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His lips are curved in a smile, mouthing something unintelligible, lost in the patter of a thousand autumn leaves. Izzy canât help but wonder if heâs sharing something secret with the wind, something heâll never be let into no matter how hard he tries.
or
Izzy and Axl hang out at the railroads and smoke a couple joints. Theyâre having fun, but something is amiss.
Autumn leaves crunch underfoot, the chirping of sparrows fills the air, and an angry trucker yells at them to hurry the fuck up, goddamnit. Izzy grins as Axl lazily brandishes his middle finger, kicking a stray can at the truck. All is well in Lafayette.
âI hate this fuckinâ place,â he says, staring up at the deep blue of the sky.
A huff of laughter echoes from beside him. âYou and me both, man.â
Lately, Izzyâs been feeling an itching under his skin. A sort of creeping, crawling sensation, as if termites are nesting in his body, pervading his mind. It makes him want to peel his skin off. It makes him want to step out his own body and never look back.
He glances over at Axl as they walk, squinting against the heat. Sunlight catches on his face, gently illuminating orange freckles and warming his red hair into a blazing halo.
âItâs been a long time since weâve hung out together.â
Axl snorts. âIt ainât my fault the pigs are after me every second I step out.â
âSo youâre telling me you didnât punch half our classmates for looking at you weird?â he shoots back.
âFuck you, that was one time,â but Izzy can hear the smile in his voice, can almost taste it on his tongue.
The last time he saw Axl, he was climbing through his window, staring at the fraying yellow carpet with eyes weighed down by stones and dark circles shining purple in the moonlight. Snapping at him when he got too close, wrapping his arms around himself and flicking his eyes around the room, wild, frightened.
Axl is different under the sun, softer. His steps are infused with an airy grace, and even the permanent scowl on his face is somehow muted. Izzy doesnât realize heâs staring until Axl narrows his eyes.
âWhat?â This time thereâs an edge to it.
He drags his eyes away, pointing at a spot on the tracks enveloped by a curtain of golden leaves.
âGood spot?â Itâs a weak save- and what would he need to be saved from anyways?- but Axl shrugs after a moment, lowering himself to the railroad with a sigh.
The leaves crackle in the wind, thin stalks of trees fluttering violently. Izzy finds himself bringing a straw of wheat to his mouth, tilting his head back to the sun. He rolls his eyes when he sees Axlâs disgusted expression.
âMan- that probably has a thousand bugs crawling on it,â he says, gaze trailing along Izzyâs hand as he plucks out another piece of wheat.
âFree protein.â
Axl groans. âFree fuckinâ protein, he says. You turning into one of them kumbaya hillbilly motherfuckers, Izz?â
He shrugs, the corner of his mouth tilting up. âMaybe Iâve just seen the error of my ways.â
âShit, next thing I know youâll be buying a copy of Street Survivors.â
âI donât know,â he drawls, âIâm startinâ to see the appeal in olâ Alabamy.â
The look of horror on Axlâs face is enough to make him drop the impression. He cracks a grin, uprooting another weed clawing out from between the gravel. Shit. Weed. He bolts upright.
âI almost forgot- hold on-â
Axl stares at him, furrowing his brows, as he hoists the bag off his shoulders and digs through the front pocket. After a moment, he holds the metal container up victoriously.
Axl whistles, a grin spreading over his face. âYou know me so well.â
He uncaps the lid. âPicked it up at Randyâs last Friday.â
Axl leans in to take the paper from him, his jean jacket riding up with the motion. âThank god for Randy.â
âDidnât you punch him in the record shop last Monday?â
âOh.â
Itâs quiet for a moment as Axl rolls the joint, the familiar sound of crinkling paper lulling them to a comfortable lethargy. The stifling scent of corn wafts across the fields, an ever-present reminder of Izzyâs whereabouts, and he feels the itching return with a vengeance between the layers of his skin. He opts to ignore it.
Izzy has always seen something almost feline in the way Axl moves, in the way he spins and snarls and fights to be heard. Thereâs no difference here, under the hot Indiana sun, and he finds himself entranced by the simple flick of Axlâs wrist.
He watches as he brings the joint to his lips, mouth suddenly dry. âIn your defense, there ainât a lot of people you havenât punched. I think Iâm the only one in Lafayette.â
âThatâs cause you're different.â Itâs said offhandedly, as if itâs an undeniable fact rather than a truth of the present as precarious as the parched leaves still hanging onto brown trunks- the leaves facing the spiraling winter fall to certain death- and the itching spreads into the cavern of Izzyâs chest.
When he looks up from the joint, Axlâs hand is held out for the lighter.
He brings a flame to life, cupping it in his palm. Light flickers and dances in his eyes. The fire vanishes when the breeze whips past them, but the glow in his eyes remains as he hands the smoking joint to Izzy.
His hair is wild and unkempt from the wind, a ratâs nest of the waves heâs never quite been able to iron out despite his best attempts. Itâs the most beautiful thing Izzy has ever seen. He pulls on the joint, resisting the urge to cough, and examines the tendrils of smoke arching up to the heavens.
The faint humming of cicadas blossoms and swells. The choking aroma of corn fades into the background. Finally, finally, the mantra of iwanttoleaveihavetoleaveicanâtleave pounding against the walls of his mind mercifully disappears, and the breath of air Izzy takes afterward feels like the first one heâs had since Axl stepped into his room two weeks ago. The thousands in between were mere bubbles of air to keep him from sinking to the bottom of the ocean, to keep him alive for this moment, trapped within the flames in Axlâs eyes and the breeze combing through his hair.
As the burgeoning pressure eases off Izzyâs chest, however, he is left with a silence he doesnât know what to make of.
The words spill out like dead flies, thick and bitter and tumbling clumsily past his tongue. âI wish we could be somewhere else.â
Axl raises his eyes to meet his. He takes the joint from Izzyâs hands, which are suddenly leaden weight on his lap, and brings it to his mouth.
âYeah,â he says in an unusually quiet voice, the smoke staining his words sepia.
âI wish we could- just, I donât know, hitch a train to L.A. or something.â
Axl chuckles, tossing his head back.
A simmering irritation boils under his skin. âWhat?â
âNothinâ.â His eyes glimmer strangely.
âYouâd rather go to church all day? Youâd rather get hurt-â and what he almost says is for no reason, what he almost says is by the people who are supposed to love you, what he almost says is donât you want to be free?, but he knows Axl doesnât like it when he brings his father up, likes to think heâs invulnerable, which is the shittiest joke Izzyâs ever heard-
-âby the police?â he finishes lamely.
Axl doesnât seem to notice. âI ainât exactly rushing to stay here, Izz.â
âYou ainât rushing to leave, either.â
He scoffs. âAnd you are?â
And for a moment, Izzy considers the question, weighs it in the palm of his hand, and places it in the blossoming garden of I was wrong, again in his mind. Then he thinks about the itching under his skin, the corn-smell slipping through his veins like poison.
He knows, deep inside his bones, that heâs going to leave soon.
He also knows, deep inside his bones, that Axlâs not going to come with him.
A bird croaks in the distance, as if urging Izzy to respond. Axl is still eyeing him expectantly, the joint held loosely in his fingers, smoldering under the warm orange light.
âI just-â he begins, then pauses to reassemble his thoughts, scattered like dead leaves over the railroad tracks. âI just- I canât take it anymore, man, all there is in Indiana is-â
Axl sighs. âYouâre right, the only thing for us here-â
â-fuckinâ cornfields.â
â-is cornfields.â
They stare at each other.
Izzyâs the first to break, always is, and so he bends over from the force of his laughter, from the sheer weight of warm relief. Axl follows, grinning as he draws on the joint, stretched out all catlike towards the dwindling sun.
âI swear, I saw ten of them just on the walk over,â Izzy says when he catches his breath, reaching out for the joint.
âWouldnât be Lafayette without âem.â
âWhere would all the brain-dead motherfuckers be without the cornfields?â
Axl pauses for a moment. âChurch.â
âAinât you a choirboy?â
âReal funny, Izz, you know I quit,â he scowls, elbowing him sharply in the ribs.
He bites back a grin. âYou can take the boy out of the choirâŚâ
âFuck you!â
Thereâs no real bite to it, just the easy camaraderie of a shared childhood and the joint experience of being outsiders stuck in a small town in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Izzy clutches his chest all the same, gasping loudly in mock offense.
âThink of the children!â
Axl shakes his head, still grinning. âPaâs already telling Amy and Stu to not take the name of the Lord in vain. I donât think I can do any more damage.â
Dear, sweet Amy and Stu, with their tiny hands grabbing for his whenever he seldom came around to visit, their eyes permanently wide with wonder at the endless world around them. Izzy feels a sickening lurch in his heart.
He knows better than to act on it.
Keeping his smile firmly affixed to his face, he trains his eyes on the smoke dissipating into the breeze. âJesus, everyone round hereâs so uptight.â
âI know.â Axl licks his lips, staring off into the distance. âThey should try weed.â
âTheyâd probably put it with the sticks up their asses.â
âThat must be why everyone spews so much shit âround here. They just ainât too familiar with the difference between their mouth and their ass.â
That startles a laugh out of Izzy, and his gaze drifts back to Axl. His lips are curved in a smile, mouthing something unintelligible, lost in the patter of a thousand autumn leaves. Izzy canât help but wonder if heâs sharing something secret with the wind, something heâll never be let into no matter how hard he tries.
âAxl.â
He waits till he turns towards him, eyes half-lidded and shining under the purpling sky.
âWhen we get outta Indiana, no oneâs gonna be able to keep us down.â Not your father, not the teachers, not the kids at school, not the cops, not your father, he wants to tell him, but he keeps the bubbling words trapped under his tongue, praying Axl will see them in the ones he did say.
Axl stares at the clouds, a small smile blooming on his lips. âSure.â
Izzy has always trusted in Axl to understand him better than he understands himself. Just like how Axl trusts in him to keep the memory of yellowing bruises hidden from prying eyes, counts on him never mentioning Axlâs pain cause he doesnât need your goddamn pity, Izz. Itâs a shitty agreement that never should have seen the light of day, but it means that Izzy is sure Axl has gotten the message.
The sun dips below the horizon.
ââââââââ
Smoke slips away into the forest, and so does time.
ââââââââ
âHey, Izz,â Axl suddenly says.
His eyes flutter half-open and catch sight of the figure in front of him, outlined against the dimming light. Far away, a bell rings faintly. âYeah?â
âPromise me youâre gonna get to L.A.â
Something about the tone of his voice- a certain urgency he doesnât think heâs ever heard from Axl before- raises alarms in his mind. He sits up on one hand, head spinning, and blearily attempts to focus his eyes on Axl.
âWha-â
His heart skips a beat.
Axlâs standing stock-still on the tracks, arms outstretched like Christ on the cross. His eyes are shut, his hair billowing in the breeze like a tangled mass of kelp.
Far away, yet closer now, the train bells ring faintly.
For a moment, he half-expects Axl to jump down and fall to pieces laughing at the stricken expression on his face. He can almost picture it: eyes sparkling with mirth, a crooked grin. You really need to stop fallinâ for my tricks, Izz.
His eyes are closed, however, and Izzy stumbles to his feet. His tongue is numb, swollen, a dead weight in his mouth, but he manages to get the words past his constricting throat.
âWhat are you doing?â
Axl looks at him like heâs stupid, that familiar shade of fond amusement in his eyes. The ringing is louder now, the sound of metal scraping against the tracks-
The words grate like sandpaper against his throat. âAxl- you canât fucking- get off the track, man, please.â
Heâs finally gone silent, devoid of his usual Twain rants, and Izzy wants to laugh, he wants to tear his hair up by the roots, and he thought he wanted quiet and solitude but not like this, never like this.
He forces his voice out, small, indistinct, enveloped in the grinding and shrieking of the approaching train. âYouâre gonna- youâre gonna leave Stu and Amy alone? Youâre gonna leave me alone?â
Despite the panic flooding his veins, Izzy is frozen in place. He canât seem to tear his eyes away from Axl, but the thought creeps in that if he did look down, he would find his arms bowed down with twisting branches, his legs crawling with gnarled roots, his feet stapled to the ground.
He hears his voice grow desperate. âI canât make it without you, I- fuck, please, Axl, I canât survive without you. I-â
Izzy registers the black shape hurtling towards them, and then he finds himself lurching towards Axl, as if through the haze of a dream. Heâs suspended above the scene, held in the safety of the midnight sky, watching as he shoves at him.
To a passerby, they would look like two boys roughhousing outside- normal, mundane, whole. Everything he and Axl are not. A passerby wouldnât see the expression of peace so unfamiliar in Axlâs eyes as he stares death down by its glaring headlights, or the panic in Izzyâs, or the cracks in their skin that shimmer pink under the fading light.
Time bleeds together like a watercolor painting, hazy and unfocused and splotched with the deep red that threads through his every moment with Axl, and then Izzy is stumbling back, Axlâs jacket caught in his wrist. His eyes water from the force of the hot gust kicked up as the train shoots by. Strands of black whip wildly into his face.
Axl is staring at him, something akin to betrayal in his gaze. He wrenches himself out of the grip Izzy hadnât realized he was still holding, clenching his jaw. His eyes flash white with anger.
âWhy the fuck did you do that?â he yells, his hands tearing through the snarls of his hair. Heâs breathing heavily, craning his neck to peer at the train still roaring by, and Izzy can see the unveiled longing so plainly in his eyes that he thinks he might be sick.
He thinks both of them might be sick.
But now isnât the time for self-pity, so he pulls Axl into his grasp, wincing as hands immediately fly out and try to shove him backwards. Itâs a sort of awkward half-hug, half-death-grip, and Axl is still spitting out insults and shoving hard at his chest, but Izzy has a picture in his mind of the boy in his hands slipping out like dandelion seeds in the wind if he lets go, never to be seen again.
And maybe heâs already lost him to the abyss, but heâll be damned if he lets Axl go alone.
His eyes raise to the moon, glimmering silver against the night sky. Finally, the curses muffled against his chest peter out, the bony joints fluttering against him stilling. He feels Axl soften in his arms.
Axl has never let himself cry in front of others, even during those sleepless nights with Izzy, and heâs pretty sure he has never let himself cry alone either. Itâs not in his nature- hard-headed, driven, strong Axl, who would rather step on broken glass than break his bubble of denial, or, god forbid, ask for help.
When Axl begins shaking in his grasp, the only thing Izzy can do is hold him tighter. The night is silent as a funeral, punctuated with the faint song of warbling crickets. The air is thick around them, swollen heavy outside of the pale world they normally inhabit. In the corner of his eye, the joint lies abandoned beneath the vicious blur of the train, unfurled like a crushed cockroach.
Izzy feels painfully young all of a sudden, an ill-equipped child trying to save someone one step from the edge. But who else knows Axl like he does? Not their classmates, for sure. Not his old man. And Amy and Stu, who he hasnât seen for months- are they more like their brother or their father now? Do they still look at the world the same, or do they have a sickness running through their blood, an eye which traces railroads hungrily?
Slowly, tentatively, the panic still infiltrating his system seeps out his veins. Izzy finds his mind veering off, as always, to the boy whoâs silently trembling against him.
Had Axl planned this beforehand?
If Izzy hadnât been with him, would it be his body rather than the joint lying forgotten on the tracks?
Itâs a horribly sobering thought, one he brushes away as quickly as it comes, and yet there was a split second where he was sure heâd failed, an agonizing moment where he lost sight of red hair in the inky blur of panic.
He threads his fingers through that hair, remembering grainy days long ago when heâd come home crying to Ma about a scraped knee and she would lay him down and do the same to him. The world-famous Isbell treatment, sheâd say, smiling softly the way she used to before it all inevitably crashed down. This isnât nearly as trivial as broken skin, but the fingers burrowing into his back press tighter all the same, and for the first time, Izzy thinks he might not be the only one afraid to let the other boy go.
How did he miss the signs? There must have been something- an offhand remark or an otherwise innocuous comment which Izzy would have ignored because itâs Axl, and Axl doesnât hurt like normal people do. Everything he does is with the subtlety of a bulldozer, or perhaps a blinded animal, lashing out with teeth and claws at its nearest target and hitting where it aches. When Izzy scours his memories, however, nothing seems amiss.
Maybe both of them have denial in common. Then again, with Axl, heâs never quite been able to tell. Heâs always been unpredictable, forever jumping head-first into whatever new scheme his brain cooks up, a challenge blazing in his eyes. But something deep in Izzyâs bones tells him that this isnât just an act of impulsivity.
He swallows, his throat crackling dryly. One day, he wonât be there to stop Axl, and where will he be then? Rotting in some grave carved with the ill-fitting name heâd shed like snakeskin, and Izzy will be right next to him. Whether itâll be six feet underground in the same town heâs rotted in for the past 16 years of his life or laying flowers on his grave, unable to stray far from his friend- well, thatâs a question for another time.
He wonders if Axl was ever relaxed under the sun, if the dark blanket of night and the weed only makes him unable to hide under his front. If the constant burden hunching his back and hardening his gaze will ever lessen, if stealing him away from Indiana wonât take away his fear the way it will the spreading infection under Izzyâs skin.
He finds himself coming to the conclusion that none of that matters right now, because Axl is still here, warm in his arms. He presses him closer, counting the heartbeats strong against his chest.
One, two, threeâŚ
To a passerby, they would look like a pair of friends having a sweet moment. A passerby wouldnât see the turmoil boiling in Izzyâs head, or the damp patch on his sweater, or the crescent-shaped markings on his back that shimmer pink under the fading light.
In the end, theyâre just two boys, holding each other like they would dissipate into particles if they didnât. Maybe they would. Izzy doesnât want to find out.
When your childhood friend who used to sing in the church choir suddenly shows up on your doorstep in LA and starts wearing makeup and leopard print thongs around you:
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
About: Iâm Soda, I write slashfic for Guns Nâ Roses! I love AUs and sluff and sometimes I take requests. All of my writing can also be found on my writing blog @apatite-for-destruction (follow & enable notifications to never miss a fic!), or on this blog tagged âsodafics.â Many of my fics can also be found on AO3. Iâm always down to answer questions or chat about fic so hmu! Thanks for reading :)
This masterlist includes all my fics from 2021, and this is where I will be adding new fics in 2022.
[2019 masterlist]
[2020 masterlist]
[sitemap]
--
-2021-
Behind the Camera (Model AU): Duff has dated models before, but never one like Slash (sluff)
Sweetness: Duff has a thing for models (fic) (2019)
Photograph: Slash has a thing for rockers (fic)
Prints: A small prequel (ficlet)Â
Pirate AUs: A brainstorm session with some extra here (headcanons, sluff)
Soulmate AU Event:
Slaxl soulmark confession (fic)
Slaxl flowers when your soulmate is injured (headcanons)
Duff x Reader soulmarks (bullet fic)
Sluff and Slash x Reader first touch soulmarks (2 bullet fics)
Slaxl, you can hear your soulmate when they sing (bullet fic)
Sluff, you can sense what your soulmate is experiencing (bullet fic)
Sluff, you can see any marks on your soulmateâs skin (headcanons)
Itâs hazardous to breathe (Mad Max AU): Imperator, wife, war boy, feral, and wretched on the Fury Road. (fic, implied sluff and izzal)
Part 1
Part 2
Gangster AU: Izzy and Slash as crime bosses (art & headcanons)
Guardian Angel AU: Slash may be a fallen angel but that doesnât mean heâs going to stop watching over Duff (sluff, bullet fic)
Star Wars AU (headcanons)
Roses AU (just a brainstorm session, multiple ships)
Catboy!Slash AU: Duff adopts a new pet/boyfriend (sluff)
Part I: first meeting (bullet fic) (2019)
Part II: Slash, guitars, & the rest of the band (interview transcript & fic) (2019)
Part III: Duff learns a bit about Slashâs past (fic) (2019)
Part IV: Slash jumps to the wrong conclusion (fic)
Part V: Duff tries to have a guest over (fic)
More abut this universe: xx, xx, xx, xx, xx, xx, xx
Danny Phantom AU (x band member would be x character)
Warmth (Royalty AU): A knight, a prince, and an intimate moment in late autumn (sluff, fic) also a drabble here and headcanons here
Walking into spiderwebs (Venom AU): Something weird is happening to Slash. (implied sluff, fic)
Sluff smut (drabble, almost)
High School AU: a first kiss on New Year's Eve (sluff, bullet fic)
-2022-
Sluff Requests (Round 1): (will I finish these? not sure yet)
Sugar Baby Slash (ficlet)
Slash loses a bet
A/B/O AU
Sluff Minific Requests:
"Pets" 2000s-era fic starring Foxy the Pomeranian
"Shenanigans" a surprisingly touching moment
"Plants" plant-based soulmate AU
Soulmate timer AU (slash/?, drabble)
Clothes swap (sluff, ficlet)
Not That Type (A/B/O AU): Slash is used to fielding uncomfortable questions from interviewers (sluff, oneshot)
Our names in lights: It's hard for Duff to keep their relationship a secret (sluff, oneshot)