Troubled Waters // jameson au. (SLOW UPDATES)

II:By any other name

As it turns out, James sees his brunette again the very next day.

Somehow, the blonde had slept through two alarms that morning, and had only been woken up by his neighbors pounding on the walls of his shitty apartment, screaming at the top of their lungs for him to wake up and "Turn that shit off!"

Already off to a brilliant start.

He hadn't even had time to make a proper breakfast, grabbing a stale piece of bread and tearing out the door to run over to Dave's apartment. The band was supposed to be meeting up to go over the setlist for their next show, and while James didn't really think he needed to be there anyway because Lars always, always had to have the final say, he knew the Dane would be pissed if he didn't at least show-up. "Make an effort for the band." he'd always say, his accent coming out thick when he was pissed off.  "Pretend you actually want to be here." Sometimes James wanted to deck the little fucker, or just get his hands around that scrawny neck for a few seconds because as much as he loved Lars like a brother, the shorter man could be annoying as hell when he wanted to be. Luckily for him, his destination isn't too far, and he's able to make it by running a few blocks, huffing and puffing as he loads into the less than inviting elevator of Mustaine's apartment building.

James is pounding on the door as soon as he reaches Dave's place, waiting for one of his bandmates to hear him and let him in, but the last thing he's expecting to see is the curly-haired, pretty eyed groupie from last night standing there like an absolute angel. It's like he's been bitten by a venomous snake how fast he just freezes up, those gorgeous eyes pinning him to the ground like nails through his feet, and the seraphic beauty in front of him is talking, James knows he's talking because he's staring at his mouth and those ridiculously plush lips are moving, but the blonde can't hear a damn thing until he's literally being slapped upside the head.

"Fucking Ow." He grumbles, clutching at the back of his head in anguish before looking up to see Daves bemused expression, the redhead gazing at him with silent mirth before ruffling one of his catcher's mitt hands through James' hair like the blonde was a fucking child, a smirk tugging at his lips when he says "Jason has been asking you if you're ok for like five minutes, I thought you were having a stroke or something."

Jason. He turns the word over in his head again and again. Jason. It doesn't seem right at first, almost farcical that something, someone so very fascinating and resplendent and just...wow would have such a prosaic name, but as he turns blue eyes back towards the shorter man, takes in the messy chestnut hair that frames a scarcely freckled face, wide, enchanting grey-blue eyes and soft lips situated over slightly crooked teeth that just suit him so well, James decides Jason is perfectly fine in every way imaginable. It wouldn't be fair to the rest of the world for one man to have it all, it's not like the name James was that impressive either.

"Dude." Dave's voice cuts through his reverie again, annoyed and inimical now. "Please just come in before Lars loses his shit about you being late again. I might actually dangle him out of the window if he calls me stupid again."

Oh right. He was actually here for a reason, wasn't he?
——————//

Jason's presence is incredibly hard to ignore, but not through any fault of his own. He's just laying there on Dave's couch as they argue over bookings and beer tickets and setlists, channel surfing on the shitty little box TV in a sweatshirt James knows for a fact belongs to Mustaine and that last fact makes the vocalist want to run headfirst into the wall because this entire situation is fucked. He knew Dave liked guys just as much as he liked girls, Lars and Cliff did too because he'd made it abundantly clear the day they'd met that he'd beat the hell out of anyone who had a problem with it, and it's not like James could judge with his own, albeit well-hidden sexuality issues of his own, but the ginger had never let a hookup of any gender stay overnight at his place, he never let any of then wear his clothes, and on the same line of thought, he never bought any of them backstage either. If he didn't know any better, James would think Jason was a boyfriend, not a groupie or hookup, but that couldn't be it, right? Dave was a slut plain and simple, rejecting monogamy at every turn, but maybe he was growing up, maybe he was going to settle down as best he could with Jason.

Or maybe James was reading too much into someone spending the night somewhere, maybe Jason was just really extraordinary in bed and Dave was just enamored for a while, maybe-

"James." And that's Lars. Displeased and short and danish, so maybe he should start paying attention before Cliff loses his chill and speaks up, he'd really be fucked then. He shoots the drummer a thumbs up to show that he has his full attention, and as soon as Lars looks away, bombarding poor Cliff with information about some new song, Dave is leaning in to whisper in his ear "Hey dude, I don't want to be here either, I'm taking Jason to lunch later, so the quicker you start cooperating the faster we can leave."

Lunch. Fucking Lunch. James didn't even know that words could physically hit you like a ton of bricks but that one sure did.

Lunch.

Jesus. Dave had a fucking boyfriend.

And James kind of wanted to fuck him.

This could only end poorly for everyone involved.

—————//
Well...Here it is. I'm not very impressed so I can't imagine anyone else would be, but I managed to get something out so fjdngn.