Notes: Written as a gift for momomida, as part of 2015's A Very Kinky Rockfic Ficmas Fest. The prompt was 'Kurt Cobain,Axl Rose (Nirvana,Guns N Roses): "I hate you but I also crave you"—love and hate sometimes arent that far apart.'
There's a lot of craving and a lot of hating going on in this. Also, angst. And porn, because I'm me and i couldn't help myself XD Slash also has a tiny, barely there part in this I honestly don't know if this is a good gift because it's really deppressing, but... Merry Christmas! Hope you like this and it's somewhat what you wanted. :) Title from song "Low", by Foo Fighters. Seemed fitting. Big thanks to BlackoutRose for proofreading this for me.
The humming of the engine ceases, and there is silence in the darkness of the night. Kurt looks at the huge white monstrosity of a house and wonders what the fuck is wrong with him that he managed to find his way here again, what's wrong with him that he thinks he maybe could find his way here blindfolded by now.
It's been two months since the last time. Two months since Kurt let anxiety and frustration and unexplainable loneliness and need get the better of him, because it's this or a shot of heroin or a bottle of whiskey. But if he's honest with himself, he doesn't want those as much as he wants this.
He should leave. He should turn the key in the ignition and go. He shouldn't even acknowledge the light he can see on one of the widows of the second floor. The bedroom window.
Instead, he takes the key from the ignition and climbs out of the car on legs that are shaky from all the driving, feeling like a moth drawn to a flame. At least moths have no idea they're courting death before they get burnt to a crisp.
It's late, nearly two in the morning, so the light is probably lit because someone forgot to turn it off, not because there's still someone awake in the house. He makes it up the walkway and all the way to the front porch before losing his nerve.
"Fucking idiot" he berates himself, turning around and making his way back to the car as fast as he can, the gravel crunching under his feet.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" a familiar, pissed off voice calls from behind him.
Kurt palms his keys, feeling the body-warmed metal bite into his hand as he squeezes them tight and turns around.
There's a figure stalking down the porch steps, the front door swinging shut behind it.Kurt curses Axl's insomnia.
Axl's body is all tension, his muscles taut, biceps flexed, which Kurt can see because of that stupid, obscene torn tank top he's wearing. The moonlight delineates his sharp cheekbones and clenched jaw, but makes his eyes seem hollow and void.
Kurt swallows, looking for words as he stares. He always tries to prepare a speech, keep at least a few scathing remarks at hand so that he can throw them at the other man's face as soon as he sees it, but tonight he has nothing. All he can do is stare at the hollows he knows are Axl's eyes and wonder how he always manages to put himself in this situation.
Axl's stance isn't any less severe now than it was the last time they saw each other, looking like a modern marble idol right before Kurt's eyes, clad in denim and cotton and shrouded in darkness.
"What" he repeats through gritted teeth, coming to a stop a few feet away from Kurt's car “are you doing here?"
Kurt feels a sudden bout of red hot anger rising up his throat like bile. He hates Axl for asking him that question, hates him for expecting an answer, hates him so much he can't breathe.
"Nothing" he growls, the night air suddenly too cold inside his lungs.
The shadow that's Axl's head cocks to the side in that distinctly bird-like fashion he always has, delicate, graceful and vaguely threatening at the same time.
"I don't believe you" Axl says, and Kurt pictures him narrowing his eyes, a condescending lilt to his voice. The metal of the keys bites into Kurt's skin.
"See, if you'd come all the way up here for nothing" Axl says, stalking forward with casual ease to peer into the front window of Kurt's car ", you would have brought your cunt wife with you--"
"Don't call her that" Kurt snarls. Axl ignores him.
"--but you didn't" he finishes, lips curling into a smirk that Kurt is close enough to make out now "You're a liar"
"I don't have to listen to this," Kurt says after a moment, sucking in his bottom lip before shaking his head, clearing the image of Axl's half lit face from his mind. "This was a bad idea. I don't know why I thought you would ever be able to have an actual conversation."
He turns on his heels then, his keys jingling as he singles out the right one. The car's door creeks in protest as he yanks it open a little too viciously, but he slams it closed behind him and jams the key into the ignition.
It starts to life at the same time as Axl knocks sharply at his window. Kurt jumps and then his mouth pinches up and he flips Axl off.
Axl looks furious, and a thin glass won't stop him from letting Kurt know exactly how much.
"So I guess in addition to being a liar, Kurt" and he spits out the name like it's an insult, like it's the most disgusting, dirtything he can think of ", you're also a fucking coward. Good to know."
And it burns Kurt up. He can't explain it, how thoroughly those words get to him. How much he hates that Axl would even say them, would even imply that he believes them or has the right to say them. Kurt is not a coward. He has never been.
He's not even aware of making the conscious choice, but suddenly he gets out, and shoves Axl. He shoves him with all his might and he knows that even though he and Axl are pretty much the same size, Axl's lifelong inclination towards violence makes it so that Kurt's not actually strong enough to do him a damn bit of damage. Axl stumbles back out of what must be pure shock.
Kurt follows right along, stepping in front of his car, the headlights hitting his back and casting hard shadows across Axl's already hard face. His eyes are wild and bright with warning and danger, sunken with sleeplessness and that aggressive, cackling energy that always simmers just under the surface of him, but Kurt can't think over his own anger, he just -- just--
He just wants this horrible, burning FEELING to go away. This feeling where his anger is like an animal gnawing at his bones, leaving him brittle and cracking all the fucking time.
Axl's eyes narrow and he clenches his fists, like he's trying to hold himself back and it just makes Kurt want to lash out because he hates that, and he realizes with a twinge of something animalistic that he wants Axl to hit him, wants to taste his own blood, because that means that everything he thinks about Axl is true and there's no reason for him to be standing here in the first place. No reason for him to keep coming back to this.
"I'm not a coward, you fucker! I'm not the one that-- I'm not the fucking coward between the two of us!" Kurt hits Axl again, pushes him, fists coming down on his chest with enough strenght to make him stumble. Kurt doesn't care how stupid it is, how juvenile and against all his principles it is: anger bubbles inside him like lava from the core of the earth, and he needs to do something.
Axl doesn't even reply. He makes a noise more animal than human, and maybe it's the self imposed isolation he immerses himself in whenever he's not on tour, or maybe it's the insomnia that's eating at the edges of his frayed mind like a rat, but when he moves he's like a shadow, precise, implacable, violent and detached, like he's slowly losing even the will to scream insults and throw punches like he means it.
Kurt's back hits the side of his car and Axl's thigh is between his legs and Kurt doesn't have room to breathe much less keep himself from rocking down on Axl's leg, Axl's breath on his neck making him shudder and gasp.
He wants to fight it, wants to fight himself more than Axl. Dread surges through Kurt at the realization that the tightness in his throat is the longing to give in, to give up, to take whatever Axl is prepared to give and damn the consequences. To trade every last shred of self-respect he has left, for something that is not even the illusion of closeness, something intensely painful all by itself.
Most of all, he hates how weak he is because no matter how little else Axl will ever give him, he'll still want this.
"You can't just --" he starts, nails digging into the skin of Axl's arms, hard enough to draw blood even though it's a hollow victory. Axl's arms are covered in his own claw marks. "I'm not here for this, asshole!"
Axl's mouth is hot, slick suction that will probably leave a bruise. His stringy, un-trimmed beard drags against Kurt's skin, burning it, and Kurt should be annoyed, he shouldn't be getting hard. Because he's not -- he doesn't belong to Axl. He's not Axl's to mark.
He shoves against him, and Kurt may be his own kind of unstoppable force but Axl is definitely an immovable fucking object.
"Liar," Axl accuses him for the second time in the night. There is no other acknowledgement, just his hands hard on Kurt's hips, his teeth sharp against Kurt's neck as he bends low to cage him against the car.
And Kurt has never been more pissed off and turned on at the same time.
Kurt's breath stutters out of his lungs, tripping over itself to leave him dizzy and gasping for air. His cock throbs in his pants and he rides Axl's leg shamelessly, needing to relieve the awful wave of lust Axl's touch never fails to elicit, the shocks of tingling electricity that run all over his body just at the sound of his voice. He's drowning in it.
He twists his wrists against Axl's grip but eagerly meets his mouth when Axl finally kisses him, voracious and angry and finally. He wishes he could tell himself this isn't what he wanted from the moment he let himself grab his keys earlier tonight, that this isn't what he's wanted ever since the last time.
But he can't even tell Axl that because when Axl releases one of his wrists and slides his fingers into Kurt's pocket, they both know he's going to find the little packet of lube Kurt put there.
Axl smirks at him, smug and full of himself while Kurt's whole face feels entirely too hot.
"You want to tell me again how you're not mine, Kurt?"
Kurt's eye doesn't twitch, but it's a near thing. "Just because I like getting fucked doesn't mean I like you. Maybe I'll go, see if your Slash wants to do the honors instead."
It's a horrible bluff and it's not fooling either of them, even if it does leave Kurt's lips with too much resentment and jealousy for his liking, but it still results in Axl's eyes flashing in anger and his uncut nails digging hard against Kurt's skin, scraping him as Axl abruptly pulls back and yanks him around. He shoves him down hard over the front of his car, Kurt's shirt bunching up and one of Axl's hands vice-like on his neck, holding him in place.
Axl's body presses down over him, heavy and solid and smoldering, and Kurt is trapped and overly warm. He bites down on his own lip, vicious in his attempt to keep his moan from Axl, but he can feel Axl's lips curl into a smirk.
"That's just pathetic," says Axl, lips brushing Kurt's ear. "Is that what you are, Cobain? Just a needy mess, desperate enough to let even my cast-off have a go? Or is that the appeal? Slash stuck it to me and now he could --"
"Shut up," snarls Kurt, a spike of red hot something (not jealous, not jealous, not jealous) lacing his words. He shoves back against Axl, bucking under his weight. “You think talking about that is gonna hurt me? You think anything you say is gonna matter to me?”
Axl’s laugh is harsh and cruel ad bitter all at the same time, and he rocks his hips against Kurt’s ass, sucking a mark behind Kurt’s ear like he has any right to do so. “I think everything I say matters to you.”
The truth of it feels like a knife between his ribs, twisting and tearing and stealing his breath and making him lash out. He jams his elbow into Axl’s ribs.
“Well, let me enlighten you then, ignorant piece of shit,” Kurt snarls. “I only care about if you're gonna stand there drooling on me all night, or you’re actually gonna fuck me.”
Kurt feels Axl’s nails scrape against his skin as he starts yanking at his jeans, tearing them open and shoving them down Kurt’s hips.
“You want this,” Axl says. There’s a catch in his voice, an edge to his tone that sours Kurt’s stomach further than anger has already done. He doesn’t want Axl to care enough to check if Kurt is on board with this, doesn't want him to be any better than the asshole Kurt knows he is. He just wants him to take, so that they can finally be done with this once and for all.
“I want fingers in my ass, followed by your dick. Can you manage that? Do you need a fucking diagram?” Kurt says, letting his bitterness and loathing sharpen every syllable.
He hears the packet of lube being ripped open, and then Axl’s fingers are probing, pressing, two sliding in as Kurt tries not to sigh in pure relief. He shivers, mouth open and smearing spit against the hood of his car.
Axl’s fingers pry him open, and Kurt hates and loves how good it is, how Axl’s lack of patience, how he wants to do this so much he's clumsy with it, makes Kurt’s cock throb and his head swim.
God, he never meant for it to be this way. He’s not a fucking idiot, Kurt knows this isn’t good or healthy or right, and he knows that Axl realizes this as well.
They should just leave each other alone. They should walk away and pretend none of this ever happened between them, that they're just two people who dislike each other too much and too viscerally for no apparent reason, but they can’t and they won’t. Kurt is too self-loathing for that, too resentful about what he can't have, and Axl is too brutally honest to walk away from what he wants, or lie to himself about it, even when it makes him feel dirty and disgusting.
So instead, it’s moments like this. It’s angry words and harsh touches. It’s Kurt seeing stars with his eyes crammed shut and blood blooming across his tongue from biting down too hard to try to keep silly words inside.
“Is this what you wanted then?” Axl asks against the back of his neck. He sounds wrecked. He sounds angry and hurt, and it makes Kurt hate him more and not at all, not even a little bit. “You happy pretending this is enough?”
Kurt ignores his question. He can’t lie right now, he doesn’t have it in him. He never can when Axl’s doing this to him, never has mastered the ability to shut off his vulnerability, his need and desire, when despite all the insults and taunts Axl is always so fucking careful.
"I told you what I wanted, and I also told you I could get it somewhere else. So either fuck me, or get the fuck off me." Kurt isn't sure how he gets the words out, but he knows they hit home because Axl's fingers slide out only to be replaced by the blunt pressure of his cock pushing in.
It steals his breath, has his nails scraping against the hood of the car. The sound and feel is grating, like chalk breaking across a board. Axl's breath is warm against his ear, voice rough when he speaks, "Come on then, let me hear that smart mouth, baby."
"Don't call me that." Kurt hates it, hates the way it makes him flush, the way it makes his cock ache, the way it feels like an insult and an endearment all at once.
Axl nips at his ear, tracing it with his tongue. "Whatever you say. You're calling the shots, aren't you?"
Kurt lets out an unsteady breath, takes another because he means to tell Axl to shut the fuck up, but Axl's hips slam forward. Kurt squeaks and tries to cover it up with a groan, but he knows Axl heard it.
Axl's lips curl, brushing against the back of Kurt's neck. "What, you got nothing to add? Am I not doing a good enough job? Maybe it's not too late to call Slash? Believe me when I tell you he's good"
"Fuck, I hate you," says Kurt, gasping for breath. His head swims, every thrust Axl gives him feels like another taunt, another reminder that this is all there is, and he can never have the whole thing.
There's a pause, a moment filled with nothing but the slick sound of skin slapping against skin, of rough breathing and smothered moans, and then Axl whispers, like a condemnation, "Liar."
Kurt groans, and he fumbles for one of Axl's hands, dragging it from Kurt's hip to his cock. "I don't care what you think. I care whether or not I get to come any time soon."
Axl follows Kurt's direction, long fingers wrapping around Kurt's cock, and for a moment, Kurt thinks he's actually going to make this easy for once. Call it temporary insanity, Kurt doesn't know why he would ever let himself dare hope.
Axl gives him a few strokes, with that little flick of the wrist at the end that always has him moaning for it, and then his grip tightens abruptly at the base of Kurt's dick. "I'm not ready for you to come yet."
"Asshole," spits Kurt, gasping, but he pushes back into Axl's thrusts, pleasure making him dizzy.
"I don't think I want you to come until you admit you do want me."
It's a cruel thing to tease Kurt with, even for Axl. This finally proves it, right? Axl's cruel and vicious, and that is all he is. Kurt knows he should protest, he should shove Axl off him, should make him angrier so that this can be done with faster. They could be done with this whole sick game they're playing.
But Kurt doesn't want this to be over, can't even lie to himself about it. He doesn't want this to be one more time when he drives home before the sweat has even cooled on his skin.
Axl licks the back of Kurt's neck, lips latching on and sucking another mark that will bruise and last for days and make Courtney flip out.
"Say yes," Axl whispers, and if Kurt didn't know better, he would almost think Axl sounds as desperate as Kurt feels.
"Yes," Kurt says, earning a shudder and a moan and a smoldering kiss to the side of his neck, Axl's arm tightening around him like he never wants to let go. He crams his eyes closed and lets himself pretend for a little while that it is true, that Axl misses him, wants him for more than angry fucking once every few months.
He lets himself imagine that Axl loves him, in that dark miasma of scrambled self-loathing, anger and manic, possesive desire that is his mind.
Axl kisses his jaw then, a soft thank you that Kurt doesn't want. He shivers, turning his face away, and bites down on his own lip when Axl rocks into him, slow and inexorable like the tide, the way he knows will make Kurt fall apart for him.
Kurt knows how this goes, knows to bear down, to take deep breaths. He likes this, hates how much he likes it, he likes the way it forces him to concentrate, to relax when his instinct is the opposite.
It narrows his focus, slows down his always frantic thought process, his entire world to just Axl, just the feel of Axl's hand sneaking under his shirt to caress his skin, just the feel of Axl's cock pushing inside of him, stretching him, destroying every limit Kurt thought he had.
Axl gives him one hard thrust that's unexpected, shattering that last ounce of control Kurt was holding on to keep at least a little bit of himself tonight, and who is he kidding?
Axl's arm tightens around him and he kisses the back of Kurt's neck sloppily, moaning low in the back of his throat like he doesn't even care what Kurt thinks of him. And he doesn't. Why would he? Here he is, buried inside Kurt's body, wrapped all around him at the same time, taking him, owning him.
Kurt's breath stutters, catches as he tries to hold back a whine "Fuck, fuck, just -- oh god."
Kurt feels dizzy, every ragged breath he sucks in burns his throat, and the air is too cold in his lungs.
"Shh, shh," says Axl, lips brushing the back of Kurt's neck. "That's it. God, you're so beautiful."
Kurt whimpers, the feelings those words elicit coupled with the drag of Axl's cock inside him and the feel of him against his back and the smell of him in his nose almost unbearable in intensity. He wants to kick himself for saying yes to this.
Why did he do this to himself? He forgot or maybe just willfully ignored the part where doing this with Axl makes him feel defenseless, unguarded, wide open for Axl to take everything he wants from him and he knows Axl is greedy, so greedy. He'll take everything and give nothing back and Kurt--he'll give it to him. He's doing it right now, moaning for it like a whore.
God, he's pathetic.
He doesn't even realize Axl's hand had left his dick until it returns, and Axl gives him a gentle squeeze. "There you go, come on. Let me take care of you, baby."
"I told you -- I --" he breaks off, he can't think. He can't be mad right now when it's exactly what he needed to hear, and Axl knows it. Instead he swallows back a sob and shifts into Axl's touch.
"You feel so good, Kurt. Always feel perfect," Axl mutters into his ear.
Kurt's fingers scrabble at the hood of the car, needing something to ground him. He stretches out, reaches until his fingers curl into the groove between the hood and the windshield.
Axl blankets him, his body heavy and warm against Kurt, red hair falling like a curtain to mix with his own golden strands. His fingers tighten around Kurt's cock, jacking him in a steady rhythm that matches the slow rock of his hips.
Axl kisses him again, kisses his neck and his jaw, kisses his cheek. It's too much. It's everything he never wanted to admit he craves from Axl.
Kurt's cock is getting impossibly hard, throbbing between his legs, and Axl is coaxing him toward orgasm with his fingers and his words. "That's what you wanted, that's it. You could never get this from anyone else, could you?"
"Please." The word is out of his mouth before he can stop himself.
Axl makes a sound that's not so much satisfied as it is elated. "It's okay, I got you. I got you."
Kurt sobs, he can't hold it back anymore. His fingers have gone numb from holding onto the hood so hard, and he's right on the edge, he's so close.
"Just a little more, that's good. That's so good. Come on, baby" Axl says raggedly.
His thumb brushes over the tip of Kurt's cock, and then again, and he thrusts that much deeper, mouth sucking another mark into Kurt's skin. It all comes together in a hot rush, spilling over Axl's fist. He clenches around Axl again and again, his cock thick and hot inside of him. Axl jerks and with a moan wrapped around Kurt's name, he's coming, too.
Kurt's legs go weak beneath him, the only thing keeping him up is his grip on the car and the wall of Axl's body behind him. Axl's petting him all over, rubbing his sides and murmuring softly to him. Kurt turns into the touch and sighs at the words. He doesn't know what Axl's saying. It doesn't matter.
Eventually, just like always, Axl smothers a sigh against Kurt's skin and peels his arm from around Kurt's torso, slow like it takes conscious effort, and he slips out of him. Kurt can't turn around when Axl pulls back, can't stand the thought of looking at Axl right now. His hands are shaking when he reaches to pull his pants back up.
All he really wants is for Axl to pull him into his arms, to hold him close and show the same attachment and kindness he's only capable of while he's buried inside of Kurt, when there are no thoughts of moral integrity, no religious indoctrination, no sins, no bands, no wives, no fans, no nothing. When the world is reduced to the feel of them pressed together and everything falls perfectly into place.
"You should go" Axl says thickly, the rasp carrying through the dark like a sound of nature.
But Axl won't. Because he doesn't know how. It doesn't matter that sometimes it feels like he honestly wants to, needs to, with that burning passion in his bright eyes that Kurt can't help but l--
Crushing those thoughts under the weight of all the hurt he has piled up inside, Kurt nods stiffly, feeling like he's going on autopilot. He doesn't look back until he's inside the car again, putting the gearshift in reverse.
Axl is watching him go, that frown on his face that's now a permanent feature looking harsh and tired and so far away from the cocky caricature of him Kurt paints in his head to make himself feel better that he has to look away, before he does something stupid.
Kurt grips the steering wheel and promises himself this was the last time.
As he backs away from the house to start the shameful drive back home, the phantom feeling of Axl's warm breath against his ear makes him shudder.