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The Other Woman

Guns n' Roses

WARNINGS: Slight angst leading to shitty smut x (not in the way you'd think ig)

The bed creaked in the silent room as I felt him get in, his light weight barely making the mattress dip. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to keep my breathing regular but he saw right through it. "Y/N," he sighed "I'm sorry, okay? You know what Axl's like, he wouldn't let us leave 'til it was perfect." I stayed silent, resisting the urge to scoff at his pitiful excuse. He groaned and moved over to me, encasing me in his arms. "C'mon Y/N, talk to me sweetheart." he murmured in my ear, his hot breath fanning across my neck, his bare chest pressing against my naked back. The sensation made me sigh, the feel of his strong arms around me made me feel safe and secure. But I pushed him off, sitting up straight and pulling the sheets up to cover my bare chest. "Fuck off Slash, don't blame it on Axl. Take some fucking responsibility." He raised his dark eyebrows at my outburst and opened his mouth to say something, then just shut it in defeat. He gently shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Jesus Y/N, I don't see why you can't just believe me, when have I ever lied to you?" he asked.

His words made my chin wobble as I thought of only a few days prior, when I had came home to him fucking someone else in our very bed. They didn't see me and I didn't see them. But I heard them. Not even trying to be quiet or discreet. And I didn't mention it. I was fucking stupid, giving him the benefit of the doubt. But what reason was there for him to do that? What acceptable excuse does he have for fucking some bitch in my own house, in my own bed. I stayed silent and he gave up and shook his head again, his curls covering his eyes. "Fine, if you're gonna be a bitch, I'm out." he stood up and pulled his shirt on. I stayed still until I heard the front door slam and even then I only let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding in.

I tried to lay back down, but I couldn't. Each time my head was on the pillow I could almost smell her perfume, hear the noises all over again. I turned to look at the alarm clock on Slash's nightstand, next to an ashtray and a framed picture of us. I scoffed and picked it up, then put it back down. What's the point in breaking my own shit in my own house? The clock read 02:57 Working late my ass. I got up and pulled on a navy sweatshirt and shorts. Even at night, the Californian heat was unforgiving. I went downstairs and pulled a pair of sneakers on and grabbed my keys. I didn't know where I was going, but I couldn't stay in that house much longer, with phantom images of them together flashing through my head. I entertained myself with thoughts of her as I drove. I imagined her bleach blonde hair, dyed, obviously, matched with her icy blue eyes. Or maybe I'm being spiteful. Maybe she has natural honey blonde hair and warm blue eyes, the same colour as the baby blue Jeep I was driving right now, a birthday present from Slash. I shook all thoughts of the mystery woman out of my head as I pulled onto the sidewalk outside his house. I didn't even realise I drove here. I shouldn't be here. I'm such a fucking hypocrite. But it was a long time ago. Years ago. Yet I'm here again.

I walked up to the front door and before I could even knock, the door swung open. He looked at me. He must've been expecting me. Maybe Slash told him about his little rendezvous with the perfect, young, fun woman. Or maybe Slash shared about our fight, with his spiteful, nagging, boring wife. Nonetheless, when we saw each other, our lips crashed together, an animalistic urgency taking over us.

I didn't realise how much I wanted him.

How much I needed him.

His hands made their way into my dark hair, before reaching down to my lower back, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist as he held me close. Pressing me against the wall, he planted kisses on my neck, making me let out light whimpers as he gave my something I'd been devoid of for so long. He pulled my sweatshirt off, leaving it strewn in the hall as he tried to carry me up the stairs, the awkward position making it difficult to do so. But he made it, and threw me onto the bed. He looked at me longingly. This is what it must be like. To feel loved. To feel wanted.

He got on top of me, desperately grinding his hips into mine. I pulled his shirt off of him, revealing his toned chest. He chuckled lowly as I admired him, before trailing his hands down to my shorts. He threw them to the ground, quickly followed by my drenched underwear. He could barely contain his smirk as he saw my glistening pussy, soaked at the thought of him. He was cocky, rude, arrogant and self-assured, everything Slash wasn't, and for some reason, I longed for him.

He suddenly pushed into me, his body pressing down on top of me. I gasped as I felt his cock inside me, practically tearing me apart. "So good babe, you're doing so good darling." he panted, his words slurring together. His thrusts got harsh and fast, the top of his dick hitting deeper and deeper inside of me. I felt his skilled fingers on my clit and I bucked my hips desperately, needing more of him. We were silent together, with the exception of our desperation moans, because we understood each other. We didn't need to talk. We didn't need to speak. We knew each other.

His thrusts became more erratic, his breathing more irregular. "I'm close baby, so close." he stammered. "Me too, me too." I whimpered, feeling my climax approach. I clenched around his cock as he gripped onto my hips, his fingers sure to leave a bruise. I felt his cum spill into me as a string of curses and moans left his mouth and my own breaths stuttered as I felt my own orgasm wash over me.

We lay still for a few seconds, the glistening sweat on our bodies now visible as sun started to shine through the thin blinds. 03:56. Typical L.A sunrise. He pushed himself off me and lay down, wiping his brow and lighting a cig. He offered me the packet and I declined, lying down on his naked chest.

We sat in comfortable silence, until the front door opened.

"Hey," a female voice called. "sorry I'm in so late Axl, the club was wild!"

(A/N: I really shouldn't listen to Lana Del Rey and write at the same time.)