The Folly of Wayward Saints, part 5
Title: The Folly of Wayward Saints (part 5 of 5)
Authors: tasyfa & looking_spiffy
Pairing: Lars Ulrich (Metallica)/Billie Joe
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 37,113 in total
Disclaimer: So very completely fictional. Any similarities to real events are purely coincidental. We don't own, you don't sue. No insinuation, insemination or alienation intended.
Summary: The unnamed feeling, takes me away… Three years since that motel room. Three years of personal and professional change, of albums, tours, accolades and acclaim, of pain, growth and reforged relationships. Three years is a long time. But, with Green Day and Metallica both attending a Hollywood afterparty, the heavy metal drummer and punk rock frontman still can't seem to keep away from each other…
Notes: The sequel to The Joy of Violent Movement, found here, here and here. Warnings for bloodplay, angst, sap and yet more swearing in Danish. For a handy dandy summary on Lars Ulrich, please go here.
Part 1 - The Line That Divides Me
Part 2 - Hit the Lights on These Dark Sets
Part 3 - Coming Down Like an Armageddon Flame
Part 4 - Let You Breathe My Air
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
from part 4:
His wayward mind supplied an alternate definition for the last statement and with that thought burning through him, he began to back Lars towards the bed. Billie freed one hand and tipped the drummer's head up, lips meeting his in another, hungrier kiss that shifted awkwardly with their movement.
He didn't care, merely continued kissing Lars even as the backs of his knees bumped into the mattress and Billie pressed him down, gentle but inexorable, and leaned down over him, mouths still fastened together. He would stop if Lars said to - but only then.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Part 5: Frantic in Your Soothing Arms
Billie broke the kiss at last, scattering swift, damp kisses across the older man's face as he undid his pants, fingers seeming to finally have caught the trick of the drummer's belt buckle. Once they were opened he left them alone a moment, resting on his elbows over Lars as he murmured directly into his ear.
"I want to make you come."
That was all he said; putting him on notice that it wasn't meant as a preliminary, nor was reciprocation expected. It was as simple as that, and also that complicated because every other orgasm Lars had had with Billie had been connected to James. I want you to come for me. Me. No one else.
He unbuttoned that shirt again until Lars lay exposed, his eyes conveying heat and reassurance, desire and affection and a little something more. Appreciating him on a purely physical level as well as the stronger, deeper emotions storming through him, stirred into full force by this raw vulnerability.
Billie Joe stood between Lars's thighs and leaned down, mouth skimming over his chest, taking soft nibbles as he slowly slid farther down the muscled torso, going to his knees.
The hairs on the back of Lars's neck stood up when Billie uttered those few calm words, an uncharacteristic warmth flooding his face and staining his cheeks. The kisses had calmed him, soothed him, settled his stomach in some ways and stirred it in others. He hadn't even really been aware that he was moving, not until he lay stretched over the bed, the sliding heat and sweetness of Billie's mouth holding his attention completely as he returned the powerful kiss. But those words…heat bloomed across his chest, heart thrumming loud in his ears as he felt that mouth laying claim to little patches of his skin with wet, secret marks, descending, descending…
This time…this time would be different. This time there was no agenda, on either part. This time there was no-one to get hurt. This time would be the most significant yet, maybe ever, because this would effectively seal the deal. No going back. He stared right back at the younger man, head raised from the bed, letting and watching his body be exposed in silence, almost in fascination. The radio continued to play quietly, Soundgarden's Black Hole Sun rumbling darkly away in the background. Billie's hand splayed over his half-exposed hipbone, and his skin jumped at the touch, cock beginning to stir into life. Fuck, he wouldn't admit it, but he even had butterflies.
A soft realisation faded into his mind. This is it, and I'm okay with that. I'm more than okay. I want it. I want him, and I want him to know how I sound when I come and it's because of him. Him and him alone.
Lars smoothed a hand slowly over Billie's shoulder, squeezing lightly. He breathed out a moan, body responding more and more to the frontman's attention. His eyes darkened a little, beginning to dilate as he let his head fall back.
"Fuckin' do it," he murmured gutturally, back arching in anticipation.
He muffled a laugh against Lars's abdomen. Impatient bastard, he thought with amusement before totally ignoring the outburst. Billie continued his slow tasting, learning the flavour of Danish skin. He eased the open pants down and off as he reached the join between hip and thigh with his mouth, and once the only part of Lars that was not nude was his arms, still encased in shirt sleeves, Billie sat back on his heels and simply looked for a long moment at his lover.
Lovers. That was what this made them, truly this time and with everything that implied. His thumbs stroked the insides of the thighs spread for him, right up near the heavy balls hanging under a hardening cock, his palms pressing the legs even wider as his grip tightened and he guided the naked form closer to him and closer yet until the drummer's ass lay at the edge of the bed, all of him beautifully open.
Then and only then, when a dark head lifted to pin him with a green gaze that was at once confused and pissed off by the delay tactics, did Billie bow his own head and take Lars's cock into his mouth. He maintained the eye contact as he explored another new taste, testing the feel, the weight and shape of the erection, judging how much he could comfortably take - and how much he would take anyway.
Billie wanted it all and with that in mind, he tongued one last swirl around the cockhead and began to suck in earnest, ceaseless fingers caressing Lars's balls, ass, thighs as he swallowed him down.
Lars had taken a breath to growl his impatience aloud, incredibly wary and even fearful of Those Bad Thoughts returning and needing those maddening, coy touches to take his erection and do terrible, dirty things to it. That breath left him in an exhaled, stuttering gasp as sensations battered him, one after the other, hands and lips and tongue and heat colliding, whirling as one in his consciousness. His head fell back and he arched again, harder this time, heels of his palms pressing into the mattress and rubbing back and forth in agitation.
"Ah…" he panted, mind attempting but not forming any semblance of words in those initial few seconds. Those initial few seconds when his cock began to disappear into Billie's mouth. Fucking wow.
The way the younger man lavished attention on other sensitive areas, all heated and tight and electric to each touch, the way he used different amounts of pressure, in his fingertips and his tongue, on different areas of his body to the absolute fullest effect…fuck. It told the drummer that Billie was someone far more experienced in…well, in sucking dick than he'd ever encountered - certainly the greatest male-given blowjob he'd ever received, given how he'd received so few in his life - and would maybe even give hima run for his money in terms of prowess. That'd be a test for another time, though.
He was never one to be outdone, after all.
"Fuck…that's really nice…" he breathed, eyes closed as his head rocked to one side, a wobbly giggle bubbling forth at his inarticulacy. The pit of his stomach burned, and he raised a hand to push through Billie's hair and cup the back of his head as it slowly began to bob up and down. He licked his lips, breath becoming slightly laboured. "Really…fuck…ah…"
That shaky little laugh made Billie want to crow in victory, or perhaps do a silly dance, but he was kind of busy and wouldn't move for the world so he settled on an appreciative moan, knowing the vibrations would be felt.
His caresses grew more intimate, fingers slipping in between asscheeks to find the most sensitive flesh. Not pressing inside, or even suggesting that he might; he didn't think that now was a good time to push that dramatic a role reversal. All he did was rub, long strokes that should send sparks right up Lars's spine. Nearly twenty years of practice had honed any natural talent he'd possessed into a finely-tuned ability, after all.
Billie flicked a look up at the drummer's face, stomach swooping at the open pleasure displayed there. He made a quick decision, knowing what he did of Lars's sexuality, and eased off on the suction a little. Then, very, very carefully, he added the delicate scrape of teeth to each upswing, sheathing them as his nose neared the crisp curls of hair and then letting them touch skin again when he pulled back, almost to the tip.
Conscious of the hand tightening in his hair and the small, choked sounds he could hear from Lars, Billie allowed a few more light presses of teeth and then covered them completely. He took as deep a breath as he could manage and relaxed his throat, then finally slid right down, lips forming a tight seal around the base of Lars's erection as he sucked for all he was worth, swallowing convulsively around the cockhead pressing heavily inside.
Fuck! Lars hissed inwardly. Maybe outwardly too, he wasn't sure. Not like he was paying attention. Fingertips were teasing at his asshole and making him fucking squirm, blind instinct drawing his legs even further apart and up, knees rising towards his chest to accommodate whatever Billie was planning to do. Not only that, but those teeth, so, so careful, a small, maddening increase of stimulation that made him choke on his cries. No, wasn't really paying attention to what he was saying right then.
Then Billie's lips descended completely, throat muscles working tight around his cock, and he gasped. His eyes went wide, sparkling green finding some spot on the wall behind the bed as he arched, head pressing back hard into the mattress. Feeling no urge to silence himself, his mouth fell open, wanton moans spilling unchecked from his throat. Moans for his fucking lover. Moans for Billie. Later on he would wonder to himself if he was crying out louder for his own benefit, for theirs, or just because that's how damn good it felt. Right then, it felt like nothing but the latter.
He tugged at the fistful of black hair warningly, hips twitching, feeling those initial waves begin to swell inside him.
"Fuck…Billie…I…ah!" A high, wet sob interrupted him, and it took a few gasped breaths before he could continue. "I'm fucking…I…I'm gonna…ah!"
Stumbling back into total incoherency, he could only breathe heavy and let out hoarse moans. Forcing his feet back onto the floor to steel himself against an orgasm that might just knock him clean off the bed, his toes curled, tightness grew in his balls and his hips began to buck more, falling into rhythm with his cries. Acute, pinpointed focus suddenly fell on the precise sensations around his cock; Billie swallowed once, twice, three times…
"Billie-!"
Back cracking into an arch, heat erupted from the pit of Lars's stomach and he came, body shuddering violently with the sheer force of his orgasm ploughing into him. He tried to form words, tried to bring Billie's name out from the jumble of high-pitched almost-wails and strained gasps, but all effort just washed away as he spilled himself down the younger man's throat.
Not much was left of him after that. Bits and pieces of Lars Ulrich lay leaden on the bed, chest heaving, vaguely wondering if he was too fucking old to have orgasms like that anymore. Reaching down, he clawed weakly, imploringly at Billie's shoulder.
"C'mere…here…" he mumbled dazedly, feeling like he needed a body to tangle with so the rest of him didn't disappear too.
At the skritch of needy fingers on his skin, Billie pulled off gently, intending to move to join Lars on the bed. But before he did, he abruptly fastened his mouth to a spot high up on the older man's inner thigh, sucking and biting at it until it flushed, dark red against the rest of the soft flesh. He didn't bite down hard enough to warrant getting the first aid kit out again; just enough to work up a bruise that would stick around for a while.
To leave his mark.
It also gave him a bit of breathing space to tell his libido to calm the fuck down, because watching and listening to Lars fall to pieces - making him come like that, knowing that those incredible moans were his doing - had Billie fully fucking erect. That wasn't the point of this, though, and he willed calmness through his body as he released the bruised patch of skin and climbed onto the bed.
He coaxed the drummer's limp form up farther until they could stretch out fully without dangling off the edge, slipping the open shirt off and tugging the now completely nude body into his arms, pressing a swift kiss to parted lips.
"How're you doing, huh? You gonna live?"
If his wide smile came off a touch smug, Billie figured he could be forgiven for that. Apparently he was, in fact, perfectly capable of making Lars forget that anyone and anything else existed. Of making himself forget, too, for that matter. At least for a little while.
Billie kissed him, soft and sweet, rubbing his cheek briefly against the vague beginnings of five o'clock shadow before his eyes met green ones, the latter still slightly dazed. They had rather a lot of unfinished business yet and this seemed as good a place as any to start.
"If there's anything you want to know, dude, go ahead and ask. I'll do my best to answer."
"Well, first off…" Lars paused, clearing his throat and licking his lips, voice a little rough. He spoke slower than usual, the last embers of his orgasm still stumbling giddily through him. "…I gotta ask you, are you fucking happy? I nearly snapped my fucking spine doing that, then this old man wouldn't have been any use to you. So I hope you're happy and smug enough about that…"
His thigh throbbed a little, a little twinge of indignant pain in a sensitive spot, setting off a little synapse in his brain that he hadn't even registered it happening, that it felt nice and that it stirred a little flicker of warmth in his stomach, deeper than lust, and that he kind of wanted to show it off - of course, its positioning made that impossible, even onstage when stripped down to his shorts. And that he would have to get Billie back for it.
For now, though, he settled for draping an arm over the younger man's shoulder, tilting his head and nipping at the soft flesh just under his chin. "There's a lot we should probably know about each other by now, right?" he murmured.
The questions that had stampeded through his mind earlier, about age, family, birthdays, all seemed kind of insignificant right then. Not truly important. Perhaps it was because he wasn't panicking, or perhaps it was because he'd seen and processed the tattoos on Billie's arms - Adrienne, Joseph, some building blocks, a photostrip…perhaps it was because although Billie looked young, when he smiled, little creases formed by his eyes, almost unnoticeable lines, and there were the few details that had been given on his and Mike's relationship - the duration of it, specifically - that conveyed Lars's status to be not that of a cradle robber as he'd initially dreaded. Besides, there was far too much experience in those lips, those hands and that tongue for Billie to be that young.
Speaking of lips and tongue, while those thoughts were ticking away, Lars had raised his head and was now kissing his lover, slow and lazy and luxurious. No force behind it at all, just the gentle press of lips against lips, tongues gliding unhurriedly together, and soft little noises of satisfaction. Probably one of the most romantic (sappy) kisses he'd ever initiated, certainly with Billie. As it ended, he smiled against the younger man's mouth. May as well ask something.
"I don't have to buy you a gift you won't use anytime soon, do I?"
I could get used to being kissed like this, Billie thought idly, and in that lay something really big that wasn't quite as scary as it had been, if not something he felt ready to tackle head-on just yet. He giggled at the mention of a gift.
"Hell, no. The last thing I need is more shit I don't need." It had sounded slightly more logical in his head and he let out more giggles, the high-pitched mirth making him sound much younger than he was. "Fuck, and you have like, less than ten years on me so don't go calling people old. How can I be the voice of disaffected teenagers everywhere if I'm old?"
He pulled Lars in for another kiss, sighing a little at his taste. There was this bubble of pure giddiness sitting in his midsection, leaking into his bloodstream, colouring everything. It had been born of the drummer's careful cleaning of Billie's chest; his agreement to stay; his vulnerability and plea for help; his uninhibited responses. That kiss. Everything added up to the two of them here together, tangled in a sweet embrace where for the first time since they'd met, Billie felt like they were truly equals. Just two people caught in a strange situation with feelings they had never expected to develop.
There were still a lot of obstacles - a lot of things they didn't know about each other, as Lars had said. Other people who would need to be included in this new equation. An explanation about Adrienne and how that would work, what effects it would have on this relationship, for a relationship was what it was now, or at least what it was becoming.
Billie withdrew after one more achingly tender press of lips, his eyelashes fluttering open to regard Lars as he spoke. Maybe it was too early to say this, but he had been honest with this man about everything right from the beginning and it wasn't a track record he wanted to break now. "I know we have all kinds of shit to learn here and that things are kind of fucked up, but…I wanted you to know, that I am. Happy."
"Fuck, I should hope so…I'd hate to think how much of this sappy shit we'd have to spout before you were," Lars drawled, familiar smirk tugging at his lips. He pushed himself up on one elbow, smoothing his palm down Billie's arm to grasp his hand. Raising it aloft, he pulled the wrist to his mouth and pressed kisses along the tattooed skin, slowly trailing them across the muscle, up towards the shoulder. He continued softly between kisses, looking sideways at Billie through a heavy-lidded, soft green glow. "Good…that's really…really…good…and the fact that…I'm kissing your arm…like I'm Gomez…from The Addams Family…must mean I'm…pretty happy too, ja?"
As he held onto Billie's hand, he felt the smooth glide of metal around one of the other man's fingers - the wedding band. He paused only for a millisecond on noticing it, dragging moist lips over a rounded shoulder.
"I wasn't lying, you know. Earlier," he murmured, voice just beyond a whisper. He felt he should speak what he felt now, before…before morning came, perhaps, before the moment was gone, and all those other clichés. Maybe it was just before Uli faded back again and the snarky, arrogant, sardonic Lars would sneer at himself for such thoughts. "I do want you. More than that, I do need you. More than I did before. So…if we're really going to do this…" He trailed off, finishing the sentence in his head.
Don't ever do what James did to me. Because I don't think I could fucking deal with that so well again.
He'd had no intention of saying that aloud, ever. It was one fearful, dark little truth that he didn't ever have to want to confront, to voice, to acknowledge. Not wanting to leave his words hanging there, he bent closer, dipped his head and drew his nose up along the edge of Billie's ear, taking the lobe into his teeth, nibbling and sucking lightly. Face burying into spiky black hair, he dropped kisses onto the side of his lover's neck, into the downy wisps and along the curving tendon to the collarbone. He sort of hoped, as he shifted back onto his shoulder and tucked his nose into the hollow of Billie's throat, that that would suffice as an end to his sentence, because he didn't think what he actually said would convey much.
"…Y'know?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I know," Billie whispered, throat tight where Lars had tucked himself in close after those lingering, travelling kisses. He'd caught the fleeting hesitation at the feeling of his wedding band, and it made him realise that with the way James had ended things, Lars needed to know sooner rather than later that his inclusion in Billie's life wouldn't be mutually exclusive with Billie's marriage.
Fingers wandering through longish hair, petting almost though he wouldn't have thought of it that way, he smiled at the memory behind his words. "When I was twenty-two, about to have my life changed in ways I could never have predicted, I was sat down and given a lecture about the separation of church and state and how I needed to apply that principle."
Billie uttered a soft laugh. "I didn't know what the hell she was talking about, but by the time she was done talking I'd gotten it." He shifted to look at the drummer, one fingertip tracing lightly across Lars's lips as he continued, "Adrienne doesn't care who's President as long as she's still God. One of the many, many reasons I adore my wife beyond all reason, Lars, is because she made space in our life together for me to answer to the other half of my sexuality. I have the freedom to make my own decisions in that area.
"That means that I have room for both of you with me. She'll know about you, and about how I feel. Can you handle that, do you think?"
His stomach clenched in apprehension at the possibility that Lars could not. It was one thing to sneak around, no one ever the wiser, but to become involved with Billie also meant coming out, at least to a select group of people. And while Mike obviously knew now about Lars's bisexuality - probably Tré did, too, by this time - Adrienne would have to know as well. The drummer would be confronted with others who knew the truth besides his lover, and that was a lot to ask of a man who'd concealed his affair with James for the entirety of their time together.
"Can I handle it?" Lars echoed, a touch of incredulity in his tone. Of course I can fucking handle it, what do you think…
His thought tailed off as he really thought about what Billie was saying. Someone else is actually gonna know.
If this had come years ago, it probably wouldn't have been that big a deal. C'mon, he was Lars fucking Ulrich. He was European, he was open-minded, and he was an inherent shit-disturber. And he'd longed to tell the world that he'd bagged James Hetfield, that they'd been banging happily away for years. Fuck, who wouldn't want to crow about that? At the very least, he'd wanted to tell Kirk - the guitarist was obviously easygoing, modern enough to accept them. But he hadn't.
Anyone with half a brain knew that the shit that would be kicked up over two tough, male, heavy metal musicians in the biggest metal band that ever existed had been, gasp, hold the front page, secretly fucking for years on end, would not be a deterrent against such behaviour in public - it'd only serve to encourage. Lars had tested the waters every now and then, usually with Kirk - that way he and James wouldn't even be put into the picture. A suggestive photo here, sticking his tongue down Kirk's throat there - testing for a reaction. And holy fuck, what a reaction. Kissgate. Even Jason had lambasted them over it. It had been a huge deal, and sadly, most of what Lars heard about it had been strongly negative. Do you want them to think you're fags? Yeah, maybe he fucking did. It had hurt to see that even in the nineties it was still such a fucking taboo. How come Rob Halford got away with it? How come he wasn't burned at the fucking stake? Lars had thought bitterly on hearing that the Judas Priest frontman had come out. Later, he would realise that it was because of two things - one, everybody pretty much guessed Rob was gay by the time he announced it, and two - and we're right back around to the main point here - he wasn't fucking one of his bandmates.
So, Lars had kept silent about his and James's relationship for a number of reasons - the knowledge that what they were doing would not be accepted in the chest-beating world of heavy metal, especially so far back as the mid-eighties and right up until now, the common sense derived from knowing that, and, most importantly of all, at his lover's request. James had asked him, right after they had found themselves making out whilst not quite drunk enough to dismiss it. For the third time. You know we can't tell anybody about this, don't you? Okay, it had been less of a request and more of a statement, but Lars had honoured it. Right through their marriages. Right up until today. Right up until it was over.
He supposed with a vague sadness that no-one would ever know what they'd had for so many years. Not even Billie would truly know. How special it was, how grounded they'd kept one another, how long they'd lasted. How head over heels in fucking love they'd been. No-one would know of its beauty.
Falling headlong into a relationship that was so radically different, right down to its foundation…from Lars taking most of the role of top, to having an evidently incredible wife in the mix who would not only know about her husband's lover, but would actually accept the relationship, let it continue unheeded…fuck.
It would be…an adjustment. And that was an understatement.
Lars suddenly had questions. A lot of questions. What if I'm over your house and I wanna kiss you, or nip at your neck, am I gonna get chased around the garden with a rolling pin? What about your kids, what if one of them catches us making out? What about Christmas, or New Years? Oh God, am I gonna have to meet your mom?
Swallowing them down for fear of scaring the shit out of himself more than he already had, he stared down at a spot on Billie's neck, mind ticking over. Focussing, he realised his eyes had found the scar. His scar. And then he was speaking, quiet and deliberate.
"I don't want to have to lose three people that mean something to me in one year. I'm not giving you up. There's nothing that could make me, now. So if you really think…" he chewed at the inside of his lip, raising his darkened, solemn eyes to meet Billie's. "If you really think your wife…Adrienne will be okay with this, then I'll handle it. Rest assured, I'll fuckin' handle it."
I'm not giving you up. Billie's chest expanded with one sharp inhalation as that statement echoed in his head. I'm not giving you up. The sheer relief of it, the pride, the swelling of emotion spun him dizzily and he pressed frantic little kisses to the drummer's face.
"Thank you," he breathed against Lars's mouth before taking it in a wild kiss, all lips and tongue and rhythm.
Adie would hand him his ass for having broken Mike's heart, but he believed that she would understand everything behind that. In fact, he suspected that she already understood more than either party involved had, in large part because she'd gotten the subtext behind that first night he'd spent with Lars.
He hadn't told her any more than he'd told Mike, but his wife had comprehended the more complex aspects of his rebellion and had taken her own steps to deal with them. Not long after they'd normalised their own relationship, a pair of black, thigh-high stiletto boots had appeared in the back of their walk-in closet.
She'd told him upfront that she wasn't comfortable with pain but she could do this much, and it had become a kind of homecoming ritual between them, re-establishing their primary bond when he had been away on the road. Because when Adrienne appeared wearing those boots, Billie Joe knew immediately that he'd be spending the night on his knees. Serving her and her alone in whatever way she demanded.
He didn't think Lars really needed to know all that, though, and definitely not now in any case. It was enough that the drummer knew that Billie and Adie had an unconventional, beautiful relationship that wouldn't automatically exclude him.
His full attention returned to the kiss as it intensified, urgency thrumming through his body before he backed off, belatedly remembering his decision to focus only on Lars's pleasure. Billie moved instead to the pierced ear lobe, sucking at the metal, grateful yet again to the tight pants he should probably take off sometime soon while he tried to bring his breathing back under control.
"Thank you, Lars," he murmured again when he could do so with a steady enough voice. "That means a lot to me."
Somewhat surprised by the intensity of the reaction, Lars fell into rhythm after a few moments, returning the kiss strongly and wondering vaguely if he'd perhaps underestimated Billie's feelings for him. The thought was a pleasant one, just as pleasant as the feeling of a warm, wet tongue swirling around his earring. He exhaled against the younger man's neck, feeling his heart stumble over itself at the words that reached his ear.
A bright flame bloomed and flattened along Lars's spine, and he realised he wanted to mark him again, to seal what they had. He resisted the desire. They'd have time for that later. Later. Holy fuck, there is going to be a later. I can mark him again, maybe in a week, maybe in a month, maybe on some long weekend away in Hawaii, where it's too hot and sweaty to do anything but laze around in a private villa and have sex…there's going to be a later. Wow, that's fucking insane. This whole thing is fucking insane - a perky little pop-punk frontman and a grouchy fuckin' heavy metal drummer? What the fuck? I feel like we could make out live onstage at the Superbowl and nobody would think it meant anything. It's all fucking crazy and I love it.
Going over those last two sentences in his head, he voiced them, murmuring against Billie's jawbone. He couldn't lie, it was a turn on; and maybe not something as large as the Superbowl, but maybe on a red carpet, or some fucking dull Hollywood 'party'. Stir shit up, like the old days. He also contemplated telling his bandmates, at the very least Kirk. Maybe his dad. It wouldn't be a big deal for either of them. But whatever. Those were all thoughts for another day. Tonight had been mentally and physically exhausting enough - he was all spent of meaningful decisions.
Dragging his knuckles down Billie's chest, he traced a sweeping line around to his waist, then his hip, then his bellybutton, fingers settling on the waistband of the other man's pants for a moment. Eyes dropping between them, tongue poking out to cover his top lip, he unfastened the fly and eased the pants down awkwardly, not letting Billie move away. He sat up to peel them from his lover's legs, dropping them to the floor and bending to press a wet kiss into the freshly exposed happy trail, before clambering up the bed and pulling Billie under the covers with him. He smiled, tugging the lithe body into him and tucking the spiky head under his chin.
"I still owe you a good morning fuck, you remember that, right?" he purred contentedly, fingertips trailing slowly up and down the curve of the younger man's side.
Billie laughed at the reminder. He angled his now nude body against Lars so that the drummer couldn't possibly miss that he was half-hard and murmured huskily, "I'm gonna hold you to that."
He thought of what Lars had said about the Superbowl and grinned. "I'm hurt that you've already forgotten that you stuck your tongue down my throat and grabbed my crotch at the party tonight." Billie nuzzled his jaw briefly, still smiling. "And that was after I'd kissed like four hundred people. So maybe not a venue quite that spectacular, and not until things have smoothed out with the other people in our lives, but yeah." He pulled back, eyes hot as they found Lars's. "Once that's all clear, feel free to tongue-fuck me in public all you want. I'm all about pushing people's buttons."
He wondered if Lars had any idea how much of a turn on Billie found that to be, the concept of being claimed in front of an audience that didn't know what they were really seeing; the fact that it would create spectacle and be confrontational was just a bonus. Then again, the way his cock had twitched as he'd made the offer was probably a big clue.
Giggling softly, he snuggled into the older man, content to ignore the desire swirling sluggishly through his system in favour of sleep because he would have the chance to satisfy it later. A warm rush accompanied that realisation: there would be a tomorrow, and a next day, and a next week. Lars would still be there in the morning, and Billie felt comfortable enough - connected enough - to trust in that. It was a good feeling.
"G'night, Lars. Just shove me onto my own side if you get too hot. I'm a clingy fucker when I'm asleep," he sighed against warm skin, eyes slipping closed.
Oh wow, maybe having two people get together who enjoy fucking with perceptions to that degree isn't such a good idea, Lars thought, devilishly gleeful at all the scenarios that sprung up in his head at Billie's consent. He was going to hold Billie to that.
As they settled, the drummer thought back to first setting eyes on this sassy young man. Love at first sight? Hardly. He'd been driven to pinning Billie back in that booth, all bristling temper and heated rage, by nothing but suffocating thoughts of James and a desire to get away from them. It hadn't really worked. The fact that he'd gone scurrying off to HQ at the news that his absent lover had called was a testament to that. He honestly believed that if Billie hadn't walked into that bar that night, he probably would have ended up fucking some other guy. It was the honest truth.
But Billie had walked into that bar. He had sat down nearby, he had followed Lars into the booth and he had breathlessly told him of a motel room across the street with their names on it. And later on, Lars had curled around him, the frontman had pressed back into his compact form beneath starchy sheets and, though he hadn't realised it at the time, it changed everything.
Destiny? Possibly. If you wanted to get fruity about it.
He pulled his head back, tilting it, to look at the younger man's face, the curve of his closed eyes, the long eyelashes against pale cheeks. An affectionate smirk twitched the corner of his mouth, before his head settled back down into the thick, bird's nest hair. Waiting a little while until he thought Billie had headed far enough towards the realms of sleep that he might not hear, Lars thought about what he had said about shoving him away.
"Yeah," he murmured, hand settling on Billie's hip and tugging him just a fraction closer. "I prob'ly won't."
Letting his eyes slide shut, he listened to the radio's quiet hum - playing out Deep Purple's Burn, how perfectly inappropriate - and tapped out the drum track in his head.
His descent into sleep was so quick, he didn't even feel it coming.
Insistent knocking forced Billie Joe from the cocoon of sleep and he disentangled his limbs, silencing his lover's mostly-asleep wordless protests with a kiss before sliding out of the bed and yanking on his pants on the way to the door. Peering through the viewfinder, he pulled the zipper up enough so that he wasn't exposing himself and didn't bother with anything else, not for this visitor.
Billie opened the door partway, angling it so that he could have a conversation but the room wasn't visible. "What's up, Tré? Did something happen? I didn't get any phone calls."
"Nah, nothing like that, dude. No emergencies. I got Rob to change our flights and Mike's checking out for him and I right now, so I thought you should know to make sure you lock that connecting door. I left your arrangements alone so you still got until tomorrow." His eyes flickered to the gauze pad taped to Billie's chest. "I also wanted to see how you were doing."
Guilt struck at that, knowing that Tré had spent the night caring for Mike. "How is he? Is he all right?"
Tré sighed. "He's hurting, Billie, I won't lie, but…not the way I would have expected, you know? It's not like when Ana left. I don't know, maybe somewhere along the way you guys turned into friends and s'just that neither of you noticed." He glanced around. "We really shouldn't be talking about this in the hallway."
"Um," was all Billie managed, casting an involuntary glance over his shoulder to the room's other occupant. Blue eyes widened incredulously.
"He's in there? Jesus fucking Christ, Bill!" His drummer pushed the door open and ducked past him, easily enough with how scattered Billie was when he'd just woken up. He closed the door and caught Tré's arm before he reached the bed, where Lars was stirring now.
"Tré, quit it. It's not like that, okay?"
"It's-" he stopped short, words erased by whatever was showing in Billie's expression. "Aw, hell."
Strong hands cupped his face as Tré's gaze bored into him. Billie could see in his peripheral vision that Lars had sat up, witnessing this exchange, but Billie was helpless to do anything about that and Tré deserved answers, too. He stared back, trying to be open.
One corner of Tré's mouth lifted in a lopsided smile. "You went and fell for him, didn't you?"
He squirmed mentally; for all of the hinting and the sappiness last night, he hadn't explicitly stated his feelings that way. There was no getting out of it now. "Yes."
Tré sniffed melodramatically. "And all this time I thought you weren't into drummers. I'm hurt, Billie Joe."
"Fuck off, Tré," he grinned, knees weakening with intense relief. This was all going to be fine; he wasn't going to lose his band over it. Wasn't going to lose his best friends, or the man with whom he was forging a new relationship.
Billie sputtered as Tré landed a wet kiss on his mouth and turned to face the bed, measuring off Billie's body with one hand mid-chest height and the other high up on his thighs.
"Listen up, Mr. Ulrich. When we start touring again, his front here needs to be presentable because he exposes most of it when he rubs his nipples before jacking off onstage. And his ass needs to be presentable because he drops trou." A considered pause. "But just the outside. You can fuck him as hard as you like."
Billie's face was flaming as Tré finished off by flattening a palm over the left side of his chest, his voice becoming softer. "Hurt him here, though, and you'll answer to me." He grinned, face lighting up as he broke the tableau and ruffled Billie's already entirely fucked-up hair. "See you back in Oakland, dude. Nice meeting your boyfriend."
With that he was gone. Billie locked the door and turned to face Lars, still blushing madly. A small smirk tugged at his lips. "Fucking drummers."
There'd better be a goddamn motherfucking good reason why some fucking gedeknepper is fucking beating the door down like there's a bomb in the fucking place…
That searing inner tirade was about the most active thing about Lars at first. Burying his head into the crook of his arm, he'd flopped onto his front as Billie opened the door. He'd then heard conversation, and grudgingly decided to give up on the last traces of his blissful sleep. He growled under his breath at the footsteps approaching the bed, vowing to commit murder if it was room service. Only it wasn't room service, as he found on sloping up, rubbing at his face. It was the other guy in Billie's band. Tré, right? Stood far too fucking close to the bed, considering he was stark naked beneath the sheets that crumpled around his waist.
Lars would have given voice to this indignance - well, extreme anger segueing into outrage - after all, he didn't give a fuck who woke him up, just so long as it was no-one. But then the stocky, be-suited, ridiculously coiffed drummer before him came out with that question. You fell for him, didn't you?
And the semi-naked, discombobulated, tattoo wrapped, violently coiffed frontman before him came out with that answer. Yes.
Well, fuck. If that didn't just strip him of any and all irritation and cynicism. He skritched almost in embarrassment at the back of his head, looking down, a sort of smug, sort of silly half-smile on his face. Then he was being addressed, being read the New Boyfriend (fuckin' hell, boyfriend) 411, as was fair enough. Hearing of Billie's onstage antics gave him something to grin about - along with Billie's subsequent beetroot complexion - and he didn't doubt the sincerity of the other drummer when he placed a strong hand over Billie's chest and uttered the corniest of older brother-type clichés.
Once they were alone again, and his still flushed lover had turned back towards him, he stretched, smirking. "Fucking exhibitionist frontmen," he returned, arching an eyebrow. He rubbed more sleep from his eyes, muttering half to himself. "Fucker better not pull anything like that again, I'm not responsible for what I do if someone wakes me up early…"
He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck, then beckoned Billie back towards the bed. Heavy lidded green eyes travelled up the lean body approaching him, warmth unfurling from them, and he rested back on the heels of his palms. He tipped his head to one side.
"Fell for me, huh?" he drawled, his eyes saying coyness and his lips reading smugness.
Billie's first impulse was to snap out a very mature, Shut up! However, just because Tré had descended into the schoolyard tactic of basically telling one's object of desire that his friend likes him, didn't mean Billie had to follow him (at least this time). He settled for wrinkling his nose and addressing an earlier remark.
"M'not so much of an exhibitionist these days. You should be glad that I don't strip down to a thong anymore. Just me, a mic and teeny-tiny underwear, dude, you can't hide a fucking thing. If it's a cold night when your balls are trying to climb into your body cavity, the first twenty rows know all about it," he laughed, thumbs hooking into the undone waistband of his pants as he stopped in front of the bed, eyes sparkling mischievously. "At least when I stripped to skin I was usually wearing a guitar."
No guitar was in sight now as Billie pushed the garment down, stepping out of the legs delicately and crawling onto the bed, into Lars's arms. He smirked at the vague surprise in that green gaze. "Ever been naked in Madison Square Gardens?"
Billie didn't wait for an answer, reaching to kiss the drummer and then nuzzle him, nose buried against his neck. He felt just a little less vulnerable with the lack of eye contact while he fumbled through the next part of what he wanted to say.
"About the…about the falling thing, I…fuck. I did, I have, I do have-" he halted, finding it extremely fucking difficult to verbalise properly. He took a deep breath, almost shuddery, and finally spit it out in a whisper.
"I care about you, Lars, and it didn't start tonight. I've thought about you a lot since that first time, especially once, well, everything healed except this." He touched his throat, fingertips gliding over the familiar bump of the scar, and huffed a tiny laugh at his own fear. "I guess I thought you should know that."
He stroked a hand down the older man's back, vastly reassured by the lack of tension in Lars's body but not feeling brave enough to unhide his face after a confession like that. Still, he felt better for having said it - having been honest about it - and if it wasn't entirely reciprocated, that was okay because the drummer was here, in this bed, and he'd already told Billie that he wasn't willing to give him up. That was enough and indeed, more than he had expected. Most people didn't tumble headlong the way he did.
He let out another laugh, one less strained-sounding. "And Tré is just…Tré. I've known the guy for like seventeen years and I still can't explain him any better than that. He does usually respect my lack of enthusiasm for mornings, though, so you can probably refrain from murdering him."
Lars felt a bubble swell in his chest, a giddy thing that insistently tugged a smirk from his lips at Billie's starkly honest confession. Though his eyebrows did raise a little.
Care about me? Excuse me if I find that a little hard to believe, being Lars 'fucking cunt' Ulrich and all, a wry little voice said in the back of his head. For all his ingrained pessimism, though, he couldn't fault Billie's sincerity. Fuck, or his bravery, for that matter. Despite the fact that the frontman appeared to be trying to burrow into Lars's throat, it took balls to say what he had said. It almost made the drummer feel a little guilty for not feeling quite the same intensity for Billie.
"It's been three years, hasn't it?" he mused quietly, forehead creasing with a slight frown of thought. Billie nodded against him. Three years since that motel room. Three years since this all began.
Lars had morosely wished, at some point during the previous long night, that James had told him of his feelings and intentions before he'd gone into rehab. Looking back on it now, he rescinded that wish. Without James's absence, Lars would not have been quite so miserable and drinking alone in a seedy San Francisco bar. And thusly, he wouldn't have met Billie. It seemed now, though last night had been in turn incredibly painful and painfully incredible, everything had happened for a reason. Everything happened so Lars Ulrich and Billie Joe Armstrong could be all wrapped up together in a swanky Los Angeles hotel room bed. Fucking hell, I'm sounding like Phil Towle one minute, then I'm fucking sounding like Quirk in the next. Maybe I should become a Buddhist.
The near future, at the very least, was going to be difficult. Lars knew that. There was The Talk with James, which he would never, ever look forward to (who would?). There was the fact that Metallica still had five more dates to roll out on the Madly In Anger tour. There was going home to an empty house. Then, beyond that, they were two musicians, with albums to record, tours to perform, and careers to think about. Two wildly different bands, with the likelihood of them appearing together at a festival again, or even having their lengthy tours cross paths, equivalent to that of Cliff Burton dropping by and smoking a joint with them. There was no getting away from it, this relationship was going to be kind of tricky.
But, as Lars bent his head to press a number of sweet, sleepy kisses to Billie's waiting lips, he concluded it didn't really matter. The point was, the key, base thing that could so easily be overlooked in favour of focussing on the negative, was that there was a future. To add to that, having times like this to look forward to would make it all worth it.
For Lars, it wasn't love. L-O-V-E, that four letter word that meant so very much. But that didn't mean it never would be.
Callused fingertips dragging down a milky torso, Lars nudged at his lover's ear with his nose. "I'm looking forward to this." After a pause, he decided to give Billie something a little more substantial. "I'm looking forward to falling for you, I guess you could say. And…" he continued, softer. "…you can call me Uli, if you want."
With that, the drummer pressed Billie back down to the mattress, his free hand drifting down to begin to stroke slowly, lightly at the younger man's awakening cock. His mouth fell to the skin just below Billie's collarbone, catching the heat in those hazel eyes before setting his teeth against the flesh and nipping sharply. He felt Billie's breath hitch, making a growl roll unbidden from his throat. He pressed down a little harder on Billie's shoulder as his mouth and hand went to work.
"Now…as we've got nothing better to do…and I don't have to ship out until tonight...I'm going to take your drummer up on his offer…" his grip tightened around his lover's erection as his voice grew more guttural, eliciting a soft groan. "And fuck you as hard as I like."
The future, then. And everything it has to throw at us.
~The End~
Don't forget to leave looking_spiffy some lovin', too!
Authors: tasyfa & looking_spiffy
Pairing: Lars Ulrich (Metallica)/Billie Joe
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 37,113 in total
Disclaimer: So very completely fictional. Any similarities to real events are purely coincidental. We don't own, you don't sue. No insinuation, insemination or alienation intended.
Summary: The unnamed feeling, takes me away… Three years since that motel room. Three years of personal and professional change, of albums, tours, accolades and acclaim, of pain, growth and reforged relationships. Three years is a long time. But, with Green Day and Metallica both attending a Hollywood afterparty, the heavy metal drummer and punk rock frontman still can't seem to keep away from each other…
Notes: The sequel to The Joy of Violent Movement, found here, here and here. Warnings for bloodplay, angst, sap and yet more swearing in Danish. For a handy dandy summary on Lars Ulrich, please go here.
Part 1 - The Line That Divides Me
Part 2 - Hit the Lights on These Dark Sets
Part 3 - Coming Down Like an Armageddon Flame
Part 4 - Let You Breathe My Air
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
from part 4:
His wayward mind supplied an alternate definition for the last statement and with that thought burning through him, he began to back Lars towards the bed. Billie freed one hand and tipped the drummer's head up, lips meeting his in another, hungrier kiss that shifted awkwardly with their movement.
He didn't care, merely continued kissing Lars even as the backs of his knees bumped into the mattress and Billie pressed him down, gentle but inexorable, and leaned down over him, mouths still fastened together. He would stop if Lars said to - but only then.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Part 5: Frantic in Your Soothing Arms
Billie broke the kiss at last, scattering swift, damp kisses across the older man's face as he undid his pants, fingers seeming to finally have caught the trick of the drummer's belt buckle. Once they were opened he left them alone a moment, resting on his elbows over Lars as he murmured directly into his ear.
"I want to make you come."
That was all he said; putting him on notice that it wasn't meant as a preliminary, nor was reciprocation expected. It was as simple as that, and also that complicated because every other orgasm Lars had had with Billie had been connected to James. I want you to come for me. Me. No one else.
He unbuttoned that shirt again until Lars lay exposed, his eyes conveying heat and reassurance, desire and affection and a little something more. Appreciating him on a purely physical level as well as the stronger, deeper emotions storming through him, stirred into full force by this raw vulnerability.
Billie Joe stood between Lars's thighs and leaned down, mouth skimming over his chest, taking soft nibbles as he slowly slid farther down the muscled torso, going to his knees.
The hairs on the back of Lars's neck stood up when Billie uttered those few calm words, an uncharacteristic warmth flooding his face and staining his cheeks. The kisses had calmed him, soothed him, settled his stomach in some ways and stirred it in others. He hadn't even really been aware that he was moving, not until he lay stretched over the bed, the sliding heat and sweetness of Billie's mouth holding his attention completely as he returned the powerful kiss. But those words…heat bloomed across his chest, heart thrumming loud in his ears as he felt that mouth laying claim to little patches of his skin with wet, secret marks, descending, descending…
This time…this time would be different. This time there was no agenda, on either part. This time there was no-one to get hurt. This time would be the most significant yet, maybe ever, because this would effectively seal the deal. No going back. He stared right back at the younger man, head raised from the bed, letting and watching his body be exposed in silence, almost in fascination. The radio continued to play quietly, Soundgarden's Black Hole Sun rumbling darkly away in the background. Billie's hand splayed over his half-exposed hipbone, and his skin jumped at the touch, cock beginning to stir into life. Fuck, he wouldn't admit it, but he even had butterflies.
A soft realisation faded into his mind. This is it, and I'm okay with that. I'm more than okay. I want it. I want him, and I want him to know how I sound when I come and it's because of him. Him and him alone.
Lars smoothed a hand slowly over Billie's shoulder, squeezing lightly. He breathed out a moan, body responding more and more to the frontman's attention. His eyes darkened a little, beginning to dilate as he let his head fall back.
"Fuckin' do it," he murmured gutturally, back arching in anticipation.
He muffled a laugh against Lars's abdomen. Impatient bastard, he thought with amusement before totally ignoring the outburst. Billie continued his slow tasting, learning the flavour of Danish skin. He eased the open pants down and off as he reached the join between hip and thigh with his mouth, and once the only part of Lars that was not nude was his arms, still encased in shirt sleeves, Billie sat back on his heels and simply looked for a long moment at his lover.
Lovers. That was what this made them, truly this time and with everything that implied. His thumbs stroked the insides of the thighs spread for him, right up near the heavy balls hanging under a hardening cock, his palms pressing the legs even wider as his grip tightened and he guided the naked form closer to him and closer yet until the drummer's ass lay at the edge of the bed, all of him beautifully open.
Then and only then, when a dark head lifted to pin him with a green gaze that was at once confused and pissed off by the delay tactics, did Billie bow his own head and take Lars's cock into his mouth. He maintained the eye contact as he explored another new taste, testing the feel, the weight and shape of the erection, judging how much he could comfortably take - and how much he would take anyway.
Billie wanted it all and with that in mind, he tongued one last swirl around the cockhead and began to suck in earnest, ceaseless fingers caressing Lars's balls, ass, thighs as he swallowed him down.
Lars had taken a breath to growl his impatience aloud, incredibly wary and even fearful of Those Bad Thoughts returning and needing those maddening, coy touches to take his erection and do terrible, dirty things to it. That breath left him in an exhaled, stuttering gasp as sensations battered him, one after the other, hands and lips and tongue and heat colliding, whirling as one in his consciousness. His head fell back and he arched again, harder this time, heels of his palms pressing into the mattress and rubbing back and forth in agitation.
"Ah…" he panted, mind attempting but not forming any semblance of words in those initial few seconds. Those initial few seconds when his cock began to disappear into Billie's mouth. Fucking wow.
The way the younger man lavished attention on other sensitive areas, all heated and tight and electric to each touch, the way he used different amounts of pressure, in his fingertips and his tongue, on different areas of his body to the absolute fullest effect…fuck. It told the drummer that Billie was someone far more experienced in…well, in sucking dick than he'd ever encountered - certainly the greatest male-given blowjob he'd ever received, given how he'd received so few in his life - and would maybe even give hima run for his money in terms of prowess. That'd be a test for another time, though.
He was never one to be outdone, after all.
"Fuck…that's really nice…" he breathed, eyes closed as his head rocked to one side, a wobbly giggle bubbling forth at his inarticulacy. The pit of his stomach burned, and he raised a hand to push through Billie's hair and cup the back of his head as it slowly began to bob up and down. He licked his lips, breath becoming slightly laboured. "Really…fuck…ah…"
That shaky little laugh made Billie want to crow in victory, or perhaps do a silly dance, but he was kind of busy and wouldn't move for the world so he settled on an appreciative moan, knowing the vibrations would be felt.
His caresses grew more intimate, fingers slipping in between asscheeks to find the most sensitive flesh. Not pressing inside, or even suggesting that he might; he didn't think that now was a good time to push that dramatic a role reversal. All he did was rub, long strokes that should send sparks right up Lars's spine. Nearly twenty years of practice had honed any natural talent he'd possessed into a finely-tuned ability, after all.
Billie flicked a look up at the drummer's face, stomach swooping at the open pleasure displayed there. He made a quick decision, knowing what he did of Lars's sexuality, and eased off on the suction a little. Then, very, very carefully, he added the delicate scrape of teeth to each upswing, sheathing them as his nose neared the crisp curls of hair and then letting them touch skin again when he pulled back, almost to the tip.
Conscious of the hand tightening in his hair and the small, choked sounds he could hear from Lars, Billie allowed a few more light presses of teeth and then covered them completely. He took as deep a breath as he could manage and relaxed his throat, then finally slid right down, lips forming a tight seal around the base of Lars's erection as he sucked for all he was worth, swallowing convulsively around the cockhead pressing heavily inside.
Fuck! Lars hissed inwardly. Maybe outwardly too, he wasn't sure. Not like he was paying attention. Fingertips were teasing at his asshole and making him fucking squirm, blind instinct drawing his legs even further apart and up, knees rising towards his chest to accommodate whatever Billie was planning to do. Not only that, but those teeth, so, so careful, a small, maddening increase of stimulation that made him choke on his cries. No, wasn't really paying attention to what he was saying right then.
Then Billie's lips descended completely, throat muscles working tight around his cock, and he gasped. His eyes went wide, sparkling green finding some spot on the wall behind the bed as he arched, head pressing back hard into the mattress. Feeling no urge to silence himself, his mouth fell open, wanton moans spilling unchecked from his throat. Moans for his fucking lover. Moans for Billie. Later on he would wonder to himself if he was crying out louder for his own benefit, for theirs, or just because that's how damn good it felt. Right then, it felt like nothing but the latter.
He tugged at the fistful of black hair warningly, hips twitching, feeling those initial waves begin to swell inside him.
"Fuck…Billie…I…ah!" A high, wet sob interrupted him, and it took a few gasped breaths before he could continue. "I'm fucking…I…I'm gonna…ah!"
Stumbling back into total incoherency, he could only breathe heavy and let out hoarse moans. Forcing his feet back onto the floor to steel himself against an orgasm that might just knock him clean off the bed, his toes curled, tightness grew in his balls and his hips began to buck more, falling into rhythm with his cries. Acute, pinpointed focus suddenly fell on the precise sensations around his cock; Billie swallowed once, twice, three times…
"Billie-!"
Back cracking into an arch, heat erupted from the pit of Lars's stomach and he came, body shuddering violently with the sheer force of his orgasm ploughing into him. He tried to form words, tried to bring Billie's name out from the jumble of high-pitched almost-wails and strained gasps, but all effort just washed away as he spilled himself down the younger man's throat.
Not much was left of him after that. Bits and pieces of Lars Ulrich lay leaden on the bed, chest heaving, vaguely wondering if he was too fucking old to have orgasms like that anymore. Reaching down, he clawed weakly, imploringly at Billie's shoulder.
"C'mere…here…" he mumbled dazedly, feeling like he needed a body to tangle with so the rest of him didn't disappear too.
At the skritch of needy fingers on his skin, Billie pulled off gently, intending to move to join Lars on the bed. But before he did, he abruptly fastened his mouth to a spot high up on the older man's inner thigh, sucking and biting at it until it flushed, dark red against the rest of the soft flesh. He didn't bite down hard enough to warrant getting the first aid kit out again; just enough to work up a bruise that would stick around for a while.
To leave his mark.
It also gave him a bit of breathing space to tell his libido to calm the fuck down, because watching and listening to Lars fall to pieces - making him come like that, knowing that those incredible moans were his doing - had Billie fully fucking erect. That wasn't the point of this, though, and he willed calmness through his body as he released the bruised patch of skin and climbed onto the bed.
He coaxed the drummer's limp form up farther until they could stretch out fully without dangling off the edge, slipping the open shirt off and tugging the now completely nude body into his arms, pressing a swift kiss to parted lips.
"How're you doing, huh? You gonna live?"
If his wide smile came off a touch smug, Billie figured he could be forgiven for that. Apparently he was, in fact, perfectly capable of making Lars forget that anyone and anything else existed. Of making himself forget, too, for that matter. At least for a little while.
Billie kissed him, soft and sweet, rubbing his cheek briefly against the vague beginnings of five o'clock shadow before his eyes met green ones, the latter still slightly dazed. They had rather a lot of unfinished business yet and this seemed as good a place as any to start.
"If there's anything you want to know, dude, go ahead and ask. I'll do my best to answer."
"Well, first off…" Lars paused, clearing his throat and licking his lips, voice a little rough. He spoke slower than usual, the last embers of his orgasm still stumbling giddily through him. "…I gotta ask you, are you fucking happy? I nearly snapped my fucking spine doing that, then this old man wouldn't have been any use to you. So I hope you're happy and smug enough about that…"
His thigh throbbed a little, a little twinge of indignant pain in a sensitive spot, setting off a little synapse in his brain that he hadn't even registered it happening, that it felt nice and that it stirred a little flicker of warmth in his stomach, deeper than lust, and that he kind of wanted to show it off - of course, its positioning made that impossible, even onstage when stripped down to his shorts. And that he would have to get Billie back for it.
For now, though, he settled for draping an arm over the younger man's shoulder, tilting his head and nipping at the soft flesh just under his chin. "There's a lot we should probably know about each other by now, right?" he murmured.
The questions that had stampeded through his mind earlier, about age, family, birthdays, all seemed kind of insignificant right then. Not truly important. Perhaps it was because he wasn't panicking, or perhaps it was because he'd seen and processed the tattoos on Billie's arms - Adrienne, Joseph, some building blocks, a photostrip…perhaps it was because although Billie looked young, when he smiled, little creases formed by his eyes, almost unnoticeable lines, and there were the few details that had been given on his and Mike's relationship - the duration of it, specifically - that conveyed Lars's status to be not that of a cradle robber as he'd initially dreaded. Besides, there was far too much experience in those lips, those hands and that tongue for Billie to be that young.
Speaking of lips and tongue, while those thoughts were ticking away, Lars had raised his head and was now kissing his lover, slow and lazy and luxurious. No force behind it at all, just the gentle press of lips against lips, tongues gliding unhurriedly together, and soft little noises of satisfaction. Probably one of the most romantic (sappy) kisses he'd ever initiated, certainly with Billie. As it ended, he smiled against the younger man's mouth. May as well ask something.
"I don't have to buy you a gift you won't use anytime soon, do I?"
I could get used to being kissed like this, Billie thought idly, and in that lay something really big that wasn't quite as scary as it had been, if not something he felt ready to tackle head-on just yet. He giggled at the mention of a gift.
"Hell, no. The last thing I need is more shit I don't need." It had sounded slightly more logical in his head and he let out more giggles, the high-pitched mirth making him sound much younger than he was. "Fuck, and you have like, less than ten years on me so don't go calling people old. How can I be the voice of disaffected teenagers everywhere if I'm old?"
He pulled Lars in for another kiss, sighing a little at his taste. There was this bubble of pure giddiness sitting in his midsection, leaking into his bloodstream, colouring everything. It had been born of the drummer's careful cleaning of Billie's chest; his agreement to stay; his vulnerability and plea for help; his uninhibited responses. That kiss. Everything added up to the two of them here together, tangled in a sweet embrace where for the first time since they'd met, Billie felt like they were truly equals. Just two people caught in a strange situation with feelings they had never expected to develop.
There were still a lot of obstacles - a lot of things they didn't know about each other, as Lars had said. Other people who would need to be included in this new equation. An explanation about Adrienne and how that would work, what effects it would have on this relationship, for a relationship was what it was now, or at least what it was becoming.
Billie withdrew after one more achingly tender press of lips, his eyelashes fluttering open to regard Lars as he spoke. Maybe it was too early to say this, but he had been honest with this man about everything right from the beginning and it wasn't a track record he wanted to break now. "I know we have all kinds of shit to learn here and that things are kind of fucked up, but…I wanted you to know, that I am. Happy."
"Fuck, I should hope so…I'd hate to think how much of this sappy shit we'd have to spout before you were," Lars drawled, familiar smirk tugging at his lips. He pushed himself up on one elbow, smoothing his palm down Billie's arm to grasp his hand. Raising it aloft, he pulled the wrist to his mouth and pressed kisses along the tattooed skin, slowly trailing them across the muscle, up towards the shoulder. He continued softly between kisses, looking sideways at Billie through a heavy-lidded, soft green glow. "Good…that's really…really…good…and the fact that…I'm kissing your arm…like I'm Gomez…from The Addams Family…must mean I'm…pretty happy too, ja?"
As he held onto Billie's hand, he felt the smooth glide of metal around one of the other man's fingers - the wedding band. He paused only for a millisecond on noticing it, dragging moist lips over a rounded shoulder.
"I wasn't lying, you know. Earlier," he murmured, voice just beyond a whisper. He felt he should speak what he felt now, before…before morning came, perhaps, before the moment was gone, and all those other clichés. Maybe it was just before Uli faded back again and the snarky, arrogant, sardonic Lars would sneer at himself for such thoughts. "I do want you. More than that, I do need you. More than I did before. So…if we're really going to do this…" He trailed off, finishing the sentence in his head.
Don't ever do what James did to me. Because I don't think I could fucking deal with that so well again.
He'd had no intention of saying that aloud, ever. It was one fearful, dark little truth that he didn't ever have to want to confront, to voice, to acknowledge. Not wanting to leave his words hanging there, he bent closer, dipped his head and drew his nose up along the edge of Billie's ear, taking the lobe into his teeth, nibbling and sucking lightly. Face burying into spiky black hair, he dropped kisses onto the side of his lover's neck, into the downy wisps and along the curving tendon to the collarbone. He sort of hoped, as he shifted back onto his shoulder and tucked his nose into the hollow of Billie's throat, that that would suffice as an end to his sentence, because he didn't think what he actually said would convey much.
"…Y'know?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I know," Billie whispered, throat tight where Lars had tucked himself in close after those lingering, travelling kisses. He'd caught the fleeting hesitation at the feeling of his wedding band, and it made him realise that with the way James had ended things, Lars needed to know sooner rather than later that his inclusion in Billie's life wouldn't be mutually exclusive with Billie's marriage.
Fingers wandering through longish hair, petting almost though he wouldn't have thought of it that way, he smiled at the memory behind his words. "When I was twenty-two, about to have my life changed in ways I could never have predicted, I was sat down and given a lecture about the separation of church and state and how I needed to apply that principle."
Billie uttered a soft laugh. "I didn't know what the hell she was talking about, but by the time she was done talking I'd gotten it." He shifted to look at the drummer, one fingertip tracing lightly across Lars's lips as he continued, "Adrienne doesn't care who's President as long as she's still God. One of the many, many reasons I adore my wife beyond all reason, Lars, is because she made space in our life together for me to answer to the other half of my sexuality. I have the freedom to make my own decisions in that area.
"That means that I have room for both of you with me. She'll know about you, and about how I feel. Can you handle that, do you think?"
His stomach clenched in apprehension at the possibility that Lars could not. It was one thing to sneak around, no one ever the wiser, but to become involved with Billie also meant coming out, at least to a select group of people. And while Mike obviously knew now about Lars's bisexuality - probably Tré did, too, by this time - Adrienne would have to know as well. The drummer would be confronted with others who knew the truth besides his lover, and that was a lot to ask of a man who'd concealed his affair with James for the entirety of their time together.
"Can I handle it?" Lars echoed, a touch of incredulity in his tone. Of course I can fucking handle it, what do you think…
His thought tailed off as he really thought about what Billie was saying. Someone else is actually gonna know.
If this had come years ago, it probably wouldn't have been that big a deal. C'mon, he was Lars fucking Ulrich. He was European, he was open-minded, and he was an inherent shit-disturber. And he'd longed to tell the world that he'd bagged James Hetfield, that they'd been banging happily away for years. Fuck, who wouldn't want to crow about that? At the very least, he'd wanted to tell Kirk - the guitarist was obviously easygoing, modern enough to accept them. But he hadn't.
Anyone with half a brain knew that the shit that would be kicked up over two tough, male, heavy metal musicians in the biggest metal band that ever existed had been, gasp, hold the front page, secretly fucking for years on end, would not be a deterrent against such behaviour in public - it'd only serve to encourage. Lars had tested the waters every now and then, usually with Kirk - that way he and James wouldn't even be put into the picture. A suggestive photo here, sticking his tongue down Kirk's throat there - testing for a reaction. And holy fuck, what a reaction. Kissgate. Even Jason had lambasted them over it. It had been a huge deal, and sadly, most of what Lars heard about it had been strongly negative. Do you want them to think you're fags? Yeah, maybe he fucking did. It had hurt to see that even in the nineties it was still such a fucking taboo. How come Rob Halford got away with it? How come he wasn't burned at the fucking stake? Lars had thought bitterly on hearing that the Judas Priest frontman had come out. Later, he would realise that it was because of two things - one, everybody pretty much guessed Rob was gay by the time he announced it, and two - and we're right back around to the main point here - he wasn't fucking one of his bandmates.
So, Lars had kept silent about his and James's relationship for a number of reasons - the knowledge that what they were doing would not be accepted in the chest-beating world of heavy metal, especially so far back as the mid-eighties and right up until now, the common sense derived from knowing that, and, most importantly of all, at his lover's request. James had asked him, right after they had found themselves making out whilst not quite drunk enough to dismiss it. For the third time. You know we can't tell anybody about this, don't you? Okay, it had been less of a request and more of a statement, but Lars had honoured it. Right through their marriages. Right up until today. Right up until it was over.
He supposed with a vague sadness that no-one would ever know what they'd had for so many years. Not even Billie would truly know. How special it was, how grounded they'd kept one another, how long they'd lasted. How head over heels in fucking love they'd been. No-one would know of its beauty.
Falling headlong into a relationship that was so radically different, right down to its foundation…from Lars taking most of the role of top, to having an evidently incredible wife in the mix who would not only know about her husband's lover, but would actually accept the relationship, let it continue unheeded…fuck.
It would be…an adjustment. And that was an understatement.
Lars suddenly had questions. A lot of questions. What if I'm over your house and I wanna kiss you, or nip at your neck, am I gonna get chased around the garden with a rolling pin? What about your kids, what if one of them catches us making out? What about Christmas, or New Years? Oh God, am I gonna have to meet your mom?
Swallowing them down for fear of scaring the shit out of himself more than he already had, he stared down at a spot on Billie's neck, mind ticking over. Focussing, he realised his eyes had found the scar. His scar. And then he was speaking, quiet and deliberate.
"I don't want to have to lose three people that mean something to me in one year. I'm not giving you up. There's nothing that could make me, now. So if you really think…" he chewed at the inside of his lip, raising his darkened, solemn eyes to meet Billie's. "If you really think your wife…Adrienne will be okay with this, then I'll handle it. Rest assured, I'll fuckin' handle it."
I'm not giving you up. Billie's chest expanded with one sharp inhalation as that statement echoed in his head. I'm not giving you up. The sheer relief of it, the pride, the swelling of emotion spun him dizzily and he pressed frantic little kisses to the drummer's face.
"Thank you," he breathed against Lars's mouth before taking it in a wild kiss, all lips and tongue and rhythm.
Adie would hand him his ass for having broken Mike's heart, but he believed that she would understand everything behind that. In fact, he suspected that she already understood more than either party involved had, in large part because she'd gotten the subtext behind that first night he'd spent with Lars.
He hadn't told her any more than he'd told Mike, but his wife had comprehended the more complex aspects of his rebellion and had taken her own steps to deal with them. Not long after they'd normalised their own relationship, a pair of black, thigh-high stiletto boots had appeared in the back of their walk-in closet.
She'd told him upfront that she wasn't comfortable with pain but she could do this much, and it had become a kind of homecoming ritual between them, re-establishing their primary bond when he had been away on the road. Because when Adrienne appeared wearing those boots, Billie Joe knew immediately that he'd be spending the night on his knees. Serving her and her alone in whatever way she demanded.
He didn't think Lars really needed to know all that, though, and definitely not now in any case. It was enough that the drummer knew that Billie and Adie had an unconventional, beautiful relationship that wouldn't automatically exclude him.
His full attention returned to the kiss as it intensified, urgency thrumming through his body before he backed off, belatedly remembering his decision to focus only on Lars's pleasure. Billie moved instead to the pierced ear lobe, sucking at the metal, grateful yet again to the tight pants he should probably take off sometime soon while he tried to bring his breathing back under control.
"Thank you, Lars," he murmured again when he could do so with a steady enough voice. "That means a lot to me."
Somewhat surprised by the intensity of the reaction, Lars fell into rhythm after a few moments, returning the kiss strongly and wondering vaguely if he'd perhaps underestimated Billie's feelings for him. The thought was a pleasant one, just as pleasant as the feeling of a warm, wet tongue swirling around his earring. He exhaled against the younger man's neck, feeling his heart stumble over itself at the words that reached his ear.
A bright flame bloomed and flattened along Lars's spine, and he realised he wanted to mark him again, to seal what they had. He resisted the desire. They'd have time for that later. Later. Holy fuck, there is going to be a later. I can mark him again, maybe in a week, maybe in a month, maybe on some long weekend away in Hawaii, where it's too hot and sweaty to do anything but laze around in a private villa and have sex…there's going to be a later. Wow, that's fucking insane. This whole thing is fucking insane - a perky little pop-punk frontman and a grouchy fuckin' heavy metal drummer? What the fuck? I feel like we could make out live onstage at the Superbowl and nobody would think it meant anything. It's all fucking crazy and I love it.
Going over those last two sentences in his head, he voiced them, murmuring against Billie's jawbone. He couldn't lie, it was a turn on; and maybe not something as large as the Superbowl, but maybe on a red carpet, or some fucking dull Hollywood 'party'. Stir shit up, like the old days. He also contemplated telling his bandmates, at the very least Kirk. Maybe his dad. It wouldn't be a big deal for either of them. But whatever. Those were all thoughts for another day. Tonight had been mentally and physically exhausting enough - he was all spent of meaningful decisions.
Dragging his knuckles down Billie's chest, he traced a sweeping line around to his waist, then his hip, then his bellybutton, fingers settling on the waistband of the other man's pants for a moment. Eyes dropping between them, tongue poking out to cover his top lip, he unfastened the fly and eased the pants down awkwardly, not letting Billie move away. He sat up to peel them from his lover's legs, dropping them to the floor and bending to press a wet kiss into the freshly exposed happy trail, before clambering up the bed and pulling Billie under the covers with him. He smiled, tugging the lithe body into him and tucking the spiky head under his chin.
"I still owe you a good morning fuck, you remember that, right?" he purred contentedly, fingertips trailing slowly up and down the curve of the younger man's side.
Billie laughed at the reminder. He angled his now nude body against Lars so that the drummer couldn't possibly miss that he was half-hard and murmured huskily, "I'm gonna hold you to that."
He thought of what Lars had said about the Superbowl and grinned. "I'm hurt that you've already forgotten that you stuck your tongue down my throat and grabbed my crotch at the party tonight." Billie nuzzled his jaw briefly, still smiling. "And that was after I'd kissed like four hundred people. So maybe not a venue quite that spectacular, and not until things have smoothed out with the other people in our lives, but yeah." He pulled back, eyes hot as they found Lars's. "Once that's all clear, feel free to tongue-fuck me in public all you want. I'm all about pushing people's buttons."
He wondered if Lars had any idea how much of a turn on Billie found that to be, the concept of being claimed in front of an audience that didn't know what they were really seeing; the fact that it would create spectacle and be confrontational was just a bonus. Then again, the way his cock had twitched as he'd made the offer was probably a big clue.
Giggling softly, he snuggled into the older man, content to ignore the desire swirling sluggishly through his system in favour of sleep because he would have the chance to satisfy it later. A warm rush accompanied that realisation: there would be a tomorrow, and a next day, and a next week. Lars would still be there in the morning, and Billie felt comfortable enough - connected enough - to trust in that. It was a good feeling.
"G'night, Lars. Just shove me onto my own side if you get too hot. I'm a clingy fucker when I'm asleep," he sighed against warm skin, eyes slipping closed.
Oh wow, maybe having two people get together who enjoy fucking with perceptions to that degree isn't such a good idea, Lars thought, devilishly gleeful at all the scenarios that sprung up in his head at Billie's consent. He was going to hold Billie to that.
As they settled, the drummer thought back to first setting eyes on this sassy young man. Love at first sight? Hardly. He'd been driven to pinning Billie back in that booth, all bristling temper and heated rage, by nothing but suffocating thoughts of James and a desire to get away from them. It hadn't really worked. The fact that he'd gone scurrying off to HQ at the news that his absent lover had called was a testament to that. He honestly believed that if Billie hadn't walked into that bar that night, he probably would have ended up fucking some other guy. It was the honest truth.
But Billie had walked into that bar. He had sat down nearby, he had followed Lars into the booth and he had breathlessly told him of a motel room across the street with their names on it. And later on, Lars had curled around him, the frontman had pressed back into his compact form beneath starchy sheets and, though he hadn't realised it at the time, it changed everything.
Destiny? Possibly. If you wanted to get fruity about it.
He pulled his head back, tilting it, to look at the younger man's face, the curve of his closed eyes, the long eyelashes against pale cheeks. An affectionate smirk twitched the corner of his mouth, before his head settled back down into the thick, bird's nest hair. Waiting a little while until he thought Billie had headed far enough towards the realms of sleep that he might not hear, Lars thought about what he had said about shoving him away.
"Yeah," he murmured, hand settling on Billie's hip and tugging him just a fraction closer. "I prob'ly won't."
Letting his eyes slide shut, he listened to the radio's quiet hum - playing out Deep Purple's Burn, how perfectly inappropriate - and tapped out the drum track in his head.
His descent into sleep was so quick, he didn't even feel it coming.
Insistent knocking forced Billie Joe from the cocoon of sleep and he disentangled his limbs, silencing his lover's mostly-asleep wordless protests with a kiss before sliding out of the bed and yanking on his pants on the way to the door. Peering through the viewfinder, he pulled the zipper up enough so that he wasn't exposing himself and didn't bother with anything else, not for this visitor.
Billie opened the door partway, angling it so that he could have a conversation but the room wasn't visible. "What's up, Tré? Did something happen? I didn't get any phone calls."
"Nah, nothing like that, dude. No emergencies. I got Rob to change our flights and Mike's checking out for him and I right now, so I thought you should know to make sure you lock that connecting door. I left your arrangements alone so you still got until tomorrow." His eyes flickered to the gauze pad taped to Billie's chest. "I also wanted to see how you were doing."
Guilt struck at that, knowing that Tré had spent the night caring for Mike. "How is he? Is he all right?"
Tré sighed. "He's hurting, Billie, I won't lie, but…not the way I would have expected, you know? It's not like when Ana left. I don't know, maybe somewhere along the way you guys turned into friends and s'just that neither of you noticed." He glanced around. "We really shouldn't be talking about this in the hallway."
"Um," was all Billie managed, casting an involuntary glance over his shoulder to the room's other occupant. Blue eyes widened incredulously.
"He's in there? Jesus fucking Christ, Bill!" His drummer pushed the door open and ducked past him, easily enough with how scattered Billie was when he'd just woken up. He closed the door and caught Tré's arm before he reached the bed, where Lars was stirring now.
"Tré, quit it. It's not like that, okay?"
"It's-" he stopped short, words erased by whatever was showing in Billie's expression. "Aw, hell."
Strong hands cupped his face as Tré's gaze bored into him. Billie could see in his peripheral vision that Lars had sat up, witnessing this exchange, but Billie was helpless to do anything about that and Tré deserved answers, too. He stared back, trying to be open.
One corner of Tré's mouth lifted in a lopsided smile. "You went and fell for him, didn't you?"
He squirmed mentally; for all of the hinting and the sappiness last night, he hadn't explicitly stated his feelings that way. There was no getting out of it now. "Yes."
Tré sniffed melodramatically. "And all this time I thought you weren't into drummers. I'm hurt, Billie Joe."
"Fuck off, Tré," he grinned, knees weakening with intense relief. This was all going to be fine; he wasn't going to lose his band over it. Wasn't going to lose his best friends, or the man with whom he was forging a new relationship.
Billie sputtered as Tré landed a wet kiss on his mouth and turned to face the bed, measuring off Billie's body with one hand mid-chest height and the other high up on his thighs.
"Listen up, Mr. Ulrich. When we start touring again, his front here needs to be presentable because he exposes most of it when he rubs his nipples before jacking off onstage. And his ass needs to be presentable because he drops trou." A considered pause. "But just the outside. You can fuck him as hard as you like."
Billie's face was flaming as Tré finished off by flattening a palm over the left side of his chest, his voice becoming softer. "Hurt him here, though, and you'll answer to me." He grinned, face lighting up as he broke the tableau and ruffled Billie's already entirely fucked-up hair. "See you back in Oakland, dude. Nice meeting your boyfriend."
With that he was gone. Billie locked the door and turned to face Lars, still blushing madly. A small smirk tugged at his lips. "Fucking drummers."
There'd better be a goddamn motherfucking good reason why some fucking gedeknepper is fucking beating the door down like there's a bomb in the fucking place…
That searing inner tirade was about the most active thing about Lars at first. Burying his head into the crook of his arm, he'd flopped onto his front as Billie opened the door. He'd then heard conversation, and grudgingly decided to give up on the last traces of his blissful sleep. He growled under his breath at the footsteps approaching the bed, vowing to commit murder if it was room service. Only it wasn't room service, as he found on sloping up, rubbing at his face. It was the other guy in Billie's band. Tré, right? Stood far too fucking close to the bed, considering he was stark naked beneath the sheets that crumpled around his waist.
Lars would have given voice to this indignance - well, extreme anger segueing into outrage - after all, he didn't give a fuck who woke him up, just so long as it was no-one. But then the stocky, be-suited, ridiculously coiffed drummer before him came out with that question. You fell for him, didn't you?
And the semi-naked, discombobulated, tattoo wrapped, violently coiffed frontman before him came out with that answer. Yes.
Well, fuck. If that didn't just strip him of any and all irritation and cynicism. He skritched almost in embarrassment at the back of his head, looking down, a sort of smug, sort of silly half-smile on his face. Then he was being addressed, being read the New Boyfriend (fuckin' hell, boyfriend) 411, as was fair enough. Hearing of Billie's onstage antics gave him something to grin about - along with Billie's subsequent beetroot complexion - and he didn't doubt the sincerity of the other drummer when he placed a strong hand over Billie's chest and uttered the corniest of older brother-type clichés.
Once they were alone again, and his still flushed lover had turned back towards him, he stretched, smirking. "Fucking exhibitionist frontmen," he returned, arching an eyebrow. He rubbed more sleep from his eyes, muttering half to himself. "Fucker better not pull anything like that again, I'm not responsible for what I do if someone wakes me up early…"
He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck, then beckoned Billie back towards the bed. Heavy lidded green eyes travelled up the lean body approaching him, warmth unfurling from them, and he rested back on the heels of his palms. He tipped his head to one side.
"Fell for me, huh?" he drawled, his eyes saying coyness and his lips reading smugness.
Billie's first impulse was to snap out a very mature, Shut up! However, just because Tré had descended into the schoolyard tactic of basically telling one's object of desire that his friend likes him, didn't mean Billie had to follow him (at least this time). He settled for wrinkling his nose and addressing an earlier remark.
"M'not so much of an exhibitionist these days. You should be glad that I don't strip down to a thong anymore. Just me, a mic and teeny-tiny underwear, dude, you can't hide a fucking thing. If it's a cold night when your balls are trying to climb into your body cavity, the first twenty rows know all about it," he laughed, thumbs hooking into the undone waistband of his pants as he stopped in front of the bed, eyes sparkling mischievously. "At least when I stripped to skin I was usually wearing a guitar."
No guitar was in sight now as Billie pushed the garment down, stepping out of the legs delicately and crawling onto the bed, into Lars's arms. He smirked at the vague surprise in that green gaze. "Ever been naked in Madison Square Gardens?"
Billie didn't wait for an answer, reaching to kiss the drummer and then nuzzle him, nose buried against his neck. He felt just a little less vulnerable with the lack of eye contact while he fumbled through the next part of what he wanted to say.
"About the…about the falling thing, I…fuck. I did, I have, I do have-" he halted, finding it extremely fucking difficult to verbalise properly. He took a deep breath, almost shuddery, and finally spit it out in a whisper.
"I care about you, Lars, and it didn't start tonight. I've thought about you a lot since that first time, especially once, well, everything healed except this." He touched his throat, fingertips gliding over the familiar bump of the scar, and huffed a tiny laugh at his own fear. "I guess I thought you should know that."
He stroked a hand down the older man's back, vastly reassured by the lack of tension in Lars's body but not feeling brave enough to unhide his face after a confession like that. Still, he felt better for having said it - having been honest about it - and if it wasn't entirely reciprocated, that was okay because the drummer was here, in this bed, and he'd already told Billie that he wasn't willing to give him up. That was enough and indeed, more than he had expected. Most people didn't tumble headlong the way he did.
He let out another laugh, one less strained-sounding. "And Tré is just…Tré. I've known the guy for like seventeen years and I still can't explain him any better than that. He does usually respect my lack of enthusiasm for mornings, though, so you can probably refrain from murdering him."
Lars felt a bubble swell in his chest, a giddy thing that insistently tugged a smirk from his lips at Billie's starkly honest confession. Though his eyebrows did raise a little.
Care about me? Excuse me if I find that a little hard to believe, being Lars 'fucking cunt' Ulrich and all, a wry little voice said in the back of his head. For all his ingrained pessimism, though, he couldn't fault Billie's sincerity. Fuck, or his bravery, for that matter. Despite the fact that the frontman appeared to be trying to burrow into Lars's throat, it took balls to say what he had said. It almost made the drummer feel a little guilty for not feeling quite the same intensity for Billie.
"It's been three years, hasn't it?" he mused quietly, forehead creasing with a slight frown of thought. Billie nodded against him. Three years since that motel room. Three years since this all began.
Lars had morosely wished, at some point during the previous long night, that James had told him of his feelings and intentions before he'd gone into rehab. Looking back on it now, he rescinded that wish. Without James's absence, Lars would not have been quite so miserable and drinking alone in a seedy San Francisco bar. And thusly, he wouldn't have met Billie. It seemed now, though last night had been in turn incredibly painful and painfully incredible, everything had happened for a reason. Everything happened so Lars Ulrich and Billie Joe Armstrong could be all wrapped up together in a swanky Los Angeles hotel room bed. Fucking hell, I'm sounding like Phil Towle one minute, then I'm fucking sounding like Quirk in the next. Maybe I should become a Buddhist.
The near future, at the very least, was going to be difficult. Lars knew that. There was The Talk with James, which he would never, ever look forward to (who would?). There was the fact that Metallica still had five more dates to roll out on the Madly In Anger tour. There was going home to an empty house. Then, beyond that, they were two musicians, with albums to record, tours to perform, and careers to think about. Two wildly different bands, with the likelihood of them appearing together at a festival again, or even having their lengthy tours cross paths, equivalent to that of Cliff Burton dropping by and smoking a joint with them. There was no getting away from it, this relationship was going to be kind of tricky.
But, as Lars bent his head to press a number of sweet, sleepy kisses to Billie's waiting lips, he concluded it didn't really matter. The point was, the key, base thing that could so easily be overlooked in favour of focussing on the negative, was that there was a future. To add to that, having times like this to look forward to would make it all worth it.
For Lars, it wasn't love. L-O-V-E, that four letter word that meant so very much. But that didn't mean it never would be.
Callused fingertips dragging down a milky torso, Lars nudged at his lover's ear with his nose. "I'm looking forward to this." After a pause, he decided to give Billie something a little more substantial. "I'm looking forward to falling for you, I guess you could say. And…" he continued, softer. "…you can call me Uli, if you want."
With that, the drummer pressed Billie back down to the mattress, his free hand drifting down to begin to stroke slowly, lightly at the younger man's awakening cock. His mouth fell to the skin just below Billie's collarbone, catching the heat in those hazel eyes before setting his teeth against the flesh and nipping sharply. He felt Billie's breath hitch, making a growl roll unbidden from his throat. He pressed down a little harder on Billie's shoulder as his mouth and hand went to work.
"Now…as we've got nothing better to do…and I don't have to ship out until tonight...I'm going to take your drummer up on his offer…" his grip tightened around his lover's erection as his voice grew more guttural, eliciting a soft groan. "And fuck you as hard as I like."
The future, then. And everything it has to throw at us.
~The End~
Don't forget to leave looking_spiffy some lovin', too!