Metallica one shots and headcannons

Lost in her touch🔥(James Hetfield one shot)

Warnings: explicit sexual content, power dynamics ( fem dominance/submission),graphic descriptions of intimacy and sexual acts, sensual and intimate themes, strong language, may contain scenes of sexual stimulation and teasing, sexual power exchange

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 The hotel room hummed with the muffled noise of the street below, the city still alive even in the early hours of the morning. James sat on the edge of the bed, long hair damp from a quick shower, his tank top replaced by a loose shirt that hung open, revealing the sharp lines of his chest. His jeans rode low on his hips, undone but still hanging on, a tease of defiance.

I stood in front of him, arms crossed, a smirk playing on your lips as you let the silence stretch. His knees were spread, his posture casual, but the way his hands gripped the edge of the mattress betrayed him. He was waiting. For me.

"Funny," I said, tapping your chin in mock contemplation. "On stage tonight, you looked so... in control."

His lips twitched into a cocky grin, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I am in control," he drawled, voice gravelly.

I stepped forward, the click of my heels against the floor sharp in the stillness. "Oh, James," I murmured, stopping just short of him. "We both know that's not true."

His breath hitched as I leaned down, my fingers tracing along the curve of his jaw. He tilted his head into the touch instinctively, a flicker of vulnerability flashing across his face before he masked it with a smirk.

"You think you've got me figured out?" he challenged, though his voice was softer now, almost shaky.

I straightened, my smirk widening as you watched him. "I don't think so. I know." Slowly, I pushed his knees apart and stepped between them, towering over him even though I was the smaller one. His hands flexed against the bed, as if resisting the urge to reach for me.

"Take off the shirt," I said simply.

For a moment, his eyes flicked up to yours, searching, maybe for a hint of softness, a shred of reprieve. He found none. With a shallow exhale, he obeyed, his hands coming forward to slide the fabric off his shoulders, letting it fall in a careless heap on the floor

.

"Good," I murmured, letting my gaze rake over him, lingering on the strong lines of his chest, the sheen of sweat catching the dim light. "Now, hands back where they were."

A flicker of hesitation crossed his face, but it was gone in an instant. He clasped his hands behind his back again, his shoulders rolling slightly as he adjusted to the vulnerable position. I stepped forward, my hand trailing over his collarbone, down the center of his chest, slow and deliberate.

"You follow directions so well when you want to," I teased, your fingers stopping just at the waistband of his jeans. "Do you always play this nice, or is it just for me?"

His throat worked as he swallowed hard, and you could feel the effort it took for him to stay still, to keep his hands where you'd ordered them. "Just for you," he rasped, the words spilling out before he could stop them.