How Much Are Those Drumsticks?

Posters dripped down the brick piers to the Hell's Kitchen music store advertising the newest edition to the Rock-N-Shock music festival. Exodus was highly anticipated among the masses and often decreed that a large fanbase would follow to any venue; it had been Kirk's first band, his pride and joy. For weeks the boys from Metallica had their sights set upon the young, accomplished guiatrist. Especially since Dave was no longer a partner within the group.

The need to obtain Kirk had risen once the 'Tallica trio had seen Exodus at a local venue and they were certain he was the missing piece to their puzzle. They couldn't touch Kirk. He was comfortably set within Exodus and their combined manager didn't ease the plight. The young Hammett had already ventureed into a recording studio and sold-out quaint venues - events Metallica had yet to accomplish. Deciding to take matters into their own hands, there they stood mesmerized outside Hell's Kitchen...coincidentally Kirk's place of employment

"Good afternoon, gentlmen. Is there something I can help you with?"

Clad in contempo-casual guise, there remained Kirk before the 'Tallica troop. He appeared neat, clean-cut, professional. The only hint to anything otherwise had been the curly mane which dripped from a banded ponytail. They gaped at the sight before them in disbelief. Kirk's voice poured out in reserved and demure tones..nothing like they imagined.

"Kirk Hammett, right?" With nothing to lose ecept for maybe pride, James was the first to chime in.

"Yes, I am him."

"Hey! I'm James Hetfield...frontman of Metllica and these guys are the other members."

A sooted brow lofted in piqued curiosity at the ring of the Metallica word; Kirk hadn't been so naive as to not know who they were. All in all, the young man knew where this encounter was leading. Had this come when he was unattached, Kirk would have welcomed the notion, but his loayalties were aligned elsewhere.

"We'd like to extend an invitation to join our band."

"I'm flattered...really. As you're ware I'm already under obligation to Exodus. But, maybe we can get together and jam sometime."

"Sounds like a plan..."

As if by some unforseen signal, Lars had finally paid attention to the encounter. As James and Cliff were conversating with Kirk about music and joining the band, the Dane was more interested in the drumsticks. To him, it didn't matter whether they landed the guitarist or not. He just wanted to play.

"So, how much are these drumsticks, eh?"

With a lethargic cadence, chocolate eyes landed upon Lars' azure stare. A tingling traipsed the back of Hammett's ears as his mouth went to a desert-dry. Something in the Dane's articulated accent instantaneously drew his undivided attention. Long hair, stubbled chin, poorly dressed. He found it oddly attracting. Kirk hadn't been the only body drawn into the confrontation; Lars marveled over the curve of Kirk's smile and etched dimples, the suave way his voice sounded so tender and pure.

"They're a dollar, but you can have those for free."

"Thanks, dude."

"You're most welcome."

James forced himself back into recognition before anything besides drumsticks were given away. The final thing they group neeeded was for Kirk to be nudged away by some ridiculous advances by Lars. The blonde knew that Kirk had lied about the drumsticks...they being more than a mere dollar. It seemed to him and Cliff that it was an "old-school" gesture or another, "Well, we should be going now..."

"I'm gonna stay and look at some drumkits. Mine's gettin' shabby. I'll catch up later."

James was almost convenced that their hopes of snaring Kirk from Exodus was completely ruined. Snatching Lars and heading for the farest point from the store would have just been awkward and less than inviting for Kirk. Without any further confrontation, James and Cliff reluctantly left the store with Lars and Kirk to their own devices. Bemusing over what his comrades had implied upon their own accord, Lars scoffed and and lolled before a drumkit simialr to his own and begun a series or paradiddle strokes.

"That's not a cadence, but...a-um...ruidment. Right?"

Hoisting a brow, Lars had become interested further in Kirk. "It's a paradiddle which is a simple ruidment which is the basis for a roll. Wanna try?"

There wasn't room for debate; Lars heaved from his recline, arching the drumsticks to Kirk. Kirk had never before atempted to play the drums nor posessed any interest in ever doing so. After all, he was only a guitarist. Clutching the sticks within his hands, Kirk felt his palms become slick with sweat.

There he sat. The young prodigy who was now feeling as though he had just atended class without any pants on. He flailed a poor performance of a paradiddle - even one unacetpable for a beginning drummer. It envoked Lars to chuckle, a mirthful grin spreading across his lips.

Latching his hands around Kirk's wrists, the Dane pressed his chest to the back of the guitarist. As he leaned into the warmth before him, swells of breath scurried along Hammett's exposed skin, quaking his body into delicate shivers. Agitating their hands in up and down strokes, Lars had become inclined in the invigorating arousal. Shoving is form backwards with the arch of his back, the guitarist was losing to some carnal need. Quickening the pace of their movements, it was as though they were love making through someother device as their bodies flowed together in sync.

Unbeknownst to the Dane, he had inadvertantly reeled his waist into the lower back of his counterpart, moving in rhythmic motions of desire. They had to stop. He had to stop. Both men had begun to breathe in shaking tones, finding it more difficult to concentrate on anything else ocurring. Lars maneuvered his hands from Kirk's wrists and strided backwards a few paces. In a phlegmatic response, drumsticks toppled to the snare with Kirk remaining with an absent expression as if afraid to move.

"You did...good."

"Gracias."

"Are you, uh, busy tonight?"

"Not exactly..."

"Care to join me at the Four Winds bar?"

"Sounds inviting."

"See ya there at six then, eh," brushing near Kirk as he made for the exit, Lars prided an accomplished grin. He had Kirk right where he wanted him.