Foo Fighters One Shots

June (Dave)

Lemmy was a fucking hoarder.

His apartment just off the Sunset Strip was an absolute disaster zone and Dave often wondered if an intervention was necessary or at the very least a discussion about it. Dave was a bit of a neat freak, always needing his things in their places and normally this would make his skin just crawl but, it never seemed to bother him when he was wasted on half a bottle of Jack or Crown or Jager...

"Shhh... shit!" Lemmy stumbled into a pile of boxes and sent them tumbling down with a crash, making the two of them giggle like errant teenagers. "Shhh...," he snickered. "We'll wake the girl."

"Girl?" Dave asked, looking around the chaotic, clutter-filled living room. "What girl?"

"None of your goddamn business, Grohl," he said, suddenly stern. "Off limits."

His hands shot up defensively and he tried to back up a step, only managing to knock over another tower of boxes. "Fuck!"

An arm seemingly made of steel wire and tattoos snaked around his neck and dragged him against an equally strong body, covering his mouth with an iron grip and a light, childish giggle. "Keep it down, motherfucker! Let's get some fucking food in you. Soak up some of that fire water."

They sat on his couch, staring at each other through boxes and piles of his band's merch for a good five minutes in silence.

"Wait-" Lemmy suddenly looked around the room. "Who's making the food?"

"Oh...," Dave struggled to stand through the spins. "I can do it."

"I'll help!" Lem announced and tailed him into the hallway.

They bounced off each other, using the wall as a crutch until they reached the simple archway to the kitchen. Dave braced himself for one of his worst nightmares, piles of dirty dishes and rotting food, but was pleasantly surprised when the room proved to be clean. It was lived in but by no means a hazmat situation.

"I've actually got food in here for once," Lemmy muttered, opening cabinet after cabinet to reveal their contents.

"Holy shit! Cake!" Dave stumbled forward and swatted a box of cake mix off the shelf, snatching it to his chest before it hit the countertops.

Lemmy giggled, that alone making Dave laugh, and danced to the fridge, rifling through it for the eggs required and holding them aloft. He was about to say something, but his jaw snapped shut when a soft voice from the hallway beat him to it.

"What's going on?"

Dave spun around at the sound, dropping the box of cake mix onto the counter in his haste.

A girl, the girl he assumed Lemmy had referred to - who wasn't so much a girl as she was a woman in her mid-twenties - was standing at the edge of the hallway that led to the bedrooms, wearing an oversized Black Sabbath shirt over her bare legs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her dark hair was up off her shoulders in a ponytail and it swayed as she tilted her head in sleepy confusion.

"Nothing, Junebug," Lem's gravelly baritone went up a few surprising octaves as he strode across the floor to hug her. "Back to bed, little bird. This is just a dream."

"Wait, are you hungry?" she asked, suddenly more alert and Dave thought he heard a tinge of hopefulness in her voice. "Let me help."

She took the eggs from his hands, smiling sweetly up at him before moving to Dave.

"You must be David," she set the eggs down and held her hand out to him, her smile widening when he gently shook it. "I've heard so much about you."