27 bandshirts || a metallica fanfic

12 - The Kirk Von Hammett Basement Wins!:

My relentless giggling probably gave my body more weight as I laid on top of Kirk, but he wouldn't dare complain, not while my bare chest was pressed against his, touching skin.

"I swear! He was all like 'I'm about to pull off some shit you've only seen Dove do!' and then, well... he does it," Kirk had to pause, waiting for his laughter to subside, "and there were girls around too and man, it was just so embarassing. And of course you can count on Lars to capture the moment!"

The longer I stared at the picture, the more my giggling increased in intensity. James's nutsack was hanging out of a front-to-back rip in his jeans, and underpants evidently, caused by his severely inexperienced attempt at doing the splits. His face reflected an expression of pain, but not even that could make me feel guilty for cackling. Cliff was standing to the side and he looked no less amused.

"You guys are too cruel... Who helped him up eventually?" I dropped the picture onto the sheets, amongst the hundred other polaroid photographs Kirk brought back from tour for me.

"I did! Obviously. I knew what kind of damage he could do to his legs if he stayed in that position long enough... So I helped him up. Too bad he wanted to kill me a few hours later."

"Oh yeah? What's the funny story behind that?"

"The funny story is that he wanted me to die in Cliff's place."

I stopped laughing, but the grinning refused to go away. I rested my chin on his sternum and his hands, as cold as they were, found their place just below my shoulder blades.

"You're intelligent enough to know he'd never want you to die, Kirk. Not under any circumstances."

"Yeah, whatever... Geez, what a tour..." he picked up one of the photographs again, I didn't know which one it was, "well, at least Metallica had a good run. It was fun while it lasted."

With that he scared the grin right off my face. I lifted my head again, afraid of the implications of his words.

"Wait, what? Don't you think that's a little dramatic? You're all still friends. Or if you're worried about disrespecting Cliff's memory, why don't you guys just go over to his parents and ask for their-"

"It's not that, Dove. It's the fact that there's no point in trying to put a band back together when there's only 2 members left."

"What?!" My heart started hammering at the prospect of losing another one of them, "don't tell me James wants to leave?!"

"No, not James. Lars."

"Uh, that's gotta be some made-up bullshit. You're just trying to scare me right now. Lars would never leave the band."

"Yeah. That's why we're kicking him out."

Damn him for sending me plunging into a world of confusion like that. I felt the lines on my forehead begin to take shape. My eyes squinted, trying to see if he was actually serious or not. When his face didn't falter, I immediately shot up, sending polaroids slipping and sliding off the cotton sheets.

"I will fucking kill both you and James with my bare fucking hands, Kirk Lee Hammett. That's NOT going to happen!"

"I get it, you might not understand, because you're in love with all of us," I scowled, which I could see almost teased a laugh out of him, "but he's becoming unbearable. You should've seen him when Cliff died. He was more occupied with management, trying to figure out what the next step is going to be."

"You idiot!" I shouted at him, absolutely incredulous, "that's what Lars does! He works! He keeps himself distracted by pouring his heart and soul into everything concerning Metallica. He lives and breathes Metallica. You, James, Cliff and the music you guys make - all of that means the world to him."