Guns N' Roses One Shots

(i.s.) paint it, black

jimmie x izzy

summary:
you convince izzy to assist in helping you dye your hair

word count:
1348

paint it, black-the rolling stones

☻

"Are you sure about this?" Izzy's concern for the whole situation that I had put us in was borderline hilarious to me. Of all people, why would a rockstar be scared of doing this?

"Oh my God, Jeffrey, stop being such a pussy." Ever since I learned what Izzy's real name was, I wouldn't stop calling him that. Though all I got was groans and complaints from him about it, I found it amusing.

"Whatever. The instructions say that we're supposed to mix this tube with the one over here-" "Fuck the directions." I interrupted, snatching them from his hands while crumpling it before shooting it into the trash can in the corner of the bathroom.

"Jesus Christ, Jimmie, we're totally going to fuck this up." he groaned, slipping his hands into cheap plastic gloves that came with the box.

"Jeffrey Dean," I started, getting yet another whine from him, "You've done this more than a million times. Just do what you always do and we'll be alright. If not, you're totally going to fuck me over and I'll never forgive you and I'll steal your guitars. It's simple, really."

"For fuck's sake, alright. God, you're so bossy."

"I'm not bossy, I'm assertive. There's a difference. You wanna know what you are?"

"Not really." he grumbled, squirting the combined paste into his plastic glove-clad hands.

"A little bitch."

"Always a pleasure to be around you, Jimmie."

"As are you, Jeffrey."

After a few seconds with his hesitant demeanor, I finally pressured him enough to just do it. He lathered the mixture into my hair, smoothing through each section.

"See? Not so bad. You're flipping shit over nothing, rockstar." I stated, grabbing the pipe from the countertop.

So, here we were. Izzy and I were in the bathroom of the band's apartment's, dyeing my hair from brown to black. Wasn't much of a difference, but I was beyond ecstatic. Once I found out black wasn't Izzy's natural color and he stored his dye in the restroom, I proposed we dye my hair. That day. At that moment.

Izzy was hesitant about the idea at first, but gave into peer pressure after a 30 minute conversation about it. We were there alone, getting high and dyeing hair. No better way to sum up our friendship, I'd say.

"Open the window or something, dude. The fumes are gonna fuck me up." I exhaled the smoke after lighting the pipe. "Says the chick that's currently hitting a pipe." he scoffed.

"Priorities, Stradlin. Priorities. You're not high enough, man. Do you even get high?"

"I get high, just not on weed. That's pussy shit."