Sugar on the dashboard
summary: ‘83 Axl Rose and his sweet girlfriend(reader).
warnings: fluff, flirting, mentions of sex(little parts of smut), mentions of w33d.
wc: 7.4k words
taglist: @cr0wwz @yourrockingirl
The motel room right around Arizona smelled like Marlboro Reds, your sweet vanilla perfume and the coffee that always brewed too long. Tiny little place, wallpaper peeling slightly and crooked furniture.
Axl called it "the palace", all the rooms or little apartments you'd manage to rent for a while where called that way. He'd always stumble through the front door of each one like he was entering some grand estate instead of a one bedroom shoebox.
But it was yours's.
"There's my girl." he said with a lazy grin as he came back from gig-hunting, dropping his leather jacket onto the couch and going towards you, his hands slowly wrapping around your waist as he hugged you from behind, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. "Missed you, baby." he said, voice hoarse.
You smiled as you folded the laundry, giggling a little as his breath tickled you. "Hope you came back with some cash, your 'palace' owes thirty seven dollars to the landlord." you said, looking over your shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised.
He smirked, slowly taking the laundry from your hands and throwing it somewhere on the bed, "Less talking, more kissing."
God.
That stupid, cocky, dangerous act that had convinced you at nineteen years old to climb into his beat-up car outside Lafayette and drive all the way to California with barely two duffle bags between you.
You remembered the cornfields disappearing behind you in the rearview mirror, remembered him drumming his hands on the steering wheel while the radio crackled. Remembered thinking: i'm ruining my life.
And then he'd looked over at you, freckles lit gold by the setting sun,
"You scared, sugar?"
And somehow, somehow you weren't anymore.
You laughed as he kissed you, kissing him back passionately just to give him a little taste, before going back to your laundry. You pulled away, smiling warmly "Later." you said, pointing at him playfully, turning back to grab the folded clothes and place them on the table nearby.
He rolled his eyes, a smile still plastered on his lips as he followed you, setting his chin on your shoulder as he looked at a piece of paper set on the table. "What're huntin' tonight?"
"The Troubadour's looking for opening acts next Thursday. We can catch a bus, maybe."
"Oh yeah?" His eyes lit up instantly. "Think they'll like me?
"No," you said plainly.
He barked out a laugh, then turned to kiss your cheek anyway. "You're mean."
You smiled, turning your head towards him once more "You love me."
His red hair was tied back messily, a few strands hanging in his face. White tank top with a band's name on it, jeans hanging low on his hips, rings on his fingers. Pretty enough to be sinful and fully aware of it.
But his eyes always softened whenever he looked at you. Always.
Like he couldn't believe you were really there.
He then leaned against the table beside you while you kept scanning gig lists, and after a minute he hooked his finger through one of your belt loops absentmindedly. You let him, looking at him sweetly, your arms now resting behind his neck as you kissed him softly. His hands slowly dragged you closer by your waist, fingers slipping under the fabric of your shirt, resting on the soft flesh of your skin. You broke the kiss, ghosting his lips over his, "You hungry?"
He smirked "I'm always hungry", he said, his hands now slowly moving lower as he gazed into your eyes.
You chuckled "Not for that,"
He then grinned instantly, going to kiss the sweet spot on your neck softly. His hands roamed slowly over your body, making your eyes close as you sighed softly.
"C'mon. Let me make you feel good."
Most nights blurred together after a while.
Cheap motels.
Cheap diners.
Gas stations glowing under flickering neon. The kind you two would steal beer from, and then run back to the car, laughing like two idiots as the manager ran after you.
Nights where you'd be stuck on the road, Axl driving with one hand on the wheel and the other somewhere on you at all times. Either your knee, your hand.
The inside of your thigh, loving how you at first would clench your thighs around it, and 5 minutes later, sweetly moan his name.
There'd be nights in laundromats where you'd sit cross-legged on top of a dryer reading old magazine while Axl scribbled lyrics onto napkins beside you. Or it would be him sitting on top of a washing machine while you folded clothes, bothering you.
"C'mere."
"Axl, stop."
"Baby, i'm dying over here. Gimme a kiss."
Moments where you'd sit on beaches at night, maybe venice beach or santa monica. He'd lie his head on your lap talking nonsense while waves crashed nearby, his jacket wrapped over both of you cause you'd both forget it gets cold.
And then suddenly,
"Marry me someday."
You chuckled "You don't even have twenty dollars."
And he smiled, tugging a strand of your hair playfully, "Didn't say tonight."
You'd sometimes fight. It got bad, him acting childish, getting defensive. You crying out from frustration, and then from how good he was making it up by fucking you all night. He'd praise you, tell you how sorry he is, how much he loves and cherishes you.
He kissed your neck, biting the flesh softly as he brought your hands above your head, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he felt you arch your back under him, lewd sounds leaving your mouth.
"You're fuckin' mine. All mine."
Sometimes you'd flirt your way into clubs for him. That became your thing.
Tiny skirts, sweet smiles, batting your eyelashes at irritated owners while Axl leaned against the wall somewhere behind you pretending to not want to bash those fuckers heads.
"Oh, c'mon." you smiled at some grumpy manager outside a club. "Just one set. He's really good."
The owner would sigh dramatically. "Everybody says that."
"But he's different."
And Axl nearly exploded with smugness every single time it worked. The second you'd walk to him, he'd wrap an arm around your shoulders.
"You were flirtin'"
"I was helping!"
"You smiled at him."
You giggled, "What, you jealous?"
And he'd remind you quickly whose you were, in the car.
And the most peaceful ones where when you smoked pot on some roof at night, talking about nothing and everything while laughing at everything.
He'd hide his face in your thighs, muffled groans and sounds making you laugh. You'd brush the hair out of his face as he stopped, resting his head on your knee, looking at you with glossy eyes.
You'd smile lazily, "You're staaarinnng."
Then suddenly, he'd get up to grab your face and kiss you hard enough to steal the breath from your lungs. All desperation, all feeling. His hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer against him while he smiled against your mouth. "You believe in me too much, y'know?"
"Somebody has to."
"Baby," he kissed you again, slower this time. "You got no idea what you do to me."
You giggled, kissing him back for a second before pulling back to look into his eyes, butterflies fluttering in your stomach only from the look he'd given you.
You licked your lip, grabbing his face gently, making you both giggle before you pulled your act together. "One day, people're gonna beg to have you sing at those places. I know it."
He smiled, staring into your eyes a little while longer before pulling you into his arms.
And you let him, closing your eyes as you lay your head on his chest, smiling 'cause you knew you were right.
Even back then.
