You Don't Come Close.

10

When Duff begins pounding into her from behind I close my eyes, leaning back with a satisfied groan. An awesome night. An easy one. "C'mon baby, use your tongue...", I murmur, fingers buried to her hair, rocking upwards with her, trying to force her into a faster rhythm. She grabs for my thighs, pushing me down in a try to hold me in place, but I'm close and that bitch isn't going to ruin it for me tonight. Not today, cause it's mine- my day. Independent, just doing what I want, a rough, selfish feast of hedonism, but fuck it. Fuck her. Fuck everyone.

"Fuck off...", I involuntarily hiss under my breath, not even knowing whom I addressing as I keep on ramming it into her mouth.

"Yeah, baby..."

Duff gives her a hard slap to the ass, grabbing her cheeks then, spreading them. Another spank. She's screaming against me and I pull out to rub my glans against her lips, watching her lust filled eyes before shoving it back in with even more force and a deep moan. A few more thrusts, everything is just fine, before all of sudden the door flies open.

"There's an unconscious girl in our bathroom."

A raspy voice. A cough. And I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to look at him.

"Yeah...shit, yes...she's...ah...she's been throwing up!", Steven manages to answer and my girl refuses to move at what she hears, wriggling against my grip, even giving me a glare when I try to push her down again. "Wanna check on her, babe?", Duffs asks, finally making me open my eyes.

"Yeah. Sorry, but I think I should.", she answers with a tiny voice, before pulling her skirt back down, heading for the bathroom. My head falls to the side as I let out an annoyed groan and I catch Axl looking at me. He's wrapped in a thin blanket, heavy shadows under his eyes, looking damn pissed, but I am sure so do I, cause' I fuckin' am and he even has the guts to grin triumphantly at me before turning on his heels, leaving. Motherfuckin' asshole! I jump to my feet, pulling my zipper back up.

"Motherfuckin' asshole!"

As I storm out, running to the room we share, he's already sitting on the bed again, cross-legged.

"What?", he says calmly, but I can see how fuckin' pleased he is with himself, his damn huge pride showing on the outside.

"You fuckin' did that on purpose!"

"Did I?"

I kick against a shelf with full force, bottles falling and that stupid bowl I brought him earlier, but I want more, more destruction.

"What's your goddamn problem, Axl?! What?! Fuck! Tell me! C'mon! What?!"

I have grabbed him by his shirt, emphasizing every word with a rough pull, letting it flood me. Everything. He tries to push my hand away, but effortlessly.

"Lemme' go you sick fuck! You're fuckin' wasted!"

I give a hard push and a growl, making him fall to his back, violent coughs hitting him.

"Oh no! I am not the sick fuck here! There's something wrong with your head, not mine!"

I just want to hurt him. Deeply. I am going to regret it, I am already hating myself for every single word, but it's just worsen my rage, I am hopelessly loosing him, hopelessly loosing every sense, every feeling melting into a piece of heaviness that pressing me down, crawling up my throat. Poison. Words born from heated despair.

"Shut up, Slash. You're drunk."

"Fuck off! God how I hate you!"

He's on his feet now as well, trembling with anger, hair all in chaos and god he's beautiful.