Written by Soobie for Trin for the 2011 xmas_rocks exchange
| This story is a work of fiction and therefore completely untrue. No harm or libel is meant or implied about any of the individuals named within this work and it was written without their involvement or permission. No profit is being made. |
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"I want you to come." Lars heard the Scottish wind in his ear. He wasn't being unreasonable or rude, and was trying his best not to bait the man on the other end. "I'll think about it." Non-committal, but at least he hadn't been sworn at. "Everyone, you know. David, Shawn, everyone else. So you can be cool, and we'll all just eat and hang out." He bit his lip. Not having really talked to his old guitarist since their induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame dibacle he wasn't sure how Dave's mind was running this year. He had to admit it was pretty shitty what happened, but it happened and he wasn't really one to second guess his choices. "What's there to do in Poland anyway? Fucking nothing and James really wants everyone to get along this time so it'd be good to just hang out and party a bit. We're getting it catered - really good fucking food, man, and some beers if you want and just everyone mingling, you know. Spirit or something, team spirit. Metal Spirit." More wind in his ear and the faintest sound of gravel crunching under foot. "Cheerleaders?" "If you want." Lars rolled his eyes. For someone that practically hung off his bass player, sent one guitarist running off to Japan, and hunted Lars himself down last year (he saw the strawberry hair peeking up behind that booth but played along), the concept of feminine companionship was a riot. Dave was so gay he went past being gay to overly macho, sort of like the Priest boys. "I told you I'll think about it." "James said he'd really like it if you could at least make an appearance. He's trying to reconnect, in his own way. He doesn't want any shit and thinks it should all be fun this time out." "Send me the details and I'll see." Lars sat back in his chair, balancing his foot on his opposite knee. "I just want to talk, you know. Like we haven't in years, man." He knew Dave was stung and carried shit around way too long, but he'd agreed to the tour and was apparently ready to at least play nice, if not come to an understanding. If he was angry, truely angry, he wasn't showing it. He hadn't been hung up on yet. That had to count for something. "I'm going up, you coming?" David's voice; Dave had said they were sightseeing today and wouldn't be able to talk long. "Yeah, hold on." The phone shifted a bit as Dave focused back to the call. "Gotta go, gonna go kiss the Blarney Stone." "That's cool. I'll text you the time and stuff." The call ended without so much as a goodbye, Lars wondered if Dave even heard what he said. Lars thought he was being overly pissy, but it was Dave and that's how he always was. ******** It was some stupid Hilton in the middle of Warsaw. James wanted to stay in 'nicer' places as he deemed - something about getting old and being tired. The conference room seemed to swamp the few tables placed together. The rest of the hotel was bright and open and airy; Lars was surprised to see something so out of style. If the settings and furniture had been in worse shape it would have passed for Cold War era. Darkness clung to the corners of the room, good places where people could have private conversations once the alcohol started flowing. Except for James. He'd been honest when he talked to Dave at the bar last year. James was different. Had been since Cliff died. Mind, he'd been totally fucked up in head before Cliff died, but it changed after that. It changed again once the burn out set in and everyone got a little too tired of each other. Post rehab James was almost untouchable. He'd allow little things for the camera, small displays of affection, but nothing like the old days. Not even in private. Cliff, oddly enough, had been the straw that broke the Het's back. He managed to do it twice. Once when he died - which Lars couldn't really fault anyone for, but when Lars told James how Cliff was convinced to play with them... It was the 80's. Most of it was blurry anyway. Even the thought of it being blurry was a bit fuzzy. God bless alcohol. Lars kept those memories tucked away in a special place, far from sharing them with anyone else ever again. Lars claimed a place at the large table where a few people had already gathered. James was there, animatedly talking to some of the Slayer guys. Leave it to James to be on time and sociable. Lars was late like always. He was actually surprised that anybody was here yet, the musician's credo for running an hour behind seemingly lost on a few of the guys. Lars set next to Lombardo and started joining in James' conversation. Kids and wives and families, hardly the stuff of years past. He missed it, the talk about fun stuff. Not that his kids weren't the coolest things ever, but it wasn't really party city anymore. Like everyone else had grown up and Lars had just gotten more defensive about not growing up. People trickled in slowly in small groups, hugging and slapping each other on the back. 1991 was a long time ago and some horrible things had been said; 'Older and Wiser' James had put it. Lars knew that James didn't think he listened, but he always did, even if what fell out was complete horse shit. Appetizers were served and still no sign of Dave & David, although Lars made sure to invite the rest of the guys just in case Dave 'forgot' to mention it. The food was actually good, especially considering it was Poland. His first bite of the Hamachi amuse-bouche lodged in his throat. "Hello," Dave started pounding on Lars back as he coughed up the lodged hors d'œvre. Never again would he sit with his back to the door. "Fucker," he wheezed as he wiped the sauce from his chin. "Classy as always, Lars." He'd been saving the seat next to him for Dave, who was already sitting next to Benante across the table and getting comfortable. Wheezing and out of breath, Lars chugged at his water as a disappointed looking David dropped into what was supposed to be Dave's chair. "Hey man," he mumbled, and grabbed a beer from a passing server. "How are your boys doing?" Lars spent the next hour and several small plates without really hearing David and the conversations around him. He stabbed at his vegetables, tearing them across the plate. The wine went down too smoothly. He glared across the table sullenly, much like David next to him. Lars caught David's furtive looked and leaned over to him. "Asshole, isn't he?" David snorted and pushed his food around. "Look who's talking." "I'ma talk to him." Lars set his silverware down and pushed his chair out, David watching him the entire time with a deer in the headlights look about him. "Man, I wouldn't, you know how he gets..." He had grabbed Lars' tshirt and tried to pull him back to his seat. Lars simply picked up his wine glass and walked out of David's grasp, slowly wandering down and around to the other side of the table. He tapped Dave roughly on the shoulder, the red hair still soft and silky as ever as the back of his hand brushed the ponytail. "Why if it isn't my lil Danish buddy Lars." No one paid them much attention and for once Lars was glad of it. "How ya doin' Lars?" Dave's face smiled up at him but his eyes were murderous. Lars shifted on his feet, worrying the crystal in his hands. "Look, can we talk?" He jerked his head off into one of the dark corners where there would be some privacy. Dave chuckled softly. "Dear Lars, we are talking, aren't we?" He looked around him. "You can say whatever you want, we're all good friends here, right?" People around them nodded and the conversations around them started dropping off. Maddeningly, Dave kept smiling. "I, uhh..." Lars looked down at his glass and tried not to feel like everyone was staring at him. "I... just wanted to... you know." Dave's brows rose in question. "For... you know. Everything." Lars dug the toe of his trainers into the carpet and dared look at Dave, who was still smiling. "Have you ever tried writing lyrics?" Lars cocked his head and knitted his brows in question as Dave appeared to be going somewhere with his thoughts. "'Cos, man, you'd be great with that vocabulary." Cajoling, persuading, inveigling - all that stuff fell into Kirk's domain. Lars usually lacked the tact needed for such things and the sarcastic digs were raising his hackles. "I need to talk to you... about last year." He dropped his voice at the end. Dave had been as tight lipped as he about the whole ordeal; he was pretty sure Junior knew but David was so diplomatic it would be smoothed over without even being discussed. "Last year?" Dave scratched at his chin. "Last year. Hmmm, last year. Nope, mon chéri, I can't think of anything else that needs to be said." The smile was still clinging to the corners of his lips, more snarl now. The silence started to tickle the back of Lars' neck. He scanned the room, everyone was looking at him. Looking at them. James was watching, hooded eyes flicking between Dave and himself, probably ready to throw back his chair and stop the fight about to happen. "Just five minutes, please." Dave drained his wine in one long gulp, the dark red liquid staining his lips. "If you'll excuse me," he said to Charlie as he stole his wine. "I'll be right back." Lars nervously lead Dave into the shadows, to one of the small tables you couldn't see from the main table. Dave walked slowly behind him, shoulders back and swaggering, not his typical little scurry. "You'd better make it quick," Dave said as Lars sat in one of the chairs. He couldn't really see Dave across the small table, but could hear the rustling of clothes and the chair move on the floor. "I," Lars paused. "Look, I'm sorry, ok. I don't focking know what I was thinking and it all happened wrong and I'm just sorry." "Hyeah, right. Like anything you do is a mistake." "I wanted to... I saw you and then... I just..." He ran a hand through what was left of his hair. "I just wanted a little of what there was before. Before all of this... shit." "Take that shit to the Mighty Hetfield and leave me out of it from now on." Lars couldn't speak, whether he was going to swear at Dave or spit on him or be sick he didn't know, but it was all stuck in the middle of his chest. He looked down at the table, dropping any chance of eye contact in the dark. "Are you still fucking him?" Lars shook his head, forgetting that it probably couldn't be seen. "Are you still letting him fuck you, thinking about Cliff's hands on your hips and Cliff's hair brushing your skin?" "Shut up," Lars said weakly. Cliff's image burned in his head, all the power in those thin limbs, the determination in everything he did, all focused on one thing. "Poor Larsy-warsy," Dave took another swig of his wine. "Twisted up by a kid going through his first gay crisis." That snapped Lars back to attention. "You did realize he wasn't really gay, didn't you?" It almost sounded... empathetic. It still hurt, even though Lars had that memory tucked far away, it was still like raking hot coals. "He told me." "When was the last time..?" Lars sniffled a bit. "'84. New York. Metal Maria walked in on all of us." "All of..?" He could almost see Dave's look of shock. All he could do was shrug. "It was the '80's." "Look," Dave put his elbows on the table and leaned in so Lars could see him. "Since we're apologizing shittily, I wanted to say I'm sorry too for all the bad shit I've said over the years." "'S'Okay, man, really." "I'm trying to change and get better and everything David tells me I have to do, everything Pam screamed at me for. The journalists keep asking the same fucking questions and keep bringing it up again even though I tell them not to..." "Dave, really, it's ok." "I'm trying to think before I speak and I know I'll fuck up again in the future and I'm sorry for that too..." Lars reached out and grabbed Dave's wrists, almost knocking over the wineglasses. "It's cool, we're all cool with it, water under the bridge or whatever they say." "How's James doing?" Lars kept his hands around Dave's wrist and Dave hadn't shaken him off. "Like, really doing? Not what you tell the press." "He's..." Lars had to think. "He's different. I don't know who he is anymore." "That sucks." "It's great in a way, 'cos he's healthy, but..." Lars wanted a sip of his own wine now, the conversation was heading even deeper than he intended it to go. "He was fucked up so long by Cliff not being there and trying to be Cliff, and I guess by me pretending he was Cliff..." Lars slid his fingers up and down the warm skin of Dave's forearm, the hair and skin softer than James' healed burn scars. "You miss the old him, don't you?" "Ja." Lars took a long pull of his white wine. They were always opposites like that, Dave with his red wine and Lars with his white. "Last time I slept with him was '97. We were all so fucked up then." "At least you've got your wife." It was Lars' turn to snort. "Hyeah, she's always off away doing Hollywood things. I get to play daddy with the kids and bandage scraped knees and get crayon off lampshades." "You know Pam left me?" "Yeah, I heard. That sucks." Dave shrugged. "Not really. We've been fighting a lot and she's left before. She was mad when she left this time, but... I guess you'd understand." Lars racked his mind for something to do with one of his exes. Dave must have noticed the confusion. "She came home to find the kids asleep and me banging a guy." "She didn't know about David?" At this Dave finally shook off Lars' hands. "It wasn't David," he said flatly. "Oh," was all Lars could think to say. "There you are, I was wondering where you went." Charlie set two glasses on the table, one in front of Dave and one for Lars. "Been a while now, figured you'd need a refill if you hadn't killed each other." "Thanks, man." "Yeah, thanks," said Lars as he re-arranged the glasses. "You wanna sit in? We're just going over old times." Actually he was thankful for the interruption; things would go back to more neutral ground now. Charlie looked around for a chair and ended up dragging one back from god knows where. Lars used the time to tangle his feet with Dave's. Dave raised an eyebrow but didn't move his feet, his way of giving Lars permission. With Charlie back at the table they lapsed into silence, unwilling to pick up where the conversation left off. "So what were you guys talking about? The '91 tour?" "Actually," Lars started, "We were back about..." Dave spoke over him. "We were arguing who gave the best head." Lars gawked at him and Charlie's head spun around so fast it looked comical. "I said you did, but Lars said he was better." Lars tried to kick his feet free, only to find that Dave held then between his own ankles. Lars felt his cheeks flame and was grateful for the second time tonight it was dark in their little corner. "I am better." "And that's what we were arguing about," he said to Charlie. "Lars is out of practice and I said you were better." "Since when?" Lars kicked his feet again to no avail. Dave blinked. "Since yesterday." Images of... no. Lars pushed his chair back and tired to untangle himself. "Fock it." He threw down the napkin he'd been twisting. "I don't have to deal with your shit." Dave and Charlie were laughing. "Jesus, Lars, sit the fuck down. It was only a joke." "Dave's right man," Charlie added. "Sit down and have a drink." Lars sat and drank, weighing his options. They could continue to talk and go over the painful, emotional stuff they really should deal with, or they could do as they've always done; just fuck and forget about the rest until it came up again. Fucking sounded pretty good. Screw Doctor Twinkletitts or whatever his name had been. Lars pulled Dave's locked ankles carefully towards him, hoping Dave would get the message. "Still say I'm better at it," he sulked. Dave sipped at his wine and quickly rolled his eyes towards Charlie. "I say you might have to prove it." Lars pounded his fists on the table, making the glasses and Charlie jump. Slowly he sank in the chair, slipping under the table, back screaming at him for bending like he was a teenager again. "Dave, what... Lars!" Charlie jumped suddenly, a hand running up his thighs as Lars positioned himself. Nimble fingers worked on his belt as Charlie tried to bat them away. "Relax, man, enjoy it." Dave himself had leaned back in his seat ready to watch the show. He had to slide the chair over a bit for a better view - there was no way he was missing this. Just knowing that he could still have Lars do anything with just a word and a quick glance made him hard. He rubbed his palms over his own thighs, close enough to tease. "It's ok if I tell him to do it." Still mostly obscured by darkness Lars shuffled under the table, digging through Charlie's clothes. He sunk lower in the chair as Lars grabbed his cock and closed his eyes as a pink tongue darted out to lick the tip. "Fuck..." Charlie hissed and shoved his hands under his ass. Dave's hands moved over the bulge in his own jeans, massaging slowly. "Tell me Charlie. Tell me what it feels like." He sucked in a breath as Lars' lips closed around him. "Oh God... G-good, it's good." "How does his tongue feel?" Charlie wasn't much of a talker in bed; Dave would have to work on him. "Wet," he panted. "Warm." Dave noticed Charlie's hands, grabbing the pockets of his jeans as if he were afraid to participate more than he had to. Dave stretched his leg out and kicked Charlie's chair. "Put your hands on his head." He pulled his zipper down as Charlie awkwardly ran his fingers through Lars' hair, ultimately leaving one hand on his shoulder and the other cradling the back of his head. "Isn't that better?" Dave asked as he started stroking himself, watching avidly as Lars went down on Charlie. "Spread your legs." Charlie obeyed and Lars crawled even closer. "Now fuck his mouth." It was too much for Dave as Charlie thrust and Lars choked. He tightened his fist, remembering Lars sucking him down last year, the memory of being pushed against the wall as Lars swallowed him down and jerked himself off at the same time. "Remember," Charlie turned his head slightly towards him. "Carlson Blvd.? That tiny bathroom." Charlie dropped his head back and moaned as Lars must have given a mighty suck. "Suck him like that." This is what it was between them, memories acted out thirty years later. Dave wondered if he'd still fuck Lars if he never met him back in the day. "Hurry Lars," he dropped back into memory. "Someone might find us..." The muffled moan from under the table prodded Dave on. "James might come looking for us. Hurry Lars. He'd bust the door down and find you on your knees sucking cock in Mark's bathroom. He'd be so angry seeing you." Dave stroked himself leisurely, enjoying the show in front of him, already planning ahead. "Or The Stone, that first night, spread out on that counter like you owned the place, anyone could walk up and take you. I saw you Lars, hitting your head against that mirror with every thrust. You liked that didn't you? The risk of being caught? Did you see me watching as he fucked you?" Charlie shifted and slumped even lower, forcing Lars further down his cock. "Get Charlie off and you can be my bitch again. I'll strip you naked and bend you over the table in front of James and fuck you into next week. You'd be so hard, knowing he was watching and wanting but too chickenshit to do anything about it." Charlie looked on the verge with his hands grasping at whatever parts of Lars he could reach. He was practically doubled over in his chair, the poor fucker. Lars was good at what he did, even if he couldn't keep time for shit. "Lars, look at him." Dave could just barely make out the wrinkles where Lars had his eyes closed. "Look how close he is." Charlie was all but shaking trying to hold back. "Tell him Charlie." "Oh fuck, fuck... gonna come." Charlie leaned back in his chair and stopped breathing, Lars pausing with his nose buried in Charlie's dark pubes. Slowly he pulled off Charlie, licking his lips and sitting back on his heels. Charlie melted bonelessly in the chair. Dave would deal with him later. For now, he grabbed Lars by the bicep and hauled him to his feet. Dave smashed his lips against Lars', careless of teeth or grace. Over Lars' shoulder Charlie stirred and stared bug-eyed. Lars was tensing under him as Dave swiped his tongue across Lars' teeth. The muscles under his hands flexed and twisted as they moved against each other. Suddenly Lars pushed Dave against the wall, knocking the wind out of him and feeling like he cracked ribs. Lars was on him in seconds, clawing and biting, tearing at his shirt, shouldering him into the wall. Hands were on his hips, trying to turn him around. Not this shit again. He planted a foot between Lars' and circled them around, pushing Lars into the wall this time. He gave him a little extra shove to make his point. "Charlie, be a dear and go fetch some olive oil from a waitress." Lars started pushing again in earnest, trying to roll them again so Dave ended up sandwiched between the wall. "I don't think so, droogie." He captured Lars' wrists and held them to his side. "My rules this time," he whispered over his neck before biting down on Lars' shoulder. Lars shuddered and thrust against Dave. "What a fucking bitch you've been." He swung his ponytail to brush against Lars, letting the curls trail across Lars' face. To his surprise, Lars caught the red strands between his teeth and pulled, yanking Dave's head back. Dave shouldered into him, shoving him back into the dented plaster. "Mother Fucker!" With his hair free, Dave pulled and spun Lars, holding his wrists as he crashed face first against the table. Dave pulled his wrists to the small of his back and bent him over like he was being arrested. It would have worked better if he had handcuffs - perhaps next time. "Punk ass fucker, who's in control now, huh?" Dave had the sinking feeling that Lars was laughing through it all and Dave was doing exactly what Lars wanted. "You like that shit, dontcha?" Lars' jeans were already undone and Dave managed to slide them down, ripping the leather belt from the loops one handedly. "Kinky motherfucker." Dave slipped the warm leather around Lars' wrists and tightened it down, noticing that Lars didn't fight at all and seemed to be enjoying it. "You'd better hope Charlie comes back quick." Dave slid down Lars after thrusting against him a few times. The power trip and wrestling always made him impatient. He grabbed Lars' briefs and pulled them down, running a finger down the crack. Lars bucked underneath him, wiggling back for more. "Tell me you want it." Frustratingly, Lars remained silent. Dave smacked his ass and kneaded the fleshy cheek. Lars squirmed but not even a moan came out. "Fucker." Dave swiped his finger down Lars' crack again and had a hilarious thought about a line of Ulrich branded credit card terminals. A flash with your cash, his mind supplied helpfully. He growled to himself and stabbed a finger at Lars' rectum, rubbing the muscle with the pad of his finger. He managed to wiggle the tip of his finger in, but couldn't go much farther until Charlie got back. What was taking the fucker anyway? Didn't he know this wasn't something that could wait for Christmas? Working up a good tongue full, Dave spit onto Lars and his finger, allowing the digit to slip in further. Lars arched his back and pushed further onto the invading finger, sucking Dave in. "That's it, fuck yourself." With enough spit Lars managed to take a finger. Dave twirled it around, opening Lars slowly and hunting for his prostate. Dave bit his lower lip, he wanted to make Lars twitch. When his finger ran over the walnut sized lump Lars pushed up on his tip toes. Dave circled his finger over that area sadistically, waiting for Lars to grunt or groan, whine, anything. Nothing. He bent his neck and licked around his finger, using his tongue to push more spit into the tight channel. "Whoa," Charlie stood there, dumbfounded, holding a small white plate. "What?" Dave barked defensively, still cheek to cheek with Lars. "You ain't never seen a rimjob before?" He dipped his tongue back between Lars' cheeks and flicked his tongue again, watching Charlie from the corner of his eye. "What 'choo got?" "I... Uhhh," Charlie's eyes were fixed on the hand kneading Lars' ass. Dave gave him a little playful slap before reaching out for the plate. "Butter?" Charlie's eye darted anywhere but Dave's face. "Uhhh..." Dave dipped his thumb in. It was soft. Not his first choice, but it would do. He placed the plate between Lars' shoulders and shucked his own jeans down. Wouldn't do to get them stained. The shirt came off too, landing on a chair. He took the band out of his hair, letting the curls fall around his shoulders. It had grown a lot in the last year since he cut it and knew it would drive Lars crazy. Scooping up a good sized bunch of butter, Dave smooshed it against Lars' opening and worked it in. The grease would be nasty to clean up but he didn't really care. He lined up his cock and thrust against Lars' crack, spreading the butter around. "MMmm, I could come just from this..." Lars pushed back against him, his way of asking for more without talking. Dave would have none of it. Instead, he pushed Lars' cheeks together and continued to thrust into the buttered up buns. "God, this is so good... Isn't it Lars?" Lars seemed to be trying to rub his forehead into the tablecloth. Dave grabbed Lars' wrists and pulled him back, his shoulders lifting from the table as the butter slid off to the side. He leaned across Lars' back and whispered into his ear. "Want me to fuck you?" Lars nodded and Dave tossed his hair, letting the strands trail across Lars' neck. "You'll have to tell me." Dave pulled back from Lars and shifted his stance, aiming his aching cock for its target. He pushed just enough so Lars could feel the tip start to push through. "Aaaaghhhh, fock me!" Lars finally cried, loud enough so Dave knew everyone else would hear him. Lars pushed back, trying to inch his was onto Dave's dick. "Fock me!" Dave pulled back, greasy hands holding Lars by the hips. "Not until you say it." Lars pulled at the belt holding his wrists behind his back. "Fock me," he panted against the table. Dave slid his hands up and pushed Lars roughly into the table. "Say it." He jostled Lars again, the designer tshirt soaking up the butter from his hands. "Fucking say it!" Lars was pulled from the table and thrown into the wall, landing face first into some of the paneling. It took Dave a few seconds to realize what Lars had said before the world had turned red. Grabbing Lars by the shirt again, he hauled him away and threw him at Charlie. A stunned Charlie caught Lars before he would trip over his jeans. Dave struggled with his own pants, grabbing another slab of butter and eyeing up his situation. "Charlie, huh? Motherfucker." Dave spread the pseudo-lube over his cock. "Hold him." Charlie grabbed under Lars' armpits and held him up. Lars whispered something to Charlie that made him look up quickly at an approaching Dave. Eyes still on Dave, Charlie slipped the belt from Lars' wrists. Lars wrapped his arms around Charlie's neck and stuck his ass out. Done with the games and bullshit, Dave stood behind the juicy ass presented to him and pressed inside. Once Lars' mouth opened, it was impossible to turn it off and a steady stream of 'yeah, harder, God, more' fell from his lips into Charlie's shoulder. Dave ran his hands up and under Lars' shirt, pinching his nipples and tracing his ribs. The man breathed pure sub once you got past his false protests in the game they played. Charlie, for his part, stood there like a champ holding Lars up through Dave's increasingly rough thrusts. "Hard?" Dave growled to him, seeing how his breathing had picked up again and fresh sweat dotted his brow. Charlie shook his head and rubbed Lars' back, almost cradeling him. Dave saw the snot and blood seeping into Charlie's shoulder as Lars slowly bent his back, almost to what Electra would call 'Arabesque'. "Fuck, yeah..." Dave smacked Lars on the ass again, just because he could. "You gotta try this Charlie." "Nah, I'm good. Really." Dave just shrugged his shoulders and put all of his attention back into the warm body he was fucking. Fuck those pussy New York boys anyway, fucking fags. Dave was at and end with Charlie and probably should have broken it off before heading out on tour, but there's nothing like a back up fuck buddy in case Junior got on the rag again. Watching Lars plead and shake never got old. Dave lost himself in feeling and closed his eyes, confident that Lars was done playing his tricks and it was real this time. Lars moved against him, straightening up again. When Dave opened his eyes, Charlie had snuck a hand down and was jacking Lars off. Dave wished he could see better, that was something worth watching. The inevitable crest built and Dave sped over it, digging his hands into Lars' waist and letting go control for the briefiest of seconds. Lars clung to Charlie, bucking his hips as Dave fell back into his chair, tripped up on his jeans and too tired to bother pulling them up. It was almost mundane watching Charlie jerk Lars off. For all the little noises Lars was making and the little displays of tenderness Charlie was giving it was overly clinical. All Charlie ever wanted to do in bed was vanilla, and Lars was well past anything remotely vanilla. It would have been touching if they were eighteen. As fifty year olds it was just... boring. Normal, plain, garden variety hand job. Dave stifled a yawn and cleaned himself up with a napkin, getting his clothes back on and pulling his hair back again. He left the drumming couple to it, sneaking along the shadowed walls until he could get back to the main table. David was hunched over his plate, from just the way he was leaning to his side Dave could tell he was not happy. He'd have a runner go find those little Ferrero Rocher candies he liked tomorrow. Dave took what was once Lars' seat next to David. David took in the rumpled clothing, out of place curls, and slight flush but said nothing, preferring just to lay a hand on Dave's thigh. Junior was no fool, but was also smart enough to know Dave would always come back, no matter how far he strayed. There was a small pastry still on Lars' plate, untouched. He leaned over to David and pushed the dessert towards him. "Five minutes, then we'll go." Dave tucked a loose curl behind his ear. "I wanna see how this goes." David only rolled his eyes and picked up his spoon. Various people had gone off to talk in groups while Dave was gone. He'd try not to think too much about it. Tom was off talking with Kirk, they'd each circulated a bit. Lombardo was everywhere, that was just a little too weird. Frank, Kerry, and Rob were having some sort of bass player union meeting that he didn't feel like attending. Charlie had just started talking with Scott and Pearl across the table, leaning in close together. This whole meeting/dinner thing had been shit anyway. He tried to see who Dave was watching, but he just seemed to be watching everyone. Lars circulated around, far from his normal annoying self. He looked quite subdued. Strange, but he had been kinda weird earlier too, before he went off with Dave. David gripped his spoon and gritted his teeth. He should have known letting those two get close again wasn't a good idea. Dave had some serious shit to make up for this time. It looked like Lars had a bloody nose, so maybe things weren't so bad afterall. Lars sat in a chair next to James and slouched. James smiled at him and ran a big hand in small circles over his back and handed him a napkin, soothing him, probably thinking they had a serious talk about issues. James had bought into therapy 110% and David just laughed to himself, trying to imagine Dave in that kind of therapy. Dave started getting his ass up and moving, ready to go back for the night. After a fuck he was never much good without a nap, and David just wanted to get him back to their hotel without him falling asleep in the cab. They waved their goodbyes to everyone, leaving Shawn and Chris to fend for themselves. Lars was almost curled up under James' arm, something expected from a little kid and not grown man. James' nose twitched and he started sniffing around. "Did you guys find popcorn or something?" Lars startled and pushed James away, getting up and making a determined effort at walking out of the confrence room. Dave put his arm around David's shoulders as Lars hustled past them. "Hey Lars," Dave called out. David was embarrassed, he could tell something had gone down that was undoubtedly unpleasant, degrading, or humiliating; more than likely all three, judging from Dave's leer. 'Trouble in paradise?' Dave's hand slid down over David's shoulder and groped his chest. Lars turned his back on them again and shuffled towards the closed doors. "Lars, wait." Dave drug David towards Lars and the doors, Lars stopping with his hand on the polished brass handle. When he turned to look at Dave, David wondered exactly what had happenend. He'd never seen Lars so pitiful looking. "You want to come back with us and hang out?" Dave turned to look at David before shrugging his shoulders slightly. Lars gave them a strange look and David really questioned if he'd stepped into a larger mess. Lars seemed to think of it for a minute, staring at Dave before giving a big sigh. "Yeah, sure." He was staring at the arm still draped around David's shoulder, Dave's thumb flicking lightly over David's nipple. "Great!" Dave pulled David closer. "We can all play with Junior's Wii." "What are you, twelve?" David tried to push Dave away, his friend had never shown an interest in the yoga or fishing games with him before. "I've only got the one nunchuck." "If I was twelve, I'd play with my own 'nunchuck'. I'd much rather play with yours." Dave leaned in and openly groped a shocked David; Dave was indeed worked up to be dropping such blatantly bad references in front of others. "Or his." "Can we get going?" Lars yipped from the door, still holding the handle. "I'd really like to wipe my ass." "As you wish, mon chéri," said Dave as he dropped his other arm around Lars's shoulders, leading the trio off into the Warsaw night and the promise of really enjoying this European tour.
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