live it up, 'cause, baby, it's your time
Title: Brutal Love [21]
Author: Molly
Pairing: Billie/Mike
Summary: “I wanna fuck you,” Billie said, and his tone held no negotiation.
Previous parts: located here
The house was quiet. Mike's car was parked in the garage, with the hood still slightly warm, and it wasn't quite yet time for Olivia to be getting home from school; they had about an hour before they would have to meet her at the bus stop. As the frontman went looking for Mike, he shrugged out of his jacket, silently peering down into the basement, for a sign of life, and finding none there, and none in the living room either. Billie padded up the stairs, noticing with some distaste how tired his legs felt, but how surprised could he be, considering how little sleep both him and his partner had been getting lately?
Their bedroom door was open, and once he had crossed the entrance to it, he could hear the tell-tale sign of the shower running. Steam was drifting out of the crack of the bathroom door, for a second clue to the whereabouts of Billie Joe's husband. Tiptoeing in, he could see Mike behind the foggy glass doors of their shower, standing under the spray with one hand splayed against the wall and the other dragging through the wet hair atop of his bowed head. His entire body was flushed, indicating that he had likely been in there awhile.
Without making a sound, Billie shed his clothes, from the socks on his feet to the t-shirt he'd had for maybe eight years, so the bassist didn't notice his presence until Billie was creaking the shower door open.
Mike looked over his shoulder, initially startled, but even as he pawed the water out of his eyes, Mike seemed relieved to see him. He reached for Billie Joe, pulling him under the water and burying his face in the crook of his neck, all with a shaky sigh.
He bit his lip, while Mike appeared to be making an attempt to bury himself inside his body, and loving fingers ran over radiating skin, mouthing kisses over tattooed shoulders. “How did it go?” Billie asked in between, tilting his head back enough to peer into blue eyes, because he needed to know just how close his lover was to a nervous breakdown.
“About as well as you'd expect it to,” Mike murmured, not meeting his eyes and instead focusing on pink lips. “She was almost as hard for me to tell as you were.”
“She'll be okay,” he assured him gently, more as a knee-jerk reaction than anything. . . he didn't want Mike worrying about anything more than he had to. “Myla's tough, Mikey, and she wouldn't want you getting anxious over her.”
Though Billie's words offered minimal comfort, he nodded anyway. It didn't seem to make much sense to argue. “How about your mom?”
“Well, you know Mom. . . she's more worried about us than anything else. Worried about you.” Billie Joe sighed, smoothing a thumb across a tall cheekbone. “I'm worried about you,” he added in a whisper, voice almost petulant.
“Don't,” Mike told him, attempting a half-smile. “I'm okay. I told you, babe-what kills me more than anything about this is how it's affecting everybody I love.”
Something in the way he said it caused an uncomfortable feeling to slide in his belly, and he swallowed hard. Billie's oldest friend had always put others above himself, as he so vividly remembered from even their first time sleeping together, and a vengeful thought in the back of his mind growled at fact that this would happen to him, when he was so good and kind and sweet. . . The resulting despair was overwhelming, and as he gripped the back of Mike's head with both hands, he brought him down for a passionate kiss, pressing flush and almost desperate against him.
The bassist gasped into Billie's mouth, caught off guard with the sudden intensity, but he returned the kiss with interest, the arms winding around Billie's rounded hips holding him impossibly tighter. And despite Mike's enthusiastic exchange of lips and tongue, his husband was far more assertive than he usually bothered to be, therefore winning the upper-hand. What was even more shocking was the taller man's easy willingness to allow Billie Joe take it, his knees as weak as the rest of him, because at the end of the day, he already was Billie's, for the singer to do with him as he saw fit, and now more than ever, it was simpler to just let things be.
Whether or not his best friend would submit to his advances, Billie was far too determined and possessed by need to lose, at least in his not so clear mind, and without breaking their contact, Billie Joe forced the admittedly larger man into the unforgiving damp shower tiles, biting down on a bottom lip as he did so. Looking at old pictures, confessing recent horrors to his mother, facing the relatively certain and eventual demise of his family had him yearning for something to control, and this felt like the best place to start.
When his body slammed into the wall, Mike lost a breath or two, but he didn't have much time to consider it, since Mike's husband seemed hell bent on kissing the breath out of him anyway. He moaned a little, hands slicking up slippery sides to reach the defined muscles of Billie's shoulders, as his body began to respond to the intimacy, to the passion, to the heat. Mike's stomach quivered in a strange mixture of anticipation and pain-how much longer did he actually have to enjoy and be enjoyed by the person he loved most?--but all of his uncomfortable anxieties meant very little when Mike was being kissed this way.
He dropped his hands to clutch at Mike's waist, and with another forceful nip at his favorite set of thin lips, he pulled back, eyes smoldering. “I wanna fuck you,” Billie said, and his tone held no negotiation. “Is that okay?”
His stomach dropped, both at the words and the determination he found not only in Billie Joe's voice, but his dilated pupils, and he swallowed again. In the back of his mind, Mike scrambled to remember the last time his lover had been so forward, but it didn't matter; he could no more tell him no than Mike could wish away the tumors riddling his body. Besides, there was no denying the spark that the idea ignited in his groin. For him, getting fucked was a rare treat. “Of course,” he murmured, and even added a, “please,” because he suddenly found himself needful for it to happen. This time, it was Mike who bent to brush their lips together in a kiss.
Wordlessly, and very slowly, the frontman turned Mike's hips so his lanky front was aligned with the wall. Billie kissed the protruding knobs of his spine, as his hands skated from their entwined fingers to the cheeks of his husband's ass. He caressed them both slowly, a massage made even more intimate and smooth from the hot water spraying down from the shower, and he blinked excess drops from his eyes. The bassist's body was tense, no doubt because it hadn't been fucked in weeks, maybe even months (neither of them could remember), and Billie shushed kitten-like whimpers while wriggling the first finger through the familiar ringed muscle.
“It's okay,” he whispered, settling his palm against Mike's trembling stomach, continuing to kiss every inch of taut skin he could possibly reach, “you're okay, babe. We're okay.”
He closed his eyes, leant his head back, and placed his hand over Billie Joe's. The legs underneath him were shaking, and Mike had to lock his knees, because he wasn't about to fuck this up by collapsing. This felt important. Though it had been awhile and the intrusion of his ass was initially uncomfortable, it was easy enough to get used to, and his free hand reached back to bury fingers into slicked black hair. “I know,” Mike whispered back, the sound nearly inaudible in the din of the water falling around them. His breath caught as the one finger that had become three prodded the sweet spot inside of him, and he choked. “God, I know.”
Billie had to stand up on the balls of his feet, due to their difference in height, in order for his cock to be parallel to its desired destination. As the inflamed member began to inch its way into the ridiculously tight heat of Mike's ass, he curled his hand around Mike's erection, and hissed, “I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you too,” Mike gasped, eyes first flying open and then squeezing shut at the rare sensation of being filled. He would forever tease Billie for the slighter size of his length, especially in comparison to his own, but it wasn't as if his asshole was in proportion to his cock. As Mike pressed his forehead against the slippery bathroom tiles, he groaned.
Once Billie Joe was certain that his lover's body had adjusted to him well enough, he started to move, just a few handful of shallow thrusts to get him used to that as well, before Billie was going for broke. It had been a long time, a damn long time, since he had taken such a physical initiative in his relationship, and it was setting every single one of his senses on fire. What was also interesting was that Billie could not recall a time he had ever fucked the taller man standing, which was obviously somewhat more of a challenge; Billie Joe had to use almost all of the muscles that composed his lower body just to keep himself on target, as he rocked back and forth. Gritting his teeth, he slid his hand from Mike's erection to his hip, to hold him by both in order to keep his balance, and as he ran his tongue down the steady planes of Mike's back, he said breathlessly, “Touch yourself, Mikey.”
He didn't need any persuasion. Mike's hand was already scampering between his legs of its own accord, when he'd lost the grip of his husband's hand, and Mike moaned in time with the thrusting man behind him. It was wild, how less than thirty minutes ago, the only thing that was bothering his brain was how the hell he was going to deal with what his life was destined to become, and all it took to make him feel anything other than heartbreak was Billie's animal-like hunger for him. The weight of that reality was enough to have his belly sliding with emotion again, but Mike slammed his hand against the tiled wall like he was smacking away anything that could distract him from this blissful moment, in which Mike had the opportunity to enjoy Billie Joe fucking Armstrong being the man he'd always known he was.
They came together. The bassist could sense it in the climactic power of Billie's hips striking his backside, could hear it in the heightening pitch to Billie's breathing, and could feel it radiating in the building moans Billie Joe was issuing, laced in between curses and drawn out vowels of his own name. After so many odd years of having sex with the magnificent creature behind him, Mike could all but taste his impending orgasm in the air, so that when the final thrust came, he pushed himself over the edge in time, their ragged cries echoing against the unforgiving bathroom walls.
Billie, as he gulped air back into his mouth and attempted (and failed) to slow the rapid beating of his heart, didn't fall back onto the flats of his feet until his head didn't feel quite so light-headed. When he finally relaxed his legs, they ached from the strain, and he winced and wiggled his toes. A part of him was sharply aware of his vigorous behavior and how almost unnaturally forthright he'd been with his lover, and Billie caressed bony hips in apology, laid lingering kisses about every inch of skin he could reach.
“Thanks for letting me to do that,” he whispered, hugging Mike from behind. Green eyes stared, unseeingly, at the water that continued to fall down around them. “I think I needed that. . .”
“I think I did too,” he replied softly and turned in tattooed arms, to pull Billie Joe close against him, kiss his wet hair, and sigh into the side of his throat. Mike kissed the flesh he found there. “You're fucking amazing, have I ever told you that?”
“Mm,” Billie hummed with a weak smile, tilting his head back to meet the same expression mirrored on the taller man's face. He kissed him, not moving the hands he had clasped behind Mike's back. “You might have. I happen to think you're even more awesome, though.”
He smiled. “Of course you do. And I'm not even going to bother telling you how absurdly beautiful you look right now, because I know we could play this game all day.” Mike bent for another brief kiss, sighing again when his eyes flickered back up to the digital clock he himself had mounted on the far wall when his lover kept making them late due to an overly anal hair and makeup regimen. Though, he would admit that Billie wasn't nearly as bad as he used to be, like back in the American Idiot days. After he'd had Olivia, he had been supremely self-conscious and practiced a compulsive need to perfect himself for every Green Day appearance. It took about four years or so of endless compliments and reassurances from Mike before he finally felt comfortable with himself again, and that, Mike thought, was one of his greatest accomplishments to date, Grammy's be damned. “We should actually get cleaned up before we turn into prunes. We've got about a half hour before Livy will be getting home from school.”
“Yeah, okay.” But Billie Joe brought that angular face to his for just one more kiss, lingering with the briefest teasing swipe of his tongue. “I love you, babe.”
“I know, Bill,” he sighed and hugged him close. “I love you too.”
Author: Molly
Pairing: Billie/Mike
Summary: “I wanna fuck you,” Billie said, and his tone held no negotiation.
Previous parts: located here
The house was quiet. Mike's car was parked in the garage, with the hood still slightly warm, and it wasn't quite yet time for Olivia to be getting home from school; they had about an hour before they would have to meet her at the bus stop. As the frontman went looking for Mike, he shrugged out of his jacket, silently peering down into the basement, for a sign of life, and finding none there, and none in the living room either. Billie padded up the stairs, noticing with some distaste how tired his legs felt, but how surprised could he be, considering how little sleep both him and his partner had been getting lately?
Their bedroom door was open, and once he had crossed the entrance to it, he could hear the tell-tale sign of the shower running. Steam was drifting out of the crack of the bathroom door, for a second clue to the whereabouts of Billie Joe's husband. Tiptoeing in, he could see Mike behind the foggy glass doors of their shower, standing under the spray with one hand splayed against the wall and the other dragging through the wet hair atop of his bowed head. His entire body was flushed, indicating that he had likely been in there awhile.
Without making a sound, Billie shed his clothes, from the socks on his feet to the t-shirt he'd had for maybe eight years, so the bassist didn't notice his presence until Billie was creaking the shower door open.
Mike looked over his shoulder, initially startled, but even as he pawed the water out of his eyes, Mike seemed relieved to see him. He reached for Billie Joe, pulling him under the water and burying his face in the crook of his neck, all with a shaky sigh.
He bit his lip, while Mike appeared to be making an attempt to bury himself inside his body, and loving fingers ran over radiating skin, mouthing kisses over tattooed shoulders. “How did it go?” Billie asked in between, tilting his head back enough to peer into blue eyes, because he needed to know just how close his lover was to a nervous breakdown.
“About as well as you'd expect it to,” Mike murmured, not meeting his eyes and instead focusing on pink lips. “She was almost as hard for me to tell as you were.”
“She'll be okay,” he assured him gently, more as a knee-jerk reaction than anything. . . he didn't want Mike worrying about anything more than he had to. “Myla's tough, Mikey, and she wouldn't want you getting anxious over her.”
Though Billie's words offered minimal comfort, he nodded anyway. It didn't seem to make much sense to argue. “How about your mom?”
“Well, you know Mom. . . she's more worried about us than anything else. Worried about you.” Billie Joe sighed, smoothing a thumb across a tall cheekbone. “I'm worried about you,” he added in a whisper, voice almost petulant.
“Don't,” Mike told him, attempting a half-smile. “I'm okay. I told you, babe-what kills me more than anything about this is how it's affecting everybody I love.”
Something in the way he said it caused an uncomfortable feeling to slide in his belly, and he swallowed hard. Billie's oldest friend had always put others above himself, as he so vividly remembered from even their first time sleeping together, and a vengeful thought in the back of his mind growled at fact that this would happen to him, when he was so good and kind and sweet. . . The resulting despair was overwhelming, and as he gripped the back of Mike's head with both hands, he brought him down for a passionate kiss, pressing flush and almost desperate against him.
The bassist gasped into Billie's mouth, caught off guard with the sudden intensity, but he returned the kiss with interest, the arms winding around Billie's rounded hips holding him impossibly tighter. And despite Mike's enthusiastic exchange of lips and tongue, his husband was far more assertive than he usually bothered to be, therefore winning the upper-hand. What was even more shocking was the taller man's easy willingness to allow Billie Joe take it, his knees as weak as the rest of him, because at the end of the day, he already was Billie's, for the singer to do with him as he saw fit, and now more than ever, it was simpler to just let things be.
Whether or not his best friend would submit to his advances, Billie was far too determined and possessed by need to lose, at least in his not so clear mind, and without breaking their contact, Billie Joe forced the admittedly larger man into the unforgiving damp shower tiles, biting down on a bottom lip as he did so. Looking at old pictures, confessing recent horrors to his mother, facing the relatively certain and eventual demise of his family had him yearning for something to control, and this felt like the best place to start.
When his body slammed into the wall, Mike lost a breath or two, but he didn't have much time to consider it, since Mike's husband seemed hell bent on kissing the breath out of him anyway. He moaned a little, hands slicking up slippery sides to reach the defined muscles of Billie's shoulders, as his body began to respond to the intimacy, to the passion, to the heat. Mike's stomach quivered in a strange mixture of anticipation and pain-how much longer did he actually have to enjoy and be enjoyed by the person he loved most?--but all of his uncomfortable anxieties meant very little when Mike was being kissed this way.
He dropped his hands to clutch at Mike's waist, and with another forceful nip at his favorite set of thin lips, he pulled back, eyes smoldering. “I wanna fuck you,” Billie said, and his tone held no negotiation. “Is that okay?”
His stomach dropped, both at the words and the determination he found not only in Billie Joe's voice, but his dilated pupils, and he swallowed again. In the back of his mind, Mike scrambled to remember the last time his lover had been so forward, but it didn't matter; he could no more tell him no than Mike could wish away the tumors riddling his body. Besides, there was no denying the spark that the idea ignited in his groin. For him, getting fucked was a rare treat. “Of course,” he murmured, and even added a, “please,” because he suddenly found himself needful for it to happen. This time, it was Mike who bent to brush their lips together in a kiss.
Wordlessly, and very slowly, the frontman turned Mike's hips so his lanky front was aligned with the wall. Billie kissed the protruding knobs of his spine, as his hands skated from their entwined fingers to the cheeks of his husband's ass. He caressed them both slowly, a massage made even more intimate and smooth from the hot water spraying down from the shower, and he blinked excess drops from his eyes. The bassist's body was tense, no doubt because it hadn't been fucked in weeks, maybe even months (neither of them could remember), and Billie shushed kitten-like whimpers while wriggling the first finger through the familiar ringed muscle.
“It's okay,” he whispered, settling his palm against Mike's trembling stomach, continuing to kiss every inch of taut skin he could possibly reach, “you're okay, babe. We're okay.”
He closed his eyes, leant his head back, and placed his hand over Billie Joe's. The legs underneath him were shaking, and Mike had to lock his knees, because he wasn't about to fuck this up by collapsing. This felt important. Though it had been awhile and the intrusion of his ass was initially uncomfortable, it was easy enough to get used to, and his free hand reached back to bury fingers into slicked black hair. “I know,” Mike whispered back, the sound nearly inaudible in the din of the water falling around them. His breath caught as the one finger that had become three prodded the sweet spot inside of him, and he choked. “God, I know.”
Billie had to stand up on the balls of his feet, due to their difference in height, in order for his cock to be parallel to its desired destination. As the inflamed member began to inch its way into the ridiculously tight heat of Mike's ass, he curled his hand around Mike's erection, and hissed, “I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you too,” Mike gasped, eyes first flying open and then squeezing shut at the rare sensation of being filled. He would forever tease Billie for the slighter size of his length, especially in comparison to his own, but it wasn't as if his asshole was in proportion to his cock. As Mike pressed his forehead against the slippery bathroom tiles, he groaned.
Once Billie Joe was certain that his lover's body had adjusted to him well enough, he started to move, just a few handful of shallow thrusts to get him used to that as well, before Billie was going for broke. It had been a long time, a damn long time, since he had taken such a physical initiative in his relationship, and it was setting every single one of his senses on fire. What was also interesting was that Billie could not recall a time he had ever fucked the taller man standing, which was obviously somewhat more of a challenge; Billie Joe had to use almost all of the muscles that composed his lower body just to keep himself on target, as he rocked back and forth. Gritting his teeth, he slid his hand from Mike's erection to his hip, to hold him by both in order to keep his balance, and as he ran his tongue down the steady planes of Mike's back, he said breathlessly, “Touch yourself, Mikey.”
He didn't need any persuasion. Mike's hand was already scampering between his legs of its own accord, when he'd lost the grip of his husband's hand, and Mike moaned in time with the thrusting man behind him. It was wild, how less than thirty minutes ago, the only thing that was bothering his brain was how the hell he was going to deal with what his life was destined to become, and all it took to make him feel anything other than heartbreak was Billie's animal-like hunger for him. The weight of that reality was enough to have his belly sliding with emotion again, but Mike slammed his hand against the tiled wall like he was smacking away anything that could distract him from this blissful moment, in which Mike had the opportunity to enjoy Billie Joe fucking Armstrong being the man he'd always known he was.
They came together. The bassist could sense it in the climactic power of Billie's hips striking his backside, could hear it in the heightening pitch to Billie's breathing, and could feel it radiating in the building moans Billie Joe was issuing, laced in between curses and drawn out vowels of his own name. After so many odd years of having sex with the magnificent creature behind him, Mike could all but taste his impending orgasm in the air, so that when the final thrust came, he pushed himself over the edge in time, their ragged cries echoing against the unforgiving bathroom walls.
Billie, as he gulped air back into his mouth and attempted (and failed) to slow the rapid beating of his heart, didn't fall back onto the flats of his feet until his head didn't feel quite so light-headed. When he finally relaxed his legs, they ached from the strain, and he winced and wiggled his toes. A part of him was sharply aware of his vigorous behavior and how almost unnaturally forthright he'd been with his lover, and Billie caressed bony hips in apology, laid lingering kisses about every inch of skin he could reach.
“Thanks for letting me to do that,” he whispered, hugging Mike from behind. Green eyes stared, unseeingly, at the water that continued to fall down around them. “I think I needed that. . .”
“I think I did too,” he replied softly and turned in tattooed arms, to pull Billie Joe close against him, kiss his wet hair, and sigh into the side of his throat. Mike kissed the flesh he found there. “You're fucking amazing, have I ever told you that?”
“Mm,” Billie hummed with a weak smile, tilting his head back to meet the same expression mirrored on the taller man's face. He kissed him, not moving the hands he had clasped behind Mike's back. “You might have. I happen to think you're even more awesome, though.”
He smiled. “Of course you do. And I'm not even going to bother telling you how absurdly beautiful you look right now, because I know we could play this game all day.” Mike bent for another brief kiss, sighing again when his eyes flickered back up to the digital clock he himself had mounted on the far wall when his lover kept making them late due to an overly anal hair and makeup regimen. Though, he would admit that Billie wasn't nearly as bad as he used to be, like back in the American Idiot days. After he'd had Olivia, he had been supremely self-conscious and practiced a compulsive need to perfect himself for every Green Day appearance. It took about four years or so of endless compliments and reassurances from Mike before he finally felt comfortable with himself again, and that, Mike thought, was one of his greatest accomplishments to date, Grammy's be damned. “We should actually get cleaned up before we turn into prunes. We've got about a half hour before Livy will be getting home from school.”
“Yeah, okay.” But Billie Joe brought that angular face to his for just one more kiss, lingering with the briefest teasing swipe of his tongue. “I love you, babe.”
“I know, Bill,” he sighed and hugged him close. “I love you too.”