Axl Rose Imagines

Vegas Nights

Young Axl — requested by an anonymous Axl lover

————

This is not my bed.

That was my first thought when my eyes opened.

This is not my room.

That was my second thought.

Then, I felt an arm lazily drape itself across me, and a warm body snuggle into mine.

It was Axl.

This is not my boyfriend.

That was my third thought.

Carefully, I removed myself from Axl's grasp, slipping out of the bed, and looking around.

We were in a nice hotel—I could tell by the decorations, size of the room, and the enormous bathroom.

It was a messy room—it was obvious we had been drinking and clumsily going about.

I further investigated the room by peering out the French doors leading to the balcony.

We were in Las Vegas. Of course we were—I had been in Las Vegas for a week now with some girlfriends.

I removed my gaze from the scene outside and returned it to the scene inside the room.

There were empty bottles of champagne, scattered rose petals, half-empty champagne flutes littered around the table, heart-shaped chocolates, silk "Mr" and "Mrs" robes hanging on the bathroom—why did we have a honeymoon suite?

I continued my investigation around the room, allowing my eyes to wander to the papers littered on the bedside table. I shuffled the papers into a pile and picked them up, leafing through them. Most of them were not papers, but they were, in fact, pictures. Pictures of Axl and I...getting married?! What sort of sick joke—

It was then I noticed the golden band on my left ring finger.

Oh shit. Mark's not going to be thrilled about this, I thought.

You see, Mark was my boyfriend. We had been steady for three months. Axl, however, was my ex boyfriend. He and I were together four years before he called it quits and stormed out of my house in a fit of rage.

I'm still not sure why he was mad.

My thoughts were broken when I heard Axl starting to wake up. I didn't turn to look at him, I simply kept leafing through the pictures.

We were a drunken mess, laughing and smiling in that drunken, jolly way.

"Why are you in my— oh fuck. What the fuck happened here?" Axl asked, now sitting on the edge of the heart-shaped bed, looking around the room with confusion evident on his face.

"We got married, somehow managed to make it here, partied, and we crashed," I said, turning to him, and finally looking at him. He was watching me with an unreadable expression.

"What the fuck is that?" He asked, referring to the pictures in my hands.

"These were taken at our wedding," I said, handing them over. He took a look, before leaning back on the bed and covering his face with his hands as he mumbled a "fuck!"

"Where's the license?" He asked, still laying back on the bed, covering his eyes.

"I think it's in the stack of pictures," I said, seating myself in a random arm chair.

"How long does it take to get an annulment?" I asked, watching as Axl dug the license from the stack of pictures.

His gaze flickered to me, the license, me, the license, and back to me, before he put down the license.

"Fuck. I need to smoke," I said, finding a pack of cigs on the table, next to a half-empty champagne flute, and grabbing a cancer stick.

I left Axl in the suite as I went out to the balcony and lit a Marlboro. As I inhaled the nicotine-filled smoke, I heard Axl come onto the balcony.

"You know, maybe we shouldn't get our marriage annulled. I never stopped loving you, and I always regretted calling it quits. I told myself that if I ever got a second chance, I'd try my best to do everything the right way," Axl said. I blew out a cloud of smoke, quickly inhaling more of the toxic cloud.

Finally, I looked at him. I really looked at him.

"Axl, I can't deny the fact that I still love you, but this isn't fair to Mark," I said. Axl became visibly infuriated by my mention of Mark.

"Fuck Mark! Does he know what colour eyes you have? What your favourite colour is? Does he do the dumbest shit to make you smile? Would he jump off a fucking bridge to save you? Would he? Because I sure as fuck know the answers to all those questions. I wrote a fucking song about you! I still write so many fucking songs about you! Has he ever told you that he loves you? Or proven it? Because I will prove a thousand times over that I love you. Look, if you still want a fucking annulment, you can get one. But as someone who would sell their motherfucking soul for you, as your husband, I would use this marriage as a way to make you see that I regret my past actions, and I am willing to do whatever the fuck it takes to make it up to you. Please, just let me show you," Axl pled.

I was so lost in his speech, I abandoned my cigarette.

With a reluctant sigh, I went inside and picked up the landline.

"What are you doing?" Axl asked, following me and watching my every move with confusion and hope.

"I'm calling Mark to tell him to get the fuck out of my life," I said. Axl looked happy for a moment, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and a smile on his face.

Mark answered the phone with a "Yep. Mark here."

"We're over, Mark. You can keep the apartment. Pack my shit up, put it in boxes, and set it at the front door. I'm moving in with Axl Rose." I hung up, not wanting to hear what Mark would say about it.

I faced Axl, conflicted as to what I would do next. Slowly, I began to smile.

"Come here, sugar," Axl said, spreading his arms out to give me a hug. I stood in front of him, allowing him to pull me into his chest.

"This time, I'm never letting you go."