#sodafics
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?
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“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.
–
Kicking things off with a soulmate au drabble! I’m hoping to start moving my collection of soulmate aus over to ao3 soon, so this seemed like a good place to start. next week i’m thinking it’ll be a slightly longer non-au sluff ficlet…
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All things considered, the reflection in his mom’s full-length mirror wasn’t bad.
Slash’s favorite band tee was fresh out of the drier, his jeans were free of any holes, and he had carefully scraped all the mud off his boots after that one night at the dirt biking track…
He tugged on his nicest leather jacket and a cool belt, then sifted through a pile of jewelry for his best pieces. All of it was cheap, but he found some chains that weren’t noticably tarnished, and nabbed a nice pair of hoops from his mom’s jewelry box — she wouldn’t mind, right? This was important, after all.
There wasn’t, unfortunately, much he could do about his completely unmanageable hair. Despite his best efforts in the shower, it was frizzy as hell and as usual it consumed his face. He could try a ponytail, maybe? No, that just felt too unfamiliar and exposed. A hat it was, then — the round felt hat he’d taken to recently would suffice.
Never in his life had Slash put so much thought into his appearance, but this wasn’t just any day. He ran through his mental checklist: He’d cleaned his car, stashed a tin of mints and some tissues in the glove box. He’d already resolved to introduce himself as Saul Hudson, not just Slash, so there wouldn’t be any confusion later on. He’d slipped some extra cash and a condom into his wallet, prepared for any eventuality.
Fuck, did he do enough? Some people started preparing for this moment years in advance. What if he already screwed everything up by not organizing some huge, expensive event? What if he made a fool of himself, what if he was too awkward, too sloppy, too unimpressive?
No, it was better not to even entertain the thought. Whatever happened, happened, all he could do was hope for the best.
With a deep breath, Slash finally allowed himself to glance at the timer on his wrist.
Six hours. In six hours, Slash would meet his soulmate.
–
Writing update!
alright I finally got something like a groove going answering those past few minific requests, so here’s the plan for my fic uploads going forward:
I’m shooting for one new writing post every week. I’ve tentatively chosen thursday as the upload day (might be subject to change), so expect something new later this evening!
over the past year or so I’ve been piling up a bunch of drabbles and oneshot wips so expect short fics, maybe some bullet point fics/headcanons as well. as always comments & notes are much appreciated
Our names in lights – Slash/Duff oneshot
Inspired by some of Slash and Duff’s onstage antics, a bit angsty. Enjoy!
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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.
–
