My Random Guns N' Roses One-shots

Axl x Steven (also also smut)

Fucking daiquiris. The streetlamps revealed the garbage can too late, and Axl didn't notice the trash bucket until his knees had hit the metal. Fuck the garbage can. He kicked it, and it fell over, rolling across the concrete sidewalk, trash bags spilling out of it. Fucking daiquiris. He felt a trail of blood leak out of his lower lip and run down his chin. The side of his face still stung from where the bastard had punched him. All over a stupid drink. Fucking daiquiris. He stumbled on the dark stairs leading up to the door, the lingering buzz of alcohol coupled with his throbbing eye that hurt to open made it hard to see, especially with the darkness that was holding its own well against the streetlight. Fucking daiquiris. Hopefully, it was early enough in the evening that none of his bandmates would be home from wherever the fuck they were. Fucking daiquiris.

Axl had been out bar hopping. And he had been enjoying himself too, until the fourth bar, where two shitheads had decided they had nothing better to do than criticize his drink order. The two men had been tall, about Duff's height, with motorcycling gloves and broad shoulders, amplified by their leather jackets. He could still hear their insults, stinging just as bad as his busted lip. "Gonna order a side of cock with that fruity drink, pretty boy?" Of course, the only rational response to that remark was a solid punch in the face. He hoped it had broken the fucker's nose. A strawberry daiquiri was not a fucking girly drink. But despite him being right, there were two of them, and they were both bigger and stronger than the redhead. All three of them had been thrown out of the bar, and Axl got to watch them drive off in their motorcycles from his wonderful vantage point on the cold, hard cement before stumbling back to the apartment he shared with his bandmates. Fucking daiquiris.

Steven opened the can of beer he had found in the back of the fridge. Tonight was the best. First, he had woken up with a pounding hangover. Then, when he had finally made it out of bed, he discovered that his wallet was empty of the forty dollars that had been in it the night before, meaning he was now flat out of cash. Oh, and Adriana had kicked him out. That had been fun.

She had accused him of going out and fucking other chicks, not coming home until three in the morning. Like she didn't have her own side hustle sucking dicks, hypocritical bitch. He denied her accusations, though when she asked what the hell he was doing out at two in the morning if not in a strip club bathroom he had dodged the question. Adriana had taken this to mean that he was a "motherfucking cheating scumbag" and had thrown all his belongings out of the window of her second story apartment.

Ignoring the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, he had gathered his stuff from the sidewalk and walked to the apartment that Slash, Izzy, and Axl were currently sharing. He wondered what her reaction would have been if he had told her the truth, that he was spending his evenings getting shitfaced at gay bars, feeling alone. It wasn't that he didn't like Adriana, she was pretty, and nice when she wasn't screaming at him, but she was lacking certain things that made spending time with her enjoyable. Hence, gay bars. Sometimes he wished he could just love women. It would make everything so much easier.

But no, the world had to be against him, so here he was, drinking his bandmates' beer. Hopefully, Slash would be home first. He could face his childhood friend, who would probably buy him a bottle of alcohol and let him sleep on the couch without asking too many questions about why he wasn't spending the night with his now ex-girlfriend. Or, if he was lucky, they would all have found somewhere else to sleep tonight, and he could wallow in his sorrows alone. "Or if your really lucky," a voice in his head whispered, "Axl could show up first and you both could-" Steven shut that train of thought up quickly. It was Axl, with his long red hair and King-of-the-World confidence that had caused him to spend long and lonely nights at gay bars in the first place.

Steven grabbed a second beer and sat down on the edge of the table so that his legs hung over the edge. The tab popped up easily, and he tipped the can back, letting the cheap beer run down his throat and temporarily wash away his problems.