i will wait for you
Title: Brutal Love [20]
Author: Molly
Pairing: Billie/Mike
Summary: "Mom, it's Billie, you here?"
Previous parts: located here
Note: Long chapter ahead! This one got away from me.
Billie Joe coasted down the familiar streets of Rodeo, California that he'd had memorized for years. He guided the steering wheel with one hand, the other bringing his cup of black coffee to his lips periodically, the soft sounds of the Arctic Monkeys drifting through the speakers of his dark SUV. The sun was bright, illuminating his path, and if it weren't for the sunglasses perched on his nose, Billie's already burning, bloodshot eyes probably would have shriveled up and fell from his skull. Truthfully, the last time his body felt so entirely spent was when he'd managed to catch the flu from Olivia the previous spring, but the reason behind his fatigue had little do with germs or a failure on the part of his immune system.
As Billie approached the final red light before the turn onto the street of his destination, he tore the wrapper off of a granola bar with his teeth and chomped down half of it in one bite. It was a dainty little Quaker treat; Mike could eat at least three or four without making a damage in his hunger, and they bought them mostly as a way to distract Olivia from the idea of dessert, since they had chocolate chips in them and yet were composed of oatmeal, so they at least had some kind of nutritional value (however little it may be.) Billie Joe almost never ate them, didn't think they were worth it, really, but his stomach hadn't been sending him accurate signals lately-if any-and Billie knew he couldn't keep forgetting (or refusing) to eat. He didn't think it would help the already strained state of his household if he passed out due to unintentional starvation.
By the time Billie was forcing the last bite down in his throat, he was pulling into his mother's driveway. The music was cut off as soon as he had yanked the key from the ignition, and he sighed as he stared up at his childhood home. Billie Joe wasn't ready for this, not in the least bit.
After coming to terms on the situation with Mike, and kissing and clinging to each other for about, oh, nine hours straight, his husband had dared to ask the question, What next? They had reluctantly agreed that it wouldn't be something they could keep between themselves, that the world would find out sooner or later, and so they had taken the day to address the issue with those they loved most. Mike had taken off to Myla, leaving Billie to inform his mother, and neither were sure who had it worse off. Although they had toyed with the idea of telling Myla and Ollie as a team, in the end, Mike had decided that had the potential to make things worse. Billie still wasn't sure about that-his empty passenger seat had his heart throbbing in despair-but he wasn't about to back out of his promise; they were going to do this Mike's way.
He tucked his sunglasses into his jacket pocket as he lumbered up the driveway, running an idle hand over the hood of his mother's metallic blue Lexus. It was the car Billie Joe and Mike had bought her shortly after American Idiot had won its first Grammy, and he smiled, wistfully, at the memory of her breathless smile. The gift had been his husband's idea.
Billie didn't bother to knock, but instead let himself in, shoving his hands into his pants' pockets. He nudged the front door shut and glanced around the front hallway, calling out, “Mom? Mom, it's Billie, you here?”
Before Billie could get an answer, he was shuffling into the living room and setting his eyes on his mother. She was perched on the edge of the same sofa she'd had for six years, leaning over the coffee table that was scattered with photographs and various artistic instruments, and she looked up with a surprised smile. “Hi, darling.”
“Hi,” he replied with half of a smile. Billie stepped closer to survey the project on the table, his stomach doing a somersault when he recognized Mike's and his own face in many of the prints spread out against the wood. “What'cha workin' on. . .”
“Well,” Ollie sighed, “actually, I'm putting together another scrapbook for you and Mike. I found a bunch of pictures from when you two were teenagers, and I thought I'd give it to you as sort of a belated wedding present.” She smiled a 'what can you do?' sort of smile, setting down the stack of polaroids she had in her hands. “Sorry the surprise is ruined for you, dear, but that'll teach you to call first.”
He chuckled lightly, removing one of the hands in his pockets to pick up one of the pictures. It was a polaroid of him and Mike when they were fourteen at most, sitting on the shitty couch that Billie Joe's mom used to have in the basement, instruments on their laps. Mike's hair fell below his chin and his own mullet-worthy curls were tamed with a backwards baseball cap. It had probably been taken by one of his siblings.
“I don't think I've ever seen some of these. . .”
“There was quite a few mixed in with a shoebox I had in the attic. Alan found some too, actually, at his house, and passed them onto me. He's anxious to see you, by the way. All of your brothers and sisters are, they want to have a dinner here to celebrate you and Mike.” There was a proud smile on Ollie's face as she leant back away from her work, wrapping her fingers around the handle of a porcelain white mug. “Would you like some coffee, hon? Just made a fresh pot not fifteen minutes ago.”
“Thanks, but I'm okay, had an espresso on the way over.” Billie sat on the sofa next to her, landing with a sigh as he continued looking over the largely black and white photographs, the tips of his fingers running over films both wrinkled and smoothed. Something was catching in his throat. “God, these make me feel old.”
She laughed, patting Billie's shoulder in a somewhat condescending manner. “Oh, please, honey, how do you think it makes your old mom feel? Just wait until you're doing this for Olivia, someday. . .” Ollie's hand moved up to ruffle her son's quirky curls affectionately. “I thought a collection from your younger days would be fitting, as a wedding present. Sort of a reminder of where it all started.”
Billie Joe nodded, chewing distractedly at the corner of his mouth, before thinking to smile gratefully at his mom. “We appreciate it, Mom. We'd never have anything to show Livy, if it weren't for you.”
“That's what grandmothers are for,” she said with a wink and returned her cup of coffee to the table. “So, Billie, what brings you by? Didn't expect to see you so soon after the wedding, of sorts.”
“Right. Well. There's something I have to tell you.” That thing that had been tickling his throat solidified into something more threatening now, and he attempted to clear it while rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck. Telling Aly had been one thing; breaking the news to Ollie was something else altogether. Billie's heart thudded loud and slow in his ears. “I mean-well, Mike and I getting married wasn't-you know, I mean it was done on a whim, but-but there was a reason for it. . .”
Ollie sat up with raised eyebrows, sliding her hand down her sons arm to cover the fidgeting hand rubbing over the top of his thigh. When she had Billie Joe's eyes, her own glimmered brightly. “I thought there might be. When are you due, sweetheart?”
The significance of the question didn't strike him at first, causing him to only blink dumbly at Ollie, before he understood and proceeded to shake his head wildly. “No, no, Mom, I'm not-I'm not pregnant.” Why does everybody keep thinking that? “It's nothing like that.”
“Oh.” Ollie frowned, appearing disappointed as she sat back a little, and tilted her head. “So what is it, then, Billie?”
Her seemingly hopeful inquiry only made the truth harder to expel, as Billie realized how happy he would have been if that had been the case instead. But he didn't dare dwell on that idea, so he swallowed and stared hard at the same crucifix that had been nailed to the wall for as long as he had been alive. “Mike has cancer, Mom,” Billie Joe confessed in a soft rasp, eyes closing at the sound of her sharp gasp. “We thought he might before we got married, but Tuesday-Tuesday, we were told for sure.”
After the information had begun to process, she lurched forward so she might be able to see Billie's face, heart in her throat as she anxiously looked to see if he was okay. Because that would always be Ollie's first priority until the day she died. “Oh, sweetie.”
He leaned towards her instinctively, as he blinked tears furiously away. Will this ever get easier? “It's-it's bad, Mom. He's gonna do some treatments, he's gotta have a surgery, and they say it's gonna-that it's going to kill him, unless they find a cure. . .”
Billie's words were sobering, for her, because she'd had the same thing told to her, some twenty-odd years ago; her youngest son still possessed baby teeth when her own husband had died. To know, now, that her baby was now facing the same thing, was unfathomable, as Ollie also realized that Olivia would have the same difficult childhood her rockstar mom had, had. And the kick in all that was that Mike had been there for Billie Joe, to get him through it, and for that the old woman would always be grateful.
Mike was a son to her as well, largely because of that fact-she'd watch him grow just as much as she had any of her own children; the snapshots littering her living room table proved that. Just as if her son told her that it was him with the diagnosis, with the prospect of a fruitful life cut short, Ollie felt overwhelming emotion. And yet she was able to squash it down deep, to be dealt with at another time, because the only productive thing she could do now was to be there for Billie.
So Ollie wrapped him up in her arms and brought him against her bosom, stroked his hair, kissed his temple, and said nothing, because Ollie didn't have to. Billie and she had only just reached a level of understanding his mother had prayed none of her children would ever have to see. And as much as Ollie wished she could reach in and take all of the pain and sadness away, she couldn't, so Ollie settled for what she could do, and do well: be there for her beloved baby boy.
“That's just-that's just fuckin' ridiculous, man.”
Billie Joe was referring to the story his best friend had just told him, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and exasperated curse words. He sat cross-legged on his bed, rolling a joint with expert fingers, running his tongue over the crease before passing it to Mike. “Really, man, what a bitch. Did you tell her she was a bitch?”
“No,” Mike huffed, accepting the cigarette and the flame he was offered to light it, wasting no time in taking a much needed hit. “If I'd done that, I would have sounded like a cunt.”
“You are a cunt,” Billie pointed out with a shrug of his shoulders and cock of his eyebrow, grinning wickedly at the indignant expression that passed over the bassist's face. “Well, c'mon, you are. Besides, the girl lied to you, dude. Definite grounds for the 'C' word.”
He rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall Billie's bed was pushed against with a sigh. Mike sat with his legs pulled up against his chest, and he rested his chin on his knee as he absorbed another puff from the doob. As he exhaled the smoke, he said, “Girls and their fucking games.”
“To be honest, I don't think they can even help it. 'S in their DNA or something.” The little singer was curled up at the head of the bed, in the same position as Mike, so that they were almost perpendicular on the mattress. Billie Joe took the joint from his friend's outstretched hand, closing his eyes at the pleasant burn, holding it in his lungs for as long as possible. He opened his eyes. “Her loss, man,” he said.
Mike issued a self-indulgent snort. “Yeah. I know I ain't no prize, but you know-you'd think some girl would wanna give it up eventually, right? Either if they're a virgin too, and wanna get it over with, or because they just feel fuckin' sorry for me.”
Billie was looking at him strangely, head cocked to the side and the cigarette between his fingers halfway to his lips. The bassist ducked his head guiltily, picking at the hole in his jean. “Okay, that was really shitty of me to say. I guess I just mean, like-some girl has to be attracted enough to me to want to sleep with me at some point, right?”
But his friend was still staring at him as if he had three heads-which, in all fairness, Mike could have grown on their path to intoxication-but it was making him uncomfortable, so Mike shifted his eyes away. “Okay, what the fuck, Bill?”
“You're a virgin?” Billie blurted, a blush radiating over his cheeks almost instantaneously; the two friends didn't discuss sex, much, except to maybe share their thoughts on an attractive girl at Gilman or the equivalent.
The bassist couldn't help but flush as well, snapping the joint out of Billie Joe's hand forcefully, if not just to find something to occupy himself with. “'Course I am, you nut,” Mike murmured, blowing out a ring of sweet smoke. “Don't you think I would have told you if I'd, you know, done it?”
He shrugged, biting his lip. The truth was, Billie didn't know. Almost nothing was off limits between them, but though Mike was practically living at his house most of the time and they'd certainly been able to hear each other doing what teenage boys tend to (excessively) do in the shower and the like, actually talking about it felt embarrassing. A part of him resented playing into such a ridiculous cultural taboo, but he usually just chalked it up to his own sexual insecurities.
“Not really,” Billie said eventually, voice quiet, as he continued to fidget. “I guess I just assumed you'd done it.”
“Well, I haven't,” the other boy admitted dryly as he returned the pot to Billie Joe. “Have you?”
Shaking his head, he took an almost tentative puff. “No,” Billie Joe murmured. He sighed as he scratched at the side of his neck; today, the weed wasn't helping much. “Do you think we're, like, behind the eight ball or whatever? Sixteen and haven't fucked?”
“Dunno,” Mike said truthfully, watching the way Billie held the cigarette so delicately. He licked his lips. “It's not for lack of effort, though. If girls don't wanna do it with you, it's not like you can make them.”
“You could,” Billie disagreed, tone deceptively pessimistic, “but if you did, you'd deserve to have your dick cut off directly afterward.”
Mike couldn't help but giggle, probably fueled more by the drugs than anything else. Then he sighed, nudging Billie Joe's bare foot with his own. “This is fucking depressing, dude. We're never going to have sex. Not unless we do it with each other.”
A feeble laugh rumbled from between his lips and offered the joint to Mike again. Billie didn't meet his eyes when he did, purposely not doing so, because of the next brilliant thought that stuttered out of his mouth, “Maybe we should.” He immediately regretted saying it, as he had probably always known he would, and a blush flamed from his t-shirt covered chest to the tips of his ears.
Blue eyes widened at the suggestion, causing Mike to pause mid-inhale, and he ended up choking, waving the scattered cloud of smoke away. He could see the fiery red taking over his friend's skin, and his stomach turned over wetly. But at the same time he asked, “Really?”, Billie Joe was saying, “Never mind, that was stupid.”
But then it was Billie's turn to falter, eyes snapping up to Mike like a deer in the headlights at the squeak that implied perhaps, maybe Mike didn't think it was a bad idea, but really just a strange one. It gave him the courage to plunder on. “Well, I just mean-then we'd know what to expect, kind of. What it's like. So we're cool the first time we do, do it with girls, and then maybe it won't seem like such a big deal, y'know? We'd be, like, over ourselves.”
It seemed like every fiber of Mike's body was electrified to static. His ears were sort of ringing, his mouth felt bone dry, and a cold sheen of sweat was dripping down his back. Mike had to swallow, to ground himself, because Billie was staring at him, terrified, and Mike knew he had to say something. “Fuck,” is all that came out, though, which wasn't entirely helpful.
“I'd let you, like, top,” Billie Joe said, voice strong despite the slight tremor to it, which he thought was especially impressive seeing as he couldn't even believe what he was saying. Let Mike top? Was he really even sure what that meant, let alone what it implied? “Since it's my idea and all. Then you'd really know how to, like, really do it. And then I could know what it feels like, so I could. . . maybe. . . know what girls like?” The more Billie talked, the more ridiculous he realized he sounded. For a straight guy, he sure was sounding pretty gay. “I'm sorry, this is so fucked up, must be bad weed. . .”
He let Billie's words trail off, still staring, transfixed, at the stubby goddamn fingers of his, until a bit of ash crumbled off of the end of his neglected cigarette, and he was brushing off Billie's sheets. It seemed to bring Mike back to life, and even though he was terrified, Mike could understand that he was also pretty damn intrigued, which was ultimately even scarier in itself. “I'll do it,” he said, small and quiet as a mouse, “if you want, I mean. . . I'll do it with you.
Because it wasn't really what Billie Joe was expecting, his eyes widened, but Billie couldn't even deny the fact that it was excitement causing his belly to turn over. Now, finally about five or six years of being untouched (except for by his own hands) somebody else was going to, and in a weird way, it helped that it was Mike. Mike was his best friend; Billie trusted him more than he did anyone else. Even if it was dreadfully awkward and they couldn't go through with it-or even if they could-he knew it would be okay, somehow.
“Okay,” Billie Joe whispered, his nod almost imperceptible.
He let out a long breath, one he hadn't even realized he'd been holding until Billie finally answered, and he sat up off of the wall. “What should, I, like. . . do?”
“Well, I mean. . . I guess we should kiss first, right?”
That simple idea made Mike's heart skip a beat, but what was he going to do? Back out now? No. He wouldn't insult Billie that way, no matter how nervous he was. So Mike rose up to his knees and did a half-crawl towards his friend, pausing a moment to stub out the joint on a hardcover (and as yet, unopened) textbook sitting on Billie Joe's night stand. Then, balanced on his palms and crouched in the small space between his friend's legs, he tilted his head to lower his lips to Billie's, after a half a second's worth delicious hesitation.
His own stomach did a final flip-flop, the moment just before he was being kissed, and he closed his eyes as their mouths met. Mike's lips were chapped and a little dry, slight but reasonably pliant, and when Mike softly brushed his lower lip, Billie Joe thought that it really wasn't so much different than kissing a girl. Encouraged by that face, he made the decision to part his lips, allowing Mike's tongue entrance if he so chose, and when it accepted the offer and slipped slowly inside, he sighed gently, without quite meaning to, and raised his hand to cradle the back of Mike's neck.
Mike's heart was pounding, and he still felt like he was about five seconds away from possibly having a panic attack, but Billie tasted good. He tasted a strange but pleasant combination of pot and peppermint, and as they slid their tongues against one another's, an unexpected quiet moan buzzed in his throat, because Billie was good at this. Like, obscenely good.
On his end of the exchange, Billie was thinking the exact same thing, and he slid down the wall a bit, so he was more or less completely on his back, with only the pillow propping up his head. He turned his head, to deepen the kiss, after hearing the noise of approval Mike issued, and it sparked a twitch in his cock. The more they kissed, the less weird the situation was becoming, and it was coming surprisingly natural, considering neither of them had kissed a guy before.
When Billie Joe repositioned himself to a lying position, Mike reacted accordingly by shuffling the awkward stance of his knees a little bit as well. He kept himself balanced a good couple of inches above Billie, afraid to press flush against him, because he was already sporting a modest erection, and he didn't want Billie to think he was. . . well, he wasn't exactly sure what he was scared of. It was hard to tell, when kissing the smaller boy was so easy, done instinctually more than anything else, and slowly, Mike moved his hand away from the mattress to cup the side of his head gently.
When Billie Joe felt Mike's fingers slide across his skull, he pulled back slowly, ending their very first kiss with a somewhat playful nibble to his friend's bottom lip. Their eyes met, both shining and sparkling with frightened fascination, and he ran his tongue across his own mouth, tasting what Mike left behind. Billie allowed himself an indulgent half-smile, the hand not curled around strands of dirty blond hair sliding up the bicep of Mike's sleeveless arm.
“That. . . wasn't a bad start,” he said finally, pausing for Mike's reaction.
It came in the form of a shaky laugh, and the larger boy shook his head, blinking a few times. “No,” Mike murmured, “no, it wasn't.”
Billie dragged his fingernails up and down a wiry arm, transfixed at the modest bit of chest hair spiraling out of the neckline of the bassist's tank top, before flickering his eyes back to Mike's. The whole time, blue eyes had been starting at him intently, nearly with bated breath and nervous of where to go next; belatedly, he realized that Mike considered him the leader of the show. So Billie Joe slid his hands down Mike's back and kneaded the bony spine carefully. “Come down here,” he said, referring to the way Mike was sitting so cautiously between his legs. “Try to relax, dude. Unless you changed your mind, 'cause we can stop.” Please don't want to stop, please don't want to stop. . .
He answered by lowering himself against Billie's body, very carefully shifting his weight onto the slighter body until they were chest to chest, and essentially crotch to crotch. In this position, Mike's arousal was pretty clear, and a faint blush broke out over the planes of his face, despite the fact that Mike could feel a matching boner poking into his thigh.
Seeming to sense the slight embarrassment his friend was feeling, Billie quirked a small smile. “Hey,” he whispered. “It's okay. Me too.”
That, somehow, seemed to make it okay, and the way Billie Joe smiled made him want to kiss him again. And so Mike did, lowering his head and kissing him a little more assertively than before, encouraged when small hands slipped under his shirt and splayed across the sweaty skin on his back. He curled his own fingers around Billie's round hip, and as he shifted onto his side, he brought Billie with him, and even dared to smooth his hand down a denim-clad thigh.
The kisses were getting deeper, getting hotter, and Billie Joe would have been lying if he'd said he didn't like the direction things were going in. When Mike's hand slid around the back of his leg, he took it as an invitation to wrap said leg around his friend's slight waist, until they were really crotch to crotch. The friction created by the movement was delicious, and then they moaned in unison, as Billie moved a hand up to fist in Mike's hair again, this time with a little more intent. It was all done in a bid for more contact, his actions, and Mike certainly didn't seem to mind. In fact, the bassist responded by rolling his hips against Billie's again.
Mike ended up breaking the kiss, a bit reluctantly, to be sure, to mouth a few heated kisses to the other boy's neck, grazing his teeth on pale flesh. It earned him another fresh groan, with a cuss word to match, and so he suckled harder. Even if Mike didn't actually know what he was doing, acting off of instincts seemed to bode pretty well for him, and Mike was going to ride it for all it was worth because it was damned satisfying to please another person with just a few swipes of the tongue.
The number Mike was doing to his throat had him gasping, curling tighter around him in every way possible. “God, Mike,” Billie Joe gulped, tilting his head to allow him more access. “You're pretty good at that, for never doing it before.”
“Yeah, well, you're a pretty damn good kisser,” he groaned, because Billie tugged on his hair and it felt good, and then he was bringing their mouths together for a few more of those amazing kisses he'd mentioned. Mike's insides were buzzing; every time he suckled on Billie's tongue, or swiveled his hips against his groin, or basically touched him anywhere, Billie Joe would moan, and the sound was doing things to him that Mike had never thought were possible. It was obvious that Billie was on the vocal side, in terms of sex-not surprising, considering his position as lead singer in their band-and he wanted to hear more of that. Mike wedged the hand not already around Billie's waist underneath him, wrapped both sets of fingers around the backs of his friend's legs, and lifted him up as he rolled onto his own back, so that Billie Joe was straddling Mike's waist. He managed to do it all in one movement, without even breaking the kiss; a pretty impressive feat, for an inexperienced sixteen year old.
Or at least that's what his friend thought, a higher pitched sound, almost like a squeak, leaving him in the process of being manhandled. But Billie liked it; he liked everything that was happening, if Billie was honest with himself. It didn't faze him much, then, when Mike's hands went to the zipper of his jeans, and he groaned wantonly into their open-mouthed kiss when spidery fingers brushed against the hard ridge of his cock.
“Sit up a bit,” Mike grunted between the clashing of their teeth; he had an idea in mind, one Mike suspected might be enjoyable for both of them.
Billie Joe's head seemed to catch up with all of the blood rushing to his nether regions (and he really did feel quite light-headed), and his stomach quivered because Mike was shoving his pants down his waist. And, incidentally, he had forgotten-or simply neglected to-don some underwear before getting dressed for school that morning, and he couldn't help it: he blushed when his dick bobbed out into the free air.
It wasn't like he hadn't seen it before, technically. Mike had seen plenty of male anatomy in the locker room in gym class and in the pornography he stole from the 7/11. And he'd even seen Billie's before, when they'd have cause to change together or accidentally walked in on one another in the bathroom. That was entirely different, though, because Mike had never seen Billie with an erection, and his mouth sagged a little. It was a taut line of angry, swollen red, right there about a foot from his face, and yet. . . it looked a lot like his own (only admittedly smaller.)
Since Mike wasn't saying anything, just staring, Billie Joe chewed anxiously on his bottom lip, hands still pressed against Mike's chest where he had left them. He didn't know what to say. A part of Billie felt as though he should apologize, clamber off of Mike and insist they never speak of it again, but Mike had been the one to expose him in the first place. So he stayed put.
Once the initial shock wore off, Mike was able to peel his eyes away and back up at rapidly panicking green eyes. He suddenly realized how uncomfortable he'd probably made Billie, by gaping like a rude child, and he apologized with a hand sliding over Billie Joe's smooth cheek. Then, with something tightening in his gut, Mike wrapped his other hand around his friend's prick.
The reaction was instantaneous. Billie's head flew back, his eyes squeezing shut, at the feel of another hand, not his own, touching him. A sharp yell came from his mouth-thank God no one else was home, for once-and his hands went up to Mike's bare shoulders, where he gripped as hard as the hand around his dick. It was so strange and familiar all at once; the pads of his fingertips were as calloused as his own, but his hand was also more larger, longer, and that made all the difference in the world.
It was exactly the kind of response he was hoping for, one that made his breath catch and his own cock throb. Mike began to pump his length in earnest, watching every sign of pleasure that passed over his friend's dazed face. Every moan Billie Joe issued was like a firecracker in his own body, the sheer idea of having such control and power to please another human being so completely making him crazy. If this was what sex was supposed to be like, Mike couldn't possibly ever believe that it was as overrated as Billie's older brother David said it was. If the expressions and sounds Billie was making were any indication of how fun sex could be, David, he decided, was probably doing it wrong.
Billie Joe had no idea what his friend was thinking, but it didn't really matter, since Billie wasn't thinking much of anything at all. No, his brain was on total overload, had put up an 'out for lunch' sign about ten minutes previous, and his legs were starting to feel like jelly. Every stroke on his cock was like another tug into a different dimension, an out of body experience the knuckle shuffle had never given him before, and Billie looked down into blue eyes, panting. Mike's gaze was burning, ragged breaths heaving in and out of his own parted lips, and the sight of him made his heart stutter. Billie Joe moaned through gritted teeth and clutched muscled arms tighter, now bucking up in time with the quickening pace of Mike's hands, and Billie was aware that Mike was also thrusting his own clothed erection against his ass, but it was only a dim sensation in comparison to the treatment his hard-on was getting.
“Mike,” he breathed, following it with another groan, “fuck, Mikey, I'm gonna come. . .”
The admission made Mike's heart skip a beat, and without stopping his even assault on Billie's erection, Mike sat up, so his mouth was almost level with his friend's. “Do it, Billie Joe,” he said, suddenly very excited by the prospect. “Come for me, B.”
That kind of broke down the final barrier between Billie and his orgasm, and so he let go, crying his ecstasy into the hungry kiss Mike engaged him in, still grabbing onto his sweaty arms because it was the only thing keeping him upright. It felt like he was going to come forever, the intensity of it reaching every piece of his body he could conceivably think of, and even when his moans were spent, he wheezed against Mike's lips, hands raking up to tangle in his hair. “Oh, my God.”
“Fuck. Yeah.” Mike's voice was equally shaky against the other boy's lips. His left hand (the one not covered in semen) flattened along Billie Joe's spine as the other wiped against the already dirty sheets. When both hands were relatively clean, Mike lifted them to slide along various bits of pale skin, though his eyes stayed locked on bright green. Whatever reservations he'd initially had about this seemed to have vanished into nothing, because they were completely outweighed by the sheer throb in his groin. “That was. . .”
“Amazing,” Billie finished for him in a whispered groan, back arching at the memory even as he gripped the back of the bassist's head for a sloppy kiss. He could still feel the ridge of Mike's hard cock nudging at his bottom, from between the barriers of their pants, and now it was far easier to deal with, after having what was easily the best orgasm of his life. “Thanks for that,” Billie mumbled, stupidly, wide eyes staring down into blue. “That was fuckin' insane.”
“Yeah,” Mike agreed, too overwhelmed to formulate a response. He felt a little strange, to be sure; it was certainly pretty unreal to be in such a compromising positions, with his very best, very male, and for all intents and purposes-at least to his knowledge-straight friend. It was hard to dwell on, though, when Mike considered how damned arousing it had been to bring another person to the brink of physical destruction, and the way he had screamed. . . The ragged sounds echoed in his brain, and he couldn't help but moan, gently, into Billie Joe's sweaty neck.
He ran his fingers through Mike's hair as he practically whimpered against him, and he swallowed; this was the part where he would have to return the favor, and he'd already agreed to let Mike fuck him, if he wanted. But even as Billie bit his lip, the worry on the thought was minimal, because if fucking him was half as good for his friend as the treatment his own manhood had just received, Billie would think of it as a success.
So the singer leant back on his kneels, keeping Mike's eyes for a second, before peeling off his t-shirt. “If we're gonna do this,” Billie Joe murmured, tearing away the taller boy's top as well, “we might as well do it right.”
In alignment with his friend's actions, Mike scooted back enough to begin tugging away his stiff jeans, watching him do the same. He himself had in fact remembered to put boxers on after getting out of the shower earlier that day, and he couldn't help but exhale a pleased breath as the waistband of the shorts brushed his nearly painful erection. As a sixteen year old boy, Mike spent ninety-five percent of the time fighting off boners as it was, so current events were definitely testing his willpower. Wildly, in the back of his mind, he wondered how long he would seriously last if he ever really got the chance to. . . fuck. . . Billie.
Mike's train of thought slowed to a halt, since he was distracted by a pair of stunned green eyes locked on the space between his legs. He glanced down, at his dick, to Billie's hanging mouth again, and he bit his lip. “What's-what's wrong?”
“N-nothing,” he stammered, heart hammering, which wasn't entirely true. His friend's erection was everything but nothing, and Billie Joe had good reason to believe it was double the size of his own, on a good day. It was equal parts fascinating and terrifying. After all, it's destination was his virgin asshole. But the wonder at it won out, as Billie ran his fingers around the swollen erection almost reverently. “Wow.”
Closing his eyes at the touch, Mike curled his fingers around a skinny wrist encouragingly. Despite the way his instincts raged at having himself be paid attention to, after so many years, he was able to ask softly, “Do you-how do you wanna do this?”
Though he hadn't thought much about it initially, it felt relatively obvious, and he rolled onto his back slowly, stretching out beside Mike. Billie reached behind himself to pile some pillows around his neck, to give him some support. “Probably easier on my back. . . right?”
As Mike watched his friend extend himself into what looked like a very vulnerable position, his dick gave an involuntarily twitch at the sight, and Mike bit his lip. Again. “Do you have, like, lube or something?”
“In the drawer,” he pointed, unabashed.
He reached over and yanked the aforementioned drawer open. The contents were a cluster fuck of loose cigarettes, guitar picks, and unsurprisingly, clips from pornography magazines, but key among his friend's vices, Mike found a medium-sized bottle of lubricant, which felt half-empty. His eyes glanced nervously in Billie Joe's direction as he upended a generous amount into his already sweaty palms. It was strawberry scented.
Billie watched the taller boy coat himself in the bottle of lotion he'd shoplifted from the drugstore, stomach now positively churning. He had no idea what to expect, though the size of Mike's penis implied a considerable amount of discomfort, and as Mike balanced on his knees between his legs, he reached for muscled biceps, lips parted imploringly. “Don't-just be careful, okay? Please.”
Something about the way his voice caught made Mike pause, and without thinking about it, he slid both fruity-smelling hands over flushed cheeks, expression sober. “If it hurts, or if you need me to stop, that's cool, Billie. You just gotta say so.” He dared to brush their lips together in a chaste, thoughtful kiss. “But I'll be careful,” Mike whispered, lips quirking in a reassuring smile. “Promise.”
Billie Joe couldn't help but smile back, albeit small, nodding as he leant against the pillows. “I know,” he murmured, wrapping his legs around Mike's lanky waist easily enough. The feel of the swollen cock head made Billie lose a breath or two, but he centered himself by wrapping his small hands around the forearms braced by his shoulders. “I trust you.”
--
Told ya it was long!
Author: Molly
Pairing: Billie/Mike
Summary: "Mom, it's Billie, you here?"
Previous parts: located here
Note: Long chapter ahead! This one got away from me.
Billie Joe coasted down the familiar streets of Rodeo, California that he'd had memorized for years. He guided the steering wheel with one hand, the other bringing his cup of black coffee to his lips periodically, the soft sounds of the Arctic Monkeys drifting through the speakers of his dark SUV. The sun was bright, illuminating his path, and if it weren't for the sunglasses perched on his nose, Billie's already burning, bloodshot eyes probably would have shriveled up and fell from his skull. Truthfully, the last time his body felt so entirely spent was when he'd managed to catch the flu from Olivia the previous spring, but the reason behind his fatigue had little do with germs or a failure on the part of his immune system.
As Billie approached the final red light before the turn onto the street of his destination, he tore the wrapper off of a granola bar with his teeth and chomped down half of it in one bite. It was a dainty little Quaker treat; Mike could eat at least three or four without making a damage in his hunger, and they bought them mostly as a way to distract Olivia from the idea of dessert, since they had chocolate chips in them and yet were composed of oatmeal, so they at least had some kind of nutritional value (however little it may be.) Billie Joe almost never ate them, didn't think they were worth it, really, but his stomach hadn't been sending him accurate signals lately-if any-and Billie knew he couldn't keep forgetting (or refusing) to eat. He didn't think it would help the already strained state of his household if he passed out due to unintentional starvation.
By the time Billie was forcing the last bite down in his throat, he was pulling into his mother's driveway. The music was cut off as soon as he had yanked the key from the ignition, and he sighed as he stared up at his childhood home. Billie Joe wasn't ready for this, not in the least bit.
After coming to terms on the situation with Mike, and kissing and clinging to each other for about, oh, nine hours straight, his husband had dared to ask the question, What next? They had reluctantly agreed that it wouldn't be something they could keep between themselves, that the world would find out sooner or later, and so they had taken the day to address the issue with those they loved most. Mike had taken off to Myla, leaving Billie to inform his mother, and neither were sure who had it worse off. Although they had toyed with the idea of telling Myla and Ollie as a team, in the end, Mike had decided that had the potential to make things worse. Billie still wasn't sure about that-his empty passenger seat had his heart throbbing in despair-but he wasn't about to back out of his promise; they were going to do this Mike's way.
He tucked his sunglasses into his jacket pocket as he lumbered up the driveway, running an idle hand over the hood of his mother's metallic blue Lexus. It was the car Billie Joe and Mike had bought her shortly after American Idiot had won its first Grammy, and he smiled, wistfully, at the memory of her breathless smile. The gift had been his husband's idea.
Billie didn't bother to knock, but instead let himself in, shoving his hands into his pants' pockets. He nudged the front door shut and glanced around the front hallway, calling out, “Mom? Mom, it's Billie, you here?”
Before Billie could get an answer, he was shuffling into the living room and setting his eyes on his mother. She was perched on the edge of the same sofa she'd had for six years, leaning over the coffee table that was scattered with photographs and various artistic instruments, and she looked up with a surprised smile. “Hi, darling.”
“Hi,” he replied with half of a smile. Billie stepped closer to survey the project on the table, his stomach doing a somersault when he recognized Mike's and his own face in many of the prints spread out against the wood. “What'cha workin' on. . .”
“Well,” Ollie sighed, “actually, I'm putting together another scrapbook for you and Mike. I found a bunch of pictures from when you two were teenagers, and I thought I'd give it to you as sort of a belated wedding present.” She smiled a 'what can you do?' sort of smile, setting down the stack of polaroids she had in her hands. “Sorry the surprise is ruined for you, dear, but that'll teach you to call first.”
He chuckled lightly, removing one of the hands in his pockets to pick up one of the pictures. It was a polaroid of him and Mike when they were fourteen at most, sitting on the shitty couch that Billie Joe's mom used to have in the basement, instruments on their laps. Mike's hair fell below his chin and his own mullet-worthy curls were tamed with a backwards baseball cap. It had probably been taken by one of his siblings.
“I don't think I've ever seen some of these. . .”
“There was quite a few mixed in with a shoebox I had in the attic. Alan found some too, actually, at his house, and passed them onto me. He's anxious to see you, by the way. All of your brothers and sisters are, they want to have a dinner here to celebrate you and Mike.” There was a proud smile on Ollie's face as she leant back away from her work, wrapping her fingers around the handle of a porcelain white mug. “Would you like some coffee, hon? Just made a fresh pot not fifteen minutes ago.”
“Thanks, but I'm okay, had an espresso on the way over.” Billie sat on the sofa next to her, landing with a sigh as he continued looking over the largely black and white photographs, the tips of his fingers running over films both wrinkled and smoothed. Something was catching in his throat. “God, these make me feel old.”
She laughed, patting Billie's shoulder in a somewhat condescending manner. “Oh, please, honey, how do you think it makes your old mom feel? Just wait until you're doing this for Olivia, someday. . .” Ollie's hand moved up to ruffle her son's quirky curls affectionately. “I thought a collection from your younger days would be fitting, as a wedding present. Sort of a reminder of where it all started.”
Billie Joe nodded, chewing distractedly at the corner of his mouth, before thinking to smile gratefully at his mom. “We appreciate it, Mom. We'd never have anything to show Livy, if it weren't for you.”
“That's what grandmothers are for,” she said with a wink and returned her cup of coffee to the table. “So, Billie, what brings you by? Didn't expect to see you so soon after the wedding, of sorts.”
“Right. Well. There's something I have to tell you.” That thing that had been tickling his throat solidified into something more threatening now, and he attempted to clear it while rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck. Telling Aly had been one thing; breaking the news to Ollie was something else altogether. Billie's heart thudded loud and slow in his ears. “I mean-well, Mike and I getting married wasn't-you know, I mean it was done on a whim, but-but there was a reason for it. . .”
Ollie sat up with raised eyebrows, sliding her hand down her sons arm to cover the fidgeting hand rubbing over the top of his thigh. When she had Billie Joe's eyes, her own glimmered brightly. “I thought there might be. When are you due, sweetheart?”
The significance of the question didn't strike him at first, causing him to only blink dumbly at Ollie, before he understood and proceeded to shake his head wildly. “No, no, Mom, I'm not-I'm not pregnant.” Why does everybody keep thinking that? “It's nothing like that.”
“Oh.” Ollie frowned, appearing disappointed as she sat back a little, and tilted her head. “So what is it, then, Billie?”
Her seemingly hopeful inquiry only made the truth harder to expel, as Billie realized how happy he would have been if that had been the case instead. But he didn't dare dwell on that idea, so he swallowed and stared hard at the same crucifix that had been nailed to the wall for as long as he had been alive. “Mike has cancer, Mom,” Billie Joe confessed in a soft rasp, eyes closing at the sound of her sharp gasp. “We thought he might before we got married, but Tuesday-Tuesday, we were told for sure.”
After the information had begun to process, she lurched forward so she might be able to see Billie's face, heart in her throat as she anxiously looked to see if he was okay. Because that would always be Ollie's first priority until the day she died. “Oh, sweetie.”
He leaned towards her instinctively, as he blinked tears furiously away. Will this ever get easier? “It's-it's bad, Mom. He's gonna do some treatments, he's gotta have a surgery, and they say it's gonna-that it's going to kill him, unless they find a cure. . .”
Billie's words were sobering, for her, because she'd had the same thing told to her, some twenty-odd years ago; her youngest son still possessed baby teeth when her own husband had died. To know, now, that her baby was now facing the same thing, was unfathomable, as Ollie also realized that Olivia would have the same difficult childhood her rockstar mom had, had. And the kick in all that was that Mike had been there for Billie Joe, to get him through it, and for that the old woman would always be grateful.
Mike was a son to her as well, largely because of that fact-she'd watch him grow just as much as she had any of her own children; the snapshots littering her living room table proved that. Just as if her son told her that it was him with the diagnosis, with the prospect of a fruitful life cut short, Ollie felt overwhelming emotion. And yet she was able to squash it down deep, to be dealt with at another time, because the only productive thing she could do now was to be there for Billie.
So Ollie wrapped him up in her arms and brought him against her bosom, stroked his hair, kissed his temple, and said nothing, because Ollie didn't have to. Billie and she had only just reached a level of understanding his mother had prayed none of her children would ever have to see. And as much as Ollie wished she could reach in and take all of the pain and sadness away, she couldn't, so Ollie settled for what she could do, and do well: be there for her beloved baby boy.
“That's just-that's just fuckin' ridiculous, man.”
Billie Joe was referring to the story his best friend had just told him, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and exasperated curse words. He sat cross-legged on his bed, rolling a joint with expert fingers, running his tongue over the crease before passing it to Mike. “Really, man, what a bitch. Did you tell her she was a bitch?”
“No,” Mike huffed, accepting the cigarette and the flame he was offered to light it, wasting no time in taking a much needed hit. “If I'd done that, I would have sounded like a cunt.”
“You are a cunt,” Billie pointed out with a shrug of his shoulders and cock of his eyebrow, grinning wickedly at the indignant expression that passed over the bassist's face. “Well, c'mon, you are. Besides, the girl lied to you, dude. Definite grounds for the 'C' word.”
He rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall Billie's bed was pushed against with a sigh. Mike sat with his legs pulled up against his chest, and he rested his chin on his knee as he absorbed another puff from the doob. As he exhaled the smoke, he said, “Girls and their fucking games.”
“To be honest, I don't think they can even help it. 'S in their DNA or something.” The little singer was curled up at the head of the bed, in the same position as Mike, so that they were almost perpendicular on the mattress. Billie Joe took the joint from his friend's outstretched hand, closing his eyes at the pleasant burn, holding it in his lungs for as long as possible. He opened his eyes. “Her loss, man,” he said.
Mike issued a self-indulgent snort. “Yeah. I know I ain't no prize, but you know-you'd think some girl would wanna give it up eventually, right? Either if they're a virgin too, and wanna get it over with, or because they just feel fuckin' sorry for me.”
Billie was looking at him strangely, head cocked to the side and the cigarette between his fingers halfway to his lips. The bassist ducked his head guiltily, picking at the hole in his jean. “Okay, that was really shitty of me to say. I guess I just mean, like-some girl has to be attracted enough to me to want to sleep with me at some point, right?”
But his friend was still staring at him as if he had three heads-which, in all fairness, Mike could have grown on their path to intoxication-but it was making him uncomfortable, so Mike shifted his eyes away. “Okay, what the fuck, Bill?”
“You're a virgin?” Billie blurted, a blush radiating over his cheeks almost instantaneously; the two friends didn't discuss sex, much, except to maybe share their thoughts on an attractive girl at Gilman or the equivalent.
The bassist couldn't help but flush as well, snapping the joint out of Billie Joe's hand forcefully, if not just to find something to occupy himself with. “'Course I am, you nut,” Mike murmured, blowing out a ring of sweet smoke. “Don't you think I would have told you if I'd, you know, done it?”
He shrugged, biting his lip. The truth was, Billie didn't know. Almost nothing was off limits between them, but though Mike was practically living at his house most of the time and they'd certainly been able to hear each other doing what teenage boys tend to (excessively) do in the shower and the like, actually talking about it felt embarrassing. A part of him resented playing into such a ridiculous cultural taboo, but he usually just chalked it up to his own sexual insecurities.
“Not really,” Billie said eventually, voice quiet, as he continued to fidget. “I guess I just assumed you'd done it.”
“Well, I haven't,” the other boy admitted dryly as he returned the pot to Billie Joe. “Have you?”
Shaking his head, he took an almost tentative puff. “No,” Billie Joe murmured. He sighed as he scratched at the side of his neck; today, the weed wasn't helping much. “Do you think we're, like, behind the eight ball or whatever? Sixteen and haven't fucked?”
“Dunno,” Mike said truthfully, watching the way Billie held the cigarette so delicately. He licked his lips. “It's not for lack of effort, though. If girls don't wanna do it with you, it's not like you can make them.”
“You could,” Billie disagreed, tone deceptively pessimistic, “but if you did, you'd deserve to have your dick cut off directly afterward.”
Mike couldn't help but giggle, probably fueled more by the drugs than anything else. Then he sighed, nudging Billie Joe's bare foot with his own. “This is fucking depressing, dude. We're never going to have sex. Not unless we do it with each other.”
A feeble laugh rumbled from between his lips and offered the joint to Mike again. Billie didn't meet his eyes when he did, purposely not doing so, because of the next brilliant thought that stuttered out of his mouth, “Maybe we should.” He immediately regretted saying it, as he had probably always known he would, and a blush flamed from his t-shirt covered chest to the tips of his ears.
Blue eyes widened at the suggestion, causing Mike to pause mid-inhale, and he ended up choking, waving the scattered cloud of smoke away. He could see the fiery red taking over his friend's skin, and his stomach turned over wetly. But at the same time he asked, “Really?”, Billie Joe was saying, “Never mind, that was stupid.”
But then it was Billie's turn to falter, eyes snapping up to Mike like a deer in the headlights at the squeak that implied perhaps, maybe Mike didn't think it was a bad idea, but really just a strange one. It gave him the courage to plunder on. “Well, I just mean-then we'd know what to expect, kind of. What it's like. So we're cool the first time we do, do it with girls, and then maybe it won't seem like such a big deal, y'know? We'd be, like, over ourselves.”
It seemed like every fiber of Mike's body was electrified to static. His ears were sort of ringing, his mouth felt bone dry, and a cold sheen of sweat was dripping down his back. Mike had to swallow, to ground himself, because Billie was staring at him, terrified, and Mike knew he had to say something. “Fuck,” is all that came out, though, which wasn't entirely helpful.
“I'd let you, like, top,” Billie Joe said, voice strong despite the slight tremor to it, which he thought was especially impressive seeing as he couldn't even believe what he was saying. Let Mike top? Was he really even sure what that meant, let alone what it implied? “Since it's my idea and all. Then you'd really know how to, like, really do it. And then I could know what it feels like, so I could. . . maybe. . . know what girls like?” The more Billie talked, the more ridiculous he realized he sounded. For a straight guy, he sure was sounding pretty gay. “I'm sorry, this is so fucked up, must be bad weed. . .”
He let Billie's words trail off, still staring, transfixed, at the stubby goddamn fingers of his, until a bit of ash crumbled off of the end of his neglected cigarette, and he was brushing off Billie's sheets. It seemed to bring Mike back to life, and even though he was terrified, Mike could understand that he was also pretty damn intrigued, which was ultimately even scarier in itself. “I'll do it,” he said, small and quiet as a mouse, “if you want, I mean. . . I'll do it with you.
Because it wasn't really what Billie Joe was expecting, his eyes widened, but Billie couldn't even deny the fact that it was excitement causing his belly to turn over. Now, finally about five or six years of being untouched (except for by his own hands) somebody else was going to, and in a weird way, it helped that it was Mike. Mike was his best friend; Billie trusted him more than he did anyone else. Even if it was dreadfully awkward and they couldn't go through with it-or even if they could-he knew it would be okay, somehow.
“Okay,” Billie Joe whispered, his nod almost imperceptible.
He let out a long breath, one he hadn't even realized he'd been holding until Billie finally answered, and he sat up off of the wall. “What should, I, like. . . do?”
“Well, I mean. . . I guess we should kiss first, right?”
That simple idea made Mike's heart skip a beat, but what was he going to do? Back out now? No. He wouldn't insult Billie that way, no matter how nervous he was. So Mike rose up to his knees and did a half-crawl towards his friend, pausing a moment to stub out the joint on a hardcover (and as yet, unopened) textbook sitting on Billie Joe's night stand. Then, balanced on his palms and crouched in the small space between his friend's legs, he tilted his head to lower his lips to Billie's, after a half a second's worth delicious hesitation.
His own stomach did a final flip-flop, the moment just before he was being kissed, and he closed his eyes as their mouths met. Mike's lips were chapped and a little dry, slight but reasonably pliant, and when Mike softly brushed his lower lip, Billie Joe thought that it really wasn't so much different than kissing a girl. Encouraged by that face, he made the decision to part his lips, allowing Mike's tongue entrance if he so chose, and when it accepted the offer and slipped slowly inside, he sighed gently, without quite meaning to, and raised his hand to cradle the back of Mike's neck.
Mike's heart was pounding, and he still felt like he was about five seconds away from possibly having a panic attack, but Billie tasted good. He tasted a strange but pleasant combination of pot and peppermint, and as they slid their tongues against one another's, an unexpected quiet moan buzzed in his throat, because Billie was good at this. Like, obscenely good.
On his end of the exchange, Billie was thinking the exact same thing, and he slid down the wall a bit, so he was more or less completely on his back, with only the pillow propping up his head. He turned his head, to deepen the kiss, after hearing the noise of approval Mike issued, and it sparked a twitch in his cock. The more they kissed, the less weird the situation was becoming, and it was coming surprisingly natural, considering neither of them had kissed a guy before.
When Billie Joe repositioned himself to a lying position, Mike reacted accordingly by shuffling the awkward stance of his knees a little bit as well. He kept himself balanced a good couple of inches above Billie, afraid to press flush against him, because he was already sporting a modest erection, and he didn't want Billie to think he was. . . well, he wasn't exactly sure what he was scared of. It was hard to tell, when kissing the smaller boy was so easy, done instinctually more than anything else, and slowly, Mike moved his hand away from the mattress to cup the side of his head gently.
When Billie Joe felt Mike's fingers slide across his skull, he pulled back slowly, ending their very first kiss with a somewhat playful nibble to his friend's bottom lip. Their eyes met, both shining and sparkling with frightened fascination, and he ran his tongue across his own mouth, tasting what Mike left behind. Billie allowed himself an indulgent half-smile, the hand not curled around strands of dirty blond hair sliding up the bicep of Mike's sleeveless arm.
“That. . . wasn't a bad start,” he said finally, pausing for Mike's reaction.
It came in the form of a shaky laugh, and the larger boy shook his head, blinking a few times. “No,” Mike murmured, “no, it wasn't.”
Billie dragged his fingernails up and down a wiry arm, transfixed at the modest bit of chest hair spiraling out of the neckline of the bassist's tank top, before flickering his eyes back to Mike's. The whole time, blue eyes had been starting at him intently, nearly with bated breath and nervous of where to go next; belatedly, he realized that Mike considered him the leader of the show. So Billie Joe slid his hands down Mike's back and kneaded the bony spine carefully. “Come down here,” he said, referring to the way Mike was sitting so cautiously between his legs. “Try to relax, dude. Unless you changed your mind, 'cause we can stop.” Please don't want to stop, please don't want to stop. . .
He answered by lowering himself against Billie's body, very carefully shifting his weight onto the slighter body until they were chest to chest, and essentially crotch to crotch. In this position, Mike's arousal was pretty clear, and a faint blush broke out over the planes of his face, despite the fact that Mike could feel a matching boner poking into his thigh.
Seeming to sense the slight embarrassment his friend was feeling, Billie quirked a small smile. “Hey,” he whispered. “It's okay. Me too.”
That, somehow, seemed to make it okay, and the way Billie Joe smiled made him want to kiss him again. And so Mike did, lowering his head and kissing him a little more assertively than before, encouraged when small hands slipped under his shirt and splayed across the sweaty skin on his back. He curled his own fingers around Billie's round hip, and as he shifted onto his side, he brought Billie with him, and even dared to smooth his hand down a denim-clad thigh.
The kisses were getting deeper, getting hotter, and Billie Joe would have been lying if he'd said he didn't like the direction things were going in. When Mike's hand slid around the back of his leg, he took it as an invitation to wrap said leg around his friend's slight waist, until they were really crotch to crotch. The friction created by the movement was delicious, and then they moaned in unison, as Billie moved a hand up to fist in Mike's hair again, this time with a little more intent. It was all done in a bid for more contact, his actions, and Mike certainly didn't seem to mind. In fact, the bassist responded by rolling his hips against Billie's again.
Mike ended up breaking the kiss, a bit reluctantly, to be sure, to mouth a few heated kisses to the other boy's neck, grazing his teeth on pale flesh. It earned him another fresh groan, with a cuss word to match, and so he suckled harder. Even if Mike didn't actually know what he was doing, acting off of instincts seemed to bode pretty well for him, and Mike was going to ride it for all it was worth because it was damned satisfying to please another person with just a few swipes of the tongue.
The number Mike was doing to his throat had him gasping, curling tighter around him in every way possible. “God, Mike,” Billie Joe gulped, tilting his head to allow him more access. “You're pretty good at that, for never doing it before.”
“Yeah, well, you're a pretty damn good kisser,” he groaned, because Billie tugged on his hair and it felt good, and then he was bringing their mouths together for a few more of those amazing kisses he'd mentioned. Mike's insides were buzzing; every time he suckled on Billie's tongue, or swiveled his hips against his groin, or basically touched him anywhere, Billie Joe would moan, and the sound was doing things to him that Mike had never thought were possible. It was obvious that Billie was on the vocal side, in terms of sex-not surprising, considering his position as lead singer in their band-and he wanted to hear more of that. Mike wedged the hand not already around Billie's waist underneath him, wrapped both sets of fingers around the backs of his friend's legs, and lifted him up as he rolled onto his own back, so that Billie Joe was straddling Mike's waist. He managed to do it all in one movement, without even breaking the kiss; a pretty impressive feat, for an inexperienced sixteen year old.
Or at least that's what his friend thought, a higher pitched sound, almost like a squeak, leaving him in the process of being manhandled. But Billie liked it; he liked everything that was happening, if Billie was honest with himself. It didn't faze him much, then, when Mike's hands went to the zipper of his jeans, and he groaned wantonly into their open-mouthed kiss when spidery fingers brushed against the hard ridge of his cock.
“Sit up a bit,” Mike grunted between the clashing of their teeth; he had an idea in mind, one Mike suspected might be enjoyable for both of them.
Billie Joe's head seemed to catch up with all of the blood rushing to his nether regions (and he really did feel quite light-headed), and his stomach quivered because Mike was shoving his pants down his waist. And, incidentally, he had forgotten-or simply neglected to-don some underwear before getting dressed for school that morning, and he couldn't help it: he blushed when his dick bobbed out into the free air.
It wasn't like he hadn't seen it before, technically. Mike had seen plenty of male anatomy in the locker room in gym class and in the pornography he stole from the 7/11. And he'd even seen Billie's before, when they'd have cause to change together or accidentally walked in on one another in the bathroom. That was entirely different, though, because Mike had never seen Billie with an erection, and his mouth sagged a little. It was a taut line of angry, swollen red, right there about a foot from his face, and yet. . . it looked a lot like his own (only admittedly smaller.)
Since Mike wasn't saying anything, just staring, Billie Joe chewed anxiously on his bottom lip, hands still pressed against Mike's chest where he had left them. He didn't know what to say. A part of Billie felt as though he should apologize, clamber off of Mike and insist they never speak of it again, but Mike had been the one to expose him in the first place. So he stayed put.
Once the initial shock wore off, Mike was able to peel his eyes away and back up at rapidly panicking green eyes. He suddenly realized how uncomfortable he'd probably made Billie, by gaping like a rude child, and he apologized with a hand sliding over Billie Joe's smooth cheek. Then, with something tightening in his gut, Mike wrapped his other hand around his friend's prick.
The reaction was instantaneous. Billie's head flew back, his eyes squeezing shut, at the feel of another hand, not his own, touching him. A sharp yell came from his mouth-thank God no one else was home, for once-and his hands went up to Mike's bare shoulders, where he gripped as hard as the hand around his dick. It was so strange and familiar all at once; the pads of his fingertips were as calloused as his own, but his hand was also more larger, longer, and that made all the difference in the world.
It was exactly the kind of response he was hoping for, one that made his breath catch and his own cock throb. Mike began to pump his length in earnest, watching every sign of pleasure that passed over his friend's dazed face. Every moan Billie Joe issued was like a firecracker in his own body, the sheer idea of having such control and power to please another human being so completely making him crazy. If this was what sex was supposed to be like, Mike couldn't possibly ever believe that it was as overrated as Billie's older brother David said it was. If the expressions and sounds Billie was making were any indication of how fun sex could be, David, he decided, was probably doing it wrong.
Billie Joe had no idea what his friend was thinking, but it didn't really matter, since Billie wasn't thinking much of anything at all. No, his brain was on total overload, had put up an 'out for lunch' sign about ten minutes previous, and his legs were starting to feel like jelly. Every stroke on his cock was like another tug into a different dimension, an out of body experience the knuckle shuffle had never given him before, and Billie looked down into blue eyes, panting. Mike's gaze was burning, ragged breaths heaving in and out of his own parted lips, and the sight of him made his heart stutter. Billie Joe moaned through gritted teeth and clutched muscled arms tighter, now bucking up in time with the quickening pace of Mike's hands, and Billie was aware that Mike was also thrusting his own clothed erection against his ass, but it was only a dim sensation in comparison to the treatment his hard-on was getting.
“Mike,” he breathed, following it with another groan, “fuck, Mikey, I'm gonna come. . .”
The admission made Mike's heart skip a beat, and without stopping his even assault on Billie's erection, Mike sat up, so his mouth was almost level with his friend's. “Do it, Billie Joe,” he said, suddenly very excited by the prospect. “Come for me, B.”
That kind of broke down the final barrier between Billie and his orgasm, and so he let go, crying his ecstasy into the hungry kiss Mike engaged him in, still grabbing onto his sweaty arms because it was the only thing keeping him upright. It felt like he was going to come forever, the intensity of it reaching every piece of his body he could conceivably think of, and even when his moans were spent, he wheezed against Mike's lips, hands raking up to tangle in his hair. “Oh, my God.”
“Fuck. Yeah.” Mike's voice was equally shaky against the other boy's lips. His left hand (the one not covered in semen) flattened along Billie Joe's spine as the other wiped against the already dirty sheets. When both hands were relatively clean, Mike lifted them to slide along various bits of pale skin, though his eyes stayed locked on bright green. Whatever reservations he'd initially had about this seemed to have vanished into nothing, because they were completely outweighed by the sheer throb in his groin. “That was. . .”
“Amazing,” Billie finished for him in a whispered groan, back arching at the memory even as he gripped the back of the bassist's head for a sloppy kiss. He could still feel the ridge of Mike's hard cock nudging at his bottom, from between the barriers of their pants, and now it was far easier to deal with, after having what was easily the best orgasm of his life. “Thanks for that,” Billie mumbled, stupidly, wide eyes staring down into blue. “That was fuckin' insane.”
“Yeah,” Mike agreed, too overwhelmed to formulate a response. He felt a little strange, to be sure; it was certainly pretty unreal to be in such a compromising positions, with his very best, very male, and for all intents and purposes-at least to his knowledge-straight friend. It was hard to dwell on, though, when Mike considered how damned arousing it had been to bring another person to the brink of physical destruction, and the way he had screamed. . . The ragged sounds echoed in his brain, and he couldn't help but moan, gently, into Billie Joe's sweaty neck.
He ran his fingers through Mike's hair as he practically whimpered against him, and he swallowed; this was the part where he would have to return the favor, and he'd already agreed to let Mike fuck him, if he wanted. But even as Billie bit his lip, the worry on the thought was minimal, because if fucking him was half as good for his friend as the treatment his own manhood had just received, Billie would think of it as a success.
So the singer leant back on his kneels, keeping Mike's eyes for a second, before peeling off his t-shirt. “If we're gonna do this,” Billie Joe murmured, tearing away the taller boy's top as well, “we might as well do it right.”
In alignment with his friend's actions, Mike scooted back enough to begin tugging away his stiff jeans, watching him do the same. He himself had in fact remembered to put boxers on after getting out of the shower earlier that day, and he couldn't help but exhale a pleased breath as the waistband of the shorts brushed his nearly painful erection. As a sixteen year old boy, Mike spent ninety-five percent of the time fighting off boners as it was, so current events were definitely testing his willpower. Wildly, in the back of his mind, he wondered how long he would seriously last if he ever really got the chance to. . . fuck. . . Billie.
Mike's train of thought slowed to a halt, since he was distracted by a pair of stunned green eyes locked on the space between his legs. He glanced down, at his dick, to Billie's hanging mouth again, and he bit his lip. “What's-what's wrong?”
“N-nothing,” he stammered, heart hammering, which wasn't entirely true. His friend's erection was everything but nothing, and Billie Joe had good reason to believe it was double the size of his own, on a good day. It was equal parts fascinating and terrifying. After all, it's destination was his virgin asshole. But the wonder at it won out, as Billie ran his fingers around the swollen erection almost reverently. “Wow.”
Closing his eyes at the touch, Mike curled his fingers around a skinny wrist encouragingly. Despite the way his instincts raged at having himself be paid attention to, after so many years, he was able to ask softly, “Do you-how do you wanna do this?”
Though he hadn't thought much about it initially, it felt relatively obvious, and he rolled onto his back slowly, stretching out beside Mike. Billie reached behind himself to pile some pillows around his neck, to give him some support. “Probably easier on my back. . . right?”
As Mike watched his friend extend himself into what looked like a very vulnerable position, his dick gave an involuntarily twitch at the sight, and Mike bit his lip. Again. “Do you have, like, lube or something?”
“In the drawer,” he pointed, unabashed.
He reached over and yanked the aforementioned drawer open. The contents were a cluster fuck of loose cigarettes, guitar picks, and unsurprisingly, clips from pornography magazines, but key among his friend's vices, Mike found a medium-sized bottle of lubricant, which felt half-empty. His eyes glanced nervously in Billie Joe's direction as he upended a generous amount into his already sweaty palms. It was strawberry scented.
Billie watched the taller boy coat himself in the bottle of lotion he'd shoplifted from the drugstore, stomach now positively churning. He had no idea what to expect, though the size of Mike's penis implied a considerable amount of discomfort, and as Mike balanced on his knees between his legs, he reached for muscled biceps, lips parted imploringly. “Don't-just be careful, okay? Please.”
Something about the way his voice caught made Mike pause, and without thinking about it, he slid both fruity-smelling hands over flushed cheeks, expression sober. “If it hurts, or if you need me to stop, that's cool, Billie. You just gotta say so.” He dared to brush their lips together in a chaste, thoughtful kiss. “But I'll be careful,” Mike whispered, lips quirking in a reassuring smile. “Promise.”
Billie Joe couldn't help but smile back, albeit small, nodding as he leant against the pillows. “I know,” he murmured, wrapping his legs around Mike's lanky waist easily enough. The feel of the swollen cock head made Billie lose a breath or two, but he centered himself by wrapping his small hands around the forearms braced by his shoulders. “I trust you.”
--
Told ya it was long!