Bandom One-shots book 3

Six Strings and Cigarettes (Duzzy)

POV: Duff McKagan
Setting: Appetite for Destruction Tour, 1987

You'd think a band this chaotic would notice when two of their members started hooking up.

But nah. They were too busy getting drunk, getting laid, or getting lost in whatever corner of America we were in that night.

Izzy and I? We were subtle.
Mostly.

It started with songwriting.

Late-night hotel rooms, acoustic guitars, and cigarette smoke curling between us like a secret language. We'd scribble lyrics on pizza boxes, mutter melodies over shitty hotel carpet, sometimes sharing a look that said more than whatever words we were trying to rhyme.

And then one night, in some nowhere motel in Kansas, he kissed me.
I kissed him back.
We didn't stop.

Now it's been six months.

Six months of sneaking into each other's bunks on the tour bus.
Of brushing hands backstage like it didn't mean something.
Of pretending we hated each other when a camera was on.

"You and Izzy always fight," Steven had said once. "You guys okay?"

"Just creative differences," I'd shrugged, biting back a smile.

In reality, Izzy had written three love songs about me. I'd written two back.
None of them had been played live. Yet.

The night we got caught, we were in Detroit.

Soundcheck was done. The crowd was already filing in. Slash was in the dressing room tuning his guitar, Steven was talking to some girl wearing nothing but fishnets and a jacket that might've been his.

Izzy had pulled me behind the amps—same spot as usual.
The dark corner near the stack where we'd sneak a cigarette, whisper lyrics, maybe kiss a little if we were careful.

That night?

We weren't careful.

He had me pinned against the wall, fingers laced in my hair, his mouth hot on mine like he couldn't get enough of me even though we'd spent the entire fucking day together. I was half-laughing, half-melting, trying to remind him we had a show in fifteen—

"AHEM."

We froze.

Axl Rose stood there, red bandana, eyeliner smudged, looking both horrified and slightly impressed.

"Jesus CHRIST," he groaned, "at least wait until after the fucking encore!"

I coughed. "Uh..."

Izzy straightened, totally unfazed. Flicked his cigarette. "Hey, man."

Axl blinked. "You—are you dating?"

I shrugged, trying not to laugh. "Bro, we've been dating for six months."

Axl stared. "YOU'VE BEEN—WHAT?!"

Cue the chaos.

Slash walked in next, heard the tail end and choked on his soda. "Wait. WAIT. You're—what?!"

Steven practically bounced in. "Does this mean I can double-date with you guys?! I mean I don't have a date but like, I could find one!"

Tommy Stinson, who wasn't even in the band yet but somehow ended up backstage anyway, just looked vaguely jealous and said, "Cool. Whatever. Good for you."

Izzy leaned into me, smirking. "Well. That went better than expected."

We still played the show.
We still blew the roof off.

And afterward, the band couldn't stop teasing us.
Slash made heart hands.
Steven asked if we were gonna get matching leather jackets.
Axl muttered something about group dynamics and Jesus fuckin' Christ.

But Izzy kissed me right there, in front of all of them, cigarette still dangling from his fingers.

Didn't care anymore.

Neither did I.

Turns out hiding was fun.

But being in love?
That was better.