“Did I?” James glanced down and noted with some surprise the vivid red smear on his arm. As soon as he looked at it, it started to ache and sting. “Well fuck me sideways…”
Kirk smiled a little and pressed a towel to the cut on James’s bicep. The blood flow wasn’t heavy, just enough to soak through a little and make a mess of the towel. It didn’t matter. They had plenty more. “You should be more careful,” Kirk murmured.
He was standing too close and being too familiar, so James pulled back a little. His hand rose to cover the towel, brushing Kirk away with a little grunt. It was fine to act like that in private, but backstage? No. James couldn’t have the roadies thinking things about the two of them. It might leak to the press, and then the entire band would be fucked.
“James…”
“I’m gonna go shower,” he said, ignoring the hurt on Kirk’s face. “Get this washed up.” He paused, then turned and started walking.
Kirk brightened a little at the prospect, and dogged James like a happy child, chattering away about the show. Kirk was always obnoxiously full of energy after a gig and, lately, had been turning more and more to James to help him burn that energy off. Normally, James didn’t mind. Tonight, it annoyed him.
The shower came on with a hiss, spewing steam and scalding water, and James stepped into it with barely a flinch. Kirk hung back, a dubious expression on his face as James turned under the spray, arms raised. He loved a hot shower more than anything, the worse the sting the better, particularly since it seemed that the heat would keep Kirk away.
“Most people like to try a little cold water in their shower,” Kirk murmured, leaning against the tile and smiling faintly. James just grunted in response, turning his back and lifting his face into the spray. There was a moment of silence behind him, and then the soft slap of bare feet on wet tiles.
Kirk’s hands ran down his back, slippery and firm, rubbing out the kinks he’d accumulated during the day. James started to jerk away, mindful of the fact that this was a public shower, but relaxed at Kirk’s protesting little noise. What could it hurt, after all? The only other person who might come back here was Lars, and he already knew. Anyway, it wasn’t like they were fucking. It was only a backrub…
“James…” And there was that breathy little note in Kirk’s voice that he knew all too well. Kirk pressed up against his back, arms sliding around his waist, and nuzzled his cheek between James’s shoulder blades. “Can we go back soon?”
That wasn’t what he was asking. James knew good and goddamn well what Kirk really wanted, and it didn’t matter much to him whether they went back or stayed here. There was a lock on the door; it would be easy to slip it and shove Kirk up against the wall, give him what he wanted. James wasn’t in the mood.
“I’m showering,” he answered shortly, jerking away from Kirk. There was a sharp little gasp behind him, and he turned. He’d expected Kirk to be pissed off, or sulky. He wasn’t at all prepared for the profound hurt on Kirk’s face. “What?”
“You’re getting sick of me, aren’t you?” Kirk demanded, and James groaned. Why this? Why now? Fuck, Kirk had the worst timing in the world.
“A little bit, yeah,” he growled. Kirk jerked back, and James knew that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Fuck it. Don’t ask the question if you can’t handle the answer, right? “Get sick of you acting like a little slut till I wanna fuck you.”
The shocked expression on Kirk’s face made him feel a little guilty, so he turned to scrub at his cut. Sharp little slivers of pain knifed through his upper arm, distracted him from the annoying knot in his stomach. Fucking Kirk, making everything so fucking complicated…
“Is that all you’re interested in?” Kirk’s voice was low and tight. Not a good sign. James just shrugged and rubbed at the blood crusting on his arm. The fuck else was he supposed to be interested in? He thought it was pretty damn natural to want to fuck Kirk. “Answer me!”
“What am I supposed to say to you, Hammett?” James snarled, rounding on Kirk. Part of him wanted Kirk to cringe and look scared. Instead, Kirk glared back at him, giving just as good as he got. “You want roses and rainbows and shit, you picked the wrong fucking guy.”
Kirk stared at him coldly for a minute, then shrugged and looked away. “That’s not what I’m after, Hetfield, and you fucking know it.” There was a pause during which James could practically feel his balls shriveling under the disappointment radiating from Kirk. “But you are right about one thing. I did pick the wrong fucking guy.”
Before James could retort, Kirk had turned his back and left the shower room with all the dignity he could muster. James just stared, first at his retreating back and then at the door as it swung shut. Fuck. Now he’d have to go make nice with Kirk for the sake of the band, and Kirk would think he was just being a lech. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Sighing wearily, James turned back to the shower and watched the water swirl down the drain, tinged pink with his blood.
