You Could Be Mine ➷ Slaxl

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ Tʜʀᴇᴇ

*starting this chapter off with a very short, smut-filled flashback, you've been warned*
•.•

Sweat trickles down my temple, and my eyes squeeze shut as one of my hands grip onto the bedsheets.

"You can do it," Izzy mentors, and I find myself leaning back into his bare torso, gasping in a mixture between frustration and forced satisfaction.

"Nothing-Nothing's happening," I breathe out, and his hand is soon wiping strands of hair out of my face, his fingers dancing along my perspiring cheek. "I can't reach it!"

"Just keep going," he replies calmly, and eventually, he's rocking his body against mine as my own grip on myself becomes tighter. I'm going at it harder now, and he's holding onto me in pure amazement. My teeth clench as I release a strangled moan, finding myself compelled to his words.

Keep going. Just keep going.

Pain is shooting up my arm as I thrust harder into my own hand. His hands are holding onto my hips with such stability and ease, that I can't help but sink into his embrace. He's moaning with me now, just from the sight of my self-pleasure.

Suddenly, I throw my head back and sputter out a string of profanities as my hand retreats from within my pants. Izzy is smirking now as he lets go of me, allowing me to fall back onto the bed with sudden serenity and relief. The discomfort of the wetness across my torso and underwear subsides as he begins speaking again.

"You reached it, Axl," Izzy informs, and abruptly, I'm encompassed by the grand sensation of pride.

~

I stare at the ceiling, ignoring the tightness of my jeans, and instead focusing in on the sound of rain pattering against my window. California couldn't of been more dreary, however, a part of me believed it was it's way of mocking my despondency.

"Congratulations, Axl,' it acknowledges as it drizzles down the chilled glass. 'You fucked up again!'

I growl and stick my face under my pillow, frustrated with the situation in my underpants, and the rain's travesty. Thoughts like these were the ones I feared, the recollection of each sensational moment I shared with Izzy, and the nostalgia that succumbs me when remembering 1982.

Why couldn't I just forget it?
I don't want to remember 1982!

Why do you want to hurt me, Izzy?

I part my lips, releasing a loud sob as the all-too familiar lump in my throat forms again. I'm holding onto the bedsheets now, but not in desperation to reach a carnal high. I'm grasping on in hopes of killing the heartache destroying me from inside.

In spur of the moment, the room rivets as the door flies open, and suddenly, the weight applied to the mattress shifts as someone's calloused hands embrace my frail body.

I peek from the covers, confronting long curls of hair, and the homely, chocolate-colored eyes of a man who held nothing more than concern in his gaze.

"Slash," I breathe out, my voice quavering as the tension in my pants fails to disperse. He glances down at my lower half, his cheeks flushing red for a quick moment before he quickly averts his stare back to my face.

"What's wrong, Axl?" He questions, ignoring the situation from below.

"I want to forget 1982," I reply, as if he could remember exactly what occurred in that sensational, yet tragic year.

"Why's that?" His body is pressing into mine, and I find myself relaxing into his warmth as the ache in my body subsides.

I don't respond this time, instead, I peer at him with a newfound admiration. Perhaps, it was lust causing me to find everything about him so enticing. But I couldn't deny, even with a stable composure, that Slash was undoubtedly stunning. I find myself wishing that this sight could last forever. I find myself wishing he could remain here with me— that I wouldn't drive him away like I did with Izzy.

Like I did with Izzy.

I jump back, toppling off the bed and onto the hardwood floor with a loud thud. Slash, startled and shocked, quickly springs up from the mattress and looks down at me, extending his hand to help me up. But I swat at him with sudden realization and panic, scooting myself into the corner of the room and burying my head in my hands.

"Axl.." He is petrified, I could tell.

But so am I.

"We can't be close, Slash," I whisper, and I could hear his exhilarated breathing falter at my words.

"Why's that?" He interrogates, his voice resonating through my ears and targeting the pain in my heart, substantially increasing just how badly it hurt to tell him these things. Because it didn't take longer than a day to realize that he wanted me, just like I needed him.

"Because I can't drive you away too," I murmur.

"You won't, Axl. You won't!" He drops down to my side, and I push him away with frustration.

"I can't have you, Slash. I can't," I repeat, tears streaming down my face, and I find myself wishing he would wipe them away as usual. But this time, I don't give in to my outrageous thoughts.

He leans against the wall, craning his head back to blow out a long sigh, and then he slides his body down to the floor. It's then I get a better look at him, noticing his unclothed torso, bringing out his perfectly-toned skin, and the slight incline before his vivid v-line. My eyes quickly dart to the side as I duck my head back into my hands with embarrassment.

In only seconds, his hands are back on me, gently gliding down my back and enchanting me with his unavoidable charm. But I continue to push him away, despising my stubbornness, but vying for the thought that this would be my only way of keeping him.

"I'll only hurt you, Slash. I can't lose you, not to attraction. We are band mates, nothing more," I declare, and he says nothing in response.

His hands are no longer on me, leaving nothing but a cold sensation amongst where they once wandered.

And suddenly, footsteps are pattering away— just like the rain.

•.•.•

A/N
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