Archive of Our Own ^beta

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 8^th 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.

Chapter Text

Duff really wanted to know who had the balls to call him at six in the morning while they were off tour—because they were really foolishly brave.

He didn’t even attempt to sound polite. “If this isn’t my fucking mother—”

No. Even better. It was Izzy, cutting straight to the point in his usual fashion. “Axl’s sick.”

“Yeah, so?” He had said it about a million times, the video ‘November Rain’ didn’t have to actually involve Axl getting wet. So fuck him, he wouldn’t let Duff slather him in rubbing alcohol afterwards—his loss.

“And Steven’s throwing up in the bathroom.” Izzy continued, like Duff hadn’t even spoken.

If Duff hadn’t known Izzy as well as he had, he wouldn’t have detected the underlying strain in his voice. Good Lord, Izzy was really struggling to handle them. “Where?”

“Axl’s house.” Duff wanted to laugh at how stressed out he sounded, but that would be mean. And Duff wasn't mean. When he heard Slash yelling in the background, however, the laughter came spilling out.

“What’s that  all about?”

A sigh made its way through all the static.

“Slash is arguing with Axl because apparently they made out and he might be getting sick too.” Izzy’s words were clipped and tense—this only served to make Duff laugh harder. “Not funny, Mike. I can’t handle the kids on my own.”

Duff’s stomach gave a little twist at that, yeah he said he’d stop playing these games (he said a lot of shit) but… he couldn’t help it. He wanted to play along.

“Yeah, what if I need a vacation?” He argued though he was rolling out of bed and groping around for his pants.

“Help me out and I promise I’ll do whatever you want later.”

Duff knew damn well that Izzy meant that as a joke. Nothing else, but certain body parts refused to accept that. So did his brain, which promptly instructed him to say “Careful, you shouldn’t be making promises like that.”

He shouldn’t be allowed to speak ever again.

Izzy huffed a little laugh, “Believe me, I know what I’m saying, and my offer still stands. Now get your ass over here, Mama.” The little dark-haired shit hung up—again, because apparently that was his thing—without so much as a goodbye.

The bassist really didn’t shower thinking about just what he could get Izzy to do later.

--------

It was actually not as big of a disaster as Izzy had made it out to be. It was worse.

“Then why the fuck did you kiss me?” Axl was screeching, red in the face, probably not only from all the shouting. Really, he looked like shit, even his insults were temporarily weakened while he was sick.

Slash rounded on him, dark eyes flashing with anger. “Well, you kissed me first!”

Axl did this strange little hop he did when he was fucking furious and frustrated and about read to burst into tears.  Oh yeah, he was sick alright. “Well you kissed back!”

“You’re married, you shouldn’t be kissing me in the first place!” Slash pointed out, and Axl’s face dropped. Yup, the waterworks were coming, and quickly.

“Well… fuck you cause we’re getting divorced!” Axl’s face got impossibly redder and his mouth shut with an audible clack. Yeah, he had the bad habit of screaming secrets when he was mad.

“Wait, what?”

It was creepy how well Duff knew these two.

“And now you both will kiss and make up.” He waved cheerfully at them both. “Now. Or I will toss both of you in the closet and lock you there till you sort this out.” And he would, it was a tried and proven method.

“But, he got me sick.” The guitarist frowned, hugging himself protectively.

“You’re sick?” Duff asked, clearly unimpressed. Really, the fucker looked perfectly healthy. As healthy as a heroin addict could look anyway. “Are you feeling sick?”

Slash blinked, perhaps considering this for the first time.“Well… uhm. Not yet.” And really, Duff could tell that the brunette really was just picking a fight because of the whole Evrin bullshit.

“Ok.” Duff shrugged, “Leave then, if you don’t wanna be sick. Stop clinging to a sick person.”

Slash looked at him like he had suggested throwing babies into traffic. “Why would I leave him?”

The blond dragged a palm over his face. The thing with these two idiots was that they argued every waking minute, but could not survive without each other for long. Seriously, the last time Slash went to England to visit his dad, Axl got so cranky he locked himself in his house and refused to come out till Slash called him and “apologized for leaving without telling him” (which was Axl’s way of saying he missed Slash and wanted to know when he was coming back but was too full of pride to call first).

Axl whimpered pitifully and sneezed, red hair tumbling over his face, nose almost comically red. Slash fussed over him. “Are you okay?”

“’M fine.”

“Want me to call Evrin? I’m sure she’s worried—” It looked like it pained Slash to ask, but he was really just trying to help.

“I don’t want Erin.” He wailed, making a show of the actual pronunciation. “I want Duff’s chicken soup and I want you to stay.” Axl paused, seemingly considering just how emotional that sounded. “I mean, if you wanna. We could hang out, or whatever.” He tacked on gracelessly.

“I wasn’t gonna leave or anything.” Slash sounded horrified and Christ, they were so cute. It was almost annoying. “We can watch your show.” The redhead smiled sweetly, looking like the angel he was meant to be (that is, when he wasn’t punching people in the face and being a regular little devil).

Duff deserved way more credit than he got for not laughing at how ridiculous his kids—woah, when did that happen—these kids were.

“Right, I’m glad that worked itself out. Now go lay down before you fall over.” Duff interrupted, shooing them off to bed. “Oh, where’s Izzy?”

Axl wasn’t sick enough to not be a little shit it appeared. “Dad’s in the bathroom taking care of Steven.” He coughed before yelling, “Dad! Mom’s here!”

“Yeah, I could tell.” Izzy yelled in reply, breezing into the living room looking like a holy mess. “The shouting match tapered off.” Ok, now Duff started cackling. Izzy’s hair was a screwed up and pointing everywhere, his sleeves were soaked, and his shirt was covered in what appeared to be glitter (and an unidentified substance). The bassist could only guess Steven had something to do with that.

Strange liquids and U.F.Os (Unidentified Food Objects) were almost always the little blonde hurricane.

“Oh God, what happened.”

“I don’t know what Steven did at the Dollhouse last night.” The brunette took a deep breath. “But he got banned and showed up here, vomiting and covered in glitter. So, by extension, I’m covered in glitter.”

“I see.” Duff said, nodding. “Well, I’m about to make soup for everyone—including Steven, if he can eat. So… just handle that.”

There were loud sounds of retching from the direction of the bathroom—truly, he didn’t even want to know what was up with that.

“Can I cook and you take Stephen?” The brunette begged, looking so distraught Duff couldn’t refuse him.

“Whatever. You owe me big-time.”

“Yeah, man. Double the favour, no problem.” Izzy looked so thankful that the bassist couldn’t stop a smile from spreading.

“Deal.” Deals with the devil were surprisingly satisfying to make.

-------

Izzy and Duff were amazing together.

Well, Duff thought so anyway, and if he did, it was true, right? They both managed to calm Stephen down, appease Axl, convince Slash not to make out with someone who’s sick (for fucks sake, not to mention married). The redhead finally gave up coughing (totally milking this whole ‘I’m sick’ thing) for sleeping. Steven soon followed, draped over Axl who was running a fever because “he’s like a space heater”, and Slash, chastised, curled up at the foot of the bed—not too far from Axl, you know, in case he needed something.

Duff totally deserved an award for not snorting and saying, “Yeah, like dick?”

Izzy just quirked a brow, but left the whole thing alone. That was one argument he did not want to start.

“We did it, huh.” Duff breathed, sprawling across the couch. They made it. No one died. The house was quiet, and yes, it was only like 11am, but the blond was gonna curl up and sleep right here. Maybe order something expensive and shiny with Axl’s credit card, a little gift to himself.

 Izzy rolled his eyes, sitting directly on top of Duff’s outstretched legs. “We’ve made it through worse.”

Really, they had. Axl started a bar fight and they had to fight themselves out of it, drunk as hell and tripping over each other. They made it out, but Steven got a broken arm and Axl threw up all over Duff’s favorite pimp coat.

“Get the fuck off me, you cow.” Duff griped, squirming around, achieving nothing but flat, unimpressed stare from Izzy.

“Quit bitching.” Izzy drawled, wriggling to shift his weight around. “I’m not even that fucking heavy. You’d probably be able to pin me against a wall or something. Or hold me down.” The brunette fixed him with an unreadable look. “If you wanted to.”

Duff swallowed hard. It seemed he always had to deal with important shit while so exhausted his brain was firing on like, half a cylinder.

A joke would work splendidly here. Relieve the tension, the loaded silence. Izzy was just there, watching and waiting—so relaxed, probably okay with waiting forever.

“Thought you’d be the one holding me down, Daddy.” He really was trying for teasing, truly. But instead his voice refused to comply and he ended up sounding strained and needy.

Not good.

Izzy licked his lips, “We could take turns. Keep everyone happy. Find out who likes what.” The brunette shifted again, but Duff got the feeling that really was just for show. Smoky eyes regarded him—it was his move.

Really not good.

Duff dragged in a shuddering breath, trying to build the courage to just ask. Because he couldn’t do this, if it was just a game. His heart couldn’t take it. “I gotta ask you something, you owe me a favor.”

Izzy’s reply was quick and sure. “Anything.”

God, this fucker was gonna be the death of him. “Firstly, stop doing that, I can’t think.”

The brunette blinked, nonplussed. “Doing what?”

Duff spaced out, because he realized just how pretty Izzy’s mouth was (not that he’d ever say that, the last guy that called Izzy’s anything pretty got a black eye and probably a broken arm—so no). But it was, pretty that is. Pink, a little damp from where his tongue slipped over his plus lower lip, and curved just so. In summation, Duff really just wanted to kiss him and never stop. It took the blond approximately three minutes to realize:

• Izzy had spoken (apparently words came from that pretty mouth)
• The words formed some kind of question
• Questions usually require answers
• Izzy was still waiting on him to answer

Duff huffed a frustrated breath, cheeks heating when Izzy began to laugh because no way in hell he didn’t notice that. The blond waved a hand in Izzy’s general direction. “That. Stop doing it.”

“Stop being me?” A smile of that magnitude had to hurt.

“Yeah, turn it off.” Duff gave up on making sense about two and a half Izzys ago. See?

He wasn’t making a lick of sense but it was making Izzy laugh, and Izzy rarely ever laughed. The brunette had collapsed in his lap, dark hair spilling across Duff’s ratty blue jeans in thick tresses. He had done that?

Duff failed at keeping a straight face when his heart was doing strange things in his chest. At least Izzy couldn’t see the mushy smile he was sporting.

“Oh God.” Izzy choked out, giggling every now and then. “Just call your favors in. I can’t stand much more of this.”

And that was the problem, just what was this? God, now he knew how his girlfriends felt—he would have never thought he’d be the one asking ‘What are we?’ or ‘what is this?’

Oh yeah. He’d have to ask sooner or later, huh? “You gotta answer me truthfully. Not with what I wanna hear… just… the truth.” Izzy’s laughter was gone now, and Duff kinda hated himself for causing that.

The brunette sat up slowly, brows furrowed. “Well, yeah man, what’s up.”

“I just wanna know, about this—” Duff motioned at the space between them “—what is it to you? Is it just a joke we’re running with. I need to know, man.” He dared not breathe while the question hung there in the air between them, weighing the atmosphere down.

Izzy had gone deathly quiet and a little wide eyed. That was about answer enough in Duff’s book. “What the actual fuck do—” And really, Duff’s heart had plummeted from the start of that sentence, so when the screaming and yelling started upstairs, he was silently thankful.

Yeah, he got the message alright. Loud and clear.

Chapter Text

“It’s not my fault she changed her mind last minute.” Axl protested weakly, seriously considering hurling his phone across the room. Well, at least they had stopped screaming at each other, but he much preferred the screaming to this—this silence. Everything was fine—until Erin decided to call.

Slash just looked at him with a mix of awe and disappointment, not even able to speak.

“Saul,” The redhead whined, chewing on his lower lip. “I can’t just—” He waved an arm that was apparently meant to take in everything, their relationship, his dysfunctional marriage, the fame, all the shit he’d have to put up with if he were to suddenly come out.

The guitarist shook his head, chuckling wryly. “I’m not asking that of you, I’ve never asked that of you. But there’s no way in hell this is continuing.”

Duff and Izzy burst in at that moment, Izzy looking shaken and Duff, well, Duff looked crestfallen.

“Why was there screaming?” Izzy asked.

Steven, as always, rat them out. “Evrin called while Slash and Axl were cuddling to convince Axl to work it out.” Axl glared at him, but the blond continued, unperturbed. “Slash doesn’t like that.”

The guitarist huffed a little laugh and pushed pass Duff without another word. Well, this was different from their usual fights.

Axl looked even more miserable than before, eyes filled with tears that he was obviously trying to blink back. “Whatever.”

The bassist sighed; his life was a regular little soap opera. “I’ll go after him, you take care of Axl.”

“I always do.” Izzy said flatly, and for some reason that pissed Duff off even more than usual. “Are you.. are you alright?”

“Fucking peachy.” He snapped, still avoiding the brunette’s gaze. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

 No, that didn’t sound peachy at all in Izzy’s opinion.

Axl flinched at the slamming of the heavy oak door, blue eyes wide. “Woah, what’d you do to mom?”

Izzy blinked, feigning ignorance. “What do you mean?” 

Steven snorted. “He’s pissed. Have you ever even seen Duff pissed? Think about.”

Izzy thought about it. No, no he hadn’t ever seen Duff pissed. Not for real anyway, Duff wasn’t the kind to stay mad for long. “I… we were just talking and—” Really, what had he done? He wasn’t even able to finish his sentence before these little shits started fighting again.

“Doesn’t matter, fix it.” The drummer advised, palm pressed to his lurching stomach

“What did you even fucking do last night?” Axl asked, voice dripping disdain.

“Uh… I don’t know?” Steven whined. “I was dancing with some strippers at The Dollhouse and one of them slipped me some sorta pill.” God, why did he trust Sleazy Sandra to give him anything good? The last thing she gave him was fucking crabs.

Axl started laughing at Steven’s pained expression and Izzy started thinking—wow, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all—but then the redhead’s nervous giggles dissolved into huge sobs and that theory went right out the window.

Steven mumbled something about going downstairs to get ice cream and Izzy sighed, he sure had his work cut out for him.

With both Axl and Duff.

------

Slash was clearly done with it, no matter how much Duff tried to placate him. Duff had went as far as following him to a bar—in the middle of the day—because the guitarist was adamant he couldn’t stay a second longer.

“Man, I’m not keeping this shit up. I can’t—” He paused to take a gulp of his drink. “He’ll have to try, for himself, to reach me. ‘Cause I’m not getting myself into that again.”

Duff nodded and swallowed the ‘you know how Axl is’ speech he was preparing in his head. Yeah, they’d had to figure it out on their own.

“So…”

No. “What?”

Slash quirked a brow, “What’s up with you and the old man?”

“You guys seriously have to quit that shit.” He hissed, sounding way bitterer than he had intended. He sipped—more like gulped—his drink, ignoring the searching gaze Slash was leveling at him.

“Hey, man. Look if it’s really bothering you we’ll knock it off.” Slash assured him, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “I know we give you shit all the time—”

“That’s not it.” Duff said, smiling a little. Yeah, they were pieces of shit, but they were the best turds he’d ever come across. “I don’t mind it, I think he might though.”

Slash barked a surprised laugh, “You mean you wanting to bone him?”

“Slash!” He squeaked, sneaking a glance at the mostly empty bar.

“Sorry, man, you’re bros. Guess you wanna brone him or some shit.” Slash muttered, not sounding the least bit repentant. The fucker was really the kind of person who fed on others misery—he was looking more cheerful by the second.

“Oh God.” Duff groaned, burying his face in his hands. “He knew?” That made it worse, because that just meant Izzy knew just what he had meant and was purposely ignoring.

The guitarist bit his lip, struggling to contain his laughter. “What do you mean by 'he knew'?” His voice rose in pitch. “Fuck, we all thought— I think even Izzy—just do yourself a favor and talk to him.” And who’d’ve though Slash of all people would be the one giving Duff advice?

Even Izzy what? “Yeah, sure man.” Nope. Not a chance in hell. This was enough humiliation for one lifetime, thank you.

-----

Duff avoided Izzy like he owed him money.

Well, not avoid per say, he just ensured he was never in the same room with Izzy alone for more than zero seconds.

The rest of the band shared secret looks whenever they were in the same room, made up ridiculous excuses to leave them alone (Steven once claimed he had to get home to his cat— which he totally doesn’t have since he’s allergic). And Duff was not above admitting that, yeah, he pulled a few moves to get out of it too.

“I gotta call my mom.” He blurted before tearing out of the room like a bat outta hell.

To be fair, he did call his mom later. Alice told him to fuck off since time differences existed and just because it was only 8pm in Japan didn’t mean it was 8pm in Seattle.

Well.

He had forgotten about the whole Japan thing.

He had no idea why they had to be in Japan for the fucking video, but Axl insisted (he was certain this was a getting-away-from- Evrin thing) and so they went. Because once Axl started one of his tirades things went south.

The whole “avoiding Izzy” thing wasn’t even the worst part, the worst part was that the gypsy fucker couldn’t take a hint. He kept seeking Duff out.

“Wanna grab lunch?” Izzy asked, and Duff wondered why he had bothered to call when they were in the same hotel.

“No.” He forced himself to say, gripping the phone tight.

“No?” Izzy asked, like the very concept of being turned down was foreign to him. That made Duff smile a bit.

Then Duff remembered that said gypsy fucker turned him down and that was all the incentive he needed. “Yeah, no.” He hung up without waiting for a response, feeling ridiculously satisfied at the sound of the phone clattering to the ground.

He was an adult and he could totally deal with rejection like a sixteen year old if he fucking wanted—America Japan was a free country.

Also, if Izzy looked edible while half naked in the pool yesterday with his ridiculously dark hair clinging to his face—then that was Duff’s business.

And if he got off in the shower last night while—ugh, he was fucking screwed.

Then there came the pounding at his door, and the bassist—how the fuck did he manage that—didn’t think for a second that it could be the very person he was avoiding.

“Are you avoiding me?” Izzy asked, managing to seem intimidating even though he was a head shorter than Duff.

Really, what gave it away? “Yes.” He announced, to Izzy and to the three shits eavesdropping who thought they were being subtle. He tried to slam the door but the brunette stopped it with a boot.

“Why?” He said, and if Duff didn’t know better, he would say it sounded a bit petulant.

“Why?” The blond asked incredulously. “I know how to take a fucking hint.” The ‘but you clearly don’t’ went unsaid.

Izzy had the gall to snort (no, Duff, that was not attractive) and roll his khol-rimmed eyes (seriously, who wore eyeliner on a free day? They were literally doing nothing but lazing around). “I really don’t think you do.”

Oh, so he rejected him and showed up to insult him—Indiana boys were all the fucking same.

Duff belatedly realized that he was 6’4 and a lot stronger than Izzy and placed a large hand in the center of his chest (he had no idea who told Izzy it was ok to leave his blouses open—it was bad enough they were mostly sheer). “Yeah, well, fuck off.” He shoved him a few steps back gently—he totally meant to be more aggressive than that—and slammed the door on Izzy’s vaguely hurt expression.

-----

“They can’t keep this up, man.” Axl whispered. “I haven’t had fruit in days.”

“Yeah, and we faked a fight yesterday and Duff didn’t even react.” Steven replied, wrinkling his nose. “Mom and dad need to stop fighting and look after us.”

Slash rolled his eyes, “You mean they need to stop fighting so it’s not so damn tense all the time.”

“Yeah, yeah, we care about their happiness and all that, obviously.” Axl dismissed ‘all that’ with a dainty flick of his wrist and Slash tried not to be amused. “Whaddya think?”

“I say we give them a taste of their own semen.”

Axl looked horrified, “Medicine, Stevie. We give them a taste of their own medicine. How do you even confuse those two things?”

The drummer shrugged, slurping his ramen obnoxiously. “Potato, albino.”

The whispering stopped as soon as Duff entered the room, looking exhausted and jittery. “Morning.”

“Morning, mom.” They drawled in unison.

Duff faltered, but continued pouring his milk. Yeah, they needed to do something and fast.

------

This smelled like a trap. It walked and talked like a trap.

It was probably a fucking trap.

“In here?” Duff asked, a bit suspicious. “Why would Steven lock himself in here? He hates the dark.”

Axl really wished Duff didn’t know them so well. “There are lights in there.”

“Well, there’s none coming from under—”

“Do you want to help him find it or not?” Slash snapped.

“Whatever.” Duff sighed, unlocking the closet door, squinting into the darkness. “Steven, you in here? Are you sure your drumsticks are even in here?” There was no reply. There was, however, a sudden force that sent him stumbling blindly into the closet.

“What the fu—”

“We’re not letting you out until you make up.” Axl stated, sounded pleased with himself. “Have fun. We’ll leave the lights on.” The door shut with clack, and yup, that was definitely the sound of it being locked (and bolted—who puts bolts on closet doors? Fucking Japan, man).

“So, they finally lured you in here, huh?” Yeah, that was definitely a tinge of pride in his voice.

Oh no.

He fucking knew that voice.

The lights came on as promised (they were still traitors), and sure enough, there sat the one and only Jeffrey Dean Isbell, cross-legged (and beautiful) on the soft carpet. “Fuck.” Duff said wholeheartedly, this was how they repaid his kindness? Espionage and fucking kidnapping.

“Nice to see you too, Mama.” Izzy's grin was wolfish, and yes, maybe Duff scrambled till his back was against the door.  “Now, let’s finish that conversation we started a while back.”

 Duff swore as soon as he got out he was putting every single one of them in time out. For eternity.

Chapter Text

Duff spent the first two minutes staring at Izzy in silence. The brunet stared right back, frowning as he fought some internal battle. Duff could wait—not that he had much of a choice.

When Izzy finally opened his mouth, what came out was: "You really can't take a fucking clue."

Yeah, no. Duff, in fact, could not do this. He scrambled to the door, banging his fists against the hardwood. "Axl?! Slash? I swear to God if you don't open this door I'll break every bone in your puny bodies."

Outside, a terrified Axl shared a look of horror with Slash.

The redhead gulped. "You think maybe we should—?"

"Nope." Steven said, throwing an arm over Axl's shoulder. "Don't pussy out now. He's gonna kill us anyway."
That didn't exactly reassure anyone, but it was the best they were going to get.
Izzy watched, endlessly amused, as the fight drained out of the blond. Sighing, Duff slipped to the floor, stretching his long legs out before him.

Izzy grinned. "Ready to talk?"

"Fuck you." He snapped, still refusing to look Izzy in the eye

"I'll take that as a yes." Izzy sighed, choosing his words carefully. "You didn't let me finish last time."

Duff snorted, "How many ways could you possibly end that sentence?"

"Uhm, how about 'what the fuck do you think we've been doing all this time'?" Izzy hissed, needing to get his point across, because god knows he didn't spend that much money dragging Mike to all those fancy restaurants for nothing.

Duff was hyper-aware he was staring blankly with his mouth hanging open, not unlike Steven an absolute idiot (and so was Izzy, judging by his unimpressed expression). "What?" He managed after getting enough air, his brain was buzzing uselessly, trying to make sense of… whatever.

Izzy's hands clenched on his knee, eyes dark and filled with irritation. Seriously, Axl had warned him about the temper thing. Slash had also warned him about Duff being clueless, but he hadn't actually expected it to be this bad. "You gotta be fucking blind to—" He broke off with a sigh, digging through his jacket pockets till he came upon a crumpled piece of paper. "Axl helped me out."

Duff watched, bemused. "With what? The kidnapping?"

Izzy ignored him with practised ease—he needed a lot more than ‘just a little patience’ for this one. "Michael Andrew McKagan," he began, clearly struggling to go on. "I like your hair even though I hate blonds. Which is fine ‘cause you technically aren't blonde. I've only ever seen your brown hair once... I kinda wish you'd stop dyeing it—" He was rambling on like a nervous fool but he couldn't help it.

Huh? What did hair dye have to do with this? "Wha—"

Izzy rolled his eyes but continued. "I like your smile, and your stupid, faded blue jeans; seriously where'd you get them, Goodwill?" Duff snorted, because only Izzy would drop fashion advice into his fucking—his...
What was this, anyway? A fucking... love letter?

This wasn't happening. He had hit his head when Slash shoved him in here and this was all just his fucking imagination.
"—I like your bass lines, lyrics and your political jokes I don't always get. I like your voice and your obsession with 'Pawn Stars'. I like how kind you are, and how much you care for those retards, and basically every other human being—I still don’t get why. I really like listening to you ramble in an interview, or undress onstage—"

Duff bit back a giggle, "I'm not obsessed—" Yeah, because he had Priorities. That was clearly the only issue he had with the list so far.

"Babe, you're obsessed." Izzy said mildly and the blond decided just then that 'babe' was his new favorite word—at least when Izzy said it. "Please, shut up, let me finish my list."

"Alright." Because that was about as polite as Izzy got.

"I like your tats, and your ass and how much of a nerd you are. I like watching you dance to Tom Petty in the living room when you think no one's watching. I could go on forever, but Axl made me take all the dirty things out." The brunette said coyly, eyes downcast. God, was he blushing?

Yup. Maybe that hit on the head killed him and he was in heaven.

Duff's mouth was desert-dry. "Izzy..." He hated how much that sounded like a plea.

The brunet shook his head. "Bottom line, I like you, you dumb fuck." He very carefully didn't look at all the 'loves' he crossed out twice so he didn't mistakenly (truthfully) say them. "So no, you don't know how to take a clue."

Ah, there was the Izzy Duff knew and loved liked.

"Well, I— you never said anything."

The brunette's eyes were so wide Duff almost laughed. "What the fuck do you mean? We've been dating for months."

That was about where Duff's brain short circuited the second time.
---------
"How're they doing?" Slash murmured when Axl finally emerged from the room again.

Axl shrugged nonchalantly, "Well they're talking, pretty sure Izzy is going through the list."

"The list?" Steven asked, shoving some unidentified—god what was he eating—into his already full mouth.

"I helped him make a list last night." More like he edited it so it was decent for airplay because Jesus fuck, Izzy had quite a mouth on him. He now, unfortunately, knew how much Izzy valued Duff's erm, parts. "I can't help but think about how much money the swear jar would've made if the conversation wasn't off record."

"Hey, how come he didn't ask us for help?" The drummer whined, wrinkling his nose. He was very helpful as far as he was concerned.

"Because..." The redhead twisted a lock of his hair around his finger. "I'm his best friend."

"Dad doesn't have favorites." Steven was pretty sure Izzy regarded everyone with equal and unbiased indifference.

Axl laughed at that. "He does, and it's me." It totally was, fourteen years of history had to count for something. "He's known me longer."

Steven just blinked, nonplussed. "Doesn't that just mean he has hated you longer?"

"You shut your whore mouth!" He snapped, because Izzy basically told him the same thing after he tried gloating about it last night.

Slash sighed heavily, great, now they were competing for favor. He just wanted some pizza.
--------

About an hour had passed and Duff's mind was still raising weak—but totally relevant —protests.
"Let's go through this again." And god, Izzy had the patience of a...an extremely patient thing. "When exactly — we're dating!?" Holy shit, was this what Slash's cryptic little comment was about?

"We eat together almost every week." Izzy was fiddling with a suede coat, pouting —actually pouting.

Well, yeah. "Because we're the only people in this band that like Italian."

Izzy huffed a little breath of laughter, both exasperated and a bit amused. "Mike, I hate Italian."

"Bu—"

"I took you out to Italian because you like it." Really? He even allowed Duff to order for them both every single time. Also, he couldn't pronounce anything on the menu either.

"I—" well, that would explain why Izzy always ordered Salad and got really red in the face when Duff offered him food.

"We have movie night together." Izzy continued, enunciating carefully. Who could say Duff understood anything coming out of his mouth? He'd already manage to misunderstand two months of wooing. (Izzy refused to consider he might have been bad at wooing).

"Yeah, to escape the lunatics we live with most the time." Because that was what Duff thought was happening. Why else would Izzy want to hang out with him?

"We held hands through the whole thing..." Izzy said drily. "You've slept in my fucking arms."

"I... Thought that was a bro thing?" Saying it out loud made him feel like a stupid frat boy (but Axl insisted he and Slash had a bro thing and it was totally normal— holy fuck, he was an idiot; he'd been in Axlesque denial). But Izzy would always let go as soon as they were in public and Duff just assumed it was an Izzy thing. "I mean, you always pulled away when we were in public."

"Paparazzi." The brunette forced out. "Unless that was how you wanted your mom to find out."

"Oh." Yeah, oh. The fame thing. The not out yet thing. "We've never even kissed."

"We have." Izzy grit out, before clambering unsteadily to his feet. Yeah, maybe expecting Duff to remember when he had tasted and smelled like a mini bar that night— drunk off his very nice ass— was a bad idea. "Fuck you very much." For fucking months he'd been struggling with this, he'd even turned to Axl to help him plan dates—and the little shit hadn't let him hear the end of it ever since.

"Izzy, please." The blond sighed, clutching at Izzy's jacket. "Just... Sit."

And what was Izzy to do but plant his ass next to Duff's and shut up?

"When?" Because he really would have remembered something like that.

"Few times." Izzy's face flamed. "You were drunk but, you almost always are so... I didn't think much of it."

So, those hadn't been hyper-realistic dreams? "Oh god, I thought I'd imagined that shit."

"I mean, you kept staring at me in the morning, like you remembered, like you were ready to jump me in front of everyone. I assumed you never did anything about it because you were...coping."

"With what?" The only thing he was coping with was the expected rejection.

"With me... Being male. I didn't push it, though I couldn't resist the flirting." Izzy shrugged, and Duff’s poor brain tried to come to terms with the fact that those times weren’t just jokes. "It kinda looked like you needed to get drunk to—"

"God, I'm so sorry Izzy. I've dated men before, this isn't a problem." His face was still buried in his hands. "I just thought this meant something different to you. I mean it was all jokes and laughs, I couldn't tell—"

"Italian restaurants, Mike." Izzy intoned. "Weekly." Because suffering through terrible food was a pretty good indicator of 'I want to bang you'. Duff was Irish anyway, why the fuck did he even like Italian?

That set them both off, clutching at each other as they laughed at their ridiculous situation.

"So what you're saying is," Duff said, "we're idiots?" All this time writing shit off as "normal" or "just a joke", fuck, for months.

"Mostly you, but yeah." Izzy was not taking the blame for this, "Everyone else thought—

But Duff wasn't about to sit around and be insulted (as usual), so he yanked Izzy forward by his jacket and finally kissed him like he always wanted to (and apparently did while drunk).

And all Izzy could think was that he tasted like cigars, and best of all, he tasted sober.

Maybe sober was a bit of a stretch, because he could definitely taste vodka (maybe that was just a Duff thing). So... Not like a minibar at least.
--------
It was deathly quiet except for the constant thud of Axl's footfalls on the floor.

Axl was pacing, lithe body overflowing with anxiety. "What if they change their minds and murder each other?"

Slash rolled his eyes. "Seriously? They're not gonna kill each other."

"We don't know that." Steven pointed out unhelpfully, because that's all the fucker aimed to be.

"Will! Where are you going?" Slash yelled, because Axl was dashing back into the room muttering to help himself.

"To prevent a homicide." Axl replied, hands shaking as he opened the door before yanking it out. "Guys, we love you, please don't strangle each other."

He really, really, really, really, really wished he hadn't.

Unfortunately Izzy's hand was down Duff's pants and the blond was clinging to his shoulders for dear life, brows furrowed as he let out soft little moans (and Axl was totally gonna tease him about that later if he survived the beat down he would get for this little scheme).

He cleared his throat."Oops?"

"Get out. Or I'll really kill you this time." Izzy snapped, and Axl's feet moved on their own accord.

Slash watched, perplexed, as Axl flew out the room, slamming the door behind him. "Move. Now."

Steven barely had time to stumble to his feet before the redhead was dragging them towards the elevator and to safety.
"Christ, what happened?" Slash huffed once they got to the lobby.

"Nothing. Nothing happened. Why'd you think something happened? I didn't see anything." Ah yes, subtle and smooth as usual. Axl: 1 World: 0

Steven snorted, "Oh... That kind of nothing."                                                      

Ok, apparently Axl: 0 , Dickwad: 1. "Shut up, Dickwad."

The drummer just grinned."Swear jar."

"Yeah well, Duff isn't here to make me pay up and you won't be telling them anything."

"Fine." The blond jerked his arm away, wandering off to the food court. "Why are you even holding hands with Slash still?"
The brunette had noticed, but of course he didn't want it to end.

"Mind your own business." Axl said, squeezing Slash's hand in his.

Steven seemed to consider this for a while. "Isn't that technically incest?"

"Well they're technically not our parents, so no."

"Besides, I'm the son-in-law." Slash added, because he'd been doing some thinking of his own. "I married into this family." Obviously Princess Axl was Izzy’s only daughter.

That sent Steven into a fit of giggles and Axl dutifully distracted himself from examining exactly why he was still clinging to Slash's hand.
--------
"Did we scare the children?" Duff murmured between kisses, gripping Izzy's arm because he was determined not to stop—even when Axl had walked in (not that Duff was helpful in the whole ‘stopping’ area).

"That's what they get for snooping."

"Aah—fuck. Shouldn't we uh, move to the bed?" Ok, now he was just complaining to make things difficult, he couldn’t care less about where Izzy fucked him. On stage would be good.

The closet would be good. The lobby would be good too—the jail cell the police would throw them in would also be ideal.

"We're perfectly comfortable here." Izzy reasoned, trying to distract Duff with his words in order to get his fingers back around—

A light bulb went off in Duff’s head. "Please, Daddy?" He almost choked on it, the embarrassment rising hot in his throat, but it felt so good to say those words, to feel Izzy still beneath him, releasing an almost inaudible sound of need.

"Michael..."

"Woah," He breathed, laughing weakly. "Wow, you're really into that."

"And you aren't?" A pointed glance at Duff's lap emphasized his point.

Rude gypsy bastard. "OK, yeah, fuck you. Or you fuck me, now."

Izzy hummed, pretending to consider this request for a while. "I can do that."

Duff was really gonna kick his ass eventually.
-------

"So...?" Slash was really proud of his conversation openers.

Axl paused, slice of pizza halfway to his open mouth. Waiting.

He cleared his throat and tried again. "So uh... You're not wearing your ring?"

The redhead lowered his pizza, searching for the right words. "We finalized our divorce last week."

Slash ignored the flare of happiness in his chest. "I'm so sorry to hear that." Because that was the polite thing to say, right?

Axl smiled demurely, "No, you're not, and I'm not either."

"I'm sure Evrin was a nice girl," he had never really spoken to her; she avoided him like the plague and fled the room whenever he entered but he was sure she was... Something.

"Erin." Axl said, rolling his eyes heavenwards. "Erin was nice for a while, but Erin demanded like a hundred grand."

"Hmm, never saw that one coming." His brain cheerfully reminded him that Axl probably saw her coming and his fist closed on his tin of coke so hard the sticky beverage flowed unto his hand. Yeah, no wonder she avoided him. He probably looked ready to murder her every time he saw her. Bitch. "What for?"

"To keep her mouth shut." Axl shrugged and turned his attention to his pizza. "About us."

"Us?"He quirked a brow, just for Being Difficult's sake.

"Yeah, us." Axl sighed. "Look do you still...want to give this a go?"

"Hm?" Slash aimed for nonchalant, but he was smiling so hard he was sure he missed the mark. "If you want. For real this time."

"Good."

"Good." Better than good. Fucking Great.

"Gross." Steven groaned, walking into the room and eyeing them suspiciously. "You two are at it again."

"Yeah, Stevie." Slash leaned back in his chair, laughing a bit.

Steven rolled his eyes. "And those two upstairs are at it too."

"Yeah." Not that they needed to be reminded of that.

Apparently they were done, because an extremely satisfied looking Izzy sauntered into the living room.

Axl winked at Izzy. "Where's Mum?"

"Sleeping." Izzy grinned in that 'I'm about to disturb you all' way. "You know how he gets after he—"

"NO, WE DON'T KNOW." Axl said loudly, just as Slash moaned: "WE DON'T WANT TO."

Steven, unfortunately, looked intrigued. "After what?"

"Steven—"

"No—"

Izzy sprawled comfortably on the couch, warming up to the subject. "Well Steven, when two to fifteen people are in love—and I don't recommend more than fifteen..."

Axl and Slash fled to safety though Steven stayed to listen attentively.

It was quite the educational discussion.
------
Duff was braiding Izzy's hair a few days later (Izzy only agreed after several puppy faces) when he remembered something.

"Steven said you taught him something new." He said, casually enough—he hoped.

Izzy peered up at him, "He doesn't know anything, a crushed piece of paper could teach him something new."

"Stop it." Duff said, chuckling a little. "He said you told him when people were in love..."

"Mmm, oh that? Yeah. I was going for the 'gross out' method." He failed, nothing grosses Steven out.

The blond rolled his eyes, carefully gathering small locks of Izzy's hair. "Is that what this is?"

"What? Gross?" Seriously, Duff was confusing as hell. "Aw honey, you know—"

"Love, Jeffrey." Duff snapped. "Are we in love?"

Izzy was quiet for a while. "Uhm... So... I thought this was obvious?"

"Oh no, here we go—"

Izzy sat up quickly, head almost connecting with Duff's face. "Jeez, Mama, you seriously cannot take a hint—" Kissing was a perfectly acceptable way to shut up mouthy gypsy fuckers—Duff swore by it.