how soon is now? || w. a rose [i/v]

AXL III [E]

"Vegas was a time. I remember no one bothering to turn up, everybody was bombed out, we found Steven on a kitchen floor two days after we saw him at the party, the last time I saw him he was throwing up in a trash can. Honestly, the fact that no one was arrested, or dead, is a miracle by God. But I met my fiancée there, I didn't know it at the time, but I'd trade nothing in the world to not have gone. I am full belief we still would have met, I believe the universe would have always brought us together, but I really fucking love how we did."

"You believe you're...what...soulmates?"

"If that's the word you wanna use, then yeah, the moment she entered my life, I knew she would be there forever. She's my home."

// Axl Rose on the 1989 GNR trip to Las Vegas, September 1991

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w. nsfw, reference to medication for mental health issues, reference to drug abuse

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The hot, bright light of the sun woke Axl the next morning. The rays forced their way through the curtains, left open last night, and falling onto the covers. Well, it was that and the fucking banging on the door.

It was loud and intrusive, piercing his already murky head, and pushing his old friend the migraine back to the front of his mind. It was aggressive and annoying, but it didn't sound like Niven's knock. No, that normally included a mass manufacture of curses and explosives and rattling of the handle.

He lifted his head up, the movement hammering pain through his temple. It was then when he felt the warm skin pushing against his chest, dark curls tickling his skin, and his arm falling over a thin waist. Andy was still sleeping, her lashes brushed against her cheeks but there was strain showing between her eyes.

The banging continued, the pounding matching the uneven rhythm of his head, and he used his other hand to push himself up. Andy also pulled her head up, his fingers falling down off her waist into the sheets wrapping her hips, losing the warm feeling of her soft skin. The colored ink of her shoulders, so much brighter and vivid, in the golden sun rays compared to the pale moonlight.

"God, who is that?" Her voice was husky, the burgundy still stained around her lips. Her ruffled hair fell down over her eyes, her fingers raking through it, giving the air the smell of jasmine.

"Some fucking groupie, probably looking for Slash or Steven," This wasn't the first time some drunk groupie had knocked on his door, normally looking for whatever band member had promised her a good time. Or they unceremoniously had bribed his hotel number from the receptionist and hoped he'd let her in, the first time that had happened he had freaked out, shouting, throwing shit, Niven was furious when he came into his room, at three am. But not at the crazy bitch who'd tried to enter his room, no, it was Axl to blame for trying to get her out, supposedly it was going to be a media nightmare.  Apparently a large chunk out of his paycheck from September 88 had gone towards property damage and keeping her quiet.

The loud striking continued, and Andy hissed, pushing her fingers over her temples.

"Slash is ten fucking doors down, fuck off!"

"Occupied!"

They had both shouted at the same time.

When the fucker finally left them in peace, Andy let out a chuckle, "It's like a public bathroom, what are you supposed to say?"

"Fuck off,"

"And you wonder why the public think you have an attitude problem," She had turned to face him, her dark makeup now smeared on her cheeks, matching the color of her eyes, or more like absence of color, the abyss of her irises.