Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/304725.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Metallica, Pop_Music_RPF, Britney_Spears_(Musician)
  Relationship:
      Britney_Spears/Lars_Ulrich
  Character:
      Lars_Ulrich, Britney_Spears
  Stats:
      Published: 2001-02-03 Words: 4613
****** Drive Me Crazy ******
by rsadelle
Summary
     Britney loses her virginity to Lars.
Notes
     Warnings: Explicit underage sex and swearing. Be warned.
     Written with Larissa.
     We were watching the American Music Awards where LL Cool J was
     lusting after Britney, which is just wrong. We had to fix things.
     Lars lusting after Britney is nowhere near that level of wrong.
Nette: I still say Britney/Lars wrong.
* Amatia ponders. C'mon, can't you all see Lars at least hitting on Brit?
rsadelle: i can see lars/britney...
* minerva pictures Lars hitting on Brit. Then Em hitting Lars.
Nette: *sob* So can I. Sluts, the both of 'em.
Nette: Nah, Britney'd be all flattered by Lars' attention.
rsadelle: ooh. hmm...
* rsadelle ponders
Nette: Ooh, and Lars would be so turned on by her slut act and want to find out
if it's true.
rsadelle: oh yeah. he'd love watching her.
minerva: Watching her do what?
Nette: Maybe he'd make her dance for him.
rsadelle: watching her do everything--acting like a slut.
Nette: Sweet Jesus, he'd bust if she was in that Catholic schoolgirl outfit.
rsadelle: lol--they'd never get to the sex.
Nette: Ooh, lapdance.
rsadelle: hmm. i'm not sure britney would go for that. lars has a tendency to
tell everyone everything, and she has a reputation to uphold.
Nette: Then she wouldn't really do anything with Lars, if she's that worried.
rsadelle: not anything that could arouse suspicion...
Nette: Flirting, touching, letting him rub her off in his car...
rsadelle: Not returning the favor because he can come all on his own and she's
a nice girl, really, she is.
So nice that Lars can't keep his hands off her, skimming his hands over her
breasts, down past her waist until he's touching her through her dress. Pretty
baby pink dress that makes her look even younger than she is, and it's so
wrong, so dirty, but he can't stop.
She likes this. Turning men on. It's so easy, and this one is easier than most.
Of course, everyone knows Starz--excuse me, *Lars* Ulrich is a slut who'll fuck
anyone, even, eww, *Twiggy Ramirez*, but it's still a thrill to make him want
her. And his hands feel pretty good, too.
He presses his fingers down hard, crushing the soft cloth as he grabs her,
strokes her, pushes into her. He watches her eyes darken, licks her tender,
pink mouth as she gasps for breath. She's wearing some floral perfume, light
and airy, something a teenager would wear. It strikes him again how wrong this
is, how he should stop and let her go now before it ends badly. Instead, he
strokes her, the cloth the only barrier between them.
She arches into his touch, wanting more of it. She vaguely wishes his hands
were bigger, so he could touch more of her at once, but she settles for forcing
him to move his hands over and over her body. This, even more than LL's lust,
more than all of her teenage fumblings with Justin, turns her on.
He tugs at her dress, liking the way it stretches on her body. Sweet, lithe
body that's writhing underneath his hands, sharp fingernails digging deep into
his arms. He desperately wants to touch her bare skin, but she's forbidden it.
"Don't want anyone to know," she'd whispered when he'd first put his hand under
her dress. So he plays by her rules, touches her only through the soft, pink
dress that's wet with her slickness now. He can smell how excited she is.
She squirms against the fingers that come down to press the cloth against her
cunt. She's so torn; she wants his fingers in her, but that's a whole lot
harder to deny than his touching her through her dress. Being Britney Spears,
virgin teen queen, is all about maintaining plausible deniability.
He rubs his face against her breasts, feeling the material abrade his face, and
he growls in frustration. He pinches her as hard as he can, even though the
cloth blunts most of the effect. He wants to touch her, wants to feel that hot,
wet pussy suck at his fingers, grasp at him in a plea for more. He swallows her
low cry, kissing her roughly since her mouth is the only part of her body he
can touch unprotected. 'Let me in,' he demands silently.
Fuck, she wants him. It's not enough, this muted touch. She reaches behind
herself and unzips her dress. She takes one of his hands and pushes it under
the cloth onto her breast. She moans. That's so much better.
He squeezes her breast and pushes it up to his mouth, licking the hard, little
nipple with an eager, greedy mouth. She smells sweet and powdery, like she
dusted herself with talcum powder before she put on her perfume, and it's
making him dizzy with lust.
He pulls further at her dress, desperate to reach more skin, tasting whatever
part of her he can reach. He nips at her neck, licks down her collarbone and
rubs his face into her breasts, scraping his stubble over her pretty, tender
skin.
She grips his head, gasping as the roughness of his stubble hurts her and makes
her want more at the same time. Just imagining it on the even tenderer skin of
her inner thighs nearly makes her come.
He tugs at her nipple with his teeth, licking the hard point with a rough
tongue as he pushes her dress up. He strokes her inner thigh, moving closer to
her center, but not close enough to actually touch her. He's enjoying her and
he wants to tease her a little before he goes any further. Closer and closer
until he's just touching her, just brushing his fingers against her outside,
dying to get in but holding back.
God, he knows what he's doing. A part of her screams at her to press forward
and make him touch her, but another part of her hints that it will be better if
she waits, lets him do it his way. Then again, last time she took some action,
it got better. She presses her hips forward, making him touch her more firmly.
Lars hisses as the heat of her scalds him, burns his fingers, and slides two
fingers into her, laughing as she bucks up into his hand. "You like that," he
whispers huskily, the first words he's spoken to her since they'd gotten into
the car. He spreads her open, looking down at her for a brief moment, before he
flicks his thumb against her clit. "You'll like that even more."
She opens her mouth wide, too breathless to make any sound. Her hips twist; she
wants him to touch her there again. She sucks in air, almost as desperate for
oxygen as she is for his touch. "Please," she begs when she can almost breathe
again, "do that again."
He strokes her again and again until she's sobbing and thrusting her hips up
for more. 'More, more, more,' he can hear her beg, and he doesn't say no. He
slips his fingers out of her and licks the taste of her off of them, ignoring
her wail of frustration. He bends down, bit by bit, until he's buried in her,
his tongue licking her soft, pink flesh hungrily.
Oh, fuck. She never knew it could be this good. Why had she waited to do this?
She can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but let out small, gasping
moans as he licks her, touches her, makes her feel better and better and
better.
He spreads her thighs apart and licks her harder, rubbing his face eagerly into
her sweetness until he's surrounded by her. He tongues her clit, sucking it
gently into his mouth.
She finds enough breath to shriek, arching and twisting as she comes. She's
touched herself before, but nothing has ever been this explosive, felt this
good.
Lars licks her through her orgasm until she's shaking and squirming away in
sensitivity. He leaves her reluctantly, still tasting her in his mouth. He
crushes a part of her dress in his hand and grins at her. "So much for Miss
Teen Virgin." He kisses her lips harshly, biting her pink lips teasingly. "So
was that good?"
"Yes." The word escapes, and she kisses him back before she can think about
what she should say. Her responsible, image-conscious side reasserts itself,
and she says, "You can't tell anyone."
Lars raises an eyebrow. "And let everyone know I had sex with someone who's
underage? Do I look that stupid to you?"
"You basically told everyone you slept with Twiggy." Her nose wrinkles as she
says the name. "That was pretty stupid."
"He's not underage, Princess," he snaps, his ego stung. "You are. I don't wanna
go to jail 'cause I fucked a pop star."
"You've hardly fucked me." She crosses her arms over her chest and stares off
into the distance, away from him. "Besides, who's going to press charges? Me? I
was right here loving every minute of it."
He tugs a strand of frosty, blonde hair and kisses her temple tenderly. "I
would've fucked you, but you wouldn't let me, remember?" He hooks an arm under
her knee and pulls at her until she's almost lying flat against the seat.
"Wanna do stuff that's illegal in most states?" he grins wickedly.
She looks up at him from under her eyelashes. "I thought we already did."
He bends down and places a gentle kiss on her inner thigh, close enough that
his mouth's almost touching her pussy again. "There's a lot more that we can do
than just that," he promises.
She rubs her stomach lightly. "What if I'm too tired for anything more?"
He smiles and slides a finger in again, delighted when she gets wet almost
immediately. "Just how tired are you?"
She reaches down and slides in one of her own fingers next to his. "Maybe I'm
not that tired after all."
Lars teases her slick insides, gradually sliding two fingers into her and
twisting them roughly. He laughs as her eyes widen and bends down to lick out
her mouth. "Hot," he murmurs against her lips. "You're so fucking hot. Burning
me..." He shivers as she pushes up into his hand, pushing his fingers deeper
into her. "Fuck, you can move."
"I'm well-trained." She hooks her arms around his neck and holds him down,
kissing him. She moves against him, setting her own rhythm, finding out how she
wants it to feel.
He switches to her rhythm, crushing her mouth to his as he strokes in and out
of her smoothly, pinching her slightly just to make her moan. "I wanna fuck
you," he pants, hard for her. "Can I fuck you? Please." He mutters a plea in
Danish, a whisper of want against her mouth, soft sweet mouth that he can't
stop kissing.
She pushes at his shoulders. "Are you fucking crazy? Jesus, that's all I'd
need." She pushes away from him far enough so that she can think, can deny him.
"I'm a virgin with an image to uphold."
"They won't fucking know," he growls as his fingers slip out of her, still
pushing at her, trying to catch her mouth again. He knows that if he can just
touch her, kiss her, bury himself in her, she'll be his. Or maybe he'll be
hers. He can't remember ever being this crazy for someone, ready to kill and
fuck anyone who tries to remove him from her. "Let me fuck you." He moves
towards her again. "I'll make it good for you, I fucking swear."
"Jesus," she mutters. She pushes him back again. "Do you have a fucking condom?
I'll let you do it if you have a fucking condom. I'm not getting pregnant and
considering your history, I seriously doubt fucking you is all that safe."
"Bitch," Lars mutters under his breath, but it doesn't stop him from wanting
her. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, extracting his
ever-present condom--not that he's ever had reason to use it--and holds it up
to her. "This good enough for you?" he asks sourly.
She smiles a too sweet to be real smile. "Perfect." She pulls him back to her.
"You're going to be my first." She kisses him, licking and tasting his lips.
"Does that turn you on?"
He cups her between her legs and squeezes hard, smiling viciously when she
winces, then relaxes his hold. "Yes, it does, Britney," he admits softly. "It
really, really fucking does." His fingers rub her apologetically, starting the
rhythm again, sliding in and out steadily until she's lifting her hips again
and pushing into him.
He unzips himself with his free hand and pulls himself out, reluctantly letting
her go so he can put on the condom. He places a tender bite on the inside of
her thigh. "Ready?"
She takes a deep breath. "Yeah." He pushes into her, and, fuck, it hurts. She's
not sure she'd have let him do it if she'd known how fucking much it would
hurt. She squeezes her eyes shut and holds herself very still for a moment,
breathing deeply. She'll adjust. It'll get better. It has to. Why else would
people do this?
He feels her stiffen as he pushes in, hears the little grunt of pain she makes,
but he doesn't stop until he's fully seated in her. Better to get it over with
quickly than to prolong the pain. Once he's completely inside her, he holds
still, trembling with the effort of not moving, not giving in to his urges and
just taking her.
She'll throw him off if he hurts her, he knows she will; she's made it clear
she won't take shit from him. More than that, he wants her to enjoy this. "You
okay?" he finally asks.
She breathes out slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." She starts to move against him
again. She twists one leg around his hip. "Are you going to fuck me now or is
this the best you've got?"
"Gimme a minute," he grinds out, breathing heavily as he pulls out of her. He
yanks her hips up, wrapping the other leg around his waist, and slowly slides
back into her. She squeezes her legs tightly around his waist, making him groan
and tighten his fingers on her. He slams into her involuntarily, then stops,
panting harshly. "I'm not a fucking doll," she hisses. "Fuck me."
He strokes the hair back from her face. "Are you sure that's what you want? Can
you handle me, Princess?"
"God damn it, yes, I can handle you," she growls. She struggles to move against
him, but his weight presses her down. "Just do it already, you fucking
bastard."
He slides out and roughly thrusts back into her. "Like that? That what you
wanted?" He doesn't give her a chance to answer, just crushes her to him and
takes her mouth. Slip-slide in and out until he's ramming into her, losing
control with each passing second. He moves his mouth to her breasts, tonguing
the peaked nipples, passionately kissing the undersides of her breasts.
"Fuck," she says, spitting the word out in a gust of air. She scrabbles at his
shoulders, pulling him against her, pushing his head against her pale skin. He
rubs his stubbled chin against her breasts again and she moans. "Fuck, Lars,
yeah." He slams in and out of her, making her slide against the upholstery.
He presses down, holding her still against the seat, and angles himself so he
can go deeper. He groans harshly as she closes around him, automatically
flexing herself so that she grips him in her slick caress. "Fuck," he breathes
in awe. "You're a natural. Can't believe this... you feel so good..." He
whispers disjointedly against her skin, burying his face between her breasts
and breathing in her scent as he fucks her, nibbling her with his teeth every
once in a while.
"Stop fucking talking," she gasps. "Just make me come."
He slams into her harder, faster. He bites down on her nipple, twisting it
harshly. "Like the pain, Princess?" he asks when she groans and bucks up
against him.
She pulls his head up and bites his lips, making him slam down into her. "Not
as much as you do."
There's no more talk, just the sounds of heavy grunts and bodies slapping
against each other, celebrating the ecstasy of flesh. Lars isn't gentle
anymore. He pushes her legs as far apart as he can and shoves himself hard
against her, capturing the cry that escapes her, sinking his teeth into her
soft lips. As a final torture, he reaches down and touches her clit, pressing
down and rubbing it, fiercely aroused when she screams and arches up.
She never knew the human body could feel so much pleasure. She's coming and
coming and coming, and it doesn't feel like she'll ever stop. From somewhere
far away, she hears Lars' yell as he comes. Everything goes dark for a long
moment, and when she blinks her eyes back open, Lars is stroking her cheek and
saying, "Come on, Princess. Come on, baby. I know it was incredible, but you
have to come back now."
She keens softly as she shifts under him, feeling him move inside her, with
her. She slowly pulls herself up, sitting back in her seat, biting her lip as
the soreness comes. She nudges Lars gently. "Get off," she says, not unkindly.
"You're heavy and I'm hurting."
"I already got off; that was the whole fucking point," he says, but he moves
off of her, stripping off the condom with an easy twist of his wrist. He pulls
her skirt back down over her thighs, brushing his hands down her legs as he
does. He leaves his hands on her knees and leans forward, kissing her. "Was it
everything you wanted from your first time?"
She nods, a little reluctant to admit that. Lars isn't exactly her idea of
first-time material, and his abrasive personality had made her reconsider this
whole encounter more than once. Then he'd touched her and stroked her and made
her come so hard she'd almost passed out. To hell with that, she had passed
out. She can still feel his fingers touching her all over. "I'm fine," she says
huskily.
He strokes his thumb over her cheekbone and kisses her again, long and slow and
wet. "I know you're fine. You're better than fine. You've been fucked." He
strokes her knee, his fingers tracing arcs on the skin of her leg. "Was it what
you wanted your first time to be? The backseat of a car with some older man you
barely know?" He licks at the edges of her lips. "Was that what you dreamed
about when you lay awake in your little girl bed and thought about your first
time?"
She pushes his hands away, denying the words, but he slips his fingers through,
skimming her legs up to her thighs and back down again. "No," she protests.
"No, I didn't--"
"Liar," he murmurs with a wicked smile. "You wanted it like this. Did you
fantasize about white lace and roses and tender kisses?"
She shakes her head and pushes at his shoulder, but he doesn't budge. "I didn't
want it like this, you bastard," she snarls. "I wanted it to be--" She
hesitates.
"Special?" Lars prompts.
She pushes at him. "Don't fucking make fun of me."
He strokes the soft skin of her thighs again. "I'm not making fun of you." He
kisses her, licking his way past her lips. "Tell me, Princess. How'd you
imagine your first time?"
She glares at him, but he refuses to move, only continues softly stroking her
skin. "Yeah," she mutters, "special."
She's disgruntled about the whole conversation, and it's amusing him. "Who'd
you picture for your first? Your boyfriend?" He sneers as he mentions Justin.
She frowns fiercely at him, clutching his hands and trying to move them away.
"Don't you talk about him. You just leave him the fuck out of this."
He lets out a low, dark chuckle. "You certainly did." He grips both of her
hands in one of his and holds them still. "Is that what you pictured? You and
your precious Justin on your wedding night, Justin delicately taking off your
pretty, white, fairy tale dress and making love to you on rose-scented sheets?"
He strokes a hand along her blush-heated cheek, ignoring the way she struggles
against his grip.
He's a bastard and she hates his fucking guts. She can't move her hands; his
grip's too strong for that, and he's more determined than she is. So she twists
up and pushes at the same time, throwing him off of her with a wild cry. She
scrabbles at the door, frantically working the handle until it opens, and
stumbles out of the car. She's probably a mess, hair wild, make-up smeared, but
she doesn't care. She just wants to leave, be anywhere else but here.
"Britney," Lars calls after her.
She whips around and screams at him. "Fuck off. I fucking hate you. Hate you!"
He walks toward her faster than she would have thought anyone that short could.
"Come on, Princess, don't be stupid," he says, grabbing her arm. He strokes his
hands up and down her bare arms. "You don't hate me." He leans in and kisses
her. "You wanted me to fuck you." He ghosts his lips across her forehead. "You
*loved* it. I promise you, Princess, that was a much better first time than you
ever would have had with your precious little boy."
"You don't know that," she says through her teeth.
Lars pulls her into his arms, moulding her to his body, gently cupping the
swell of her hips. "I know," he states firmly. "He wouldn't have had a fucking
clue what to do with you." He trails his fingers down her neck, past her chest
until he reaches her groin and strokes her through her dress. "He wouldn't have
known that you liked being touched here," he squeezes her tenderly, "or that
you liked teeth," he nips her neck, "and tongue," he moves up to lick her lips.
"He'd be gentle with you." The word's a curse on his lips.
"Maybe I wanted gentle." The gasp that escapes her lips as his teeth close on
her lip belies her words.
"No, you don't. You want this," he pinches her nipple through her dress, "and
this," he presses his fingers against her clit through her pale pink dress.
"Yeah," she moans, unable to pull away from Lars' hands and mouth.
He's so tempted to take her again. Just push her down on the asphalt and slide
into her, fuck her until she's screaming and coming, clutching desperately at
him as her orgasm tears through her. He loves how open and innocent her face is
when she comes, her soft, wet lips parted as she moans and grabs greedily for
air. He puts his hand under her dress and slides it inside her.
Britney makes a sound of pain and stops his hand. "Don't. "It really fucking
hurts."
He changes the direction of his hand and strokes her stomach instead. "Sorry,"
he murmurs into her ear, "but that's what happens when you really get fucked."
He kisses her cheek, flicking out his tongue to taste the soft sheen of sweat
on her skin. "It won't be so bad next time. You'll be more ready for it. It'll
be all pleasure."
"Next time?" she quivers. No. Oh, no, no, no, she's not doing this with him
again. She's never going to see him again after this, she swears it. Never
going to let him touch her, kiss her, fuck her-- Never again. "There won't be a
next time," she says raggedly. "There wasn't even supposed to be a this time.
We can't do this again."
He strokes her cheek with the back of his fingers. "We couldn't do it this
time, but we did, Princess." He kisses her, sucking at her mouth. "We'll find a
time and a place. You'll come back to me." He nips at the curve of her neck.
"You won't be able to resist."
She closes her eyes and shivers, licking her suddenly dry lips as she falls
under his spell. "I don't--"
"You do," he insists. "You need this, Princess. Your pretty boy can't do half
the things I can, and you'll need me again." He nuzzles behind her ear. "Come
back another time when you're tired of him, and I'll show you what you're
missing."
She sways toward him, then pulls herself back. "I--" She swallows, tries to
pull on her usual persona. "I've gotta go. Someone'll be wondering where I am."
Lars brushes his thumb over her lips. "Hang on there, Princess. You're not
quite ready for the public eye yet." He pulls the skirt of her dress down and
the top up. He brushes the hair back from her face. "You should redo your
makeup. Or at least take it off." He swipes at her cheek and comes away with a
mascara-smudged finger. "It's all messed up."
She runs back to the car to get her purse, checking herself out in her compact.
Jesus, the minute someone sees her, they'll be able to tell what she was doing.
She fumbles through her purse and pulls out a pack of tissues, scrubbing the
remnants of make-up off her face. She's pink with exertion once she's done, but
at least she looks like herself again. She combs her fingers through her hair,
trying to tame the snarls in it. "Is this better?" she asks once she's done.
Lars looks her over critcally. "Well, you don't look like you got fucked in the
backseat, if that's what you're asking."
She slumps against the car. "Is it good enough to get me back through the
madhouse to my limo?"
He nods. "Yeah, as long as you don't get too close to anyone who knows you
well." He strokes her cheek. "I'd stay away from Justin if I were you."
She groans. "Fuck, that'll be hard."
He chuckles and bites down gently on her earlobe. "Just tell him you have a
headache."
She sighs and nods. "Might as well. He always understands, anyway." She's
unhappy with how well he can read her and predict her behavior. She hates being
figured out so easily. "Back to the party," she mumbles, hoisting her bag onto
her shoulder and getting ready to leave.
Lars takes her hand and leads her towards the entrance of the afterparty,
standing well away from her as they reach the doorway. "Can you handle it from
here?" he questions softly. "I'm assuming you don't wanna be seen with me so
you'll have to make it in on your own."
"I'm a big girl," she snaps. "I think I can make it back to a party on my own."
He shakes his head. "Damn, Princess, you're a real spitfire." His lips curve
into a smile. "I like that in a girl."
She shivers at his words and steps back up to him, gripping his chin and
kissing him quickly. "See you around," she throws over her shoulder as she
heads back into the party.
Lars watches her as she disappears into the crowd, swallowed up by the glittery
people around her. He strains to catch sight of her, but he's too short and the
people too many. He moves away from the door as a couple stumbles out,
drunkenly groping each other in plain view. Time for him to leave. As he fades
away from the party scene, he remembers her, a picture of her lodged firmly in
his mind. She'll come back to him, he promises. And if she doesn't, well, then,
he'll just go after her.
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