Nervous

1986

"God, how can you watch this garbage?" Axl scoffed at the crappy TV, sitting on the lumpy sofa next to me. I ignored him; just because he was pissy about something in his little soap opera doesn't mean I had to get involved. And I wouldn't. I knew better than to do that.

"Well, this kind of garbage I happen to like. No one is making you watch it. If you don't like it, go up to your room. Or out. I know you have a girl you can call if the mood suits you."

"Ha ha ha. You're so fucking hilarious."

I gritted my teeth. He was out to grind my every gear. I wish Duff and Izzy were home, they'd help me. God only knew where Stevie was, probably Rachel's again. We never saw him here ever, so she must give him good head.

"Axl, did someone at work slip a condom into your soda?"

"The fuck? No!"

"Ok. Did Kat yank your dick too hard last night?"

"Uh...no...what kind of fucking--"

"Are you on your period?"

"Slash, what the--?!"

"No? Then why are you in a such a goddamn pissy mood? And more importantly, why do you feel the need to make ME suffer too?"

Axl stared at me, eyes wide and jaw on the floor. I got him now, right where I wanted him. He closed his mouth and shook his head.

"Sick motherfucker..." he mumbled. I rolled my eyes. Really, Axl? Fine, then. You want to see a sick motherfucker? Oh, I'll show you what a sick motherfucker I am. Without any warning whatsoever, I push him back into the couch and straddle his lap.

"Christ, Axl, don't you ever shut up?" I ran my hands across his very vulnerable throat, and slid two strands of silky red hair through my fingers. The wide collar of his Motley Crue shirt exposed his smooth, flawless shoulders. Ripe for the taking, and I was so annoyed and fucking tempted. "God, sometimes you're so damn annoying."

He was wide-eyed, almost panicky, and his breath was shaky. He could bolt at any moment. But I could also feel the heat of anger welling up in him. Everyone else would have high-tailed it by now. But he didn't scare me; I liked it rough. Bring it on.

"What's the matter, Axl? Something you want to say?" I asked deeply, my dick aching with need; the kind of need that only this loud-mouthed, red-headed drama queen could satisfy. But I'd never tell him that. I ran my hand up over his throat, exactly where his perfect voice was. I leaned in to nibble his earlobe, tasting metal from his earring. "You're being awfully quiet now, considering the noise you made coming in here and pissing me off."

"Oh, you fucking think, asshole? I piss you off, huh? I live for that, don't you know? I get OFF on pissing you off." Axl spat venomously, with a dirty, slutty look in his eyes that was tinged with hurt and anger. Poor baby.

"Yeah? Well, isn't that convenient? Because right now, the sight of you under me like a little bitch is what's getting me off."

"A bitch?! You think I'm a BITCH?! I'm nobody's bitch, motherfucker! I have a DICK!" Axl snapped, squirming underneath me to try and throw me off, but I was heavier and stronger than he was. Nice try, bitch.

"Oh, I know." I squeezed him, maybe harder than I should have, because he yelped like a kicked puppy, but like I said, I like it rough. He was definitely in pain, but I held on. No fucking mercy. "I like it rough. You gonna cry like a little bitch too?"

SMACK.

Yep, I saw stars on that one. Damn he's good with his hands. I loosened my grip on him, and he struggled like a beetle stuck on its back, but he still couldn't throw me off.

"Keep it up, baby. I may have lost weight, but I'm still heavier than you, pipsqueak."

"Christ, Slash, don't you ever just shut the fuck up?" Axl jabbed, and before I knew it he rammed his lips onto mine, almost knocking me off his lap! It was rough: we bit, we clashed, we drew blood. But FUCK it felt so good! I was so goddamn hard I wanted to throw him down and RAVAGE him right here on the dirty, threadbare carpet and the hell with who sees. He wound his hands into my hair, pulling, yanking, and I gripped his sides so tightly I swear I could feel his ribs buckling under my fingers.

We grappled, falling off the couch and hitting the floor, me on top of him. Before he could flip us over, I sat on top of him, flicking open the button on his tight jeans. I slipped a hand into his underwear and squeezed again. Rock hard. He exhaled sharply. Holy shit. I pinned his wrists down tightly and looked straight into his deep green eyes. They didn't leave mine.

"Are you nervous?" I asked, still pinning him down. On the outside, he didn't buckle.

"No." Axl answered.

I looked at his eyes. He never looked away. I ran my hand across his cheek, down his exposed neck and throat and across his smooth collarbone. His skin was flawless and white; caramel and milk. I kept going down. The cotton of his cut-out T-shirt was worn, but soft...

"Your heart's beating pretty fast." I said, still looking him in the eye. But I thought I saw a shutter close behind it. Gotcha. I touched his chest. "It's really pounding--"

"I'm not nervous."

I had to give the guy credit for sticking to his lie. And for making the effort to keep looking at me. Oh well, might as well humor him. It's all going to end the same way anyway. And that's where I desperately wanted to get.

"Show me."