An ill mouthed girl with a fiery temper and bad attitude comes across a blonde headed stranger in her bed whilst covered in something strange. His friends are just like brothers and family soon becomes a tight nation to them all as Sloan grows close...
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Sloan
Dear God was I a mess. The small ink embroidery upon my rib was so... delicate and pure and utterly beautiful and yet I'd handed him that. Guilt couldn't possibly account for the ache inside of me as I swam in pity for this poor man. I was crying. As I stared into the mirror with the newly bred tattoo plastered upon my skin softly, it made me want nothing more to spend every moment I could with this tender boy. The flowers were carefully shaded and outlined, detailed unimaginably so, and the slashes within the petals only reminded me of him; Slash. My Slash. My eyes were pink and puffy and clouded with guilt; why was I such a horrible person?
"You... okay?" Peter, the artist, questioned politely with an undertone of awkwardness. I cleared my throat, wiping my eyes harshly, dropping the shirt and nodding with a simple smile.
"Perfect, thank you so much." And with that I exited the room, aware of the nest upon my stupid fucking head and of the blush upon my cheeks and tint to my eyes. The moment those wonderful curls entered my vision, I wanted nothing more than to be enveloped within his comforting hold.
The moment he laid eyes on me, his brows pinched together in confusion, legs pacing over toward my moving figure. "Baby, what's wrong?" He asked and I only sobbed louder. I wasn't normally a crier, so as I sobbed uncontrollably into the fabric of his chest, I suppose I worried him frantically. His hand rubbed soothing strokes into my hair. I just didn't deserve this. Any of this. He was so careful and gentle and loving and I was just Sloan. Sloan motherfucking McCain with an irritatingly ungrateful and disregarding mindset. "Why are you so upset?" He asked, cautiously with such tender caring behind his words. "Please don't cry." He pushed me further into his chest, wrapping both arms around my shoulders and dragging me into a suffocatingly comforting hold as he rested his chin upon my head.
I sniffled and wiped away all the moisture - onto his shirt, of course - and spoke with a shaky voice. "I'm an asshole."
He let out a small laugh and it rumbled onto my figure. "What?"
"You gave me such a beautiful and meaningful tattoo and I gave you that bullshit-"
"I love it." He interrupted, moving his neck at an uncomfortable angle and locking eye contact with me. "And I'm pretty fucking sure I love you." I stopped breathing. I couldn't talk, my words caught in my chest as my heart sped up to an unhealthy rate.
"W-wha-huh?"
He laughed, shaking his head and swooped down to lock his lips with mine, a sweet and short kiss. "I adore you, sweetheart. I absolutely fucking worship the ground you walk on." Still, I gaped like a fish - like a fucking moron - and remained speechless. "And if you don't feel the same, it's cool, I'm a patient man. Everything takes a little time." He shrugged.
"I-" I was unable to talk - still. "Oh, Saul." I muttered, throwing myself toward him and wrapping my arms around his neck, bringing him down - only slightly - and hungrily placing my lips upon his, things growing heated pretty fucking quickly. We continued to kiss, myself pressing every inch of my body flush against his; nothing could of been better. I broke away, smiling dorkily as did he, and shook my head, biting my lip as the surface swelled. "Do you really?"
"Do I really what?" He questioned, arms still hooked around my waist, forehead pressed against mine.
"Love me."
"I do." His words were so genuine that I melted. "I love you, Sloan McCain. Weird as it may seem."
"Oh, Hudson." I'd called him three different names in the past hour. And I loved the way they sounded.
"Digusting." Duff scoffed, rolling his eyes amusedly. "Get a fucking room, you losers." Slash rolled his eyes, smiling nonetheless. "God, I feel sick."
"I think that's just the alcohol talking, man." Slash laughed.
"No, trust me, I know that feeling."
"Like the back of your fucking hand." Steven commented.
"Of course he does." Slash said, rolling his eyes before latching onto my hand and rubbing comforting circles upon the skin. "Lets go back to your place?" I knew he wanted to have sex, so I grinned and nodded my head. Who wouldn't be up for a fuck after a moment like that?
*
The heat from myself and Slash's enlightening activities fled my cheeks, breath shaky as my hands quivered, the boy staring curiously in my direction, sharing a worried glance. "Hello?" The voice pressed from the other end of the line. I gripped the phone tighter. "Sloan are you still there?"
"Yes." I croaked, everything around me muffled.
"When do you think you can get down here?" She asked, voice still holding the same fucking tone - irritated, bored and disgusted. But I didn't care.
"I don't have a car." I mumbled.
She scoffed loudly. "You do-"
"It was stolen."
Silence.
"Well, I'll lecture you on that when you get here. Just hurry up, he'll need you there with him. You're all he's asking about." I bit my lip harshly, tears welling within my eyes. Grandpa was slowly dying, slipping from my grip, and I was hundreds of miles away. The line grew dead and I dropped the plastic from my grip, staring at the wall with nothing but a clear representation of misery written in my eyes. Slash noticed and he drew himself closer, placing his hands either side of my waist against the kitchen counter, turning my chin gently to face him.
"Are you okay?" The tone was so genuine and gentle I felt myself crumble pathetically, throwing my head against his chest as sobs wracked through me. He latched his arms along my shoulders and drew me far closer than ever before, twiddling his fingers within my hair and rubbing circles into my back. "What happened?"
"Grandpa..." I trailed off, sniffling. Though it wasn't much information, it was enough to erupt a sympathetic sigh from his lips, arms holding a tighter embrace as I marvelled in his warmth.
Fuck. It was the only thought I could fandom in the moment. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
