Extraordinary - Chapter Two
Tré watched Billie sleep. It was one of his favorite things to do, even when he’s tired as fuck, as he was now. He learned a lot about Billie while he slept.
Billie would smile, very softly in his sleep, if he’d had a good day; if the day had weighed especially heavy on him, he’d scowl and mutter. But, from time to time, there were nightmares. Tré had never known Billie had nightmares until he’d spent some nights in bed with the dark haired man, and he suspected Mike didn’t even know.
As if summoned by his thoughts - Tré hoped that wasn’t possible - Billie began to twitch and sweat. Tré leaned away from Billie, knowing from experience that it wouldn’t be a good idea to try to help. In the past, Tré had tried to wake Billie from his nightmares, succeeding only in seeing a side of his lover that frightened him. No matter whether Tré was rough or gentle in waking Billie, loud or quiet, the smaller man would strike out at him, and not stop, tears running down his face and his eyes wild. If Tré foolishly tried to get close to him again, after that first wild swing, Billie would beat him, violently and with every ounce of desperate strength he had. He’d never make a sound, he’d just punch and kick and cry until he collapsed in a heap on the floor.
After several broken ribs, a broken nose, and a cracked cheek bone, Tré had learned to worry from a distance. He slipped out of bed and wandered over to a chair, never letting his eyes leave Billie. Some nights, the singer would wake up screaming, and dart to Tré’s side for comfort, and other times he didn’t wake at all, which was more frightening than even the beating.
Tré wondered for a moment if Billie had ever hit Adrienne, but he dismissed the thought. He had a feeling that this was something Billie only suffered on the road, when the grit making up his protective wall was weakened by anxiety and the insecurities he hid so well.
Billie let out a strangled scream, his face milk pale, and bolted from the bed, tangling himself in the heavy blankets. Tré was there to grab him, and Billie sank thankfully into his warm embrace, the tears never letting up. Tré settled onto the floor slowly, bringing Billie with him and holding him in his lap. Billie whimpered an apology through his sobs, but Tré only pulled him closer, wrapping the blanket from the bed around them together. He hummed softly, running his fingers up and down Billie’s spine to comfort him.
After a while, his crying stopped, and he pulled back from Tré’s chest, keeping his eyes lowered. “I’m sorry,” his voice cracked.
Tré grabbed Billie’s face with his big hands and pulled those green eyes to look up into his blue ones. He kissed Billie’s lips very softly.
“What for?”
Billie blushed, just a little redness creeping across his cheeks. He opened his mouth to answer, but Tré stood and stretched. “Coffee?”
Billie gave a ghost of a smile and nodded in agreement. “Have you slept?”
Tré shrugged, “I’m young and we don’t have another show for three days, and just a quick interview today. I’ll live,” he smirked, pouring water into the back of the coffee maker.
“You look cute when you do mundane things,” Billie told him, looking the drummer up and down. “Especially when you’re not wearing clothes.”
Tré smirked again, turning his back on Billie. The dark haired man tilted his head back and lowered his eye lids. He took in Tré’s brown hair, still mussed from being in bed, his lean, well-muscled back and shoulders, his powerful arms as they prepared the coffee, his firm ass, and finally his legs, as long and lean as the rest of him.
“Like what you see?” Tré asked, watching Billie in the mirror over the counter. He noted that Billie’s color had returned, what little of it the naturally pale man actually had, and his eyes were no longer fearful.
Billie stood quickly and stepped close to Tré, meeting the blue-gray eyes in the mirror. “Do you like what you see?”
“Well,” Tré grinned and turned in a slow circle to peer at himself, “Yeah, as a matter of fact.”
“Dick,” Billie told him with a smirk of his own.
Tré kissed Billie, snagging his lower lip in his teeth for a moment when he pulled back. He smiled, just a little, to himself as he stalked away, throwing clothes around as he tried to find his suitcase.
“What was that?” Billie asked, following him.
“What?” Tré asked innocently.
“That little smug grin.” Billie pushed Tré’s suitcase at him from where it had been hidden under a chair.
“Thanks. What smug grin?” Tré started digging into the disorderly pile.
“After you kissed me.” Billie was persistent.
“I was just thinking.”
“What?”
Tré was suddenly close to Billie, grabbing the dark haired man’s hand and pulling him until they were skin to skin. “I was thinking I love you. I was thinking you are the most God damned, fucking, drop dead, gorgeously handsome man I’d ever seen in my life. I was thinking I’d love to kiss you, and lick you, and maybe bite you a little, from your toes to you head, if I had the time. I was thinking if I don’t get into some clothes immediately, I’d do just that, let the fucking interview wait until later, and everything be damned.”
Billie closed his eyes and suppressed a moan, unable to suppress the shudder with it. “Tré . . .” he whispered.
A fist pounded on the door, and the two pulled apart reluctantly. A moment later, Mike stepped into the room. He ignored his bandmates’ nakedness - it’s not like he’d never seen them naked before.
“We have an interview in thirty minutes, and you two are still fucking around?” Mike chided them half-heartedly. He was hungover. “Is this coffee?” he asked hopefully, sniffing at the hissing pot.
“Help yourself,” Tré answered absentmindedly, mind back on the task at hand as he stuck his upper body under the bed, still wearing nothing and looking for his belt.
“Wasn’t asking for permission,” Mike mumbled as he fixed a cup. He felt shitty, but maybe the coffee would lighten his mood before the interview. He glanced at his Tré’s ass and scowled a little. If the dumbass will act like a normal human for once.
Billie tossed his own suitcase on the bed and rummaged through it, quickly finding a dark button-up shirt and dark jeans. He dug a little deeper before coming up with a pair of clean boxers. He slipped into them and the rest of his clothes while Tré was still crawling around under the bed, muttering half-audible curses from time to time.
“AHA!” came Tré’s triumphant voice as he wiggled out from under the bed backwards. He held his belt up with a grin. At a glance from Mike, he immediately began throwing clean clothes on, but he still gave a lavish victory wink as he laced his belt through the loops on his pants.
“Ready gents?” Tré asked with a charming smile.
“Yes,” Mike answered a gruffly and walked out. Tré took a quick moment to give Billie a kiss on the cheek. “Love you,” the drummer smiled softly, his eyes lighting up the way they only did for the dark haired frontman.
Billie breathed, “Love you, too,” his heart giving an extra thump in a space between normal heartbeats.
“COME ON!” Mike’s voice reverberated, through the very walls it seemed. Billie and Tré bolted out the door after their friend.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tré was asleep. His head was in Billie’s lap, as was the occasional spatter of drool, with his legs half curled in the seat of the limo. Billie wiped Tré’s mouth with a corner of his shirt sleeve and then turned his attention back to Mike.
Mike cradled a cup of coffee in his hands, the sixth since earlier. With a wistful glance at the obliviously snoring drummer, he sighed, “Did any of us sleep at all last night?”
Billy shook his head a little, giving the bassist a smirk, “Nope. But we weren’t up sick all night.”
“Fuck off. And you two were definitely sick, all night long, I’m sure,” Mike gave his friend an easy smile. The coffee helped with the hangover, but he just wanted to collapse and sleep for a while. Preferably, a long while.
“Yep,” Tré grunted, shifting around so he was facing the other direction. He tucked one arm around the singer’s waist and then settled back to sleep.
Mike considered dumping his rapidly chilling coffee onto Tré’s head, but he figured it wouldn’t be fair for Billie to have to deal with a soaked crotch. He shrugged to himself, and took another sip.
“So, when do we leave, tomorrow or the day after?” Billie asked, gently running long fingers through Tré’s hair.
“Tomorrow. So we can recuperate from the nine hour time difference before we go onstage. I told you this last night. And why do I have to be the one to remember this shit anyway?” Mike asked with another sigh. He was trying to joke, but he was too tired.
“Well, I got drunk, you got drunk, Tré got-“
“Punched,” Tré said, muffled.
“-drunk,” Billie finished with a smirk at Tré’s blue eyes, glinting playfully for a moment before the younger man tried to get comfortable again. “You’re the only one whose brain remembers shit when it’s bombed.”
“What a compliment, BJ,” Mike laughed a little, immediately cheering up at the sight of their hotel. “Wanna carry me in as a ‘thank you’?”
The car slid to a silent stop and Tré was the first one out, followed closely by Mike and then Billie. They all trudged to the nearest room, Tré’s mostly unused one, and the bassist and drummer collapsed onto the bed, barely able to kick their shoes off before falling asleep.
Billie smiled at them as he slipped out of his own clothes. He wasn’t as tired as his friends, but his night hadn’t been peaceful. For a moment, he felt the too-familiar panic close off his breathing and make his chest tight. Last night’s dream had been as vivid as they always were, but this one was one of the worst.
Billie’s forced himself to breath, slowly, regularly, trying to push the dream-
Tré was cutting himself
-away, before it could give him a panic attack. “Too late,” he said out loud, very softly.
The nightmare replayed behind his eyes, as he stared at the man he loved.
Tré was cutting himself, using the broken end of a fork, dragging the jagged metal down his arm, again and again. One of his beautiful blue eyes was impaled on the tines of the fork, and it swiveled to look at Billie, weeping blood.
Tré’s voice, whispering, choking, blaming, “You, you, you, you. All YOUR fault. You don’t deserve me. You, you, you, you. All you.”
The fork ran down Tré’s arm again, his veins dangling from the open wound and bleeding in drips.
Billie blinked, tears running rapidly down his face. He realized he was in a pair of very strong arms, though he couldn’t remember getting there. Tré was cradling him like an infant, his blue eyes fearful. Mike was still snoring on the bed.
Tré carefully stood up and left the room, carrying Billie to his room and in. He settled them both very carefully on the bed. He took Billie’s face in his big hands, and looking deep into emerald eyes, asked what he’d been afraid to ask for more than a year now, “What do you dream about?”
Billie closed his eyes and shivered. “You,” he said simply, hating the way his voice trembled.
Tré jerked back as if he’d been slapped. “It’s me? Is it always me?” his voice pitched low and almost scared, “Do I . . . hurt you?”
Billie looked deep into those blue eyes, cloudy with the threat of tears. His nightmare echoed, Your fault.
“Not physically,” he answered hesitantly.
Tré furrowed his brow. “How?”
And it all spilled out of Billie. All of the dreams, all the horrible things Tré did to himself in them. How sometimes, Adie would watch, or even help. By the end, Billie was shuddering against Tré, sobs ripping out of him like each might be his only breath. Silent tears slipped down Tré’s cheeks, but he clutched Billie to him, never letting him know.
He murmured comforting words to Billie, and both of them shuddered and shook in each other’s arms, the blanket wrapped firmly around their shoulders like protection.
After what may have been hours, Tré took Billie’s face in his hands once more, drawing the green eyes he adored to meet his, “Billie . . .,” his voice trembled, “I wish you just knew, wish I could show you . . .” he trailed off once more. “I love you. I will never hurt you.”
Another tear slipped from the corner of Billie’s eyes and Tré impulsively snatched him close. He wiped away the tear almost forcefully and held Billie’s upper arms in a grip sure to leave bruises.
Tré crushed his mouth on Billie’s, his tongue pushing roughly against the older man’s lips. Tré pulled him close, he needed him, needed to show Billie, in a very physical way, exactly how much he means to him. How much he loves him.
And Billie responded, with a vengeance he didn’t know existed in him. He pushed his lips hard against Tré, fumbling with the button down shirt. He moaned into Tré’s mouth as the drummer’s hand found his growing erection and squeezed.
He bit down hard on Tré’s lower lip, tasting blood, licking it away roughly. Growing impatient with the shirt, he took it in both his hands and pulled it apart, buttons flying. Tré leaned back far enough and just long enough to discard his shirt, slipping quickly out of his pants before he tangled himself with Billie again.
Billie grabbed Tré with his mouth, running his tongue up and down his length, and the younger man groaned deeply, pulling his dark hair with drum-roughened hands. Tré pulled Billie up to him, once more attacking the singer’s mouth with his own as he flipped them over so he was on top.
He hesitated only a moment to wait for Billie’s tense nod before sliding himself in. He forced himself to go slowly, fighting the urge to rock violently into the warm tightness of Billie, afraid he’d hurt him. The older man held no such idea. He moaned and bucked against Tré, his hands caressing then pulling his brown hair.
Tré grabbed Billie’s waist with both hands, his full weight resting between them, and he paused for just a moment. Billie looked deep into blue eyes filled with lust and with something else.
Love and all of the promises that come with it. The man clutching him, the man inside him, would always be there, always closer than skin to him, no matter if inches or oceans separate them.
And then Tré began to thrust. Billie closed his eyes for a moment, head rocking back in pleasure, but a big hand grabbed dark hair and Tré pushed his forehead against Billie’s, still thrusting strongly.
“Mine, you’re mine, Billie,” Tré whispered, his voice husky and soft. His other hand left Billie’s waist and grabbed his throbbing cock. Billie moaned again, calling Tré’s name softly. He timed his hand and his thrusts to each other, feeling himself nearing the end.
Billie arched his back, screaming Tré’s name, his warm seed spilling over both of their stomachs. Tré gasped, Billie’s name strangled out, as he came inside the older man. He half collapsed onto Billie, his arms wrapping around slender shoulders and tucking his head against dark hair. Billie tentatively began to stroke Tré’s head, fingers absentmindedly untangling little snarls in it as he marveled at the feeling of Tré’s heart beating against his chest.
Tré kissed Billie’s neck whispering, “I love you.”
Before Billie could answer, Tré’s arms tightened around him, pulling him into a rough, airless hug. Tré squeezed for just a moment, his lips trailing along Billie’s jaw and then to his mouth. “Don’t forget,” he breathed, his voice cracking a little.
Billie blinked rapidly to keep away the tears. “I know you love me, Tré. I think it’s just guilt.”
Tré leaned away a little, looking into Billie’s eyes. “Tell her.”
No amount of blinking could stop the tear that slipped down the singer’s cheek. “Can’t. Not yet.”
Tré nodded, putting his head back on Billie’s shoulder with a sigh. “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll be waiting.”
Another tear slipped down Billie’s cheek, swallowed by brown hair. It was not an easy decision to make, to tell your wife of sixteen years that you’re fucking the drummer in your band, especially when that drummer is a guy. He glanced down at Tré’s head and smiled sadly. It would be much easier if it was just fucking. The frontman was in love.
There’s a huge difference in fucking and loving.