My Random Guns N' Roses One-shots

Slash x Steven (let's be honest, if I wrote it, there's smut)

"Welcome to the John F. Kennedy Airport here in Queens New York. The local time is two fifty-one in the morning and the temperature is twenty-three degrees." The pilot continued to ramble about how passengers should remain seated and that the airline was so happy to have flown them from LA to New York for a show during the third leg of Guns N' Roses Appetite tour. Slash stopped listening. It took enough energy to keep his eyes open, never mind wasting energy on listening to meaningless yammering. Duff was sitting next to him looking completely wasted, an empty bottle of vodka resting loosely in his hand. Axl was trying to wake up Izzy, who evidently possessed the magical ability to sleep on planes. Lucky fucker. Steven was tapping out a drum solo using the tray table in front of him, exhibiting just as much energy as he had had when he boarded the plane. Slash didn't know where the blond drummer got his endless supply of energy from, but it was unfair of him to keep it to himself. Airplanes were helpful, but flying in them sucked.
Somehow, he made it from the airplane to the limo, and from the limo to his hotel room. Slash didn't take much time to survey the room, noting that it had a mini fridge, a chair, and a bed. The bed was what he cared most about. It looked very inviting with its abstract-patterned quilt and pile of matching pillows. He staggered the twelve feet between the door and the bed, pulling off his t-shirt and shoes on the way, and flopped down face first into the mattress, passing out within five seconds of his head hitting the quilt.

Ordering room-service at three-thirty in the morning was probably not the best idea, as Steven learned from the very tired looking waiter who delivered the tray of cake and flowers to his hotel room. But Slash had seemed quiet and sad on the plane and no one else seemed to care. Therefore, Steven had taken it upon himself to cheer the guitarist up. He was not going to sit idly by while Slash upset. Even though it was a little after four in the morning and his doctor had technically told him to take it easy now that his recently-broken arm had healed, he felt it his duty to cheer up Slash. Because he was a good friend. And good friends bring their buddies chocolate cake and flowers when they're sad. Scooping up the tray, Steven began the journey across the hall to Slash's room, knocking on the door.

Slash was awakened to someone pounding incessantly on his door. His first thought was that he had overslept and it was someone who had come to tell him it was time to go to the gig. Bleary-eyed, he glanced at the clock that was resting on the nightstand next to the bed. Four-o-seven am. Not someone who was coming to get him for the gig then. Taking a deep breath, he shouted as loudly as possible at whoever had dared to wake him up at this ungodly hour. "FUCK OFF!!!"
The knocking continued. Swearing under his breath, Slash stumbled to his feet. If he opened the door and saw Duff standing there with a bag of cocaine and a bottle of alcohol, he was punching the fucker in the face and going back to bed. It was too early in the morning to party. Shuffling, he made it to the door, opening it a crack.
It was not Duff holding a bag of cocaine. It was Steven, holding a tray with cake and- flowers? What the fuck?- looking up at him through blond bangs, blue eyes staring into his with a worried expression.
"What the fuck are you doing here Steven?" The drummer looked down, shuffling his feet and blushing awkwardly. If Slash had been less tired, he might have cared about how adorable Steven looked with his bottom lip pinched between his teeth and a cherry red color painted across the bridge of his nose. However, he was tired, and really wanted to be left alone so he could go back to sleep.
"Uh... you seemed kinda down on the plane, and I thought, ya know, that I would try and cheer you up. Do you want some cake?" Steven lifted the tray towards him."No. I do not want cake. I want to be left alone to sleep because I don't know if you have noticed BUT IT'S FOUR IN THE FUCKING MORNING AND I'M TIRED SO PLEASE FUCK OFF."
Okay, maybe he shouldn't have shouted. Steven looked close to tears, slowly shuffling away, looking at his feet and mumbling apologies. Fuck, Slash really shouldn't have shouted. This was what happened when he didn't get sleep. He said things impulsively and hurt people he cared about. "Wait, Popcorn. I'm sorry. You can come in."
Opening the door wider, he let Steven into the room. The blond immediately went over and set the tray of cake down on a table, then came over and wrapped him into a hug. Steven was a comfortable weight around Slash's waist, with his head buried into his chest and skinny arms clinging to the guitarist.
The hug was nice, but Slash was still really tired, and mostly just wanted to sleep. Wiggling, he managed to break free from his friend's grip. "Hey, Steven. I appreciate the gesture but I'm really tired so I'm gonna go back to bed now. You can crash here if you want I guess."
Slash took the opportunity to get out of his jeans, stripping down to his boxers and climbing into the bed again, face down in a pillow. He heard the sound of clothes hitting the floor and felt the mattress underneath him shift, the blankets he was lying under drag slightly across his back as Steven climbed into bed beside him, now stripped down to a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. If Slash had been more awake, he might have been more aware of the fact that Steven was lying next to him in a bed and was scantily clad, but he didn't. Instead, he rolled over onto his side so he was facing the blond, threw an arm over Steven, and went to sleep.