Summer, 1991
"Is that Jon Bon Jovi over there?"
It was maybe the last thing Axl expected to hear, and it instantly soured the six gallons of booze he had already poured down his throat. He didn't look up.
"It better fucking not be."
Duff chuckled. "I think it is, man. It's your lucky d--"
The word was truncated by the punch Axl delivered him in the front of the shoulder. It was hard, and had to be painful, but Duff was still laughing.
"Fuck you," Axl hissed, but he flickered his eyes up. Across the hotel bar, a familiar shock of blond and brown hair was tipped slightly over a drink, a girl on each side, attempting to engage the man underneath in conversation. The girls were giggling and tossing their own hair, and leaning in close to him, but the man seemed uninterested in engaging them.
A comfortable primal rage bubbled up into Axl's narrowed esophagus. Christ. Guns were the ones on tour; fucking Bon Jovi didn't even exist anymore. They'd crashed and burned under the pressure of touring and split up. And yet, here the cocksucker was in fucking California of all places, clear on the other side of the goddamn country from where Axl had heard he lived, showing up here at this hotel of all places, and these cunts were gonna pay attention to him?
"He's a good-looking guy though, you gotta admit," Duff said. "I think the chick in the red is gonna ride him right here at the bar--"
"Jon Bon Jovi can suck my dick," Axl said, a little louder than he meant to, but the surge of adrenaline that prickled through him afterward was so satisfying it almost gave him a hard-on. He glared at the trio across the bar as all three of their faces raised in his direction. Each of the girls smiled a little before attempting to re-engage their prey, but Jon wasn't paying them any attention at all now. He locked a stare with Axl for a moment, and his eyes were sparkling a little, something Axl could tell even through the bleariness of the alcohol and the distance and the low light. The bastard found it amusing. Or at least didn't give a fuck at all.
Then he stood up, effectively dismissing the potential pieces of ass, who took his place at the bar and ordered drinks of their own, probably something that would have umbrellas in it.
"Oh crap, here he comes," Duff said in as low a whisper as being shitfaced and nearly choking with laughter would allow. Axl considered punching him again, this time in the stupid head, but he decided to conserve his knuckles.
"Axl Rose," the asshole said, smiling and extending his hand like it was a fucking business meeting. Axl glanced down at the proffered hand and sneered. He wanted to say something poetically scathing to stonewall the guy before another word could come out of his girl lips, but since fuck you was the only thing that came to mind, he remained silent and drained the rest of his drink.
Without missing a beat, Jon motioned to the bartender with the rebuffed hand, and a swell of blood rose into Axl's face, the noxious addition of humiliation to the anger. The bartender refilled both their drinks, and Jon raised his to his mouth.
"I saw your show last night. You do great work."
Axl snapped up off his stool and leaned in close to Bon Jovi's face. "The fuck you know about work, huh? You fucking rode by on your pretty face, you piece of shit."
The sparkle in Jon's eyes darkened, and the corners of his mouth twisted down. "You have a face like a fucking choir boy, and the straightest hair I ever seen on a person in my life, and you're gonna tell me about getting by on my looks?"
The response snaked through Axl's brain, momentarily muddling up all the ready-made insults and fighting words he had had on deck. He felt his body easing backward, just an inch or two, making room in the air between them for the next thing that came out of the prick's mouth.
