OMG Look How Cute Slash Is Here ❤️ Thank You @solpadawan For This

i don’t think people really get how little feedback fanfic authors actually get? like the effort to reaction ratio is so abysmally skewed here that a fic nearly 50,000 words long takes an entire year to amass like. 16 comments. someone reblogged a fic i wrote at 4 am and tagged it with a 5-word compliment and i can’t stop thinking about it, not because it was so nice but because half the time you post a fic you’re going to hear nothing and anything feels like so much

fandom culture is so, so good about giving artists the credit they’re due, but we gotta start doing that for writers too. you’ve got no idea how much people put into their stories and get maybe a handful of reblogs and a dozen-odd kudos. that’s not enough. writing is an endurance sport and y’all need to start giving fic writers a reason to endure it and improve their craft. encourage writers like you encourage artists. reblog fics, leave tags, leave comments, acknowledge that these stories do not just spring into being for your entertainment. 

every single damn writer i know feels like half of their readers see them as a machine. that’s gotta change. 

𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖙𝖔𝖌𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 (𝖆𝖝𝖑 𝖗𝖔𝖘𝖊)

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 @teasid​ 𝐚𝐱𝐥 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝐧’ 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞: 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

@littlemisscare-all​

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Sunset Love, ch. 7: Not a glance

AN: It's been a while... the weather is shit today and I'm grumpy!! Thanks for coming back -- or coming for the first time. I try to make the parts work on their own as well as being part of a longer story. Hope you like this one. xx

The chick with the low-cut top standing at the side of the dance floor had been looking up at him since the start of their set. It was quite clear from her expression what was on her mind. In between his riffs and solos, Slash was keeping an eye on her from behind his hair on stage.  

It was 9 P.M. on a Tuesday night and the Whisky was almost empty. The night hadn't even really started yet. But this was what you did when you were an unknown band - you started at the bottom of the bill, early in the week.

To give him his due, Axl wasn't letting the sparse audience affect his performance. He was giving it his all, as he always did: shirt thrown aside, sweat gleaming in the stage lights, the muscles in his back tightening and relaxing along with his voice.

Slash had given up pretending to himself that he wasn't watching Axl every chance he got to do so unobserved. On stage - behind his guitar and his hair, the other guys absorbed in their playing - was the perfect place. That writhing, snake-like body, ink standing out against the whiteness of the skin, the black leather pants slung low around the hips, barely clinging on...

Axl rang out the closing notes of their new song, 'Don't Cry', and let them reverberate around the room. A few hesitant hand claps echoed around the walls and their set was over.

The girl was still there. They made eye contact again and Slash felt a rush to his groin. Relief flowed through him. He was still straight. Whatever was going on with Axl didn't make him a fag. He cocked his head towards the restroom door beside the stage and the girl gave a brief nod.

***

He buried his face in the girl's breasts and pulled her hips closer to his. She anchored her arms behind his neck and wrapped both her legs around his waist. The flimsy partitions in the Whisky toilets rattled as he began banging himself into her, pushing her against the wall to keep her up. It was skeezy but that was OK; he was into it and she certainly was too, thrusting her pelvis energetically against him and digging her nails into the skin on his back. He dragged his lips across her chest from one tit to the other, relishing the yielding softness, so different from...

He pulled his head up suddenly.

"What the fuck?" the girl gasped, her face in his shoulder. "Don't stop!"

Had he stopped? He resumed his frantic banging into her but was having trouble focusing on the task at hand. He'd been comparing this to ... how he felt doing the same thing with Axl. Jesus.

He squeezed his eyes tight and thank fucking Christ, he was about to come now... he exploded into her, clutching her buttocks tight to keep her in position. He kept thrusting til he was spent.

"Thanks, honey," he muttered, panting, as he let her down and hoisted his pants up. The girl grabbed some tissue and cleaned inside her thighs, looking none too happy.

"Yeah, really fucking great," she said, glaring. "What was that - like, twenty seconds?"

"Fuck you," he retorted, though he flushed inwardly. He knew he'd been selfish; he'd taken what he wanted from her and he just wanted to get out of there.

"Fuck YOU, asshole," she shouted and slammed the stall door behind her.

***

The next band was slamming out their first chords as he slunk out of the bathroom. More people were wandering in; cigarette smoke billowed, people's hands hung out over the balcony upstairs, some girls clustered against the front of the stage. Slash made out Duff, Izzy and Axl leaning against the bar at the other side of the room with their buddies West and Del, knocking back bottles of beer.

"Ah, here's the dirty dog," said Duff, grinning, holding out an arm as Slash approached. "Taking care of business, eh?"

They had all seen him disappear into the bathroom after the girl. The group chuckled indulgently, admiringly even.

Slash shrugged and flicked his eyes discreetly to Axl, as had become his habit. Axl was standing a little apart from the group, studying the band on stage intently. Slash mouthed 'Jack and coke' to the barman and checked back again. Yep, Axl was still acting like he wasn't there.

Slash sucked down his drink hungrily and signalled to the barman for another. He nodded along as Steven enthused to him about something, but he wasn't listening. Minutes passed and Axl's back remained firmly towards him.

Slash frowned in confusion. Sure, Axl was moody, and unexplained silences were a thing with him. This was one of those episodes, right? It couldn't be ... the girl, could it? Getting as much pussy as possible was one of their core aims as a band. Surely there was no way Axl was ... jealous?

At some point later, after several more drinks, Izzy flung his arm around Axl's shoulders, dragged him back to the group and forced him to clink bottles.

"Our position at the bottom of the bill continues uncontested!" exclaimed Izzy, lifting his drink into the air mock-heroically.

"How many was that tonight, four people?" mused Duff. "Two of them were our friends who we bribed with free beer -" he gestured to Del and West, who raised their drinks graciously - "One was that strung-out guy by the door who clearly hadn't a fucking clue where he was, and the other was that girl who just came to fuck Slash."

Axl looked away sharply, examining the ceiling. Everyone else was too drunk to notice, or care. But Slash knew now. It was the fucking girl.

"Better than our first gig," said Steve. "The Troubadour, before Seattle? Two people - the bar manager and that random guy who said he thought we were gonna be some other band?"

"Your fan base is growing, then," declared Del. "I call that progress." More cheering and clinking bottles.

Slash wanted to leave, wanted to get Axl on his own and demand to know what the fuck was going on, but the guys were in roaring form and the drinks were coming thick and fast. It was easier to just stay.  

The headlining band came on, the club had filled to capacity, bodies packed in, the music and noise deafening - and their collective cash had dried up.

"Back to the Sunset and Gardner Hotel and Villas!" roared Steve, throwing his arm around Slash's neck. Slash had loosened up a bit. The knots in his shoulders were relaxing and he could talk more. Thank fuck for that. He didn't care as much about things with plenty of alcohol on board. He headed for the door with the rest of them, not casting a glance at Axl.

***

AN: It took a while to get this part right. I really want to hear what you think of it - it's harder to write tension than the lovey-dovey stuff :) Please leave me a comment.

Sunset Love ch. 2: Four Walls

Slash lay there, staring up into the dark, feeling the weight of his friend's arm. Why was he not flinging it off? He felt its warmth seep into his skin. It was fucking cold in here now. Despite himself, he inched closer to the other man's body, seeking heat.

He was close enough now to feel Axl's breath through the t-shirt fabric on his shoulder. He remembered from when they first shared a bedroom last year, in Slash's mom's house, being surprised that a jumpy, talkative guy like Axl slept so soundly. His breath came slow and regular, in and out, soothing Slash's anxious mind. The pressure on his hip from the hard floor made him turn his aching body to the other side to seek relief.

Now Axl's breath was on his face. Slash could feel the body heat between them. What was he doing? Axl was a guy, remember? He, Slash, was a red-blooded male, who had slept with more girls than he could ever count, who liked nothing better than a pair of big tits and a wet pussy, who only last night had had some chick's legs wrapped around him up against the wall in the Rainbow car park...

Soft lips brushing against his. Sweet, tasting faintly of whisky.

What the fuck?

He found himself responding, pushing his lips against the other man's, allowing his lips to be gently prised open, feeling wet, persistent tongue exploring his mouth, gliding over his teeth, his gums, probing farther and farther til they were locked in a full-on, deep kiss that made his head swim more than any alcohol, any drug had ever done, and all he could be sure of was that he didn't want it to end.

He reached out and pulled the nape of Axl's neck towards him, feeling the soft baby hair at the hairline, pulling those beautiful, pillowy lips even harder against his own. He had forgotten how amazing this was. His body filled with delicious warmth. The image of sweet caramel came back into his mind.

In the dark, he felt Axl's arm tighten around him. Axl's knee come up over his waist, sliding over the hump of Slash's erection through his leather pants. Their noses switched sides as the kiss went on, hands in each other's hair, sliding over each other's necks, incredulous at what was happening, drinking each other in.

They broke off, gasping. Their jagged breathing cut through the dark and silence. Slash found his forehead at the other man's shoulder, feeling the bone through the warm skin. Axl's hand moved to his jaw, leaving one last gentle kiss on his mouth. He heard the rustle of skin on leather as the other man turned over, then silence.  

After a few seconds,  Axl's breath came slow and measured again. He was asleep.

Slash lay stunned, looking blindly into the dark. His head swirled crazily. Had that really just happened? There was no denying the swelling in the front of his pants, pressing almost painfully against the lace ties.

He knew only one cure for the cacophony of thoughts and feelings. He turned over and fumbled around the on floor for the bottle.

Shit. They'd drunk all the booze.

He felt his way along the block wall to the door and pushed it open. Milky dawn light was seeping across the sky over Guitar Center and the flat roofs of Sunset Boulevard beyond. The lot was empty. The ever present traffic hummed, at a lower volume than usual at this hour.

He closed the door quietly - the last thing he wanted was to wake Axl now. He shoved his hands into his pockets and headed up the alley in the direction of the nearest 24-hour liquor store.

my brain when i see:

i made a meme to show you how your support for my writing makes me feel!!!! i just get increasingly excited jsjdndjs

❤️❤️❤️

My Rock Realizations #1

Are You Gonna Go My Way is an anti-war song.

Sunset Love ch. 4: I can’t stop myself

Getting up in the morning was never a problem for Slash. The gnawing craving for alcohol woke him every morning early, regardless of how much (or little) he'd slept the night before.

It was around one in the afternoon and he had been up for hours. He had fled the garage as soon as he'd woken that morning, not wanting to face Axl. He had put a stop to things the night before, mumbling something about being tired and jumping up into the loft to sleep. Alone - to be fair, Axl hadn't pushed it; he had stayed on the floor.

As soon as he was out on the street, Slash had forked over the last of his cash from his old newsstand job for a bottle of Jack, then called over to Izzy's place. Izzy's girlfriend was out, so the two spent an agreeable few hours on the sofa, putting away the whisky and talking about  the band.

"Hey, that reminds me," said Izzy, putting down the empty bottle on the shaky coffee table. "The rehearsal space is a fucking disaster, man."

"Whaddya mean?" said Slash, his head lolling pleasantly against the back of the sofa.

"You and Axl live there," replied Izzy. "Me, Duff and Stevie are gonna be there every fuckin' day - and probably a lot of nights. We gotta make it a bit more - I dunno, livable. We gotta fix up somewhere to sleep."

Through his whisky haze, Slash realised what Izzy was getting at.

"Right," he said. "A fuck space."

Izzy chuckled.

"Correct, my friend. I think you'll agree that the rehearsal space is going to be used for that purpose? I don't think any of us is keen to get it on with someone on that fuckin' hard-ass concrete floor."

Slash felt his face get warm. He dipped his head to take a long drag on his cigarette.

Izzy stood up and patted his pockets for his key.

"Uhhh...where we going?" said Slash.

Ten minutes later, Slash found himself ducking his head and following Izzy through a gap in a chain-link fence around into a construction site just off Clark Street. Despite his long history of shop-lifting and general pilfering, Slash was glancing around.

Izzy snorted. "It's Saturday, dude. Construction workers aren't like us - they don't work weekends."

He was right. No-one bothered them as they selected a few lengths of plywood and wooden blocks that were stacked against a wall. Ten minutes later again, they were pulling open the door to the studio on Sunset and Gardner.

Sunlight hit the bare walls inside, cutting through the dark. Incredibly, Axl had been still asleep  in his snakeskin jacket on the concrete floor. He didn't look too happy to see them.

"What the fuck?" Axl groaned, squinting.

"It's the afternoon, asshole," said Izzy, nudging Axl in the side with his toe and, with a grunt, letting the wood he'd been carrying crash to the floor.

Slash noticed the easy camaraderie between the old school friends. He was always more cautious when he talked to Axl. Everyone knew that Axl was a grenade, liable to explode at any moment.

"I'm here to do you a massive favour, Ax," Izzy declared. He started laying out the two-by-fours, then produced a box of nails and some tools from his pocket. "Slash and I realised this place is not very fucking hospitable to the so-called fair sex. Plus there's no space on the floor with all our gear. We're going to build a loft."

Slash spent the next few hours - alongside following Izzy's building instructions - discreetly observing Axl. He found it funny to see him doing manual labour - clearly unwillingly. Probably, Slash thought as he held pieces of wood while Izzy sawed and hammered, Axl felt it was beneath the job of a singer to labour with the rest of them. But Duff and Steven were nowhere to be seen and it was his home, so Axl had to muck in.

It was so sexy the way Axl clenched his jaw when he was annoyed or concentrating. Through his hair, Slash observed the muscles at the angle of Axl's jaw rise and fall. And the way his full lips pursed a little at the same time. Every so often, Slash got annoyed at himself, sneaking looks like a besotted school girl. But he couldn't help himself. Plus, the rehearsal space was tiny - ten by fourteen feet - so they were working literally shoulder to shoulder.

Try as he might, he couldn't stop sensations from last night coming back into his mind. Warm, smooth lips against his own. The sweet, coffee-like aroma of their sweat intensifying as they kissed, slowly, delicately. Breath coming fast and rough from their throats.

"I said hold it steady!" came Izzy's voice, irritated, waking Slash from his reverie.

Slash tried to concentrate. He and Axl were standing in among Steven's drums, holding over their heads the flat wooden structure they had nailed together, while Izzy hammered it to the small wood blocks he had attached to the wall. Slash glanced in Axl's direction and thought, fuuuck. The space had warmed up as the day wore on and Axl had discarded his jacket. He was bare-chested, ropes of muscles in his arms and abdomen on full display.

Slash closed his eyes, willing his twitching cock to be still. He was surprised to notice that sadness was mixed in with his lust. Yes, Axl was naturally strong, but the guy was also thin. The rest of the band, including himself, had mocked the sucked-in-cheeks look Axl had in their one band photoshoot so far. Slash now realised those cheekbones were so prominent because the guy had barely enough to eat.

Izzy was standing back and rubbing his palms on his pants.

"A good day's work, gentlemen!"

And there it was, their new loft. The living space in the studio had just increased by roughly fifty per cent. Just above head height, just enough space to hoist yourself up and roll in, perfect for their purposes. They regarded it with pride.

Slash sucked deeply on a fresh cigarette and frowned.

"Did we, like, just spend the afternoon doing home improvements?" he said.

***

"Man, I love that stuff!" shouted Steven, taking a long swallow and thrusting the bottle high into the night air.

It was around four in the morning on Palm Avenue, West Hollywood. The first shafts of daylight were beginning to tease the grey sky. The five of them were walking home from an uproarious night in Lizzy Grey's sleazy apartment with even sleazier chicks and some coke Duff had produced. They left when the coke was gone. They had pushed all the money they had between them - a few dollars - over the liquor store counter for two bottles of Night Train.

"Eighteen per cent," Axl was saying musingly, looking at the label on the bottle in his own hand. He grinned. "Bottoms up!"

"I'm on the Night Train," sang Duff, his head tilted back, his body full of coked-up energy .

Axl took up the snatch of melody and played with it, flinging his arm around Duff. The two stumbled along, singing out of sync and guffawing with laughter.

Slash trailed the rest of the group as they staggered across the junction onto Sunset. His emotions swirled, despite his attempts all evening to anaesthetise them with coke and booze. The afternoon of hard work cheek-by-jowl with Axl had been followed by an evening of being ignored. Axl literally hadn't looked at him the whole time in Lizzy's. And now to top it all off, here was he, Slash, finding himself simmering with jealousy at Axl and Duff.

He hadn't felt this down in a while. He caught up to Steven, grabbed the bottle and took a long, numbing swallow.

At the junction to Gardner Street, he waved half-heartedly and turned left, not bothering to check if Axl was coming. He made out the door of the studio and pulled out his key chain. The studio looked its usual disastrous state, the half-light throwing into relief the trash, the empty cans and bottles. But at least there was the loft. He summoned up the strength to heave himself up and let his aching body fall onto the flat surface. He surrendered his mind to blessed oblivion.

***

He had no idea how much time had passed when he heard the metallic bang of the studio door, then the familiar deep voice.

"Why'd you disappear, man?"

Slash said nothing. He didn't know what to say.

He heard a grunt, followed by cursing and rustling. Axl was swinging his legs into the loft and lying down beside him. The flash of a lighter briefly illuminated Axl's face, his lips balancing a cigarette. Slash felt a flash of annoyance at the warmth that flared low in his belly at the sight.

"You not talkin' to me or what?" came Axl's voice through the darkness.

"Shut the fuck up," grunted Slash, rolling over onto his side, his back to the other man.

There was silence for a moment. Then a hand on his arm. Slash rolled onto his back. He couldn't contain himself any longer.

"What the fuck is happening here, man?" burst out Slash. "Is this how it's going to be? You never speak to me or look at me all day, even in fucking rehearsals, then here at night you - you - we..." He couldn't find the words to finish.

He heard Axl blow out slowly, his breath controlled. The aroma of tobacco filled the air in the tiny space.

"I don't know either, man," came Axl's voice finally, quiet and measured. "I - I don't know. I just can't stop myself touching you."

Maybe a Steven Adler angst/fluff about comforting him when he gets kicked out of the band? 🥺💚

| Words: 803 |

𝒮𝓉𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝒜𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓇 𝓍 ℛ𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

| Angst/Fluff |

[ A/N: Sorry took so long! 🥺 I hope you enjoy it anyway.. Steven needs some hugs 🥺 ]

It started out as a normal day.

The bright morning sun slithered it’s way into a crack in the dark curtains. The cool morning air made its way into the once warm apartment as you snuggled into Steven’s chest. You could feel his pumping heart beat against your cheek, making a wave of calm enter your body.

You loved being snuggled up against Steven. His body and his energy had such a warm, welcoming feeling that could bring anyone he was around a smile. That what made you love him in the first place, now that you think about it.

Steven’s arms wrapped around your back, bringing you closer to him. “I’ve got to get up, honey. The guys need me at rehearsal today.” His words reverberated against your cheek was his chest rumbled with each raspy syllable.

You reluctantly let him get up with a kiss on the lips and a promise from him that he will make it home as soon as he can.

You laid there in the plush bed, the comforter raised up to your chin. You were not ready to meet the world just yet.

Steven walked back into the room, walking over and closing the window. Then he bid you his goodbye with one last kiss.

“I’ll see you later, baby” his voice still had a rasp to it.

“Bye, baby. I’ll miss you.” You put a pout on your face, as much as you loved the guys, sometimes it made you a little jealous that they were getting time with Steven.

The front door softly shut, a sudden weight had weighed on your chest. Something wasn’t quite right. You couldn’t put your finger on it.

It was the same feeling you had when you first found out how bad Steven heroin addiction really got.

He hid it from you for the longest time, but it finally blew up on him. You found him passed out on your bathroom floor, needle in his arm, and his face pale blue.

It was the most heartbreaking and scariest moment of your life. Waiting for him in the hospital, while hounding the doctors and nurses about his condition.

When he finally woke up you were the first person he saw. When the wave of confusion passed a big guilty expression came over his face, that’s when you finally broke down.

You just cried, and cried, and cried some more. You thought you were going to lose Steven. You kept telling how worried you were, how you thought he would never wake up. How could you live life without seeing that smile again?

Steven was shakin up over the whole thing and how shaking up you were so when you said he had to stop, he agreed.

With the help of you and what the doctors recommended doing Steven was finally getting better, a little slip ups here and there but you could tell his eyes were shining brighter and his passion for the drums were coming back again.

So when you felt that dreaded feeling of anxiety, you thought of the worst. You got up from the warm bed you were laying in and picked up the phone, quickly calling the studio.

It rang a couple times before Axl picked up, “Hello?” He said into the phone.

“Hey Axl! Um, is Steven there?” Your voice shook with worry.

“Oh, yeah, he actually just left.” Axl said, a little saddened.

“What! Rehearsals not even half way through yet. Was it cut short?”

“I think it’s best he explains it. I’m sorry, Y/N” With that Axl hung up the phone, leaving you with the dull beeping.

You placed the phone back on the handle right as the door opened on revealed Steven.

Tears streamed down his face. When he saw you he turned away from your sight, trying to wipe them away. Your eyes shone with worry as you walked toward him, “honey, what’s wrong?” A soft motherly tone took over your voice. You walked in front of him, softly taking his puffy and reddened face in your hands.

“They kicked me out of...of the band.” He hiccuped through his words, tears once again making their way down his face.

“Oh honey.” You guided his face to bury itself in your neck, his tears greasing up your neck.

“Did they tell you why?” You added, you hand stroked his hair and back in order to calm him down.

He took in a gulp, “the fucking heroin.” You placed your hand on the back on Steven’s head, slowly swaying with him in the entryway. This was huge. The band was Steven’s second family. Whispered ‘whys’ tickled your neck as tears slipped down your face. Having Steven be in this much pain broke you. You never wanted Steven to be in pain. Ever. You stayed through the heroin and you’re definitely going to stay through this.

“It’s going to be okay, Steven.” His sobs quieted,

“I’m here.”

Sunset Love ch. 3: Ain’t nobody here but us

"Slash, what's up, man?"

Duff had broken off mid-phrase, frowning. Izzy and Steven let the drums and guitar peter out. Slash lifted his head, cigarette smouldering among his curls.

"What?"

"You've been on another planet since we started. You OK?"

Slash took a deep drag, stalling.

"Sure," he said, extracting the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out a long trail of smoke at the ceiling. "Never better."

The others looked at him suspiciously. He'd been missing notes, coming in late, fluffing riffs. This was Slash, Mr Guitar God. No matter how much he'd drunk or smoked the night before, no matter how little sleep he'd got, when it came to guitar and the band, he always delivered the goods. Until today.

"Right. From the top," said Duff eventually. He locked eyes with Steven, counted them in and they were off again.

Slash berated himself as he tried to concentrate on his playing. Fuck, the guys were actually noticing. He had to get it together or they'd start coming to conclusions.

He'd stayed out as long as he could that morning, wandering penniless around Sunset and Hollywood as the sun came up, bumming cigarettes from other street rat acquaintances he bumped into. As the booze wore off, he couldn't stop thinking about what had happened with Axl, and his mood had plummeted.

What the fuck had he been thinking, letting that happen again? They had kissed before, when Axl lived in Slash's house, in his basement room. But they had agreed that time: they weren't fags. The band was all about maleness - straight maleness. Jokes and banter about fags and queers were part of their daily routine. Insinuating that one of the others was a homo was always met with instant aggression or a counter-accusation. Where did what had happened the night before fit into that?

Thank God for his hair, tumbled all over his face. It let him avoid meeting Axl's eye. Not that that seemed likely - the singer had his back to Slash all rehearsal. Slash wondered whether Axl even remembered. Maybe it had been all the Jack? Had Axl even been awake?

Anger seethed inside him. He had never agonised like this over a chick, even proper girlfriends.

He clenched his jaw as he played. A headache was banging in his forehead. Axl was in his line of sight now, doing that new snake dance thing he'd seen some other singer do. It looked ridiculous, Slash told himself. Turning his heels out and swaying his hips. It made his ass ripple under his jeans like a goddamn woman's. Slash realised his eyes were lingering on that ass. He closed his eyes and shook his head as if to shake out the thoughts.

He felt a physical sense of relief when Izzy finally called, "I gotta slip out. Slash, coming?"

Slash knew what that meant. Izzy had a number of contacts in the area who supplied him with chemical sustenance of various kinds. Lately it had been lumps of brown, sticky, sweet heroin, which Izzy showed him how to inject. Slash's energy lifted immediately at the prospect. He leaned his guitar against the wall and followed Izzy out the door, keeping his eyes down.

***

Sweet, delicious, soft, floating, spinning, bliss ...

Slash's eyes opened a little and he realised he'd nodded out, his head propped against the cinder block wall. He pulled open his eyelids a bit more. All five of them were here in the studio, sprawled around the floor in various states of highness. There were girls there too, and a few guys he half-recognised as members of the band who practised in the unit next door. One of them was lying on top of a girl, humping her, her feet clenched against his white ass as it pumped. The door was open and Slash heard the sounds of more partying coming from the lot outside.

He jerked awake again. More hours must have passed. He could just about make out a weak light through the gap in the door, casting everything in the studio shades of grey. People were starting to stagger to their feet, stumbling out the door in ones and twos, calling goodbye.

"Duff took his coat back, the bastard." The voice was smooth, low, restrained.

Slash tried to think of a reply but his brain was too wasted. Axl was kicking aside empty beer cans and bottles, clearing space on the floor. Through the slits between his eyelids, Slash watched as Axl pulled something out of a grocery bag and shrugged it on. It was the fake-snakeskin jacket some girl had given him. It came from the thrift store and looked it. Axl loved it.

"We really gotta get some bedding, man," Axl muttered as he lowered himself against the wall beside Slash and started to lie down.

Before he knew it, Slash moved away instinctively. Axl looked at him, surprised.

Slash summoned up the balls to return the look, meeting his eyes.

"What?" asked Axl, propped on an elbow.

Slash cursed himself internally. He really was shit with words. How could he express the fucked-up turmoil of thoughts in his head?

"What the fuck was that the other night?" he finally managed.

Axl's brow furrowed. Was he really going to say he didn't remember? Yet more rage added to the cauldron already boiling in Slash's head.

"You fucking kissed me, man," Slash blurted, his emotion overtaking his awkwardness.

Axl was still staring at him.

"Not just like - y'know - a joke - it ..." He could only finish the sentence in his mind: it felt like you meant it.

Axl pushed himself back up to sitting and leaned his head back against the wall. Dawn light filtering through the door highlighted his profile. That cute nose. Those perfect lips.

"Did you kiss me back?" said Axl, eyes at the ceiling.

Now it was Slash's turn to stare.

"You serious? That's what you say?"

Axl turned his head. Slash looked at his face, inches away from his own. The shadows beneath the cheekbones. The tiny one just below the bottom lip. The eyes, their green turned grey in the dim light, deep and beautiful. Slash was suddenly very conscious of his mouth. His lips tingled. He felt them moving towards the other man's. He felt Axl's hand on his jaw. It was happening.

The last time had been slow, incredulous. This time their desire was clear. Their lips and teeth clashed urgently, tongues exploring the insides of each other's mouths as they gripped the back of each other's skulls. Slash's head was swimming but not like from dope; no, these were  different chemicals, ones that came from deep within his body, not outside, creating reactions that exploded in his groin and made him groan deep inside his throat.

Axl smiled, breaking the kiss, leaning his forehead against Slash's, still gripping the back of his head.

"I guess you kissed me back this time," grinned Axl.

Slash looked down but couldn't help smiling too, moving his fingers in the smooth silkiness of the other man's hair, the solidity of his skull.

"I don't know what's happening, man," he said, realising he was whispering. "We agreed..."

"Hey," said Axl, tilting up Slash's jaw with his fingers, making him meet his eye. Oh, that voice, that deep, sexy rumble.

"We can... un-agree," Axl went on quietly, one corner of his mouth tilting up.

"But..." said Slash, unable to stop his hands from moving to Axl's ribcage, bare under his jacket. The skin was warm, baby soft.

"We don't have to analyse it," said Axl, stroking the tip of his nose against Slash's. Slash could feel Axl's lips moving glancingly against his own as he spoke. "It's OK."

"I'm not... you're not..."

"Slash." The sound was so soft coming from Axl's mouth, the "shhh" at the end lingering unbelievable sexily. It made Slash's cock, already straining against the restraint of his jeans, twitch and pulsate.

Axl pushed himself to standing and strode to the door. The light in the room disappeared as it closed. Slash heard boots on the floor, then felt Axl's body against his again.

"Ain't nobody here but us," he whispered into Slash's mouth.