Bandom One-shots book 3

Wild Ride (Steven Adler x Axl Rose)

1986 – Steven's POV

The studio air was thick with tension, the smell of cigarette smoke and stale beer hanging between us like a warning sign. Axl was pacing, fists clenched, voice sharp as a blade cutting through my already pounding head.

"How the fuck do you keep messing this up, Steven? It's not that hard!"

I flinched. He was pissed. More pissed than usual. I swallowed hard, staring at my drumsticks like they'd personally betrayed me. My hands were still shaking from the last take. I wasn't feeling right today—too much partying, too little sleep. But that didn't matter. Not to Axl.

"Do it again." His voice was venom.

I didn't argue. I couldn't. I just nodded, gripping my sticks tighter and trying not to let my heart slam out of my chest. But my hands were sweaty, my mind clouded, and when I missed another beat, Axl exploded.

"Jesus Christ, Steven!" He threw his headphones down so hard they nearly snapped in half. "You're fucking useless today!"

That stung. Bad.

I could take a lot of shit. Hell, I was used to it. But Axl's words hit different, like a punch to the ribs. I wanted to say something, tell him I'd get it right, but my throat felt like it was closing up.

The session ended in silence. The guys filtered out, Duff giving me a sympathetic nod, Slash patting me on the back like sorry, man. But Axl? He just stormed off, leaving me there like I was nothing.

By the time I got home, I was already half-drunk. I didn't even remember how many red lights I ran through, how many honks blared behind me. I just wanted to forget. The heroin was waiting for me—warm, familiar, numbing.

I didn't think. I just did it. Too much. Way too much.

Then everything went dark.

Axl's POV

The phone call ripped through my head like a gunshot.

"Steven overdosed. He's in the hospital."

I didn't even remember grabbing my keys. One second, I was sitting on my couch, replaying the fight in my head, and the next, I was flooring it through the streets of LA like a bat out of hell.

Red lights? Didn't care. Stop signs? Barely registered them.

The only thing I could hear was the sound of my own ragged breathing, my pulse slamming in my ears.

Please, please, please be okay.

When I burst through the hospital doors, I didn't even ask where he was. I just knew. My boots pounded against the cold floor, my whole body on autopilot until I saw him.

Steven.

His skin was pale, his golden curls messy against the hospital pillow. His eyes were barely open, his whole body weak and fragile in a way I never thought I'd see.

I lost it.

I dropped to my knees beside his bed, pressing my forehead to his lap as the tears came. Fuck, I hated crying, but I couldn't stop. My whole body was shaking.

"You stupid, stupid son of a bitch," I choked out. "You scared the hell out of me."

I felt his fingers—warm, shaky—thread through my hair, scratching lightly at my scalp.

"Ax," he murmured, voice hoarse, but there was still that little lilt of amusement. "Don't cry, man. I'm okay."

I lifted my head, wiping my face roughly. "You could've died, Steven. You almost fucking died." My voice cracked, and I hated how vulnerable I sounded.

He gave me this soft, lazy smile, like he was still high off the painkillers they'd pumped into him. "But I didn't."

I let out a wet, bitter laugh. "Fucking idiot."

He squeezed my hand. I squeezed back.

That was the night I realized I loved him.

1987 – Axl's POV

A year in, and Steven still looked at me like I was his whole damn world. And I loved it.

Loved him.

Which is why I was currently grinding against some random guy at the bar, tight leather pants clinging to me like a second skin, knowing exactly what I was doing.

Steven was watching. Oh, I knew he was watching.

Every roll of my hips, every teasing glance over my shoulder, every smirk I threw his way—it was all for him.

And when I turned to dance with a girl, letting my hands trail over her waist, I saw it.

That flicker of possessiveness.

The way his jaw tensed.

The way his hands clenched around his beer bottle.

I almost wanted to laugh. Hook, line, and sinker, baby.

We didn't even make it five minutes into the hotel room before Steven had me against the bed, breath hot against my neck.

"You think you're funny, huh?" His voice was low, dangerous in a way that made my stomach tighten.

I smirked, even as he pushed me back onto the mattress. "I don't think, baby. I know."

His hands were on me in seconds, pinning my wrists to the headboard. "Let's see how funny you are when you can't move."

My smirk faltered. "Stevie—"

Too late. The silk tie was already wrapped around my wrists, tight but not too tight, just enough to remind me who was in control.

And fuck, I hated it.

Loved it.

Hated how much I loved it.

His lips trailed down my body, slow, agonizing, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every inch of skin he could reach.

I squirmed. "Steven—"

"Shhh," he murmured, teeth grazing my hip. "This is your punishment, remember?"

And hell, I could barely breathe.

The Morning After – Steven's POV

Axl was still sprawled out beside me, wrists red from where I'd tied them, a lazy smirk on his face like he'd just won the lottery.

I stretched, feeling sore in the best way. "You good?"

Axl turned to me, his hair a wild mess, lips swollen from hours of making out. "Yeah." Then he bit his lip. Paused.

And in the softest fucking voice I'd ever heard, he muttered:

"I liked it."

I blinked. "Liked what?"

His cheeks turned red. Axl Rose. Blushing.

"The... y'know. The pain." He squirmed a little, refusing to look me in the eye.

I stared at him. Deadpan.

Then I cracked up laughing.

"You're fucking insane, babe."

He groaned, burying his face in the pillow. "I know."

I rolled over, kissed the top of his head, and grinned. "Good thing I love you anyway."

He peeked up at me, smile lazy, eyes full of warmth.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Good thing."