Book Two : Aveline. | Slash Fanfiction

chapter nineteen

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NINETEEN - 1992, On The Road.

"YOU'RE SO FUCKING selfish." Axl spat, angrily slapping the butt of the many, many, joints from the table. He'd turned off their music almost immediately, utterly livid with how disregarding they had been for not only his, but the whole buses, lack of sleep, blazing it up and getting hammered at hardly two p.m. Had it have been later on in the day, with the occupants all awake and thriving, Axl wouldn't have found such a big issue with the whole ordeal, but it wasn't, and no one else was particularly happy with the situation either.

But Slash and Duff were too wasted to care. And as they flashed their gazes toward each other, still seated upon the couch with the rest of the band standing in front of them, frowning and crossing their arms angrily, the two had to use all of the strength their intoxicated minds had not to burst into laughter.

Duff had to turn away, staring heatedly at the floor as his shoulders shook silently, a muted giggle ripping through him as he failed to stop it in its tracks, and Slash made no effort to hide his amusement, the mocking chuckle falling from his lips before he could stop it.

"What's so fucking funny?" Axl scoffed, kicking Duff's bare foot with his own, glaring with a thick lack of amusement toward him, rising a cough to his throat as he tried to cover up his humor.

"Nothin', man." Duff grumbled, sniffing quietly as he rested his back against the cushions, Slash absentmindedly giggling from behind his hand as it curled around his mouth obviously. "We were just havin' some fun."

"Save it for tonight, assholes." The redhead scoffed. Izzy rolled his eyes at how uptight he came across for how little of an angel he actually was. Then again; what worked for Axl had to work for everyone. "We got a fuckin' show tomorrow, fuckers. Don't fuck that up, you understand?" He pointed a menacing finger in their direction as Duff nodded silently and Slash held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Yes, sir." He grinned, sluggishly, saluting the fiery ginger jokingly.

"Thin ice, Slash." Axl threatened, shaking his head with a growl in his tone, "Thin fucking ice."

And then he disappeared through the short hall, stroppily slamming his bunkers curtain shut - most likely attempting to gain some more, undisturbed, sleep - and all Slash could do was roll his eyes stubbornly, and pick up the bottle of Monkey Shoulder, delving into its delectable taste with his returning grin.

"C'mon, Slash," Izzy sighed, "you're wasted enough, man. Put the bottle down."

Saul rolled his eyes and snorted rudely, "Says fucking you." He scoffed, "Just 'cause you're all sober 'n' shit, now, doesn't mean I am, okay, buddy?" He grumbled, swigging the beverage with arrogance. Perhaps he was an arrogant man, after all.

"Don't be difficult." He instructed, sighing once again with an exhausted shimmer to his eyes. A pitiful glance that Saul was too intoxicated to notice.

"Iz, man, leave me be." Slash slurred messily. "I'm all good."

"Izzy's right, Saul," Aveline sighed, stepping forward to gain a better look on the situation, though as she cast her eyes upon the mess, she really wished she hadn't. "I think you guys should stop, now."

Slash let out an almighty groan, tilting his head back frustratedly. "I don't give a fuck what you think, sweet cheeks." He stated. Slash felt angry - a red raw kind of angry - and he felt betrayed, that two of his closest friends could back up Axl so easily - and he felt sort of hurt, the reminiscence of his dream coming back in fragments as he spoke.