𝐀𝐌 𝐈 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋? • metallica oneshots

𝐉𝐔𝐌𝐏 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 • cliff/james • explicit

song: metallica, jump in the fire

Cliff made his way over to his bass, bee lining for the stand his old Rickenbacker perched on. He was vibrating with energy at the thought of the day's gig— 'Tallica was ever-increasing in its fame and Cliff was prepared to make his amp shake right off the stage when he plucked the first licks to For Whom the Bell Tolls.
As he bent over to grab his distortion pedal, a flash of black jeans and blonde hair crowded his vision before his shoulder blades were shoved against a wall.
"Woah, hey, uh, James? Are y-" his stuttering was cut off by chapped lips against his, teeth clacking together and hot breath hitting his tongue. Cliff finally responded after a few seconds, closing his eyes and pulling the lithe body closer to him by denim belt loops. James was feeling bold, apparently, since he decided to grind his hips against Cliff's and tilt his head back to moan like a pornstar. James knew Cliff got weak in the knees when he acted like this, handsy and vocal and slutty. But they had a show to play in, like, right now, so Cliff lightly pushed James off of him by his chest.
"You know we're going on stage soon, right?" he panted, laughing nervously. James got that mischievous glint in his eye, the kind he got before he lit something on fire or when he was on his knees in front of Cliff with his mouth wide open. James smirked at him through his bitten lip.
"Oh, I know," he responded. His shit-eating grin got wider. Cliff's back was against the wall once again (or maybe it was an amp, or a car, or what-fucking-ever, this was an outdoor venue), and his big hands were full of James' slender hips. James moaned again, a desperate little whimper, and he fumbled for the zipper of Cliff's ridiculously tight bell bottoms. He popped it open and stuck his hand inside the rough denim, making Cliff gasp and squeeze his waist.
James' calloused hand moved quickly and dryly along Cliff's cock, thumbing the sensitive skin under the head and drawing all sorts of gruff noises from Cliff's parted lips. James was breathing hotly into Cliff's mouth, occasionally nipping at anywhere from his lips to the base of his neck. Cliff wasn't used to such a place of submission, but if he had any brain cells at the moment he would probably register that he quite likes being at James' mercy. James knew exactly now to touch him, how to squeeze just right and twist his wrist on the upstroke so as to make Cliff lose it in record time.
Cliff was drawing near the edge now, James' hand was moving faster and he continued to moan in Cliff's ear like he was getting off on this too. He probably was, he's been rocking needily against Cliff's thigh since he started this bullshit. "James, fuck-" Cliff started, tangling long fingers into James' hair, tugging just how he likes. James shuddered and relaxed his hold on Cliff's cock for a second before returning to his vice-like grip.
An unfamiliar voice sounded from somewhere in the distance; "Burton, Hetfield! You're on in 5!" It was a roadie, probably sent to find them while Kirk and Lars bitched about their lateness.
"Coming!" yelled James in response, sounding totally unbothered, as if he wasn't feverishly jacking off his bassist at the moment.
Then, as quickly as James drew it out, he stuffed Cliff's (very hard, an angry red and leaking steadily) cock back into his pants. James zipped him up, kissed his cheek, and gave him another one of those smiles that Cliff wanted to smack right off his boyish face.
"You're on in 5, Burton," he said tauntingly, sauntering away while he tousled his hair and licked at his kiss-bitten lips.
Cliff was at a loss for words, his brain still processing how quickly he was brought to and from the edge of ecstasy. The roadie's voice called his name again; it was second nature by now for him to grab his bass and hoist it over his head by the strap, so he did just that and made his way towards the stage.
He was, like, hard as fucking diamond right about now, and while he plugged his pedal in James kept sneaking little glances at him that he pointedly tried to ignore. Cliff was just focused on keeping his bass perfectly centered over his crotch to hide the obvious bulge. He realized during the process that the smooth, cool underside of his Ric created a rough friction against the sensitive cockhead confined within unforgiving denim. He gasped and choked back a whimper as he almost dropped the tip of the amp cord.
James, standing all god-like with his lion mane flowing behind him (like an asshole, a gorgeous and mean and teasing asshole), tapped his mic once before shouting into it— "Are you motherfuckers ready?" The audience exclaimed right back, their cue to start the fuckin' show.
Cliff doesn't really remember their set list, he was pretty focused on the way James' hands slid down the mic stand and then up the neck of his Explorer, but then the thudding drums and bouncy riffs of Jump in the Fire registered to him immediately. As his bass part came in, Cliff allowed himself to be taken over by the music. He was still hard, yeah, he really couldn't ignore it, so he let James' voice carry him as he again rocked subtly against his bass. His fingers flew across the wide fretboard, head banging vigorously as to not draw attention to him desperately shoving his hips into his heavy guitar.
James started to walk towards Cliff to interact with the audience on stage left. He stopped right next to him to bang his head in sync with his, reigniting Cliff's nerve endings when his knee bumped James' or when they finally made fleeting eye contact. That stupid glint was back in James' eyes. James returned to his microphone after a minute to belt out the beginning of the chorus—"So come on!"— leaving Cliff to continue rutting against his bass like a teenager humping his mattress.
Cliff was thankful that he didn't have any solos, leading all the attention to Kirk and James. He was also beyond grateful that he was playing a loud metal concert and could moan as wantonly as he wanted without the audience knowing he was minutes away from coming in his pants. Though his cock did twitch at that thought, being seen in such a desperate state by thousands of adoring fans. Cliff could feel the kick drum thudding in his heart and the bassline pulsing in his groin.
James looked back at Cliff during his pathetic squirming, his fingers almost slipping on his guitar at the sight of his boyfriend on one knee and grinding helplessly against his Rickenbacker. He caught Cliff's eye as he growled the middle of the verse into his mic—"I am stalking you as prey—"
And that was fucking it. James' guttural voice snarled that line with the side of his lip quirked up and his icy blue eyes smoldering a hole right through Cliff's very being. Cliff shoved his bass against himself, his mouth falling open and eyes clenching shut as he fell apart right there in front of the audience.
Cliff's cock spurted in long pulses into his tight, tight jeans, soaking the front of his pants and possibly the back of his bass. His head dropped down to let long red hair form a curtain around his face. The crowd didn't seem to notice anything, but James knew exactly what had just happened.
James' own dick had been throbbing ever so slightly since he realized just how desperate he had made Cliff, and seeing his boyfriend look pleadingly into his eyes just before he lost all control really got him hot and bothered. They had, what, half an hour left to play? James could will his erection mostly down for the remainder of their show, but Cliff was far gone and playing the tab to the song's verses on repeat as the chorus faded out.
There was a moment of relative quiet as the song ended and the crowd started to cheer and clap. Cliff shot a death glare at James, panting heavily and still on one knee. His hair was messy and he was flushed from his chest to his forehead. God, he was pretty.
James knew he was gonna get what was coming to him the second he and Cliff were alone, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not when his bassist was so deliciously ruined.