You Could Be Mine ➷ Slaxl

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ Sɪx

I said nothing as Slash followed me into my house— without an invitation, might I add.

Awkwardly, he perched himself on the couch, watching as I sat across from him, my face void of any exact expression. Perhaps, we were both unsure of what to say, yet desperate to be in each other's company.

What was new?

A part of me wished to interrogate him, desperate to understand why he was still with me. But somewhere in his lost expression, I came to find that the idea of being around me simply offered him comfort, and that was enough for me to purse my lips shut and let the situation play out— just like Matt instructed.

His eyes wandered the large building, taking note of each antique, and silently criticizing the placement of certain objects. Suddenly, his eyes linger upon a specific place, yet I was too awestruck by his simplistic gestures to tear my gaze away from him. His brows furrow and he turns back to me, blushing as he realized his actions were spectated.

"Is something wrong?" I ask, self-consciously scouring my house and making sure everything was situated to at least my satisfaction.

He stands up, ignoring me as he slowly makes his way to a shelf. He picks up a photo frame, glancing at me as his fingers wander along the edge of it. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I yank him from his solitary thoughts by obnoxiously clearing my throat.

Getting the idea, he tilts the frame towards me and looks up, revealing the unanticipated tears streaming down his cheeks.

My lips part as I gaze at the frame, recollecting each memory— each unwanted memory. He lets out a dry laugh, however, sadness was evident in his voice, and in his woeful appearance.

Two youthful, reckless boys caught somewhere within the ecstasy offered by a thrilling high. Eyes squeezed shut, teeth bared with laughter, and heads knocked together in attempt to fit ourselves into the frame: Izzy and I, 1982.

I couldn't recall what ailed me to frame that photo. Perhaps it was the nostalgia that came with gazing upon it, the happiness I felt remembering just how grand it was when we were friends. And then we complicated our friendship with the abrupt desire to feel and experience love— in spite of how forced it might've been.

And clearly, judging by his tear-glossed eyes and despondent frown, Slash had acquired a relative idea of the past between Izzy and I.

My hand finds it's way to Slash's wrist, guiding it back down to the shelf, and knowingly, he rests the frame down. I then snake my arms around his broad waist, burying my head in the crook of his neck and allowing him to hesitantly embrace me.

"Was it always him? Is he the reason—"

"No.. God no, Slash!" I cry out, shaking my head vigorously in attempt to get my point across. He shushes me and instantly, he pulls back and stops my head with his warm hands. And I only allow him to caress my cheeks as I peer at him, searching for something yet unsure of what it could be.

"I can't lose you, Saul, and that is the only valid reason," I tell him, and he says no more, only allowing me to fall back into his body.

Did he believe me?
I wasn't so sure.
But remembering that day, and remembering every vivid moment spent with Izzy only destroyed the confidence I had in my ability to avoid my attraction to Slash. I wanted love, but Izzy couldn't satisfy that raw emotion.

And curiosity was a brute.

"Slash," I breathe out, pulling away to get a better look at him. He tilts his head as I timidly brush curls of hair from his face, revealing his heavenly eyes, reddened with tears, but enlivened with infatuated interest.

And hell, it was so wrong.
But I wanted him to admit his affection for me.

"Slash," I repeat, my voice quavering with hesitance and fear, my head battling between the idea of pulling away to stop the wrongfulness of this action, or allowing it all to happen.

'Listen to Matt', I repeat in my head, over and over as I sink into Slash's celestial embrace.

"No, Axl," Slash leans his forehead against mine. "Please don't stop this."

I say nothing and continue to peer at him, my eyes broadened with expectancy.

"Let me kiss you," he whispers as his lips brush over my forehead. "May-May I?"

I should've said no.
I should've repeated the exact words I emitted only months prior to this unfathomable circumstance. I couldn't have him, and this was wrong. So goddamn wrong.

But in that moment, every pessimistic thought was escaping my head one by one, leaving behind the sensational euphoria I experienced with Slash.

And then he kisses me. Full, plump lips pressing into my own, fitting perfectly and entrancing me with anticipated gratification. The warmth resonating off of each other encompassed us in our intimate embrace, reminding me of the cozy winters experienced in my despondent childhood. But he was here to protect me. He was here to remind me how good it felt to be wanted. His hands slide up my torso, running themselves through my hair and tugging slightly as I gripped on his shirt in a mix between desire and reluctance.

Then, I begin to cry.

"Slash, please no." I pull away, and his eyes instantly overlook me in concern. His calloused fingers make contact with my cheek, immediately brushing the tears away. In spite of how disappointed he might have been, he says nothing and reassures me with his tender contact that it was okay to cry.

"What's wrong, Axl?" He questions, leading me back to the couch and propping me down beside him. His hands continue to comb through my scalp, erupting a frustrated sigh from my lips.

But I'm still crying.
And he's still complexed.

How do you explain to someone how badly you want them, yet refuse to accept their love because you're absolutely petrified?

My lack of speech confirmed to Slash that I was too confounded to properly act, let alone regain my composure. Therefore, he released a long sigh.

"I'm sorry, Axl. I shouldn't of done anything," He says, but I only bury my face into his chest, allowing him to run his hands through my hair and continue compensating for the intensity of this situation.

How could I want him, yet refuse to have him?

Was it Izzy's fault, or was it mine?

Was I missing out on something great in fear of the futuristic enigma bound to destroy me?

What the hell am I doing?!

•.•.•

A/N

Ah, goodness

It's the last couple weeks of school and for some reason, districts believe it's a good idea to cram all of the AP and EOC tests into the remaining amount of time.
I'm stressing the hell out, and I apologize if my chapters aren't too good, or appear rushed and sloppy.
I'll still be getting chapters out, cause writing is the only thing keeping me sane during these exams.

If you enjoyed this chapter, please vote or comment any feedback.

Much love <3