that one guy who writes all those fics | i dont do the whole commisions thing | https://archiveofourown.org/users/ascendthisday | twitter.com/ascendthisday
adding onto that last post i am VERRYYY sorry for not being on here or ao3 for a good while- I haven't had any ac for 5 weeks and oklahoma is in a MAJOR heatwave (like it was 100f+ for rhe first two weeks nonstop), my mom's health has been a medical nightmare, and just some other personal bullshit im not gonna get on about here </3 not asking for pity or anything bc truly its not that serious, just a little explanation bc I am NOT DEAD! just working my ass off to have a little extra pocket money and all that. life sux but ill write some goofy gay porn or whatever soon enough😎
yes!!! I've been really innactive lately bc life's been kicking my butt and I haven't had time + inspo but still send me an ask and I might get around to it! lowkey itll get mentally rush-ordered if it pertains to like.. steel panther/slash/ptv/ect ect just because those are some of my biggest interests rn :P always check my main blog @veilofmegiddo to see whatever im posting abt bc my interests cycle chronically!!!
Info: No Smut, Fluff, Happy Ending, Emotional, Mentioned Drug Use, Post-Stroke, /reader in a way that you can imagine just about anyone as the narrator its VERY vague
Summary: The month I knew I truly loved you was cold. It was 1996, sometime around October, but after the stroke, every day seemed to blend together. I begged with God, pleaded that you'd wake up and remember how to live; to function.
Authors Note: another old one from ao3 because i have a bunch of shit i never reposted!! this was the first gnr fic i posted so yay for that, hope it isnt TOO corny
The month I knew I truly loved you was cold. It was 1996, sometime around October, but after the stroke, every day seemed to blend together. I begged with God, pleaded that you'd wake up and remember how to live; to function. I prayed that you'd remember to speak overnight. Everything was so hard now. We- you, communicated grunts and grumbles of vague words to which I would sob over in the middle of the night. We slept in different beds. Other people were always in our home because you needed caretakers, and yet I convinced myself to hold on.
The week I knew I truly loved you was hectic. You were frantic for God knows what reason, clawing at floorboards and yourself. I watched your mop of hair get more and more matted day by day as you adamantly opposed brushing it. You smelled of musk, a smell I once relished and showered myself in by wearing your clothes while you 'recovered' in the hospital. We had five different caretakers quit that week, so I had to resort to begging in the newspaper. Eventually, I found someone new, but what would have happened if I hadn't? One day, I realized you wanted your stash. You still had something, left forgotten in the floorboards, and you were determined to find it even though you had no memory of where it may be. We had to rip our home apart, piece by piece, to make sure you didn't find that stash- if it even existed, and yet, I convinced myself to hold on.
The day I knew I truly loved you, we had let the sunlight waste as we spent the whole day 'fighting', if you could even call it that. It was like arguing with a stubborn child, even though I knew you didn't mean to be childish. We sat at the dinner table; you at one end with a stack of blank notecards and a pen, me at the other with only my voice and frustrations. You had taken to writing so much better than you had to speaking. So far, this was the only way we had somewhat fluent conversations since the stroke. It was horrible. I missed the silly way you poorly serenaded me with love songs. I missed the joking debates we held together, arguing on why one superhero was wholeheartedly superior or something along those lines. I missed when I didn't have to monitor everything on the TV because your therapist told me anything could set you off into another relapse. I missed when it was just us in the house with no needed caretakers, and yet, I convinced myself to hold on.
The night I knew I truly loved you, I stormed away and sulked in what used to be our bed. You had knocked on the door at two in the morning. I groggily opened it to ogle at your disheveled form. You stood there; pajama pants barely hanging onto your skinny hips, a broken hairbrush outstretched in your hands, hair tangled to your ears with another restless night, and a quivering lip paired with the glossiest eyes I had ever seen. My eyes had pricked with tears when I saw you, really saw how scared, lost, and small you were. I spoke not a word, simply let you crawl into our bed. I needed no more convincing, I chose to hold on and never let go for as long as I could.
The moment I knew I truly loved you, I had just finished brushing out every knot and tangle from your mane as you sat between my legs. You turned toward me and stared for a couple of minutes before beginning to climb out of bed, but I stopped you. I needed you. You needed me. So, I simply held you. I held you for hours. Then, with as much force as you could muster you muttered three words that changed me.
"I love you."
The moment after I knew I truly loved you, I shrieked and sobbed so loud I swore the neighborhood shook. I tried to steady myself with the burst of pure joy that overwhelmed me, but I was over the moon. I wept and wept as I held your head to my chest and repeated how much I loved you, too. Those were the first words you spoke to me for months. Finally, you pulled away and I was met with your beautiful smile. It was so different, though. It was no longer a smile that showed for when you got your high, it was a show of love and gratitude. God, I was so lucky to have held on.
Info: No Smut, Fluff, Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Drug Use, Overdosing, Songfic, Teeth, Smoking, Blood, Nosebleed, Kissing, Almost death
Summary: “Duff! Look at this!” Steven squealed, his blond mop of hair shaking with his exaggerated nodding as he pointed at the pavement with excitement. He had run a few yards ahead of the other man, so Duff had to jog to catch up with him. Duff’s obnoxiously loud chained belt jingled against his leather pants every thickly soled step he made. “Huh,” He hummed as he stared down at the concrete, touching hips with the drummer, “that’s weird.”
Authors Note: been a busy busy bee lately, sorry for not posting! getting back into the general glide of things though, so expect more in the next few weeks!! this is old, but good nonetheless
Hey, remember that time when I found a human tooth
Down on Delancey?
“Duff! Look at this!” Steven squealed, his blond mop of hair shaking with his exaggerated nodding as he pointed at the pavement with excitement. He had run a few yards ahead of the other man, so Duff had to jog to catch up with him. Duff’s obnoxiously loud chained belt jingled against his leather pants every thickly soled step he made. “Huh,” He hummed as he stared down at the concrete, touching hips with the drummer, “that’s weird.” On the ground sat two yellowed human teeth. They were wedged in the crack between the sidewalk's concrete panels, surrounded by weeds and grass that had managed to shimmy their way into the crevice. It was almost as if they had been pulled directly from the root with their long prong-esque legs still attached. Steven folded himself in half, his leather jacket sliding up his shoulders and his wild mess of hair curtaining around his face, and swept the teeth into his hands.
“Ew, man! Gross!” Duff groaned as Steven tucked the teeth into the back pocket of his jeans. “Hey, you never know when you might need some teeth. Maybe they’ll be my good luck charm- or something like that.” He giggled as he stared at himself in the reflection of the bassist's sunglasses. “Maybe, or they’ll give you AIDs.” The taller man retorted. Steven frowned, pulling the usual grin he sported off of his mouth immediately. Duff knew how he felt about those jokes; his history, why would he say that? The tooth discussion didn’t linger on much longer, though. Instead, they walked back to their home, the ‘hell house’ in all of its glory, clouded by an awkward aura of- well- something indescribable.
Hey, remember that time when we decided to kiss anywhere except the mouth?
That aura tugged down on their shoulders until they wandered into Steven’s rather unclean bedroom. It wasn’t disgusting- more so an organized mess. Things were piled up in thick hills along the floor, but had you asked Steven to bring you even the tiniest pin, he could find it in seconds. He was just special in that way. “I’m sorry,” Duff mumbled as he wrapped himself around the smaller man. His warm body heat seeped through his own t-shirt and Steven's layers of leather and cotton. “‘s okay,” Steven murmured back as he took a handful of steps toward his mattress, twirled himself- and Duff around, and fell backward on top of the lanky man. “Oh!” Duff huffed as the wind was knocked out of him. He sputtered out stringy waves of blond and lightly shoved Steven off of him. The drummed grinned and rolled himself onto his side, propping his head up onto his hand.
“I’m bored. Let’s play a game!” Steven whined and playfully batted his eyelashes at the man. “Whaddya thinkin’ of?” The bassist responded as he pulled off his sunglasses and placed them atop his head. “Kiss me. Kiss me anywhere except my lips.” He grinned. Duff gave him a little smirk, pushed Steven over, threw his lanky legs over his waist, and began to assault him with kisses while straddling him. He kissed along his shoulders. Then, pulled up his shirt to pepper soft pecks against his fishnet-covered ribs. Next, his navel. As he slid lower and lower down the drummer's body, his kisses trailed onto his jeans and down his thighs. Floaty giggles echoed around the room as Steven relished the feeling of Duff’s chapped lips against his ankles. “Don’t- Don’t kiss my toes!” Steven yelped between flurried hiccups as Duff got closer and closer to the skin that was concealed in his dirty Converse.
Hey, remember that time when my favorite colors was pink and green?
Duff obeyed and kissed his way back up Steven's body, trailing directly on top of the previous kisses he had left just mere moments ago. Unlike his previous endeavors, Duff kissed past his shoulders and danced his way down his arms, one at a time. He placed sweet little pecks to the respective heart and drumstick on each shoulder when the time came. Steven let out soft little puffs of air as his heart dramatically thumped against his ribcage. Sure, they were intimate in a lot of ways, but something about this was different. It was almost romantic. Duff trailed through his downy arm hair and to his thickly decorated wrists. “Pink,” Duff whispered, holding one of his thin wrists in his palm, “and green.” He pulled both wrists together and held the colors side by side. “Our favorite!” Steven cheekily smiled at the bassist.
Duff blushed, remembering that the thin twine bracelets had originally been a matching set shared between the two of them, but the thread was too itchy for Duff, so Steven settled on wearing both of them. The jewelry was originally bought by Slash, a gift that he had justified with a snarky remark along the lines of 'If you guys wanna act like a couple so much, you should go ahead and be part of a pair,’ which was backhanded yet sweet. A lot of things Slash said were like that, twisted in some way or another. Duff didn’t even really like green that much, but he knew Steven loved pink, so he compromised. Since then, Steven had been convinced that green was his favorite color ever. He never complained. The bassist grinned back at him as he placed a final kiss on Steven's fingertip. Then, he pulled away and sat upright, just for a moment. As soon as he was fully up, he was back down with his lips centimeters away from Stevens. The drummer squeaked and blinked his eyes. Hard.
Hey, remember that month when I only ate boxes of tangerines?
So cheap and juicy!
Tangerines.
“Do you think I’ve earned a kiss on the mouth yet?” Duff hummed as his breath ghosted against Steven's lips. “Your breath tastes like oranges- no, tangerines! Are you doing that thing where that's all you eat again?” Steven let out a nervous chortle as he jokingly licked at the air. Duff dramatically threw his head back and groaned. “That was one time, man!” He hissed as his sunglasses slid off of his head. “Damn it.” The older man groaned and awkwardly grasped around the area behind him. Unfortunately for both of them, the area behind Duff happened to be Steven's waistband. “My dick!” he yelped, shooting forward at the sudden pain that raced through his torso. Duff didn’t have time to react to his sudden screech Steven lurched forward and smacked his head straight into his nose.
“Fuck!” Duff exclaimed and slid back while desperately holding his nose. Big tears bubbled over his waterline immediately. “Oh- baby, shit. I'm sorry. Let me see.” Steven rambled as he sat up and pulled away his worn hands. Duff nervously combed his fingers through his blond hair, smearing red through his gold and black mane. “Is it bad?” He whimpered. “No, it’s um, it’s fine. You’ll probably just have a little bump or something.” Steven desperately stumbled over his words. He knew Duff’s nose would most definitely leave with more than ‘just a little bump,’ but that wouldn’t make anything better. His hands shakily wiped away the blood from his upper lip. “It’s fine,” Steven reassured him and wiped a little bit of crimson away and onto Duff’s shirt. His tears puddled into dark spots on his already black shirt. It didn’t even hurt that bad! He wasn’t sure why he was crying. The bassist nervously wiped his clammy hands onto his leather slacks, leaving a trail of wet condensation on his thighs.
Hey, remember that time when I would only read Shakespeare?
“It’s not bad, I swear. It’s kind of silly!” He awkwardly chuckled and held Duff’s head in his palms. “Silly? Kind of like your Shakespearean phase?” Duff grinned through his soft tears and bloody nose, a little bit of both haphazardly dripping into his open-mouthed grin. Steven nodded and pressed their lips together. His calloused fingers swept away his blubbery tears before loosely intertangling his fingers to the roots of his black-streaked blond hair. Duff let out little puffy moans into his mouth, occasionally shaking the both of them with little hiccuped sobs. Copper, iron, and whatever other metallic tastiest were out there flooded Steven's mouth. It was gross, but so were they! Their tongues lightly teased against either one, not fighting for dominance but simply prodding against each other. Steven pulled away with a sweet slightly rust-colored smile.
“Exactly. Just like when I would only read Shakespeare.” Duff smiled back and let out a shaky sigh. The bassists’ palms found themself lightly rested upon his chest, running through his coarse chest hair through his fishnet top. The drummer chuckled at the contact, shivering at his warm hands against his cold skin. His slightly dirty fingernails drew deep swirls along his skin. Steven sighed and pulled off his leather jacket, throwing it off into the mess that was his room. It smacked against the carpet with a thick thump. They sat there, staring into each other's eyes. “I think all the blood loss is making me stupid,” Duff murmured, “stupider.” He pushed his head into the crook of Steven's neck. “Hey! If anyone here is the stupid one, it’s me!” Steven chuckled and placed a kiss on the side of Duff’s mouth, lightly pulling his head away from his neck with a fistful of hair. The crusted blood on his upper lip awkwardly began to dry and crack as Duff became more talkative, but he still looked gorgeous. He never looked bad, not to Steven at least.
Hey, remember that time when I would only smoke Parliaments?
“I need a smoke.” Duff sighed. “Oh! Oh- I’ve got you, man.” The drummer grinned, shoving the lanky man off of him. He scrambled toward the headboard of his bed- or where it would be, had he had one. Steven shuffled through the gunk shoved between the wall and his mattress before triumphantly pulling out three different cigarette boxes and a baggie. “Take your pick.” Steven placed his assorted white boxes- and bag into Duff’s lap. He hummed back and stared at the random smokes. “How did you end up with such a variety?” He snorted, picking up the Parliament lights first. The light blue stared back at him as he knocked back the top of the box. “Oh- every time I hook up with a chick at her place when she goes to piss, I hunt for cigarettes and whatever else I can find. Normally, they don’t say nothing!” Duff fished his lighter out of the pocket of his slacks and plucked out one of the white tubes. Tucking it safely between his teeth, Duff flicked his lighter one, twice and successfully inhaled a lungful of smoke.
Hey, remember that time when I would only smoke Marlboros?
Sour grey fled from Duff’s lips as he exhaled. Steven leaned over and pulled out the red-dipped Marlboro box. “Lemme see your light.” He grunted, putting out a flat palm toward Duff and grabbing at the air. Duff chuckled and dropped the piece of purple translucent plastic into his hand, exhaling little puffs of smoke. “So, what's in the bag?” Duff questioned, holding the opaque plastic up and giving it a little shake. “Huh. I dunno!” Steven shrugged and lit the cigarette held haphazardly between his lips. The orangeish filter peeked out from his mouth. “How the hell do you not know? Can I look?” The older man spewed questions at him, already tugging off the rubber band that kept the baggie closed.
His sudden wonder at the drummer's baggie of secrets made him want to get up and bombard the bassist with every ounce of love he had, but for some reason, he wanted to come off as cool. He didn’t know why. Duff had seen him at his absolutely dorkiest moments. Steven just nodded, pulling the cigarette from his lips to puff smoke at Duff. “C’mon, it’s a surprise! Don’t play bored, you wanna know what's in it just as bad as I do.” He giggled and waved the accumulating cloud of smoke away from his face. Stevens' cooled facade broke at the bassist's ever-so-sweet chuckle, making him also burst into ever-so-familiar giggles.
Hey, remember that time when I was broke?
I didn't care; I just bummed from my friends
Bum bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum bum
Duff finally got the stubborn baggie open and was instantly excited by what he saw. A loose mixture of random cigarettes and joints freely blended among each other. “Oh! You know what, that’s where I put all of my random shit. Most of it is like- hand rolled and homegrown and all of that organic shit.” Steven explained as he snatched the bag from his hands and pulled out a rather pathetic looking joint. “Some of our peers cannot roll for shit! Not saying who but his name may or may not rhyme with uh- Paxil Hose.” The drummer giggled and placed one of the tan, thinly rolled joints in Duff’s palm. “Oh, damn. That is plain sad, man.” He mumbled as he examined it between two fingers. Haphazardly, he ashed his cigarette on Steven's mattress, to which he groaned but remained wordless, and placed the joint between his now empty lips. The paper was ever so slightly unraveling on the side, so Duff licked out a small line against the rolling paper. Steven grinned at the thin smell of weed that hazed around the room as Duff brought his lighter to the twisted tip of the joint.
Duff inhaled a thick gasp of smoke and held it in. One, two, three. Then, he exhaled a small handful of coughs. “Shit. This shit is… Jesus! Nasty.” He sputtered and placed the blunt between Steven's v-shaped fingers. The drummer pulled the cigarette from between his lips and carefully slotted it between Duff’s lips. He gently and carefully enclosed them around it. The familiar, safe tobacco clouded his mouth as he inhaled. Steven took a thick mouthful of smoke from the joint. Duff was right, it was like- putrid. God, what the hell kind of dank did Axl have in his possession? “Fuck! Ew.” He coughed and groaned while ruffling his hands through his wiry mane. The slowly burning joint inches just a centimeter too close to his hair and burnt away a few hairs before Duff noticed. “Steven- Steven!” Duff yelped, swatting at his hair. “You’re gonna fuckin’ catch yourself on fire, man.” He chuckled, wiping away at the singed hair near his temple.
Hey, remember that time when you OD'ed?
“Fuck. Is it cold in here, or is that just me? It’s like- I dunno- I can’t breathe. Somethin’ on my chest.” Duff slurred, flexing his quickly numbing fingers. “You okay?” Steven questioned, spitting it out. A thin sheen of sweat licked across Duff’s clammy skin. He felt as if his brain was leaking from his ears. “Duff?” Steven questioned and grabbed his face with one hand. “Dude- speak to me here. You’re freaking me out.” A big nervous smile crept up upon his lips as he gripped Duff’s shoulder. Duff didn’t respond. Instead, his head just lolled off to the side. When the fuck had he passed out? “Duff!” He hissed. “Duff, get up. This isn’t fucking funny.” He smacked the side of his feverish cheek, desperately waiting for his eyes to flutter open. But, they didn’t. He was still breathing small shallow breaths. His heart was still thumping under Steven’s palm, which had snaked down to his left breast to feel his heartbeat because, well, Steven didn’t know where the hell a pulse point was!
“Axl! Slash! One of you get the fuck in here! Get the damn phone!” Steven screeched, his brain finally catching up on the fact that Duff had overdosed. It was weird because Steven wasn’t overdosing. Had he not taken the exact same shit? He felt fine, barely even high. So what the hell had happened? He truly didn’t know. Finally, Axl skittered down the hallway, dressed only in a big graphic shirt, his red boxers, and tube socks with their shared janky Motorola DynaTAC in hand. “What? What? The hell is happening?” He groaned, sleep-laced voice croaking mid-sentence. His fists rubbed at his eyes for a moment. “Oh. Shit.” He cursed, taking in Duff’s slightly blue drool-coated lips. It’s almost as if he was snapped away. Axl feverishly punched in ‘9-1-1’ into the phone as he muttered under his breath.
This freaked Steven the fuck out, more so than he already was. Big fat tears rolled down his rosy cheeks as he held the bassist to his chest. “If you die, I’ll kill myself just to kill you again.” He hiccuped into his blond hair while Axl grumbled out their address to the operator on the other end of the phone. “Hey, Stevie, roll him on his side, will ya? Thanks.” Axl barked as he shoved himself into a pair of jeans, the phone still propped up to his ear with his shoulder. “No- no not you, my roommate. Why would I tell you that?” He groaned at the phone, his voice becoming quieter and quieter as he receded into the other end of the house in search of his sneakers. Steven sat there, silent. Simply waiting. Luckily for him and Duff, when the men plucked out their home from the many selections they were given they chose the one closest to the local emergency room. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared sometimes.
Hey, remember that other time when you OD'ed for the second time?
The door was opened and Duff was gone before Steven could think about it too much. He saw the paramedics. He knows they flashed a light in his eyes and murmured something about ‘fentanyl' while ushering him onto a stretcher. He knows that he told them too much about Duff- like that he had seven siblings and that his favorite color was green while frantically showing these strangers his bracelets. Axl had come mid-rant and told Steven to go put on his shoes- despite him already having them on so that he could actually give them Duff’s information. During this, Steven ran circles around the house, desperately looking for something- anything to do. Then, it clicked. Paper. He licked the paper. Steven wasn’t sure he had ever run so fast. “Axl- he- the paper! Duff licked it.” He blubbered, grabbing the ginger man by the shoulders. Axl grunted and placed his hands on Steven’s shoulders, mimicking his pose. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Slow down, calm yourself and tell me in the car.” The vocalist spoke, rubbing Steven's shoulders. This was probably the nicest he had ever been to Steven.
The drummer scrambled to get in Axl’s janky Chevrolet Cavalier. The two of them rushed to the car. Though Steven was quicker in his movements, Axl moved with just as much urgency. Axl didn’t bother to get buckled. It was a short ride and hell, they were already going to the hospital anyways! With the speed he rushed to get buckled, Stevens' fishnet shirt got buckled in with him, the belt interlacing between the wide diamonds of thread. He ripped the shirt out of it, leaving a wide hole next to his ribs. The car was technically new, yes, but the thing was a fourth of the original price because half of the parts had already been stripped for cash. So, it barely sputtered to life. They weren’t quite sure how it was still running. Axl drummed his palms against the wheel as he backed out of their driveway.
“Okay. Spill.” He sighed out, pushing softly on the gas. The car couldn’t go a mile over 30, or it’d die on them. “So- um, y’know that one joint you gave me a few weeks ago?” Steven nervously wrung his hands. “Excuse me? The one that went fucking missing? You asshole! You told me you didn’t touch that shit when it went missing!” Axl screeched. “Okay failure on my behalf to mention that. Oops. Anyways- um do you know where the weed- or the paper came from?” He sheepishly continued, staring at Axl’s clenched jaw. “I dunno- some chick. Sophia or something.” He groaned, sensing that he knew exactly where this was going. “Okay well, Sophia was out to get you or something because it was starting to unravel in his hand n’ then he licked it and- I think he felt fine when he took a hit, and then he was all hauled ass up!” Steven rambled as the car screeched to a halt. The parking job was shit, neither of them had even really realized they had gotten to the hospital yet. “Shit. Shit. Okay- fuck! We’re here.” Axl hissed as he backed out of the car, Steven shortly following suit.
Well, in the waiting room while waiting for news of you
I hallucinated I could read your mind
They didn’t talk during the walk inside, nor did they talk while Axl explained their situation to the sweet old receptionist. Thick honey-like tension dripped from both of them. Not only was Duff quite literally in the hospital, but Steven also had sticky fingers! In his defense, he didn’t mean to steal it. Sometimes, you’re just a little absent-minded. It happens to like- everyone. No Biggie. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Axl finally spoke with a heavy sigh. “I dunno,” Steven replied as he picked through the handful of magazines on a side table. Truth be told, he could care less about whatever celebrity drama was happening right now, but what else could he do? They were quite literally sitting ducks. The receptionist had told Axl that she’d call out his name as soon as she knew Duff was conscious and visitable, but for now, they should just wait. For a while, sitting down was fine.
Then, this dull poking sensation in Steven's buttocks got unbearable, so he stood up and fished whatever it was out of his back pocket. “My teeth!” He grinned, holding the yellow enamel in his palm. “What the fuck!” Axl yelped as he stared down at the two teeth that sat in Steven’s palm. “Me n’ Duff found ‘em earlier. I think they’re lucky.” He smiled, giving them a small shake. In reality, if they were anything, they’d be unlucky. How else could he explain that his best friend overdosed mere hours after they discovered them? It’s fine. Axl didn’t need to know that! “You’re fucking gross.” He grumbled, throwing himself down onto one of the hard plastic waiting room chairs. It was Steven’s turn to get up and pace back and forth. He rubbed the teeth around in his palm as he burned a hole in the tiles. Occasionally, his converse would let out a grotesque squeak which was followed by a large grey scuff across the floor and he’d mutter out a sheepish apology. His feet never stopped moving. With his teeth in hand, Steven prayed for the first time in years. Unfortunately, his mind wandered too often to have a focused prayer session.
‘God if you hear this, can you get Duff out of this god-awful place already? It smells so fake- sterilized? Is that a word? Thanks. Could you imagine if I could read Duff's mind? That’s crazy. I bet he’s dreaming about screwing some broad or something. I wish I had arm candy as often as he did. I want candy. God- please grant me the wish to have even just a dollar in my wallet. I want a Snickers bar, dude! I’m tired. Anyways- back to Duff. When he gets out of here, you should give us some cash to go to Burger King or something. Hide it under the couch, if you’re even listening. Thanks, God.’
That was Stevens' exact thought process. Thank God for simple-minded men, such as Steven Adler.
And I was on a lot of shit too, but what I saw, man, I tell you it was freaky
“Michael Andrew McKagan? Is there someone here for a- uh, Michael Andrew McKagan?” A nurse in polka-dotted scrubs questioned. Axl raised his hand, got out of his seat, grabbed Steven by the wrist, and led him through the white hospital hallway. “Doctors, man. They make me so nervous.” Steven hissed, using his free hand to wipe his hair out of his face. “Oh, I can tell. You’re soaked in sweat.” Axl grinned back, just as sardonic as ever. He sputtered. Steven wasn’t actually sure how Axl knew where to go. Either Axl could actually read people's minds, or Steven had just zoned out on the part where the nurse told them where to go. It’s probably the latter. That vague, sad crying noise that every hospital seemed to have echoed around the stark halls as they reached the door. The drummer felt nauseous but, hey, someone else in the facility probably felt worse! So, he didn’t feel as if his situation was all that bad after all. I mean, unless you count almost killing your best friend as bad, Then it was horrible.
“I’ll let you have your little sappy moment, try to make it quick, though. On the way home, we can grab fast food or something.” Axl coughed, standing outside the door like a guard dog. Maybe God had listened, after all. Steven stood still for a moment as he grasped the cool metal doorknob, just gazing at himself in the reflection. He looked like a mess, at least he did from the awkward angle that the silver knob was at. The slightly burnt spot in his hair looked more obnoxiously obvious. He shoved the teeth back into his pocket. Finally, he pushed the door open. Duff looked- well, better than expected, but still rough. “Steven!” He croaked from his spot in the bed, raising his IV’ed arms at him. The idea of a hug from the bassist was ever so beckoning, but terrifying at the same time. “I’m not gonna break, probably, c’mon man!” He grinned. Steven mimicked his beam and rushed at the man. A blur of blond hair, denim, and fishnet stormed across the floor impossibly fast. The two of them giggled as they became entangled with each other. “Are you crying?” Duff mumbled into his wild hair.
“Man, shut up, Michael.”
“Don’t call me that! Asshat.” Duff teased. Steven didn’t even know his name was ever anything other than Duff, he didn't look like a ‘Michael’. “You look like shit, sorry about y’know,” Steven paused as he stared up at him, “everything.” Duff just smiled down at him and reassuringly rubbed his back. Whoever had cleaned him up had wiped away the crusted blood on his upper lip. His lips were more red; properly colored. He looked alive, once more. “It’s whatever. I was already a little wasted when we left the house, anyways. Whatever the hell was in that joint did not mix well with the shit I had already taken.” He giggled, resting his chin on top of Steven’s head.
“Axl’s here, y’know? He cried a little bit, I think.”
“Oh, like this is the first overdose he’s witnessed in this band!”
Info: Gay, Boys Being Boys, "Roommates", How Do I Tag, Pet-Play, Lingerie, Animal Play, Animal Ears, literal cowboy, Stockings, Tails, Muscles, Thighs, Tattoos, Overstimulation, Wordcount: Over 1.000, Intimacy, Hand Jobs, Nipple Play, Large Breasts (but in a boy way), Bells, previous orgasm denial
Summary: “I look,” Richard paused as he ran his palms over his ribs, “insane. I look fucking crazy, Robin.”
Authors Note: happy new years!!! this is mostly- if not entirely, inspired by THIS fortus fanart by the dear @4tusmylove like!!! holy fuck!!! his titties!!!! also : title from that one gnr song. anyways, this came out a little more intimate and fluffy and just . sweeter than intended but they're my babies sooo :P anyways, thanks for being patient with me sorry it's been like a month!!! im just busy with life but im getting back into my groove
“I look,” Richard paused as he ran his palms over his ribs, “insane. I look fucking crazy, Robin.” With every small movement he made, the bell around his neck rang out a clicker-clack noise. When he inhaled, it dung. At the smallest turn of his neck, it banged. He couldn’t move without the bronze bringing attention to him. “No. No, you look cute.” Robin grinned from his lazy seat on their shared bed. It was the truth! The main outfit was sickeningly tight, leaving nothing hidden in the soft white fabric. His flag was clearly at half mast already, if you get what I mean, but outside of that- every rippling muscle in his body was clear and sharp. The chest of the leotard was open, leaving his breasts clearly out for the world to see. It regrouped at the neck with a prim white collar met in the middle with a bow and the aforementioned bell.
“Give me a spin, baby.” Robin drawled, drawing circles in the air with his pointer finger. Richard sputtered and fussed, but he obeyed in the end. His feet softly padded against the floor as he gave a slow cautious spin. Robin let out a low whistle as he took in the sight of his lover. As Richard turned, the thin cow tail tacked to his bottom swooshed against his pale skin. “You look so damn sexy.” Robin grinned and gently rose from the bed. The thud of his soft steps was deeply dulled by his socks, which were printed with black spots on a knitted white background that danced up his thighs. “Oh- shut up.” Richard guffawed as he faced Robin once more- this time, his cheeks covered in a scarlet blush.
His arms nervously crossed over his bare chest. The tattoos that normally decorate his arms were covered up to the middle of his bicep, covered by the same print of fabric as his muscular tree trunk legs. “I dunno if I can, not with such a pretty little cow in front of me.” The rockstar grinned, walking up behind Richard and pulling him into his torso. A soft fluttery whine slipped from his lips as he leaned into the man. It wasn’t uncommon for Robin to wander around their flat shirtless- but in this instance, it added so very deeply to their relationship dynamic. They were so different, but the exact same in an odd way. Robin wrapped his arms around the guitarist, swaying the two of them to a nonexistent rhythm. He was always doing this- using his ever-so-fantastic mind to subconsciously create music through the tiniest of actions.
He dragged his hands up across Richard's arms, climbed his shoulders, and rested them upon the beginning of his neck. He didn’t apply any pressure. There was no harm in his actions. He just let them lay there atop the big black bow and push their weight into the cold brass. The man basically purred as he cradled his lover and began to hum into his ear. It was a familiar tune he repeated, one they had performed as a duet many times before. Beautiful, both in the literal naming sense and in a technical sense. He was calculated in his movement, though. Careful not to knock off the headband he had just helped Richard place on his head. Two twin horns jutted out of his black choppy hair, towering over a pair of soft folded ears below them. The unbelievably fluffy pink fabric under the black and white splotched layer on top of it looked impossibly soft, and Robin could easily get lost in the sensation of rubbing them if he would allow himself.
The best part of it all? One little tag pierced into the right ear that proudly read “ROBIN.” It was scribbled in his own messy handwriting, of course.
“You are so goddamn beautiful, you know that? Thank you for doing this for me.” Robin grinned, slowly peeling himself off of him. Richard fussed as he turned to find the man quickly roaming to the bedside table and back. He hadn’t directly seen what the guitarist had grabbed, but everyone knew Robin wasn’t Robin without his camera. “Just sit all pretty for me, please?” He begged, camera in one hand and the other nervously playing with the ends of his big brown waves. Richard stood there and thought about it. Hard. But, hell- you only live once, right? “As long as you promise to keep it to yourself.” He softly smiled while attempting his best seductive walk to the bed. He only had to walk a few steps, but he still strolled with pointed toes and swinging hips.
Robin approached him almost fearfully, palms sweating and a sort of perverted yearning in his features. In a way, everything about the two of them was perverted and they had no shame behind it! It was just in their nature. In a handful of flashes from far too many angles, Robin was finished with his photo shoot. “Yeah- yeah, these are good.” He mumbles, flicking back and forth with the mechanical buttons. “You sound like a total fuckin’ fangirl right now.” Richard snorts, bell ringing out as he was folding one of his legs over the other. “That’s because I am. These are like- amazing. I know you’re loyal to the whole puppy-boy thing but, God- maybe I’ve found your true calling.” He coyly teases, carefully putting his camera down on their dresser.
Their fun had only just begun, but the feeling of lust already sat heavy in the air.
Robin strolled toward him, an air of confidence surrounding him as he approached his lover. Richard was nothing but impressed by his behavior, the usually meek man being turned into this unfamiliar illusion of pride. He stood in front of him, shoulders pushed back and head held high as he gazed down at the flushed man. One of his worn hands carefully floated towards Richard, cupping his head in his large palm. "You look pretty. I think I said that already, but you really do." He grinned and scratched his blunt nails softly against Richard's jaw. He always did shit like that- the smallest signs of intimacy.
Richard let out a low- almost gravely purring sound as he leaned into the guitarist's embrace. Carefully, Robin toed his way around the bed and, in a borderline weightless way, shuffled behind Richard. His folded legs encaged Richards' wide hips. Robin rested his forehead against the slight curve where his lover's spine blends into neck, allowing his slightly greasy black mane to tickle at his skin. He let out shallow hunched breaths- but, he was perfectly calm. “My favorite.” He mumbled, gently holding his thigh and running his fingertips across the bold hem that ran across his femur. “What’s your favorite? My little costume?” Richard snorted through a deep throaty laugh.
“No, you. You’re just- I don’t know how else to say it, my favorite.” Robin stumbled. His normal aura of sexual dominance and confidence was flushed away for a moment of rawness. He was quite the lover and honestly very physically intimate with no shame behind it, but he wasn’t quite the wordsmith that other men were. He preferred to show love in the smaller, less verbal ways- so this bordered on being proposed for Richard. “Oh my God. Hi, yes- you’re my favorite too? I love you so much.” Richard babbled, overcome with such a strange form of pure admiration for his lover. Hell- he was making it hard for him to focus on the outfit when he was just throwing out confessionals like this!
“Thanks.” Robin giggled, tone suddenly much less antsy. Although his face was still blushed and his heart was pounding, he wanted to play! He began to carefully dance his fingers up his body. They cruised against the wide sea of white fabric and paused just below the bloom of his breasts. Everyone who’s anyone knew Richard had big tits, I mean, just look at him! But, very few would acknowledge it to him. Robin would, though. Because, of course he would! Infact, there would be days where he’d grab Richard just before they went on stage and insist that he unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt- you know, to give the girls a little bit of fanservice.
He softly brought up the worn pads of his fingertips to tease around his nipples. Hell, he didn’t even actually touch his areola- just danced around them. Sliding down his fingers, he pulled them back along the bottom line where they meet his ribcage, and pushed forward while beginning to fully cup them. “These are so nice.” Robin grinned. “Thank you.” Richard airly replied, the blush across his cheeks coming out almost verbally. He flexed his clothed arms as he leaned into the little touch Robin graced him with. Robin let one hand slowly wander down toward his groin while keeping the other stationary at his breast.
He gently began to tweak Richards' nipple. It wasn’t painful, but there was a very unique sensation behind it. Really, indescribable in a sense. Like stepping on a Lego but underwater while on ecstasy, almost. The pressure between his fingers grew as he worked closer toward Richard’s cock. It was like the ultimate distraction. He thought everything all at once, yet nothing at the same thing. All of his thought’s rambled in an incoherent rhythm- the kind of rhythm not even Robin could produce. Robin reached between his legs, pushing his torso into his spine, and absorbed the pure warmth radiating off of him. It was lust in the most concentrated way possible.
Roughly, he tugged apart the snaps of his garment that lay hidden between his thighs. It should have brought his attention closer to his cock, but it didn't. Here’s another thing about Richard Fortus- the man’s got unbelievably sensitive nipples! I mean, really, his tits ache like he’s supposed to be breastfeeding something! Robin always held that above his head in their scenes to keep him in a comfortable mushy headspace. His cock fled the tight white fabric like all hell, springing up and plopping against his thigh with shocking vigor.
Robin ignored the sensual part of his brain screaming to tease the hell out of Richard, instead he chose to jump straight into the pure raw sexual part of it all. Foreplay is fun, but they know each other's bodies so impossibly well that they can pinpoint when it’s needed and when it's purely for fun. So, he wrapped his hangs around his cock and gave him a few beginners strokes. That first bit of real contact- God, Richard thought he was dying. “Oh my goodness.” He sputtered, gasping through a moan. “You’re so cute.” Robin grinned as he rubbed quick circles across the bud of his nipple. He peered over his shoulder, still careful to avoid the horned headband, and snickered as he watched the man's thighs tense.
He had been given so little- so few sensations to work off of, and yet he teetered closer to the edge by the second. Why? Because they had been playing this game for a while. Robin would dance circles around him and keep him just on the precipice of success, and then stop touching him entirely. He had done it for the last week or so, and Richard couldn’t handle much more. But, it was so incredibly fun, in a morbid way. “You’re gonna kill me.” Richard huffed out, sweat beading through his bangs. Robin just hummed and continued to flick his wrist. Occasionally, he’d lose tempo and punish Richard by clamping down on his nipple just a little harder- in a good way.
“Robin, ‘m not joking. If you keep going, I’m gonna come.” He chewed out his words through euphoric babbling. There’s this sort of itch that only Robin can scratch inside of him- an itch that’ll never be solved by anyone else's hands. He pushes him to a level of unimaginable euphoria. Every. Single. Time. Robin wordlessly continued to pump away at his cock. It was a sort of silent permission Richard could only assume and hope for the best, because there was no way he could possibly hold back.
There's not enough words invented to describe the adrenaline speeding through his veins as he comes. It hurts- his nipple hurts, but it's such a good hurt. It's bursting pressure coursing throughout every ounce of his being and it's so amazingly too much. He doesn't get to come down. No, Robin doesn't allow him to. He continues to jerk him off until Richard is gasping for air and desperately trying to writhe out of his grasp. Then, he lets go. Richard borderline collapses as he heaves for air, tears unbeknownst to him previously dropping onto the sheets. He's not sad, though. He's so very happy and just overwhelmed with tears. Proof of a good orgasm, really. If there's any drug in the world he craved, it was Robin's touch.
"You okay?" Robin mumbles against the shell of his ear, carefully wrapping his arms around his midsection. He wasn't sure how long it took for him to come down from his high, whether it was minutes or weeks. But, when he did he was filled with a wide appreciation for his lover. Robin didn't demand to get off after him, he never did, instead he busied himself with caring for the hazed man. Richard tiredly nodded, almost too exhausted to keep his head up. "Wicked," He smiled, "do you want me to take this off?" Robin asked as he plucked at the white bodysuit. "I'll keep it on, for now." Richard slurred. "Well, alright. Whatever floats your boat, but can I atleast take off the ears?" He asked, careful not to pop that bubble of post-orgasm serenity.
He, with the most feathery touch he could muster, slipped off the soft headband and discarded to their slightly messy floor. That was a problem for another day. "Do you want me to clean you up right now? We could just lay- if you want, of course." He questioned, knowing even if they laid together now that he'd still end up sneaking out of bed to get a rag and clean off his lover soon enough. "Just lay with me, please." Richard spoke just above a whisper. Robin didn't reply, instead he just pulled him into the plush bed with him and stayed there. His big waves of hair created magnificent swirls and patterns of halos around their heads. He didn't mean to, but soon enough the soft bubbling breaths of Richard succumbing to sleep had him dozing off as well. Maybe he could clean him up in the morning.
This was true peace. Just the two of them, always and forever.
Info: No Smut, Cheating, Infidelity, Messy Relationships, Mutual Cheating, Short
Summary: Soon enough, you’ll slip out of his arms as he snores and sneak back onto the Velvet Revolver bus to tiptoe back to your own bunk. It felt impossible to juggle your lovers, but you did. Somehow.
Authors Note: HI!!! 1) life has been god awful lately, so i haven't really been posting, nonetheless writing anything so take a little repost from AO3 :) ill get some new stuff (specifically some richard fortus/robin finck, because they've got a big uptick in fans) out soon enough but right now I just need a teensy tiny break :") 2) title is from this song cuz I love rod jackson!!!
“Does he understand you- you know, how I understand you?” Axl croons, running his fingers softly against your jaw. His hands cradle your skull from behind, your head laid comfortably on his midsection. You sigh and pull away from him. His hands sit almost uselessly in the air where you once laid. “You know I’ve asked you to not bring him up.” Grimacing, you put your hand on his thigh. You use it to try and push yourself out of his lap. Before you can get away from his warm embrace, he’s got his arms wrapped around your waist to anchor you from leaving. “C’mon, baby, just tell me. Then, I’ll keep my lips sealed.” He promises as you place your hands on his clasped wrists.
You get a soft glimpse of him as your head turns to look at him for a split second. He’s so fucking pretty, even when you’re upset at him. He got his hair braided recently- despite your complaints, but honestly, it could be worse. You miss the softness of his previously feathered hair, but weirdly, the box braids are cute. His choice of goateed facial hair isn’t your favorite, but it looks good on him. Everything does. His eyes look a little wet, but they’re just as deeply green as always. He’s wearing one of those stupid velour shirts that you love, yet hate at the same time. He’s insufferable, and you love it.
You inhale deeply. “If Slash understood me- if he even tried to understand me, I wouldn't have to come to you like this. Now, get your head out of your ass. Dickhead.” Exhaling as you speak, you slide back into his lap. “See, that’s all I wanted to hear!” He grins and leans forward to stack his head on top of yours. The muscles in his legs are flexed as they cage you in as if he's afraid that you’ll bolt. God, you love his voice. You love his smile. You love him. It’s damn near impossible for you to imagine a life without the riled-up coke fiend, yet you live it. You wake up every single day curled up in the arms of his guitarist. Most of your days are spent with Slash, actually. But, sometimes, Axl gets your nights. Somehow, that’s enough for him.
“You know, you don’t have to feel bad about this, right? He has other women.” The ginger speaks carefully to not set you off. You’re quiet for a moment, choosing to lightly rub your thumb in circles on his denim-clad legs. “Yeah, yeah I know. Groupies and all that.” You mumble. It’s a rather familiar game you play with the guitarist. It goes something like this: you walk in on him, before, after, or during the process of cheating on you, you act shocked, he clings to your waist and begs forgiveness, and you give it. Sometimes the other women will leave the room, sometimes they watch your mutual act. You always forgive him, because how could you turn him down? Too many times have you seen the aftermath of turning him down. Rod Jackson, Eric, and hell- even Axl are all victims of his rampant shit talk to the press.
For someone who swears to God himself that he's insanely shy, Slash sure does love to gossip.
You’ve seen how bands refused to take in Rod after Slash publicly denounced him as an ‘unmotivated junkie who's hard to work with’. You’ve seen the anger that hit Axl after one too many drunken paparazzi rants. You’ve seen it all. If that's what his wrath could do to his singers- some much more famous than others, what could it do to a simple ex-girlfriend?
“Hey, I’m okay with being the other man if you’ll let me.” The teasing grin in Axl's voice is audible as he holds you close to him. In a way, he snaps you out of your head. He even keeps you grounded to an extent. You don’t speak, but just gently nod. Slash would kill you if he knew. He’d kill Axl if he knew, too, but you’d definitely be gone before him. Maybe, one day, he and Axl would get over this insane feud, but for now, you keep them at arm's length and pray for the days that Guns N’ Roses overlaps with the Velvet Revolver tour dates.
“I wish we could stay like this forever.” You sigh, leaning into his warmth. Axl’s bigger than he was in the nineties, but it isn't really as bad as people make it out to be. Laying in someone's lap is a whole lot more comfortable when they have some fat to cover their sharp hip bones, shockingly enough.
“We could, y’know, if you’d leave him. If- when you leave him, I’ll be right here waiting for you, sugar. You know that.” He reassures you. He tells you this so often it borders on ritualistic, but you love it. It’s comforting. Maybe, one day soon enough, you’ll leave Slash, but for now, all you can do is sneak away to Axl in the dead of night. The two of you spend the rest of the night in comfortable silence, just enjoying each other.
It's disgusting and immoral, but weirdly enough, you’re glad that almost everyone in the Velvet Revolver camp is sickeningly high all the time. It’s easier to slip away from your lover when he’s so unaware of his surroundings. You feel bad for Dave, though. He’s a sweet guy with a real paternal role in a band of idiots, who's stuck babysitting as the only sober man on the tour bus. You’re pretty sure he knows that something is going on, but he’s too nice to say anything, which you’re grateful for. To him, it’s probably some sort of strange revenge for all of the disrespect his coworkers give him daily, but it benefits you so you can’t quite complain!
Soon enough, you’ll slip out of his arms as he snores and sneak back onto the Velvet Revolver bus to tiptoe back to your own bunk. Luckily, Slash chose for you to have your own personal cot because the two of you couldn’t possibly fit in one. Yours is on the floor too, how convenient? The only real task in getting back to home base is avoiding Scott, who rarely sleeps for some odd reason, but he’s normally too cuddled up in his bunk with some gaudy victorian book to notice. If he does notice, you’ll just blame it on doing some press release or another.
It felt impossible to juggle your lovers, but you did. Somehow.
Info: Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Married Sex, No Vaginal Sex
Summary: “Jeez, I can’t see the road through this damn rain,” Myles mumbles, flexing his grip on your thigh. His other hand holds the wheel tight and straight. “Why don’t we pull over and wait for the rain to thin out a little bit?” You smile, placing your hand on top of his.
Authors Notes:ITS MYLES BIRTHDAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABYYYY!!! we love you so much, here's something myles orientated for just for him <3
“Jeez, I can’t see the road through this damn rain,” Myles mumbles, flexing his grip on your thigh. His other hand holds the wheel tight and straight. “Why don’t we pull over and wait for the rain to thin out a little bit?” You smile, placing your hand on top of his. Your silver wedding bands clink together. He grunts softly and nods. Carefully, he guides the two of you off into the shoulder. The headlights of your humble Hyundai illuminate a wide path of yellowed rain, yet they can only go so far. The vehicle comfortably glides to a stop.
“You look handsome.” You grin, looking over at your husband. He’s got all of his hair pushed up into his woolen beanie which gives you a comfortable view of his face. His cheeks and nose are sweetly flushed from the wisp of cold air floating around the car despite the heated air blowing out of the vents. Myles is bundled up almost comically with a large puffer jacket stacked on top of a few jackets and a nice scarf wrapped around his neck. Beneath that scarf is something only the two of you know of: a handful of hickeys you had sucked into his sweet skin the night before. “You, too. Or uh- you look beautiful, I mean. Oops.” He nervously stumbles on his words. It was sweet, he was just as sweet and nervous as the day the two of you met. He was so in love it was almost painful.
“Ah, you’ve got such a way with words.” You tease and snicker at his embarrassment but go in for a kiss anyway. He goofily smiles at you and leans into your body, closing his eyes as your lips touch. You let your eyes flutter shut but quickly let them open to undo your seatbelt. Once you're given more leverage, you lean over the center console and gently trail your hand across his jawline. It’s soft and delicate, almost like him. “Sorry about the weather. Sucks, it's throwing off your birthday plans.” You mumble, breath gently brushing against his lips as you slightly pull away.
“Yeah.” He nods in agreement, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. The two of you are silent like that for a moment, just cradling each other's faces and taking each other in. Then, you speak. “You know what? I think I could make up for the weather if you let me.” You suggestively grin, trailing your fingers down his cotton-covered chest and toward his belt buckle. “Here? What if someone sees?” He coughs out, embarrassed and weirdly turned on by the risk. “You can always keep watch and tell me if someones coming over here, but I doubt anyone else is driving in this weather.” You hum and begin to nimbly undo his belt. The large metal buckle clanks against the prongs as you pull the leather open.
You draw your legs under your body in the car seat and maneuver your body to face him, throwing your torso over the center console. He sighs as you undo the button to his pants and tug down the zipper. You carefully slide your fingers into the fly of his boxers and pull out his half-hard cock. you could never get sick of Myles- ever, but if you were to, you’d still love his cock. It’s just outright pretty! It’s a solid six or so inches, cut, and a soft pale pink at the tip. He’s got one mole near the base of it that you’re just absolutely obsessed with. Myles is clean-shaven from the neck down, including his pubic hair. You had always found it funny, but he had a good reason! He firmly believed having a big bush coming out of his uber-low-rise pants would look ridiculous.
Normally, in any other situation, you’d take your sweet time teasing Myles and reducing him to a whimpering mess, but giving head in the car gets uncomfortable fast! So, you settle with getting straight to the point. You give a soft, almost experimental kitten lick to the head, absorbing the salty flavor of sweat and precum on his skin. That's something else you’d never get sick of, the way he tastes. It’s just so distinctly Myles. Then, you lick a firm strip from the start of the underside of his cock to his tip. He shudders almost dramatically when you finally put it in your mouth. You’re gentle yet firm as you suck him off, bobbing your head in an almost rhythmic manner.
“So good for me.” He moans out, gently lacing his fingers through the roots of your hair. He doesn’t pull or lead you around, just simply rests his hand there. You tease your tongue around that soft spot he’s got on the underside of his cock, just below where the tip meets the shaft. Myles groans and grabs your hair a little tighter, letting his nails scrape across your scalp ever so slightly. You moan around his cock, causing him to desperately flex every muscle in his body. He holds back the urge to come on the spot, but he can’t help the way his legs shake and shiver.
One of your hands carefully comes up to cradle his balls, although his jeans and boxers keep two thick layers between the two of you. He still can’t deny how good it feels even with the blockage. “You are- ah, so… Fuck!” He moans out as you play out a few more of your tricks upon him. He can feel that electric feeling creep up in his guts, beginning at the tips of his toes and dancing along his nerves toward the lower half of his stomach. He tries to warn you in a series of intelligible moans, but it only spurs you on further.
“Shit! Baby, I’m- fuck!” He groans out as his peak slams into him. You don’t even pull away, just let him come into your mouth. Part of you wants to enjoy that feeling of him shooting warm white across your cheeks, but the idea of tasting him in whole overpowers that idea. This is a taste you’ve been long acquainted with, and yet, it never gets any less pleasant. You aren’t normally quite obsessed with the way a dude's spunk tastes like, but come on! It’s Myles! His thighs desperately twitch as you blow him into overstimulation. That firework feeling in his stomach is yet to fade. He whines and huffs out a series of moans as you finally pull away.
“Ah, God. You’re gonna kill me one day.” He almost sobs as you look up at him. You’re a little slobber-mouthed and your mascara has started to run, but you just look absolutely beautiful. “I’d kiss you right now, but I for one am not the biggest fan of eating my own semen.” He snorts, too lost in his post orgasm haze to be nervous. “Hey! I swallowed, so you’re only really getting an aftertaste.” You tease him, patting his thigh.
“So, is that a good birthday celebration?” You giggle. He nods and blushes, his shy attitude sliding over him once more.
“Looks like the rains cleared up some, how about we go do those birthday things now?"
Info: Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Older Man/Younger Woman, Smut
Summary: When in doubt, bone the guitarist.
Authors Note: ITS MY BABYS BIRTHDAY!!!! happy 52nd russell, love u so much <3 (if u can't tell already) can't wait for the next time I get 2 see u live :P
The bright flashlight obnoxiously glares into your eyes as Marco flashes it around your group of concertgoers and groupies. “Alright, ladies! I’m sure some of you know the drill, but in short, behave yourselves. No unapproved touching, no unwanted advances, etcetera etcetera! Steel Panther themselves hand-picked you from the crowd, so don’t keep ‘em waiting!” He rolls his eyes, leading your tribe of women through the winding venue hallways. The short blond mohawk on his head bounces fluffily as he marches onwards. The thick swish of his plaid cargo shorts and the clink of his wallet chain dances through your gaggle of differently leveled drunk women and echoes down the long hallways. He stops after what felt like hours, albeit it’s most likely closer to three minutes, and awaits in front of a closed door. Their dressing room- green room? You didn’t quite know the lingo. You. didn’t quite need to know the lingo. I mean, it’s all a big gimmick, right? Sex, drugs, and rock n’ fuckin’ roll.
What you had assumed to be a little freebie Q&A turns out to be a whole lot more laid back than expected. The four men: three seniors and their lone junior, lounge around the cozy backstage area in an array of sofas and other seating. Immediately, your tribe of ladies scatters. Most of them float toward Rikki, the fresh slab of meat, but a few women clung to Michael and Stix. Satchel- though, he’s by himself. It’s odd, he seems to be a major fan favorite. In a way, you could kind of get the other women's aversions. He looks sad, almost moody as he sits there with one leg crossed under the other and his strong jaw jutted into his palm. His eyeliner is a little worn- smudged, even, which adds to his edgy appearance for the evening.
So, you sit with him
It’s funny, you look so different next to each other. Out of entirely different decades. I guess, which is what made Steel Panther so exuberant to people. They weren’t fresh or new, but it’s different from everything else in the modern day.
“Oh!” He jumps, placing a hand on his chest in his startled state. “Sorry- I- uh, may not be in the best mood for this tonight. Sorry, family stuff, y’know?” He mumbles, twirling some of his brown synthetic locks around his pointer finger. His focus stays sharply pointed at his palm, almost fearful in the way he refuses to look at you. “That’s okay. I don’t mind being grumpy unless you mind me not minding it!” You giggle as you comb your fingers through your hair and give him a sly smirk. He shyly smiles back, finally turning to face you. Soft blush eats away at his cheeks. “You seem nice. Not even just- uh, ‘trying to get in my pants’ nice. That’s cool.” He nervously air quotes around his second sentence. For the first time, you notice the slight bump in the point of his nose. Just on one side, almost like a pimple except there's no irritation or swelling behind it. Almost as if someone had knocked the bump into it. Cute.
The two of you hit it off like all hell. I mean, ultimate small talk world champions, truly. He tells you- gushes, really, about his children, and in return, you yap his ear off about whatever the fuck you want. It’s crazy to consider that there’s a chance you may never see him again after this. You both know so much about each other, and yet you know so little at the same time. If this is the only time the two of you were to ever talk, you could never get over it.
“Alright, ladies! Hope we had our fun. Let’s get movin’ on home! These men need to be in Canada by Wednesday!” Marco yells after about an hour of free-time backstage, clapping his palms together as he begins to usher out women. A few of them loosely try to cling on, but eventually, everyone is back in the hallway they started in. You’re truly gloomy as you step over the door frame and back into the gray concrete jungle that would inevitably lead you out of the venue. “Hey. Actually, Marco, get me her.” You hear that voice, that ever so familiar voice rings out clearer than anything else in the world. Every other woman in the hallway turns to stare as the short yet buff man grabs your forearm and draws you back into the room. A chorus of assuming ‘ooooh’s echoes through the hall.
“Ooh, are you right ladies! This could be you next time.” The tech snorts as he continues to usher away the bulk of the audience. He’s joking, probably. You stumble back into the room and make eye contact with all four men at once. For a moment, the drummer, singer, and bassist stare at you. Then, they just turn around and act like everything else is normal. Maybe this is normal for the guitarist. Satchel pulls you into him. It’s almost nervous, again, but slightly more confident since when he had first looked at you. The hug is short and awkward, but both of you thoroughly enjoy it. “Hey. We- uh, don’t actually have much traveling to do before we end up in Canada. So, wanna enjoy this free night and or day with me?” He guffaws at himself as you respectively untangle from each other.
Holy shit. Holy shit. The Satchel of Steel Panther just asked you to accompany him for the night. “Yeah- oh my God. Yeah, okay.” You stammer, frantically nodding and holding his hands in yours. Both of your palms were sweaty, but somehow, neither of you could find the time to care. Instead, your focus is more so on finding a way to rush him to your car without catching any attention at all. Sure, the show had been done for a long point at this time, but you never know who may linger. It doesn’t take very long to put together his belongings: a black jacket, a plain baseball cap, and his wallet. He slides the hat over his shiny wig, pulls himself into the tight jacket, and throws his wallet into a pocket. Satchel doesn’t even bother changing into normal day-to-day clothes, if he has any before he’s throwing an arm around your shoulders and leading you out of the back entrance. “I kinda took the bus here. Do you have a hotel room or something we could go back to? A car? My house?” You nervously ramble, cautiously leaning into his body as the two of you stroll through rushed techs and wandering bandmates.
“Oh, don’t worry! Mama, we make enough money to rent a car and get an Airbnb for the off days.” He teases, patting you on the shoulder. His tone change is insane to you, the awkwardly ticked-off Satchel who was pouting with his head in his hand is absolutely gone at this point. Instead, he’s replaced by a strong and confident man, a man almost the same as the persona he flaunts on stage. It’s somewhat watered down, though. Much less ‘I-believe-women-belong-in-the-kitchen’ but equally cocky. “I think the rest of them took the car, though. Man. Rude as hell. I’ll just- uh, order an Uber.” He scoffs, grumbling to himself about his friend's lack of manners. You nod at him. No matter how confident he suddenly is, no matter how much he puffs out his chest and holds up his chin, he’s still an old man who could barely navigate a phone. Slithering his arm off of you apologetically, he tugs his phone out of the spandex waistline of his flashy patterned pants. It illuminates the dark alley the two of you pause in as he unlocks it. He squints in the bright light and flicks through his apps. “God- how the hell do you people- you young people use these damn things!” He huffs and puffs, frustratedly smashing his slightly clubbed fingers into the screen. “Let me see, Grandpa.” You tease, swiping the device out of his palm.
Soon enough, aided by your personal tech savviness, the two of you clamber into the sleek car that pulls up on the side street. Almost immediately, he’s onto you. The bill of his hat softly thunks into your forehead as he goes to push your lips together. You giggled, pushing it further up on his head and finally getting the sweet release of that initial first kiss. Despite his rough and rugged aesthetic, he’s something entirely new once you dug past the gimmick. He’s soft, velvety, and vaguely tastes like root beer Dum Dums. Satchel roams his worn hands across your clothed body, teasing at the waistband of your zebra-print leggings as his tongue breaches your gently closed lips. Running his tongue across the bottom of your teeth lightly, he gropes at any of your body that he could. Hips, thighs, ass, tits, anything! He just wants to feel you. If there’s any word to describe the man, it’d be handsy.
“Now hold on, honey. I don’t wanna bone in this total stranger's car.” You whisper against his lips, words brushing air against them with the almost minuscule amount of space you had made between the two of you. As you spoke, you made a small nod of your head toward the silent driver. “Ah, yeah. Oops!” He chuckles, his grin plucking his cheeks upwards and forming soft crows feet at the corners of his eyes. “Sorry about that, baby. I haven’t gotten around to having many one-nighters or flings- if that’s what you want, lately. Wife problems, and all that. Well, ex-wife.” Satchel over-shares slightly before going back in to place a soft peck on your lips. It’s much more gentle than the initial kiss, but it isn’t inherently bad. Jesus Christ, this dude had one intense oral fixation!
The Uber skirts to a stop in front of his temporary humble abode.
You didn’t even notice until the driver gruffly clears his throat at the two of you. “Ah, sorry.” You apologize as your head snaps towards him, quickly separating yourself from the guitarist. You grab his hand and pull him out of the vehicle, thanking the driver as the two of you shuffle out. The car is gone before you can even wave it away. Well, someone isn’t a big fan of romance. “So, big guy,” You grin, looking up at him and patting him on the bicep, “what now?”
“Well, all the lights are off, so the house is ours. For now, at least.” He hums and loops an arm around your waist as he guides you up the porch steps and to the door. The outside lights hum and flicker on as they detect the two of you, illuminating the cozy porch. He opens the door and steps in before you so he can click on the interior lights. It’s nice and clean. Perhaps, that’s the perk of them renting someone else’s home for their stay, or maybe it really is all just a big gimmick. Who knows! You’re in absolute shock that the entirely white couch had managed to go unstained and that it appears as if all of them have the common sense to use coasters for their drinks. “This is really cute. Nice and cozy.” You compliment as you lean into his broad frame. “Well, I’ll make sure to tell the owner whenever we pack our bags and get back out on the road.” He jokes, rubbing his hand up and down your side.
“Oh! You know what? Make yourself at home down here, I’ll be right back.” He suddenly exclaims and quickly retreats down the hall. You’re a little dumbfounded but sit down nonetheless. You listen to a door somewhere in the house swing open and promptly shut as his footsteps fade away. Fiddling with your thumbs, you let your mind wander. What could he possibly be doing? What if his dick doesn’t work! The dude is old, you know that but what if he’s erectile dysfunction old? That’s terrifying. He’s ridiculously handsome, it’d be a shame if his penis is unusable! You trust him, though. All we need is a little faith in him, right? You’re so lost in your own head that when he returns, you don’t even notice.
Two arms being thrown around your shoulders makes you jolt and frantically look behind you.
“Hey.” He grins as he rubs his palms into your shoulders. As your heartbeat returns to normal, you take in two big differences in his appearance. First of all, he’s half-dressed, with no shirt but he did change into a pair of tanned cargo shorts. Second, his wig is gone! He’s bald! Well, not really. His hair is short, slightly quiffed, and obviously thinning around his temples. Normally, you don’t find male pattern baldness particularly cute, but you can make an exception for him. This is the first you’ve ever seen of his short salt n’ pepper hair that he kept hidden under the wig, and you love it. “Hey, handsome.” You purr after your heart slows its pounding, turning around your entire body and grinning at him. Satchel smiles back at you and offers a hand. You take it as you rise from the sofa. “By the way, you can just call me Russ. Or Russell.” He stumbles over his words in a way that almost resembles anxiety, but he plays it off rather well. He just didn’t give out his real name very often, especially not to hot girls he’s about to bang.
You give him a curt nod as he begins to walk down through the home with you, hand in hand. Russell’s hands are rough and used, yet so warm and comforting at the same time. You pass framed pictures of the family that typically resides here and part of you begins to wonder if that could be you one day. The two of you. No! That’s crazy. The two of you haven’t even had sex yet, and you’re daydreaming about marrying him and having his babies already? Get your head in the game, girl! Before you can dawdle on your thoughts too much, you’re in his temporary bedroom. “Jesus, find any good porno mags tucked under the mattress?” You snort while taking in the deep blue teenage boy's bedroom he’s gotten stuck with.
When the band was pulling sticks for which room they’d get, Russell pulled the absolute shortest, because, of course, he did. Of course, the guy who was absolutely most likely to fuck something this tour god the most un-fuckable room in the entire house.
“You know what? I haven’t actually checked.” He mumbles as he takes long strides toward the twin-sized mattress. Russell sits down on the light gray sheets and stares at you. You’re stupidly pretty and he can’t fathom how he managed to charm someone so gorgeous. You look just like a more dressed-up version of all the half-naked beer ad models scattered between the rock band posters pasted to his walls. God, if only whatever that teenager lives here normally knew Steel fuckin’ Panther is staying in his house for a few days.
You grin and decide to give him a small show. You teasingly begin to pull off your graphic shirt as slowly as you possibly could, watching as Russell eats up every ounce of skin you expose to him. You happily shimmy your hips and fling your shirt at him as you pull it all the way off. He exhales as he takes in the sight of your lace push-up bra. “Jesus.” He sighs as he runs his hand up and down his thigh. You make a solid 180-degree turn to face the wall. He grins as he ogles your ass in your ever-so-tight leggings. Honestly, they resemble pants he personally owns except a whole lot cheaper. Not in a mean way! Most pants seem a whole lot cheaper than his when all of his come in at a price tag of at least $500.
Then, you slyly hook your thumbs into the waistband of your zebra print bottoms and begin to slowly tug them down. While you aren't looking, Russell brings your shirt up to his nose and gives it a strong sniff. Yeah, okay. Maybe he’s nasty for that, but the girl funk is just irresistible to him! No, joking, he just really liked your perfume. It’s sweet, fruity, and floral. Just like you. For a moment, he's too lost in dissecting every undertone in the body mist and almost misses the best part of your little strip tease game. Quickly, his eyes snap back to you just as you peel the waistband down far enough for him to see the tail of your thong and the slight beginning swell of your ass. You look behind your shoulder to make sure your guest still has his eyes on the prize and, sure enough, he’s practically drooling as he watches you. So, you pull your pants down just below where the tender fat of your ass and the soft downy skin of your thighs meet.
He verbally groans at the sight of your plump bottom, rubbing his hand across his face as he tries to stifle a wholehearted moan. How the hell did he end up with someone built so perfectly? How the hell could he be expected to just keep this as a casual one-night stand? He’d never get over you. You pull the stretching fabric down your legs, making sure to give your hips a little purposeful wiggle as you move. You know, just to keep your viewer interested. As you bend further over to fully tug off your pants, he sees more and more of the way your tiny thong clings to your painfully wet cunt. He wants to fucking ravage you. That’s the plain, factual truth. He wants to make you sob, scream, and writhe as he fucks you, but he also wants to make the slowest, most sensual love to you. It’s a hard choice to make when you’ve only got one full night to work.
Finally, you turn back to him. You’re down to just your underwear at this point, whereas he’s still mostly clothed. Yet, he seems to be much more sexually frustrated than you. “Jesus Christ.” He mumbles as he takes in the sight of your semi-exposed body. Right on the front panel of your thong are two words embroidered in impossibly hot pink thread.
“Daddy’s Girl”.
Mother of God, you’re going to kill him. You’re going to kill him and he’s going to thank you for it.
“C’mere.” Russ barks, maybe a little bit louder than intended, and pats his thigh. You immediately obey and strut towards him, adding some sway to your hips and putting on your best ‘fuck me’ face. One of your arms wraps around his broad shoulders as you splay yourself out in his lap. You sit across his thighs, crossing your legs at the knee and leaning into him for support. He smells nice. Earthy and masculine, but not overpoweringly so. “I’ve got two options for you, little girl. Y’know, be grateful that I’m even letting you choose, but anyways, we can go down two paths. I could give you something slow, sensual, and loving and we could have the most romantic night possible, that’s the first option. Or, I can hold you down and give you the most pleasurable, hardest fuck of your life. I mean truly, the whole shebang and some, that’s the second option.”
Woah. He certainly wasn’t lying about how long he had been out of the dirty talk game. That was fucking corny! You love it, though.
You pause for a long moment before replying, almost as if you’re genuinely weighing your options. You take it further as you furrow your brows in mock contemplation and rub your jawline as you think. He just about doubles back to offer you a third choice for a moment. “Nah I’m fuckin’ with you. I’ll always take fast and hard over slow and soft, that’s something you oughta learn about me.” You giggle and give him a bratty tap on the cheek. He sighs a loud sigh of relief. “Fuck yeah.” He grins under his breath, not quite sure what he’s agreeing with. Just know, he agrees. His hands pluck at your bra strap, almost silently demanding for you to take it off. “I can’t. Not by myself.” You stare at his sharp features as you embarrassingly mumble the truth. It’s true, though! You could barely get the damn bra on by yourself, nonetheless, undo the hooks at the end of the day. You always just settled with the daily flight of awkwardly pulling it over your head, but that’s the opposite of sexy.
“Oh, baby. ‘S okay, That’s why daddy’s here for you, right? It’s not your fault you're not smart enough for it.” He grins sharkishly as he drops into the kind of dominant mentality he hadn’t been able to flaunt in a long time. He read you like a fucking book with that last sentence. You whimper and turn your back toward him a little bit, giving him room to unhook the backing if he wishes to. “Yeah, c’mere.” He whispers to nobody in particular as he gingerly undoes the metal prongs. Before he pulls it off of you, he lets his fingers trail along the lace detailing. He starts with his fingers right at the sides of your ribs, about halfway below the armpit, and traces the big extravagant mesh detailing across your back before finally stopping at where the straps meet the body of the garment. He hooks his fingers under the nylon and effectively drags it down your arms, but not quite off. He lets you finish removing it by yourself so you can feel at least a little more productive.
When you quickly turn back to him, he gets to see you fully bare- or at least from the waist up for the first time that night. “Look at these!” He whistles, immediately palming your breasts. You blush at the way he manhandles you, but you don’t have any qualms about it either. In fact, you lean into his rough touch. His overworked hands grope and pull at the soft meat of your tits as you moan and softly smile at him. He tweaks at one of your nipples and begins to sloppily suck on the other. You almost scream at the sensation. Normally, you didn’t gain much from having your tits played with, but Russ is oh-so different. He’s truly another level of man. Russ groans into your flesh as you arch your back into his warm touch. He sucks and nips at the soft tissue mercilessly, intently watching every little move you make. For someone who was just threatening to ‘give you the most pleasurable, hardest fuck of your life,’ he sure is being impossibly caring.
“Lemme,” He grunts, “lemme see you.” You're lifted out of his lap before you can even process what’s going on. He slides his hands under your armpits and lifts you up without even a slight grunt. “You goin’ to the gym a whole lot, daddy?” You grin, rubbing a palm up his bicep. He stands up with you still outstretched in his arms, turns the two of you to the mattress, and throws you down. You squeak as you hit the plush foam. He nods at your question and grins at you as you collect yourself and lean back onto your forearms. “You ready?” Russ asks as he plants his knees on the mattress. He crawls his way up your body so slowly it’s almost painful. Settling right at the middle of your thighs with them trapped between his own thick legs, he sits up straight and hooks his strong thingers through the elastic arms of your thong. He pulls on them hard and lets them snap back to your skin. You yelp and lightly grab the sheets. It didn’t actually hurt that bad, you just didn’t expect it.
Then, he brings his fingers back through the fabric and begins to pull them down, not all the way, though. Just enough to leave your sex bare. “Fuck, even your cunt is pretty.” He groans, lightly ghosting his fingers across your pubic mound. Russ takes his sweet time, teasing around your clit but never quite touching you. “This- this is the opposite of ‘hard’” You groan, trying to buck your hips into anything, anything for a little bit of contact. “You think so?” He snorts and pulls his hand away entirely. You whine. “Well, you don’t get to pick. I’m the daddy here, remember that. Plus, I just want you to be nice and prepared for me, little girl.”
“Russell- c’mon, please. It’s okay, just fuck me.” You beg at him, grabbing onto his wrist. Your eyes trail up his arms, memorizing the sunburnt freckles and veins that dance up his farmers tan before meeting his hard expression. A smirk paints his features as he pulls his hand out of your grasp and manages to tug off your panties in one quick movement. He’s wordless but you can absolutely understand the slight threat in his actions.
“Who am I to say no to you?” He mumbles as he grabs your hips in his worn palms and uses you as leverage to slide in right between your legs. You don’t pay much attention to how exactly he did it, more so focused on the bliss of being touched by him. Quickly, he tugs down his shorts and boxers in one uniform movement, not even bothering to unbutton his bottoms in his haste. It’s a miracle he manages to not burst a button as he pulls them down his ass. God, he’s got such a fat ass! His dick, or what you can see of it from your lazily propped-up angle, is fucking nice. Not too thick, not too long, but it isn’t small or thin either. He’s circumcised, as most men his age tend to be, and this is gonna sound weird but he wears it well! He most definitely manscapes on the regular, too. Just like the hair on his head, his pubic hair is speckled with gray hairs.
He grabs your hips with one hand and lines himself up with you.
Then, he’s inside of you.
“Oh- fuck!” You groan at the intrusion, but he gives you no time to process. As he promised, this is hard, fast, and oh-so-pleasurable. Your brain works faster than your body as you try to catch up with him. Slurred words slip from between your lips and leave incoherent words that linger in the air. He grunts as he works his hips in that familiar piston manner, in, out, in, out, in, out. Perfectly timed, just like everything else he does. Your feet stupidly hang in the air for a while before you finally gain your senses and hood them around his aback. You fit together perfectly. Heels fall into back dimples and pelvises slide together like missing puzzle pieces neither of you knew you needed. Maybe this is what the two of you were destined for, each other. One of his hands finds itself holding your jaw, thumb rested on your bottom lip. In a string of moans, you find yourself holding it between your lips and desperately sucking on the skin he provided you with.
“Fuck yeah, slut. My slut.” He hisses when you clench around him. He pulls his spit soaked finger from your mouth and trails your saliva down the valley of your breasts. You shiver at the unexpected wetness but accept nonetheless. Truly obscene wet squelches fill the gaps between your moans and his groans as he continues to fuck you. “You like that, being mine?” He teases as he tweaks your nipple between his wet fingers. Desperately nodding, you throw your arms over his shoulders and run your fingers through the scruffy hair on his neck as you try to plant yourself on earth. The whole possessiveness thing hadn’t ever crossed your mind before, but now you can’t imagine a world where you weren’t his. He takes this as a sign to resume your sloppy makeout session. His tongue explores your mouth with a new found aggressiveness to it. He’s less careful than before, but it isn’t exactly careless. His movements make perfect sense and almost fall in unison with your senseless writhing, but he still takes the lead in the way in which he fucks you. He’s perpetually calculated.
Your fingers dance along the hair on the back of his neck and toward his slightly stubbled jawline, taking in the coarse texture. “Russ, fuck!” You pant, “I mean- daddy, you are- ah, so damn handsome.” He grins as he pulls his lips away from yours. “You really think so? You’re uh, not too bad yourself.” Russell snorts and runs his thumb across your nipple as he gropes at your breast tissue. Part of you yearns to get bratty with him- to really see how rough he’ll get before calling it quits, but everything else in you screams for you to savor every second of him. So, you do. You pull the upper half of his body closer into yours, forcing him to haphazardly lay across you as you push your head into the crook of his neck. Your tongue darts out to taste the post-show salted sweat on his skin- and my God, it may be a taste you’ll never forget, weirdly enough. You suck pink hickeys and purple bruises into the skin without an ounce of consideration for his day-to-day life outside of you. In fact- you couldn’t care less about Steel Panther right now. You couldn’t care less about anything that wasn’t him right now. Russell John Parrish has consumed you: mind, body, and soul.
Somehow, he manages to snake a hand between the two of your bodies and begins to rub quick circles on the ball of nerves.
Your orgasm creeps up painfully fast. You don’t even get that familiar twirling explosion feeling in your gut, you don’t feel it creep up from the back of your heels, it’s entirely unexpected. In a good way. “Russ- I’m going to-“ You desperately try to blurt out, but the feeling slips over you before you can even get the words out. Your face contorts as you dig your fingers into his muscular back. He desperately tries to hold back the urge to cum inside of you- that could wait for next time. You ride out that toe curling shock like all hell, letting out overstimulated dry sobs as he playfully rubs at your clit. You convulse in pure pleasure as you slowly fall down from your high. Almost immediately, his orgasm chases yours. He pulls out just moments before he comes, spurting warm white across your hip bones. He lets out nice, loud moans while his hips stutter and rut against your skin. His mouth falls open as he shuts his eye, falls on to the mattress, and rolls over to look at you.
“That was,” He pauses, “fuck, that was something. I think I might like you, little girl.” Russell grins, glancing up away from you to stare up at the ceiling. You grin and nod. Your hands pull a loosely thrown blanket over the two of you. Leaning into him, you thoroughly enjoy a whiff of that sweaty post-sex smell that lingered on his body. “We should do this again sometime, daddy.” You tease and push your head into his neck. “You’re just too sweet.” He groans, throwing an arm around your body.
“You know what? I don’t think I want this to just be a one night stand. Do you have a pen?” You mumble, running a palm down his bare chest. Russ nods and grunts as he props himself back on his elbows. He pulls open the nightstand drawer and produces a thick sharpie. Handing it to you without a second thought, he lays back. Realistically, you had expected him to also give you a piece of paper to write on, but you’ll work with what he gives you. You lean over his body, hair falling in your eyes, and scribble out ten bold digits on his contoured hip bones. “There, for next time.” You grin, placing a big kiss next to your writing.
It’ll be there for far too long, but he owned enough semi-intact shirts to cover it up on stage. Why you didn’t just ask for his phone he’ll never understand, but he didn’t need to understand. He just knew he needed you.
Info: Pure Fluff, Men In Love, So Impossibly Clean, Like They Don't Even Kiss Clean, Short and Sweet, Brunch Dates
Summary: "You know what I've never understood?" Michael mused from across the small table. It was date night! Or, more so, date day as Satchel had taken him out for brunch. "Mm, what?" He half-heartedly asked as he grazed over the laminated menu placed in front of him.
Authors Note: okay so this one is like... steel panther canon? idk what else to call it but they are NOT ralph and russ in this!!! it is the characters michael and satchel, not the guys behind them! ralph and russ dont even exist in this universe (depsite what the tags may make u think) once again i am the worst poster EVER but we're getting there! this is the most pg13 fic ever literally just boys being boys and going out for brunch! i have 2 other sp fics ill eventually post probably so be prepared
"You know what I've never understood?" Michael mused from across the small table. It was date night! Or, more so, date day as Satchel had taken him out for brunch. "Mm, what?" He half-heartedly asked as he grazed over the laminated menu placed in front of him.
"Your hands! They're so, like, not right. I don't know how to describe it but your fingers are too short for you to play guitar the way you do." Satchel raised an eyebrow above his sunglasses, suddenly much more interested in the singer's miniature rant. "Not to be an asshole or anything- you'd just never expect it! When I tried to learn guitar, I gave up because my fingers were too short to comfortably hold the damn thing! It's just cool, I guess."
"Seems like you spend a lot of time staring at my hands, stalker." Satchel chortled as he placed his flimsy menu in a stack on top of Michael's. He leaned forward on the square patio table as he rested his chin in his hand. As much as he jokingly argued with the man, he absolutely adored the blond-haired vocalist that sat in front of him. "Oh yeah, hard to not take notice when they're wrapped around my dick every night!" Michael wittily retorted, gazing back at the guitarist. Unfortunately for him, their waiter had returned just as his snarky reply had left his lips.
"So, um, what will you gentlemen have today?" The waiter, Stacy as assigned by her nametag, staggered as she stared down at her notepad, just as white as the ruled paper she gawked at. "Oh! I will have an earl grey with a breakfast burrito and he," Satchel pointed across the table "will have a cappuccino with the fruity pancakes. Thank you, Stacy!"
When Stacy had left their table after droning out their order, the two men burst into giggles. "God, I will never know how you guess exactly what I want to order! Did you get me the fruity pancakes because you knew I wanted them or did you just want to subtly call me gay?" Michael questioned as he played a show of mock horror. "Maybe a little bit of both." Satchel grinned as he ran a hand through his mane of hair.
"Aw, c'mon jackass! I'm not even, like, that gay. If I'm gay, I'm like point five percent gay, and I reserve that percent for you!" Michael quipped as he lightly kicked the other man in the shin from across the table. It was so calm to just be them, no overbearing drummers or absent bassists, just Michael and Satchel. When things got rough, it always dwindled down to that. Their peers joked that they were some sort of power couple and they'd just laugh it off and snort a line or two, because how could anyone know how close they actually were? Everyone assumed the casual ass grabbing and borderline homo remarks were just for public appearances, to keep up that vaguely homosexual aura of the 80's. Plus, any sane man or woman would want of piece of Satchel's ass. It's a nice ass!
"Hmm, yeah. Okay," Satchel sassed "anyways, your hair looks really pretty today. Dare I even say, it looks bitchin'." He motioned to the way the singer had pushed his bleach-blond hair back with the sunglasses resting on his head. He had pulled out the little waves by his ears, too. It made Satchel's heart ache. How could such a playboy be so fucking cute? "Aw, you love me! Thank you." Michael teased as he ran his fingers through the ends of his hair. "You look good, by the way. Thanks for shaving off your stubble because it irritates my face when we make out. That was sweet of you." The singer smiled at the gentle pink that flushed the guitarist's face. Satchel had never quite gotten used to the compliments despite how many he received.
The guitarist simply replied with a little 'hmmph' sound and let a little smile peck at the corners of his mouth. Eventually, Stacy found her way back with armfuls of overpriced nutriments. For the money they had dropped on the food, it honestly didn't look half bad! Steam rose off of the two mugs that rested on separate saucers that clinked together when placed on the table. It was a chilly day, so the hot beverages fit their frozen states just perfectly. Despite the lack of warmth, the two men stayed local to their torn fishnet and spandex pants.
"Fuck, I'm cold as shit!" Michael exclaimed, dramatically shivering. Since he hadn't brought a jacket with him to pull the stereotypical boyfriend move, Satchel stood up, scooted over his chair, and moved his belongings to the other side of the table. "It's not even that cold out, wuss." He mumbled as he placed his head on Michael's shoulder and snuggled up to the singer. "If anyone recognizes us, tell them I'm dead so we look less gay." Satchel talked to himself, unaware of the loving gaze the singer had focused on him.
"I could get used to this, y'know?" Michael cooed as he sipped at his cappuccino.
Info: Extremely Dubious Consent, Roofies, Murder, Stalking, Obsession, Knife Play, Almost Necrophilia, Grinding, Blood Kink, Stabbing, Knife Play
Summary: Slash was fucked up, no doubt about it. The world wobbled as he followed around some chick he had just met at the bar. She was blonde in itty bitty shorts that couldn't possibly be legal, God, she was perfect.
Authors Note: THIS IS DIRTY AND NASTY AND GROOOOSSSS!!!!! Slash literally dies in it lmfao so read at your own risk and probably watch the music video beforehand <3 happy reading!
Slash was fucked up, no doubt about it. The world wobbled as he followed around some chick he had met at the bar. She was blonde with her cleavage out and shorts that couldn't possibly be legal, she was absolutely perfect. Her name- Farley? Frankie? Something with an F. This girl and her shiny studded leather jacket twirled in the Sunset Strip's thousands of blinding lights. He hadn't even drank that much, just a little bit of whiskey he had sipped on while chatting up some chicks. It was weird because he couldn't quite remember anything he had done in the last fifteen minutes.
Suddenly, he was in a car. When the hell had she called a cab? He stared as she stripped off her studs. On her arm sat the exact same tattoo as him, twins.
"Wha- That's my lady- Slash, mine." He slurred, desperately motioning at his arm. It was kind of cute in a fucked up way. "I know, baby. D'ya like it?" Fergie cooed as she ran her fingers along the slightly raised skin. Technically, she wasn't even supposed to be wearing it as loudly and proudly as she was, she had only gotten it done yesterday! But, what is life worth if you don't take any risks? Slash hadn't quite had the common sense to buckle his seatbelt, so with every turn, he slid a little harder into her hip. "Mm, wait til we get to the hotel, big boy." Fergie purred every single time and patted his thick leather clad thigh.
The car skittered to a stop in front of the grubby motel she had been camping out in. "Alright c'mon, let's go." She grinned, tugging his big frame out of the car. Slash may have been a short guy, but god was he bulky! He had stayed in his fair share of slimeball motels, but even in his drugged state, he could tell this place was pure grime. They must have looked insane with the six inches of height between them and the clear difference in sobriety.
Fergie skipped her way through the relatively empty parking lot. Slash woozily giggled while still desperately clinging to the smaller woman. Eventually, they paused at a door "M'kay, just a warning, it's a little messy in here." Fergie giggled as she fished her key out of her bra. She finally pulled it out and began to fight with the lock, brazenly missing the small slot a few times. Slash tiredly wrapped himself around her, smiling into her hair. He sure as hell didn't know this woman, couldn't quite remember her name, but he liked her weird ass.
Speaking of asses, his hands trailed down to grope at her ass as she unlocked the door. Fergie giggled. Immediately, a pungent stench fled the air before him. He couldn't see much in the dimly lit room beneath his tinted sunglasses, but he could make out vague piles of something, trash, he assumed. It was disgusting, but it wasn't the worst he had seen. Hell, if the pussy was good enough, he didn't quite care about the mess!
As he let the small woman lead him inside the room, he was suddenly more aware of the true filth that was her motel. Cockroaches crawled to and fro in heaps of rotten styrofoam takeout containers. Water bottles, beer cans, and other such containers laid in a thick coat upon the grimy carpet, spilling the remaining liquid in thin in small round stains. It was almost cartoonish in the way that he could practically see the green stink clouds sliding off of the heaps of garbage. Flies twirled around the room, buzzing through every piece of trash in the small space. Maybe Slash's drugged brain had just exaggerated it, but the room felt so violently messy that he couldn't have imagined a human living there.
They crunched their way through the room until the odd pair reached the bed.
"Holy shit." Slash grumbled, staring in the collage above her headboard. It was him, all him. Just Slash. No Axl, Steven, Duff- just Slash. The rundown T.V. They had passed a few steps prior had also had a video of him playing upon its worn screen, but he had shrugged it off for the most part. This could not be shrugged off. This was scary! She was on him before his brain could entirely process the bulk of obsession before him. Despite being significantly smaller than him, Fergie managed to shove him over with ease. He grunted upon impact, but stayed silent. Once again, he could handle crazy if the pussy was good enough.
"Beautiful." Slash murmured under his breath as she began to straddle him. "Dangerous." She grinned, throwing back her mop of blonde curls. The statement was confusing, to say the least. He didn't understand what she meant until he was cuffed to the bed frame. Somehow, she had managed to pull his hands above his head without him noticing and weave the steel around his wrist and through the bedframe. He couldn't even imagine where she had gotten the initial cuffs! While very much dazed, Slash tried to awkwardly fight the restraints, but she had already caught his other wrist in the round metal before he could writhe around too hard. "The- What? Fuck." He hissed, lazily tossing his head from side to side.
The top hat upon his head slid off with his wriggling, although he was still rather sluggish. Fergie grinned at him as she began to swivel her hips upon his groin. He groaned. Curious hands lightly pulled the hat off of the pillow above him, it was almost teasing in the way she playfully paced it upon her head. Even in the dim artificial lighting, he could see the metal detailing shimmer above him.
Acrobatically, Fergie twirled herself around on his midsection. swinging her legs over him and slotting them back around his waist so fast he couldn't quite fathom that she had even moved. Her tiny shorts rode up her hips even higher. They slid up so high, Slash was sure he could almost make out the shape of her pussy. It was weird, but not inherently bad. The younger woman slid her small body down his worn leather pants. He could feel the heat radiate off of her body, even through the several layers of thick fabric between them. Somehow, through his distraction, he ended up with his legs also bound. How the hell was she doing this?
She flipped around on him once more, now facing him. Is this what it felt like to be a pommel horse? Probably! She began to roll her hips once more, basically dry humping him. Slash groaned beneath her, flexing his fingers. It was frustrating, this was frustrating, but he held back his voice. Instead, he let soft groans float from between his lips.
"Saul," She sing-songed, shaking her breasts in front of his face. "mm, don't you wanna touch me?" The older man grunted and dug his nails into his palms. It wasn't a secret that he was painfully hard, but Fergie continued to play innocent. "Did- I, Did I do that?" He slurred, bucking his head toward her breasts. Grinning, she swept her finger along the brim of his hat, which was still sat upon her head, and began to slide her fingers down to the large 'SLASH' tattooed across her left breast. "This?" She questioned as she traced the large black letters. "No, baby, this was a pipe dream. I couldn't have ever imagined you below me, not when I got it." He mumbled something incoherent in response.
She slid her hand into her bra and pulled out a thin, shiny piece of black plastic. He was suddenly much more aware when she fiddled with the plastic and a sharp piece of metal popped out. "A knife- What? What the fuck!" He shouted- or, attempted to shout, but it came out more so as his normal speaking voice. "Don't play scared, baby, I know you're a fucking pervert." The sly woman above him bit her lip as she inched the metal closer to his tattooed stomach. Just above the graffitied 'CASH', she began a soft red line. It didn't hurt, the knife was sharp enough that it didn't cause pain, more so discomfort. Despite that, he flexed his abdominal muscles away from the cool sliver.
"Fuck- shit. The hell is wrong with you?" He cursed as she slid the blade into him, ever so slightly deeper. He fought with the restraints upon his wrists, but his aggressive flailing didn't do much. She drew that line all the way down past his navel and just to the top of his thick belt. When she passed his bellybutton with the knife, she made a point to clink the metal against the piercing. Maroon bubbled from the incision and began to slide down his barrel chest. Fergie folded her slender frame over him and licked up every single droplet of blood that smeared down his body. "Sweet." She grinned with her blood rimmed lips.
Stretching out the skin on his right hip as if she was tattooing him, polar opposite to the top hatted cat, she began to carve out a large 'F' on his skin. He hissed and tossed his head around in his head of big black curls, tangling them to his head. The sunglasses he had dawned for the night uncomfortably poked at the bridge of his nose, the plastic awkwardly poking at his skin. Though, it was hard to focus on the small uncomfortable things when you're being sculpted away like a statue. Pained whimpers slid out of his mouth with ease. Fergie clamped her bottom lip between her teeth with focus. "'F', for Fergie. You're all mine now, baby." She grinned and swept her thumb along the streaming blood.
Her slightly rust stained fingers tenderly plucked off his sunglasses, unveiling the soft pink oval indentations left on either side of his bridge. It showed off both his pink scleras and the sloppy tears that trailed down the sides of them. Suddenly, the two of them were much more aware of the shivering sobs that wracked through his thick chest. He was terrified. "Shh, baby. It's okay. I've got ya." She cooed, sliding her blood dripped fingers along his wet cheekbones. He flinched away from her touch initially but eventually found himself leaning into her fingertips.
Fergie smiled a sincere grin at him and gave two soft paps to his cheek. He tried to smile back, but it never quite reached his lips. Slash had experienced some kinky sex, but this was scary. Even when he was drugged out if his mind he could admit this was fucking weird.
Fergie took her hand, knife still firmly fisted between her knuckles, and raised it above her head. Her palms began to perspire against the shiny plastic. This was the endgame. No more fun, no more wolf V. rabbit. This is where it all ended. She wrapped her other hand around the one initially holding the knife and slammed them down. It was as if time slowed for Slash harder than it already had, he could feel the sickening fear slide through his bones the moment he saw the knife near his head. By the time he could open his lips to scream, she had already made contact.
The crunch his skull made as the metal punctured it was sickening. For good measure, she raised her hands up over her head a few more times and slammed the blade back into his gorgeous, gorgeous face again and again. His blood splattered upon her skin with every strike she made. His body twitched under her, slowing down as his life slipped away under her palms. She could feel the warm piss stain at the crotch of his pants as his bladder gave away at its final release. It wasn't- shouldn't have been sexy, to feel his heartbeat pause under her palm as she pressed it to his left breast. But it was.
Blood steadily oozed away from the several gashes in his forehead, staining her already stained pillows. Fergie swept two of her fingers along the crimson and began to dance them across her body. She drew out a gorey line from the start of her jawline, through the valley of her breasts, and down to the hem of her shorts. Small chunks of brain matter occasionally disturbed her grisly drawings, but she couldn't find the time to care. He could be hers, forever. Isn't that just perfect?
A grin pecked at the sides of her mouth as she bent over and placed a sloppy kiss to his warm mouth. He'd get cold eventually, sure, but for now, he was just right. Twirling his curls between her fingers, she slid her tongue across his bottom lip. A makeout session with a corpse, the corpse of mega rocker Slash, was a little weird. She'd admit that, but weird was good.
A thick iron stench floated around the room, piling up atop of the already mildew, mold, and other grime that made the motel stink. Fergie basked in it. She adjusted her body to the point where she was laying atop him, head resting upon his chest. Fergie's eyes fluttered closed as she began to doze off. Before she passed out, she pulled her hair away from the thick puddles of blood that had accumulated on the mattress. Who wanted a blood dye job?
She had fulfilled that exact promise she had made him earlier on in the night. She was infact beautiful, but so very dangerous.
Summary: A lonely older man and a significantly younger woman in thigh-high boots alone in a room together, what could go wrong?
Authors Note: HEYYY LOL i love this pairing <3 ik they're like... peak rarepair but i adore lisa n 4tus together they are so very cute together!!!!!! big age gap in this one so if that's not ur thing, LOOK AWAY!
Richard was simply lost in his own head when he heard a gentle knock at his dressing room door. Well, less of a knock and more of a series of clicking and clacking nails upon the wood. That noise could only announce one person; Melissa Reese. It wasn't a secret that Richard enjoyed Melissa, he never hid how he found sanction in her energetic stories about how she traveled the town on their off days on tours and the way her eyes lit up when he would pose for her silly little pictures for her digital diary known as Instagram. Stretching out his legs and setting down the guitar he had idly been strumming at for the last hour, but, before he could reach the doors, Melissa lightly pushed it open just enough to slip through. Wordlessly, she stepped through the small crack and shut it closed behind her with a kick.
"Hi! This is abrupt- I know, but can you please, please, please help me with my zipper?" She rambled, one hand busy holding up the silky fabric of her black lace top while the other pointed towards her back. She looked stunning, as always. Her neon blue hair had been swept into a high ponytail that cascaded down her shoulders while she kept it swept off to the side to avoid the zipper. Two twin wings lined the long fluttery lashes she adorned for the night. He was always confused by that, girls and their false eyelashes, but nonetheless, she looked beautiful in them. The three tiny dots that she painstakingly drew onto her cheek each night looked especially perfect today. She was perfect.
The outfit she had decided on for the night was downright scandalous. Her shirt consisted of nylon that covered a small amount of collarbone which quickly transitioned into a thick black cotton just above her small breasts. The cut of the top alone was sexual, plunging so deep that it almost teased at her navel. Upon this deep cut sheer top was a layer of glittering yellow stars that gleamed with every movement she made. All of this was tucked into the tiniest little pair of black booty shorts, which she wore a pair of sheer tights under. Her short legs were matched with long thigh high suede heeled boots with little black silken bows on the back of the thigh. God, she was gonna kill him!
Maybe he had gawked for much too long, maybe Melissa deserved to be stared at like that.
"Oh! Um, yeah, yeah." He muttered, much too focused on the perfectly manicured brow she had raised at his stare instead of the question she had asked. He placed his palms on her thin frame before twirling her around to face the door she had previously closed. Yes, sure, he could have simply walked around her and dealt with the zipper from there, but in all truth, he relished every moment he got to spend touching her skin. He had been labeled as clumsy and hell, maybe even a little awkward, but it was all a mental game for him. So what if he wanted to see how often he could get away with the little grazes and otherwise touches?
She sighed as his fingers took their sweet time trailing down her back, almost as if they couldn't find the offending zipper. In a way, Richard felt wrong doing this. He was a real gritty rock n' roll type and Melissa was, well, Melissa. She was so well groomed and perpetually pretty. Part of him wasn't even sure if she could sweat. He took his sweet time "fighting" with the zipper, AKA, he wanted more time to memorize every bone and muscle that landscaped her body.
Melissa was tiny, petite even. Her bones stuck out at every given chance. Her collarbones and hips were the most pronounced. Her ribs flayed out where her breasts began, making a melancholy stripe-like design upon the top half of her torso. On any other woman, Richard would lack attraction to such a thin form, but it was something about how Melissa took pride in her body that attracted him. She was barely ever seen without a handful of candy stuffed in her cheeks and yet she remained as tiny as ever.
"Okay, you're all zipped!" Richard exhaled as he spoke, yearning to slide his hands across her warm, sunkissed skin once more. With a final twirl from Richard, Melissa found herself on her way back to her room. But, Richard was nothing but a love stricken fool.
"Hey- um, actually Melissa, can I ask you something? How do you, uh, maintain your hair so well?" He grasped for straws with his question. He didn't care about her damn hair! Yes, it was beautiful hair, but he really just wanted to spend as much time as he could with the girl. Sometimes he felt rather dirty for his engrossment with the girl- twenty-three years is a long time, but she was just so captivating! She was quick to take notice of his odd question. She turned on her heeled boots and faced him, approaching him with an amused look on her face.
Gently, she took his larger hand in hers and guided him to sit down on the leathery couch that each dressing room had in common. The squeaky material whined as they both sat down.
"Okay so, obviously, you're not actually curious about my hair. What's going on, babes?" She asked, never quite removing his hand from hers despite feeling the way nervous sweat accumulated upon his palm. "I, shit-" He cursed under his breath, bringing up his free hand to twiddle with his choppy black hair. "Fuck. I don't know, I just feel so.." He trailed off, lacking a way to express his emotions toward the girl without outing the hunger he felt for her. "Lost? Scared? Horny?" She guessed with her ever so teasing tone.
He gawked at her, shocked in that weird way she could always read him like a book. She grinned before unlacing their fingers, pulling back a few inches, and slamming her mouth to his.
Melissa is soft. So, so, so soft. Her lips are probably the most velveteen thing he had ever felt. He absolutely must ask what chapstick she used after this. His fingers, which were dirty under the nails, frantically carded through her neon locks. She let out small whines through their kiss as he placed an occasional nip to her lower lip. While one hand stayed local to his hair, Melissa's manicured fingers dipped below his shoulders and dragged down his chest. Finally, she pulled away from him with her small chest heaving up and down. Though she looked like she had just sprinted down the street, she had the biggest dopey grin on her face.
"God, I've wanted to do that since, what, middle school? 2008 at the very least." She smiled as she placed her head on his shoulder. "Don't remind me, god. Twenty-Three years." He groaned as he jokingly threw his head back. She let out a happy exhale through her teeth as she shimmied her way into his lap. He spread his legs wide, letting hers slip between them. "I can't fucking believe this." He muttered into her neck between kisses. His large hands loosely slid across her hips, trailing up the deep plunge down her chest and across the seams toward her breasts.
Then, there were three sharp knocks at the door.
"Fifteen minutes til, Richard! If you see Melissa, tell her the same." Yelled a tech.
"Uh- Okay!" He hollered back as Melissa let out a flurry of giggles.
"Alright, up!" He groaned as he wrapped his hands around her thighs and lifted her up to basically rest on his hip. She clung onto him like all hell for the short five steps it took to reach his vanity. With a quick 'Umph!' he plopped her down onto the wooden surface and followed by sliding down to his knees. "So pretty." He murmured as he drug his fingers into the waistband on her shorts. She lifted her hips, giving him just enough room to slide down the shorts which, in his opinion, should have been illegal based on how tiny they were. They both knew they were on a time crunch, so Richard didn't bother with being too much of a gentleman. Instead, he just left the shorts to fall onto the carpeted floor. Nothing could have prepared Richard for the fact that she wore nothing under her tights. No panties, no briefs, absolutely nothing!
"Fuck, 'Lissa." He sighed as he stared at her bare cunt. Curiously, his fingers splayed across the nylon that covered her in a sheer layer. It was almost as if this was something he had never thought about before, but his curiosity was short lived. His fingers gave the nylon a quick tug and watched as it split down the middle. It wasn't a big rip, nor would it be visible when she put her shorts back on, but she still let out a little squeal of protest. "Sorry!" He murmured as his tongue peeked out between his lips.
Softly, he approached her cunt with a gentle two fingers, allowing them to dance along anything but her clit. Maybe they didn't have much time to do this, but Richard was a perpetual tease. She whined as she pushed her hips toward him. "You make," He paused, "the absolute sweetest noises, baby." Eventually, he gave up on his reindeer games and allowed his fingers to dip into her. Slowly, at first and only going to the first knuckle. Just enough to make her arch her back and let out a slithery moan.
He placed a soft kiss to her clit before beginning what Melissa could only describe as an assault on all of her senses. She immediately slammed her hand to her mouth, stifling herself from screaming. Good God, Richard Fortus could eat pussy! Who knew? Her free hand frantically raked through Richards greasy black mop which resembled an oil spill between her fingers. Her legs shook as his fingers licked at that ever so special spot inside of her.
"Ten minutes til!" A shout came from outside.
"Shit." He groaned as he pulled away from her cunt, never quite removing his fingers. "Kiss me?" She grinned as he rose from the floor. The kiss was... different for lack of a better term. Melissa had never had a guy properly eat her out, nonetheless kiss her after it! She could taste herself. That was weird. Not bad weird, simply weird. Richard didn't seem to mind, though. He pulled away as he began to pump his fingers once more. "So pretty like this, 'Lissa." He groaned. "I'm afraid, though, we're running out of time. Would you get mad if I waited until the show was over to fuck you? Wouldn't wanna leave you high and dry up there." He winked as the girl writhed and keened at him. "I'll take that as a no!" He teased as he let her rut into his palm.
"Think- Think you've ruined all other men for me." She moaned into his neck while sucking the occasional hickey into his pale skin. Nobody would ever see them, she wasn't even really sure if they'd turn into anything more than a faint purple, but it made her feel as if he was hers. And she was okay with that. Maybe she wanted to belong with him and vice versa, what's so wrong with that? "Oh, God, Richard I'm so close!" She whined, not quite asking for permission but just letting it be known.
"C'mon, come for me 'Lissa." He taunted as his fingers went at even a more furious pace, if possible, as he was desperate to see how beautifully Melissa would fall apart for him. "Bet you're so gorgeous when you come." He stared as her face crumpled.
She teetered.
Teetered.
"Hey, Richard, we're about to go on, man. Have you-"
Tipped.
"Oh my God!" Slash yelled, clamping a hand over his own mouth as he slammed the door shut behind him. Now, he couldn't actually see much. Nobody was exposed to him. The only actual giveaway was the pair of shorts discarded to the floor, but, if anyone knew sex, it was Slash. He knew how sex sounded and smelled more than anyone. The sight before him, the way Melissa and Richard's faces immediately flushed an equal red, that was sex. He didn't have any sort of qualms or phobias to the act either, but nothing could prepare him to walk in on these two.
Melissa had tried to shut her mouth when she heard the familiar voice, but in reality, it's part of what knocked her over the edge so hard! It wasn't as if Richard lacked skill, really, he was a fucking master with his fingers. She just can't quite describe the euphoria that followed seeing the guitarist's shocked face when he barged in.
"Fuck, I'm sorry. I- um, didn't know. Well. We're about to- uh, shit, go on." Slash stammered as he smacked a hand over his signature sunglasses, it was childish and weirdly reassuring. Slash was more embarrassed than the pair that had been silent since he abruptly walked in. It was like walking in on his mom and David Bowie, all over again!
"Okay," Melissa exhaled through her teeth. "Richard and I are gonna sit down and figure out what we are after the show, and then, once we figure that out, we'll come chat with you! Okay? Okay. Capeesh. Now go so I can put my pants on and Richard can wash his hands." She shooed him away from her spot on the vanity. She waited until the door clicked shut before hopping down. She pulled on her shorts as Richard gave her the most dumbfounded stare possible. "I'm serious, we'll talk after, but for now, let's go rock this joint!" She cheered as she gave him a reassuring pat on the cheek before sauntering out with him on her wobbly legs, hand in hand. "If all goes well, we can talk about actually hooking up later." She whispered as they wove between panicked techs, rushing to make sure they were perfect before going on.
Needless to say, Richard wouldn't be the only guitarist going on stage with a boner tonight. What can Slash say? Melissa is hot! Richard is hot! He's fucked either way.
Info: BDSM, Smut, Sadism, Masochism, Rope Bondage, Sex Toys, Orgasm Denial, Circa 2012
Summary: Sometimes, what happened in the 80's can't stay in the 80's, especially if you happen to be Axl Rose and Izzy Stradlin.
Authors Note: HIII okay sorry for not posting yesterday, i forgot💀💀 but im getting there, i swear!!! this takes place circa 2012 so be warned it is not like... uber coke twink izzaxl but instead.. them being just cute old men in love ! enjoy!!!
Many claim Guns N’ Roses would be nothing without Izzy Stradlin. They say that Appetite for Destruction would have never happened had Jeffrey Dean Isbell not come into the picture. But, truth is, sometimes Izzy wanted to be nothing more than, well, nothing. He wanted to be treated like he had lost all of his credibility. The guitarist adored that feeling of being unworthy of his fame. Of basic respect. He wanted the dirtiest and nastiest treatment he could pay for. The power of being famous required so much control that sometimes, he just wanted to lose all of it. He wanted to be not anything more than putty in someone's warm palm. Preferably, that someone would be a busty hot woman. Or, when he was at his most desperate, one of his dear bandmates. Most of the time, he got the latter. Hey! All of them looked like hot chicks anyways! It’s not that gay. The reason he found himself in the control of his coworkers so often was that paying for a hooker- a dominatrix, as he’s learned they’re called, is embarrassing. Especially when you’re a Guns N’ Roses superstar.
This is exactly how he ended up at the hands of the perpetually sadistic Axl Rose. He thought he was getting too old for this shit, it was 2012 for God’s sake! He is fifty damn years old! Axl is- what, forty-nine? Izzy shouldn’t remember that. He shouldn’t have known that the man's birthday was only a few days away. A month and twenty-nine days away from Izzy’s own. How the fuck did he know that? They’ve barely talked in the last decade. Most of their conversations were about the handful of reunion gigs he was doing with Guns N’ Roses, but occasionally they’d stray into that thick sexual tension they held between each other. Casual emails would drift into long letters about their previous sexual escapades and some things that they dreamt about doing in the future. Izzy would carefully pluck out words to describe those endearingly painful moments of pleasure and Axl would obsess over every little detail until he could try to possibly put together a lustful, yet less fancy reply.
They did their best to plan out a proper session while on tour, but it was hard. The bus was too risky; too public and honestly he didn’t want to expose such strangers that made up the band's current line-up. The green rooms were too hectic- even if Axl demanded an excess of space in the venue, techs still rushed from room to room to chirp out information and fix any sort of last-minute hiccups. Hotels were almost perfect, but even then, alone time was hard to find. Since when the fuck was Axl hanging out with dudes who liked to have ‘night-time chats’? Fuckin’ gaylords, amirite? Alas, they made it work. Axl, being the absolute caveman that he is, simply stuck a sock on his hotel room’s door knob and ignored every knock that smashed against the wood. Occasionally, one of his co-workers would slam a fist on the door and whoop out a cheer on how ‘Grandpas finally getting some!’ or something along those lines. Axl would only snort as he continued to set up the room for Izzy. He might be a little bit cruel sexually, but he only wanted the absolute best for the man outside of his sex life. Despite the way he would make him writhe and sob, he still pampered him the moment the cuffs came off.
So, there he was. Izzy Stradlin, gagged, bound, and butt-naked on Axl’s plush mattress. Intricate blue knots traced over his pale skin and pulled his long arms behind his back. Two big loops wrapped around each of his upper arms, almost framing the tattoos on the outer muscle of his arms, ever so slightly above and below his triceps. Those loops braided into complex knots that danced down his forearms and around his wrists. He couldn’t move much of his arms outside of a small shoulder shimmy and the slight flick of his wrists. Just how he liked it. He couldn’t believe Axl still remembered that. Izzy would have made a snarky comment about how the man must have never stopped thinking about him, but the shiny gag lodged between his puffy lips made that damn near impossible. The occasional grunt would slip past his common sense and echo around the rubber and Axl would give him a harsh glare as he gave a particularly hard tug to the ropes he was still working around Izzy's legs. They both knew this game all too well. You behave; use your manners and you get a reward. If you couldn’t? You paid the price.
Since when the hell had Axl gotten so good at tying knots? Izzy had no clue. He certainly wasn’t a boy scout- especially not when they had been at the peak of their relationship. Izzy used to be able to wiggle out of his poorly tied knots made of cotton scarves in seconds, that’s why they had made the switch to steel handcuffs so early on. Axl had stolen the initial cuffs they used from one of the many police escapades he had found himself in, and Izzy never could never quite figure out how he managed to do it. He never found a good excuse as to why his wrists were perpetually covered in thin purple bruises, instead, he found himself draped in too many damn bracelets to play guitar with. It wasn’t uncommon to hear the beads scatter around on stage during soundcheck, or worse, the live show. Those live incidents made Axl the maddest. Yet, it made their playdates even funnier for both of them. Izzy got ruined; berated, and Axl got to release his frustrations.
“Feel good, pretty boy?” The ginger teasingly questioned as he finished off the final knot in the tail-like pattern that cascaded down Izzy’s legs, his tone was sardonic but somehow loving at the same time. The older man gave him a hard nod. Such a sweet nickname made him nervous, honestly. Axl rarely played nice. Hell, even outside of the bedroom he was somewhat of an ass. Maybe that was what made him so loveable. “Ya feel as pretty as you look? You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, man. Pisses me off that you haven’t quite wilted yet.” Axl’s tone was gruff.
It was true, Izzy was damn near as gorgeous as he was when they first met. His hair, which was once a black box-dyed shaggy mess of bangs that fell over his eyes, was a lot shorter. More manly, but just as stylish. It had faded back into a more deep brown color, almost. Axl found it almost funny, the Izzy he knew would have never settled with having his natural hair color show, not even at the roots. Yet, here he was. Mahogany with thin silvery grey hairs that danced throughout it. A handful of soft wrinkles bit at his features, that was the only noticeable difference in Izzy outside of the hair. Fuckin’ crows feet. That’s all he got in his old age. It almost made Axl angry. He was so different, physically and emotionally, and all that changed for the guitarist was his hair and a few wrinkles. He was envious but so glad at the same time. Izzy deserved it. He was a way better person in general. He deserved to stay pretty.
He trailed his fingertips along Izzy’s bound legs and smirked to himself at the smooth sensation of hairless skin that graced his senses. Of fucking course he shaved. He was always so oddly hairless. It didn’t come naturally, he knew that. On many nights in the early 80s, he had stayed up late in their shared hotel room and watched him perch with one leg drawn up to his chin as he shaved off his body hair. Rarely was he caught with stubble. It was the little details that made him so gorgeously put together.
Axl’s fingers danced over the soft blue rope that kept Izzy restrained, stopping just next to his cock. He drew small circles around his pubic mound, which was just as smooth as the rest of him, and grinned as a soft sigh slipped around Izzy’s gag. He quivered at the sensation. The guitarist hadn’t been touched in so long. He craved touch, craved the pain that followed any slight graze of his skin upon Axl’s. He couldn’t have asked for a better thing to happen to him. Digging his short nails into his soft flesh, Axl let a full grin slide onto his features. A sharp inhale puffed up Izzy’s bare chest. He drew a line from Izzy’s hip area to the base of his cock. Then, he drew that blunt line all the way from the very bottom of his balls to the soft area of flesh just below the head of his cock. He lightened the sharp draw of his nails as he drew vague shapes on the tip, smearing precum across the angry red tip. The shiny liquid made a sheen on his cock that Axl pumped down his shaft with a few quick vertical movements of his fist. A soft moan slipped through Izzy’s lips and slammed against the rubber in his mouth. It wasn’t very loud, especially not with the general deafening efforts of the gag, but Axl always heard his noises. Even the tiniest little ones that Izzy wasn’t even aware of.
“Oh! I got you a gift, honey!” He grinned. The sarcasm in the pet name was by no means lost on Izzy, yet it still gave him a warm fuzzy feeling inside. Axl rose from the mattress. Immediately, Izzy yearned for that slight bit of contact that Axl had given him. He wanted to fuck something- a hand, a chick, whatever! just give him something! Axl’s obnoxious wallet chain jingled against the pockets of his studded Affliction jeans as he strode toward his duffle bag of belongings. Axl looked good, and Izzy couldn’t lie about that if he wanted to. He had gained a couple of pounds, sure, but he wore it well. His hair was shorter, too. A bob almost, but he could pull off just about anything in Izzy’s eyes. He hated to admit it, but he loved a lot of things about the arrogant man. But, he would never tell him. As previously mentioned, Axl was arrogant as all hell and would never let him live it down if he said something vaguely nice about him. He wasn’t a fan of the handlebar mustache, though. That was a weird choice, but he could live with it. Or, he could talk Axl into shaving it off if he was lucky and played his cards right. Izzy was a sly fox, he knew he could do it. It was only a matter of when and how. As Axl rummaged through his bag, purposefully drawing out the suspense in the room as he pretended to be unable to find his surprise, Izzy got a nice solid look at his ass.
God, did he have one hell of an ass.
Axl sauntered back toward him with one hand stealthily tucked behind his back. The other man contemplated straining to possibly see whatever he could have, but decided against it. The mattress dipped as he sat on his knees next to Izzy's pelvis. Then, Axl dramatically unfolded his right hand from his back and exposed his surprise. A thin plastic purple vibrator sat between his thumb and forefinger. Izzy’s face scrunched up as his brows furrowed. He would have frowned had his mouth not been held open. His cheeks flushed as he came to realize exactly how his night would pan out. Knowing Axl, this could go one of two ways. He would either have a surplus of orgasms drawn out of Izzy to the point where the older man would be writhing around in overstimulating pain or he wouldn’t let him come at all. He would carry out their games into the next night- week, whatever he felt like. Truly, it didn’t actually matter if Izzy obeyed his rules. Instead, it was all wholeheartedly based on what mood Axl was in! If he was having a bad day, Izzy would have a bad orgasm! Luckily, the singer seemed to be happier than normal. He was almost bouncy in his mannerisms. The click of a switch and the following buzz of the vibrator snapped Izzy out of his thoughts. He quivered as Axl pushed the plastic close to his skin. It didn’t touch him quite yet, but he could imagine that soft tingle spread across his thighs.
Then, he made contact. Izzy locked up. He almost convulsed at the intensity in which he shivered. How could something so tiny make him feel so much? A lithe moan slithered through the gag. Axl trailed the vibrations up his thighs and across his pelvic bones. He tensed the muscles in his thighs. Flexed his toes. Bucked his hips. Anything he could do, he did it. Izzy had given up on wiggling his fingers. His arms were already numb and tingling. Maybe it was because he was laying on them, maybe it was because he was tied up that tight. Everything was so tingly. Axl teased the tip of the vibrator along his pubic mound, grinning at the shaky breaths that Izzy took as he tried to calm himself. Then, he slid the plastic across his balls. He chuckled as he watched Izzy’s control quickly slip away from him. It was hard to play it cool like this. Before Axl could bring the toy up toward his tip, Axl gave him mercy. He dropped the shaking plastic on the mattress and leaned toward Izzy’s upper body. After crawling up the mattress, he cradled his head in his palm. His fingers plucked away at the buckle in the back of the guitarist's head. Axl slid the gag out of his mouth and chuckled as he wiped away spare strands of spit away from his mouth. Drool had begun to leak from his lips, anyways. Izzy beamed at him. It was a broken grin, a depraved grin really, but a grin nonetheless. Axl returned the slight smile.
“Make those noises for me, pretty boy. I wanna hear ‘em.” He snickered as he scooted back down the bed. He picked up the wriggling toy once more. Softly, he assaulted the man's senses once more. Izzy damn near screamed as he placed it directly on his tip. It was like he had lost all of his common sense. He shook and wiggled so much that a thin sheen of sweat pooled on his skin. “Stay still, bitch.” Axl hissed and pinched one of his nipples between his fingers. Hard. “Fuck! Sorry- I’m sorry!” He sobbed back dry tears as he tried to stop his spasms. He nodded at him and let go of his ever-so-sensitive nipples. Eventually, his frantic moments subsided. Sharp breaths and a perpetual buzz filled the room. Izzy could feel himself growing closer to his peak by the second. He didn’t normally come so fast, but life gets lonely. He needed this. “Axl- Ax, man. Close-“ He babbled, unknowingly pulling at the sheet with his numb fingers. Izzy tried to focus on something other than his impending orgasm, like the color of the blue ropes and the smell in the air. Columbia blue and sex. That came to him too easily. He needed something hard- like math. But, those thoughts were lost on him. “You come when I say you get to. Patience is a motherfucking virtue.” Axl sneered back at him. Well. Someone’s mood has flip-flopped. Wild how he could change like that. That’s probably why Izzy likes him and his sadistic tendencies so much.
He held steady with the vibrations on Izzy’s cock. Izzy writhed, releasing soft moans. Desperately, he tried to keep himself from squirming. He wanted to be good enough to come. Izzy did his best to hold back his orgasm, and he did! It was impossible to hold back his arousal, though. The aggressive leak of precum that Axl worked up and down his cock with the toy made the signer beam. He may be a sadistic, arrogant asshole, but he liked to have proof that he could make people feel good when he wanted to. Maybe that’s what made him so perfect. Soon enough, he was back to babbling incoherent begging noises. “So- so close, Axl. Please.” He hissed. Axl just stared back at him. A soft snort escaped him.
“Nope.” He grinned and popped the p.
“Fuck! Fuck you- cocksucking whore!” Izzy rambled. In an instant, he gasped at himself. He didn’t know why such a combination of words slipped out of him. Axl wasn’t a cocksucker, nor was he a whore. The singer pulled away from him immediately. It was like he had been burned. Izzy gave him a scared, sorrowful look. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t- I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t even know-“ He panickedly babbled his words, struggling against his bonds with the means to take Axl’s hands in his own and try to explain himself. Axl didn’t speak. He just wiped his hands on his studded jeans and stood up. The vibrator was dropped next to Izzy’s legs but didn’t get turned off. It just sat there in their silence. Axl spun on his heel and walked toward the door. Before he could leave he uttered one sentence. “Figure it out yourself, then. Bitch” He scoffed and opened the door. Maybe he was crazy, but he certainly opened it aggressively wide. He may have even let it stay open for longer than needed as he walked out into the hall. He closed it behind him, but not all the way. It was still open by just the tiniest bit. Just enough to let the artificial hallway light stream into the slightly dim room. Just him, his tied-up body, and a vibrator that was on the bed beside him. He wanted to sob. This hurt. But, it hurt so good. He could hear Axl deliver a few sharp knocks to the door across the hallway. Then, he could hear his faint voice.
“Heya, Richard. Wanna have that chat or whatever?”
Summary: Myles loves his wife. Myles loves his guitarist. He'd do anything for them, even if 'anything' means letting his guitarist fuck his wife while she sits in his lap.
Authors Note: hiii!!! I've finally decided to slowly move some of my tamer stuff onto tumblr so im trying to post a fic or two a day! everything posted here is already on my ao3 so if you want more or anything go there (all fics are linked via titles) ! that's all cuz this 1 is just kind of cute and sillyish but be warned im not THAT familiar w how the tumblr fic girlies want stuff formatted so this might be a little bumpy until i get it all figured out! be nice 2 me or whatever
"Just let me, let me have her one time," Slash whined. Now, he was no man to beg, he's Slash for God's sake! But he didn't want to disrespect Myles. He adored both Myles and his wife, his ever so gorgeous, wife which is why he's begging for one night to shoot his shot. Despite what it sounds like, he does not want to steal Myles' woman. He just wants a taste, and is it wrong to want to share with friends?
The brown-haired man simply stared back for seconds that elapsed into minutes. "Fine." were the final words that escaped him. This is exactly how Mr. Myles Motherfucking Kennedy ended up being the bottom slice of bread in this fucked up Hudson/Kennedy sandwich. His dear wife haphazardly splayed across his lap and part of Slash's, which would be innocent enough if the guitarist hadn't begged to fuck the same legs that were innocently thrown across his lap. Occasionally, she'd lean into Myles' ear and whisper dirty little things to him, babbling about the cute new underwear she had bought the day before, and then press a kiss to his ear.
Myles loved those sweet little kisses, always basking in the pure love they represented, but now, he felt almost dreadful. When a smile had yet to cross Myles' face, she knew something was wrong.
"Baby, hey, you feelin' particularly good?" she murmured into his ear once more. Seemingly caught in a trance, Myles snapped back to his usual gentle self and smiled at her, "I'm doing great, why? Do I look sick?" He questioned as the girl placed the back of her hand on his forehead and bit her lip for a moment. "No, no you're fine you just looked a little upset, that's all." She quipped and gently slid her hand into his.
"You know, they say there's an erogenous zone," Slash uttered, suddenly snaking his hands around the girl's leg, feeling up her calves "just up around the calf and behind the knee." He finished with a whisper as his fingers softly ghosted upon her skin. Something wasn't right. Yes, Slash is dirty and a little perverted but it was never serious. Now it sounded and felt so real. He lacked the sweet pink that dusted his cheeks when he grinned and goofed around. His sunglasses were nowhere to be found, only leaving a piercing stare in their wake. He was just different today.
Slowly, he found his hands trailing up the woman's legs, and following their path, he began to leave little kisses. She nervously giggled and leaned into Myles' ear once more. "Is this a joke? Am I missing the punchline?" She questioned, trying to lightly shake the guitarist's hands away from her legs with a little wiggle. "Just let it happen, okay? As long as you want it, I mean." Myles mumbled back, trying to promise that everything that may happen tonight is on her terms.
As the kisses he peppered along her legs got less and less innocent, his hands also busied themselves with slowly bunching up the pretty floral sundress she had worn on this fine August day around her waist. Though some parts of her were terrified, she had a husband for God's sake- a husband whose lap she's lounging in, every other part of her wanted this so much. Truth be told, she had always loved Slash but he was forever unattainable and just when he had gotten divorced and publically announced himself as back on the market, she had fallen head over heels for a particularly charming vocalist.
It's not like she was unhappy with Myles, she practically kissed the ground he walked on! It had always just been a little schoolgirl crush that she was pretty sure Slash was aware of. Sometimes while she was lost in her head, the guitarist had managed to get himself down on the floor and had pulled her with him. Now, she sat more directly in Myles' lap. "Hold these for me, will you Mr. Kennedy?" Slash teased from his position on the floor and tapped on the girl's legs. Myles obliged and helped to keep her legs thoroughly spread. His hands, which had been otherwise absent throughout this experience previously, stood firm in keeping her laid out.
Small nips and kisses blended on the girl's inner thighs and she felt herself grow wetter with every moment she stared down at the guitarist. His hands still ghosted along her legs and massaged their way up her midsection, just resting on her breasts.
"Myles? Be a dear and give me a hand here?" Slash gestured towards her underwear with one hand, the other still content on playing with her nipple through the sheer fabric of her dress. Myles shimmied the girl's underwear off, choosing to stuff it into his pocket instead of throwing it to the floor out of fear that some poor venue worker will be forced to dispose of it. "Oh, panty thief. That's dirty, Kennedy, I like it." The older man grinned up at both Kennedy's for a short moment before gasping as if all of the hair had been sucked out of his lungs.
"You're gorgeous. Genuinely, you have a pretty pussy." He drawled. Maybe it sounded stupid in hindsight, but at the moment it made the girl tingle from the top of her brain to the very bottom of her toes. She simply whined and rocked, or attempted to rock, her hips at the man. As much as she loved her husband, she began to spite him as their position currently made it difficult to squirm and gain friction, but maybe that's what Slash wanted. After all, this seemed to be a planned attack.
He placed many small kisses and bites along her inner thighs, all while Myles softly panted in her ear. Weirdly, he seemed to be getting off on this more than Slash was, despite him receiving the least affection. Perhaps Myles Kennedy is a cuck. Maybe he's got the most intense boner of his life from watching his best friend go down on his wife, so what? All he could see was the way his life partner squirmed and moaned at the curly head of hair between her legs.
Finally, Slash made his approach. He placed one sweet and simple kiss on her clit. That was it, just one teasing little kiss and it caused her to groan and throw her head back onto Myles' shoulder. She locked eyes with him and gave him a little kiss on the cheek.
Between her legs, the guitarist went to town, thriving in the jumbled words that flowed through the girl as he ate her out. He was thorough, lapping at her as if this were to be his final meal. Occasionally, the cold metal of his nose ring would touch her skin and she'd break a little more, longing to grab and pull on handfuls of his big curls. Like he could read her mind, Slash pulled away and muttered a calm "Keep your hands to yourself." before returning to the work at hand. She moaned in response and chose to grab handfuls of Myles' belt instead.
Slash's leather pants disgruntledly crinkled as he adjusted his position on the floor, curiously bringing a hand up to her clit and lightly smacking it. She curled upwards in surprise and reeled in the slight pain while releasing little moans and huffs. He just grinned. Though he chose not to hit the girl anymore, he stored the idea in his head, just in case this was to happen again. The bracelets that adorned his arms jingled as he slowly began to tease her entrance. Before choosing to finger the girl, he removed some of the thick rings on his fingers.
"Hold these, and don't you dare drop them." He grunted as he placed the rings between the girl's teeth, catching her in a moment of surprise as she hadn't noticed the way her mouth hung slightly open. His hands found their way back to her entrance and rather quickly inserted themselves inside her. He started with not one, but two thick fingers. Immediately, she bucked her hips at the intrusion.
"Jesus Myles, do you even try to get her off? C'mon man, she's so desperate." The man between her legs started with his rude comments but chose to never leave his spot on the floor. Myles just buried his head deeper in her neck as a response. After a couple more minutes of fingering the girl, he reapproached her with his mouth. He did juvenile things, such as drawing the letters of his name on her clit with his tongue, just to bask in the way she reacted with her sweet little muffled moans.
Just as she began to get closer and closer to her peak, Slash quickly stopped both of his ministrations. "Let's make a deal, yeah? I get to come before you, and in return, I'll let you come. If you're good, maybe even Myles can get himself off after this." She nodded, unable to reply without dropping the rings he had placed in her mouth previously.
He rose from his knees, beginning to pull off his 'Vaginas are way cool' shirt. "You like my shirt, right?" He snarked "Oh, wait. Let me take those. Thanks for holding them, by the way." He mumbled as he pulled the rings out of the girl's mouth and slid them back onto his fingers. "Anyways, you like the shirt? Maybe I should get you a matching one. 'Penises are way cool' you know?" He grinned as he finally pulled the shirt off. "Scratch that, let's get you one that says 'Slash's penis is way cool' since obviously, Myles' poor excuse of a cock can't please you as I do." The words burned, he adored Myles and it felt wrong to berate him like this, but Myles asked for it so nicely. The girl almost immediately went to jump to Myles' defense but was cut short by the sweet, almost feminine whiney moan that cut through the air. Holy shit. Myles was getting off on this.
Sure, she had been able to feel the way he rocked his hips at the elder man's words occasionally, and yes she had heard the little breathy moans in her ear, but she assumed he was just into dry humping! She didn't have much time to linger in her thoughts, though. Instead, she was pulled into a long kiss. Kissing Slash was like nothing you could expect, he tasted like birthday cake chapstick and raspberries. As her tongue explored his mouth, she realized that Slash had fucked up teeth. Very fucked up, uneven teeth. For some reason, this made perfect sense for who he is as a person, and it turned her on even more. Her hands found themselves buried in fistfuls of curls. His curious hands wandered down until their found the zipper to his leather pants. She whines as he pulls away to wrestle with the ever-so-tight pants.
When he pulls his pants down, she's met with the biggest, pierced cock she's ever seen. It's pretty, with a nice pink tip and the lightest bit of pubic hair at the base, not quite long enough to curl and look messy, but not entirely shaved. She couldn't stop staring. "Oh! Sorry, I should have warned you. I got that done in, hm, 98' or so? around then. It hurt like a bitch, but doesn't it look nice?" He rambled off into your neck, tempted to bite kisses into the soft skin, but holding back for Myles' sake. She curiously approached it with one hand, enamored by how his cock stood tall against his midriff despite the heavy-looking jewelry.
He lightly smeared the metal-clad tip against her lips, simply in the name of teasing. She groaned at the steely cold that softly prodded at her lips.
"Do you think it'll fit?" he mumbled as he lined himself up straight with her, yet he simply let his cock rest on top of the girl's abdomen. He let out a low, deep whistle. "Jesus, look at that. Whaddya think, Myles? Will it fit?" He questioned as he looked the vocalist dead in the eye, grinning ever so predatorily. Whatever Myles had uttered back was entirely unintelligible but, how important was his advice anyways?
"C'mere and fuck me already." She demanded and Slash obeyed. In one motion, he was inside of her. The two of them groaned out handfuls of curses at the first thrust. Slash grabbed her hips, burying his head in the other side of her neck, parallel to Myles. "Holy shit, fuck Myles! I understand why you didn't wanna share. She's a fucking, uh, vice, man." Slash groaned as he gripped her waist.
"Oh, Myles! He fucks me so good! Oh my god." She moaned as her hand frantically found his, running her fingers over the cold metal of his wedding band. Slash had been his best man. Maybe he had always wanted her, maybe there could be a way where the three of them worked as more than fuck buddies. Myles whimpered as grew more desperate for any sort of friction, I mean, come on, it's his wife getting fucked here! Let the dude jerk off, for God's sake.
Now, normally when touring with Slash, you walk backstage to the green room and he's either taking a quick nap or fucking with a guitar, not fucking chicks. It's not the 90's anymore, and he's calmed down quite a bit. So imagine the collective shock between Todd, Brent, and Frank when they open the door and get an eyeful of Slash's ass. There are maybe three thoughts that are passed among the men, and they go as such; Oh my God, Slash is fucking someone backstage. Oh my God, Slash is fucking Myles' wife backstage. Oh my God, Slash is cucking Myles Kennedy and fucking his wife. What. The. Fuck. The men gawk at each other, and then Todd starts to giggle.
"This, oh my lord, this is fucking- fuckin' absurd." He doubles over laughing as Brent and Frank frantically shush him. Frank's got his head in his hands as he murmurs a chorus of "What the hell, "s and Brent is silent. Truly, he's almost bug-eyed as he just stares. Slash pays them no mind, even as the girl under him reaches to cover herself or as Myles asks him what they'll do about this.
"C'mon, they want a show. Let's give them a show, dirty girl." Slash murmured to the girl below him as he began to resume his thrusting. She tried to stifle her moans, she really did! But, alas, she couldn't help herself, especially when Slash leaned toward Myles and began to rant about how ashamed he was of the vocalist. "Jesus Christ, man! Everyone thinks you're such a strong, bold frontman yet here you are, letting your wife get fucked on top of you." He slammed Myles, his voice starting quiet but growing in volume rather fast as his thrusts got harder.
"It's fucking pathetic, you know that? Imagine what people would think if they found out. Imagine the headlines 'Alter Bridge's Myles Kennedy Is A Cuckold, And You'll Never Believe Who The Bull Is!' Would you even be able to show your face again?" He questioned, ignoring the way Myles moaned and gripped at his legs. "Please, Slash, thank you. Thank you for helping my wife, thank you for helping our marriage." He knew these words weren't true, Myles had an ideal relationship even when his wife and he had been fighting, but it felt so good to let the words tumble out.
Sure, Myles didn't answer the question at hand, but that's okay. Discipline is learned after all. Slash could no longer push aside the tight feeling that lingered in his abdomen, he knew the fun of tonight would be over soon. He knew that tomorrow, he would be forced to sit down and have a grueling talk on how this most likely wouldn't work out, so he decided to live in the moment. He had sworn to Myles that he wouldn't even think about coming in his wife. Yet, his mind was swimming. "Oh, god. I'm so fucking close, you're so tight. Where do you want me to come? Where? Do you want me to come in this tight little pussy?" He didn't have a second to think before the words had left his mouth.
"Yes! Please Saul, Please come in me!" she begged. Slash was no fan of his legal name, but when it left her mouth, he saw it in a new light. Previously his name was just the man he was before, Saul was that awkward teenager with a curly mullet and Slash was the Guns N' Roses superstar, but the way she said it was new. It was unlike when fans had used it to try and dig into his personal life, it was as if it was the most sincere pet name leaving her mouth. It made him want to melt.
"What do you think, Myles? Should I come in her? You think she deserves it?" Slash leered at the younger man, ever so tempted to just let go now and ignore his input entirely. Myles only got a solid nod and a half in between Slash froze, pushing the entirety of his length into her. He panted and shook, throwing his head back with a long moan. He wouldn't quite describe the feeling of it as fireworks, more so like he was punched in the chest repeatedly. She wrapped her legs around him, as to try and keep him inside her as deep as possible.
The guitarist could vaguely hear the scattered wolf whistles that echoed through the room, but there wasn't a lot of time to think about how he may have permanently changed the way his bandmates viewed him when he still had a job to do. He leaned over once more, quickly mumbling a "Thanks." to Myles and pressing a small kiss to his collarbone before resuming his attack on the girl below him. He found himself desperately kissing her, unable to keep up the strong persona he had put on display previously. After a couple more minutes of making out, he slowly began to rock his hips once more.
"Sorry, it's ah, still sensitive." He huffed as he began to lightly twitch when the girl tighten around him. It was weirdly feminine, that tingly butterfly-esque feeling that chased Slash throughout all of his nerve endings as he worked to draw her closer towards her own finish. His thickly jeweled fingers played out their own rhythm on her clit. God damn those ever-so-skilled guitarist fingers.
He was unnaturally needy, desperately leaning in to receive kiss after kiss from the girl below. She pulled away first and he groaned. In an instant, she was reaching and drawing red lines along his back with her nails while she mumbled a series of curses with the occasional "I'm close!" sprinkled along her lines.
Finally, she came. She came with a babbled mix of both Slash and Myles' names. She was vaguely aware of the way Slash quickly adjusted her dress to keep her decency at least somewhat intact before tucking himself back into his own pants. It was all such a blur, a blur that was similar to the way you could hear everyone talking while you're underwater but every word is warbled and warped. She could feel herself being gently shimmied out of Myles' lap and placed on the couch beside him, nestled next to Slash.
Her tired hands reached for Myles' belt but were quickly stopped while she mewled something about how he hadn't finished. The hands that had intercepted hers belonged to nobody but her dearest husband. "Later, if you're up for it." He sweetly smiled at her and guided her hands into his own while the other three curious onlookers stared at the three lovers.
There was only one thing she had recalled before she had promptly passed out and that was a question asked by their beloved drummer.
"So, are we gonna talk about that? Or like, is this a normal thing? Have I just been missing out super hard?"
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