#and duff is way too far gone to filter himself

[sodalitefully]

8 for Sluff please, love your account

8 - “Please, stop smiling at me like that. I’m not sure what will happen if you keep doing that.”

Thank you! Another anon also asked for 8/sluff so this is for both of you, thanks for being patient! I started this a month ago and then got totally stuck on how to finish it 😓

Duff and Slash both overshare when they’re wasted… 

~~~~

You want to know how Slash and I got to be such good friends? Well, the first thing I gotta tell you is that he’s one of the nicest, coolest people I know, and he doesn’t deserve his shitty reputation, got it?  The second thing, is that I was blown away when I first heard him play guitar and I wasn’t about to let a musical genius like that walk out of my life. 

But the truth is (just between you and me, right?), there’s a third, final, and very important reason.  You see… after Slash, Steven, the girls, and I met, we hung out, jammed a little, then of course proceeded to get absolutely obliterated.  And that’s when it happened: Drunk-Duff met Drunk-Slash and the world would never be the same. 

We’re the drunken dream-team.  Smashed, sauced, and sloshed soulmates.  The Dynamic Duo of gettin’ gazebo-ed. 

You get what I’m trying to say. 

It works out real well because our tolerance is about the same, and we both tend to be happy, affectionate drunks.  We’re partners in crime for all kinds of insane intoxicated shenanigans, but we’ll also look after each other, you know? Or try to at least, hah.  

Last night though? Things were a little different.  Slash got a head start on me, so instead of Drunk-Slash-and-Duff, it was Drunk-Slash and Just-Barely-Tipsy-Duff.  Which was no problem, it was great! Er, it was totally fine! I mean –

… 

Okay… there’s something I didn’t tell you about me and Slash.  It’s true that Drunk-Slash-and-Duff are the ultimate drinking buddy power couple. But sober? That’s another story.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re still best friends! Contrary to popular belief, we do hang out and do stuff besides drinking and drugs.  But there’s one key difference that even Slash never knew about, and that is that Sober-Duff has, well, a huge fuckin’ crush on Slash.

Hey, don’t fucking judge me, dude! …He’s just a really awesome guy, okay? And good looking.  I dig the hair.

Ahem.

Anyway, it could be a real problem when we were both sober, because I really had be on my toes to make sure he didn’t catch me staring or anything, you know?  It’s like, I couldn’t relax because then I might start to slip up and that could mess up everything: our friendship, the band… man, I don’t even want to think about it.  

But when Slash was drunk, I had nothing to worry about!  He never noticed when I zoned out staring at his ass – thank god, because it’s happened a lot.  And Drunk-Slash-and-Duff might be all about the platonic cuddling, but on these special occasions I get to appreciate Slash at his clingiest in a more romantic-kinda-way.  I also get to appreciate how giggly he gets: I’m a sap, I know, but just seeing him smile makes me feel like I just did a whole line of shots so whenever this happens I always pull out all the stops trying to keep him in good humor.

So there I was, telling Slash every lame joke I could think of, pulling stupid faces, generally acting like a total goofball and trying to make him laugh.  And it was working!  Slash was a giggly mess, and I figured it was time to give us both a break.  I watched him compose himself from the corner of my eye as I chugged the rest of my beer.  Even in the dim light of the bar, I managed to get lost in his dark eyes as he looked at me with an exasperated smirk.

“Duff! Stop smiling at me like that!” He whined, and oops, I guess I let my gaze linger a little too long.

“What? Whyyy?” I pitched my voice up to match his tone.

“Because…” He dropped into a drunkenly serious whisper. “…I’m not sure what’ll happen if you keep doing that.” 

Wait.  What?

Was he saying what I thought he was saying?  It’s not just me, right?  It definitely sounded like he was… implying something.

But before I could ask him what he meant, another round of drinks appeared on the table and Slash was back to his cheery, thirsty self in the blink of an eye.  I gotta admit, I was just as distracted by the booze – I was trying to catch up, after all – so I forgot about what he said until about twenty minutes later. 

I was back on my bullshit and better than ever – I managed to get Slash to laugh just as he was about to take a swig of his beer, he snorted into the glass and suds flew everywhere!  Both of us were still laughing our heads off as he whacked me in the arm and tried to find a napkin to clean himself up.  Once he got the foam off his face I was determined to make him do it again: every time he tried to take a sip I’d repeat the same stupid punchline and he’d have to quickly duck away from his glass to avoid getting beer up his nose.

After my fourth or fifth attempt, Slash suddenly bounced up from his seated position to kneel on the seat of the booth so I was forced to look up at his face as he poked a scolding finger into my chest. 

“I thought I told you to knock it off!”

I just laughed, it was hard to take him seriously when he was pouting like that.  “I dunno what you’re talking about!” 

“Nuh-uh, don’t play dumb because I know I told you to quit it!  I’m jus’tryna get drunk here and you won’t stop distracting me!”

“Well then make me,” I teased.

For a split second, I thought that Slash lost his balance and was falling into me, so I put my hands up to catch him.  But then, I felt his mouth on my lips.

I was stunned into helplessness as his tongue thrust between my teeth and overwhelmed my mouth.  I’d wanted this for so long that I couldn’t understand it; the kiss was deep and fast and it was over before I could bring myself to lean into him and suck the taste of whiskey and cheap beer off his lips.

As I tried to catch my breath, I realized that my hands were still planted on Slash’s chest, I was practically groping him.  I tried to slide my arms out of the way but at that moment, Slash decided to swing one knee over my legs so that he was straddling my thighs.  He sat in my lap and scooted all the way up until his ass was right over my crotch, then put his arms on my shoulders for balance, trapping me in place with my hards grabbing his tits and my thighs glued together so he might not notice my dick starting to poke him in the ass.

I stared up at him with my eyes wide and my mouth hanging open, wondering if I was dreaming… And if I wasn’t, would he remember this the next day?  Would he still want to kiss me when the liquor wore off, or would he laugh it off like the rest of the bullshit he does when he’s wasted?

Slash seemed oblivious to the questions racing through my head.  He just stared down at me with a little smile, and then leaned down again to plant another deliberate, chaste kiss.  

“Yeah, now you’re quiet.  Where’s that grin, huh? Did you think trying to get a rise out of me wouldn’t have any consequences?” His tone was smug but his expression was still affectionate. 

“Slash, what –“ 

“Such a tease, acting all cute like that when you know what it does to me.  Fuck, even when you’re being a pain you’re still so sweet it’s unfair.” 

“What – What it does??” 

“Were you trying to get me to confess? ‘Cause I was trying to keep it to myself, all right?  I didn’t want to screw everything up but, y’know, it’s hard when you’re always smiling at me like that.” He bit his lip, hesitating.  “And I’m already in your lap, so I guess I might as well…” He leaned down until his lips were brushing my ear, and whispered, “This is fun… but I’d rather be back at the hotel, just the two of us.” 

Forget dreaming, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

“Then let’s go,” I breathed, and Slash looked at me like he was genuinely surprised.

“Really? You want that? With me?”

“I’ve wanted that practically since we met, are you kidding?”  I finally worked up the balls to stretch up and kiss him.  He eagerly returned the kiss and then he slid out of the booth, tugging me after him as we hurried out of the bar. 

And the rest, as they say, is history!  I have to keep some secrets, don’t I?

Huh, I guess I was lying before when I said the third reason was the final reason.  Actually, telling that story reminded me of a few more reasons if you know what I mean, hah!

Hey, you’ll keep all this between us, right? Yeah? Good, because I gotta go – Slash looks like he’s about to pass out on the pool table, I think it’s time to take him home… 

~~~~

[jaxl-road]

Scar Tissue, chapter 11

Things get worse- a lot worse- before they get better.

Pairings: Slash/Duff, side Steven/Vince, side Axl/Izzy, side Nikki/Tommy

Warnings: Discussed/implied past abuse (non-explicit)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It felt like the longest show they’d ever done.

Steven shot Slash a concerned look on the ride to the venue as his leg bounced uncontrollably. Duff stared out the window, chewing on his fingers while Axl ranted in the front seat about their set list in an attempt to ease some of the tension but not really succeeding. By some miracle the show still managed to go well. Duff was obviously already tipsy when they arrived from whatever he’d been drinking before he got home, and they all shared looks of concern when he actually brought a drink with him onstage. Still, they were able to get lost in the music and performance enough to keep themselves together and wow the audience.

They all heaved a sigh of relief when their set ended with no mishaps, and underneath Slash’s tension and worry, he felt a swell of pride at how the band’s success was steadily growing. Still, he was impatient to whisk Duff away. They needed more time to work through everything Duff had told him.

In the dressing room, Axl, Izzy, and Steven chatted easily about the show and possibly tracking down the venue owner to snag some more dates while Slash hurried to put his guitar away so he and Duff could leave. Right as he was about to turn to the bassist, a knock on the door had Slash huffing in frustration. Before any of them could answer it though, the members of Motley Crue burst in, Vince in front as he sauntered over to Steven.

“Heya babe,” he grinned, sliding an arm around the drummer’s waist, “Great show!”

“Thanks!” Steven smiled brightly.

Slash felt like he was gonna crawl out of his skin, but he was once more interrupted before he could escape with Duff, this time by Tommy. The Crue drummer turned towards the blonde and spoke casually as he jerked his thumb towards the door, “Hey, Duff, some dude, said he was a friend of yours, was looking for you out in the hallway.”

Frowning, Duff furrowed his brows in confusion, “Oh, uh, thanks.”

Sighing, Slash couldn’t help but find it fitting that Duff would have some other kind of reunion this weekend. Sending him a tired shrug, Duff stepped over to the door, opening it to lean out into the hallway.

He had barely stuck his head out before he was reeling back, slamming the door loudly before backing away from it rapidly.

“Duff?” Slash was by his side in an instant, the rest of the room immediately on high alert as the bassist slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispered through his fingers, eyes clenched shut.

“What’s going on?” Nikki looked between Duff and the door suspiciously, eyes narrowed.

A humorless laugh, high pitched and hysterical escaped from the tall blonde. He took a deep breath, and then his eyes flickered to Slash, his voice heavy with resignation, “It’s my ex. My ex is out there.”

For a moment, everything feels frozen. Like time has stopped as his head echoes back everything Duff had said that evening, replaying the night in the alley when he found out about his ex the first time, going through a slideshow of every flinch and flash of fear he’s ever seen cross Duff’s face.

Then everything tinges red.

“What??” Multiple voices shout, the entire room suddenly buzzing with energy. Somewhere in the back of Slash’s mind he finds it odd that everyone seems to know that Duff’s ex is bad news, but he can barely form coherent thoughts at the moment, head snapping to look at the door to the dressing room.

Little things filter through- Izzy’s soft voice, “Axl, no-”, Steven guiding Duff to sit on the couch in the corner, Vince and Mick standing awkwardly to the side while still trying to be supportive.

“Maybe I should go talk to him,” Duff mutters, no emotion, just exhaustion, “I should-”

“Absolutely not!” Axl snaps, as Nikki storms over to the other bassist’s side, kneeling next to him and whispering furiously.

Slash isn’t sure what he says though. Because by that point he’s throwing the door open and bursting into the hallway, feeling fury in his veins and wanting nothing more than to feel that fucking bastard bleed under his hands. He can hear the music of the venue pulsing softly down the long hallway to where it opens up into the main floor. And there, leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway, is the same man Slash remembers from all those weeks ago, arms crossed and facing away from him.

Stalking away from the dressing room, Slash is ready to absolutely destroy this man- destroy him like he tried to destroy Duff. But he’s barely gotten three steps when a firm hand wraps around his bicep and jerks him back harshly.

“Slash,” Izzy’s voice is stern. Tommy stands a few steps behind him, eyes wide and jaw clenching as he watches the two guitarists carefully.

He tries to pull his arm back, but Izzy holds tight, and Slash finds himself snarling, “Get the fuck off me, Izzy!”

“No,” Izzy whole body is coiled tight like a spring, “Slash, listen to me-”

“You don’t know what he did!” Slash snaps, teeth bared as he gestures violently towards the club, “That fucking bastard- Just fucking let me go! You don’t understand-!”

“Yes I fucking do!”

Slash feels his teeth click shut. He’s never heard Izzy’s voice so cold, or seen his eyes so dark. He feels his fingers tighten around Slash’s arm, but he barely notices it, too focused on the way Izzy’s swallows thickly, pushing back the storm of emotions in his stomach. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. Gentler.

“I do. I get it, Slash.”

“We both do,” Tommy admits, stepping forward to stand next to them.

Looking back and forth between them, Slash thinks about the bits and pieces he knows about Axl’s past, about all the seemingly small things that set him off as if he’d been attacked, the way he was always ready to defend himself. He thinks about Nikki’s simmering rage, the way he would light himself on fire and greet pain like an old friend, the long, deep scar on his forearm that he never talks about.

And he thinks of Izzy and Tommy, pillars and bodyguards and safety and comfort and a fierce, hair-trigger protectiveness that Slash had always felt was over the top. Until now.

“I get wanting to fucking tear apart the person who hurt the guy you love,” Tommy said soothingly, “And you deserve it, trust me, in any other situation we’d let you at him.”

“But do not,” Izzy spoke firmly and honestly, “choose that asshole over Duff.”

Slash felt his blood run cold, “I-I’m not-”

“Are you sure?” Tommy cut in, “Because one of them needs you right now, and it’s not the one you’re running towards.”

He wants to cry. Shaking hands run through his hair as Izzy finally releases his grip, resting his hand on his shoulder comfortingly, “Fuck,” his voice cracks. He hates this. He hates this so much. “Fuck, you’re right, I-... I gotta get back to him-”

“Better move quick, then,” Nikki strides up to them, fists clenched at his side, “Your boy just took off out the back exit.”

“Shit!” His fury takes the back burner as the anxiety of Duff being on his own right now overrides it.

“Go,” Nikki jerks his head in the other direction, “We’ll take care of things here,” he turns to Tommy with a predatory grin, “Won't we, T-Bone?”

“It would be our pleasure,” the drummer cracks his knuckles eagerly, and as Slash takes off towards the back door, he figures that if he can’t tear Duff’s ex apart with his own two hands, the Terror Twins are not a bad second option.

Sprinting as fast as he can, he bursts out the back of the venue, head snapping around to try to find Duff. Luckily, the bassist hasn’t gone far. Duff’s strides are long and fast, but he’s not running, so he’s still easily visible down the block.

“Duff!” Slash calls out, running after him. He shouts his name again as he gets closer, but the only response is the blonde’s shoulders hitching up before he takes a sharp turn and ducks into the first bar he sees. Following him into the dimly lit building, Slash finally catches up just as Duff is frantically waving down the bartender.

“Hi, vodka cranberry, please,” his voice is stuttery, and he gives a shaky smile in an attempt to be polite. He practically collapses onto a stool, and Slash is quick to sit next to him.

“Hey, babe,” he speaks quietly, trying to be soothing, “are you alright?”

The bartender brings him his drink, and Duff snatches it from his hand before he can set it on the bar. Downing the drink in barely a second, he sets the glass down and smiles at the bartender again, “One more, less cranberry please.”

Raising an eyebrow, the man goes to make the second drink as Duff finally turns to Slash, pale and eyes already glassy from all the alcohol he’d been drinking all night, “Yeah, I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

When the next drink arrives, Duff drinks it slightly slower, giving the bartender a chance to escape. Slash eyes him with concern, “Um… well, tonight was-... I mean, honestly the last couple days have been, uh… intense?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he polishes off his drink, staring down at the empty glass, “It’s fine. I probably had it coming anyway,” he laughed humorlessly before bringing a hand up to bite at his nails, “I should have stayed and talked to him. I mean, I owe him that much-”

“Bullshit!” Slash snaps out. He feels a swell of guilt when Duff flinches, so when he continues he lowers his voice, “You don’t owe that asshole a fucking thing.”

Duff hummed noncommittally, “I don’t know. Maybe…” He turned his head and flagged down the bartender again and ordered another drink.

“We’ll close the tab now, please,” Slash cut in while Duff was busy chugging, quickly pulling out a wad of bills to pay for the drinks.

“I’m fine,” Duff mumbled, hand trembling slightly as he set down the empty glass.

Slash hesitantly reached out to rub his back, “I think it’s time to go home, babe.” He has no idea how much Duff had to drink before he got home that night, or when he’s last eaten, but even just the drinks he’s seen the bassist inhale were going to be enough to mess him up in no time at all.

His point was proven when Duff stood and immediately swayed dramatically, Slash rushing to wrap an arm around his waist to steady him, “Yeah, it’s definitely time to go home.” The second they got outside he managed to snag a cab- there was no way he was going to be able to support the six foot blonde the entire way home. He kept his arm around Duff, whispering soothing nonsense and trying to be comforting.

“Y’know,” Duff slurred, blinking slowly as he gazed at Slash, “It wasn’t all… I learned a lot from Scott. Like, like how t’ be a better boyfriend, y’know?” He smiled shakily, too drunk to notice the way Slash’s face hardened at his words, “I haven’t been v’ry good for you though,” he leaned his head against the guitarist’s shoulder, “’ll try harder. Promise.”

“You’re fine, man,” Slash brought his hand up to stroke his hair softly, “You’re doing just fine.”

By the time they reached the Hell House, Duff’s most recent drinks had definitely hit him. Slash struggled to get him inside without dropping him as the bassist leaned most of his weight against him, weaving and swaying as they made their way towards their room. When he dropped Duff as gently as he could onto his mattress, he thought the man had passed out, his head turning back and forth slowly with his eyes closed and his limbs sprawled out. Slash was quick to tug off both of their boots and jackets, more than ready to settle down and just sleep after the tension of the last few days.

But when got into the bed himself, Duff’s eyes suddenly snapped open, wide and glassy, and with quick, jerky movements, he rolled over and threw a leg over Slash’s waist, straddling the guitarist. He was swaying back and forth, and despite his surprise at the sudden movement Slash managed to sit up and place his hands on his shoulders to steady him.

“Woah, hey, Duff,” he stuttered, “Easy there, why don’t you-”

Before he could finish his sentence, Duff pitched forward, landing a clumsy but firm kiss on his lips. Slash let out a muffled noise of surprise, Duff tangling shaking fingers into his hair and pulling him closer. All he could taste was vodka.

“Duff-” he tries to push him back gently, but he gets more firm when he feels a hand start to fumble with the button of his jeans, “Duff!” He shoves him back, holding him at arms length.

“I t’ld you I’d try harder,” the bassist mumbled, trying to lean in again but too uncoordinated to push through Slash’s hold.

There are so many alarm bells going off in his head that Slash can hardly think, but he manages to grind out, “Hey, we are not doing this tonight.”

“Why?” Duff slurred, tilting his head, “You’ve been so patient, you don’t have to… you want me, right?”

“Of course I do,” Slash sighed in frustration, “but I’m not going to fuck you when you’re two sips away from blacking out!”

Duff’s whole body freezes under his hands, blinking slowly and something like shock filtering across his face. There is a long moment of silence, the two of them just looking at each other. Slash doesn’t know what response he’s expecting. But he knows it’s not for Duff to swallow thickly, drop his gaze, and whisper shakily.

“But I’m too scared when I’m sober.”

Slash swears he feels his heart stop. He thinks of Duff’s hesitance whenever their makeout sessions got a little too heavy. He thinks about how he had told Steven that Duff was always wasted by the time he got them alone, and he suddenly realizes that that was no accident. It was intentional. Taking a deep breath, he just wants this to stop getting worse. He wonders suddenly if this is what Axl feels like when he destroys entire rooms, because right now he wants to put his fists through the wall. Or maybe cry.

Or maybe both.

The silence stretches on for just a moment too long, and so Duff looks back up, giving a weak smile that doesn’t reach his eyes as he puts his hands on Slash’s chest, sliding them down towards his stomach. “It’s okay,” he whispers, “It’s fine. It’s better this way, r'lly. You can… I w'n’t…" his eyes flutter closed for a moment. When he opens them, he stares blankly somewhere over Saul's shoulder as he breathes out, "It’s okay.”

As gently as he can, soft and slow, Slash covers Duff’s hands with his own, pulling them away from his body. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, and sad, “Telling me that you can only handle sex when you’re wasted is not okay.” He hates the look of surprise on Duff’s face. The disbelief, the confusion, the pain. He runs his thumbs over the back of the bassist’s hands, trying to soothe him, “It’s okay if you’re not ready. This isn’t something you have to give me.”

Duff let out a watery huff, something between a laugh and a sob, “I don’t have 'nything else t' give.”

Slash clenches his teeth so hard it feels like they might crack. Why does it keep getting worse? He has to take a few deep breaths to swallow back the rage that crawls up his throat. Not at Duff, never at Duff, but at the person who made him think this way. The person he could hear Duff quoting back at him now. His chest is full of anger and heartbreak when Duff sucks in a breath as he rests his hand against his cheek. Tilting his head, the guitarist looked up at him, a searching look in his eyes as he speaks softly.

“And who told you that?”

Something like surprise crosses Duff's face, a slow realization, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally managing to choke out a soft, "Oh," just as the first tear rolls down his cheek.

Pulling him forward gently, Slash gathered the bassist in his arms, stroking his back soothingly. Duff curled into the embrace, folding himself practically in half in an attempt to hide his face in the guitarist's chest.

It’s a few minutes before the silence is broken. Duff’s voice cracks when he speaks, his voice is so small that Slash nearly misses it, "I'm so tired, Saul."

Swallowing thickly, he nodded, "I know. I know you are, sweetheart." Shifting carefully, he rearranged the two of them, keeping Duff in his arms even if it made it a little more awkward. Soon enough, he managed to get them both laying down on their sides, allowing the taller man to stretch out while still hiding in Slash's body.

"You can rest now," Slash whispered, holding on a little tighter as Duff began to shake, "It's okay. I've got you. Just rest. Just rest now."

It doesn’t take long for the alcohol to finally pull the bassist under, his body going limp under Slash’s hands. He feels tired too, and his heart is heavy, and it feels like he’s aged two years in two days. He knows that Duff will need much more rest than this one night can give him.

Slash doesn’t rest at all.

[sympathyfortheblinderdevil]

Diversion: Ch 4

Previous chapters can be found on my masterlist because tumblr hates links. 

Also, I swear to Christ and all that is holy that I put paragraph breaks in this motherfucker, but the first few don’t appear on mobile. 

The shit hits the fan when John catches on to what has been happening between Tommy and Esme, and Polly gets caught in the aftermath. 

The shop had to run without Esme’s presence in the days that followed the scene in Tommy’s office. After running from Polly’s accusations, and suffering through the overheard echoes of Tommy’s defense, it would be a wonder if she ever went back again. It wasn’t so much the words that Tommy said in response to Pol; he had painted Esme in a sympathetic light. It was the way in which he had sounded— cold, robotic, and devoid of feeling. It was as if the gentleness she felt in his touch and the vulnerability she saw in his eyes just moments before were figments of her imagination. She spent the better part of a week locked in the house that she and John shared, hardly speaking to anyone.

John chalked it up to her new pregnancy; she was a bit queasy at the beginning with the last one, so he didn’t see anything out of order. Esme begged him not to tell the others yet, and although John thought it strange that she wanted to keep their good news a secret, he humored her. He stayed around the house a bit more and helped out with the older kids, who had Esme’s nerves frayed to the point of snapping.

In truth, there were two reasons why she needed to delay the news. Firstly, she wanted to wait until she had the nerve to dispel any ideas that Polly might have about how far she had let things go with Tommy. Theirs was a purely emotional affair, she reasoned, even though she was half lying to herself. It made no sense, but when he held her in his gaze, she felt safe and cared for. Tommy understood the pain in her existence, and he acknowledged it when other men in her life turned a blind eye. Polly and Ada shook their heads at John’s cheating ways and offered advice to her, but they were her sisters, and it just didn’t give her the same solace. As shameful as it was, Esme craved the validation of Tommy’s attention. Even though it was indefensible, she craved the warmth of Tommy’s arms. Even though he had no claim on her, and she owed him nothing, she wanted to tell Tommy about the baby before he heard it from another’s lips— and that was the second reason.

She prayed every night, God, please, let this baby stop me from wanting to feel him close to me.

Tommy had the decency to fuck off to the country after his argument with Polly, which was a usual destination for him as of late. May Carleton had his stallion nearly ready for the track, and he could lose himself in the comfort of her hospitality while he kept an eye on racing business. Pol, Scudboat, and Lovelock were doing their best at the shop, but in Tommy’s absence, it was imperative that Esme come back to work. After an emphatic written request from Polly herself, she finally relented.

Within minutes of Esme’s return, Polly saw the tell-tale signs of the life Esme was carrying written all over her face. To anyone else, the changes would be too subtle to notice, but to Polly, it was apparent by the way that she held herself, the way her breasts were filling out, and the flush in her cheeks. The realization fell on Polly like a hammer. She was still furious with the way Esme had been conducting herself with Tommy, and she saw the opportunity to teach the girl a lesson.

 They were alone in the quiet shop as they got things ready for the day. Polly dropped a cash box onto Esme’s desk, startling her out of her ledger, and bluntly inquired, “So tell me, is the baby John’s or Tommy’s?”

  Polly eyed her up and down with a smirk. She knew that the baby was most assuredly John’s, but the scene in the office a week prior had left such a bad taste in her mouth that she thought the most offensive tack would be best.

 Esme was stunned, but quickly recovered her wits and met Polly’s glare with one of her own. Through gritted teeth, she answered, “It could only be John Shelby’s issue, and you know it.”

 The irony that she had been the one to encourage Esme to make John jealous was not lost on her. She regretted ever getting involved in their personal matters, but she also wanted to chasten Esme. The damn girl should have known better than to trifle with Tommy, even if it was only a flirtation.

  “Oh, do I?” Polly goaded her, “because Thomas has been so attentive to you lately.”

  Polly took a cigarette from a case that was sitting on Esme’s desk and lit it with a heavy silver lighter. She blew smoke in the girl’s direction and continued, “First the horse, then the quiet conversations, and that show of ‘brotherly’ concern last week was so very touching. It’s not every brother-in-law who will wipe tears away from your cheeks when your husband has misbehaved.”

  Polly was toying with her like a cat with a mouse, but there was plenty of bite to her words.

 Esme slammed her ledger book shut with a force that sent dust and ash swirling heavenward on the sunlight that filtered through the sooty windows. She stared into Polly’s eyes and spoke fearlessly. “There is nothing going on between Tommy and me and I’d advise you to end your conjecture before someone gets hurt.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Polly chirped, stifling a laugh, “This little conversation will stay between you and me. Although, I certainly hope that you’re not insinuating that I’ll get hurt.”

 Esme started to come around the table. She wanted nothing more than to go out into the lane, away from Polly and her accusations, but Polly didn’t know that and wondered if she had overstepped the mark. When Esme reached the corner of the desk, Polly grabbed her arm and pulled her close.

 Punters banged on the door, and Polly shouted, “Fuck off! We’re closed!” over her shoulder toward the din.

 Her game playing was over and her words took a serious tone. “I’ll tell you what I told him. You and Tommy are playing with fire. End whatever this is. Now.”

 Esme stood firm and jerked her arm back. Nose to nose with Polly, she knew that the whole scene that was playing out was calculated to scare her into submission, but she saw no malice in Polly’s eyes.

 Esme backed off a bit. “There’s nothing to end because nothing ever started.”

 “Because you wouldn’t let it start? You sure didn’t look like you were discouraging him.”

 Polly saw that Esme’s spirit was weakening so she appealed to her common sense about men. “Tommy is a different man than he used to be. I wouldn’t put anything past him these days, least of all charming the knickers right off of you in the name of tea and sympathy. ”

  Esme looked at her feet and thought about Polly’s declaration for a moment before defending Tommy. “He’s never tried anything like that. Is it so hard to believe that he really cares about me?”

 The silence that met her question said it all. Polly looked at her with pitying eyes and prayed that she was telling the truth. Esme had felt so alone, so neglected that she had sought comfort, even love, from stone. It was worse than Polly thought.

 Esme heaved a great sigh and rubbed her belly, her face reflecting the turmoil she felt. “Doesn’t matter now. I’m marked territory.” She rolled her tearful eyes and her face and chest went red and blotchy, “I’m up the duff, and our John’s still free as a bird to do what or whom he wishes.”

 The sound of fists pounding on the shop door had long stopped, and Esme moved toward the exit. “I have to go out. I need some air.”

  ***

  John sat in the kitchen listening to the exchange between Esme and Polly. He had come in before starting work and had been engrossed in the racing paper. The rise and fall of his Aunt and wife’s voices had been a comforting murmur, just background noise until he heard Tommy’s name fall from Aunt Polly’s lips as she questioned the paternity of Esme’s baby. In the quiet of the shop, every syllable carried through the double doors.

 Time stood still as John thought back to the night that Esme came to him in the Garrison. He remembered how uncharacteristically calm his wife seemed about the barmaid who was practically in his lap. Esme had laughed as she told him about how she kissed Tommy in excitement over her new horse— that didn’t seem like her at all. Later that night that she had asked him for another baby. It dawned on him that she had been grappling with a guilty conscience. He gripped the edge of the table and thought, how could I have been such a fool?

 His mind raced as he tried to remember if he’d seen anything odd pass between Tommy and Esme. He couldn’t have when Tommy was never in the shop anymore, and Esme certainly wasn’t out of the house...except to ride the horse that Tommy bought her. Then again he couldn’t be sure what Esme did with her evenings. With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, John realized that he wasn’t home enough to know what his wife had been up to.

 He came back to himself and sprang from his chair with a force that sent it clattering to the floor, and with his heart pounding in his ears he burst through the double doors that led to the shop.

 John spit the toothpick from his mouth and roared, “ESME!”

 His eyes flashed around the room. Seeing no sign of his wife, he turned on his aunt. “Where the fook is she Pol?” he snarled.

 “John…John!” Polly shouted as she held her hands up in front of her body and attempted to calm him, “She’s not here, she’s gone out!” She put herself between John and the door.

 He butted his chest against her, still pushing his way toward the path that Esme had taken to leave. “Let me pass, Aunt Polly! For fook’s sake!”

 He’d kill Esme if he got hold of her in this state. Polly’s hand connected with John’s face with a crack. “Get hold of yourself!”

 He backed off a step and rubbed his cheek. “Shit!” he screamed and bent down with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily through his nose and shaking his head from side to side.

 “Why didn’t you tell me, Pol? My own brother. Why, Pol?” His shoulders shook and his brow wrinkled with anguish as he looked up. “How could she do it?” he cried.

 Polly stood close to him, not knowing what to say. Her eyes followed him as he straightened up and began to pace in circles. He numbly twisted his cap in his hands until blood showed red on his pale skin.

 “Oh, Christ, you’ve cut yourself.” Polly carefully moved to take his arm. “Sit down and give me your hat.”

 She spoke to him in soothing tones, still unsure if he would lash out, and ushered him to the chair behind Esme’s desk. A clean slice to the ring finger of his left hand steadily dropped blood onto the blotter, the ledger, and the desktop while Polly went for a roll of gauze.

 While Polly stanched the bleeding and bandaged his finger, John became preternaturally calm.

 “He’s dead, Pol.”

 Polly brought her face close to his and spoke softly, “What do you think you know? Hmmm? Because before you go off half-cocked and kill your brother, or get yourself killed, I think you may want to gather some intelligence.”

 “I heard you talking,” he spat. “I fookin’ heard how my BROTHER has been fookin’ my WIFE!”

 He shot up from Esme’s chair and began pacing again. Polly flinched as he cleared Esme’s desk with a sweep of his hand. “I heard every word!”

 “What you heard was just talk. A warning. Tommy has taken an interest in helping Esme through the difficult time she’s been having. A difficult time that you have caused. Nothing more.”

 “I know what I heard!” he stormed.

 “You heard an exaggeration. I wanted to scare her away from forming an attachment for him. She’s vulnerable. She’s with child for Christ’s sake.”

 John went mad as a vision of Tommy and Esme flashed through his mind. “I swear to you Pol, if he’s touched her…” He kicked the wastebasket beside Esme’s desk and sent it bouncing off the wall, then headed for Polly’s office.

 “Oi, don’t you dare wreck my office, John!” Polly shouted after him as she followed him into the glass-walled area where her desk and all of their cash resided.

 “Where is he?” John snapped as he glared at Pol’s calendar, sweat pouring from his pale brow. He looked sick. “I said, WHERE IS TOMMY?!”

 “He is in the countryside at May Carleton’s estate and you are not going there.” Polly stared him down as she physically blocked the door.

 John was breathing like a raging bull. He had found his hat, and it sat cocked to the side and bloodstained above his red eyes. “Like hell, I’m not. He will answer for this.”

 The sight of him so crazed made her wish that she could turn back time to the morning that they all sat at the breakfast table and she started this whole mess with her big mouth. She couldn’t do that, but she had to put out the raging fire that stood before her. “Then let me call him. I will get him back here, and you’ll have your answers. I will not have you airing the Shelby’s dirty laundry in front of Miss High and Mighty.”

Tommy has really stirred the turd this time (sorry for all the scatological references...I don't know what's wrong with me). I feel so sorry for Esme. All she wanted was a little comfort, and look what's happened! Jesus! This family!

[jaxl-road]

Scar Tissue chapter 1

Slash falls hard and fast for Guns N' Roses' new bassist. But Duff has some baggage in the way that they'll have to get past first...

Pairings: Slash/Duff, side Axl/Izzy

Warnings: Implied/discussed past abuse (non-explicit)

AN: Decided to post this properly here! You can also read on AO3   

~~~~~~

Slash knew he was fucked the moment Duff walked in for his audition.

It started when Steven set the audition up earlier in the week. The band had been looking for a bassist for awhile, various people filtering in and out of the spot but never fitting quite right. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the rest of the band, their drummer had been eyeing a particular bassist. Steven had seen the guy filling in for various bands on the strip, but he always ran off as soon as the show was over. One night, he finally managed to catch the bassist before he could disappear, quickly explaining the situation and convincing him to stop by and jam with Guns N Roses.

Axl had been twitchy ever since the drummer told them about the meeting, “We don’t even know this fucker. You should have talked to us first,” he ground out, arms crossed and pacing tensely.

Luckily, Izzy kept him from completely losing his shit. He wrapped his arms around the singer’s waist to still him, “Hey, worst-case scenario we don’t invite him back. We’re not committed to anything. And we do need a bassist. Steven saw an opportunity and took it.”

Slash and Steven looked at each other and exchanged fake gagging noises. Since they were both currently single, they often bonded over teasing Axl and Izzy about their relationship, the couple usually just rolling their eyes or flipping them off. Before Axl could start huffing at them, there was a knock at the door. They were meeting in a small studio they had snagged so they could practice somewhere other than the Hell House where the four musicians were currently living together.

“Sweet, he’s here!” Steven jogged over and opened the door, quickly standing aside to let the bassist walk in.

And yeah. Slash was fucked.

“Guys, this is Duff!”

Slash gave himself points for not being too blatantly obvious about it, but come on, no one should have legs that long and lean. The bassist was over six feet tall, seemingly towering over the rest of the band. He was skinny, too, his ripped up black clothing hanging off his frame, tattered jeans hanging low on his hips even with a studded belt holding them up. Shifting his hold on the bass case he carried, he flicked his long bleached hair out of his face, revealing a darker strand underneath the blonde waves.

“Hey, nice to meet you guys,” he raised a hand in greeting, bracelets and rings and black painted nails giving a quick wave while Slash struggled not to stare at the way dark eyeliner emphasized his bright hazel eyes.

Holy shit, he was fucking smitten.

Axl eyed Duff suspiciously as he placed his bass as well as a heavy looking backpack down to the side, “You play punk bands?” he asked, looking the bassist up and down, taking in his heavy punk aesthetic.

Duff shrugged, “I play anything, really. I started out doing mostly punk bands, but lately I’ve been hanging with more rock and metal dudes.”

The singer hummed noncommittally, “Well, let’s see what you can do then.” They spent some time talking Duff through a few of their songs before getting themselves set up to play. Slash had his fingers crossed that the music would help get his mind out of the gutter. But of course, he had no such luck.

Duff was good. It was more than just his playing, although the ease with which he picked up the songs was more than a little impressive, and he had no problem working with Steven to keep the beats. Duff’s presence just fit with the rest of them in a way no other bass player had managed. He matched their energy, and could move and dance to the songs without missing a beat, unlike Slash who managed to fumble twice after seeing Duff roll his hips against his bass. He had to duck his head to avoid Izzy’s knowing look.

By the time they made it through the selected songs, it was obvious Duff was different from the other bass players they’d worked with. Even Axl had loosened up enough to grin and compliment him on his playing.

“It shouldn’t take long to get you caught up on what we’ve got so far,” Izzy commented, lighting up a cigarette, “But I think it’s a good match. If you’re cool with it we can make it official,” he shrugged.

Grinning, Duff nodded, “Hell yeah, I’m down. Hopping between bands was getting kind of old.”

“Aw, I can’t believe we've convinced you to settle down! We’ve made an honest bassist out of you!” Steven laughed, throwing his arm around Duff’s shoulder, the bassist flinching just slightly, “Everyone here owes me a drink for bringing us all together,” the drummer declared.

The group chatted as they exited the building, Duff laughing and joking with them as if he’d always been there, while Slash very consciously didn’t stare at his ass.

As they loaded up Izzy’s piece-of-shit car, Steven turned to the bassist, "Where do you live, anyway? We can give you a ride if you want."

Slash both loved and hated the idea of having to press close to the other man in the cramped vehicle, but Duff shook his head, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one casually, "Nah, it’s fine. I'm couch surfing right now, and I’m not entirely sure what couch I’m on tonight,” he exhaled a stream of smoke with a wry grin.

There was a pause, as the rest of the band turned to look at him. Steven and Slash looked concerned, Izzy kept his face blank and neutral, and Axl had a look on his face that those close to him recognized to mean that his thoughts were being torn in two different directions.

Noticing the silence, Duff rolled his eyes, readjusting his backpack and bass on his shoulders as he took a few steps back, “Oh relax, it’s no big deal. Life’s just a bitch sometimes,” he chuckled, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah?” Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and began making long strides down the street.

Spinning to look at the others, Steven held his hands out in dismay, “Guys!” he hissed as he gestured wildly to the retreating figure.

Axl narrowed his eyes, his body tensing, but before he could turn the conversation into a fight, Izzy sighed, placing a gentle hand on the red-head’s arm. “Just… give us a second,” he nodded at Slash and Steven before guiding Axl a few feet away so they could talk in private.

“I mean, to be fair, our place is already pretty packed,” Slash pointed out.

“Oh please, we’re so used to living in squalor we probably wouldn’t even notice another person added to the mix,” Steven glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, grinning slowly, “Well. You would notice him,” he said teasingly.

Slash gaped, “Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?” he hoped if he sounded offended enough he could end this before it started.

But of course. No luck. Figured.

Steven laughed, “Oh please, you were practically drooling over him! I’ve only heard you make mistakes like you did today when you were piss drunk.”

“Maybe I’m drunk now,” Slash argued.

“Yes, you’re obviously wasted,” the drummer rolled his eyes, “Actually, maybe this was a bad idea. Will you be able to keep your hands to yourself if he’s around? We can’t have you scaring off our bassist the second we get him just cause you can’t keep it in your pants.”

“Oh shut up,” Slash mumbled, blushing. There was no point trying to deny it at this point, “I can be a perfect gentleman, thank you very much.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

At that moment, Izzy and Axl walked back over. “Alright, let’s go,” Izzy stated casually as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“What about Duff?” Steven questioned, a look of betrayal on his face.

But Izzy only raised an eyebrow at him, “He’s coming too. We just have to catch him first.”

Snapping their heads up, Slash and Steven realized that Duff was, in fact, gone. They hadn’t even noticed him disappear. Scrambling, the two quickly hopped into the backseat of the car, slamming the doors just as Izzy managed to get the pile of junk to finally start. Axl sat in the front seat with his arms crossed, and while he didn’t look happy, he didn’t look angry either, so still a win.

It only took three blocks before Izzy suddenly took a sharp, last second left turn, the occupants of the car tumbling to the side dramatically. They barely had time to right themselves before Izzy was slamming on the breaks, screeching to a halt and throwing his passengers forward in their seats.

Meanwhile, Duff nearly jumped out of his skin when a familiar car skidded to a stop beside him. He skittered back a few steps, eyes wide as he clutched his chest as if he could physically still his rapidly beating heart.

Rolling down the window, Izzy leaned out, “Hey. Hop in, you can crash with us.”

For a moment, the bassist just stared, blinking slowly, “...What?”

Steven rolled down his own window, leaning practically his entire upper body out, “Yeah! It’s not the most glamorous place, but we can squeeze in one more.”

“N-no, guys, seriously, I appreciate it, but it’s fine, really,” Duff another step back, trying to wave them off.

Slash shoved Steven over, leaning out the window beside him, “Dude, it’s totally cool. Besides, this way we have the whole band in one place.”

Duff shifted nervously, glancing away from them and looking thoroughly unconvinced. Finally, Axl sighed. Opening his door, he stood to look at Duff over the top of the car, “Look, you said you needed a couch to crash on, and we’re offering you ours. You don’t have to stay forever if you don’t want. I mean, we are pretty big assholes,” the singer smirked.

Despite his hesitation, Duff couldn’t help but laugh, “Fine, fine,” he finally gave in. “One night,” he insisted.

“Uh huh, sure,” Steven grinned as he and Slash shifted to make room for Duff and his things. The bassist’s knees were practically touching his chest as he folded himself into the backseat, his side pressed up against Slash, so close he could smell the smoke on his breath and see the little red marks where his lips were bitten raw. He shook his head quickly, letting his hair fall in front of his face to hide the blush he was sure was growing. Steven snickered knowingly, and Slash elbowed him roughly in the side as the car started moving again.

Their house wasn’t in the best part of town, to put it lightly, but that was part of the reason it was so cheap. It was small and dilapidated, the insulation was terrible, the paint was peeling, and the whole thing was falling apart inside and out. But it was home for the four boys, and if they had their way, hopefully it could be a home for Duff as well.

Walking in, they stepped over empty bottles and strewn clothing. Izzy grunted as he gestured vaguely at the house, and Steven laughed as he turned to Duff, “I think Izzy hit his quota of words for the day, but I’m pretty sure he’s saying make yourself at home,” he grinned as Izzy flipped him off.

Snaking an arm around the guitarist’s waist, Axl spoke next, “We’ve got three bedrooms. Izzy and I share a room, so Steven and Slash can flip a coin or something to figure out where you’ll be bunking,” he gestured at the two musicians as he and Izzy made their way to their own room.

Duff’s eyes widened a bit, turning to face his two potential roommates and throwing his hands up nervously, “No, no, it’s just for a night, remember? You guys don’t have to- I mean, I can just crash on the couch or something. Or, or I could…” His eyes darted around the room, as if searching for some corner where he could curl up out of the way.

It was weirdly endearing, and Slash smiled as he cut him off, “Hey, it’s no problem dude. And actually, my room is bigger than Steven’s anyway, so you can just share with me.”

“Are you sure? I-”

“Dude, seriously, it’s fine,” Slash insisted. Steven raised an eyebrow at him, but Slash cut him off before he could say anything potentially incriminating, “Really.”

The bassist didn’t look fully convinced, but he didn’t argue anymore. Slash pointed him in the direction of his room so he could finally put his stuff down, and as he walked away, Steven pulled him aside to whisper at him, “Look, I know I was joking earlier, but seriously, please don’t scare Duff off. He’s a cool dude and a good bass player.”

Slash actually felt offended this time, shoving at Steven’s chest, “I am not going to scare him off!”

“I’m just saying!” the drummer raised his hands defensively, “I love you dude, but you’re one of the horniest guys on the planet.”

“Jesus fuck, I’m capable of being chill about it, asshole,” he growled, “I don’t climb on every person I think is fucking hot or whatever you think I’m gonna do.”

“Okay, okay, you’re right, I’m sorry,” Steven had the good grace to look sincere in his apology, “I shouldn’t have worried.” Slash huffed, and Steven grinned teasingly, “Besides, we all know you’re too shy to actually make a move.”

“Hey!” Slash shoved him again, but he couldn’t help but chuckle, “How many times are you gonna insult me today?”

“Probably a couple more times,” Steven laughed.

At that moment, Duff walked out holding two bottles of vodka, one full and one half empty, “I figure since you’re letting me crash here the least I could do is share.”

“Hell yes!” Steven smiled widely, “Oh, you’re gonna fit right in.”

Duff laughed, and when he held out one of the bottles his shirt slipped down one shoulder, emphasizing his smooth, pale collar bones. Slash swallowed thickly. He meant what he told Steven; he could handle this.

He just might have to take a few more cold showers than usual.