Bandom One-shots book 3

Tuned To You (Izzy Stradlin x Duff McKagan)

Izzy's POV

It was loud. Sweaty. Hotter than hell and the crowd was practically foaming at the mouth.

But all I could focus on was him.

Duff was next to me, bass slung low, blonde hair sticking to his neck in the stage lights. He was swaying in that lazy, loose way he always did when he was in the zone—like the music poured through him instead of out of him. Like his veins were wired for it.

I was supposed to be watching the crowd, but my eyes kept drifting sideways.

To him.

I stepped closer—just a little, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. He looked over, met my gaze, and grinned. Real wide. Real Duff.

My chest tightened.

It always did when he looked at me like that.

The next riff hit, and we locked in perfectly—like we'd rehearsed it a thousand times, even though we hadn't. He leaned into me, shoulder bumping mine, the neck of his bass brushing against my guitar like a secret. The crowd roared, but it felt distant. Muffled.

Because right then, it was just us.

His lips moved. "You good?"

I nodded, barely audible over the amps. "Better now."

His eyes lingered on mine a second too long. Then he smirked—like he knew exactly what he was doing—and leaned in until our foreheads nearly touched.

I could feel the heat coming off him. The sweat. The tremble of his hands on the strings. I wanted to kiss him right there on stage.

Instead, I leaned my weight into him, pushed him back just enough for us to stagger together like drunk lovers in time with the beat.

He laughed.

God, that laugh.

Duff's POV

I knew Izzy was into it the second he stopped pretending he wasn't.

He always got like that—cool and calm, like nothing could shake him, until the music hit just right and he let go. And when he let go? He gravitated to me.

Not Axl. Not Slash.

Me.

It was always me.

He pressed into my side during the chorus, shoulder to shoulder, hips almost brushing. I could feel his energy buzzing like a live wire, something wild and private shared just between us.

People screamed. Someone threw a bra onstage. But Izzy?

Izzy was looking at me.

I wanted to kiss him so bad my throat ached.

We kept playing, but I slid in closer, close enough that his breath ghosted my cheek, close enough to let my fingers brush his as I reached for the volume knob on my amp.

"After the set," I said, low so only he could hear.

He looked at me sideways.

"What?"

"You're coming back to my place."

He didn't answer. He just smiled, wicked and slow, and bumped my hip with his.

Izzy's POV

We didn't kiss onstage.

But the second we hit the alley out back, I grabbed him by the collar and didn't stop.