Ch. 2 – Mr. Brownstone
…Now I get up around whenever
I used ta get up on time
But that old man he's a real muthafucker
Gonna kick him on down the line
I used ta do a little but a little wouldn't do
So the little got more and more
I just keep tryin' ta get a little better
Said a little better than before…
[Mr. Brownstone… Guns N' Roses]
…...
Warnings: drug and alcohol abuse descriptions, semi-graphic sex
…...
1989 – Los Angeles
Near midnight, the limo pulled in behind the LA Coliseum, handlers scooping up the band and a gaggle of fresh trim and shoveling them all in the back. The party barge continued on, taking the revelers to the hotel, and the wild company poured out and headed up to their suites, well lubricated on the short drive, the girls already half out of their clothes, the band haphazardly tucking themselves back into pants left hanging open and loose on narrow hips.
Once safely escorted to their rooms, the party really got underway, overflowing baggies and small orange bottles appearing like magic. The night slipped by in a wild and happy haze, the boys submersing themselves in the magical grip of coke and smack and always more booze. Slash and Steve left used needles and leftovers in one of the bathrooms, leading to a small scuffle as some groupies argued over the score.
Girls came and went, beneath, above, between them; pretty faces and tight bodies becoming nothing but a multicolored blur of bouncy tits and firm asses. Round about five in the morning the madness finally cooled off, almost everyone in the darkened suites laying nearly comatose in beds, on the floors, even in the bathtubs.
Axl was slumped in a chair, eyes glazing as a cigarette dangled from his lips, an almost empty bottle of jack on a small table nearby. Between his knees, a bleach blonde had her mouth wrapped around his dick. She'd crashed hard though, drool running down her chin, down his crotch, her head slumped against his leg.
Movement caught Axl's gaze, and he lifted his head to slowly to track the person moving with silent ease through the suite. The man walked with too much grace to have been at the party long, slipping ghost-like over and around the laid-out bodies.
Recognition floated up through Axl's brain just as the pale spiky-haired blonde came to stand in front of him, smooth smirk growing to a wide wolfish smile.
"You wanna get some air, or are you still busy?"
David's voice was full of the same velvet wrapped steel he remembered, though he looked different, lesser, somehow. Clothed in a faded t-shirt and worn jeans, his personality felt dialed back, smaller than when last they met.
Axl considered, grunted in response, pushing the chick off to stand up and put himself together, stepping over her slumped form. David spun without looking back, heading out of the suite with the same leonine grace, Axl frowning as he followed the other man up to the roof.
Cool air off the ocean felt good, helping clear Axl's mind as he watched David sit on the roof ledge, legs dangling casually over a ten-story drop. He offered a cigarette and a light, which Axl took, before cautiously throwing one leg over the ledge to straddle it, facing David as they smoked in companionable silence for a while.
"Looks like your friends are still living it up. Maybe too much."
Axl grimaced, sucking on a lungful of smoke rather than answer right away. It was true, though he didn't want to admit it. Half the time it was amazing they even found the stage, let alone got through full sets. Steve was the worst, Slash and Izzy vying hard for second like it was a damn competition to see who could get the most fucked up.
"What's it to you?"
David chuckled at Axl's tone, blowing out a lazy smoke ring, eyes on the twinkling lights of the pre-dawn city.
"To me? Nothing at all. You don't seem so happy about it though."
Anger and frustration flared in Axl's chest, and he snarled at his rooftop companion.
"What the hell do you know about what makes me happy, motherfucker."
A wry smile tweaked at David's lips as he turned cool eyes towards the redhead.
"Just know what I see, I guess. And that you'll miss them when they're gone."
Axl stared at the blonde, seeing him better in the city lights. He appeared almost as strung out as Steve or Slash on a bad night, his face gaunt and skull-like in the neon glare that surrounded them. A thought hit Axl, and he blurted it out before he considered the consequences.
"Where are your brothers? They'd've been all over a party like this."
David's face flashed with pain before it hardened, pale blue eyes narrowing and glancing away. His voice was almost too soft for Axl to catch, spoken between puffs of a new cigarette.
"…They're…indisposed…"
Now it was Axl's turn to smirk. "Rehab got 'em, yeah? Left you behind when they went clean?"
A long exhale and a pause. "Something like that."
"Sucks to be you, I guess. Me 'n the boys'll figure our own shit out, just like we always do."
David turned his head slowly back towards Axl, a too-sharp smile growing across his mug.
"Gonna suck for both of us. Guess that's just how life is sometimes."
Axl barely had time to exclaim as David grabbed him, pulled him close. He could swear he saw blue eyes flash fiery gold before pain lanced down across his neck and shoulder and the world went dark.
…...
Another crappy morning…or maybe afternoon. Axl's head throbbed in time with the sound of a headboard thumping rhythmically against a wall as someone fucked some leftover trim on the bed next to his. Cracking narrowed eyes, he saw Duff's long form draped over some chick too tiny to see more than a pair of skinny legs looped around his friend's ass.
"Fucking finish fucking before I beat your damned head in!"
Duff just laughed, the girl under him whining annoyingly until he sped up (the bastard), finally finishing with a couple of moans and grunts, to slump down and collapse off to the near side of his bed as he and the girl panted happily in the afterglow.
Nearly growling, Axl got up, staggering slightly as he headed for the bathroom. He was taking a leak when he heard a soft giggle coming from the curtained bathtub. Expecting some groupie that might make his day a little brighter, he pulled the curtain back with a smile.
Slash lay stretched out, strung out, hazy grin on his face, needle in one hand and loose tourniquet still wrapped around the other arm. Axl started swearing, grabbing the needle and throwing it in the trash, turning the shower on cold and full force on the prone figure.
It took several minutes for Slash to even notice, several more for him to start sputtering, batting weakly at the chilly spray. Axl turned the water off, reaching down to pull Slash upright and help him out of the tub, but he was too heavy and loose-limbed to move.
"Duff! Get your clothes on and help me with this idiot!"
McKagan shuffled in, grumbling as he grabbed Slash under the armpits, Axl hefting him at his knees to crab-walk the addled fool out and toss him on the nearest bed. Duff's toy was still on the bed, and squeaked as a cold, wet Slash landed practically in her lap. Squirming out from under him, she threw on some clothes and took off out of the suite, swearing like a sailor.
Looking around, Axl sighed. "Alright, where're the other two?"
Duff shrugged, gesturing to the rest of the suite. "Around, I guess? I was busy, ya know, doing something."
"Yeah, you were doing something. You got a fetish man, that chick barely came up to your chest. We better not get hit with another underage charge."
"Hey, she was old enough. I just like 'em pocket sized. Fit like a glove, ya know? And she wasn't complaining till we dumped Slash on her."
Axl smirked at the taller man. "Such a fucking asshole."
McKagan just laughed. "That was the plan, but someone had to interrupt…"
On the bed, Slash groaned, wiping a hand across his face and struggling to sit up. Axl rolled his eyes.
"You deal with that. I'm gonna look for the others."
Wandering between rooms, he finally found Steve and Izzy, curled up together, farther gone in the grip of Mr. Brownstone than Slash had been. Not even several ice buckets of cold water roused them from their delirium.
Axl started throwing things and swearing at the top of his (considerable) lungs. The few groupies that were still around made a hasty retreat after he tossed a bottle against a balcony door, breaking both and sending glass flying into the room.
Storming back to where Slash and Duff sat sharing cigarettes and one of the last bottles of jack, he stared hard at them both, panting as his earlier rage slowly ebbed.
"Gimme one of those."
Slash held out his own cigarette, this one just barely lit, and Axl snatched it out of his hand, glaring hard at the curly haired man. The mark on the darker man's throat made him furious, and he grabbed at Slash's shoulder, pulling him close so he could look at it better.
"What the fuck did you do, asshole, shoot up in your goddamn neck?"
Putting a hand to his neck, Slash shook his head, frowning.
"What? No, man, I used my arm, it was fine."
Duff gave the redhead an odd look. "You could answer that too, you've got the same thing."
Axl slapped at his neck, grunting as he felt something painfully tender. Storming over to the bathroom he checked it out, pushing gently on the dark bruise. He tried to remember the night before, but most of it was a blur. Something about pale, blue eyes? He stomped back out and headed for the door.
"Fuck it. You assholes can ring me when you've got your shit together. I'm out."
He heard Slash calling out, ignoring it in favor of hitting the elevator, leaning tensely against a wall till it arrived at the main floor. One of the handlers was sitting in the lobby, and hopped up to escort him out to a waiting limo. He snarled at the driver as he got in.
"Take me home."
Pouring himself a drink, he stared out the window as the limo pulled away, feeling his eyes sting and his heart clench as the hotel shrank in the distance. Fuck them. Fuck all of them for shitting on what they had.
He tossed the glass in his hand hard against the limo door opposite, but the padding kept it from breaking, instead it fell with a heavy thud to the floor, the dregs of alcohol dribbling uselessly out on the red carpeting. Covering his eyes, he leaned back, slumping further down in the seat, memories of the wild, hungry joy of earlier days cycling endlessly, hopelessly in his mind.