#i wish to HOLD and Cherish a Large lizard or a snake even

[slashscowboyboots]

Reptiles & Rogues: Loaded Like a Freight Train (Part 1)

Have I finished my High School GNR fics? HELL NO!  Did I start another series? YOU BET YOUR ASS!  Is it as long as a book? SHIT YEAH WHY NOT?

Tag list: @malibubarbievince​ @ace-is-back-and-he-told-you-so​ @fanofnightz​ @sunshinesuska​ @sodalitefully​

Warnings: Public intoxication, the occasional cuss word, brief allusion to whiskey dick, wanting to grope a stranger’s fine ass (it’s about GNR people, they ain’t the church choir-see the above gif)

Notes: This is the first installment of a series, and the character Susan is based on the wonderful @sunshinesuska​ (if you aren’t following her or her writing blog @izzysdenimjacket​ you are really missing out, what a talent)

You couldn’t believe your eyes.

He was gorgeous.

And as he swayed all over the stage, you realized he was hammered.  Immaculately graceful and stunning, but he was completely FUBAR.

It was the first time you’d ever seen your friend Slash’s band Guns N’Roses play.  You’d met him when he stopped by the reptile rescue center where you worked, a beacon of tranquility on a busy city block.  With his impressive mane of curls and top hat, Slash definitely stood out amongst the normal gawkers and the classes of schoolchildren who came by to line up and hold Ralph the 8 foot red-tailed boa out to his full length.

The charming guitarist showed up frequently, leaving the newspaper stand 2 doors down where he where he worked (mostly gabbing on the phone) to come in and coo and smile at every animal in the place, large or small, knowing more about reptiles than any book or herpetologist.

He’d taken such a shine to the ancient tegu lizard Fats that he’d begged you to let him take him home for a weekend, and the fact that was against Dr. Mark’s policies (the veterinarian owned the facility and therefore made the rules) completely broke your heart.  You knew the geriatric and corpulent old tegu returned Slash’s affection, and would probably enjoy a couple of days having a devoted dad who treated him so tenderly.

You’d even visited Slash’s place and met Clyde, and it just blew you away that this scruffy looking guy owned a for-real anaconda.  AN ANACONDA.  You’d never seen one before; they didn’t get rescued because they were so irascible people didn’t keep them as pets, but here was Slash, holding up a placid green and yellow noodle like it was normal to do this kind of thing every day.

Slash was a deeply cherished friend, nothing more (he had a raging crush on a lab tech named Susan he’d met when he took his Grandma Ola in for bloodwork, and your didn’t meet too many guys with your head down shoveling reptile shit), a welcome human voice amid the silent creatures, and when he’d asked you to come out and see his band play, you couldn’t tell him no.

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re LOUD.”

Well, it wasn’t like you hadn’t heard of the Germs.

So had you headed down the Strip, X t-shirt and black ripped jeans on.  You’d even made somewhat of an effort with your hair, teasing your curls out and lacquering them in place.

Alright, dude, here I am.

And you had witnessed the most amazing band you’d ever seen tear through their set in a state of shock.  That sweet, soft spoken buddy of yours was bare chested and sweaty, his head thrown back, effortlessly making his Les Paul cry the most beautiful tears.  But as much as you loved watching Slash play, someone else onstage had your full attention.

He was pale, tall and thin, with long black hair, skintight black t-shirt and jeans, beating the everloving hell out of a defenseless white guitar.  He wove over and shouted something intelligible into the microphone, then wobbled his way to the other side of the stage.  The most beautiful creature you’d ever seen, and, just your luck, he was snake-turds drunk.

After the show, the band milled around the bar.  Slash introduced you to them all, and you discovered Hot Stuff went by the nom de punk Izzy Stradlin (how charming).  He’d indifferently nodded at you and went back to slurping greedily out of a red solo cup.

Slash was soon detained by an appreciative female fan.  He grinned at you in wonderment, exclaiming, “Holy shit, Y/N, you’re like my lucky charm.  Susan’s here and she wants to talk to me.”  You looked over at her, radiant with her own beautiful curls and top hat, and gently wished him good luck.

With your adrenaline wearing off and everyone preoccupied with drinking and hooking up, you decided to head home.  Although you had a day off tomorrow (to get your hairs did), the Sunset Strip was never your scene.

You made it back over to Slash to say goodbye.  Susan was seated in his lap, her head buried against his neck

“Bye, Slash.  Thanks for inviting me.”

“No problem.  Hey, since your like the only sober person here, can I ask you for a favor?”

“Okay?”

“Can you make sure Izzy gets home?”

IZZY?  The really hot guy?

“Yeah, he’s a mess tonight, and I trust you not take advantage of him.”

Oh rilly?

Slash smirked, like he’d just read your mind.

You sighed.  “Where does he live?” but Slash was already joined at the lips with his pretty new girlfriend.

Where even is Izzy? you thought as you scanned the bar.  Your stomach lurched when you thought about peeling him off of some trashy thing and trying to wrestle his drunk ass into your car.

Let’s hope he goes quietly.

To your immense relief, he wasn’t eating some chick’s face (or anything else), just parked on a chair outside of the men’s room, his head thrown back against the wall, eyes closed.

“Uh, Izzy?”

“Who wants to know?”

“I’m Y/N.  I met you earlier. I’m Slash’s friend.”

His eyebrows raised, but he didn’t open his eyes.

“I’m here to take you home.”

A filthy smirk slithered across his face.  “You’re about an hour too late for that, honey.”

“No!” you snapped, "Slash asked me to make sure you got home all right.”

He didn’t speak, but slowly stood up without argument, wildly unsteady on his feet.  Instinct had you throwing your arms around his slender waist, and his hands held onto your shoulders as you guided him to your car.

Once the two of you were inside, you asked him, “Where do you live?” but he had passed out with his head against the passenger side window.

After you buckled him in, you glanced down at his skintight jeans.  While the thought of feeling in his back pockets for a wallet containing a driver’s license definitely held some appeal, groping a drunken stranger’s ass  was something you just weren’t willing to do.  Not tonight, even if the ass in question was pretty admirable.  

Not that you’d been staring.  Just looking out for a defenseless individual.

So, were you going to drive around till an abode shouted, “Here’s Izzy’s place!” or he sobered up, whichever came first?  Or were you going to take him home with you?  One glance over at his perfect profile and one out-loud groan later, you had your answer.

Getting Izzy out of your car wasn’t difficult (gravity had helped).  Getting him up the steps to your apartment was a challenge, though, and unlocking the door with him in your arms and leaning on you had been quite the feat.

You shoved him inside to keep from dropping him (to be so damn skinny he sure was heavy), and the two of you finally made it to your couch.

He was completely conked out, no help at all, so you picked up his feet and laid him longways, fetching a pillow to place under his head.  Asleep in the dim light, you thought he looked like a fallen angel, then got a good whiff of the cheap booze he’d been guzzling and immediately reconsidered.  Then you noticed again how tightly his clothes were fitting him and realized you really needed to wash your face and get to bed.  NOW.

#i had such a blast writing this #izzy stradlin x reader #guns n roses x reader #izzy stradlin fanfiction #guns n roses fanfic #izzy #yes i know this is really long #theres six more parts