Metallica one shots and headcannons

In the Arms of the Beast- (James Hetfield one shot)

Warnings: Explicit Content,Adult Themes, Sexual Content light Possessiveness, Physical Intimacy

__________________

I didn't hear the door open—I was too lost in my stretches, the slow pull of muscles and the grounding rhythm of my breath keeping me focused. The air in the hotel room was still, save for the faint rustle of fabric as I moved. James's shirt, massive on me, slipped over one shoulder as I bent forward, palms flat against the floor.

The shirt smelled like him—leather, a touch of smoke, and something warm I could never quite name. It made me feel wrapped in him, even when he wasn't here.

I was midway through a stretch, my legs extended in a perfect split, when a familiar growl broke the silence.

"You trying to kill me, darlin'?"

I jerked upright, my heart skipping a beat. Turning my head, I found him standing there, his broad frame nearly filling the doorway. His boots were still on, his hair slightly mussed from the day's soundcheck, and his eyes... Oh, God, his eyes. They were locked on me like a predator that had found its prey.

"I didn't hear you come in," I said, my voice softer than I meant it to be.

"Didn't mean to interrupt." He didn't move, just stood there, drinking me in. His gaze traveled slowly, lingering on my legs, then the shirt that barely reached the tops of my thighs. His expression darkened, his lips curling into a crooked grin that sent a shiver down my spine. "Hell of a sight to walk into."

Heat flooded my face, and I tried to play it off, standing and brushing down the oversized shirt. "I was just stretching."

"Stretching," he repeated, his voice low and rough, like gravel under heavy boots. He finally moved, stepping closer, and my pulse quickened. "You look like you're dancing for me."

I laughed nervously, though his intensity made it hard to breathe. "It's not like that."

But he was already closing the distance, his big hands finding my waist. His palms were rough against my skin, but his touch was gentle, reverent even. "You're drowning in this shirt," he murmured, his thumbs brushing over the fabric. "Look at you. So damn tiny."

My hands instinctively rested on his forearms, the contrast between us impossible to ignore. His arms were solid, his muscles thick and corded under my fingers. Next to his, my hands looked fragile, almost doll-like. He noticed it too, his gaze dropping to where I touched him, a quiet groan escaping his lips.

"You're beautiful," he said, his voice soft but loaded with something raw. "Like somethin' out of a story. Beauty and the Beast."

I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could, his hand slid up, tilting my chin so I was looking right into those piercing eyes. The next thing I knew, his lips were on mine, warm and commanding. The kiss stole my breath, every bit of him consuming me in the best way.

His hands moved, gripping my hips as he pulled me against him. "Mine," he growled against my lips. The word sent a thrill down my spine. "You're mine, and I'm not letting you go."