Across The Universe-Slaxl Oneshots

I'm not jealous (And other lies)-SLAXL. PART 2

A/N:Aight so idek what the fuck happened here. Shit went south but I'm back, hopefully the next chapter won't take 500 years. (I'm also kinda trying a new writing style so let me know what you think jfsajfsaf)

Another night, another uncomfortable hotel bed. And the worst part is, Slash can't even delude himself into hoping he may be permitted to touch Axl tonight, not after the ginger's earlier castigation.

The atmosphere is tense even as they undress for bed, the two young artists stripping away the struggles and successes of a hard day's work, and though Slash would love to pretend the tension is just a result of their fatigue from a long, taxing day of shooting, he knows that it's that and so much more; every sideways glance or sarcastic comment they've shot at each other for weeks is bound to be addressed tonight, every time Axl brushed aside Slash's need for affection or company to further his artistic endeavors is inevitably going to be thrown in his face. Still, it's not like the singer won't have ammunition of his own, not with the guitarists' public outburst. Days of mounting tension are compounding with the anterior promise of an unwanted discussion to create the perfect storm, and Slash has no idea if he'll be able to weather it with the cool, almost untouchable collectedness he usually does.

There was nothing in the world that Slash dreaded more than arguing with Axl. It wasn't just that he adored his lover and hated fighting with him because he most certainly loved Axl, loved the man with everything in him in an intense, almost obsessive way he never thought he'd ever feel for anything but music. However, his lover could be...vicious sometimes. Axl wasn't abusive to him in any meaning of the word, he didn't deliberately talk down to Slash or go out of his way to make him feel lesser, but the ginger was so goddamn clever, invariably cleaving through Slash's arguments like a knife through butter, pointing out all the minor flaws in his rationale and making him feel stupid for even starting a fight.

And Slash detested feeling stupid, which was precisely why in a futile effort to evade what he knew in his heart would be a catastrophic argument, he didn't let Axl speak first, waiting for the ginger to open his mouth before interrupting with a quick, perfunctory "I'm Sorry." and praying to a God he's never put much faith into before that Axl will just let that be it, that he will accept that pathetic little apology and let the issue rest. For a moment, the hope blossoming in Slash's chest is warranted because Axl is giving him a look; he can't glean if it's good or bad, those almost endless blue-green eyes a pool of ambivalence before they're hardening, and Slash can barely think "Here we go." before the slightly shorter man is just shaking his head. In the end, all it takes are the words "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to." to set Slash off, because no matter how resolutely he swore he'd stay calm, just the idea of his boyfriend directing him to prostrate himself at the altar of that scheming, conniving bitch Stephanie is more than he can take.

"No. Hell no." A roll of eyes from Axl, the tensing of his jaw and the squaring of his shoulders are an invitation for Slash to do the same, the two titans preparing to clash, the immovable force meeting the unstoppable object head on.

"Saul." And there it was again, his first name, as if wielding it like a weapon automatically put Axl in the right, like it was a leash to pull back on and make him yield, like he couldn't just say William and send the redhead into one of his boundless rages. "Babe, I don't know what's up with you lately but you can't just go around calling the actors bitches."

Usually, Slash would give in here, his well-learned forbearance would win out against his desire to argue back, and Axl would be satisfied with his victory, as hollow or petty as it may have been and then they'd fall into bed together, soft touches and whispered words of love carrying them on until morning, but not tonight, no, he's pissed, hurt and neglected and more than willing to give in to the acrimony that's been building in him for weeks, and his voice is rough when he barks out "Really? This coming from the guy who dedicated an entire song on the b-side of this ego driven nightmare to calling out his critics."