Sweet Agony (Slaxl)

V

Axl's POV:

Did Slash tell you about the dreams? Yes? Well, I think it's my turn to explain what really happens during the night. Yes, I do dream about him at night, a lot. It started about a year ago, and it only took me a few months to figure out that I was sleep talking, too. But it's really not what he probably told you.

Sometimes, I would have romantic dreams about him. We would kiss or have candle lit dinners, and sometimes it would become more interesting. Usually, though, they were meaningless. Sometimes I would dream about playing the guitar, sometimes I would dream in the shape of top-hats, sometimes I would dream that I really was Slash, and sometimes I would dream that he was saving me from myself. That last one rarely occurred, but they were among my favorite. He was overwhelmingly sweet and caring, much like reality. The reason why they were my favorite was because they were the ones where I thought I might die. I'd love to die in a dream.

Oh? You thought I loved them because I love Slash? Maybe you're a hopeless romantic, too. Not that I am, but some people I might know are.

Speaking of Slash, he was just sitting there, staring forward. His fingers tapped against the mattress while I stared up at him. Why wasn't he taking an opportunity to hold me? This was very out of character for him, and it concerned me. I reached out, grabbing his arm and pulling him down to my level. I shivered and I pulled the blanket closer to my body, laying my head against Slash's chest. I breathed his scent in deeply, falling back asleep soon after.

I woke up feeling tired still. Chills ran through my body, and my throat was so sore I may as well have been sick all over myself several times. My nose was running down my face, and I had the strange urge to cough repeatedly. I pulled the blankets over my body, shivering again. Slash came over to me with a thermometer. "I told you not to stay out in the rain," he sighed, clicking his tongue with disappointment. I opened my mouth and he put the thermometer under my tongue. I watched the red line go up as it read my fever.

The guitarist took the thermometer out of my mouth about a minute later, reading my temperature. "Well, it's about a hundred and one. You should take some cold medicine, and you'll feel better in the morning." I sniffed, but I was so congested that it only made my head feel funny. Slash went into the bathroom where he clicked around some bottles and caps for another minute.

"Hurry up, I feel like I'm dying!" I complained. Actually, on second thought, maybe he should take his sweet time. The physical agony of being sick really did make me feel a little better. "I might be contagious. How do you feel?" I asked him when he returned with a cap full of orange liquid.

"I feel fantastic." He tried to hand me the cap, and I looked at it with disgust. "Don't be a baby," he scolded me. "Open up," he grabbed my chin, propping my mouth open enough to force the medicine down my throat. He did and I stuck my tongue out at him. "You'll thank me later." He ran his hand up and down my leg through the sheets. "What else can I do for you?"

I shivered again. "It's too cold in here."

"If I make it too much warmer, your fever will go up higher. And, no offense, but I really don't wanna get sick, so cuddling is off the table."

"You say that like it was on the table in the first place."

"It was yesterday."

"That was a mistake. What exactly do you think we are?"

"I told you," he insisted again, "we're friends." His voice grew small, "just friends." He was dying a little bit on the inside. It was painful to watch him lie to me and to himself. He's too nice to me, too selfless.

Then again, even if he was brutally honest, I'm not sure that we'd be in much of a different place than we are now. "I guess then just let me be for a little while. I'll be better for the show tomorrow morning." I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes, hiding from him under the white hotel sheets. I could practically see him cringing with regret.

Slash's POV:

I was cringing with regret. How could I have just let him slip through my fingers like this? I would've killed for an opportunity like this one just hours ago, and yet I just gave it away.

Maybe I just need to be more assertive...