You’re on a road trip — you’ve been driving for hours and it’s late in the afternoon when you finally pull up to a gas station in a nameless small town somewhere in the California desert.
The sun is beating down hot, but the station attendant? He’s hotter, shiny black leather breaking up the dull gray landscape that stretches for miles, pointed boots covered in dust and a bandana that waves playfully at you in the warm breeze. You can’t take your eyes off him as he fills up your tank, he tosses you a crooked grin when he catches you looking.
You linger at the station longer than necessary, stretching your legs and clearing your head. It’s been a long time since you’ve had good company, even if all you exchange is placid smalltalk about where you’re from (nowhere) and where you’re going (anywhere). The empty highway calls you when the sun starts to flag in the sky, but you don’t feel so directionless anymore. Wherever it takes you, you know you’ll stop here again on the way back home.
FINALLY getting the chance to start responding to these! Just got a couple more so hopefully will work through them in the next week or so
Said I wasn't going to write and then I did 😅 here's a drabble and an extra idea:
--
Slash was looking everywhere but at Duff — silently gawking at the decor, dropping his eyes down to his lap, fidgeting with his rings and shirt cuffs, jiggling his leg under the table...
It was driving Duff's nerves absolutely crazy.
"You — you know we don't have to do this if you don't want to. I appreciate you trying and all, but — "
Slash's gaze finally shot up to meet Duff's. "Huh? No, I'm fine, I'm not backing out."
"Cool, cool. It's just, you seem a little on edge..."
Slash's leg stilled and his fingertips spread flat on the table. Duff could tell he was thinking, he knew Slash's expressions better than anyone. Still, the short pause felt like an eternity. He braced himself for whatever potentially-devastating thought Slash had to share.
"It's just... When you suggested we" — his voice dropped and he leaned across the table — "pretend to date. I wasn't really expecting all this." He made a small gesture vaguely indicating their surroundings, his eyes darting over to the other tables and the stony-faced waitress who had grimaced at his sneakers when she seated them. "I've never done the whole, fancy restaurant, win-and-dine thing before, you know?"
Of course. When had Duff ever seen Slash take a date out for fine dining? He overdid it, trying so hard to impress Slash, to show him what a relationship could be like, that he ended up making him uncomfortable instead.
"We could go back to my place and do pizza and a movie instead," Duff blurted.
Slash blinked. "I thought the whole point was for us to be a convincing couple in public?"
It was just an excuse to spend time with you. "We'll have plenty more chances for that next week. Maybe I was jumping the gun with this whole date-night cliche. We should start with something more familiar," he reasoned. "You've been wanting to show me The Thing, right?"
Slash lit up, the discomforted edge vanished from his eyes. "Did you really get it?"
"The director's cut," Duff informed him proudly.
Slash was already sliding out of the booth, grabbing Duff's hand to lead him out of the restaurant. Duff happily stumbled after him, failing to suppress a blinding grin with Slash's warm fingers curled around his palm.
--
Also, how about a fake marriage?
Slash wasn’t born in the us, and he didn't get his us citizenship until after he almost got deported for trying to use an expired visa on tour (something like this happened irl, but I don't have the details handy..)
Due to legal complications (maybe relating to his various brushes with the law in the past), resolving the matter isn’t so simple. But they have international tour dates to make, they don’t have time to sit around and wait for bureaucracy to do its thing.
So Slash and Duff come up with a plan. They’ll get Slash a green card the old fashioned way – by getting married. Of course, it has to be a reasonably convincing marriage to work, so they’ll tell everyone that they were in a secret relationship for months. Their friends and family easily accept the lie — so easily, in fact, that Slash and Duff each start to see their relationship in a different light.
Inspired by some of Slash and Duff's onstage antics, a bit angsty. Enjoy!
--
Duff McKagan.
Bassist for Guns N Roses.
Human equivalent of a Golden Retriever.
Boyfriend to one very, very lucky lead guitarist… who dreads the conversation he’s about to have with the man he loves.
“Babe, I need to talk to you for a minute, okay?”
Slash stamps down the post-show high as well as he can and tries to speak in his Serious Voice, the tone that already has Duff’s metaphorical tail between his legs as Slash pulls him around a corner into an empty hall backstage. It's plain on his face that he knows where this is going, he knows what he did, and Slash wants to hold him and promise that it wasn't his fault but this isn't the time or the place for reassurances. He’ll try to be gentle, but that doesn't change what needs to be said:
“Duff. C’mon, look at me. There’s going to be a million cameras out there, alright? We have to be extra careful, especially after the way we were acting on stage tonight. No more of this " — he shakes their linked hands, — “if we want to keep this thing private, okay? Can you do that for me, baby?”
Duff breaks Slash’s gaze and stares down at the toes of his cowboy boots, anxiously grinding one of his soles into the concrete floor. His hair is stringy with sweat and it hangs in front of his face, but even with his downcast eyes obscured he's the very picture of chastised contrition. His shoulders are shamefully hunched and he's chewing lightly on his bottom lip as if to keep it from quivering. One hand is tightly clasping Slash’s, and the other is clenched in the fabric of his shirt.
The whole scene is like a dagger in Slash’s heart. Fuck, he hates it when he has to be firm with Duff. It’s not Duff’s fault that he's such a perfect boyfriend, so generously affectionate and loving that he has a hard time reigning it in at the appropriate times. And it’s not either of their faults that slipping up in front of the wrong person or camera could spell the end of both their careers. Slash would never risk putting Duff through that — he was too selfish to let him go, but he'd do anything in his power to make sure that nothing got in the way of the dream Duff worked so hard to achieve.
So they had both agreed that it would be best to play just-friends in public. But the thing is… Duff has a hard time following through. This wasn’t his first time slipping up, nor will it be the last, but Slash still feels like the most ungrateful asshole of a boyfriend in the world every time he has to call him out.
Duff nods quickly, still not meeting Slash’s eyes. A barely-audible sigh escapes his throat as Slash untangles their fingers and places both of his hands on Duff’s arms, a purely platonic gesture belied by the hushed words Slash leans in to whisper: “After we get through this, I’ll make it up to you at the hotel alright?” A hint of a sultry smirk appears as his eyes flick down to Duff’s lips. “… I got some ideas when you were grinding on me during the show tonight."
Duff nods again, but he can see the come-on for what it really is — a courtesy, Slash trying to prove that he's not mad when by all rights he should be. Or maybe even an incentive, to ensure Duff behaves himself for the rest of the night.
Each of his fuckups is a reminder that he’s the weak link in their relationship, he’s the over-emotional mess who can’t keep himself in check. It’s a goddamn miracle that he hasn’t gotten them caught yet… He could never forgive himself for doing that to Slash.
The guitarist might be one of the smartest, toughest people Duff has ever met, but deep down he's shy and sensitive. If the media found out about their relationship, the fallout would hurt him badly – they both know it, but Slash still loves him enough to take the risk.
And how does Duff repay him? By humping him like a dog in front of 20,000 people, that's how. God, the thought of it now makes Duff feel sick.
Slash takes a step back and turns to lead them back through the maze of corridors, tossing an encouraging grin over his shoulder as he does so. Duff does his best to return the smile. Mentally, he avows to be perfect — not to earn a reward that he doesn't deserve, but to prove that he can pull his weight in this relationship, that Slash doesn't have to keep covering for his mistakes.
The corridor grows brighter ahead of them, illuminated by the glittering flare of cameras flashing. Slash greets the assembly, Duff trails behind at a safe distance with his head bowed and his hands shoved in his pockets. For both their sakes, he thinks, he better not fuck this up.
So, this idea appeared a while ago when I was listening to an interview Slash did with Howard Stern and started thinking about what kinds of invasive questions reporters would ask in an a/b/o universe... It was originally just the first part, but I added the second scene this week which is why this is a day later than usual. Sfw, suggestive but not graphic.
—
"Aw, come on... I'm not like that!"
Slash was visibly flustered, his voice rose in pitch and Duff resisted the temptation to squeeze his reddening cheeks.
"No, seriously, I – " He pursed his lips as the voice on the line cut him off.
Slash was sitting with his back against the headboard of the cushy hotel bed, wrapped up in a complimentary white terrycloth robe, with freshly-washed hair soaking his collar and the telephone receiver cradled at his shoulder. He was in the middle of an interview, and Duff, for his part, was being perfectly quiet as he waited on the couch for Slash to finish.
This was nothing new: even now that they could afford their own rooms, Duff still spent most of his time in Slash's suite. And they'd learned long ago that it was best not to let on that there was anyone else in the room during interviews – it raised too many questions that they didn't care to answer.
"No, people have this idea that – just because I'm in a band and I'm... you know, an alpha…" Slash always stumbled on his words when he was embarrassed, it frustrated him sometimes but Duff found it endearing. "But I'm really not one of those guys who'll like, pick fights with other alphas and come on to every omega they meet. I just wasn't raised that way, you know?"
Duff had heard this line of questioning a million times before. If only he had a nickel for every time Slash had tried to explain that just because he's an alpha and a rockstar, that doesn't mean he's an asshole, he doesn't throw his weight around and get whatever he wants, and he can't just tell Axl what to do because he's an omega, it doesn't work that way!
But the press never listened. Honestly, Duff was glad he was just a common beta, if it meant he had to deal with a little less bullshit.
Really though, part of it was just Slash himself. Alpha or no, somehow he always managed to attract attention – much of it undesired. There was just something about his look, his riffs, his mystique. Reporters, managers, and omegas... everyone wanted a piece of Slash.
Duff was the one who got him, though.
—
"Jesus, that guy was like a fucking shark! You'd think he was scenting me through the phone line." Slash dropped the receiver on its cradle with a forceful good riddance and an irritated pout.
"He sounded like a jerk," Duff sympathized, climbing onto the bed to reclaim his spot straddling Slash’s thighs. "Beta?”
“I think so. Don’t be jealous?” He leaned up to peck Duff’s temple and gave him an imploring look, but the corner of his lips gave his teasing away.
“As if,” Duff scoffed. “…He should learn to mind his own business.” He parted the lapels of the robe and lay his hands on Slash’s warm chest as it rose and fell with his laughter.
“You gonna teach him a lesson, sweetheart?” he gently prodded, looking up at Duff with fond amusement, hooded eyes and curled lips. “Gonna defend your alpha’s honor?”
“I’d teach him a lesson with my fists if you’d let me…” Duff played along, half serious.
“No one lays a hand on you, you know that.”
The words slipped out as a growl, and Duff tipped his head forward to chuckle breathlessly into Slash’s shoulder.
“Christ, Slash…”
“Aw, don’t make fun of me baby, you know I can't control that sometimes,” he whined, tugging on a lock of wet hair and twisting it around his fingers. A drop of water landed on his collarbone.
He watched the droplet trace a path down Slash's bare chest, avoiding his gaze to hide his warm cheeks. Slash had dated betas before, but Duff had never been with another alpha, and sometimes Slash’s idiosyncrasies still managed to fluster him.
“Oh?” Slash sounded pleased. That was more than enough encouragement for him, he didn’t hesitate to get to work on Duff’s shirt buttons. His calloused fingertips grazed Duff’s skin, and he squirmed on Slash’s lap. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting so long, you’ve been so patient all afternoon while I’ve been stuck in interviews…”
“Typical selfish alpha behavior,” Duff sniped, but he was already unwinding the sash around Slash’s waist.
Slash rolled his eyes. “Not you too…” He buried his fingers in Duff’s hair and pulled him close for a kiss. “I’m sure there’s some way I can make it up to you…”
Thursday drabbles week 2, some slice-of-life sluff circa 1991. Wrote this one at the height of my obsession with Slash's polka-dot shirt 😌 Next week... I haven't decided yet. A piece of an a/b/o AU maybe? Or something with a bit of angst? What do you guys think?
--
“Ah, fuck!”
The red solo cup was now on the floor of the backstage hallway, and it’s vodka-cranberry contents were now soaked into the front of Duff’s shirt.
Fuckin’ figures, the one day he doesn’t wear a black top, he manages to make a mess of himself. Not that he wasn’t normally a mess, but they were filming a TV interview in five minutes!
'They' meaning him and Slash, as usual. Duff did a lot of interviews with Slash, mostly because the management didn’t want to deal with wrangling Axl and because everybody seemed to want to hear from Slash – as oblivious as the guitarist seemed to be to that fact. Duff didn’t have much to say to reporters himself, but the logic was that if they went together, between the two of them they would be intelligent enough and sober enough to get through the interview without stirring up any shit.
Normally, Duff resented the 'dumbass rocker' stereotype more than anything… But then there were moments like this that made him wonder if the buddy system had something to it.
Slash was already gripping the edge of Duff’s ruined shirt, “Hey, hey it’s ok man… Let’s just get this off you, huh?”
Duff let Slash tug off his shirt, watched him stretch out on his tiptoes to get the hem over Duff’s head. Then Slash started fumbling with the buttons of his own shirt, and Duff snorted a laugh.
“Are we both gonna do the interview half-naked?”
“Nah, man, c’mon…” Slash admonished with a grin on his face as he shrugged off his shirt and held it out to Duff. “Here, you wear mine, it’s big on me so it’ll fit you fine. And I got my jacket so I don’t really need it.”
Duff accepted the shirt from Slash and slipped it on. The cloth was still warm from Slash’s body, Duff did up a couple buttons then ran his fingers down the soft, velvety black fabric interspersed with shiny little silver dots that were slippery beneath his fingertips. The shirt was comfortable, almost cozy, in that lived-in way like a favorite blanket. It was always slipping off Slash’s shoulders when he wore it – quite often as of late – but on Duff it was just loose enough. The sleeves were a bit too short, so he cuffed them, and when he looked up Slash had his fringed leather jacket on and was rocking on his toes, waiting for Duff to finish preening so they could hurry up and get this interview over with.
Slash groaned and flopped backward on the bed. "Man, don't call it 'fooling around'..."
"Why not?"
"It makes it sounds like we're teenagers, I don't know."
"Well, what should I say? Our sexcapades?"
"Dude, no — "
"Shag-nanigans?"
"Christ. I'm gonna pretend I never heard that, Duff." Slash rubbed his face with the heel of his hand, wiping away his perturbed reaction to Duff's ill-attempted wordplay. He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow and picking at lint on the blanket as he continued. "I just meant... We've been doing this for a while. I think we're a little past 'fooling around' now. You know?"
Slash didn't look up to watch Duff's reaction, but his shoulders lost some of their tension when he felt a hand rest on his thigh.
anon's slash ideas part 1: "sugar baby slash, dressed like a whore in bed but acting all innocent. good thing duff knows better"
just a short drabble, mostly dialogue, definitely suggestive so i'll put it under the cut. tell me what you think ;)
--
"Baby, is everything okay?"
"Huh? Yeah, of course, why do you ask?" Saul looked up at Duff with round eyes and slightly parted lips. He looked incredible, lying on the bed below him in the expensive baby blue lingerie that Duff had gifted him earlier that evening. But something... something was off.
"You just don't seem relaxed, that's all. Is there something I can do to make this better for you?
"Oh no, I'm not uncomfortable. I'm just, um... just nervous, you know." Saul had coy looks down to an art form, he looked downward, fluttered his lashes then peered back up at Duff. "I've never been with someone so big – "
"– You know, you don't have to act a certain way just because you think I'll like it."
Saul was caught and he knew it, the doe-eyed expression was real this time. He avoided Duff's gaze and scrunched a hand sheepishly in his hair.
"I... On your profile you said you like sweet boys..." he mumbled. "There was something about 'pillow princesses' – "
"Forget the profile, Saul. Ever since we first met I could to tell that you've been holding back, and it drives me fucking crazy – you're a tease, you know that?" Not to be outdone, Duff resumed running his hands over Saul's body, lightly tracing his abs and flicking his thumb against his nipples. "I want to see the side of you that you've been hiding from me. Just let go, will you do that for me?"
Saul laughed, not sweetly timid but bold and devious. "Okay..." he drawled, "I can do that." He wrapped his legs around Duff's waist, yanking him closer and grinding his lace-covered cock against Duff's hard-on.
"For starters, don't call me Saul. I'm not Saul."
"No?" Duff gasped.
"It's Slash. Make sure you get it right when you're calling me your slut."
