Glædig Jul, Chapter One
Title: Glædig Jul (1 of 3)
Authors: tasyfa and looking_spiffy
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Billie Joe Armstrong/Lars Ulrich
Disclaimer: Purely fictional.
Summary: 'Motherfuckforhelvede I'm gonna do it.' Christmas time, mistletoe and wine - and lube, and barstools, and rice pudding… Billie and Lars are spending their first Christmas together as a couple, time divided between their respective families, and so far it's running surprisingly smoothly. That is, until they find a gift on Lars's doorstep that could push their relationship to a whole new level or derail them completely…
Notes: The final part of the Wayward Saints saga. All previous parts can be found here or here.
Chapter One
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"It'f dlaedig dool," Lars spluttered, sending out flecks of his dessert over the table. Layne and Myles instantly burst out in a fit of oddly harmonising giggles at their father, who was now dabbing up the small lumps of rice pudding with his napkin.
"Daddy, how's he s'posed to get it if he can't even understand you?" Myles grinned, while Layne just continued to giggle devilishly, hiding his grin behind his oversized spoon. Lars stubbornly finished his mouthful in silence, frown creasing his brow to prove just how serious he was, even in the face of laughing children and a quietly amused father at the head of the table.
"You shouldn't really talk with your mouth full," Torben chided, righting the silver paper crown on his head, which only served to amuse Myles and Layne more. "It's a very bad example."
Lars finally swallowed and looked to the young boys. His voice softened a little, eyebrows raising, genuinely serious for once. "Well, I hope my sons are smart enough to know when not to emulate their daddy, huh?"
Both children nodded, Layne doing so with great vigour as he scooped another spoonful of rice pudding from his bowl. "I'm smart."
"Yes you are." Lars wiped at his mouth overly delicately and turned to the person beside him, the person he'd been addressing in the first place. "Okay, Merry Christmas in Danish, or the equivalent, is glædig jul." He pronounced it slower. "Glay-dhee yool. Try it."
Glay-dhee yool. Glay-dhee yool. You can say that, Billie Joe told himself. He finished his bite of pudding, even more self-conscious about etiquette after Lars's rather spectacular disregard of it, and opened his mouth.
"Glad-hay yull," was what came out. He winced, rolling his eyes dramatically at the giggling boys. A few more attempts, each more mangled than the last, and Billie gave up with a rueful smile. He had enough trouble wrapping his tongue around some stuff in English and that was his native language. "Maybe I'll get it by next Christmas."
He went back to his dessert. It was good; the entire meal had been good, just a little bit…off. Not in a bad way but most of the dishes had simply tasted slightly different than what he was accustomed to - used different spices, or different combinations of flavours. Nor was Billie used to Christmas Eve being a big deal. Like most Americans, he'd always celebrated on Christmas Day. But for all that Lars had lived here for decades, he was European in his traditions and so here they were, gathered around Torben Ulrich's table, on December 24th. Eating incredibly rich, fragrant pudding that didn't seem like it should be possible to make with something as humble as rice.
Silver glinted at him from everywhere he looked. The house was beautifully decorated in wintry shades, the cool metallic complemented by the white of the snow they didn't get in California. His gaze crossed Torben's and Billie smiled. He'd met Lars's father briefly before but hadn't spent any real time with him until this evening. He'd been a gracious host; Billie wouldn't have expected anything else, given the little he knew of him. His own tension had eased considerably by this point in time, aided by that graciousness and the happy kids, and Lars just being himself. It was a nice family dinner and he was acutely aware that it felt like a family dinner. Like he'd been included in this one.
Billie took another spoonful, reflecting gratefully for what had to be the millionth time that the Danish tradition of celebrating tonight instead made it one hell of a lot easier to juggle this with the two families he already had to accommodate for the holidays.
Lars scraped at his bowl, chewing and swallowing another mouthful and grinning. "Guess we'll wait 'til Christmas 2008 to teach you glædig jul og godt nytår. And there's a Danish Christmas carol or two for the following years."
He heard Billie snuff a laugh, which made him grin wider. He actually felt kind of giddy - initial excited nerves had faded out into true elation, his lover having settled in so well here tonight. He hadn't even grimaced at the odd mix of traditional Danish and traditional American Christmas food which had become the norm in the Ulrich household at this time of year. Billie was part of the family now; tonight had sealed the deal.
Both Layne and Myles thanked their father and grandfather as they finished off their dessert, and Lars heaved a deep, satisfied sigh, pushing his chair out. "Alright, it's getting late." He nodded at his sons. "If you guys start getting ready for bed now, you can watch Spongebob before you go to sleep, okay? But you've gotta make sure you keep the curtains closed and you don't look out the window. If Santa gets to California early this year and you see him flying past, he might just conveniently forget to drop off some gifts for you." Layne looked momentarily stricken until his father reassured him with a secretive murmur. "If we have to, I'll explain to him that you're really good and you didn't mean to see him, and I'll say the same for me. I'll talk him around. You know I'm good at that."
The brothers nodded and grinned. "Okay," Layne whispered, eyes wide and eager.
Lars returned the grin, standing up and jerked his head towards Billie. "Alright then. Say g'night to your uncle."
Layne slid down from his chair and toddled over to Billie, stretching his arms out for a hug and gleefully whispering, "I like you!" into his ear. Myles followed, altogether more exaggerated in his embrace, throwing his arms around the frontman's neck. After a tight squeeze, he retreated and tilted his head, looking quizzical. A beat, and he spoke. "Your hair feels weird. Maybe you should wash it."
At that, Lars full-on cackled. Layne giggled, clasping his hands over his mouth as his shoulders shook. The same wicked sparkle found so often in his father's eyes was all too apparent in his own.
Billie ignored Lars completely and smiled at the kids, leaning forward to speak in a conspiratorial whisper. "Can I tell you a secret?" When they both nodded, he continued, "Have you ever seen your mom or dad iron something, maybe a shirt like this?" He pointed to his own white shirt and tie. "Well, they iron it to take out all the wrinkles so they can dress up for something important. And I have a special kind of iron that I use on my hair for when I wanna dress up."
He controlled the urge to laugh at the saucer eyes staring back at him. That sparkle in Layne's had been replaced by intense curiosity and Billie gently asked, "Would you like to touch it?" He bent down at the nod, feeling small fingers tug at his hair for just a moment before the boy darted back to his brother's side. Now he did grin, seeing Layne open and close his hand, frowning at the after-impressions of the admittedly crunchy spikes. Billie gave them a little wave. "I think your dad said something about p.j.s and Spongebob, huh? Gotta be ready for Santa. Merry Christmas!"
The two boys looked at each other and giggled, then chorused, "Glad-hay yull!" and broke for the stairs, repeating the mangled phrase to each other. Billie groaned out a laugh as they disappeared from sight.
"Why didn't you try teaching me to say that earlier, dude?" At Lars's amused snort, Billie finally looked at him, promptly crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue at his boyfriend. He knew perfectly well why: Lars wouldn't have been able to watch him squirm that way.
The silly expression got him the desired belly laugh and Billie settled into a normal grin, undisguised warmth in hazel eyes. "I miss that age. Not enough to go through potty training and the rest of it again, but it's a good one."
He rose slightly belatedly as both the Ulrich men stood and his vague sense of not knowing what to do now seemed to have been noticed since Lars shoved a stack of plates into his midsection, overriding Torben's protests that Billie was a guest with that one gesture.
A comfortable silence accompanied the domestic chores; neither was a stranger to this process, even with each other. Lars had had a point: 'guest' didn't adequately cover Billie's presence here. Ditto for the drummer's visits to the Armstrong home, which, while not all that frequent, were no longer characterised by abject panic or distress on anyone's part but rather indicated a growing level of understanding for all parties involved. 'Guest' had become 'family friend'; was becoming simply 'family', however unorthodox.
Billie hung the dish towel on its hook when they were done and moved to Lars, one hand rising to ghost over the lines defined around his mouth. "Happy looks good on you, Uli."
Lars gave a self-deprecating snort. "It's a rare sight, huh? Surprised it hasn't scared you off." He caught Billie's hand as it lowered, tugging the younger man that bit closer until their bodies came into contact, and brought Billie's wrist to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the inked skin. His other hand raised to settle at Billie's waist. "Thank you for coming tonight," he said with total sincerity. "It means a lot to me, and it means a lot to my dad, though he might not cop to it outright."
Informing his father of his relationship with Billie, and thus his bisexuality, had been a breeze. Torben had reacted to the news with a nod, a smile, a brief pause and a murmur along the lines of, 'I can see how content you are', and that had been that. Never mind the fact that Lars had returned home that night positively glowing.
"I'll say my goodnights and we can head out, okay?" At the nod, Lars turned and, not relinquishing Billie's hand, headed for the door. Suddenly, he paused in the doorway and turned back to face his lover, eyes raised up. "Fuck, would ya look at that," he drawled. "Pretty corny for him to stick up some fuckin' mistletoe."
He bit back a grin as Billie looked up, puzzled when he saw no sprig of greenery dangling above his head. The stifled grin became a spluttered laugh when hazel eyes returned to his, confused.
"I cannot believe you actually fell for that," Lars chuckled, earning himself a playful scowl from the other man. To compensate, he gave an exaggerated pout and pulled Billie in close, claiming a kiss anyway. He felt Billie's lips, tasting of cinnamon and all the more appealing for it, curve into a smile as they parted.
A few minutes later, Lars closed the door on his sons, already absorbed in Spongebob goodness, and swept down the stairs. The smile on his face was this time thanks to Myles, who had solemnly and almost secretively informed his father that he thought Billie was nice, and that the two of them liked him, even if he had weird hair. Layne had nodded in concurrence, and Lars, well, he felt giddy about it. Billie was okay by them. Fuck, honestly, he was giddy.
He stopped on the bottom step, hearing voices coming from the dining room, and decided to do what any self-respecting man would do on hearing his father and his lover indulging in a conversation without him: eavesdrop. He sat down in the semi-darkness and propped himself against the wall, his father's voice filtering through the double doors.
"Lars hasn't said a lot, but from tonight, I can see how happy you make him. If you don't mind me saying so, I see it vice versa as well. For that, you're welcome to visit here any time you wish."
Open surprise crossed Billie's face at Torben's forthrightness, particularly coming on the heels of the nostalgia of the stories he'd been telling about Lars's childhood, but a warm smile followed almost instantly.
"Your son doesn't usually say a lot, for all that he rarely stops talking. You sorta have to read between the lines, like he's got his own form of Braille or something." His smile widened at the other man's chuckle. Billie hesitated only a moment before adding, "He does make me happy, you're right. And, tak."
He might not have thought to look up - or practise - the Danish equivalent of 'Merry Christmas', but the monosyllabic word for 'thank you' was one he could easily manage and Torben's expression made him glad that he had. Lars's father had been the one Billie had been most nervous about, not the boys. He'd worn the badge of 'Uncle Billie' for a very long time now; being the baby of a large family, he was comfortable and then some with kids. More comfortable than with many adults, if he were honest. Billie found the lack of bullshit in the under-ten set very appealing.
As much as Billie and Lars joked sometimes about the idea of having started up this relationship back in '89, meeting Torben - having a conversation with him, more precisely - had made Billie extremely glad that he'd bought a few clues in the years since then. The man was smart. Nowadays Billie was fairly well-read and had a good grasp on world events, enough to hold his own, anyway. Ten to fifteen years ago, he'd been a pretty ignorant bastard. He'd have made a total mess of an evening like this back then.
He and Torben stood in a tableau for a moment, sharing a not-quite-spoken understanding about the man they both cared about so very much. A hint of wistfulness crept into Billie's mind at the thought that his own father would have been as welcoming.
Lars himself dispelled the moment when he re-entered the room and Billie Joe turned to face him, body automatically orienting towards his lover.
"They didn't, like, tape the curtains shut or anything on you, I take it?"
"Huh?" Lars blinked, the slight quirk in his eyebrow the only indication that he may have overheard something. "Um, no. Shit, you think I should go take away Myles's masking tape?" A beat, and he grinned wide. He slipped his hands into his pockets as he reached Billie. "Though you should know, Layne said that when he gets back to school in January, he's gonna tell all his friends that his daddy has a friend who irons his hair."
The three of them chuckled, and the drummer nudged Billie affectionately with his shoulder, leaning on him a little. He felt warmth swell in his chest.
Lars was loathe to draw comparisons at this late stage in their relationship, but this one was important to Lars and the word that had triggered it had echoed in his head since it had passed Billie's lips.
Tak.
James had never learned a word of Danish. To Lars's knowledge, he'd never tried. Not that the drummer wanted to paint his ex as the bad guy or anything; he'd never been overly bothered by it. He acknowledged that it wasn't the easiest language to learn from an English speaker's point of view, and he was fine with that. No biggie. But Billie? He'd apparently gone off, on his own initiative and without Lars having mentioned it at all, and learned thank you.
It was significant, even if he himself hadn't been the addressee. Lars wasn't about to let that pass without acknowledgement - in his own Larsian way, of course, and when the time was right. For now he merely gave a sly look, a sweet smile and a kiss to Billie's temple. He nodded towards the bottle set atop the polished oak cabinet with around a glassful of Merlot left inside.
"Cab's due in another five minutes. Wanna finish off the wine?"
"Yeah, sure," Billie agreed, hand lingering along Lars's arm as his boyfriend stepped away to pour. The ruby liquid lent its weight to the pleasant buzz in his system, and then Billie found himself standing beside the open cab door watching Lars say goodnight to his father.
The hug was slightly awkward in the way of many men but the smiles were bright and sincere, and that little wisp of wistfulness blossomed in his chest as he and Lars climbed into the vehicle. Billie Joe continued to watch Lars, wordlessly, until the drummer tilted his head and made a face, clearly telling him to quit it. A small smile curved his mouth.
"I envy you that sometimes, did you know? My family is…well, you've met my mom. I love her but we've never really connected, and my brothers and sisters are all so much older that we've never been close, either." He snorted. "We called our first full-length 39/Smooth because my brother had just turned thirty-nine; I was barely eighteen. More than twice my fucking age, dude."
His gaze slid away, visualising the stark hospital room with practised ease - the shrunken figure of the one family member who'd truly known him. Billie was no different from millions of other people in that beloved ghosts drifted through his heart during the holidays. Some years it hit harder than others. This year was turning out to be one of those, what with the demonstrable closeness between Torben and Lars and the unprecedented distance between Billie and his eldest son. He wondered if Torben had any idea that his open-hearted welcome had reached quite so deep.
He gave a tiny shrug and another smile at his boyfriend's quizzical expression. "Adrienne's been my only real family for a long time. And Mike and Tré." Billie paused, looking right at Lars, hopefully conveying the full story behind his scant words. "Change is good sometimes."
Lars regarded Billie silently for a few moments, eventually giving a small smile and slight nod. His gaze broke from his lover's and fell to focus on his jacket sleeve. Absently he curled his finger into the chain of his dog tag necklace as he spoke. "I'm very much aware of how lucky I am to have had the upbringing I had, and how lucky I am to have my dad. Talking strictly in terms of blood, my mom's been gone for almost nine years, and since then it's just been me and him. Of course my kids are in that equation, but that's all - it's a pretty small family.
"I really don't want to sound corny, but the term 'family' is whatever you choose to make of it. Like you, I have a family in my band. I have a family in some of the guys and girls at HQ, I have a brother in Bob Rock, and like you, like a real family, I'm closer to some than others. My real family consists of the people I choose to let in and choose to get close to. Blood isn't truly important, not in the grand scheme of things." He quirked an eyebrow and returned his gaze to unlined hazel. "Then there are also some people who let themselves in like they own the place, and that's fine too."
He slid his hand across to grasp Billie's. "Change is good." A brief pause, and the drummer leaned over to press a kiss to the younger man's jaw, just by his ear. Before he pulled away, he murmured with an audible smirk, "Tak. And, obviously, værsgod. That means 'you're welcome'."
His heart fluttered suddenly, and he gave a small, nervous sounding giggle despite himself as he sat back. Since returning from setting his sons up with their Spongebob DVD, he might have appeared a little edgy; since sitting on the stairs and hearing his father and his lover talk, something had begun dawning on him. In truth it had been niggling at his mind for some months now, but tonight had been different, important, skewing his thoughts, and through it all that something had suddenly risen in prominence. Lars was very goddamned close to making a decision about his relationship with Billie.
The cab ride was soon over - and it should be noted that the only time Lars's hand left Billie's was to pay the driver - and the two of them walked up the driveway, the gravel crunching under their feet, the taxi's engine as it rolled away and the beat and chatter of a party a block away the only sounds carrying on the chilly Marin County breeze. Lars slowed down briefly but noticeably as his front door came into view. There was a package waiting for him on his doorstep.
"Oh. I didn't think…" he trailed off, then looked at Billie. "It's from James."
"Okay," Billie replied slowly. Lars's words and expression told him both that this was a tradition, and that he hadn't expected it to continue. After all, he and James had still been a couple last Christmas. And this wasn't just some stupid gift exchange. It wasn't like how Billie and Mike had given each other their Christmas presents: with Tré, as a band. This had nothing to do with Metallica. This was personal.
Something began to burn low in his gut. It left a sharp aftertaste as he murmured, "It's okay, I'll get the door and you get the present."
He dug out his keys, finding the correct one and entering the house then stepping immediately to the side to disarm the alarm system. The sequence was automatic by now; Billie didn't even think about what he was doing. Instead, his brain was focussed on the gaily wrapped box in his lover's hands.
He smiled at Lars - a gentle smile, or it tried to be, because the drummer looked a little shaken. He'd been ambushed as much as Billie Joe had. The simmering anger that had lurked just outside of Billie's conscious thought for nearly a year now, since Lars had paced in bitter circles in a deserted ballroom and explained exactly how well James had handled finding the two of them together, catapulted to the forefront with a vengeance at his lover's visible reaction. Restless energy surged through Billie and he reined it in, controlling it. He wouldn't take this out on Lars. He would not.
Billie nodded at his boyfriend's hands. The box held there was larger than the one he'd brought and he squelched the automatic urge to turn that into some kind of pissing contest - especially since at this point, with his gift still waiting to be unwrapped, he'd lose. Never mind that James was the one who had lost - who had given up - the true prize, or that Billie felt totally secure in this relationship now. Some things went deeper than logic.
When he spoke again, he was careful to keep his tone neutral. "Do you want to open that now?"
"Um," Lars offered in reply, eyes still on the box, brow creased. He looked up. "Do you mind? It can wait, I'm just curious." He looked down at the package again, voice growing a little quieter. "It wasn't even a regular thing, and I didn't think he'd want to continue."
He turned the box over in his hands. Fuck, he could've warned me, he thought, annoyed. Then again, James had never mentioned that he was buying a gift in any of the years previous; it was part of the deal. Their arrangement was that if one felt like getting the other a special present, then to go ahead and do it. No guilt trips, no obligation, no notification, just real casual. Lars had assumed this arrangement had come to an end with the relationship, or at least to have a 'cooling off' period for just this year. Evidently James thought otherwise. Or he's just doing it to fuck with me, Lars thought acidly, but the pessimistic feeling faded. His voice had dropped further when he spoke again, this time looking directly at Billie.
"Maybe this is an apology." He did not hide the hope from his tone.
They walked through to the living room, Lars depositing the gift on the coffee table before sitting down and eyeing it with a degree of trepidation. He wouldn't be that much of a dick, he told himself. Not now, not so suddenly, not after all this time. He wouldn't. He licked at his top lip and looked at his lover seated next to him, once again needing the eye contact to reassure himself and hoping it would have the same effect for the other man. He hadn't failed to notice the tension in Billie's expression, in his voice, on first sight of the gift, and he hoped beyond hope that it wouldn't overshadow the rest of the night. Then he grasped the glossy silver star bow and pulled it free, ripping the red foil paper and revealing a plain brown box. There was a note stuck to it.
Legs are back at HQ. Happy Xmaz, Squirt! - James
"Legs?" Lars couldn't help but give a mystified giggle. "You think he might've got me a sex doll?" The clench in his stomach eased - the wording of the note was completely innocent, if confusing, and Billie seemed to have relaxed a little. Without any further procrastination, he lifted the lid and revealed James's gift.
A round, black leather stool seat, embossed with a red ninja star, which was encircled by spiked white lettering reading 'Metallica' and 'Daddy Ul'. He wouldn't be that much of a dick.
It wasn't an apology, but it wasn't by any means a cruel dig, and that made it all right. It made a smile appear on his face as he lifted it out. "Wow, that's pretty cool." He set it down on the coffee table and simply looked at it for a few moments. Without looking up, he spoke. "You know, after the initial shock of it, is it weird that it's not weird? I thought it would be, but it's just a gift, and you're here, and I'm way more excited to spend my time with you than spend it worrying and sulking over some silly hidden meaning. It's an awesome gift, but I don't wanna waste my fuckin' energy analysing subtext that I don't really think is there."
Lars paused, and his mouth moved as if he wanted to say something else, but no sound emerged. Instead, he shifted around, leg tucking under himself as he turned to Billie and leaned in and gave his lover a serious kiss, fingers sliding along the pale skin of his neck and pushing into raven hair. This is much more important.
Billie accepted the kiss, returning it with interest; wilfully losing himself in the dance of lips, tongues, teeth, rhythm. He echoed Lars's gesture and cupped the back of his lover's head, urging him closer even as Billie moved. He rose onto his knees and straddled Lars right there on the couch, mouth sucking greedily at another and body pressing the drummer tight against the plush leather.
A personalised barstool. It evidenced forethought and knowledge of the Dane, but it was neither the 'I want you back' nor the 'Fuck you' statement that Billie had feared. Indeed, it was a gift between bandmates after all - the note about the legs made it clear that the stool was meant to be used at HQ. And it really didn't mean anything beyond that. He knew it didn't; had known it as soon as Lars had ripped off the paper. Maybe even before that.
Billie Joe was not a jealous man. He'd never been one to keep tabs on his partners or prevent them from flirting, preferring to place his trust in his relationships instead, and he did trust Lars. Completely. But he also had certain lines in the sand in his personal headspace - lines that, though they might defy logic and seem to contradict that very real trust, affected him strongly when they were crossed. Mike kissing Adie that long-ago night had been such a line. Finding a Christmas present from James on his boyfriend's doorstep appeared to be another.
His free hand slipped down Lars's torso to tug up his shirt and find the skin of his back, short nails digging in as they continued to kiss. His hips rocked against the drummer and finally he broke away. Breathing heavily, hazels glowing with possessive desire, he asked, "Do you wanna move this upstairs?"
A thrill shot up Lars's spine as he was pressed back, and he had to suppress a shiver at the abrupt change in Billie's demeanour. He might have expected it if he'd been more focussed - James and his influence continued to shimmer in the shadows of Lars's mind and his relationship, and though after this many months that influence was passing at best, there were occasions, like tonight, where it would spike for one reason or another and Billie would then make his presidence over Lars's heart very much known. Lars himself had no objection.
This seat, as innocent as it was in itself, held an importance that he was only now realising. Pretty fuckin' ironic that James has once again provided the final bit of impetus to push me into making a decision about me and Billie that has this kind of weight.
His throat suddenly tightened as he realised exactly what he'd just thought, and the shock of it showed clear in his eyes as he looked up at Billie. Billie, who was hunched over him, straddling him, heat and desire radiating from that compact body, the familiar and intoxicating scent that came from his lover when in this mood. One that promised sweat and dizziness and too much, the smell of sex. It was a complete suckerpunch. Lars looked into lustrous hazel eyes and sought security, gripping Billie's shoulder as his thoughts scattered in alarm.
Motherfuck. Motherfuck. I'm gonna do it. That stool seat and those eyes and it's Christmas and motherfuckforhelvede I'm gonna do it. His nerves jangled and his heart tripped over itself, but after a moment or two they settled a little. The hand at Billie's shoulder relaxed and slid down his side, stroking at hidden skin. Suddenly subdued and eyes still reading as a little spooked, he repeated what Billie had said in his mind.
Do you wanna move this upstairs?
"Yeah, I do."
He grasped Billie's arm as he slid out from under him, kissing his throat and pulling him up as he stood, his heart beating out a loud rhythm.
Billie managed to remain standing, though he wobbled somewhat less than gracefully at the sudden movement. Or maybe because his mind was stuck on wide green eyes full of…something. Not fear. He was sure of that much. Surprise for certain, and something else… Billie shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Too much wine, Armstrong. What the fuck would be surprising about you having sex with him? It wasn't even their first major holiday together - they'd definitely fucked at Thanksgiving. Long, slow, and lazy; too sleepy afterwards to even bother cleaning up.
But this was Christmas, which Billie Joe had gradually come to realise was a big deal for Lars. Maybe he took Christmas sex very seriously, made it into this important, romantic thing or whatever. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as they climbed the stairs, fingers entwined. Yeah, that made sense to him. He didn't know anyone who threw themselves into romance the way his boyfriend did when the mood took him.
He stumbled a little, coughing, as the vivid imagery popped up of doing some very naughty things to Lars on that new seat, the crisp edges of the lettering blurring with white splattering across the leather surface. Shut up, brain. But the idea of breaking in that gift before Lars took it to HQ - of knowing that every time the drummer sat on it, he'd be reminded of Billie Joe, even in the heart of his band's space, even though the barstool had been from James - it held a wicked, visceral appeal that he couldn't deny in the privacy of his own mind. And didn't really want to, anyway; Billie did still enjoy an active fantasy life, and some things still belonged only to the realm of fantasy. He was just feeling a little territorial right now. It would eventually pass.
When they reached the master bedroom, Billie leaned back against the red-lacquered wall and pulled Lars to him, placing the drummer's hands on his ass and grinding against him. His mouth sought another pair of full lips, nipping at them before murmuring, "Not being able to touch you for hours drives me fucking crazy, y'know. And the mistletoe fake-out doesn't count."
Lars giggled, and the sound was definitely a nervous one; a quizzical look crossed Billie's face, and the drummer realised he should probably quit acting like the coy little virgin schoolgirl he emphatically wasn't, before he killed the mood altogether. He swallowed and paused to calm himself. Quit thinking so much, Uli, fuck. After a moment of centring, he brought his focus back to his lover.
"You telling me you didn't enjoy that, huh?" he smirked. He dipped his head to graze teeth along Billie's neck. "Maybe next time I should just leave you alone for the whole night, wind you right up with all the subtle looks and secret gestures I can think of 'til you have to drag me off 'for a smoke'." He licked at the younger man's earlobe, teeth following tongue as he nibbled at the soft skin, hands sneaking under a crisp white shirt to tease at the inked body beneath. "I think you know how much I enjoy tormenting you 'til you pop."
Last time I did something like that, it cost me two hundred dollars in bedroom repairs, he thought, grinning at the memory.
Billie groaned softly, and Lars hummed against skin in reply. Heat was beginning to pool low in his stomach, a dull burn that made his fingers itch to pull off that shirt, spread his lover out on those satin sheets and make him over as he'd done so many times before… His thought pattern stopped abruptly, even as Billie rocked against him again and made his breath hitch. No. Not tonight. Something deeper, something better, something more. Tonight's important.
Motherfuckforhelvede I'm gonna do it.
"Billie?" he found himself saying, looking into those dilating hazels and knowing he was probably bewildering the frontman something terrible. No words could make their way from his throat, and for a moment he just stood there stupidly. Unable to decide how to broach the subject verbally, Lars settled on continuing with the physical for now, quick fingers unbuttoning Billie's shirt while he moved in for another kiss. The tie and the shirt crumpled to the floor, followed by his own shirt, their belts, fumbling at buttons and zips, all the while keeping the rhythm of lips and tongue and hushed moans. Slowly he began to back them both towards the bed.
"Oh, yeah. I know how you love to torment me." And how much I enjoy it, too. Billie's answering grin faded slightly at yet another odd little pause, but when they began moving he dismissed it, focussing on keeping their lips connected. Lars hit the mattress first and Billie kept right on going, knees spreading to crawl over the drummer as he pulled himself up the bed until they were both closer to the centre.
He groaned at the contact when he flattened his body against Lars's. Fuck, you'd think they'd gone months without being skin-to-skin instead of days. But it felt so fucking good to press close and nip at a pierced ear. To slide a little farther down and tug at another piece of metal and feel dusky flesh tighten in his mouth.
To curl still-chilled fingers around hard warmth in total confidence that when his boyfriend started to get at all uncomfortable, he would let Billie know to back off. Physically, more often than not: throwing the frontman onto his back or pinning his wrists. The unspoken agreement between them allowed Lars to preserve his boundaries while giving Billie the ability to push as hard as he wanted to. So long as he stayed out of forbidden territory, anyway, which was second nature by now.
Billie dragged wet lips across his lover's collarbone and then sank his teeth into the thin skin, sucking hard enough to bruise. He felt a tremor run through Lars, overshadowing the small noise he made. It didn't feel quite like his normal reaction. In fact, none of this was quite right and it was starting to piss him off. He pulled away and moved until his legs clasped nude hips and his arms bracketed the Dane's head, staring down into green eyes.
A hint of exasperation accompanied the laughter in Billie Joe's voice. "Do I need to rub my crotch in your face to keep your attention here? 'Cause I can do that." His face softened as that indefinable something rose in Lars's gaze and Billie brushed a tender kiss along parted lips before continuing in a gentler tone, "You're thinking so fucking hard that I can hear the gears grinding in there, Uli. Sex doesn't usually require a lot of thought. Especially not the way we do it, 'cause if it did, we wouldn't end up with holes in your wall or having to call Tré to extricate us or shit like that. What gives, hmm? Talk to me."
His boyfriend might have the tendency to clam up tight when something was bothering him, but now that he could recognise a lot of the signals, Billie didn't usually let him. Even the vicious fights this stubbornness occasionally spawned didn't deter him. He had no intention of ever getting so goddamned twisted around like he had last spring at that stupid dinner party and if that required teasing, cajoling, or straight-up head-bashing the whatever-it-was out of Lars, he was fine with that. It beat the hell out of the alternative. And sometimes the make-up sex was an uncontrollable explosion between them, too, which definitely did not suck.
Another kiss, lingering sweetly, and he murmured, "I love you, you stubborn fuck. So spill."
Jesus, Jesus! Alarm bells and sirens and fireworks and all kinds of noise was going off in Lars's head, and the sight of Billie looming over him - or, more accurately, the feel of his lover's thighs pressing against his hips - was helping none. It wasn't as if Billie had never been in that position before, but with how nervous he currently was it only served to stir his mind up more. Billie's words only just broke through the cacophony, and Lars, for a moment, took on the look of a deer in headlights. He willed his mind to shut the fuck up for just a minute while he calmed himself.
"Well here's a funny thing for ya - I really don't think I can." He gave a weak chuckle, and Billie began to look genuinely concerned. "I-I'm okay, I'm fine, I'm not trying to be stubborn, I just don't know how to, y'know, say." He gestured helplessly and chuckled again. He took a breath, hand coming up and clasping the back of the other man's neck, fingertips rubbing at the muscles. He took another breath, deeper this time, and raised his head to claim another slow kiss. I love you and I'm okay.
That was the thing: though his mind was spinning and his nerves made his hands tremble and he felt just a little nauseous, he still wanted to do it. No doubt this was helped by his lover's technique of wriggling through and breaking the introverted state he'd get himself into on occasions when something was really bothering him. This kiss, and the ones before, soothed him, placated his mind and settled his stomach. They gave him confidence, assured him that this was the right time, right place - that he was finally there. Billie assured him through little more than the press of sweet lips that he would accept what Lars was about to do, and that he could completely trust in himself and his lover, whatever followed.
I love you and I'm okay.
When he broke away, he looked up at Billie, nervousness dulled in his eyes. Without a word, he pushed himself up the bed and out from underneath the frontman, crawling over to the side. Has the bed always been this big? He reached down and pulled open the bottom drawer of his bedside cabinet and, lubricant in hand, silently moved back to Billie, tucking himself back in exactly the same position he was before. His lover did indeed look rather bewildered now, mouth beginning to form words when Lars grasped his hand and placed the tube into his palm, closing his fingers around it. The drummer looked at the tube for a few moments, before clear green rose to meet hazel. Finally, he raised his legs to wrap around Billie's waist. Hands splayed on a tattooed chest, he spoke, his voice husky.
"Start slow, okay?"
( to chapter 2)
Don't forget to leave some love for looking_spiffy, too. :-)
Authors: tasyfa and looking_spiffy
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Billie Joe Armstrong/Lars Ulrich
Disclaimer: Purely fictional.
Summary: 'Motherfuckforhelvede I'm gonna do it.' Christmas time, mistletoe and wine - and lube, and barstools, and rice pudding… Billie and Lars are spending their first Christmas together as a couple, time divided between their respective families, and so far it's running surprisingly smoothly. That is, until they find a gift on Lars's doorstep that could push their relationship to a whole new level or derail them completely…
Notes: The final part of the Wayward Saints saga. All previous parts can be found here or here.
Chapter One
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"It'f dlaedig dool," Lars spluttered, sending out flecks of his dessert over the table. Layne and Myles instantly burst out in a fit of oddly harmonising giggles at their father, who was now dabbing up the small lumps of rice pudding with his napkin.
"Daddy, how's he s'posed to get it if he can't even understand you?" Myles grinned, while Layne just continued to giggle devilishly, hiding his grin behind his oversized spoon. Lars stubbornly finished his mouthful in silence, frown creasing his brow to prove just how serious he was, even in the face of laughing children and a quietly amused father at the head of the table.
"You shouldn't really talk with your mouth full," Torben chided, righting the silver paper crown on his head, which only served to amuse Myles and Layne more. "It's a very bad example."
Lars finally swallowed and looked to the young boys. His voice softened a little, eyebrows raising, genuinely serious for once. "Well, I hope my sons are smart enough to know when not to emulate their daddy, huh?"
Both children nodded, Layne doing so with great vigour as he scooped another spoonful of rice pudding from his bowl. "I'm smart."
"Yes you are." Lars wiped at his mouth overly delicately and turned to the person beside him, the person he'd been addressing in the first place. "Okay, Merry Christmas in Danish, or the equivalent, is glædig jul." He pronounced it slower. "Glay-dhee yool. Try it."
Glay-dhee yool. Glay-dhee yool. You can say that, Billie Joe told himself. He finished his bite of pudding, even more self-conscious about etiquette after Lars's rather spectacular disregard of it, and opened his mouth.
"Glad-hay yull," was what came out. He winced, rolling his eyes dramatically at the giggling boys. A few more attempts, each more mangled than the last, and Billie gave up with a rueful smile. He had enough trouble wrapping his tongue around some stuff in English and that was his native language. "Maybe I'll get it by next Christmas."
He went back to his dessert. It was good; the entire meal had been good, just a little bit…off. Not in a bad way but most of the dishes had simply tasted slightly different than what he was accustomed to - used different spices, or different combinations of flavours. Nor was Billie used to Christmas Eve being a big deal. Like most Americans, he'd always celebrated on Christmas Day. But for all that Lars had lived here for decades, he was European in his traditions and so here they were, gathered around Torben Ulrich's table, on December 24th. Eating incredibly rich, fragrant pudding that didn't seem like it should be possible to make with something as humble as rice.
Silver glinted at him from everywhere he looked. The house was beautifully decorated in wintry shades, the cool metallic complemented by the white of the snow they didn't get in California. His gaze crossed Torben's and Billie smiled. He'd met Lars's father briefly before but hadn't spent any real time with him until this evening. He'd been a gracious host; Billie wouldn't have expected anything else, given the little he knew of him. His own tension had eased considerably by this point in time, aided by that graciousness and the happy kids, and Lars just being himself. It was a nice family dinner and he was acutely aware that it felt like a family dinner. Like he'd been included in this one.
Billie took another spoonful, reflecting gratefully for what had to be the millionth time that the Danish tradition of celebrating tonight instead made it one hell of a lot easier to juggle this with the two families he already had to accommodate for the holidays.
Lars scraped at his bowl, chewing and swallowing another mouthful and grinning. "Guess we'll wait 'til Christmas 2008 to teach you glædig jul og godt nytår. And there's a Danish Christmas carol or two for the following years."
He heard Billie snuff a laugh, which made him grin wider. He actually felt kind of giddy - initial excited nerves had faded out into true elation, his lover having settled in so well here tonight. He hadn't even grimaced at the odd mix of traditional Danish and traditional American Christmas food which had become the norm in the Ulrich household at this time of year. Billie was part of the family now; tonight had sealed the deal.
Both Layne and Myles thanked their father and grandfather as they finished off their dessert, and Lars heaved a deep, satisfied sigh, pushing his chair out. "Alright, it's getting late." He nodded at his sons. "If you guys start getting ready for bed now, you can watch Spongebob before you go to sleep, okay? But you've gotta make sure you keep the curtains closed and you don't look out the window. If Santa gets to California early this year and you see him flying past, he might just conveniently forget to drop off some gifts for you." Layne looked momentarily stricken until his father reassured him with a secretive murmur. "If we have to, I'll explain to him that you're really good and you didn't mean to see him, and I'll say the same for me. I'll talk him around. You know I'm good at that."
The brothers nodded and grinned. "Okay," Layne whispered, eyes wide and eager.
Lars returned the grin, standing up and jerked his head towards Billie. "Alright then. Say g'night to your uncle."
Layne slid down from his chair and toddled over to Billie, stretching his arms out for a hug and gleefully whispering, "I like you!" into his ear. Myles followed, altogether more exaggerated in his embrace, throwing his arms around the frontman's neck. After a tight squeeze, he retreated and tilted his head, looking quizzical. A beat, and he spoke. "Your hair feels weird. Maybe you should wash it."
At that, Lars full-on cackled. Layne giggled, clasping his hands over his mouth as his shoulders shook. The same wicked sparkle found so often in his father's eyes was all too apparent in his own.
Billie ignored Lars completely and smiled at the kids, leaning forward to speak in a conspiratorial whisper. "Can I tell you a secret?" When they both nodded, he continued, "Have you ever seen your mom or dad iron something, maybe a shirt like this?" He pointed to his own white shirt and tie. "Well, they iron it to take out all the wrinkles so they can dress up for something important. And I have a special kind of iron that I use on my hair for when I wanna dress up."
He controlled the urge to laugh at the saucer eyes staring back at him. That sparkle in Layne's had been replaced by intense curiosity and Billie gently asked, "Would you like to touch it?" He bent down at the nod, feeling small fingers tug at his hair for just a moment before the boy darted back to his brother's side. Now he did grin, seeing Layne open and close his hand, frowning at the after-impressions of the admittedly crunchy spikes. Billie gave them a little wave. "I think your dad said something about p.j.s and Spongebob, huh? Gotta be ready for Santa. Merry Christmas!"
The two boys looked at each other and giggled, then chorused, "Glad-hay yull!" and broke for the stairs, repeating the mangled phrase to each other. Billie groaned out a laugh as they disappeared from sight.
"Why didn't you try teaching me to say that earlier, dude?" At Lars's amused snort, Billie finally looked at him, promptly crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue at his boyfriend. He knew perfectly well why: Lars wouldn't have been able to watch him squirm that way.
The silly expression got him the desired belly laugh and Billie settled into a normal grin, undisguised warmth in hazel eyes. "I miss that age. Not enough to go through potty training and the rest of it again, but it's a good one."
He rose slightly belatedly as both the Ulrich men stood and his vague sense of not knowing what to do now seemed to have been noticed since Lars shoved a stack of plates into his midsection, overriding Torben's protests that Billie was a guest with that one gesture.
A comfortable silence accompanied the domestic chores; neither was a stranger to this process, even with each other. Lars had had a point: 'guest' didn't adequately cover Billie's presence here. Ditto for the drummer's visits to the Armstrong home, which, while not all that frequent, were no longer characterised by abject panic or distress on anyone's part but rather indicated a growing level of understanding for all parties involved. 'Guest' had become 'family friend'; was becoming simply 'family', however unorthodox.
Billie hung the dish towel on its hook when they were done and moved to Lars, one hand rising to ghost over the lines defined around his mouth. "Happy looks good on you, Uli."
Lars gave a self-deprecating snort. "It's a rare sight, huh? Surprised it hasn't scared you off." He caught Billie's hand as it lowered, tugging the younger man that bit closer until their bodies came into contact, and brought Billie's wrist to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the inked skin. His other hand raised to settle at Billie's waist. "Thank you for coming tonight," he said with total sincerity. "It means a lot to me, and it means a lot to my dad, though he might not cop to it outright."
Informing his father of his relationship with Billie, and thus his bisexuality, had been a breeze. Torben had reacted to the news with a nod, a smile, a brief pause and a murmur along the lines of, 'I can see how content you are', and that had been that. Never mind the fact that Lars had returned home that night positively glowing.
"I'll say my goodnights and we can head out, okay?" At the nod, Lars turned and, not relinquishing Billie's hand, headed for the door. Suddenly, he paused in the doorway and turned back to face his lover, eyes raised up. "Fuck, would ya look at that," he drawled. "Pretty corny for him to stick up some fuckin' mistletoe."
He bit back a grin as Billie looked up, puzzled when he saw no sprig of greenery dangling above his head. The stifled grin became a spluttered laugh when hazel eyes returned to his, confused.
"I cannot believe you actually fell for that," Lars chuckled, earning himself a playful scowl from the other man. To compensate, he gave an exaggerated pout and pulled Billie in close, claiming a kiss anyway. He felt Billie's lips, tasting of cinnamon and all the more appealing for it, curve into a smile as they parted.
A few minutes later, Lars closed the door on his sons, already absorbed in Spongebob goodness, and swept down the stairs. The smile on his face was this time thanks to Myles, who had solemnly and almost secretively informed his father that he thought Billie was nice, and that the two of them liked him, even if he had weird hair. Layne had nodded in concurrence, and Lars, well, he felt giddy about it. Billie was okay by them. Fuck, honestly, he was giddy.
He stopped on the bottom step, hearing voices coming from the dining room, and decided to do what any self-respecting man would do on hearing his father and his lover indulging in a conversation without him: eavesdrop. He sat down in the semi-darkness and propped himself against the wall, his father's voice filtering through the double doors.
"Lars hasn't said a lot, but from tonight, I can see how happy you make him. If you don't mind me saying so, I see it vice versa as well. For that, you're welcome to visit here any time you wish."
Open surprise crossed Billie's face at Torben's forthrightness, particularly coming on the heels of the nostalgia of the stories he'd been telling about Lars's childhood, but a warm smile followed almost instantly.
"Your son doesn't usually say a lot, for all that he rarely stops talking. You sorta have to read between the lines, like he's got his own form of Braille or something." His smile widened at the other man's chuckle. Billie hesitated only a moment before adding, "He does make me happy, you're right. And, tak."
He might not have thought to look up - or practise - the Danish equivalent of 'Merry Christmas', but the monosyllabic word for 'thank you' was one he could easily manage and Torben's expression made him glad that he had. Lars's father had been the one Billie had been most nervous about, not the boys. He'd worn the badge of 'Uncle Billie' for a very long time now; being the baby of a large family, he was comfortable and then some with kids. More comfortable than with many adults, if he were honest. Billie found the lack of bullshit in the under-ten set very appealing.
As much as Billie and Lars joked sometimes about the idea of having started up this relationship back in '89, meeting Torben - having a conversation with him, more precisely - had made Billie extremely glad that he'd bought a few clues in the years since then. The man was smart. Nowadays Billie was fairly well-read and had a good grasp on world events, enough to hold his own, anyway. Ten to fifteen years ago, he'd been a pretty ignorant bastard. He'd have made a total mess of an evening like this back then.
He and Torben stood in a tableau for a moment, sharing a not-quite-spoken understanding about the man they both cared about so very much. A hint of wistfulness crept into Billie's mind at the thought that his own father would have been as welcoming.
Lars himself dispelled the moment when he re-entered the room and Billie Joe turned to face him, body automatically orienting towards his lover.
"They didn't, like, tape the curtains shut or anything on you, I take it?"
"Huh?" Lars blinked, the slight quirk in his eyebrow the only indication that he may have overheard something. "Um, no. Shit, you think I should go take away Myles's masking tape?" A beat, and he grinned wide. He slipped his hands into his pockets as he reached Billie. "Though you should know, Layne said that when he gets back to school in January, he's gonna tell all his friends that his daddy has a friend who irons his hair."
The three of them chuckled, and the drummer nudged Billie affectionately with his shoulder, leaning on him a little. He felt warmth swell in his chest.
Lars was loathe to draw comparisons at this late stage in their relationship, but this one was important to Lars and the word that had triggered it had echoed in his head since it had passed Billie's lips.
Tak.
James had never learned a word of Danish. To Lars's knowledge, he'd never tried. Not that the drummer wanted to paint his ex as the bad guy or anything; he'd never been overly bothered by it. He acknowledged that it wasn't the easiest language to learn from an English speaker's point of view, and he was fine with that. No biggie. But Billie? He'd apparently gone off, on his own initiative and without Lars having mentioned it at all, and learned thank you.
It was significant, even if he himself hadn't been the addressee. Lars wasn't about to let that pass without acknowledgement - in his own Larsian way, of course, and when the time was right. For now he merely gave a sly look, a sweet smile and a kiss to Billie's temple. He nodded towards the bottle set atop the polished oak cabinet with around a glassful of Merlot left inside.
"Cab's due in another five minutes. Wanna finish off the wine?"
"Yeah, sure," Billie agreed, hand lingering along Lars's arm as his boyfriend stepped away to pour. The ruby liquid lent its weight to the pleasant buzz in his system, and then Billie found himself standing beside the open cab door watching Lars say goodnight to his father.
The hug was slightly awkward in the way of many men but the smiles were bright and sincere, and that little wisp of wistfulness blossomed in his chest as he and Lars climbed into the vehicle. Billie Joe continued to watch Lars, wordlessly, until the drummer tilted his head and made a face, clearly telling him to quit it. A small smile curved his mouth.
"I envy you that sometimes, did you know? My family is…well, you've met my mom. I love her but we've never really connected, and my brothers and sisters are all so much older that we've never been close, either." He snorted. "We called our first full-length 39/Smooth because my brother had just turned thirty-nine; I was barely eighteen. More than twice my fucking age, dude."
His gaze slid away, visualising the stark hospital room with practised ease - the shrunken figure of the one family member who'd truly known him. Billie was no different from millions of other people in that beloved ghosts drifted through his heart during the holidays. Some years it hit harder than others. This year was turning out to be one of those, what with the demonstrable closeness between Torben and Lars and the unprecedented distance between Billie and his eldest son. He wondered if Torben had any idea that his open-hearted welcome had reached quite so deep.
He gave a tiny shrug and another smile at his boyfriend's quizzical expression. "Adrienne's been my only real family for a long time. And Mike and Tré." Billie paused, looking right at Lars, hopefully conveying the full story behind his scant words. "Change is good sometimes."
Lars regarded Billie silently for a few moments, eventually giving a small smile and slight nod. His gaze broke from his lover's and fell to focus on his jacket sleeve. Absently he curled his finger into the chain of his dog tag necklace as he spoke. "I'm very much aware of how lucky I am to have had the upbringing I had, and how lucky I am to have my dad. Talking strictly in terms of blood, my mom's been gone for almost nine years, and since then it's just been me and him. Of course my kids are in that equation, but that's all - it's a pretty small family.
"I really don't want to sound corny, but the term 'family' is whatever you choose to make of it. Like you, I have a family in my band. I have a family in some of the guys and girls at HQ, I have a brother in Bob Rock, and like you, like a real family, I'm closer to some than others. My real family consists of the people I choose to let in and choose to get close to. Blood isn't truly important, not in the grand scheme of things." He quirked an eyebrow and returned his gaze to unlined hazel. "Then there are also some people who let themselves in like they own the place, and that's fine too."
He slid his hand across to grasp Billie's. "Change is good." A brief pause, and the drummer leaned over to press a kiss to the younger man's jaw, just by his ear. Before he pulled away, he murmured with an audible smirk, "Tak. And, obviously, værsgod. That means 'you're welcome'."
His heart fluttered suddenly, and he gave a small, nervous sounding giggle despite himself as he sat back. Since returning from setting his sons up with their Spongebob DVD, he might have appeared a little edgy; since sitting on the stairs and hearing his father and his lover talk, something had begun dawning on him. In truth it had been niggling at his mind for some months now, but tonight had been different, important, skewing his thoughts, and through it all that something had suddenly risen in prominence. Lars was very goddamned close to making a decision about his relationship with Billie.
The cab ride was soon over - and it should be noted that the only time Lars's hand left Billie's was to pay the driver - and the two of them walked up the driveway, the gravel crunching under their feet, the taxi's engine as it rolled away and the beat and chatter of a party a block away the only sounds carrying on the chilly Marin County breeze. Lars slowed down briefly but noticeably as his front door came into view. There was a package waiting for him on his doorstep.
"Oh. I didn't think…" he trailed off, then looked at Billie. "It's from James."
"Okay," Billie replied slowly. Lars's words and expression told him both that this was a tradition, and that he hadn't expected it to continue. After all, he and James had still been a couple last Christmas. And this wasn't just some stupid gift exchange. It wasn't like how Billie and Mike had given each other their Christmas presents: with Tré, as a band. This had nothing to do with Metallica. This was personal.
Something began to burn low in his gut. It left a sharp aftertaste as he murmured, "It's okay, I'll get the door and you get the present."
He dug out his keys, finding the correct one and entering the house then stepping immediately to the side to disarm the alarm system. The sequence was automatic by now; Billie didn't even think about what he was doing. Instead, his brain was focussed on the gaily wrapped box in his lover's hands.
He smiled at Lars - a gentle smile, or it tried to be, because the drummer looked a little shaken. He'd been ambushed as much as Billie Joe had. The simmering anger that had lurked just outside of Billie's conscious thought for nearly a year now, since Lars had paced in bitter circles in a deserted ballroom and explained exactly how well James had handled finding the two of them together, catapulted to the forefront with a vengeance at his lover's visible reaction. Restless energy surged through Billie and he reined it in, controlling it. He wouldn't take this out on Lars. He would not.
Billie nodded at his boyfriend's hands. The box held there was larger than the one he'd brought and he squelched the automatic urge to turn that into some kind of pissing contest - especially since at this point, with his gift still waiting to be unwrapped, he'd lose. Never mind that James was the one who had lost - who had given up - the true prize, or that Billie felt totally secure in this relationship now. Some things went deeper than logic.
When he spoke again, he was careful to keep his tone neutral. "Do you want to open that now?"
"Um," Lars offered in reply, eyes still on the box, brow creased. He looked up. "Do you mind? It can wait, I'm just curious." He looked down at the package again, voice growing a little quieter. "It wasn't even a regular thing, and I didn't think he'd want to continue."
He turned the box over in his hands. Fuck, he could've warned me, he thought, annoyed. Then again, James had never mentioned that he was buying a gift in any of the years previous; it was part of the deal. Their arrangement was that if one felt like getting the other a special present, then to go ahead and do it. No guilt trips, no obligation, no notification, just real casual. Lars had assumed this arrangement had come to an end with the relationship, or at least to have a 'cooling off' period for just this year. Evidently James thought otherwise. Or he's just doing it to fuck with me, Lars thought acidly, but the pessimistic feeling faded. His voice had dropped further when he spoke again, this time looking directly at Billie.
"Maybe this is an apology." He did not hide the hope from his tone.
They walked through to the living room, Lars depositing the gift on the coffee table before sitting down and eyeing it with a degree of trepidation. He wouldn't be that much of a dick, he told himself. Not now, not so suddenly, not after all this time. He wouldn't. He licked at his top lip and looked at his lover seated next to him, once again needing the eye contact to reassure himself and hoping it would have the same effect for the other man. He hadn't failed to notice the tension in Billie's expression, in his voice, on first sight of the gift, and he hoped beyond hope that it wouldn't overshadow the rest of the night. Then he grasped the glossy silver star bow and pulled it free, ripping the red foil paper and revealing a plain brown box. There was a note stuck to it.
Legs are back at HQ. Happy Xmaz, Squirt! - James
"Legs?" Lars couldn't help but give a mystified giggle. "You think he might've got me a sex doll?" The clench in his stomach eased - the wording of the note was completely innocent, if confusing, and Billie seemed to have relaxed a little. Without any further procrastination, he lifted the lid and revealed James's gift.
A round, black leather stool seat, embossed with a red ninja star, which was encircled by spiked white lettering reading 'Metallica' and 'Daddy Ul'. He wouldn't be that much of a dick.
It wasn't an apology, but it wasn't by any means a cruel dig, and that made it all right. It made a smile appear on his face as he lifted it out. "Wow, that's pretty cool." He set it down on the coffee table and simply looked at it for a few moments. Without looking up, he spoke. "You know, after the initial shock of it, is it weird that it's not weird? I thought it would be, but it's just a gift, and you're here, and I'm way more excited to spend my time with you than spend it worrying and sulking over some silly hidden meaning. It's an awesome gift, but I don't wanna waste my fuckin' energy analysing subtext that I don't really think is there."
Lars paused, and his mouth moved as if he wanted to say something else, but no sound emerged. Instead, he shifted around, leg tucking under himself as he turned to Billie and leaned in and gave his lover a serious kiss, fingers sliding along the pale skin of his neck and pushing into raven hair. This is much more important.
Billie accepted the kiss, returning it with interest; wilfully losing himself in the dance of lips, tongues, teeth, rhythm. He echoed Lars's gesture and cupped the back of his lover's head, urging him closer even as Billie moved. He rose onto his knees and straddled Lars right there on the couch, mouth sucking greedily at another and body pressing the drummer tight against the plush leather.
A personalised barstool. It evidenced forethought and knowledge of the Dane, but it was neither the 'I want you back' nor the 'Fuck you' statement that Billie had feared. Indeed, it was a gift between bandmates after all - the note about the legs made it clear that the stool was meant to be used at HQ. And it really didn't mean anything beyond that. He knew it didn't; had known it as soon as Lars had ripped off the paper. Maybe even before that.
Billie Joe was not a jealous man. He'd never been one to keep tabs on his partners or prevent them from flirting, preferring to place his trust in his relationships instead, and he did trust Lars. Completely. But he also had certain lines in the sand in his personal headspace - lines that, though they might defy logic and seem to contradict that very real trust, affected him strongly when they were crossed. Mike kissing Adie that long-ago night had been such a line. Finding a Christmas present from James on his boyfriend's doorstep appeared to be another.
His free hand slipped down Lars's torso to tug up his shirt and find the skin of his back, short nails digging in as they continued to kiss. His hips rocked against the drummer and finally he broke away. Breathing heavily, hazels glowing with possessive desire, he asked, "Do you wanna move this upstairs?"
A thrill shot up Lars's spine as he was pressed back, and he had to suppress a shiver at the abrupt change in Billie's demeanour. He might have expected it if he'd been more focussed - James and his influence continued to shimmer in the shadows of Lars's mind and his relationship, and though after this many months that influence was passing at best, there were occasions, like tonight, where it would spike for one reason or another and Billie would then make his presidence over Lars's heart very much known. Lars himself had no objection.
This seat, as innocent as it was in itself, held an importance that he was only now realising. Pretty fuckin' ironic that James has once again provided the final bit of impetus to push me into making a decision about me and Billie that has this kind of weight.
His throat suddenly tightened as he realised exactly what he'd just thought, and the shock of it showed clear in his eyes as he looked up at Billie. Billie, who was hunched over him, straddling him, heat and desire radiating from that compact body, the familiar and intoxicating scent that came from his lover when in this mood. One that promised sweat and dizziness and too much, the smell of sex. It was a complete suckerpunch. Lars looked into lustrous hazel eyes and sought security, gripping Billie's shoulder as his thoughts scattered in alarm.
Motherfuck. Motherfuck. I'm gonna do it. That stool seat and those eyes and it's Christmas and motherfuckforhelvede I'm gonna do it. His nerves jangled and his heart tripped over itself, but after a moment or two they settled a little. The hand at Billie's shoulder relaxed and slid down his side, stroking at hidden skin. Suddenly subdued and eyes still reading as a little spooked, he repeated what Billie had said in his mind.
Do you wanna move this upstairs?
"Yeah, I do."
He grasped Billie's arm as he slid out from under him, kissing his throat and pulling him up as he stood, his heart beating out a loud rhythm.
Billie managed to remain standing, though he wobbled somewhat less than gracefully at the sudden movement. Or maybe because his mind was stuck on wide green eyes full of…something. Not fear. He was sure of that much. Surprise for certain, and something else… Billie shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Too much wine, Armstrong. What the fuck would be surprising about you having sex with him? It wasn't even their first major holiday together - they'd definitely fucked at Thanksgiving. Long, slow, and lazy; too sleepy afterwards to even bother cleaning up.
But this was Christmas, which Billie Joe had gradually come to realise was a big deal for Lars. Maybe he took Christmas sex very seriously, made it into this important, romantic thing or whatever. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as they climbed the stairs, fingers entwined. Yeah, that made sense to him. He didn't know anyone who threw themselves into romance the way his boyfriend did when the mood took him.
He stumbled a little, coughing, as the vivid imagery popped up of doing some very naughty things to Lars on that new seat, the crisp edges of the lettering blurring with white splattering across the leather surface. Shut up, brain. But the idea of breaking in that gift before Lars took it to HQ - of knowing that every time the drummer sat on it, he'd be reminded of Billie Joe, even in the heart of his band's space, even though the barstool had been from James - it held a wicked, visceral appeal that he couldn't deny in the privacy of his own mind. And didn't really want to, anyway; Billie did still enjoy an active fantasy life, and some things still belonged only to the realm of fantasy. He was just feeling a little territorial right now. It would eventually pass.
When they reached the master bedroom, Billie leaned back against the red-lacquered wall and pulled Lars to him, placing the drummer's hands on his ass and grinding against him. His mouth sought another pair of full lips, nipping at them before murmuring, "Not being able to touch you for hours drives me fucking crazy, y'know. And the mistletoe fake-out doesn't count."
Lars giggled, and the sound was definitely a nervous one; a quizzical look crossed Billie's face, and the drummer realised he should probably quit acting like the coy little virgin schoolgirl he emphatically wasn't, before he killed the mood altogether. He swallowed and paused to calm himself. Quit thinking so much, Uli, fuck. After a moment of centring, he brought his focus back to his lover.
"You telling me you didn't enjoy that, huh?" he smirked. He dipped his head to graze teeth along Billie's neck. "Maybe next time I should just leave you alone for the whole night, wind you right up with all the subtle looks and secret gestures I can think of 'til you have to drag me off 'for a smoke'." He licked at the younger man's earlobe, teeth following tongue as he nibbled at the soft skin, hands sneaking under a crisp white shirt to tease at the inked body beneath. "I think you know how much I enjoy tormenting you 'til you pop."
Last time I did something like that, it cost me two hundred dollars in bedroom repairs, he thought, grinning at the memory.
Billie groaned softly, and Lars hummed against skin in reply. Heat was beginning to pool low in his stomach, a dull burn that made his fingers itch to pull off that shirt, spread his lover out on those satin sheets and make him over as he'd done so many times before… His thought pattern stopped abruptly, even as Billie rocked against him again and made his breath hitch. No. Not tonight. Something deeper, something better, something more. Tonight's important.
Motherfuckforhelvede I'm gonna do it.
"Billie?" he found himself saying, looking into those dilating hazels and knowing he was probably bewildering the frontman something terrible. No words could make their way from his throat, and for a moment he just stood there stupidly. Unable to decide how to broach the subject verbally, Lars settled on continuing with the physical for now, quick fingers unbuttoning Billie's shirt while he moved in for another kiss. The tie and the shirt crumpled to the floor, followed by his own shirt, their belts, fumbling at buttons and zips, all the while keeping the rhythm of lips and tongue and hushed moans. Slowly he began to back them both towards the bed.
"Oh, yeah. I know how you love to torment me." And how much I enjoy it, too. Billie's answering grin faded slightly at yet another odd little pause, but when they began moving he dismissed it, focussing on keeping their lips connected. Lars hit the mattress first and Billie kept right on going, knees spreading to crawl over the drummer as he pulled himself up the bed until they were both closer to the centre.
He groaned at the contact when he flattened his body against Lars's. Fuck, you'd think they'd gone months without being skin-to-skin instead of days. But it felt so fucking good to press close and nip at a pierced ear. To slide a little farther down and tug at another piece of metal and feel dusky flesh tighten in his mouth.
To curl still-chilled fingers around hard warmth in total confidence that when his boyfriend started to get at all uncomfortable, he would let Billie know to back off. Physically, more often than not: throwing the frontman onto his back or pinning his wrists. The unspoken agreement between them allowed Lars to preserve his boundaries while giving Billie the ability to push as hard as he wanted to. So long as he stayed out of forbidden territory, anyway, which was second nature by now.
Billie dragged wet lips across his lover's collarbone and then sank his teeth into the thin skin, sucking hard enough to bruise. He felt a tremor run through Lars, overshadowing the small noise he made. It didn't feel quite like his normal reaction. In fact, none of this was quite right and it was starting to piss him off. He pulled away and moved until his legs clasped nude hips and his arms bracketed the Dane's head, staring down into green eyes.
A hint of exasperation accompanied the laughter in Billie Joe's voice. "Do I need to rub my crotch in your face to keep your attention here? 'Cause I can do that." His face softened as that indefinable something rose in Lars's gaze and Billie brushed a tender kiss along parted lips before continuing in a gentler tone, "You're thinking so fucking hard that I can hear the gears grinding in there, Uli. Sex doesn't usually require a lot of thought. Especially not the way we do it, 'cause if it did, we wouldn't end up with holes in your wall or having to call Tré to extricate us or shit like that. What gives, hmm? Talk to me."
His boyfriend might have the tendency to clam up tight when something was bothering him, but now that he could recognise a lot of the signals, Billie didn't usually let him. Even the vicious fights this stubbornness occasionally spawned didn't deter him. He had no intention of ever getting so goddamned twisted around like he had last spring at that stupid dinner party and if that required teasing, cajoling, or straight-up head-bashing the whatever-it-was out of Lars, he was fine with that. It beat the hell out of the alternative. And sometimes the make-up sex was an uncontrollable explosion between them, too, which definitely did not suck.
Another kiss, lingering sweetly, and he murmured, "I love you, you stubborn fuck. So spill."
Jesus, Jesus! Alarm bells and sirens and fireworks and all kinds of noise was going off in Lars's head, and the sight of Billie looming over him - or, more accurately, the feel of his lover's thighs pressing against his hips - was helping none. It wasn't as if Billie had never been in that position before, but with how nervous he currently was it only served to stir his mind up more. Billie's words only just broke through the cacophony, and Lars, for a moment, took on the look of a deer in headlights. He willed his mind to shut the fuck up for just a minute while he calmed himself.
"Well here's a funny thing for ya - I really don't think I can." He gave a weak chuckle, and Billie began to look genuinely concerned. "I-I'm okay, I'm fine, I'm not trying to be stubborn, I just don't know how to, y'know, say." He gestured helplessly and chuckled again. He took a breath, hand coming up and clasping the back of the other man's neck, fingertips rubbing at the muscles. He took another breath, deeper this time, and raised his head to claim another slow kiss. I love you and I'm okay.
That was the thing: though his mind was spinning and his nerves made his hands tremble and he felt just a little nauseous, he still wanted to do it. No doubt this was helped by his lover's technique of wriggling through and breaking the introverted state he'd get himself into on occasions when something was really bothering him. This kiss, and the ones before, soothed him, placated his mind and settled his stomach. They gave him confidence, assured him that this was the right time, right place - that he was finally there. Billie assured him through little more than the press of sweet lips that he would accept what Lars was about to do, and that he could completely trust in himself and his lover, whatever followed.
I love you and I'm okay.
When he broke away, he looked up at Billie, nervousness dulled in his eyes. Without a word, he pushed himself up the bed and out from underneath the frontman, crawling over to the side. Has the bed always been this big? He reached down and pulled open the bottom drawer of his bedside cabinet and, lubricant in hand, silently moved back to Billie, tucking himself back in exactly the same position he was before. His lover did indeed look rather bewildered now, mouth beginning to form words when Lars grasped his hand and placed the tube into his palm, closing his fingers around it. The drummer looked at the tube for a few moments, before clear green rose to meet hazel. Finally, he raised his legs to wrap around Billie's waist. Hands splayed on a tattooed chest, he spoke, his voice husky.
"Start slow, okay?"
( to chapter 2)
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