Guns N' Roses: Short Stories: Sluff

Duff on Toast

"You want toast?" I heard Duff call from the kitchen.
I smiled to myself; God, I loved that boy now just as much as I did right in the beginning.
"Nah thanks," I called back.
"I'm making you a piece anyway; you need to eat breakfast baby," Duff replied with a chuckle.
I pulled on my jeans and headed for the kitchen, pausing to stand in the doorway, watching Duff preparing breakfast for a moment. I walked slowly over, and wrapped my arms around him, hugging him from behind. He squirmed and giggled.
"I'm so glad I have you to look after me," I said.
Duff shook his head with a light laugh, and continued buttering our toast.
He turned around, facing me, and attempted to move away, but I continued hugging him.
"Pumpkin please," Duff moaned.
I leaned my face in close, removing the plates from his hands and putting them on the counter behind us.
"Why do I need to eat breakfast when I have you?" I smirked, pushing him back against the counter and biting his bottom lip.
"You're in a sexy mood today, huh?" Duff smiled, the corners of his mouth raising up.
"Only if you want me to be," I replied, running my fingers down his back and leaning my head round into his neck, softly kissing his smooth, pale skin.
I could feel his heart beat racing against my chest, and his breath was becoming more and more irregular. He buried his face in my hair, "You know I want you Slash," he said.
My hands traced down his shirt to its edge. Then I lifted it up, and Duff obediently raised his arms, allowing me to do so. I kissed down his chest, my arms reaching up to play with his fluffy long, blonde hair. Duff leaned back, arching against the kitchen cabinet, softly moaning at my touch.
I could remember when our love was still a secret: when we used to tell the others we had invited a girl over for a threesome, but instead sent the girl to Steven's room and told him to keep quiet, much to his delight. I remembered when we played live I would eagerly await my guitar solos, because that was always when Duff would come over and try to distract me from my guitar playing with a few sneaky butt pinches or strokes across my chest. It was incredibly hard to keep playing my parts, but they don't call me an incredible guitar player for nothing! I have so many memories of beautiful nights out clubbing, when we didn't care whether we picked up any girls or not because we knew we had each other to turn to for love. Duff had always been the one I could turn to, and the same went for him. He helped me prise the Jack Daniels bottle out of my hand after a long night, and when Duff got anxious he could just hold his hand out to me and I'd stroke it soothingly, and if we were alone I'd make sure he forgot all his worries completely (!). He has always been my everything, and he's held me together through so many tough times. I don't know what I'd do without him.
"Okay then," I spoke to Duff, returning to the present, "Give me my toast."
Duff sighed, "Now?"
"Uh huh," I pulled back, chuckling to myself, "I thought you wanted me to eat my breakfast?" I teased.
Duff grunted, displeased, "You're so annoying sometimes," he whined, handing me my toast.
"Thanks," I smiled, giving him a peck on the cheek. "You're an angel," I told him, taking a bite into the bread, "And you make great toast!"