Chapter Text
Duff stopped slicing, blinking at the smug looking redhead. He really had to have heard that wrong. “Come again?”
“I said, sure thing, mom.” He drawled, green eyes filled with mischief. Duff heard Steven snickering softly behind him and scrambled for some sort of reply.
“All I’m saying is, you can’t have fucking whiskey for breakfast.” He chided, wincing because he’d just added fuel to the fire, hadn’t he? He focused on making the best damn omelettes these barbarians had ever had, gritting his teeth and ignoring the snickers.
“But moooom…” Slash whined in his best imitation of a twelve year old (he really didn't have to try hard), voice high-pitched and cracking hilariously.
The blond rolled his eyes, because ‘most dangerous band in the world’ or not, they were idiots who couldn’t survive on their own. It was a wonder they even made it through the Appetite tour.
“Go get Izzy, we’re eating.”
Slash whispered something to Steven that had the drummer giggling like mad. Then again, he was always giggling like mad. “Izzy, mom wants you!” He bellowed, blue eyes wide and filled with glee. By the time they got Izzy out of bed, Duff was setting the table and Axl was smirking at him like the brat he was. The bassist had long learned to ignore just how irritating the little shit could be.
“Shut up and eat.” Duff said before Axl could open his mouth and spill all sorts of infuriating crap. “And no, you’re not drinking jack with your food.” Ok maybe he was a bit of a mother hen, but if you had to live with these idiots, you’d be too. He had to stop Steven from pushing a fork into a socket while high because he "wanted to see if he'd get cool hair like Johnny Bravo".
Steven froze, carefully nudging the concealed bottle of JD back behind the couch before joining them at the table. “Wasn’t planning to.”
“These idiots giving you a hard time?” Izzy asked, and there went all of Duff’s stellar control, because Izzy’s hair was soft and messy from sleep, grey eyes a bit hazy. “Just break something over their heads.” It had gotten to a point where Izzy’s ‘solve it with violence’ attitude no longer surprised him. If he was being 500% honest with himself (and it usually took a whole lotta liquid courage to get there) it was kinda hot.
Izzy was kinda hot. And Duff may or may not have had a thing for Izzy since the he had spiky blue hair and wore leather trench coats (a very long time ago—okay maybe just three years but whatever). Yeah, he’d gone and embarrassed himself in the audition, but he wasn’t talking about that shit now.
So yeah, Izzy wasn’t hard to look at, not that Duff noticed that or anything.
“I’ll think about.” He breathed, and that sounded a bit love struck even to him. Axl was staring at him like he had just witnessed some big reveal and Duff’s smile dropped.
“No.” He intoned, because when Axl got that crazy gleeful look on his face, you had to put a stop to it. If you didn't, whatever fucked up plot he was hatching would talk root in his mind and he’d run with it like a bit out of hell.
Axl fluttered his lashes, pouting just a bit—but that routine only worked with Slash and Izzy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Just, don’t.”
And that was supposed to be the end of it, the last time they brought that up.
Duff really should have known better.
-------
He really couldn’t deal with this bullshit so early in the morning.
Slash and Axl were at it again, having an all out fray, yelling and throwing shit (the hotel would probably have a few choice words for them about this at checkout). Duff watched in awe as the tiny redhead grabbed an expensive looking orient vase—presumably with the intent of hurling it full speed at Slash’s head. So Slash, in his defense, grabbed an ashtray.
A fucking ashtray, like that was supposed to intimidate the little red psychopath.
Duff pinched the bridge of his nose, murmuring a silent prayer before intervening. “Put that right the fuck back where you got it from.”
They both froze—it was almost funny. Almost.
“I said, put it the fuck back.” He injected just a bit more venom into his voice and that got the fuckers moving, they were a bit reluctant, but at least no one was dead. Yet.
He was pretty sure he’d be the one doing the murdering.
Izzy was on the couch, flipping through a Macy’s catalogue, burning through his parliaments—the poster boy of not giving a fuck. Clearly Duff was the one who had to do everything in this band.
“What the hell is happening here?” Duff asked the room, because seriously, it was one in the fucking morning. They had a show tomorrow. He just wanted some sleep. “Steven had to come get me because apparently, some idiots thought it was okay to have a war in here?” They both glared at Steven who was doing his best to stay hidden behind Duff.
Axl stuffed the flowers back into the vase haphazardly. “Slash started it.”
“I was watching Discovery Channel.” The guitarist said flatly, like that explained why they were about to split skulls.
“You were asleep! So what if I changed it?”
“Was not!” Slash muttered even as he rubbed his eyes, stifling a yawn. Duff bit his lip to stop the smile from spreading.
“Was too.”
“Shut up!” Duff roared, and surprisingly, they did. “Slash, share with me and watch your fucking documentary. Axl… you stay here and watch your alien shit.”
“It’s not shit—”
The blond held up a hand. “Don’t care. It’s late. You should be sleeping anyway.”
“But mooom…” The redhead was wearing that devious little smirk again. “Dad, back me up.”
Duff blinked rapidly, because the ‘mom’ thing, he was used to—so what? These idiots needed a mom on tour because they were hell bent on killing themselves early. But then who was—
“Ok, sure. It’s absolute shit.” Izzy tossed the magazine on the coffee table. “Jesus was an alien?”
Duff felt his cheeks heating rapidly and cursed himself for it. It was just a joke, Izzy was a cool guy, he didn’t mind it. This is where he’d say something cool and funny that’d get the all laughing again—that was his job, keeping everyone at ease. Instead he said “Why’s he the dad?”
All four pairs of eyes snapped to his.
Fuck his life.
“Because he just is.” Steven said, finally brave enough to show his face.
“Yeah, man.” Axl added, “I mean, you forced me to eat fruits yesterday. Fruits.” How Axl managed to sound traumatized was a wonder to him.
His face was way past red now, Duff shifted around, fiddling with his shirt. “Well, you need to eat healthy if you wanna keep sounding like you do.” He really should be shutting up now. “Last time you were sick, it was hell on us both.” Yeah, because Axl kept yelling for both Duff and Izzy and throwing a bitch fit if one of them didn’t respond soon enough. Izzy had jokingly said it was like having a newborn—
Aww hell.
“Awww, he cares.” Slash grinned.
“One more word outta you and you’re sleeping here tonight.” Duff said, trying not to notice how Izzy was just staring at him thoughtfully. Oh God, why was he even in a band whose only goal was to embarrass him in every way?
“Izzy makes us do cool things.” Axl chirped, because no, he was not letting Duff get away with his pride intact. “So he’s the dad, and you take care of us, so you’re the mom.”
“Izzy takes care of you too.” He protested weakly, and Izzy’s grey eyes were still boring into his soul.
Steven snorted. “Yeah, with drugs.”
“Quit teasing your mother.” Izzy said, eyes filled with laughter and Duff wanted to die, or something. “Besides, I don’t give you drugs.” That was very much a threat, and everyone in the room knew it. It wouldn’t do if Izzy cut them off.
“Uh...yeah man, he totally doesn’t.” Steven looked pointedly at Slash who nodded rapidly in agreement.
Duff rolled his eyes for perhaps the hundredth time that night. “I’m going to bed. Slash, come whenever you want.” He smiled when he got a chorus of good-nights in reply.
------
“You got a problem with it?” Izzy asked, searching Duff’s face.
“What?” The bassist asked, and he felt like he was saying that way too much lately. But people kept spewing random shit he couldn’t keep up with. Slash was up ahead jogging on the spot, getting ready for the show.
“With being the mom?” The brunette’s lips twitched slightly, and Duff wanted to punch him in the face. Or like, kiss him, either one. “You bothered by it?”
“Really?” They were on in less than five minutes, but Izzy didn’t seem to care.
“Really.”
“Of course I’m not.” Duff said, because he had a feeling that question was a lot more loaded than Izzy let on. And he really didn’t care about the mom thing, the fact that Axl somehow managed to drag Izzy into it (and the redheaded fucker knew just what he was doing), now that was the problem. Not that he was gonna say that of course.
“Good.” Izzy said before nodding decisively.
The announcer yelled their name and that was their cue to drop the subject and put on a show. Luckily for Duff, the cameraman was more concerned with Axl’s gyrations than Duff constantly forgetting he needed to perform and staring into space.
What the hell was Izzy up to?
--------
Slash was in Duff’s bathtub—with the shower on.
Slash was in Duff’s bathtub—with the shower on—fully clothed.
How the guitarist got made it to his doorstep drunk off his ass and bawling loud enough to wake the dead might as well be the 8th world wonder.
“That’s so fucking dumb, man.” He slurred, flailing and getting water all over Duff’s tiles. The blond closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“What sucks, Saul?”
“Who the fuck wants to get married that young?”
“Who?” Duff asked, because getting drunk Slash to make sense was basically impossible.
“Fucking Axl!”
And that’s how Duff learned about Axl’s engagement to Evrin. That was also how he learned way too much about Slash’s sex life (fucking Axl? Who would’ve thought?) and about how much he thinks Evrin could go suck a cock. He then apparently remembered that Evrin would be sucking Axl’s cock and burst into a fresh bout of tears.
He really just wanted some sleep.
The phone started ringing in the hall so Duff manhandled Slash out of his clothes and told him to take an actual hot shower till he got back. Slash nodded and Duff rushed to the phone, considering his fucking water bill at the end of all this.
“Hello?”
“Please tell me you have him.” Izzy said, and Duff could almost see him panicking. Well, as much as Izzy panicked anyway, which was probably him slightly widening his eyes and staring at you blankly.
“He’s here, crying in my bathtub.”
There was a pause, then “Is he alright?”
“I don’t… maybe?” He held the phone away from him—yup, no sounds of sobbing. Then again, that probably meant he had drowned himself. Fuck. “I gotta go check on him.”
“You left him alone?”
“Well, I had to answer the phone, didn’t I?” He snapped. Izzy had the talent of pissing him off in less than two seconds.
“I’m coming to yours.” He stated before hanging up.
Why did he even have a crush on this asshole anyway?
It turned out Slash hadn’t drowned; he had even managed to get himself out of the bath and unto Duff’s bed. He hadn’t, however, managed to use a fucking towel, so by the time his doorbell rang, Slash was passed out on the couch and Duff was stuck cleaning up after him.
“Hey.”
Duff very much deserved a medal for not screaming like a bitch when he heard Izzy’s voice behind him. It was a very near thing though. “How the fuck did you get in.”
“Through the door.” He said slowly, dark brows furrowed.
“Yeah, but—” He sighed and dropped it. “He’s on the couch, out cold.” He watched Izzy check on Slash, pulling the blanket up to his chin and sighed again. Yeah, now he remembered how the whole crush thing came about.
“Thanks, man.” Izzy glanced at him, making direct contact in that intense way of his that shouldn’t be hot. “You’re a great mom.”
Duff choked on an inhale and accidentally smacked himself in the face with the pillow he was fluffing while flailing like a madman. “Oh—uh, wow uhm.”
The brunette looked like he was trying his very best not to laugh. Duff appreciated it.
“Thank you?” Because he wasn’t sure if Izzy was just being Izzy, or if Izzy was pulling his legs. It was hard to differentiate between the two.
“Not gonna call me daddy?” And Izzy’s voice had no right sound like that. The brunette was just standing there, with his dark shirt open, pale skin on display, sporting the smirk that straight up drove Duff up a wall.
Duff’s mind refused to work. “Oh God.”
Izzy threw his head back and laughed, with teeth and everything. “I’ll let you get to sleep, Goodnight.” The brunette sauntered out and Duff was left standing there wondering what the fuck just happened.
Also wondering if it was bad to jerk off with an unconscious guitarist in your room.
Eh, what the heck, the bathroom was free. He had no shame.