Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fiction. The author does not own any of the following names or personalities. The author does not imply that the people mentioned within would act or have acted in the ways depicted. No money has been made from this.

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Axl's band was playing a filthy dive called "The Eight 'o' Clubs". They had been pretty desperate that week, eagerly accepting the club's offer to let them be the entertainment that Friday night. They were a relatively new group, still struggling, hungry for a record deal and the fame and freedom it would bring them. They had played a good set, but the audience had been somewhat hostile, and many of them seemed to ignore the band completely. There were still a few scattered claps and shouts of approval, but it was not at all like Axl had been hoping and he found himself fast becoming discouraged. When the set ended Axl huffed his way past his band mates and straight to the bar. He ordered his favorite brand of whiskey and scowled when the bartender informed him they didn't serve it. "Fine," Axl responded. "Give me whatever you got." Axl took the shot and downed it. It didn't taste all that great, but at the moment Axl only cared about getting buzzed. "Another."

As the bartender poured Axl's second shot, Slash and Duff made their way over to the stool where Axl was sitting. "Hey man," greeted Duff. Slash sat down silently on the stool next to Axl's, still brooding about the poor reception.

"Hey." Axl responded. He stared at the bottom of his glass and swirled the last few drops around the bottom. He gestured to the bartender to bring him a refill. "Man, this fucking sucks. An audience full of fucking shit-faced belligerent drunks. This is the fucking worst."

"I know, man." Slash chimed in. "Let's get our check and get the hell outta here."

Duff asked for the manager and while they were waiting watched Axl drink another shot, then another, then another. "How much of that have you had, man?"

"I dunno," Axl replied. "Mebbe...yeah, I dunno."

"You never drink that fast," said Duff, resting his hand on Axl's shoulder as Axl swayed on the stool.

"Don't worry, Duff, I'm fine." Axl clumsily swatted Duff's hand away.

Duff shot Slash a look over Axl's head. Slash just shrugged. Just then the manager appeared with the check. Duff went over to talk to him. Axl watched Duff disappear through the crowd, entranced by the swirling colors and the monotonous murmuring of the customers.

"Hey, what the fuck?!" Axl heard Slash's voice rise above the din. He turned to see what was going on, and found himself looking at a burly tattooed biker who had pushed himself right up into Slash's face, and had a hold on the lapel of Slash's leather jacket. "Get your hands off me." Slash's voice had lowered to a growl.

"We don't want any niggers--" he sneered the word, "in this place, so get the fuck outta here, scumbag motherfucker." The man jerked Slash's jacket roughly, let go, and then glared at Slash menacingly.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Axl interjected, getting up from the stool and giving the biker's shoulder a hard push. The man turned to snarl at Axl.

"Fuck off."

Instead Axl took a step closer to the man. "Fucking apologize to my friend." There was a dangerous rumble in Axl's voice.

The man laughed mockingly. "Or else what?"

Before the dirty thug could laugh again, Axl reared back and smashed his fist into the biker's face. The biker staggered backward and fell, hitting his head on the corner of the table behind him. Most of the customers in the bar were now gaping at the scene, and as Duff made his way back to his friends, he too was able to see what was going on. He made it to his band mates before the felled biker's friends did, and grabbed Axl by the elbow. "Let's go NOW." He roughly jerked Axl in the direction of the exit while tossing a few bills onto the bar. They managed to make it out the door before anyone caught up with them.

Duff started the car that he had borrowed from his girlfriend earlier that day as Slash pushed Axl into its backseat. Thankfully the rest of the band had packed their gear into their van and taken it back to their house already. Duff drove in silence for about a minute and then said, "Axl...why the hell would you start something like that? Those bikers would have kicked our asses. And then we wouldn't have gotten paid, either."

"Sorry Duff." Axl was barely paying attention to Duff. Instead, he was busy snuggling up to Slash and trying to crawl in his lap. Slash tried gently to push him away, but Axl wasn't taking the hint. 'Must have been some wicked shit Axl drank', Slash thought to himself. Axl was certainly not the touchy-feely type. In fact, the very idea of Axl cuddling up to him as if he were a big teddy bear was enough to make him chuckle. Suddenly Slash noticed Axl's hand.

"Axl man, you're bleeding." Slash reached for Axl's hand.

"Wha?"

"Your hand."

Axl brought his hand up in front of his face. "Oh."

"Can't you feel that?"

"Naw, man, it's okay." Axl rested his head on Slash's shoulder once again.

"Lemme see it." Slash reached for Axl again. This time Axl allowed him to examine his bloody knuckles and swollen fingers. "You'd better take these rings off." Axl fumbled with his rings and handed them to Slash once he had finally gotten them all off. At least Axl's fingers didn't seem to be broken. Slash put the rings in his jacket pocket and said, "Bend your fingers."

Axl complied, wincing a little as he made a fist. "I feel it now," he said. Blood oozed from Axl's cracked knuckles. Slash watched Axl's fingers intently, and then, fairly confident that nothing was broken, wrapped Axl's hand in the handkerchief he always kept in his pocket.

"Why'd you do that, man?" Slash said quietly. Axl's head rested heavily on his shoulder and his arm lay solidly in Slash's lap. For all the world, Slash should have felt uncomfortable at all the touching. Instead he found himself enjoying Axl's closeness: the weight of his body, the scent of his hair and the warmth that radiated from every inch of Axl's skin. Slash didn't dare move. He didn't want to spoil the innocence of the moment--as much as you could call the lipsticked, eye-linered, thoroughly intoxicated lead singer of a metal band snuggled up to his lead guitarist innocent. Somehow, though, Axl managed to pull it off.

"Because," Axl slurred just as quietly, "you can't punch anybody. You're the guitarist."

Slash smiled at Axl's logic. "No..." he replied. "Why bother at all? Shitheads like that aren't worth it."

Axl looked up at Slash's face. He was staring out the window. "Slash?"

Slash looked back down at Axl. At the red hair whose ends Slash had absent-mindedly been stroking. At Axl's creamy skin, absolutely breathtaking in the moonlight. At the beautiful blue-green eyes and the handsome line of Axl's nose, right down to the curve of his soft pink lips. His gaze met Axl's and locked there.

Slash was startled out of his reverie by the car coming jerkily to a halt, and by Duff's voice. "You think you can make it up to your room?"

"Yeah, I'll manage," came Axl's reply. Axl opened the door and stood, feeling more than a little wobbly, the booze finally taking its full effect. Slash got out behind him and supplied a steadying arm.

"Hey Duff, help me out, will ya?" Duff came over to assist Slash and the two practically carried Axl into the house and up the stairs.

"Do you want me to stay and keep an eye on him with you?" Duff's voice was weary. They'd had a tough night, that was for sure.

"No man, thanks... I'll take care of it."

Duff nodded once and retreated to the relative sanctuary of his room. Slash made his way through the piles of unwashed clothes and empty food containers to where Axl was clinging to the door frame. He got there just in time to catch Axl on his way down to the floor.

"Come on," Slash said, dragging Axl back up to his feet. He was too much dead weight to carry down the hall to Axl's room, so Slash pulled him over a few feet to unlock the door of his own bedroom.

Slash's bedroom was a mess. Full ashtrays lay everywhere, along with piles of clothes, beer bottles, and various guitar magazines and guitar accessories. Slash cleared off his bed with one motion of his arm and deposited Axl there.

"Thanks, man." Axl curled up on the bed. Slash busied himself with tidying up his room a little, stealing a glance at Axl every now and then to make sure he was okay. At length Axl spoke again. "Slash? Um...do you mind if I just sleep on your floor tonight or something? I don't think I can walk back to my room." He looked at Slash sheepishly.

Slash paused. Maybe he had misread the look that had seemed to pass between them in the car. "No, that's fine." Maybe he had imagined the whole thing. And he wasn't even drunk. So what did that make him? How could he explain his attraction to Axl? "You'd better wash those cuts." Axl looked at him confusedly. "On your hand."

"Right." Axl staggered over to the bathroom. A moment later Slash heard the sound of running water. As he undressed, he began to feel uneasy at the thought of Axl spending the night in his room. He didn't want to have to look at Axl resting in sleep, beautiful face relaxed in the light of the streetlamp streaming through the window. He felt himself becoming aroused at the idea of Axl, just an arm's length away, half-naked under a sheet. Deep in thought and preoccupied with his growing erection, Slash didn't hear Axl return from the bathroom. "Slash...Slash!" Slash turned abruptly. There stood Axl in just his jeans, holding his injured hand against his belly. "Do you have something?"

"Wha?"

"To wrap my hand."

"Oh. Yeah." Slash got up from the bed and walked past Axl to the bathroom. He swallowed hard and began searching for some bandages. "Here it is," he said, placing the roll of gauze on the bathroom counter.

"Will you help me?" Axl asked.

'Of course,' Slash thought. 'He can't do it with one hand.' "Sure," Slash said. He turned to face Axl, concentrating completely on Axl's hand, afraid to make eye contact with him.

Axl studied Slash intently. Slash's skin was flushed and his hair fell into his face, obscuring any view Axl might have had of Slash's handsome features. Slash avoided looking at him, even though he was talking to him. He watched Slash gently securing the tape on his bandage. Slash's rough fingertips were warm and every touch caused a delicious tingle. Axl gingerly reached for the waistband of Slash's boxers with his left hand and slid a finger underneath.

Slash immediately stopped what he was doing. His heart began racing as Axl brought his finger around to the trail of silky hair that led from his navel down to his cock. Axl paused there as he heard Slash gasp. Axl traced his finger up to Slash's navel and then over his belly, then moving upwards and circling Slash's nipples with his fingertip. Slash's cock was rock hard now and very obvious under the loose fabric of his boxers.

Axl had never really looked that hard at Slash's body before, and it fascinated him now, in his drunken state. Slash's chest was nearly hairless, lean and smooth and warm under his fingertips. He wondered what Slash's nipples felt like, so he felt them, rolling each one gently between his thumb and finger, teasing them until they hardened. He wondered what Slash's lips tasted like, too--they were thick and curved beautifully into a little smile as Axl played with Slash's nipples.

Before Slash could pull away, Axl pressed his body firmly against Slash's and finally tasted those full, juicy lips, wrapping his arms around Slash and squeezing the fleshy mounds of Slash's ass with his good hand. Axl swallowed Slash's moan and then pulled his lips away.

Slash felt like he was going to come right there in his boxers with Axl's fingers tightly gripping his ass. Axl gave him a push in the direction of the bed and the two of them stumbled to it, collapsing against each other and clawing at each other's clothing. Finally free of the garments, Axl rolled on top of Slash and resumed kissing him.

Axl's tongue tasted like whiskey and felt warm and alive in Slash's mouth. Slash wrapped his fingers in Axl's hair and tugged gently, then let his fingers wander down Axl's neck and onto his back, tracing his shoulder blades and lightly massaging his way down to Axl's waist.

As Axl felt Slash cup his buttocks, he let himself get lost in the pure sensuality of his bare skin against Slash's, in the warmth of Slash's caresses, and in the taste of Slash's lips and the smell of Slash's hair fanned out on the pillow. Axl wished he could dive into Slash and stay there all night.

They kissed for what felt like hours, exploring every inch of each other's mouths. Axl felt Slash's hands sliding up and down his back in frantic strokes, and the slow grind of Slash's hard cock against his thigh. Slash's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and Axl felt Slash's series of low moans vibrating against his lips and tongue. Slash opened his eyes when Axl pulled away.

Axl couldn't take his eyes away from Slash's face--those warm, liquid brown eyes, those luscious lips, that smooth brown skin. Slash was beautiful, and Axl wondered to himself why he had never noticed before.

"Axl? Is everything okay?"

Axl looked down and smiled at Slash. "Mmm-hmm." He leaned down and rubbed his nose against Slash's, and then giggled.

'So this is what Axl is like when he's really trashed on some strange whiskey,' Slash thought to himself.

Axl wiggled down Slash's body and rested his head on Slash's chest. Slash stroked his hair gently and listened to Axl's regular, deepening breaths. Axl mewled softly and began stroking the lower half of Slash's torso in little circles.

Slash couldn't believe how casually Axl touched him--as if he weren't aroused at all. Axl continued the playful massage, walking his fingers down below Slash's navel all the way to his inner thigh. He continued to stroke the delicate skin there until he heard an agonized moan escape Slash's lips.

The tension building in Slash's cock was driving him crazy--and he didn't think Axl intended to do anything about it. Slash wondered if Axl was even too drunk to realize what he was doing at all. He caught Axl's hand and halted the touching. Axl looked up at Slash quizzically. "Come on up here." Slash's voice came out in a husky whisper.

"What's the matter?"

Slash responded by brushing his fingers over Axl's cheek and then pulling him down for another kiss. Axl's body molded to Slash's again and Slash noticed that Axl didn't even have an erection. That settled the issue for Slash. Axl was too mind-numbingly drunk to know what he was doing, and Slash didn't want to take advantage of him. Slash let Axl break the kiss and rest his head back on his chest. Just as Slash was about to push Axl away and recommend that he get some sleep, Axl's fingers wrapped around his stiff dick and began to rub. Slash opened his eyes with a start as he felt his body tighten. "Axl," he spluttered, trying to regain his composure.

Axl grinned impishly up at Slash. He looked at the thin sheen of sweat that now covered Slash's skin and the rapid motion of Slash's heaving chest. He loved the way Slash looked in the throes of pleasure--and he liked knowing that he was the one causing it. Axl crawled up on top of Slash and straddled his thighs, never breaking the rhythm of the firm pumping. He leaned down to Slash and kissed him again, rubbing his thumb over the head of Slash's cock as he did so. Slash's hips bucked involuntarily and his body shook violently as he came. Axl stopped the kiss and sat back up to survey Slash's body once again.

"You're so beautiful, Slash, do you know that?"

Slash wiped the mess from Axl's belly gently with the corner of the bed sheet and pulled Axl down beside him. He wrapped his arm around Axl's shoulders and let him snuggle up tightly. He tangled his fingers in Axl's hair and massaged Axl's scalp with his fingertips. Axl sighed contentedly and slid his arm across Slash's chest. Slash smiled. Maybe Axl had known what he was doing after all.

"Sweet dreams, Axl," Slash whispered.

"Mmm," Axl responded as he drifted comfortably into sleep.

Slash turned out the bedside lamp and closed his eyes.

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