Here are a few little Metfics I posted elsewhere. LOL. The only current writing I'm doing is a prequel to To Live is to Die. Everything else is a little older...

*************************************************************

CHRISTMAS

James eased the door shut behind him until he heard it click, and leaned against it, closing his eyes. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” he breathed out.

The first annual Hetfield Christmas party was off to a very crowded, very loud start, and after two hours, he was happy to escape the seemingly hundreds of people who had invaded his home. Under the guise of searching for the mistletoe that Fran sworn she’d left in the upstairs den, he’d managed to duck out of the living room, narrowly escaping the clutches of Fran’s great aunt who’d made him promise to come right back down. With the mistletoe.

He shuddered at the thought.

Parties were all well and good, but it was taking some adjustment experiencing one sober. No rum and eggnog, no rum and punch, no hot buttered…rum. He wiped his palms on his black jeans – black jeans and black shirt was as dressed up as he was getting for a family Christmas party, thank you – and wondered if he should call John. That’s what sponsors were there for, right? For the panic attacks, and the sweaty palms and the sudden urge to leave one’s own Christmas party in search of a fifth of gin.

He patted his jeans pocket for his cell phone and then remembered he’d purposely turned it off and left it in his closet. Last thing he wanted was for Lars to call with band business during the party.

Yeah.

Cause that would be worse than James running away from home to get wasted. Jesus.

He stepped over the piles of toys and bent to pick up Cella’s favourite book, which had found its way under the couch, the corner of it just peeking out. It wasn’t until he was eye level with the armrest that he noticed the flash of red behind the couch. A slow smile spread over his face, and he picked up the book, taking a seat on the floor, and opened the first page.

“In the great green room, there was a telephone, and a red balloon. And a picture of-” he stopped, holding up an arm when the tousled blond child stepped out bedside him and pointed at the page.

“Cow jumping over the moon,” Cella finished, settling onto his lap, her red velvet dress already wrinkled.

He nuzzled her hair, breathing in the scent of Johnson’s Baby Shampoo, and rested his chin on her head. “And there were three little bears, sitting on…what are they sitting on?”

“Chairs,” she whispered.

“Good answer.”

They finished the story together, and read it once more when James had closed the book and Cella grabbed it with chubby fingers, holding it up and looking at him upside down. “Again,” she grinned.

When he’d reached the final page, again, she let him close the book and put it down. “How come you’re not downstairs, tiny?”

She swivelled sideways and looked up at him, eyes huge. “Noy-zee”, she drew out the word phonetically, and he laughed. He’d taught her ‘noisy’ as code for ‘put your headphones on, dada’s going to make lots of loud sounds with his guitar’ when he’d taken her to the studio.

“It is noisy, isn't it,” he nodded. “I guess we can stay up here a little longer. Wanna look at the pictures?”

She grinned and scrambled off his lap. He reached to straighten her little white tights that were twisted around her ankle and wondered where her black patent shoes had gone. Probably find them around Easter, out in the dog house or something. Picking her up, they did a slow circle around the room, pointing out all the people in the framed photos hung on the walls.

“And who’s that?”

“Wars,” she mumbled with her thumb in her mouth.

“And that guy?”

“Cwiff.”

“Right. And who’s that funny lookin’ guy?”

She smiled, burying her face in his neck. “Daaaddy.”

“Is that me? Wow. I look different, huh?”

She giggled. Holding out a hand, she touched the face in the picture, and then his own. “Daddy,” she said slowly, and then back to the picture, “an’ Daddy.” And then cracked up like it was the funniest thing ever. He knew he shouldn’t be so pleased, it took very little to make a two year old go into hysterics. The day before, she’d been playing with her waterproof alphabet letters in the bath, and when he’d put two letter Ps beside each other, she laughed so hard that she’d slipped and ducked her head under. She was still giggling and sputtering “PeePee” when he’d lifted her out of the bubbles.

“We should probably go back to the party, kid.”

She sighed. “Okeee.”

“And if anybody asks, we couldn’t find the mistletoe. No mistletoe, got that?”

She looked at him, all seriousness. “No miffletoes.” Looking down, she wiggled her little toes. “No toes,” she said, sadly.

“Aww. No, it’s mistletoe, not miss your toes,” he chuckled, and then understood. Fran wouldn’t care. They’d agreed not to sweat the small stuff, and he was pretty sure a bare-legged two year old was very, very small stuff. Rolling her tights down, he chucked them in a ball in the corner. “Better?”

“Toes!” She kicked her legs gleefully, wriggling against him. “Toes, toes, toes.”

He tucked Goodnight Moon in his back pocket, just in case. Maybe Fran’s great aunt could read it to Cella. “Ready for the noise?”

She nodded.

“Okay. Me too.” He opened the door.



**************************************************************

THANKSGIVING

“And soccer, and tennis and jazz music…”

Kirk leaned over and nudged James. “How much longer do you think it’s gonna be?”

“And Jonny Z…”

“Two, three hours,” James sighed, putting down his knife and fork.

“And Radio City and Brian Slagel…”

“My food’s getting cold,” Kirk whined softly.

“And Marsha, I forgot Marsha…”

“And my beer’s getting warm, so get over it, ” James replied to Kirk, equally frustrated.

“And Megaforce…”

Kirk poked at his plate. “Do you want my peas? I took peas and I don’t really like…peas.”

“And the Recycler, and moving to San Francisco…”

“I might just, um, go in the other room and take a little nap. Can you come get me when he’s done?” James covered his mouth and yawned.

“And my parents, and these guys…”

“Well, at least we’re in there,” Kirk scoffed.

“And drumming! I forgot drumming! Drums, and cymbals, and sticks, and…”

Kirk looked like he might cry.

Cliff’s aunt leaned across the table to James and whispered, “Is he drunk?”

To her left, Cliff’s uncle also leaned over and asked, “Or is he maybe, you know,” he held up his thumb and forefinger and mimed inhaling.

“IS he drunk?” Cliff’s dad glanced at James.

“He’s Danish,” Cliff said loudly, and Lars looked over and grinned. “And it’s his first Thanksgiving. So fucking let him finish.”

“And I’m thankful for cheeseburgers, and regular hamburgers, and…”


****************************************************************

SUNRISE

“Where’re you going?”

He turned back to the sleepy brunette and smiled. “Just downstairs. Go back to sleep.”

“’kay,” she watched him pull on his jeans and gave a little wave when he opened the door.

Closing it behind him, he managed to not step on the body sprawled in the hallway, and tiptoed around the bottles strewn across the tattered rug. Cursing when the steps creaked on his way down, he put his weight on the railing and jumped the last few stairs, landing with a soft thud on the kitchen floor.

The place was a mess. He shoved his hands in his back pockets and grinned. They’d had a hell of a party. Every bottle in the house was empty, and half of them were broken. Pizza boxes lay scattered on the kitchen counter…and floor, he noted. The few glasses and plastic cups they owned were piled up in the sink. Someone’s optimistic, he thought, knowing they’d run out of dish detergent a week ago.

“Morning,” a quiet voice said to his left.

He turned around. “Hey. Great party, huh?”

James nodded, shooting him a shy smile. “Yeah. Pretty cool.”

“You took off kinda early with that chick. She was cute.”

Again with the shy smile. “She was. And she had a car.”

“Score!”

A mass of black curls appeared in the doorway. “Hey, guys,” it whispered.

James laughed. “You under there, Kirk?”

The curls nodded and slumped into a chair at the table. “Wha’s everybody doing up so early?”

Cliff shrugged. “Can’t sleep. Too wired.”

“Too hungry,” James added, lifting up the lid of a pizza box and tossing it to the floor.

“Didn’t we just get food yesterday?”

Cliff moved to the fridge and swung the door open, peering inside. “Ketchup. One egg. Some bread that’s ready to walk out of here on it’s own.”

Kirk leaned back in his chair, digging in his pockets. He tossed a dollar bill and thirty seven cents on the table. “S’all I got.”

James shoved a hand in his right pocket, frowned, and dug around in his left pocket.

“You lookin’ for money, Jamie, or you want some private time,” Cliff teased, grinning when James blushed. “Kidding,” he said softly, knowing the lanky blond embarrassed easily.

“I had ten bucks in my pocket last night.”

Cliff and Kirk shared a glance and then both stared at the floor.

“What?”

“Did you leave your pants anywhere…for a little while?” Kirk said slowly, trying not to smile.

James looked furious. “The fuck? She stole my money?”

Unable to hold it in anymore, Cliff collapsed at the table with Kirk, both of them holding their sides and laughing while James glared at them.

“I’m sorry, man, it’s not funny. I swear. It’s not. It’s just…” Cliff lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “It happens to Lars all the time. He’ll be so happy to hear he’s not the only one,” he grinned, and Kirk choked back another laugh.

James sighed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Anybody else NOT get robbed last night? I’m fuckin’ starving.”

Cliff scooped the money off the table and motioned for them to follow him out to the back porch. Holding the torn screen door open, cigarette dangling from his mouth, he nodded down to the wooden slats, where Lars lay stretched out on a mattress, snoring lightly. “He always has change. He’ll have at least five, maybe ten bucks.”

James nudged Lars’ sleeping form with his foot. “Wake up, dick,” he whispered.

“Just reach in and get it. Front pocket,” Cliff pointed.

James looked up in horror. “YOU reach in and get it.”

“Nobody is fuckin’ reaching anywhere, motherfuckers,” Lars mumbled into the mattress. “I don’t have any money. Some chick stole it,” he cursed, rolling over. “Every fuckin’ time.” He sat up and leaned against the house, absently picking at the cracking paint on the deck.

James slid down beside him and leaned his head back, moving over when Cliff tapped his shoulder. Kirk squeezed on the end of the mattress and they sat there in silence, watching light bloom on the horizon.

“Is that the fucking sunrise?” Lars squinted.

“Prolly,” Cliff muttered. “S’only like, quarter to six.”

“Fuck. Is Denny’s open this early?”

James nodded. “I think they open at five or some shit like that.”

“Maybe it’s free before 6 a.m.,” Kirk suggested, and Cliff laughed.

“Fuck that, I got money.” Hoisting himself off the mattress, Lars stepped over his bandmates and held open the screen door. “C’mon, fucks.”

James looked up at him, confused. “You said some chick stole your money.”

Lars shrugged. “I always say that. If I didn’t, you’d be wanting cash all the time, and we’d never have anything left for groceries. Who the fuck you think bought spaghetti last night? And milk? And all the pizza?”

Kirk and Cliff hustled past Lars into the house, digging around for their shoes.

“So…nobody stole your money?”

Lars shook his head, frowning.

“…Ever?”

He shook his head again. “C’mon, dick. I’m hungry.”

James followed him inside. “But I thought-”

“Nope.” He let the door close and pushed James backwards slightly. Handing him a ten dollar bill, he put a hand on James’ shoulder. “I took this out of your pants while you were, um, busy. If I hadn’t taken it, she woulda. Be smarter, okay? I’m not made of money.”

James grinned. “Yes, mom.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Lars shook his head. “Fucking sunrise. Unbelievable. We throw the best party anybody’s had all month and you girls decide to get up for breakfast. At dawn,” he added, yelling into the living room.

Cliff stuck his head around the door frame. “Dude, keep it down. Some people are trying to sleep.”

James held Lars’ hand back when Cliff shot him a grin, and patted his head. “Breakfast first. Fist fights later.”

“Yes, mom,” Lars lightly slapped his butt and followed the rest of the guys out the door.

Hey I'm glad you posted these. Your fics own!!! I must be scoring big time today. I come home from rehearsal and I've got the dishwasher unloaded, mint ice cream, and more fics to read! :)


I must be like a 2 year old because that PeePee thing in the bathtub with the waterproof alaphabet letters made me smile and laugh. I guess that I'm a kid at heart.


I loved Lars's Danish Thanksgiving "What I'm thankful for" list. He could have been drunk though. I got drunk this last Thanksgiving. I drank a whole bottle of White Zin by myself.

This paragraph was classic

The place was a mess. He shoved his hands in his back pockets and grinned. They’d had a hell of a party. Every bottle in the house was empty, and half of them were broken. Pizza boxes lay scattered on the kitchen counter…and floor, he noted. The few glasses and plastic cups they owned were piled up in the sink. Someone’s optimistic, he thought, knowing they’d run out of dish detergent a week ago.

I'm really sorry to have to say this, but my house looks just like that. Seriously. I'm not kidding. It's trashed. That's probably why I enjoyed these little ficlets so much. My house is a disaster, an abominiation.

I also enjoyed the part where Lars stepped over his bandmates. Little things like that make me smile. I also liked it when James called him "mom." I thought that Lars was pretty smooth. :)

Those were really good. The Christmas one was sweet, and Lars saying what he was thankful for was so funny :lol: Your stuff is really good, you do both good comedy and drama. Keep up the good work :heart:

A little one-shot to add to my drabble thread...

Storm

James shifted his weight, leaning on the shovel, squinting as he surveyed the road. He must be crazy. Largest snowfall San Fran had had in ages - ever, probably - and here he was, shovelling his driveway. And talking to himself. Surely that was a sign of a crazy person. Wasn't it? He couldn't help it though. It was so damn quiet with Fran and the kids gone to visit her parents, and the snow made everything silent. He hadn't seen a living creature in three days, and wondered if the next step was to name a piece of sporting equipment and start having conversations with it. "You're not crazy," he assured himself. "You're bored. And maybe a little lonely. And quite possibly mildly retared, since you've been shovelling for three hours and the snow is still falling."

Tossing the shovel on the rather high bank that had accumulated since the storm began, he sighed heavily and sat down in the snow. Straightening his legs, he leaned back and stretched his arms out above his head, waving them back and forth slowly.

"Well, now, THAT's fuckin' priceless. The Mighty Het making snow angels," an unmistakable voice laughed off to his left.

James sat up quickly - too quickly - and roared with pain as his back seized up. "Christ, Lars, give a guy some warning, would ya?" Turning over into a crouched position, he put a hand to his lower back and attempted to straighten up.

Big mistake.

Lars jumped slightly at the loud noise of James screaming but recovered quickly and moved to help him into the house. "Y'okay, sunshine? Did you forget that you're not twenty anymore and that it's not a good idea to move..." he surveyed the two-thirds cleared driveway and the huge pile where James had been tossing it. "Uh, all the snow in California? Jesus."

"I'm fine. I just need to lie down for a bit." He hobbled over to the steps and Lars watched, amused, as James attempted to go up the eight stairs sideways. He lifted his left foot a tiny bit, and then his right, and turned ever-so-slowly to face Lars. A variety of emotions flitted over his face before he finally clenched his teeth. "Help. Please."

"You sure? Cause it looks like you've got it totally under control," Lars grinned.

James waited a beat and narrowed his eyes. "If it didn't hurt so much to move, I'd throw you in that snowbank."

Putting an arm around the bigger man's waist, Lars attempted to move James up the steps, and stopped immediately when James let out a low, throaty noise that was a little too close to a growl for comfort. "No?" he asked quietly.

"No," James muttered.

"Okay, what about...here," he moved to the other side of James and tried lifting his right leg for him. Glancing over to catch the look on James' face, he promptly let go. "Or not. Want me to try to carry you?"

Laughing in spite of his pain, James shook his head. "Then we'd both be fucked. Fran would come home two days from now to find us both frozen in the snow."

"Like popsicles," Lars smiled.

"Hairy, ugly popsicles," James continued. "When are you gonna shave that mess off your face, anyway?" He reached out a hand to tug on the beard Lars had insisted on growing during the past month of recording, and dropped it as a fresh wave of pain swept through his back. Breathing as deeply as his back allowed, he counted to five and exhaled, his breath visible in the cold. "Maybe I should just make a run for it, and collapse inside," he grumbled.

Lars stared at him for a moment and turned on his heel, pushing open the side door to the garage, hip-checking it a little when it seemed to stick. He emerged seconds later, trailing Cali's toboggan behind him, and grinning from ear to ear.

"No," said James flatly.

"Come ON! Just get on and I'll pull you up the steps. There's plenty of snow, it'll be a smooth ride."

"Yeah, til you lose control of the thing and I get a smooth ride back DOWN the steps and across the driveway and down the street and past the neighbours' house three miles away and down the hill..."

Lars glanced at the toboggan and smirked. "Did you and Jesse put a motor on it or something? Cause I feel like it wouldn't go that far by itself. C'mon, get on."

"No! I'll just fall off anyway when you start to pull it up the steps."

"Do you trust me?"

Did he trust Lars? Sure. Did he trust Lars when he had that sneaky, thoughtful, plotting look on his face? "Not really."

"James. Seriously. I'm gettin' cold. Just let me strap you to the toboggan and pull you inside."

Strap him? To the toboggan? He shook his head and something twinged in his neck. "GodDAMMIT," he cursed quietly. "Fine."

Twenty minutes later, he was regretting his decision and thinking that, maybe, being a hairy ugly popsicle was a better fate than this.

"How much do you WEIGH?" Lars groaned as he tried for the third time to pull the toboggan up the steps.

"I thought you'd been workin' out, pipsqueak," James said under his breath, biting his lip to keep from yelling when Lars let the rope out and the sled banged against the bottom step. "My nose is itchy, can't you hurry it up a little?"

Lars tied the rope to the porch and stepped down so he was beside James, whipping off his mitten. "Where does it itch?"

"Untie me," James pleaded.

"Fuck no, it took me forever to get the bungee cords tied properly. Where does it itch?"

Arms trapped at his side, James wriggled slightly. "Nevermind. Just hurry up."

Sighing, Lars resumed his task and with a final heave, managed to get enough momentum to pull James up to the deck. The effort left him winded, and he sat down beside the toboggan, glancing down at James. "You look like Hannibal Lector, all strapped down," he grinned. "I should have made you put on a hockey mask, too."

James said nothing, just stared at Lars with a look of blatant contempt.

"Hey! Without me, you'd still be laying in the snow, popsicle man."

"I would make an awesome mansicle," James said firmly. "Now untie me."

"You gonna make me some hot cocoa?" Lars fumbled with the bungee cords, blowing on his fingers to warm them up.

"Sure."

"With marshmallows?"

"I don't have...sure. Fine. Whatever."

"And we can sit by the fire?"

"Did you come over here for a romantic evening?" James snarked.

Lars shot him a glare. "I'd be a little nicer to the guy who just spent the last hour hauling your insanely heavy body up the steps of your house."

"Sorry."

"S'fine. Long as we can snuggle and listen to Bon Jovi," he laughed, ducking when James moved to swat him. "What're you doing?"

"Pocketing some of this snow to shove down your neck later when I can move again. Would you freaking untie my legs already?"

"Yup. Just let me snap a pic for the upcoming So What issue."

"Lars!"

"Kidding! Jesus." Helping James into a somewhat standing position, Lars reached for the door and twisted the knob. "Uh...Het? Got a key?"

I love the Christmas one. It made me smile so hard. :D

Another babble. In which the boys get a little bored on the road…

* * * * * * * * * *

Suppressing a grin as James cursed at his phone for the third time that morning, Lars kept staring down at his own Blackberry.

“I just don’t understand how the fuck it suddenly decided that THIS was gonna be my ringtone,” James muttered, switching the phone off when Britney Spears’ voice singing ‘Gimme More’ started up again. “Or why I can’t fucking change it back.”

Feigning a look of confusion, Lars glanced over. “Yeah, that’s weird.” And worth well more than the two bucks it was costing Lars every time someone called James. He made a mental note to thank Myles later, and thanked God for having a kid who knew more about technology than he did.

“And did you pack all your bags yourself, sir?”

Lars glanced up, his thumbs still moving frantically as he sent a return text. “Huh?”

“Your bags, sir. You packed them yourself?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said dismissively. He fucking hated flying commercial. The flying time might be the same but the check-in and bullshit beforehand took forever.

“Your boarding pass, sir,” the agent held out the pass, and Lars took it, wondering why the fuck he hadn’t done the online check-in like Steve had suggested. He should really try listening to his assistant more.

Hustling over to the escalator, he crested the top to see Hetfield already in line at security. Wondering how the fuck he’d managed to get there first, Lars stood behind a large, smelly woman, who kept turning around and looking at him. No way she was a fan, he thought to himself. Too old.

“Excuse me,” she finally said. “Are you Ross Halfin?”

His jaw dropped. “No I fucking am NOT,” he said, his voice louder than he’d intended. Two airport security guards looked his way.

“Well, there’s no need to be rude,” she said, her face colouring. “Goodness.”

He looked over at James, wondering if he’d caught the exchange, and assumed he had, since James was doubled over laughing. “Focker,” he muttered, prompting the woman to turn around again and glare.

He placed his carry-on bag on the security belt, and then took another three minutes dropping his bracelets, watch, belt, and pocket change into a small plastic bucket, putting it behind his bag. Feeling naked without all his accessories, he stepped through the security gate, rolling his eyes and cursing under his breath when the metal detector beeped.

He stepped over to where a heavyset woman with a scowl on her face was holding out a thick plastic wand. Gesturing for him to hold out his arms, she kicked her foot between his, making him spread his legs until he was posed in a wide stance.

She waved the plastic stick at the top of his shoulder, and reached up to check that it was his earrings making the alarm whine softly.

The wand’s noise got louder, beeping and crackling when she passed it over his chest, and she shot him a questioning look.

“Nipple ring,” he informed her, wondering how something so little had set off the metal detector.

She nodded, saying nothing, and swiped it down his sides, near his butt, and then between both legs, looking startled when the wand beeped. Looking up at him with one eyebrow raised, she waited for him to explain.

Flustered, he shook his head. “There’s no ring down there,” he said quickly. “I have no idea what’s setting it off.”

Seemingly satisfied, she nodded towards the end of the security belt, and he exhaled a huge sigh of relief. Standing at the end of the belt, he waited for his bag. And waited, and waited.

“Hurry up, dick,” James called from the doorway.

“Sir,” an officious looking man waved him over. “Is this your bag?”

Lars hurried back down the line, butting in between a woman with two children, and an old man. He watched as his bag was held out, and the security guy pulled out four plastic bottles. Bottles with “K” and “Y” in large letters.

“Sir, we don’t allow passengers to carry more than four ounces of liquids. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave these behind.” He said it with zero expression on his face.

Lars, meanwhile, could feel his cheeks flooding with colour. “You can throw those out,” he said. “They’re not mine.” He could hear James making comments from the doorway, and wished he would just fucking go get on the plane already.

Giving him a curious look, the man leaned forward. “Are you suggesting someone else put these items in your bag, sir?”

Fuck. “No, of course not.” Because that would mean spending even more time at security. “I, um, I forgot the rule. About the four ounces. Sorry.” Fuck. Fuck!

A female security guard nudged the other guard, and nodded towards the bag.

“Sir, would you mind coming around the table, please? This will just take a moment.”

Wondering what the fuck else they could possibly want, Lars looked over at James, who was covering his mouth but STILL shaking with laughter. “Fuck you,” Lars mouthed at him.

The security guard held open the sides of Lars’ bag. “Now, sir, these items are acceptable to take on the plane but we will need you to turn them on and off to demonstrate that they are not weapons, or have any further uses. And I’ll remind you that we ask that you keep all electronic devices off until the captain has switched off the seatbelt sign,” he added.

Lars watched in confusion as the man pulled out what looked like a child’s toy. It had the Hello Kitty plastic doll at the top, and was long and pink and- Fuck! Lars snatched the vibrator out of the guard’s hand and tossed it to one side. “That’s not mine.”

Saying nothing, the man reached in with a gloved hand and retrieved a large purple dildo that had a black strap at the base of it. Lars looked on in horror as the man flicked a switch at the base, and the thing started buzzing. “That’s not mine,” he whispered.

Placing it to one side with the Hello Kitty toy, the man reached in again, removing an enormous black double-ended rubber dildo. “Is this also not yours, sir?” he asked quietly.

Lars whimpered, shaking his head in response.

“And I’m guessing this,” the man pulled out a final item, still in its packaging, “isn’t yours either.” It was a big brown vibrator, with the name “Cybercock, Vibrating Biggie” emblazoned on the packaging, right above the claim that it felt like a real penis.

“You can keep the bag,” Lars said, dying to get the hell out of there. “None of that is mine. I swear. One of the other guys must have put that shit in there. Seriously.”

“One of the other guys, sir?” the man asked, looking suspicious. “So you weren’t responsible for packing your luggage today?”

Lars dropped his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. Lie, and hopefully get on the fucking plane, or be honest, maybe regain some dignity, and probably have to go through a helluva lot more shit with security. “No,” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’s all my stuff. Nevermind. You guys keep it. I just wanna catch my flight. Please?”

“There’s no need for us to keep it, sir, we just needed to go through the routine security measures with it. You’re welcome to repack your bag.”

Lars ignored everything that was out on the table and zipped up his bag, hoisting it over his shoulder. “I’m not taking any of that,” he said.

“Have a safe trip, sir,” the security guard replied.

James was waiting when Lars finally got to the gate. “Y’okay buddy? Looks like you had to leave behind some of your toys,” he grinned.

Lars did a double take and then walloped James with his bag. “You motherfucker! You did that?”

Holding his arms to his face to block the blows, James was laughing too hard to respond.

Kirk wandered by, holding hands with Lani, and sent Lars a wry look. “That’ll teach you to fuck with his ringtone,” he said. “I can’t believe you left all that shit behind. We spent hours picking out things we thought you’d like,” he added, moving back quickly when Lars moved towards him. “See you on the flight.”

“I hope you got everything,” Lani said over his shoulder, winking at him. “Be awfully embarrassing for you if something interfered with the flight during take off and they had to go through your bag,” she warned him.

“What? There’s more?” Lars threw his bag down on the floor and started yanking things out, tossing them all over the place. “What is it? What am I looking for? Guys? Guys!”

James finished signing the two posters for the woman who’d approached him for an autograph earlier, and congratulated her on her performance with Lars in the security line. “Drives him nuts when we say he looks like Ross,” he confided, smiling when she giggled. “You did great.”

He sidled up to Lani and Kirk. “What else did you put in there?” he murmured quietly. “I thought they took everything out?”

Lani looked up at him, a glint in her eye. “They did. But think of how frustrated he’ll be when he looks through all his stuff and can’t find anything. It’ll drive him crazy.”

“Guys!” Lars screamed from the gate. “What IS it?”

Still chuckling, James held out his boarding pass.

“Good morning sir,” the flight attendant greeted him.

“Sure is,” he grinned.

OOHW that one was hilarious
I laughed my ass off, brilliant :lol: :lol: :lol:

Glad you liked. :D

that cheered me up, i think i drowned out the tv with my laughter

These drabbles totally own like nobody's business.

These stories are amazing!!!....
I really LOVE the last one!!!!.....