hiii!!! i LOVE the way u write sub axl so so much im so in love with ur izzaxl fics LMAO also can u write more sub bottom axl and dom top izzy??? im so obsessed with them... it can be something that takes place in their glam era !! its my favorite LOL
Hi anon!! ♡ Aww, thank you so much!!!! Knowing that you like my AxlIzzy fanfics makes me so happy! 😭✨ I’m honestly so glad to be receiving requests here on Tumblr, thank you for the support!
Sorry it took me a bit to post this one... writing takes time and I was struggling to find the right inspiration lol, but I finally did it!!!!! So here it is: Bottom Axl for you!
To be honest, it’s not my best work since life has been so crazy lately (so much happening right now.. ugh), but I really hope you guys enjoy it! 💖
Also, just asking... who else here loves Bottom Izzy? lol. Please, send me more Izzy requests!! I’d love to write more about him! ✨🙏 ♡
Warnings: 18+ content,Dirty Talk, Birthday Sex, Sunset Strip Era,Fluff and Smut, Praise Kink, mdni. Smut and romance.
Summary: It's Izzy's birthday, and he hates his birthday. He hates the fuss, the cake, the attention. Axl knows this. So instead of a party, Axl gives him the one thing no one else can: himself. Naked. Wrapped in red satin ribbons. Already stretched and waiting. All Izzy has to do is come home and unwrap his present.
A Red Ribbon for Izzy Stradlin - Axl x Izzy
The air inside the apartment was dense, still, as if the Los Angeles summer itself had seeped through the cracks in the window and refused to leave.
It was almost six in the evening and the sun was still beating down with absurd force on the front of the building, turning the back bedroom into a greenhouse. The window was wide open, but the breeze that came in was warm and carried the distant noise of Sunset Strip traffic, muffled horns, a fragment of music escaping from some car with its windows down, and every now and then the shrill laugh of someone who was already drunk even before the sun went down.
The apartment was tiny, a comfortable mess that they had put together over the months. Records stacked on the floor near the record player because the shelf couldn't hold any more. A guitar missing its high E string leaning against the arm of the torn couch. Ashtrays overflowing on every available flat surface.
On the coffee table, a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's, two glasses with fingerprint marks, and a crumpled pack of Marlboros. The place smelled of cigarettes, sweat, and something vaguely sweet that came from the cheap incense Slash had insisted on lighting last week and whose smell still hadn't completely gone away.
Axl was leaning against the kitchen doorframe, smoking slowly, watching the smoke rise in lazy spirals toward the moisture-stained ceiling.
He was barefoot, wearing only an old, worn pair of jeans cut off above the knees. His torso was bare because there was simply no way to wear a shirt in that heat. His red hair, long to his shoulders, was tied in a loose ponytail, with strands escaping and sticking to his sweaty nape. The freckles on his shoulders looked darker against his pale, sweat-glistening skin. His small, pink nipples were hard, more from the nonexistent cold than anything else, and the orange late-afternoon light coming through the window outlined every bone of his visible ribs beneath his skin.
He seemed strangely calm, which was a rarity for William Bruce Bailey. Usually he vibrated with an electric energy that left everyone around him on high alert.
But today he was quiet, thoughtful, biting his lower lip every now and then as he reviewed the plan he had been putting together mentally over the last three days.
Because today was April eighth. Jeffrey Dean Isbell's birthday. And Jeffrey Dean Isbell hated his birthday with an intensity that bordered on irrational.
It wasn't the performative kind of hatred, the kind people declare to get attention and forced birthday wishes. It was a genuine, deep contempt that made Izzy become taciturn, answer monosyllabically, and look at the calendar as if it were a personal enemy. Axl knew it had something to do with Indiana, with family, with memories Izzy didn't like to poke at. He also knew that any attempt at a traditional celebration would be met with a cold stare and perhaps a dry "don't fucking bother me, Bill" sharp enough to cut the conversation for hours.
But Axl was stubborn. Axl was intense. And Axl loved Izzy in a way that couldn't be put into words, a love that had started in Lafayette, survived moves to Los Angeles, band formations and breakups, nights sleeping on park benches and borrowed couches, hunger, anger, frustration. Now it burned there, in that tiny apartment, like a constant flame that refused to go out.
If Izzy didn't want cake, didn't want a party, didn't want birthday wishes, fine. Axl was going to give him something else.
He was going to give himself.
The idea had come to him two days ago, while Axl was in the shower, letting the cold water run down his thin body. First he thought about making dinner. Then he thought about buying a better bottle of whiskey, something they normally couldn't afford. But nothing seemed enough, nothing seemed to carry the weight of what he felt.
And then, like a bolt of lightning, the image appeared in his mind: himself, completely naked, with a red satin ribbon tied around his body. A gift.
He, Axl Rose, who stepped on stage as if he owned the world, who screamed into the microphone until he was hoarse, who faced entire crowds with a challenge in his eyes, offering himself in the most vulnerable way possible to the only man who had ever managed to tame the hurricane he carried in his chest.
The idea was absurd, ridiculous, and exciting to a degree that made Axl feel a hot shiver run down his spine and settle right at the base of his cock. He stood still under the shower, the cold water running down his thin chest, down the curve of his back, down his smooth belly, while he imagined the scene: Izzy coming home, exhausted and grumpy, and finding him there, lying on the bed, ready to be used.
Axl's hand went down his own body just thinking about it, his fingers brushing his cock which was already starting to harden. He had to hold himself back from masturbating right there, because he wanted to save everything for Izzy.
Then came the thought of the plug.
That had been even bolder, something he had never done before. He had bought the plug at a sex shop on Santa Monica Boulevard, wearing sunglasses and a cap pulled low over his face, feeling like both an idiot and a genius at the same time. The woman behind the counter had smiled knowingly when he paid, and Axl had almost snatched the change from her hand in his haste to get out of there.
The plug was metal, heavy in the palm of his hand, cold to the touch, with a perfectly smooth surface and a flattened base that would fit comfortably against him. It cost more than he would have liked, but when he left the store with the discreet package in the pocket of his denim jacket, he was smiling to himself on the sidewalk.
Now, there in the apartment, he had already made his decision. Today was the day.
"Are you sure you don't want to go to the Rainbow, Axl? Slash said there are going to be some girls there tonight, and Steven is insisting like crazy."
Duff's voice came from the other side of the room, drawled and slightly whiny. He was sprawled on the torn couch, his long arms spread over the backrest, a beer in his hand, looking at Axl with an expression of someone who already knew the answer but still held out hope.
Slash was sitting on the floor near the stringless guitar, distractedly strumming something that could have been a riff, his black curly hair falling over his face. Steven was leaning against the wall, drumming rhythms on his own thighs, unable to stay still for more than thirty seconds. The three of them had arrived an hour ago, unannounced, as they always did, and were there bothering him with plans for the night.
Axl put out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray and crossed his arms over his thin chest, the muscles in his shoulders flexing with the movement.
"Look, you need to get the hell out of here. Like, now. Seriously."
"Why? Are you expecting someone? Is it that redhead groupie from last week?"
"No, it's not any groupie. Just… go away. Izzy's going to be here soon and he's going to be in a bad mood, and I don't want you guys here bothering him when he arrives."
"But it's his birthday," Steven interjected, stopping his drumming and looking at Axl with an almost childish gleam in his eyes. "We could have a party, sing happy birthday, I don't know."
"You know he hates that, Steven. He hates birthdays, hates happy birthday, hates parties. If you're here with that party energy, he'll be even worse."
Axl paused, uncrossed his arms and gestured toward the door, the abrupt movement making the cheap bracelets jingle on his wrist.
"So please, disappear. Go to the Rainbow, find groupies, do whatever you want, but get out of here."
Slash lifted his eyes from the guitar neck and observed Axl for a moment, with that calm, observant demeanor that contrasted so much with the wild guitarist image he projected on stage. There was something in Axl's tone, something in the way he was standing there, a little tense, a little anxious, that made Slash tilt his head slightly.
"Okay, Axl. We'll go. But you're acting strange today. Is everything okay?"
"Everything's great. I just want some peace and quiet. Go."
Duff got up from the couch with a theatrical sigh, stretching his long arms.
"Alright, alright, we're going. But if Izzy asks, it's your fault for kicking out his friends on his birthday."
"He'll thank me for kicking you out," Axl retorted, but there was a smile at the corner of his mouth, almost involuntary. "Now go."
It took another five minutes for them to actually leave. Steven was looking for a drumstick he had dropped somewhere, Slash went to the kitchen to grab a beer for the road, Duff remembered he needed to use the bathroom. Axl stood by the door, tapping his foot impatiently, feeling the anxiety rise in his chest like a rising tide.
When the door finally closed behind them and the sound of their footsteps disappeared down the building corridor, Axl let out a long sigh and rested his forehead against the wooden door.
The apartment was silent, except for the distant hum of the old refrigerator and the muffled sound of the street outside.
The clock on the kitchen wall read quarter to seven. Izzy had left in the morning for what promised to be a hellish day: rehearsal with the band, a meeting with some manager in the afternoon, and probably traffic on the way back home in the late afternoon heat. Knowing Izzy, he would arrive sweaty, exhausted, and in an even worse mood than when he left. Axl had maybe an hour, maybe less.
He started moving with the contained agitation of someone executing a carefully crafted plan.
First, he went to the bedroom and rummaged through the nightstand drawer until he found what he was looking for: the metal plug, still in the brown paper bag from the store, and a roll of red satin ribbon he had bought at a notions store three days ago. The ribbon was almost two centimeters wide, a deep, vivid red that would contrast beautifully with his pale skin. Axl held the two objects in his hands for a moment, feeling the weight of the plug, the soft, slippery texture of the ribbon between his fingers.
A low, nervous laugh escaped his lips.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," he murmured to himself, shaking his head.
But that was exactly what he was going to do.
The next step was the candles. Axl wasn't the type to keep candles at home, so the day before he had run to a cheap supermarket on Sunset and bought a pack of twelve white candles, the cheapest possible, the kind that burn fast and leave wax drips everywhere. He took the pack now and began distributing them around the room: three on the nightstand, two on the windowsill, four lined up on the floor near the bed, the rest on the old dresser they used to store clothes.
Then he took the ashtray full of cigarette butts and stuffed it at the back of the closet, where Izzy wouldn't see it right away. He gathered the dirty clothes scattered on the floor and threw them all into the closet as well, closing the door quickly before the pile collapsed. The room was still a mess, but an acceptable mess, a mess that might even look cozy if the candles were lit.
He straightened the sheets on the bed, damp with sweat from the heat, and thought about whether he should change them. He decided not to. They were going to get everything dirty anyway.
With twenty minutes left, Axl went to the bathroom.
The bathroom was tiny, practically a cubicle with a stained toilet, a sink with a cracked mirror in the corner, and a shower stall whose plastic curtain had mold in the corners. Axl looked at himself in the mirror, evaluating his own reflection with critical eyes.
His face was thin, angular, his blue eyes slightly narrowed, nervousness or anticipation, he couldn't tell. His mouth was thin but fleshy, his lower lip fuller than his upper. He bit that lip now, feeling his heart beat faster.
The freckles on his shoulders and nose. The prominent bones of his collarbones. His small, pink, hard nipples. The visible ribs beneath his pale skin. He wasn't as muscular as Duff, didn't have the solid build that Izzy was starting to develop in his arms and shoulders. Axl was thin, electric, a creature of bones and nerves on the surface.
But that was what Izzy liked. He knew. Izzy liked every inch of him, said so often, with words or gestures, with the way he ran his fingers over Axl's ribs as if counting them one by one, with the way he bit the curve of his neck and whispered things that made Axl blush to the roots of his hair.
Thinking about that now, standing in front of the dirty bathroom mirror, made the heat in Axl's chest turn into something else, something lower, denser, that settled in the pit of his stomach and descended slowly. He felt his cock start to fill again, pressing uncomfortably against his jeans.
The plug was cold when Axl took it out of the paper bag. He washed the object in the sink with water and soap, scrubbing well, feeling the smooth, metallic surface slip between his fingers. Then he took a bottle of lubricant that was hidden behind the shampoo bottles and left it within reach.
"You're an idiot, Axl," he said out loud, to his own reflection. "A complete idiot."
But there was no conviction in his voice. What there was was a trembling excitement, an anticipation that made his fingers tingle and his cock throb.
He had never done this before. Never prepared himself like this for Izzy. Normally sex between them happened spontaneously, urgently, often drunk, with clothes being torn off halfway between the living room and the bedroom, with muffled laughter and bites and the bed creaking as if it were about to collapse. They fucked each other, they both gave and received, a dance they knew well and that never ceased to be intense.
But today Axl wanted something different. Today he wanted to offer himself completely. He wanted to be the receptacle, the gift, the thing that Izzy unwrapped and used until he was satisfied. The idea of being there, already prepared, already open, waiting for Izzy, made Axl's cock harden completely, a wet spot beginning to show on his jeans.
He went to the bedroom with the plug and the lubricant in his hands.
He lit the candles first, one by one. The smell of burnt match mixed with the smell of cigarettes and old incense in the air. The candlelight was flickering and yellowish, casting dancing shadows on the stained walls. It transformed the messy bedroom into something almost beautiful, almost sacred. Axl turned off the bright ceiling light, plunging the room into the golden dimness of the flames.
Then he took off his jeans and underwear together, in one motion, and stood completely naked in the middle of the room. The warm air caressed his bare skin. He allowed himself a moment to feel the excitement pulsing through his entire body, his cock hard and heavy between his legs, the tip already shining with a drop of precum.
He lay down on the bed, the rumpled sheets beneath his back, and opened the bottle of lubricant. The smell was artificial, vaguely sweet. He spread a generous amount on his fingers, feeling the slippery texture, and brought them to his own entrance.
The muscle contracted instinctively at the first touch.
Axl closed his eyes and tried to relax, breathing deeply, his thin chest rising and falling.
"Fuck," he whispered, when the first finger entered.
It was a strange and familiar sensation at the same time, the slide of his own finger inside himself, the warm, tight skin adapting to the intrusion. He moved his finger slowly, experimenting with the angle, the pressure. He felt every small contraction of his own body, every centimeter of skin that yielded.
He imagined it was Izzy's finger inside him. Thicker than his own. More calloused from playing guitar. He imagined Izzy leaning over him, with those dark, intense eyes, his black hair falling over his face, his mouth slightly open in a mischievous half-smile.
"Are you opening up for me, Bill? Getting yourself all ready for my cock?"
Izzy's voice in Axl's imagination was rough and drawled. A low moan escaped Axl's throat.
He inserted a second finger, feeling the initial burning transform into something more pleasurable, deeper. He moved his fingers slowly, opening himself methodically, getting used to the sensation of being filled. His breathing was getting heavier, small sounds escaping his parted lips with each movement.
When he felt sufficiently open, he picked up the plug.
The metal was cold against his hot skin, and Axl shuddered when he pressed the rounded tip against his entrance. The temperature contrast was intense, almost shocking.
"Go slow," he murmured to himself. "Go slow."
The tip of the plug slid inside him with a constant, cold pressure. Axl felt every millimeter of the metal invading his body, opening space, filling him. He arched his back and dug his nails into the sheet, a long moan escaping his lips. The sensation was intense, almost too much, the cold metal where he was hot, the solid pressure where there was usually only Izzy.
When the flattened base fitted snugly against him, Axl let out the air he hadn't even realized he was holding.
He was full. Filled. The plug inside him created a constant, delicious pressure that left him painfully aware of every small movement of his own body. He contracted his internal muscles experimentally and moaned when the metal pressed even deeper.
His cock was completely hard now, a drop of precum shining at the tip, dripping slowly down its length. He had to resist the temptation to touch himself. Not yet. He wanted to come with Izzy inside him. He wanted Izzy to be responsible for every ounce of pleasure he felt.
Axl got up from the bed with slightly trembling legs. The awareness of the plug inside him made every movement seem charged with meaning, every step, every curve of his body, every muscle contraction sent waves of pleasure through his nervous system.
He took the roll of red ribbon and cut a long piece with the scissors that were in the kitchen drawer. He thought about tying the ribbon around his neck, like an improvised collar, but the idea seemed too extreme even for him. Instead, he cut a smaller piece and tied it around his right wrist, a simple bow, the ends of the ribbon falling over his pale skin.
Then he cut another piece and, with a bit more difficulty, managed to tie it around his left thigh, high up, where the skin was more sensitive and his hip bone protruded. The red bows contrasted with his white skin, creating an image that was simultaneously obscene and strangely delicate.
Axl glanced at himself in the foggy bedroom mirror and felt a hot blush rise up his face.
He looked like a gift. A ridiculous, sweaty gift, with his hair escaping his ponytail and his eyes shining with excitement and nervousness. His hard cock adorned with ribbons. The plug hidden inside him. His pale skin shining in the candlelight.
But that was exactly what he wanted to be.
When the sound of the key turning in the lock echoed through the apartment, Axl was already lying on the bed. Positioned on his side, his head propped on his hand, his top leg bent to show the ribbon on his thigh. His heart immediately raced, beating so hard he was sure Izzy would be able to hear it from the other side of the door.
He heard the heavy footsteps in the small entryway. The dull thud of a jacket being tossed somewhere. The long, tired sigh he immediately recognized as belonging to Izzy.
Izzy's voice came from the living room, drawled, exhausted, carrying the weight of a day that had clearly been shitty. Axl heard the sound of a bottle being opened, the clinking of glass, and imagined Izzy grabbing a beer from the fridge.
"Those idiots at rehearsal… Steven couldn't keep time, Slash was zoning out on some never-ending solo, and the meeting with that manager was a complete waste of time. The guy wanted us to change our sound, can you believe it, change the sound, we barely have a sound yet and the son of a bitch already wants to change it. And to top it off, the van's AC broke again. I'm sweating like a pig."
Axl didn't answer immediately. He let Izzy talk, listened to the continuous grumbling coming from the living room, and smiled. Izzy grumbling was one of the most familiar and comforting things in the world.
But now he needed Izzy to come to the bedroom.
"Iz," he called, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible, although his heart continued to hammer in his chest. "Come here for a second."
Then the footsteps approached.
Axl saw Izzy's silhouette appear in the bedroom doorway, still holding his beer, his dark eyes adjusting to the dim candlelight. Izzy stopped completely. His free hand froze on the doorframe.
He was exactly as Axl had imagined: sweaty, his straight black hair stuck to his temples and nape, his white shirt stained in a few places, his dark jeans marked with dust. His thin, angular face, his eyes slightly slanted, his mouth that usually wore an ironic smile was now slightly open in absolute shock.
The candlelight danced on the walls, reflected in the wet shine of Axl's eyes, made the red ribbons look even more vivid against his white skin. The whole room pulsed with a golden, flickering light, and in the center of it all was Axl, completely naked, his cock hard and shining with precum, red ribbons on his wrist and thigh, his blue eyes fixed on Izzy's.
Axl let Izzy look. Savored every second of his reaction, feeling a wave of triumph and excitement course through his body. Seeing Izzy paralyzed, speechless, with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth, was exactly what he had imagined over the last three days.
Axl's voice came out rougher than he intended, loaded with everything he was feeling. He held the pose, lying on his side, his hand propping up his head, his eyes fixed on Izzy's.
"You don't like gifts. I know. You don't want cake, don't want a party, don't want happy birthday sung by a bunch of drunks at the Rainbow. But I'm too selfish to let this day pass without giving you something. And the only thing I had to give was myself."
He slid his free hand down his own body, from his collarbone to his hip, a slow, deliberate gesture. His fingers passed over his hard nipples, over his visible ribs, over his smooth belly, circling his cock without touching it, going down to the red ribbon on his thigh. Highlighting every detail. The red bows. The bare skin. The obvious erection.
"So… happy birthday. Your gift is me. You can unwrap it."
Izzy remained frozen in the doorway for a moment that seemed to stretch into an eternity. His eyes traveled slowly over Axl, absorbing every detail: the flickering candles, the red ribbon on his wrist, the ribbon on his thigh, the way Axl was lying, vulnerable and yet absolutely confident.
Something changed in Izzy's face. Something deep in his dark eyes, a mix of emotion that went far beyond simple excitement, there was shock, adoration, a hunger that seemed to come from the depths of him.
He set the beer down on the dresser. The gesture was slow and deliberate, the glass touching the wood with a dull sound.
He took a step into the bedroom. Then another. He approached the bed as if approaching an altar.
His voice was so rough it was barely a whisper.
"You… you did all this for me?"
Axl held his gaze, defiant, even though inside he was completely melting.
"And if you don't come here and fuck me right now, I'm going to be really pissed."
Izzy let out a laugh, but it was a trembling laugh, choked by something that looked suspiciously like tears. He knelt on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight, and reached out his hand to touch the ribbon on Axl's wrist.
His fingers were calloused, rough at the tips from playing guitar, but the touch was incredibly delicate. Almost reverent. His thumb passed over the satin ribbon, feeling the texture, then went up Axl's arm to his shoulder, his neck, his jaw.
"You're insane," Izzy murmured, running his thumb over Axl's lower lip, feeling the moisture, the softness. "Completely insane. I love you so fucking much, you know that?"
Axl's voice came out more fragile than he wanted.
"Now kiss me. Please. Before I explode."
Izzy needed no further encouragement.
He leaned in and captured Axl's mouth in a kiss that started urgent and quickly deepened. Their tongues met, their teeth lightly clashed, their warm breath mingled in the minimal space between them. Izzy tasted of beer and cigarettes and something deeper, more essential, that was simply him.
Axl moaned into Izzy's mouth and brought his hands to his hair, his fingers tangling in the dark, sweat-damp strands. He pulled hard enough to draw a moan in response.
They kissed for a long time. Hungrily. Desperately. As if they were trying to devour each other. Izzy's mouth moved from Axl's lips to his chin, to his jaw, to his neck, sucking the salt-sweaty skin, leaving marks that would be purple the next day.
Izzy's hand went down Axl's back, his nails lightly scratching the warm skin, the curve of his spine, until he found the base of the plug still firmly inserted.
Izzy stopped the kiss abruptly.
He felt the metal base with his fingertips, tracing the outline, the cold texture against Axl's warm skin. His expression shifted from shock to incredulous admiration.
"Axl… you… you have a plug in?"
Axl whispered with a mischievous smile that made his eyes shine dangerously in the candlelight.
"I wanted to be ready for you. I didn't want you to have to do any work. I just wanted you to come and fuck me. It's my birthday present, remember? You can do whatever you want with me."
Izzy's expression changed completely.
Something hungry and possessive lit up in his dark eyes. He growled low, a guttural sound that came from the back of his throat and made Axl's cock throb violently, a new drop of precum dripping down the tip.
"You have no idea what you're doing to me."
Izzy's hand wrapped around the base of the plug and moved it slightly, experimenting, pulling it out just a bit and pushing it back in. Axl gasped, his back arching off the mattress, his entire body responding to the stimulation. The sensation of the metal sliding inside him, even just a little, made his vision go white for a second.
"Take off your clothes," Axl managed to say, his voice breathless. "Take off this fucking clothes. I want to feel you, not your jeans."
Izzy obeyed, but slowly. Provocatively. Different from the urgency with which he usually tore off his clothes.
He stood up from the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt, one button at a time, his eyes never leaving Axl's. The candlelight outlined the contours of his body: his shoulders that were getting broader, his thin chest but beginning to show definition, the fine line of dark hair descending from his navel to disappear into his jeans.
When the shirt fell to the floor, Izzy unbuttoned his pants and let them fall too, along with his underwear, in a fluid motion. His cock sprang free, completely hard, the tip already shining with precum.
Axl licked his lips involuntarily at the sight. Izzy was beautiful. He always had been. With that discreet, dark-haired beauty, his deep, slanted eyes, the crooked smile that rarely appeared but when it did, it completely floored Axl. Izzy's body was more solid now than it had been in Indiana, the muscles in his arms and shoulders more defined, his chest firm, his cock thick and hard rising toward his navel.
Izzy climbed onto the bed and positioned himself over Axl, his knees on either side of his hips. His body warm and smelling of sweat and cigarettes and something that was intrinsically Izzy. Axl felt the heat radiate from him, felt the familiar smell envelop him, and his cock throbbed against his belly.
"You're the most beautiful gift I've ever received."
Izzy murmured the words against Axl's skin, lowering his head to kiss his neck, his jaw, his earlobe.
"And I'm going to unwrap every little piece of you. But first…"
He lowered his mouth down Axl's chest. His warm tongue licked the salty sweat, traced the outline of his visible ribs, found a small, pink nipple.
Izzy sucked hard, at the same time the tip of his tongue lashed at the hard bud. Axl moaned loudly, his back arching.
"First I want to hear you," Izzy continued, his mouth moving to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. "I want to hear every moan, every plea, every curse word. You're so loud, Axl, and I love it. I love how you can't shut up even when you're begging to come."
Axl's voice was already trembling, his hips moving involuntarily against the air, against nothing, the plug still inside him creating a constant, delicious pressure.
"Fuck me, Iz. Please. You said you were going to unwrap me. Unwrap me."
Izzy smiled against Axl's skin, his teeth grazing a rib, his tongue descending down his smooth belly, circling his navel.
His hand went down to the plug.
He held it by the base and began to move it slowly. Pulling it out a little and pushing it back in. Rotating it slightly. Experimenting with angles. Watching Axl's face contort in pleasure, his mouth open in uncontrollable moans.
"Did you open yourself up for me, Bill? Get yourself all ready, alone, thinking about me?"
Izzy's voice was a rough whisper, full of desire and adoration mixed together. He pulled the plug almost all the way out, feeling the resistance of Axl's body, and then pushed it back in, deep, making Axl let out a muffled cry.
"You're so good to me. So perfect. My beautiful boy, giving himself as a gift. And with little red ribbons. I'm going to lose my mind."
"You lost it a long time ago."
Axl moaned, his hands gripping the sheets, his nails digging into the thin fabric. Sweat ran down his temples, down his neck, down his thin chest. The candles flickered with the abrupt movements on the bed.
"And so did I. I lost my mind over you in Lafayette, Jeff, and I never found it again. Now take this plug out and fuck me, for God's sake."
He pulled the plug out slowly, millimeter by millimeter. Axl felt the metal slide out, the sensation of emptiness settling in for a moment before a new kind of expectation took over. The plug came out with a wet sound that made them both moan.
Izzy tossed the plug aside, not caring where it fell. The metal hit the floor with a dull thud.
His eyes fixed on Axl's entrance. Open. Shining with lubricant. Pulsing slightly.
Izzy ran his thumb around the edge, feeling the heat, the softness, the way Axl's body contracted at the touch. He pressed the tip of his thumb against the entrance, just a little, watching the skin yield, and Axl moaned, pushing his hips against his hand.
"So ready for me. So open. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life, Bill. And I'm going to fuck you until you forget your own name."
He took the lubricant that Axl had left on the bed and spread another generous amount on his own cock. His hand slid down the hard length, spreading the slippery liquid from base to tip. Izzy moaned at his own touch, his head falling back for a second.
Then he positioned himself. The tip pressing against Axl's entrance, hot and slippery.
"Are you sure? You really want this?"
The question was genuine. A quick check in the midst of the whirlwind of desire. Axl felt his heart tighten at the tenderness of the gesture. Even now, with Axl literally offering himself as a gift, Izzy still asked. Still cared.
Axl's voice was completely vulnerable now, with no trace of the theatrical confidence from before.
"I want you, Iz. Always. Now get inside. Please."
The penetration was slow and deep. Axl felt every centimeter of Izzy's cock opening space inside him, the wide tip forcing the entrance, the length sliding through the hot, lubricated channel, filling him completely. He felt the exact moment when Izzy's hips fit against his, his cock buried to the base.
Axl moaned loudly, a sound that came from the back of his throat and echoed through the small room.
Izzy gasped, his teeth clenched, his eyes closed for a moment as he adjusted to the heat and the tightness.
"You're so tight. So hot. My God."
Axl begged, his legs wrapping around Izzy's waist, his heels pressing against his back, pulling him even deeper inside.
"Fuck me, Izzy. Fuck me good. Tonight I'm yours, all yours, do whatever you want with me, I just want to feel you."
The thrusts were slow at first, deep and deliberate. Each one pulled a moan from Axl and a grunt from Izzy. Izzy's cock slid almost completely out and then sank back in, filling Axl to the limit. The bed creaked in a steady rhythm. The candles flickered with the vibration. The already hot air in the room became suffocating, dense with the smell of sex and sweat and melting wax.
Axl grabbed Izzy's shoulders, his back, his arms. His nails left red marks on his sweaty skin. He felt Izzy's body move over his, the muscles in his shoulders contracting with each thrust, the sweat running down his forehead and dripping onto Axl's chest.
Axl's voice broke in the middle of the plea.
"Harder, Iz, please, I can take it, I want to feel you for days."
The thrusts became faster, deeper, more brutal. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, the dull thud of flesh against flesh, Axl's loud moans, Izzy's guttural grunts. The headboard banged against the wall in an irregular rhythm.
Izzy changed the angle slightly, adjusting his hips, and suddenly hit a spot inside Axl that made everything explode.
Axl let out a cry, his back arching completely off the mattress. His entire body contracted, his fingers digging harder into Izzy's shoulders.
"There. There, Izzy, right there, please, please."
Izzy repeated the movement, hitting the same spot with surgical precision. The tip of his cock massaged that sensitive place inside Axl, stimulating him in a way that went beyond the physical.
Tears of pleasure streamed from the corners of his eyes, mixing with the sweat on his face. He was sobbing disconnected words, Izzy's name repeated like a prayer, curses and pleas and declarations of love all mixed together in a torrent that made no sense at all, except in the secret language they shared.
"Jeff… Jeff, please… it's so good… I can't take it… fuck me, fuck me, don't ever stop…"
Izzy leaned in and kissed the tears. Kissed Axl's closed eyelids, salty and warm. Kissed the tip of his freckled nose. Kissed his swollen, parted mouth, swallowing his moans.
Izzy murmured against Axl's lips, still moving inside him, still fucking him with an intensity that bordered on worship.
"So beautiful crying on my cock. My Bill. My love. My gift. I don't deserve you."
"You deserve everything."
Axl sobbed, his hands holding Izzy's face, his thumbs passing over his sweaty cheekbones, over his tense jaw.
"Everything, Izzy. You are… you are everything to me. Since Indiana. Since forever. You're the only one who understands me. The only one who puts up with me. The only one who makes me feel… feel this."
Izzy stopped moving for a moment. Completely buried inside Axl, his cock pulsing, his hips still.
The candlelight flickered in Izzy's dark irises, and there was moisture there too. Tears held back that he didn't let fall.
"You're the only one who understands me too."
Izzy's voice was breaking, fragile in a way Axl rarely heard.
"I don't need anything else. I don't need cake, a party, nothing. Just you, Bill. It's always been just you."
The kiss that followed was different from the previous ones. It was slow. Deep. Charged with years of history and friendship and love and sex and fights and reconciliations. The kind of kiss that said more than a thousand words could. The kind of kiss that made the outside world disappear completely.
As they kissed, Izzy began to move again. The rhythm now was different, less frantic, more intimate. The thrusts were long and deep, a rocking that made Axl moan into Izzy's mouth. They moved together, finding a rhythm that was only theirs, sweaty and tangled and completely surrendered to each other.
Izzy's cock slid in and out with liquid ease, the lubricant and sweat mixing together. Each thrust pulled a sound from Axl, and each sound from Axl made Izzy moan in response. Izzy's hand went down Axl's body, between their sweaty bodies, and found his hard, pulsing cock. He closed his fingers around it.
Axl gasped against Izzy's mouth.
"No… Iz, if you touch me I'm going to come right now…"
Izzy whispered the words against Axl's swollen lips, his hand beginning to pump slowly, in the same rhythm as the thrusts.
"Come for me, Bill. I want to feel you come on my cock. I want to see you completely fall apart."
Axl's orgasm built slowly and then exploded all at once. Waves of pleasure coursed through his body, every muscle contracting at the same time. He came with a cry, his hot semen spurting onto his own belly and Izzy's chest, dirtying them both. The internal contractions squeezed Izzy's cock in rhythmic waves.
Izzy moaned as he felt Axl contract around him. The hot, pulsating tightness was enough to push him toward his own orgasm. He sank to the hilt one last time and came inside Axl. His body shaking. His forehead falling onto Axl's shoulder. A long, low moan escaping his lips as he poured himself inside him in hot, thick spurts that Axl felt fill him even more.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
They stayed there, tangled and sweaty and trembling, their panting breaths echoing in the silent room. The candles were almost gone, the melted wax forming puddles on the surfaces where they were placed. The window was still open, and the night breeze was finally starting to get cooler, coming in slowly and caressing their hot skin.
Izzy was the first to move.
He pulled out of Axl with a low moan from both of them, Axl's body feeling the emptiness as a momentary loss. Izzy rolled onto his side and pulled Axl against his chest. Axl went easily, his body limp and satisfied, his head fitting into Izzy's shoulder as if it belonged there.
Izzy started, but didn't finish the sentence. Instead, he let out a low, wondering laugh.
"Axl, that was… I have no words."
Axl murmured, his eyes closed, a small, satisfied smile on his swollen lips.
"You just need to hug me."
Izzy hugged him tighter. One arm around Axl's waist, his hand splayed over his thin ribs, feeling each breath. They were silent for a while, the kind of comfortable silence that only exists between two people who know each other completely.
Outside, the noise of the Sunset Strip continued, but it seemed distant, irrelevant, a world apart from that small room lit by almost extinguished candles.
"You know," Izzy said finally, his voice low and thoughtful, "I never liked birthdays. Since I was a kid. My family always made a big fuss, but it never felt like it was about me, you know? It felt like it was about them. About what they wanted to show others. And after I left Indiana, birthdays got even worse, because I would think about everything I didn't have, about how far away I was from everything."
He paused. Axl felt Izzy's fingers drawing distracted circles on his back, the rough tips of his calloused fingers contrasting with the softness of the gesture.
"But today… Today was different. Today was the best birthday of my life."
Axl lifted his head to look at Izzy. His blue eyes shone in the dim light.
Izzy looked back at him, and there was a genuine smile on his face. One of those rare ones that completely transformed his normally closed expression.
"You did this for me. You got yourself all dressed up, lit candles, tied ribbons, put a plug up your ass… You did all of this for me. No one has ever done anything like this for me. And I… I love you, Bill. More than anything."
Axl whispered, and his voice was strangely thick. He lowered his head again, hiding his face in Izzy's neck.
"I just didn't want you to be sad. You get so sad on your birthday, Iz, and I hate seeing you sad. I hate it more than anything in the world. So I thought… I thought that if I gave myself as a gift, if I made you feel how much you are loved, you might not be sad. Maybe you'd understand that you deserve good things. That you deserve to be happy."
Izzy didn't answer immediately. When he spoke, his voice was rougher than usual, and Axl felt his fingers tighten on his skin with more force.
"You make me happy, Bill. You always have. Since the first time I saw you in Lafayette, with that ridiculous jacket of yours and your red hair and your huge mouth that never shut up. You were the most annoying and most fascinating person I had ever known. And you still are. It's just that now you're also the person I love. The only person I've ever loved this way. The only person I will ever love this way."
"Your mouth is the huge one," Axl grumbled, but he was smiling against Izzy's skin, and there were hot tears streaming from his eyes, wetting Izzy's shoulder.
They stayed there, embraced, for a long time.
Eventually, Izzy moved and grabbed the pack of cigarettes from the nightstand. He lit one and took a drag before passing it to Axl. They smoked in silence, sharing the cigarette, the smoke rising in slow spirals toward the stained ceiling. The ribbon on Axl's wrist had come undone at some point during the sex and was now lying crumpled on the sheet, a strip of red satin.
Izzy picked it up and smoothed it between his fingers, smiling.
"I'm going to keep this. To remember the day Axl Rose wrapped himself up as a present for me."
"You're an idiot," Axl said, but the blush on his cheeks betrayed the pleasure the idea gave him.
Outside, the Los Angeles night continued, indifferent to what had happened in that room. The Sunset Strip pulsed with its own life, drunks and musicians and dreamers crowding the sidewalks. But inside there, in that tiny, messy apartment, with candles nearly burned out and dirty sheets and the smell of sex lingering in the air, two boys from Indiana held each other.
And Izzy Stradlin, who hated his birthday, smiled in a way he hadn't smiled in a very, very long time.
Because he had received the best gift anyone could receive. Not the sex. Not the plug. Not the ribbons. But the absolute and unshakeable certainty that he was loved. Deeply, desperately, completely loved.
And that, in the end, was all that mattered.
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