forward. “My office. I’m still a believer in second chances--don’t count on it from her, though.”
James quickly evaluated the options--running would be futile. Newsted could certainly catch up, probably shamefully quickly, and James would end up with knees busted on the cold, hard tile and his arms twisted behind his back. Going back to return the ring now would be even more humiliating had he just done it himself, unprompted. If he went to this supposed “office,” maybe this dude really would go easy on him, take the ring back, forgo any paperwork and all that and just let James on his merry way. He’d get banned from the store, maybe from the mall, but who cared?
He sighed in defeat, slumped his shoulders down, and slunk up to Newsted’s side. If anything, it was probably a once in a lifetime experience--getting walked to a mall security office like a kid going to the principal’s office.
As they approached the looming entryway that boasted “SECURITY” overhead, Newsted said, “I’m surprised you didn’t just try to bolt, honestly.”
James exhaled through his nostrils, temper flaring again. “If I had, would you have gone after me?”
“Out of obligation,” Newsted replied. “And also you’re the most interesting part of my day so far. It’s a slow one.”
“Can’t imagine any of these moms are stealing shit,” James muttered, crossing his arms tight over his chest as he was led into what was, in fact, an actual office, desk and all.
Newsted grabbed a notepad and pen from the surface of it but remained standing, leaning back against the front of the desk. He uncapped the pen, looked at James still standing at the closed door, and gestured to the chair in front of him. James rolled his eyes but obliged, settling down against hard metal. God forbid they make chairs for petty criminals comfortable.
“So you are saying you stole something?” Newsted asked.
James huffed and crossed his arms again, feeling the ring poke into his forearm through the leather jacket. “No. I’m not saying shit.”
“That the word of the day or something? Jeez.”
James thrust his arms out, hands in fists, to his sides. “You got anything better to do than pull me in for some unsubstantiated bullshit? Anyone could’ve taken that ring. How do you know that lady is even telling the truth? You check her inventory? She have cameras in there?”
Newsted tapped his pen against the notepad. “What’s your name?”
James scowled, but would it even matter? A plain legal notepad and pen didn’t seem very official. If he was going to get arrested, he would have already been arrested. Maybe this mall cop really was just bored out of his mind. “If I tell you, what happens?”
“I’m just doing what I said I would do--filing a report,” Newsted answered, bringing the tip of the pen to the paper. “So--what’s your name?”
James considered that. It felt like a game. Not like a malicious game, but a game nonetheless. To be honest, he didn’t have much else to do either. So, fuck it. “James.”
“Last name?”
“Hetfield.”
“Okay, James Hetfield,” Newsted echoed, scribbling away. James wondered if he was even writing down his name at all. “Date of birth?”
“August 3rd, 1963.”
“So that makes you, what--23?” Newsted asked, looking up, or rather down, at James. “I don’t normally get a lot of 20-somethings. Usually teenagers.”
“Listen, I’m not some fucking loser,” James spat out. “I just--I was looking around, man. It’s a slow day for me, too.”
“I didn’t say you were a loser,” Newsted assured him, genuine apology written in his eyes. James scowled again anyway, perplexed and a little put off at all the niceties. But, really, sitting in the dinky mall security office was better than sitting at home. “Most people don’t steal for no reason. I mean, yeah, there’s kleptomaniacs, but I don’t know if that’s you. If you took the ring, just give it to me, I’ll give it back to the store, and you can go home. Deal?”
James bit his lip, slumping down in the chair. Another silly part of it was, he wanted the ring. He really did. He knew it was wrong and he knew listening to the immature, juvenile voice in his head to take it was stupid, but he did it anyway--that brash impulsiveness rearing its head. Sometimes he felt like it would never go away, like he’d always find a way to lash out, whether it be at another person, at himself or at the world that he had absolutely no power in dismantling or changing in any way whatsoever.
“What if I don’t wanna go home?” James replied, eyes on the floor.
“So you’d rather me actually get the real paperwork, write you up, charge you, all that bullshit?”
James looked up at the curse word. “No, I mean--no, fuck no.” He shoved his right hand into his pocket and felt through the silky lining, fingers tracing the ring of metal he’d hidden away. “Whatever, I took the fucking ring. It was stupid.”
“It’s a cool ring,” Newsted said as James held it out to him. “Really cool. How much did it cost?”
“Twenty-five bucks,” James grumbled. His cheeks were burning. He felt defeated, humiliated and weak. He was a loser.
“So keep it,” Newsted offered, gently pushing James’ hand back toward his body. “I can pay off the owner.”
James narrowed his eyes. The game got weird. “Why would you do that? That’s messed up.”
“Honestly,” Newsted started to say with a quiet, deep and pleasant laugh. “It looks like it suits you. The lone wolf, right? Even have the same color eyes.”
James looked down at the ring in his hand--their eyes were similar in color. And he did want the ring. But he didn’t like how he was getting it now. “No, dude. I don’t wanna be like, in debt to you or nothin’.”
Newsted tilted his head. “How much cash do you have on you, really?”
“Maybe fifteen bucks.”
There was that smile again. “Great--so buy me a beer. You’re old enough and wealthy enough for that. One beer and consider your debt paid off.”
James was flabbergasted. “Seriously?”
“Sure.” Newsted looked at his watch. “Our next guy comes in in twenty minutes and after such an exhausting time with you, I could really use a drink.” He smiled again, all light and cheeky.
James left the office in a daze, hand shoved in his pocket, fingers toying with the ring. It was such an odd turn of events, all happening because of one stupid, silly, petty choice, born from a morning of misery and loneliness, which spawned from years of the same. James hadn’t felt the loneliness ebb so much as when he had been sitting in that chair in the mall security office, talking with the random mall cop who wasn’t yanking his chain but being--genuinely nice? James scoffed as he walked away--this dude must have been an even bigger loser than James if he was so eager to go to a bar in the middle of the afternoon with a random 23 year old petty thief. But Newsted was also nice, with those gentle eyes and real smile, and looked like he might have even been kind of cool not all that long ago, like maybe he used to headbang at tightly packed, sweaty rock shows, pound liquor straight from the bottle and roll perfect joints to smoke as he listened to records. There had to be something beneath the surface. James was well aware of that fact for everyone.
-
Newsted was right on time, not more than twenty minutes later sidling up to James, and thankfully no longer in uniform. He looked normal--dark blue jeans, a black tee underneath a black cargo jacket. The lack of a stiff uniform made him even more handsome, James silently noted, his face and body even more relaxed, like he’d shed a weight just by changing his clothes.
“Ready to go?” Newsted asked, already heading toward the exit. The sky was the same dull wash of grey it was when James has arrived and the air was harsh over his face as he followed, his longer strides letting him catch up right away.
“What’s your name?” he asked, shoving both hands in his pockets. “Like, your first name?”
“Jason.”
Jason and James. He almost snorted. “So, Jason--where we going?”
“Well, around here it’s mostly the upscale bars,” Jason said, fishing around in his own pocket. “And I don’t think you can afford that. If I’m being honest, neither can I. So how do you feel about going downtown?”
“A long time ago I was told not to get into cars with strangers.”
Jason laughed. “You’re more than welcome to drive yourself then. I can’t stop you there.”
“I took the bus.”
“So you wanna ride the bus back home, or do you want a ride in my snazzy car?” Jason retrieved a set of keys from his jacket pocket and suddenly stopped in front of rinky little navy blue Honda Accord--so mall cops really didn’t get paid shit, apparently. “What reason do I have to try and fuck with you anyway? It’s not like you have money. And you look like you could probably kill me if you wanted to.”
That was probably true. “So mall cops don’t carry guns?”
Another laugh. “No. And I don’t carry one on my own time, so--your call, James.”
Almost anything was better than the public bus, really. “Okay,” James said, opening the passenger door after Jason unlocked the car. He climbed in, legs scrunched up, and reached down for the latch to let the seat all the way back. The interior was pretty clean, just a few empty coffee cups littering the front, and the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror made the whole thing smell like pine.
Jason turned the key, the engine rumbled to life and James heard the unmistakable voice of Geddy Lee from the speakers. “Rush?” James asked, instantly tuning into the familiarity. Maybe this guy wasn’t a complete loser. Rush wasn’t heavy metal, but they certainly had merit.
“‘Course, man,” Jason replied, smiling again, as if he were proud of his taste and pleased that James noticed. “Geddy Lee--bass and vocals? He’s wicked.”
James laughed a little, too quiet for Jason to hear. “I guess. Better than fuckin’ Madonna or some shit.”
Jason peeled out of the parking lot, headed for the highway. “What do you listen to?”
“A lot of heavy stuff. Y’know--metal. Been listening to a lot of Sabbath lately.”
Jason nodded. “Black Sabbath is awesome. I saw them in Detroit a couple years ago.”
James perked up in his seat. “Really? You went that far to see them?”
“I lived in Michigan. It wasn’t that far.”
“Oh. So when did you move here?”
“Last year.” Jason looked over at James, the proud smile turned a little--shy? “So that’s kind of how I landed the mall cop gig. Was trying to find my footing, find anything--it’s not what I want to do forever, but it pays the bills and doesn’t take up a ton of my time or mental energy.”
“So what made you wanna move here?” James asked, far more interested in this history than he would have expected. “It’s pretty far from Michigan.”
“The extra sun seemed nice. But, honestly, it just got kind of tired there. I felt tired. I felt like, if I wanted to be someone new, I had to go somewhere new. You know what I mean?”
James reached into his pocket again, feeling the gemstones on the ring. “Yeah. I guess I could see that.”
“I feel like I had a late start. Like, too old to make such a big move with no real plan. But I’m glad I’m here. I think it can only get better.”
“How old are you anyway?”
“33. So to you, I’m probably an old geezer.”
“No, not really.”
Jason laughed.
James took the ring out and slipped it on his right middle finger. It fit perfectly and Jason had been right--it did really suit him. “You really paid that lady for this?”
“Yeah. It’s not a big deal, James, honestly. You were an easier time than the kid pissing in the fountain the other day.” Jason chuckled as he merged into the right lane. “I couldn’t get him out of that one.”
“You know, I’ve never stolen anything before,” James said. “Not like this, I mean. Not anything important. I just still don’t get why you--why you’d let me get away with it like this. I owe you a lot more than a beer, man.”
“No, you don’t. You don’t look like a bad kid--you look lost.”
James’ heart dropped. “Lost?”
“If you weren’t lost, I think you would’ve at least tried to knock my teeth out, get away, or at the very least, you wouldn’t have agreed to go get a drink with me,” Jason said, veering onto the exit, the looming buildings of downtown painted ahead. “So if you are lost, well, you’re in luck, because I’m lost, too.”
-
Fifteen bucks got Jason a beer and two shots of well whiskey and a cheap, watery beer for James, plus a little leftover to tip the bartender, a slightly gruff looking, middle-aged guy with a receding hairline and arms full of faded tattoos. So that was the pre-happy hour crowd, James figured, already riding a significant buzz. He was a lightweight. And hadn’t been out in a while. And kind of just wanted to forget about his existence for a bit--alcohol helped with that.
Alcohol also made him emotionally pliant and physically enthusiastic, and the temptation to forget about himself and escape within another person didn’t go away with Jason next to him. It was actually exacerbated, made more intense, and James knew even while tipsy that this was a problem--Jason wasn’t his savior. He wouldn’t be a temporary dumping ground for James’ woes, he wouldn’t whisk him away to a better life; there was a good chance he still thought of James as pathetic, even if he denied it. And James felt pathetic in that bar, with a stolen ring on his finger and whiskey brewing in his empty stomach as the desire to just not go home ever became even more palpable.
Jason got another beer with his own money; James got a water. He needed a cigarette and, after stepping out through the back door of the bar and lighting one, the rush of nicotine made his head swim; the whiskey made him feel warm even in the cold air. He felt alive suddenly, more willing to take some kind of risk to heighten that feeling; and although he didn’t believe in God or fate or really anything at all, he was starting to think that Jason was put in his path for a reason.
“You’re not doing this just to pity me, right?” James asked, flicking ash against brick. He didn’t need pity. Didn’t want it. He wanted to be wanted in any possible way, as long as it was genuine.
“No. You seem interesting, James,” Jason said, leaning back against the building, their shoulders just barely touching. “I really don’t have anyone here. But besides that, if I can make someone’s day a little easier, I like to try. I like to fix things.” He chuckled. “So I guess I’m not in the right career.”
So kind, merciful Jason liked to fix things. “You wanna fix me?” James asked, bringing the cigarette to his lips again.
Nothing seemed to really bother Jason--he just laughed, good-hearted and gravelly. “I don’t know if you need fixing. You seem totally fine just as you are.”
“But you said I looked lost.”
“Just because someone is lost doesn’t mean they need fixing.”
James wasn’t sure he agreed. He needed fixing and Jason liked to fix things--it had to have been meant to be. He dropped the cigarette and turned, pressing his body against Jason’s, and reached up to grip the back of his neck, his fingertips grazing the soft waves at his nape; he was fast, James realized, and there wasn’t a moment for any protest before he kissed Jason right on the lips. At first, Jason tensed up; James felt him raise his hands as if to shove him off, but a moment later they rested on James’ hips; Jason didn’t pull him forward, but didn’t push him back. James pressed his other hand against Jason’s stomach, feeling up taut abdominal muscles, as he parted his lips, silently inviting Jason to do the same.
They shared kisses, Jason’s more tentative than James’, the little bit of beard a welcome roughness against James’ jaw, until the hands on James’ hips tightened and gently urged him back. “James,” Jason said softly, and James was starting to really like the sound of his name from that voice. “What was that for?”
James let go of the back of Jason’s neck but kept his other hand flat over his abdomen. “Does it have to be for anything? What if I just wanted to? Seems like you wanted to, too.”
Jason’s cheeks were flushed. He let go of James’ hips and put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I think you’re very beautiful,” he said. “But I didn’t bring you here to take advantage of you.”
James couldn’t help but smile a little at that, suddenly bashful, his own cheeks burning up. No one had ever called him that before. He let the word sink in for a second, then stood straighter and looked Jason in the eyes: “You’re not taking advantage of me. I’m not a kid. I think you feel something, too. I think you feel like we both need this.”
Jason smiled a little. “You deserve better than some groping behind a bar.”
“You barely touched me.”
Jason reached a hand up and carefully held the side of James’ face. “I think you need some more water and then for me to take you home.”
James grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm down. “No, please--I don’t want to go back home yet. I like you. Don’t make this end so soon.”
Jason frowned. “Why don’t you want to go home?”
James suddenly felt like he’d lost his voice. He swallowed, reached into his jacket for his cigarettes again; the smoke made his throat feel smoother, his words more in reach. “My mom died. A while ago, years ago. And I just--it’s not the same without her. It sucks.” He took a long drag and exhaled harshly. “I hate it. I hate being there.”
“I’m really sorry. That--that fucking sucks, honestly,” Jason said, words not laced with pity but with sincerity. “But you’ve still gotta go home, James.”
“I know. But not yet.” James smirked behind his cigarette. “I don’t think you have anything better to do anyway, Newsted.”
“You know, I really don’t.” Jason’s eyes moved down to the ring on James’ finger. “But I need you to know, you don’t owe me anything. That’s not what any of this is about.”
James was starting to feel more sober than buzzed, the kisses and emotion overriding the alcohol. “I know. You don’t owe me anything, either.”
“So--where to next? Since you don’t want to go home. And you’re out of cash.”
James knew what he wanted. “I wanna see what kind of house a mall cop lives in.”
“It’s not a house,” Jason said, retrieving his keys. “I hate to disappoint you.”
-
It was not, in fact, a house, not that it mattered to James. He lived in a house and he hated it, hated the vastness of it and the emptiness, hated the extra freezer in the basement, hated the big closet in what was called the “foyer,” hated that the entrance to the attic was right above his own room. Jason lived in a third story apartment within a complex of yellow, orange and white tall buildings--Jason’s building was white; the walls were also white, but cluttered with various paintings and photographs, some framed, some not. Some were completely abstract, just bursts of colors and shapes, and some were pure depictions of specific scenes and people. It was a neat space, just like his car, without any real messes anywhere; he even had throw pillows on the couch that were placed orderly over the cushions. It wasn’t quite the bachelor pad James had been expecting. It was cozy, lived-in and bright.
“You want something to eat?” Jason asked from the little kitchen, opening the fridge. James could see pictures on there as well, pictures of Jason with friends and family; in some he looked far closer to James’ age, with long, thick auburn curls but the same big smile.
“You cut your hair,” James noted, comparing the two Jasons in front of him.
“Yeah, well, at some point, you’ve gotta grow up, right?” Jason replied, running a hand through his shorter hair. “I loved my long hair though.”
“Growing up sucks,” James grumbled, still looking over the pictures.
“It’s not all bad. It’s not like you’ll live at home forever." Jason thrust a Gatorade at James. “You could probably use some of this.” James’ stomach rumbled loudly; Jason grinned, laughed a little. “You need to eat. I could make--” He bent down and looked inside the fridge. “Grilled cheese?”
James felt invasive then, as if effectively taking this guy’s money, gas and time wasn’t enough. “Are you gonna eat with me?”
“Yeah, absolutely. I’m hungry, too.” Jason took out a few slices of yellow American and a bag of sliced bread. “If you want, you can get a pan out of that cupboard beneath the sink and put it on the stove.”
James could definitely do that.
He was worried that Jason would try to get him out the door after they ate, but he didn’t. He put the dishes in the sink then went over to the record player in one corner of the living room and plucked a record from the stack next to it. Still sitting at the two-seater dining table, James couldn’t help but grin at hearing Black Sabbath wash over the whole room.
Jason sat down on the couch, shoving a throw pillow aside. He leaned forward and opened a little drawer underneath the coffee table. “You smoke? I mean, besides cigarettes?”
James couldn’t believe it. “Yeah, I--um, sometimes.”
Jason patted the space next to him. “I already have a couple joints rolled. If you want to join.”
James just watched for another few seconds as Jason fished a lighter out of his jeans pocket and settled back against the cushions. When the flame came to life and the tip of the joint was lit, he got up and moved next to Jason, keeping enough space between them so they weren’t touching at all. But, as their hands touched and the joint was passed to James, he wanted nothing more than to be closer to him.
“Do you--do you really think I’m beautiful?” James asked before inhaling. The weed was strong, significantly stronger than any he’d smoked before, and it burned his throat and his lungs. He coughed with a cloud still inside, it sputtering out as he tried to cover it with his hand. Not so beautiful anymore, he figured. He handed the joint back, half-turning away, his face covered by his hair.
Jason laughed a little. “Sorry, it’s pretty strong, I know. And yes, I do think you’re beautiful.”
James turned back to him, almost recovered. “You say that to all the shoplifters?”
“No. Consider yourself special.”
“You’re laying it on pretty thick,” James noted. He was feeling airy, lighter even from the one hit. He took the joint back again and took a gentler inhale, letting the smoke slide down his throat.
“After we finish that joint, I’d really like to kiss you again,” Jason said. He looked good, relaxed and open, as if he were really inviting James into his space. “If you want to, I mean.”
James must have been tripping. He took another hit before giving it back--the joint was almost shot. His heart was racing despite the hazy high, anticipation churning in his guts. “Yeah, I--I definitely want to.” He felt like he was 16 again, right before everything went to shit, when he could smoke a joint with someone in their parent’s furnished basement, everything foggy and a little delirious, when growing up seemed so far away.
The joint was dead, the roach stamped out in an ashtray on the coffee table. Jason moved closer to James, just so their knees were touching; James reached down the floor for the Gatorade he was still sipping on, trying to get rid of some of the cottonmouth. He couldn’t ever remember being so nervous for just a kiss--and he had kissed Jason first. But his nerves were palpable, every inch of his skin wriggling with want and a little fear; looking into Jason’s eyes, however, some of that storm was calmed. His eyes, James realized, weren’t so different from the color of the sky outside.
A second after the nearly-empty bottle of Gatorade was placed back on the floor, James felt himself being pulled forward on the couch, right onto Jason’s thighs. He was too shocked to even gasp or make any sound, spine taut as Jason lightly pulled on the open front of his leather jacket: “You never took this off.”
James hadn’t even noticed. He shrugged it off, folding it in half and laying it over the back of the couch; Jason ran his hands up James’ bare arms, that skin igniting the same as his cheeks. He felt like his whole body must have been turning red. If that was the case, it didn’t seem to deter Jason one bit--he lowered his hands to James’ waist and leaned forward as he pulled James in a bit. It was so slow that James figured Jason was giving him another chance to reject him, to pull away, but there was no stopping him now. He met Jason halfway, until their noses were almost touching, then Jason closed the distance completely, the second “first” kiss even better, because he’d been the one to initiate it. The soft, sensuous movement of their lips told James that he wasn’t a burden or a loser or the bad guy; Jason wanted him there. Jason didn’t even know him and still James felt respected and, better than anything, he felt seen.
He adjusted in Jason’s lap to properly straddle his thighs; Jason groaned quietly against his mouth, even better music to James’ ears than the Black Sabbath record still droning in the background. Careful hands slipped under the hem of James’ t-shirt, fingertips tracing over the heated skin there and James began to explore more in return. He threaded his fingers through Jason’s hair and let his other hand feel his chest, firm and strong; he could feel how hard he was against the inside of his thigh and then Jason rolled his hips up and James felt how hard he was, too.
James didn’t think he’d ever wanted anybody so badly. It was so hot, Jason feeling him up so slowly, their tongues sliding together, Jason laughing a little when James nipped at his bottom lip. It felt more natural than anything, like they were truly symbiotic. James loved Jason’s leisurely manner, but he was getting amped up, needing more and soon--he reached down and unbuttoned his own jeans, took one of Jason’s hands and brought it to his crotch with a gritty, “Come on.”
Jason’s hand was paused millimeters away from James’ straining erection. “You sure?” he asked, those slick grey eyes still soft.
James only kissed him again and fumbled between their bodies to get Jason’s jeans undone just the same. Jason sped up then, his kisses a little more hurried, wetter, deeper, and then James found himself being pushed onto his back. One of his legs sprawled out to the side, booted foot on the floor, as Jason climbed over him and hooked two fingers in a single belt loop, pulling James’ jeans down, so tight they brought his underwear down halfway, too. James reached out again to try and get Jason’s pants down, but Jason moved down, kissing his neck, teasing with slight grazes of his teeth; James moaned and arched up, managing to rub himself just a little against Jason’s hip.
“You’re really something,” Jason said across James’ collarbone as he lifted the hem of his t-shirt up, thumb riding the soft strip of hair beneath James’ navel.
“So are you,” James replied, tugging on Jason’s shirt. “Usually I’m on top.”
Jason laughed softly and kissed right below James’ ear. “You wanna switch?”
Surprisingly, he didn’t. Normally in bed with anyone, James fought desperately for total control, needed to have the reins in his hands, if that was the only place he could have it. But with Jason, letting go and letting someone else take the lead and propel them both forward felt like a new kind of release.
“No, I like this.” James tugged on Jason’s shirt harder, letting out an impatient grunt. “Can you take this fucking thing off?”
Jason sat back between James’ legs and pulled his shirt over his head, then finally pulled his own jeans down enough for his hard cock to break free. James stared, still high and still perplexed at the entire sequence of events that had taken place, and sat up enough to take his shirt off. The couch cushions felt extra soft against his back as he settled back down; Jason felt dense as he pressed their bodies together again, a good, sturdy weight. He felt strong and James liked that strength over and above him--almost protective. He felt along Jason’s shoulders and chest, admiring how fair his skin was, like the past year in California hadn’t been enough to make its mark on him yet; the silver wolf ring and its blue stones looked better against his skin, the color of its eyes almost like the color of the veins in Jason’s arms.
He was just skimming down to the patch of dark auburn pubic hair when Jason locked their hips together. When James looked at him, Jason was looking down at literal physical connection, brows tight in concentration; he pulled him down to kiss hard, slipping his tongue into Jason’s mouth and bucking his hips up.
Jason pulled back, lips all red, cheekbones the same. “I don’t think I’ve dry-humped since high school.”
James spat into his palm and wrapped that hand around Jason’s cock, making him moan quietly, his eyes closing as he rocked into the touch. “I’ve never fucked around with a cop before.”
Eyes still closed, Jason smirked. “Now I’m a cop? Not just a mall cop?”
“No, cops are pigs,” James said, gripping both of them together, sliding their cocks together in his hand. The friction was lighting a fire so centrally focused in his groin, slowly rising to his core until his chest was heaving and he was sweating. “You’re too--too fuckin’ cool to be a cop. Too hot.” He groped for Jason’s upper arm, digging his fingertips into his bicep. “Fuck, please--come on.”
They started grinding against one another, James’ arm going numb as it was trapped between them, Jason’s hand coming to join. It was messy and sweaty, overwhelming as he bent down enough to kiss James again, and they stayed kissing, James growling softly, Jason moaning softly in return. The fire was burning quickly, too hot, and James felt like he was going to lose it way too quickly in return. He cradled Jason’s face in his hand, the band of the ring grazing his cheekbone; Jason’s free hand was being held loosely on the side of James’ neck, his thumb skimming over his throat. James' pulse fluttered and he figured Jason could feel it; he could feel Jason’s cock twitch in his hand, the slide of their movements made easier by precum, warm and free-flowing over both of their knuckles.
The denim of Jason’s fly rubbed over James’ shaft and he stuttered, biting down on Jason’s bottom lip. “Jase--Jason--”
“Mm, come on, James,” Jason murmured against his mouth. “Come for me.”
James gripped a handful of Jason’s hair and pulled him away, needing air as his hips writhed and his heart raced, his release surging over both of their hands and groins. He couldn’t even be embarrassed by how soon it had happened or how loudly he was moaning and cursing, it was too intense, exacerbated by his high and Jason himself. Jason ground down against James’ thigh and rested his forehead against his shoulder, seconds later giving way to coming just the same, his hand tangled in James’ hair.
Inside James’ head as he came down slowly was just silver and turquoise, grey clouds and flashing stars. He felt like he’d just drowned after running a marathon and come back to life, supercharged and not anywhere near as vulnerable as he should have felt, covered in his own cum on what was basically a stranger’s couch. He ran his fingers through Jason’s hair, lightly scratching over his scalp, as he tried to catch his breath; Jason turned his face to rest his cheek on James’ chest, sparing him his full body weight by keeping himself propped up with one knee.
“I hope you don’t think I’m like, a creep,” Jason said, though he made no move to leave James. “I’ve really never done this before.”
“What?” James asked, huffing out a breath. “Hooked up with a stranger?”
“Yeah.”
James definitely couldn’t say the same for himself. “First time for everything.” He glanced out of the windows to the darkening sky, the descending sun just barely managing to cast some golden and indigo light through the clouds, and heard the Black Sabbath record again, coming back to his ears.
“We should clean up,” Jason said, then kissed James once on the lips before pulling himself up. James watched him go to the kitchen, still totally unzipped, everything out, and laughed a little. When he came back, his jeans were back in order and he had a few paper towels; he sat between James legs, still sprawled out, and started to wipe away the slightly tacky mess on his belly.
James tucked himself away and zipped up once Jason was done. “Thanks.” He looked outside again, the weight of knowing he needed to go home dragging him down again, except even more intensely. He liked Jason--a lot. It was crazy, he thought, how much he liked him. It wasn’t just James looking for any kind of escape--he’d been looking for the right person to escape with.
Jason smiled at him. His warmth was enough to make James feel a little better even with the sadness, like things might be okay. Eventually. And then he surprised James again when he said, “I’m hungry again. I have some ice cream, if you want that?”
“You don’t want me to go?” James asked, sitting up.
“No, I--I really don’t want you to go, if I’m being honest,” Jason said with a husky, nervous laugh. “I just know you need to go at some point. But I like you. This has just been--man, such a good fucking day.”
James reached to the floor for his t-shirt, blushing all over again. “Can you tell me more about Michigan?”
“I might have some stories for you,” Jason said, and James could hear the smile as he said it. “After we get that ice cream.”
-
James woke up early, the sky still dark with just the faintest hint of blue coming in through the windows. He had been so immersed in the thick of sleep that he wasn’t sure of where he was right away, confused by the bedsheets that felt so different from his own, blinking in the dark as he felt that he wasn’t alone--Jason was there. Jason was right there, lying on his side, his back to James, snoring softly. James sat up and reached around in the dark for his cigarettes on the nightstand, then the ashtray Jason had brought in.
When James flicked the lighter to life, Jason stirred. He rolled over onto his back and sighed. “James?” He rolled over again, on his side to face James. “Smoking in bed is dangerous.”
“That’s not what you said last night,” James said, taking a drag.
“Smart-ass.” Jason reached out his hand; James gave him the cigarette and watched the tip glow orange, then Jason coughed a little. “Yeah, that’ll wake you up in the morning.”
“I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“It’s okay. I like early mornings.” Jason sat up and scooched closer to James, resting his chin on his shoulder. “What are you doing up so early though?”
“Don’t know. Just woke up.” James laughed out a little smoke. “I wasn’t sure where I was for a minute.”
“You were out so fast last night. It was a long day.”
“And you have a really comfortable bed.”
“Glad you think so.”
To James, that sounded a little bit like it wouldn’t be his last time in Jason’s bed. He figured he was right, too. “Do you have to work today?”
“Yeah but--” Jason looked at the alarm clock next to James. “Not for another four-ish hours.” There was silence, apart from the crackling of the cigarette as James inhaled, until he asked, “Won’t your dad be wondering where you are?”
“It’s actually not unusual for me to fuck off sometimes,” James admitted. “Just not usually to places as nice as this. Not with people as nice as you. Never, actually.”
“What about your friends? You told me about them.”
“I know. I’ll see what they’re up to.” James sighed and curled his knees up to his chest underneath the blankets. “I don’t actually like feeling like I need anybody. But I need them, I know that. They can’t always be there though.”
“That’s okay. They still care.” Jason wrapped one arm around James’ shoulders. “You can’t just self-destruct in between.”
“Can I see you in between?” James asked, tapping the cigarette into the ashtray. “Sometimes?”
Jason nuzzled against James’ cheek, tickling his ear, and they both laughed. “Yeah, definitely.” He held James closer, nose brushing against his hair. “You wanna take a shower with me when you’re done with that?”
Fuck yeah, he did. Nothing sounded better. James took one last, long drag, stamped out the smoke, and tore the covers away from himself. “Done.”
Jason laughed and caught up to him right away, wrapping his arms around him from behind. “Why are you in such a hurry? We’ve got all morning.”
James could feel Jason’s morning wood pressing right into his ass. “Four hours isn’t a lot of time.”
“So let’s make the most of it,” Jason said, then nibbled on the ridge of his ear. He released James from his arms and took his hand, leading the way to the little bathroom just outside the door. In the light, James saw how Jason’s hair was sticking up all over the place and he laughed; he caught his own reflection in the mirror. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d found himself looking so deliriously, truly happy.
“What?” Jason asked, rifling around underneath the sink.
“Your hair,” James said, still laughing. “It’s--it’s just all over the place, dude.”
Jason stood up, moved in front of him and looked in the mirror. “Oh, wow. Yeah. Look at that.” He turned around and cocked his head, studying James before he handed him a toothbrush. “How come you look so good in the morning?”
James snickered and reached behind Jason for the bottle of Colgate on the sink. “You do look good.”
“Yeah, well, you look good enough to eat,” Jason remarked, gently squeezing James’ ass. “Which is what I plan on doing.”
James paused his brushing, raising an eyebrow at Jason in the mirror.
Jason had been serious, kind of. He spent long, lavish minutes rubbing his slick, soapy hands all over James’ body, paying special attention to his dick and ass with sudsy strokes and smooth squeezes. They were kissing through most of it, just far enough out from the spraying water to not drown, and James tried to do the same to Jason with his own handfuls of body wash, glossing over his shoulders, back, chest, arms, everywhere he could reach. He was just working up the nerve to get down on his knees when Jason beat him to it; he turned James around, pressed him up against the tile and slunk down his body until he felt Jason’s hair tickle his lower back.
“Fuck,” James gritted out against the tile after his cheeks were spread and he felt Jason’s tongue right between them, licking straight up from his perneium to lap at his hole. Jason’s hands were strong, gripping his ass tightly, and even if he’d never hooked up with a “stranger” before, he’d clearly done this before. James hadn’t. The new sensory experience was ridiculous, not even comparable to anything else, and he found his legs shaking even only a minute into Jason eating him out. Jason just kept going, seemingly unbothered by how destabilizing his ministrations were; James felt more so than heard Jason moan against his skin, the tip of his tongue teasing just below his balls again, then swiping slowly back up to wet his rim.
Jason bit into one cheek and sucked; James shut his eyes and bit his lip, trying to just remain standing. The feeling of the water running down his shoulder and hitting his feet was gone, nothing left but Jason’s teeth grazing his skin, his fingers digging into his flesh and his tongue sliding around and inside. But James couldn’t contain a whimper, which he hoped was muted from the water, as Jason’s fingers replaced his mouth, two rubbing right over his hole, his thumb underneath, stroking his perineum. Desperate, James reached down and gripped his own cock, painfully hard then; Jason intercepted, pulling his hand away and replacing it with his own. He didn’t even give a merciful stroke or two, he just gripped James’ shaft tight and rubbed his fingertips deeper, one almost slipping inside.
James turned his head to ask for more but got a mouthful of water; Jason stood up behind him and freed his cock, using that hand to swipe back wet hair from James’ shoulder as he sputtered. “Hey,” he said, his fingers below suddenly still but not gone. “You okay with this?”
James nodded. “Yeah, Jason--fuck.” He wiggled his hips backwards. “Keep doing that.” Jason resumed, even gripped James’ cock again but started to stroke it slowly as he worked one finger inside, then a second; James rested his forehead on the tile, hair hanging down over one half of his face while the other side with his bare neck was kissed and nuzzled, Jason murmuring words he could only half-hear into his skin.
When James’ thighs started to quiver even harder, Jason pulled back completely. James was about to protest, then Jason wrapped his arms around him and held him close: “Do you wanna go back to bed?”
“What the fuck, man,” James rasped out, and Jason just laughed. “You must get around a lot more than you let on.”
“Nah. I’ve just been listening to your body.”
James almost rolled his eyes, but instead he turned himself around. He reached out to mess with Jason’s damp, darkened hair, raking his fingers through it. “Yeah, okay. And fuck yes, I wanna go back to bed. You can’t blue-ball me.”
Jason smiled and turned the faucet off, suddenly making the air chilly and the silence loud. “I’d never do that to you.” He pulled the shower curtain back and took James’ hand, guiding him out, laying a towel over his shoulders before he grabbed one for himself.
James dried himself as best and as quickly as he could, heart hammering away like the day before, like everything with Jason was a brand new experience even when it wasn’t. He’d never had someone want him so overtly before, but James was beginning to realize it wasn’t exactly the fault of anyone else. If he didn’t care about how he was escaping, if he didn’t care who he did it with, why would the other person care? But Jason cared. And James cared, a lot, the reciprocated desire and curiosity a little frightening.
Still, laughing while toppling back into bed with Jason didn’t feel quite so scary. Jason cupped James’ cheeks, round and warm from laughing at the silly, sweet man on top of him, and kissed him, both of their chuckles and giggles turning into soft moans. James’ hands roamed over Jason’s shoulders and back, keeping him close as they shifted and writhed with one another, eventually Jason lifting himself momentarily to roll a condom on and coat his fingers in lube, that hand wandering between James’ legs again. His fingers were good, easy enough to move past the slight burn, Jason’s movements slow and intentional; he worked two in deep, until he couldn’t go any further and James’ belly was full of butterflies and his cock twitched even without being touched.
He propped himself up on his elbows to see Jason stroking his own cock, thick and hard. The muscles in his chest and abdomen looked tight and taut, like he was holding back, being so careful. James wrapped one leg around the back of Jason’s calves and tried to pull him forward a bit: “That feels really fucking good. But I’m ready when you are. We ain’t got all day.”
“We’ve got plenty of time,” Jason said but slipped his fingers out just the same and laid that hand over James’ cock, gently rubbing up and down his shaft. He lifted James’ hips up a little at a lopsided angle with the other hand, then started to guide himself between his open thighs--first the head lightly sliding over James’ rim, then nudging in by millimeters. James took a deep breath as he felt himself breached and Jason wrapped his hand around his erection, gently swiping his thumb over the head and James’ wet slit. When he and Jason were fully connected, Jason’s abdomen pressed flush with his thighs, James let the breath out and threw one arm over his face. It was overwhelming, incredible, and while most of his conscious thoughts had broken into pieces and been thrown in all different directions, he still understood that this had never actually happened before and probably wouldn’t ever again. Not with anyone but Jason.
Jason leaned over him, placing one hand on James’ chest, fingertips skating over his collarbone: “I wanna see your face, James.” He was barely moving below, just gently rocking his hips against James.
“I’m not gonna break or something,” James said, smiling a little before he brought his arm away and laid it over Jason’s shoulder.
“I take it you’ve never fucked slowly,” Jason replied, pulling himself back further before pushing in a little harder, the head of his cock hitting his prostate, making James gasp. He kissed his way from James’ ear to his cheek to his lips, then down to his neck, making James shiver. “You’ve never been fucked slowly?”
“No,” James admitted. He pulled Jason back by his hair and attached his lips to his neck instead, nibbling enough to make Jason gasp in turn and his hips buck harder. “I like it. But like, you can go harder.”
“Okay,” Jason breathed, laughing when James bit his earlobe playfully. “Goddammit, fuck, okay.” He huffed and moaned from deep in his throat, then started to really fuck, his hips pounding against James steady and hard, until they were both moaning freely and James was raking his nails down Jason’s arm. Nothing deterred Jason from working James’ cock in his hand, stroking in the same rhythm he was fucking into him, like he really, really wanted to get him off, and like he was setting James up for one of the best escapes of his life, when white light would cover the interior of his mind and behind his eyes and there would be no thoughts at all, just every remarkable bodily sensation Jason was giving and nothing else.
Which is exactly what happened after Jason moaned James’ name. James’ body let it all go, his spine cracking as he arched up and bit into Jason’s neck, everything a blur then everything blank, and he felt himself spilling into the hand around his cock. Jason kept stroking until James whined and clawed his shoulder, and then the rhythm of his hips became sloppy and quick. He flew up and back, grabbing James’ hips as he straightened his back; James opened his eyes to watch, seeing Jason’s chest flare all rosy, his abs tighten, the bones under his skin even more visible with how tense his whole body was, right on the edge of release. James, on the other hand, felt boneless and pliable, his muscles all soft and relaxed. He reached out and felt Jason’s hard thigh; Jason’s brow tightened above closed eyes and he groaned, then his hips stuttered and stilled and he collapsed over James, keeping himself up with one hand pressed into the mattress.
“Wow,” Jason said after a few seconds of deep breaths, his eyes still shut. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” James sighed in return. He smoothed his hand up to the back of Jason’s neck, threading his fingers through the hair at his nape. “‘Fuck’ sums it up.”
Jason laughed and opened his eyes. He slowly pulled out, one hand gripping the base of his dick, and rolled over, carefully easing the condom off and tying it. “It’s been a while since I had it that good. I don’t know if I ever have.” He turned his cheek to look at James. “We could have more of it, if you wanted.”
James sat up and reached for his cigarettes once more, the wolf ring he’d taken off the night before sitting right next to the pack, blue eyes gleaming. “So you really like me?”
“Probably a ridiculous amount.”
That made James smile as he lit the cigarette. “Me too.” A ridiculous, stupid, irrational amount that still felt so incredibly right.
-
The next day, Jason called James, allowing for another escape from his home even while he was still inside of it. There was no wrath from his father, only cold indifference, but it mattered less to James then. He could ease through it and past it, he could remember that he really did have friends who wanted him around, who had a hundred questions when James told them the story of almost getting booked by a mall cop who used to be, kind of still was, a headbanging metalhead; he could hear the sound of Jason’s warm, rough voice and remember that he wasn’t alone at all.
Five days after that, James found himself filling out a job application at the record store in the mall. He was still avoiding the shop he’d stolen the ring from, his shame and guilt not totally alleviated even with Jason paying the owner off, but Jason had spurred him to want to actually do something, even if it wasn’t a dream job and even if it was only some spare change, really. It was something. And it helped that, if he got it, Jason told him they could ride together if their shifts aligned and, if not, taking the bus wouldn’t be a loss. Maybe it wasn’t as cool as working at one of the “legit” record stores in the city, but James would still have his cool boyfriend close by.
James had an interview a couple days after that, which was really just the manager asking him what kind of music he liked and if he could do basic math and knew how to sort things alphabetically. He got it. He felt proud and excited and thought about how much of a kick Kirk, Cliff and Lars would get out of it when he told them, too. Jason too, of course, who met up with James in the parking lot right after, a big smile on his face as if he already knew what happened.
“How’d it go?” he asked, wrapping an arm around James’ waist, guiding them to his car.
“First shift on Tuesday,” James said, and Jason squeezed his side.
“That’s great, James.” Jason got his keys out and unlocked the Accord, leaning over the open driver’s door as James opened the passenger door. “That’s fucking great. Good for you. I’m proud of you.”
James blushed and slipped into the car. “It was barely an interview,” he said as Jason settled in next to him. “Anyone could’ve gotten it.”
“No, you got it because you’re smart and brilliant, you know your shit and that manager liked you,” Jason protested, leaning over to kiss him. “You’re perfect for a job that lets you be around music, even if it’s at this yuppie mall. So let’s fucking celebrate.”
“No, no celebrating until I can pay you back. For everything.”
Jason squeezed James’ thigh. “Nope. I’m not taking no for an answer here, James. So how should we celebrate? Would a three-dollar bottle of champagne ease your mind?”
James looked at the wolf ring on his finger. “Maybe. I still want to make it up to you.”
Jason squeezed his thigh harder, grey eyes meeting James’. “I’m sure I can think of something.”
James chuckled. “Uh-huh.” Getting back on the highway, he thought back to that first ride with Jason, not long ago at all but still feeling like an almost distant, yet still important and palpable, past. He was a little lost then, maybe still a little lost now, but felt confident that was on some kind of path. The right kind of path. Jason wasn’t that path himself, but he had helped James find it.
So James leaned back in the seat and turned to watch Jason drive, listening to him quietly sing along to Rush, and allowed them both to tread down that path together.