Breakdown Ch. 01-04

Note from the Author:

Hey all. This is my first time ever writing anything. please be patient with this story, Sex is a driving force but its not the main focus, it will come, just not yet, ill post part 2 asap. cheers for reading you sexy fools xx

CHAPTER ONE: The Sound Before the Storm

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.

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 from the PA feeding his anticipation.

But he was alone.

And that sat in his stomach heavier than it had when he left the house.

His mates didn't like this scene. Too loud. Too angry. Too "weird." But for James, it wasn't weird--it was home. Even if nobody knew him yet.

Then the lights dimmed. People started pushing forward. And that's when he saw her.

She moved through the crowd like a lit fuse. Tall. Pale. Curves hugged by dark leather and black lace. Heavy boots stomped in time with the beat, and her hair--black as the venue walls--swung like a whip. Her eyes scanned the crowd like she was hunting.

And for one sharp, still moment... they locked with his.

He swallowed.

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.

Tonight's outfit was simple, for her. Corset top. Fishnets. Thigh straps. Dark lipstick she'd reapplied three times. Not for anyone else--for herself. There was a power in dressing like you didn't care what the world thought. Like you wanted it to stare, just so you could stare back harder.

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.

CHAPTER THREE: Whiplash and Wordplay

Part I -- James

He was starting to sweat--but not from the crowd. Not from the heat.

From her.

The way she moved across the floor, always a little out of reach. The smirk she kept flashing him between songs like she knew every secret in his skull. Like she was waiting for him to crack.

But James didn't crack.

He snapped into it.

The third band dropped like a bomb. The kind of opening riff that made your spine buzz and your brain short-circuit. And this time, when the pit surged--he didn't move away.

He surged forward.

And she was there. Just across the blur of limbs and sweat and screams. Her eyes on him like she'd been waiting.

The moment hit like a freight train: breakdown, strobe lights, bodies flying--and then suddenly, they were next to each other. Still no touch. No brush of skin. Just motion. He looked at her. She looked at him.

And they headbanged in unison.

It wasn't choreographed. It wasn't even conscious. It was primal. Shared rhythm. Shared rage. Shared joy. James gritted his teeth and threw himself into the beat, letting the music rip the tension out of his chest. She was beside him, all wild hair and snarling grin.

Then the song ended. And she leaned in.

Close enough to hear, but not to touch.

"You've got good form," she shouted over the ringing feedback.

James turned to her, breathless. Grinning.

"You've got a good smirk."

She laughed--loud and wicked.

"Name?"

"James."

"Morrigan."

And just like that, they were no longer strangers.

Just two wolves circling.

Part II -- Morrigan

She loved the way he stopped hesitating.

She'd seen it before--guys standing on the edge of the pit like they were waiting for permission. But not him. Not now. Something in James had snapped loose, and she liked what came out.

He hit the rhythm like it owed him money. Threw himself into the noise like he'd finally decided to feel something.

And Morrigan?

She fed off it.

She drifted beside him, close enough to smell the sweat in his hair and the clean cut of his breath between growls. She kept her hands to herself, but her eyes did enough.

When their heads slammed in sync to the drop, her stomach flipped.

Not butterflies.

Something darker.

They were in sync without trying. And that made it dangerous.

When the song ended, she leaned in--not too close, just enough to be heard.

"You've got good form," she teased, her voice rough with adrenaline.

He shot back with a grin that surprised her. "You've got a good smirk."

Clever.

She laughed, loud enough that people around them turned.

"Name?" she asked, just to be sure.

"James."

"Morrigan."

His smile faltered just slightly when he heard it.

Good.

Let him wonder.

They turned back to the stage as the next band prepped, and Morrigan didn't say another word. She didn't need to.

She'd started the conversation

But she'd let him decide how far it would go.

CHAPTER FOUR: Smoke Signals

Part I -- James

The bass was still thrumming through his bones when James pushed open the backdoor and stepped into the alley.

It was colder than he expected. Damp. The kind of chill that clung to sweat and made your skin feel raw. His breath curled visibly in front of him, but the air felt good. Real.

He let the door shut behind him with a dull thud, muffling the crowd and the music inside. Out here, the noise bled into the bricks--present, but distant. Like the show was happening in another life.

And then he saw her.

Morrigan.

Leaning against the wall, one boot resting behind her, cigarette burning lazily between her fingers like it was part of her. She didn't flinch. Didn't even turn her head.

She already knew he was there.

James froze for a second.

Not because he was scared--but because every inch of him suddenly felt like it had a heartbeat. She was bathed in the amber halo of a rusted security light, shadows sculpting the sharp lines of her face and making her look like something pulled from a dream. Or a nightmare. He couldn't decide which.

Her eyes flicked toward him. One glance. Slow. Heavy.

Then back to the end of her cigarette.

He took a step forward. Then another.

She didn't move.

"Hey," he said, keeping his voice steady.

She raised the cigarette to her lips. Took a drag. Let it burn a little longer than necessary.

"Couldn't breathe in there," he added, gesturing vaguely at the door.

She exhaled smoke without looking at him. "It's a gig. You're supposed to choke on the sound."

James huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah. Guess I just needed a minute."

A pause.

Morrigan finally looked over at him again--properly this time.

One eyebrow arched. "You always need a minute, or is it just when someone's watching you?"

James felt the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Depends who's watching."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. Not in suspicion. In amusement.

She dropped her cigarette butt and crushed it under the sole of her boot, slow and deliberate. Then, without a word, pulled out another and lit it.

The lighter flared briefly. She didn't offer him one.

He didn't ask.

They stood there in silence for a moment. The kind that felt like it had shape. Like it meant something. Not awkward. Just waiting.

James shifted his stance, not to get closer--just to match hers.

"I'm James," he said after a beat.

"I know," she replied, smoke curling from her lips.

He blinked. "You remembered."

"You don't forget someone who doesn't flinch when you stare."

That hit harder than he expected.

He gave a soft exhale, nodding slowly. "Right."

Her gaze lingered a second longer, then flicked back toward the alley's far wall.

"You always come outside to find someone?" she asked.

"No," he said. "Just you."

She didn't smile. But something in her shoulders loosened, just barely.

She took another drag.

Then said nothing.

Part II -- Morrigan

The alley was her favorite part of this place.

Not the inside--too crowded, too sweaty, too full of people trying too hard. Out here, the air bit harder. It didn't care who you were. The light was worse, the ground was cracked, and the cold crept through her clothes like it wanted to remind her she was alive.

She liked that.

The second the door opened, she knew it was him.

Not from footsteps--those were masked by bass. It was the way the air shifted. Like he carried static in with him. Heavy, uncertain. Searching.

She didn't look at him right away.

She let him see her first.

Let him feel the way her silhouette took up space beneath the rusted light. One boot braced against the wall, the cherry of her cigarette glowing between two fingers. She exhaled slowly, watching the smoke rise and dissipate.

He stepped closer.

She could hear the soft scuff of his boots, the hesitation behind the motion. Cute.

"Hey," he said.

She took a drag.

"Couldn't breathe in there," he added.

She let the smoke pour from her lips. "It's a gig. You're supposed to choke on the sound."

He gave a short laugh. Nervous, but not weak.

She liked that about him. The way he was composed, but not completely sure of himself. Like he was learning the rules in real time and refusing to look away while doing it.

"I just needed a minute," he said.

She finally looked at him--really looked.

The security light above the door turned him gold and shadow, his bulk soft-edged in the mist. His eyes flicked to hers with the kind of tension she could taste.

"You always need a minute," she asked, "or just when someone's watching?"

His lips twitched. It wasn't fear. It was play.

Good.

She dropped her cigarette, crushed it, and lit another one without comment. She didn't offer him one. If he wanted something, he could ask. If he needed something, even better.

They stood in the kind of silence that made most people squirm.

He didn't.

He shifted only slightly, lining his body with hers--not to crowd, but to match her stance. It was deliberate. It was respectful.

It was promising.

"I'm James," he said.

"I know."

He blinked.

"You don't forget someone who doesn't flinch when you stare."

That one landed. She could see it in the way his shoulders lifted, not defensively, but like he was exhaling something he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"Right," he said.

She studied his profile while he looked away--soft jaw, strong shoulders, brows drawn in thought. There was a strange contrast about him. His body suggested he could break someone in half. But his energy told her he didn't want to hurt a thing unless given a reason.

"You always come outside to find someone?" she asked, watching the way his eyes slid back to hers.

"No," he said. "Just you."

There was a pause.

A small silence. Sharper than the one before.

Morrigan took another drag, not smiling, not reacting--at least not outwardly. But her pulse did skip, just once. Not from surprise. From satisfaction.

He was getting bolder.

Good.

She let the moment settle between them, let the tension coil just a little tighter. Then she said nothing.

Because silence--when used right--was louder than words.