He’d finally been forced to admit it, if only to himself, when he’d rolled over and caught sight of his best friend and lover asleep next to him. In years past, the sight of Duff’s face so close to his would have brought up instant lust. He would have kicked the blankets off, pinned Duff’s wrists to the bed, and been buried inside him before he could even wake up. It had been rare back then for the two of them to actually make it to the same bed, much less stay in it all night, so morning sex was a rare treat.
This morning, though, he’d flipped over, eyes cracking open blearily as he scratched absently at his stomach. Not particularly hot, he knew, but fuck it. Who was going to see but Duff? And Duff sure as fuck didn’t care. They’d both seen a hell of a lot worse than a crabby guitarist with eye boogers and a snarly rat’s nest masquerading as hair.
Duff, though… Duff looked even more charming than Slash felt, mouth wide open, drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth and pooling on the pillow. Every once in a while, he’d snort and twitch a little, like a puppy having a dream. It was the least sexy thing Slash had ever seen in his life.
“Hey, wake up, Sleeping Ugly,” he murmured, reaching over and gently closing Duff’s mouth. Duff snorted and jerked back, eyes snapping open and focusing in wounded confusion on Slash’s face. Or what little of Slash’s face he could actually see through the thick curtain of hair.
“That was mean.” But he snuggled close anyway, a grimace crossing his features as his cheek brushed the wet spot on his pillow. “Oh, ew. Did I drool all night?”
“I dunno, man. Might have.” Slash regarded the spot on Duff’s pillow, which was roughly the size of the Red Sea. “You need some water? Looks like you dehydrated yourself real good.” Duff laughed and kissed Slash’s chin, lips curving up in that irresistible grin.
“Aww, you take such good care of me,” he purred, and Slash rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, cause you put out.” Smiling faintly, he leaned close and kissed Duff, tongue sliding past the bassist’s lips and into his mouth. He tasted weird and musky, like he always did first thing in the morning.
“Uch, gross,” Duff protested, pulling back and planting his hands on Slash’s shoulders. “You have morning breath, dude!” Slash rolled his eyes and batted Duff’s hands away. He was so picky about the stupidest things.
“Yeah, cause you’re King Minty Fresh…”
“Shut up, Saul!” Slash’s face twisted in a little grimace and he rolled over, knocking Duff back and pinning him down. Duff put up a token struggle, but they both knew that’s all it was. If he’d wanted to, Duff could have knocked Slash clean across the room.
“Make me, Michael!” Good god. They sounded like a pair of stupid children. They still kind of were in many ways. Rocking out for a living tended to have a deleterious effect on the normal development of maturity. This was supremely evident in the little snorting cackle that burst from Duff’s lips.
“The fuck!?” he demanded. “Get your punk-ass in the kitchen and make me a bagel!” His heels drummed gently against the mattress and he beamed up at Slash, that sweet, broad smile that nobody could deny.
“That’s not fair,” Slash protested. “Why don’t you make me a bagel?”
“Because,” Duff pronounced, innocence sparkling in his hazel eyes. “You make the baby Jesus cry.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“I have no idea, but I’m too lazy to get up,” Duff answered, wrapping his arm around Slash’s waist and pulling him back down. “C’mere, let’s just stay in bed all day…” It was sorely tempting.
“Will you go brush your teeth so I can kiss you?” he asked, and Duff nodded happily. “Okay, we can stay in bed all day.”
And as Duff snuggled against his chest, Slash sighed contentedly. Man, fuck passion. He’d rather be comfortable any day.
