Bandom One-shots book 3

Electric Heart (Lars Ulrich x Kirk Hammett

~happy birthday Kirk Hammett!~
It's late summer in 1986, and Metallica's on the road. The air is thick with the smell of gasoline and the low hum of engines idling. We're deep into the Master of Puppets tour, and the band's hitting its stride. Our shows are bigger than ever, and the crowds? Jesus, it's like we've tapped into something primal. The energy's insane—something only live metal can create. But tonight, I can't shake this weird, unsettling feeling gnawing at me. Maybe it's the exhaustion from weeks of touring, or maybe it's something else.

I glance across the room in the dressing area after the show, where Lars is sitting on a couch, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel. The glow from the backstage lights catches his hair, making it shine like fire. I've seen him a thousand times like this, sweaty, intense, but tonight... something feels different.

I shift uncomfortably.

What the hell is going on with me?

Lars catches me staring and raises an eyebrow, a half-smirk creeping onto his lips. "What? Got something on my face, Kirk?"

I almost choke on the words I don't want to say. It's been brewing for a while now, this strange sense of closeness with him. But it's more than just the usual camaraderie between bandmates. There's a pull, an electric charge in the air whenever he's around. Hell, sometimes I can't even focus on playing guitar anymore because I'm so damn aware of where he is on stage.

"Nah, just... just thinking," I reply, forcing a laugh. But the truth is, my thoughts are all over the place.

Lars tilts his head, a little too curious now. "Thinking about what?"

I could lie. I've done it before. But something feels different tonight. I can't keep pretending. So I just shrug and sit down next to him, the worn-out leather couch creaking under my weight. There's an awkward silence between us—one that's been hanging around for the past few weeks.

I can't help but glance at his hands, still twitching like they're ready to pick up the guitar again. I notice the way his fingers move as he wipes his face, the veins in his arms popping just slightly. My heart skips a beat.

"Lars," I murmur, and he looks over at me, his green eyes wide, almost surprised.

"Yeah?"

"I think I might..." I trail off, unsure of how to put this into words. Hell, I don't even know if I can put it into words. But the way he's looking at me now, like I'm the only thing in the room, makes it impossible to keep pretending.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair, trying to find some semblance of courage. "I think I might have feelings for you."

Lars doesn't immediately react, and for a moment, I wonder if I've gone too far. But then he shifts closer, the faint scent of his cologne filling my nose, and his eyes soften in a way I've never seen before.

"Jesus, man..." he whispers, almost like he's afraid to say it out loud. "I've been feeling the same way."

The air between us seems to crackle with something new. Something real.

It's not like I haven't noticed the way he looks at me, the way his laugh lingers a little longer when I make a joke, the way he always stands a little too close during rehearsals, like he's testing the boundaries. But I never thought he'd feel the same.

"I—" I start, but the words catch in my throat. There's a part of me that's scared to take this next step. Scared of what it might mean for us, for the band, for everything. But when I look at Lars, when I see the vulnerability in his eyes that matches mine, it all fades away.

He's always been the driving force behind the band, the one who pushes us, who drives us forward. And I've always admired that about him. But now, as I sit here beside him, I realize it's not just admiration. It's something deeper, something that's been building up in the spaces between the notes we play and the late-night conversations we have.

Lars reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against my arm. It's just a touch, but it feels like lightning.

"I'm scared too," he admits softly, his voice almost a whisper. "But I don't want to run from this anymore."

I nod slowly, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. We've both been running from this unspoken thing, but now, with everything in the world still spinning around us, I know I don't want to anymore.

Without thinking, I lean forward, my hand finding the back of his neck, and I pull him closer, our lips meeting for the first time. It's tentative at first, both of us testing the waters, but then it's like everything clicks into place. The rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the unknown, the electric pulse that's been in the air for so long.

For that moment, everything else fades away. The band, the music, the crowd—they're all distant memories. All that matters is us, here, together.

When we pull away, both of us are breathing a little heavier. Lars grins, his eyes sparkling in a way I've never seen before.

"Well," he says, his voice husky, "this is gonna be interesting."

I laugh softly, the tension that's been gnawing at me for weeks finally melting away.

"Yeah," I say, "but I think I'm ready for it."

And in that moment, I know we both are. Whatever this is, whatever it will become, we'll figure it out together. After all, if there's one thing I've learned from being in Metallica, it's that the best things often come when you least expect them.

And as I look at Lars, the person I've always respected more than anyone, I realize this—this is something I wouldn't change for the world.

~Electric Heart~