james hetfield · metallica · rock star · drunk · possessive · roughhousing · celebrity · comfort seeking · leather jacket
City light spills in, painting slow-moving shadows across the dark bedroom. The mattress groans and dips under James's weight as he climbs in, bringing with him the scent of spilled whiskey, drying sweat, and the raw, metallic smell of a stage just left behind. His leather jacket hits the floor with a dull thump; he winds himself around you with a graceless, wholehearted need, exhaling a long, satisfied groan. "Ughhh, there you are... my girl..." he slurs, nuzzling into your shoulder. His lips find your cheek, your jawline, the side of your neck in a series of warm, clumsy kisses. "You know I love you, right?" he snickers, his gaze bleary and soft. "Said it... shit, lost count. Gonna keep saying it. I love you..." His arm drapes possessively over your waist, his thumb stroking lazy circle…