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

ANDY II [E]

ANDY: I mean I was told the sex was better than drugs, so I was conducting research.

AXL: [Wheeze] Who told you that?

ANDY: Rocket Queen.

AXL: [Sighs] You're never gonna let go of that are you?

ANDY: No, are you gonna let go of Levi's? [Laughs]

AXL: ...No

ANDY: There's my point proven then

// Unaired MTV interview of Andy Bernow and Axl Rose, 1991

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w. nsfw

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"I mean, who does he even think he is?" Yoko exclaimed, filing down Andy's thumbnail with vigour. Her nails needed filling in but all their acrylic supplies were back in Los Angeles, so they were sat surrounded by acetone baths and cotton balls.

"A proud guitarist who you offended?" Andy said, watching as her friend moved on to her index finger. They would have to be repainted with the polishes that Yoko brought, not her favourite, she hated the cracking and chipping, but she hadn't had bare nails in years.

"Offended?" She scoffed, "I gave advice and he couldn't take it, fucking, Yoko Ono, how original, I'll show him crazy bitches that ruin bands!"

The argument between Slash and Yoko had lasted for at least an hour but it had felt like many more, by ten minutes it had already gone on for far too long. Though feeling Axl's arm wrap back around her waist for the hour, his hand actually slipping under the lace of her underwear this time, had been heavenly. His fingers brushing over the skin over her lower spine and pelvis, before scrunching, pushing blunt nails over her flesh.

It was as infuriating as it was infatuating, her own sharper nails digging over his tattooed arm, leaving pink moon shapes over his skin, distorting the distinctive ink. She had to bite down on her lip every time he dragged over her last vertebrae. She supposed it was her own fault for tugging the laces of his trousers last night in the cab, but hearing the hiss of his tongue and the seeing the pooling of his eyes was so fucking worth it.

They talked about stupid shit between them, drowning out the petty comebacks happening on the other side of the room.

"So you're hated by the media too?"

"Oh yeah, before Levi's, I was apparently 'promoting hooliganism' and 'anti-authority' whatever that hell that means,"

"Seems about right, apparently I encourage debauchery, drug-use, riots and creating sex-craved youths,"

"Don't you though?"

"Yeah, but you can't complain about being seen as anti-authority, when your hit single is about being arrested?"

"Oh, coming from,  Mr 'I'm seen as sex-crazed, while also fucking a chick on tape',"

"You seem to know a lot about Rocket Queen, did you like it?"

"Depends, was she faking it?"

He had squeezed tightly over her flesh at that, while she had laughed. She supposed everyone was being truthful about that, he was very easy to rile up.

It was only when Eric had finally gotten up, picking up the last pizza box on the table and his beer bottle, and marched to the door of the studio, that Andy made the move to leave. He opened the door, looked back at the arguing guitarists, who were both now much louder and pointing fingers, before slamming it back shut. Duff simply shuffled across the sofa, kicking up his boots, and fell back onto the cushions, back to sipping the dregs of his Vodka bottle.