Jameson // Metallica

POOL SHARK

"You know what your problem is, Newdick?"

James took a noisy gulp from his beer.

Jason gritted his teeth as he lined up his next shot. Tricky one, this. Especially with Het running his mouth in the background, trying to get under his skin.

"I know how to play pool, asshole," he snapped before drawing his arm back and taking his shot. As soon as the cue connected with the white, he knew it was sour; as ever, James had him rattled. Bastard.

He pushed back up from the table and watched, leaning on his cue, as the three-ball bounced off the cushion by the corner pocket. Shit. He'd jinxed himself. Let the bastard get to him. Again.

"Not pool, asshole." James laughed, then shot him the finger with the hand that was holding his beer, sloshing most of it down his leg. "Shit!"

He rubbed at the spreading stain as if that would somehow help to do more than make the stain bigger. Jason stared at the wet denim, gulped, and looked away.

"I mean," James continued, "with life an' all that shit." He took another gulp from the bottle. "Always so fucking eager. Bouncing around like a puppy,
yapping at everyone. Sometimes you just need to shut up, ya know?"

Jason did know. In fact he was sure that this was one of those times but Het was always big on "do as I say, not as I do".

He pushed his thoughts away. "It's your shot, Het."

"Huh?"

Jason waved his hand towards the table.

"Oh. Yeah."

James tottered over to the pool table and eyed the layout of the balls. He bent over for a closer look, body swaying as he tried to work out which shot to take.

Jason couldn't help but notice how the denim stretched over his legs and ass... inviting his gaze.

And his cock.

What would he do if I kissed him, Jason wondered. Kiss me back, let me shove him up against the wall and rip his clothes off? Maybe he's always had a thing for me, too?

Nah.

Realistically, James would punch him down to the floor and kick the shit out of him. Stomp him into the fucking ground.

Jason wiggled his fingers; in his mind’s eye he saw them shattering under the weight of James's heavy boots. Yeah, that was more like it; he'd be out on his ear before he even came round.

Best to keep the status quo... but he couldn't stop staring at that ass and wondering.

"The fuck're you staring at, Newkid?" James straightened up and glared at him.

"Nothing."

He lowered his head and pretended to study his sneakers. The usual ploy. Thank fuck James was too wasted to ride him about it.

James grunted and bent his long frame back over the table, settling back in for his next shot.

Jason peeked up through his eyelashes, and seeing that James was engrossed in his game went back to watching him. His eyes roamed over James's back, noting the ripples his t-shirt made as he stretched, trying to bridge to a long shot. One long, lean leg came up and and after a couple of false starts rested along the edge of the table.

Oh god. Bent right over the table. How easy it would be to just....

Jason blinked and looked away. Fixed his eyes to the dartboard and the much-abused picture of Kip pinned to it. A clack followed by loud curses drew his attention back to James, and the all but forgotten game.