Part 1 - James
It was too damn hot for a jacket, but James wore one anyway--black denim, battle vest over the top, patches he'd sewn on himself. Not because it made him look tough--he already looked tough, all six-foot-something and built like a fridge--but because it made him feel like he belonged. Like armor.
Even though he didn't.
His boots thudded on the concrete as he walked toward the venue--some graffitied warehouse out in the industrial district. It was his first proper metal gig, and despite the heat and the weight of the night pressing on his shoulders, he couldn't wipe the half-smile off his face.
He had the look of someone who didn't quite fit the scene--at least not at first glance. Clean-shaven. Hair brown, short on the sides and slicked back up top with care. No piercings. No ink. No jewelry. Just the tension in his jaw and the way his blue eyes scanned every detail as if he didn't trust any of it not to shift beneath him.
Inside, the place reeked of beer and sweat and spilled adrenaline. The kind of place where the floor stuck to your soles and the air buzzed like a live wire. He loved it already.
He tried to look casual as he took his spot near the pit--not in it, not yet--but close enough to feel the music rattle through his ribs. His hands were jammed in his pockets. He kept nodding to the warm-up playlist, the occasional growl or kick drum drawing a smirk.
That's when he saw her.
Noticed her, really. Like a match striking black stone.
She stood across the floor, barely lit by the red stage lights, surrounded by bodies but somehow untouched. Her posture alone demanded space--head high, shoulders back, one booted foot slightly forward like she was already waiting for someone to challenge her.
She was tall--even without the thick platform boots--and thick in all the right ways. Curves that didn't care who stared. Hips built to crush, thighs framed by fishnet shadows and the glint of metal jewelry catching flashes of red and white light.
He couldn't see the whole outfit from this angle--just hints. Lace. Black leather. A sheer panel of mesh that dipped across her midsection. The jacket she wore was cropped and sharp, like it belonged in a fight.
Her lips were dark, almost black. Her eyes, lined in kohl and shadow, scanned the room like a queen measuring her kingdom.
She looked like danger.
She looked like everything he wasn't supposed to want.
And when her gaze swept his way--just for a moment--he forgot the pit. Forgot the music. Forgot to breathe.
She held his stare, cocked an eyebrow, and gave him a smirk like a secret.
James didn't know her name. Didn't know her story. But in that instant, he knew one thing:
He wanted to be in her orbit.
Part II -- Morrigan
Morrigan didn't care how hot it was--her boots weren't coming off. Platform lace-ups, black leather, steel capped. They made her taller. Louder. They made people move when she walked through a crowd. She liked that.
She was dressed for war. Black mesh under a cropped jacket. Short skirt. Fishnets clinging to her thighs. Her favorite platform boots put her at eye level with most men in the room. Her lip, nose, and ears were all pierced--silver glinting under the red stage lights. Her makeup was bold, deliberate. Smoky blacks and deep reds made her amber eyes burn like embers in a dying fire. Her hair was jet black, tied back in a high ponytail, strands messy on purpose. A long fringe fell over the right side of her forehead, hiding just enough to keep people guessing.
She lit a smoke outside the venue and took her time. She liked arriving late--when the music was already crawling under people's skin, when the air inside was thick and dirty and alive.
The second she stepped through the doors, it hit her: the bass, the stink, the press of bodies.
Home.
She stalked the edges of the crowd like a wolf, searching--though she didn't know for what. Not a hookup. Not really. That wasn't the kind of craving she had tonight. She wanted something else. Someone raw. Someone she could bite into and maybe not spit out.
That's when she saw him.
Big. Broad. Clean lines. No piercings, no ink, no obvious scene gear--except the battle vest. Rookie vibes. But there was something coiled under his skin. Not fear. Not ego. Just tension.
And god, did she love tension.
She watched him watch her. Then pretend he wasn't. Then look again.
Amateur.
Adorable.
But that body? Delicious.
He looked like the kind of guy who didn't know how hot he was. Who hadn't been properly touched yet. Who wouldn't know what to do with her--until she showed him.
She smirked.
Challenge accepted.
CHAPTER TWO: Feed the Fire
Part I -- James
James barely heard the first band start. Not because they weren't good--they were tight, fast, brutal--but because all his focus was stolen by her. Every scream from the stage seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.
He'd lost sight of her in the crowd, and it was driving him insane.
He didn't even know why it mattered. He didn't know her. Hadn't spoken a word. But something about the way she'd looked at him--like she could read his hunger--had him completely rattled.
And... curious.
He pushed a little deeper into the crowd, inching closer to the pit. Not to jump in--he wasn't that dumb--but just to move. Let the music shake the doubt off his bones.
The second band hit harder. The breakdowns were violent. People surged, elbows flew, and James caught a shoulder to the ribs. He didn't flinch. He liked it.
A body slammed into him. He turned--
It wasn't her.
His jaw clenched tighter than his fists.
Then--there.
She was across the pit, backlit by strobes, hair whipping as she threw her head in sync with the blast beats. Her eyes found his again. He didn't even know how. There were so many people. But she saw him. And he saw her.
And this time--he didn't look away.
James raised his chin just slightly, breath heavy, daring her to hold that stare.
She grinned. Not sweet. Not nice. Predatory.
He smirked back.
The game had started.
Part II -- Morrigan
She'd watched him lose her in the crowd. Adorable.
She hadn't moved far--just enough to keep him on edge. She wanted him to search. To feel that sharp little ache of confusion, wondering if he'd imagined the connection. Let it fester. Let it grow.
It worked.
She saw the tension in his shoulders as he prowled forward. The flickers of frustration in his eyes when he thought he'd lost her. He was starving for her now. She could feel it in the air between them.
She dipped into the pit, let herself get tossed around just a little, just enough to feel the violence of the music in her skin. That's what the scene was for--to feel everything too hard, too loud, too much.
And when the lights flashed again--there he was. Eyes locked. Lips parted.
This time, he didn't hide it.
Good boy.
Morrigan tilted her head, watching him like prey she'd already decided to keep. His bulk made him look dangerous, but she could see the inexperience under the surface. He didn't know how to chase her. Not yet.
But he wanted to.
She licked her lips slowly, exaggerated, then turned her back to him--grinding a bit as she swayed to the beat. A whisper of invitation. A dare.
She didn't need to touch him yet.
The look on his face told her she'd already crawled under his skin.
