It's Not Knowing What We Could've Been, What We Should've Been.
Title: It's Not Knowing What We Could've Been, What We Should've Been.
Author: Seven... well, Me.
Rating: R.
Pairing: Billie Joe/Tré.
Disclaimer: Not real, don't sue. Fan Fiction.
Summary: "It’s knowing that some day you’re going to crumble into the dirt beneath your feet and never get pieced back together."
Dedications: x0x_whatsername for being my wifey and for leaving me a skittle comment on Myspace. jimmy_tinsel because she's also my wifey and she's purty cool.
It’s the feeling of fuck I’m gonna’ die here combined with you’re killing me, really that gets your heart pumping. It’s knowing that some day you’re going to crumble into the dirt beneath your feet and never get pieced back together. It’s facing the death of someone you love the most and realizing that the paperboy, that old lady next door, or you could be the next one to go.
Billie Joe knows this already. Because not only have Adrienne and the boys been killed, but the old lady next door had a heart attack and that paperboy? Well, let’s just say he didn’t look both ways before crossing the street last week. And now Billie Joe’s trembling with the thought of shit I’m next on the hit list. He scratches his head idly and then cries. He melts into a big puddle of tough punk rock singer on the floor of his living room and he just cries.
He shoves his tears and gasping breaths into the carpeting under his face. And to be honest, he’s crying so hard that his mouth is open and a little bit of drool is puddling underneath him. His phone rings and he sits up, wiping at his mouth and stares blankly across the room. The phone rings again and he blinks once, twice, three times before burying his face on a seat cushion of the couch. The phone rings a third time and then clicks when the answering machine picks it up. Billie Joe hesitates and listens for a familiar voice, but in the end whoever it was hung up with a click.
The vocalist gets up slowly, his legs are a bit shaky after all, and walks into the kitchen, his hands balled into fists clenching around his t-shirt. He goes to make coffee, but his stomach turns at the thought so he settles for orange juice. But after a few drinks of that, his stomach clenches around the acidy juice and heaves upwards. He gags on the sensation and decides that he didn’t really want a drink anyways. He dumps the remainder of the orange juice into the sink and glances around the empty house with frightful eyes.
This is how he decides that he doesn’t want to be alone anymore. So he goes to Tré’s house because, well, Tré has good booze and even better pot stashed away and Billie Joe is well aware of this. He lets himself in to the quiet house and wanders to the guest room Tré has. It wouldn’t be the first time Tré found Billie Joe in there unannounced, so he figures it’s okay to stay without asking.
After crawling into the bed, he hears… noises… and they scare him a little. He’s not sure what they are, some sort of groaning or growling. Yes, growling, like that of the hungry wolf in the closet about to devour Billie Joe in one big, painful bite. He jumps out of bed and runs across the floor on sock-padded feet. He skids to a halt and whips the door open, creeping to the closed door of Tré’s bedroom. He listens for sounds signaling Tré was awake, but couldn’t hear anything over that goddamn wolf that was right behind him.
He presses the door open and there’s the source of the growling and groaning. His eyes expand and double in size and he can’t look away. It’s like a car accident, you don’t want to see it, but obviously you stare. And then he’s crying again because why the hell wouldn’t they tell me they were fucking and I wanted to tell him I loved him tonight feelings were creeping up his throat.
And they stop. Tré looks at the door and regrets it all. He damns whoever decided to bring Billie Joe to his house on a night when it was just a quick fuck with Mike. Billie Joe crumples on the floor again and cries into his palms. Mike and Tré quickly replace their boxers and rush to his side, helping up and getting him to sit on the bed. He idly plays with the bed sheets and shifts around uncomfortably.
And Tré talks. He tells Billie Joe it isn’t a relationship, they’re just horny. He tells him that they just get off and Mike leaves. Tré doesn’t know why he’s trying to protect Billie Joe with lies; he doesn’t know the feelings Billie Joe has for him. He just feels the need to protect the raven-haired man and cushion him.
Then it’s Mike’s turn to talk. Mike tells them both he feels used and betrayed. He needs time to think, and maybe they shouldn’t be Green Day anymore. Billie Joe feels more panic rise in his chest and he claws at Mike’s arm, begging him to stay. Mike quickly, very quickly, complies and calms his best friend down. He assures his band mates he won’t leave, but still points out that he’s not some boy-toy to be thrown around.
Billie Joe falls asleep, there in Tré’s bed, because really, he’s wiped out. He hasn’t slept decently since four months ago. Since they were killed. And Mike understands when Tré says it would be best if he left and went home. So he leaves and Tré comes back, sliding into bed next to the mop of onyx hair. He pulls the covers up over their bodies, wraps his arm around the frail waist, places a kiss on pouty lips, and drifts off to sleep.
It’s facing the death of someone you love the most and realizing that the paperboy, that old lady next door, or you could be the next one to go.
Billie Joe was the next one to go. But until the next morning, nobody needed to know that.
Rifinito.
---
Aw God. I pretty much cried during this. It really just came to me and fucking flowed right out of me. I've never, ever written anything so easily before. I really hope you guys liked it.
Comments are the sex.
Author: Seven... well, Me.
Rating: R.
Pairing: Billie Joe/Tré.
Disclaimer: Not real, don't sue. Fan Fiction.
Summary: "It’s knowing that some day you’re going to crumble into the dirt beneath your feet and never get pieced back together."
Dedications: x0x_whatsername for being my wifey and for leaving me a skittle comment on Myspace. jimmy_tinsel because she's also my wifey and she's purty cool.
It’s the feeling of fuck I’m gonna’ die here combined with you’re killing me, really that gets your heart pumping. It’s knowing that some day you’re going to crumble into the dirt beneath your feet and never get pieced back together. It’s facing the death of someone you love the most and realizing that the paperboy, that old lady next door, or you could be the next one to go.
Billie Joe knows this already. Because not only have Adrienne and the boys been killed, but the old lady next door had a heart attack and that paperboy? Well, let’s just say he didn’t look both ways before crossing the street last week. And now Billie Joe’s trembling with the thought of shit I’m next on the hit list. He scratches his head idly and then cries. He melts into a big puddle of tough punk rock singer on the floor of his living room and he just cries.
He shoves his tears and gasping breaths into the carpeting under his face. And to be honest, he’s crying so hard that his mouth is open and a little bit of drool is puddling underneath him. His phone rings and he sits up, wiping at his mouth and stares blankly across the room. The phone rings again and he blinks once, twice, three times before burying his face on a seat cushion of the couch. The phone rings a third time and then clicks when the answering machine picks it up. Billie Joe hesitates and listens for a familiar voice, but in the end whoever it was hung up with a click.
The vocalist gets up slowly, his legs are a bit shaky after all, and walks into the kitchen, his hands balled into fists clenching around his t-shirt. He goes to make coffee, but his stomach turns at the thought so he settles for orange juice. But after a few drinks of that, his stomach clenches around the acidy juice and heaves upwards. He gags on the sensation and decides that he didn’t really want a drink anyways. He dumps the remainder of the orange juice into the sink and glances around the empty house with frightful eyes.
This is how he decides that he doesn’t want to be alone anymore. So he goes to Tré’s house because, well, Tré has good booze and even better pot stashed away and Billie Joe is well aware of this. He lets himself in to the quiet house and wanders to the guest room Tré has. It wouldn’t be the first time Tré found Billie Joe in there unannounced, so he figures it’s okay to stay without asking.
After crawling into the bed, he hears… noises… and they scare him a little. He’s not sure what they are, some sort of groaning or growling. Yes, growling, like that of the hungry wolf in the closet about to devour Billie Joe in one big, painful bite. He jumps out of bed and runs across the floor on sock-padded feet. He skids to a halt and whips the door open, creeping to the closed door of Tré’s bedroom. He listens for sounds signaling Tré was awake, but couldn’t hear anything over that goddamn wolf that was right behind him.
He presses the door open and there’s the source of the growling and groaning. His eyes expand and double in size and he can’t look away. It’s like a car accident, you don’t want to see it, but obviously you stare. And then he’s crying again because why the hell wouldn’t they tell me they were fucking and I wanted to tell him I loved him tonight feelings were creeping up his throat.
And they stop. Tré looks at the door and regrets it all. He damns whoever decided to bring Billie Joe to his house on a night when it was just a quick fuck with Mike. Billie Joe crumples on the floor again and cries into his palms. Mike and Tré quickly replace their boxers and rush to his side, helping up and getting him to sit on the bed. He idly plays with the bed sheets and shifts around uncomfortably.
And Tré talks. He tells Billie Joe it isn’t a relationship, they’re just horny. He tells him that they just get off and Mike leaves. Tré doesn’t know why he’s trying to protect Billie Joe with lies; he doesn’t know the feelings Billie Joe has for him. He just feels the need to protect the raven-haired man and cushion him.
Then it’s Mike’s turn to talk. Mike tells them both he feels used and betrayed. He needs time to think, and maybe they shouldn’t be Green Day anymore. Billie Joe feels more panic rise in his chest and he claws at Mike’s arm, begging him to stay. Mike quickly, very quickly, complies and calms his best friend down. He assures his band mates he won’t leave, but still points out that he’s not some boy-toy to be thrown around.
Billie Joe falls asleep, there in Tré’s bed, because really, he’s wiped out. He hasn’t slept decently since four months ago. Since they were killed. And Mike understands when Tré says it would be best if he left and went home. So he leaves and Tré comes back, sliding into bed next to the mop of onyx hair. He pulls the covers up over their bodies, wraps his arm around the frail waist, places a kiss on pouty lips, and drifts off to sleep.
It’s facing the death of someone you love the most and realizing that the paperboy, that old lady next door, or you could be the next one to go.
Billie Joe was the next one to go. But until the next morning, nobody needed to know that.
Rifinito.
---
Aw God. I pretty much cried during this. It really just came to me and fucking flowed right out of me. I've never, ever written anything so easily before. I really hope you guys liked it.
Comments are the sex.