Izzy's Point of View – 1985 – Somewhere Outside of Phoenix
The bus rattled like it was being held together with duct tape and spit. Arizona heat made everything stick, made every breath feel like a drag of a cigarette too deep. Slash was passed out across two seats, mouth open and a half-drunk bottle of Jack threatening to roll out of his limp hand. Axl was muttering something in his sleep. Steven had his Walkman cranked so loud I could hear Van Halen through the shitty headphones.
And me? I was pacing the back hallway, fists clenched, lungs tight, mind running in circles.
He hadn't looked at me all day.
Duff.
Tall, blond, cocky bastard with a mouth like sin and a laugh that made my gut twist. We'd been doing this—whatever this was—on and off since the summer. Sneaking around like damn teenagers. Which, I guess, we technically still were.
But something had shifted lately. He'd been pulling away, colder. Flirting with groupies louder than usual. Making damn sure I saw him do it.
And I did see it. Every goddamn second of it.
The bus took a sharp turn and I steadied myself against the wall. The hum of the engine vibrated through the floor, but it was nothing compared to the buzzing in my chest. I stormed toward the bunks, yanked the curtain open to find him lying there with that smug look like he knew I'd come looking.
"Enjoy yourself tonight?" I hissed.
Duff blinked slowly, stretching out like a cat, shirt rucked up, all lean muscle and smug satisfaction. "What's your problem, Stradlin?"
My problem? My problem?
I climbed in, grabbed the front of his shirt, and shoved him back against the mattress. "You wanna pretend I don't exist? Fine. But don't you fucking dare look at me like that."
His eyes darkened. "You jealous?"
I hated how much he smirked when he said that.
I hated it even more when I kissed him.
It was angry, teeth-clashing, breath-stealing. His hands were in my hair, mine under his shirt, the bunk barely wide enough for one of us but we didn't give a shit. Not when I needed him like this—furious and desperate, like we were trying to tear each other apart just to feel something.
He let out a loud groan, head thunking back against the wall, and I slapped a hand over his mouth.
"Shut the fuck up," I whispered, breathless. "You want Axl to hear?"
His eyes lit up like that was a challenge.
God, I hated how much I loved him.
The bunk creaked like it was about to give way, and I could hear someone stirring in the front lounge.
Duff pulled back, chest heaving, lips red. "You're the one being loud, babe."
"Asshole," I muttered, but I didn't move.
Didn't want to.
Instead, I curled into him, sweat-damp and reckless and shaking with adrenaline.
"I'm not some fucking secret," I mumbled against his collarbone.
He kissed the top of my head.
"No," he whispered. "You're mine."
YOU ARE READING
Bandom One-shots book 3
FanfictionI take requests! Fluff, Smut and Angst Lots of bands from the 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s. I also take requests for SOME artists from the 2000s but I prefer anything before that :)
