Obedience 14
Author: timrod
Rating: NC17 overall
Pairing: Billie Joe/Mmmmike
Disclaimer: I don't own Green Day, but they are on my list for Santa
Part fourteen of fuck knows. As many as it takes
Goes hand in handcuffs with
http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2962887.html
http://timrod.livejournal.com/11658.html
http://comingclean.livejournal.com/3013587.html
http://comingclean.livejournal.com/3014728.html
http://comingclean.livejournal.com/3015214.html
http://comingclean.livejournal.com/3016092.html
http://comingclean.livejournal.com/3018511.html
http://comingclean.livejournal.com/3020971.html
http://comingclean.livejournal.com/3022119.html
http://comingclean.livejournal.com/3023458.html
http://comingclean.livejournal.com/3027082.html
http://comingclean.livejournal.com/3028124.html
http://comingclean.livejournal.com/3035264.html
We got back from our almost-outdoor meal and made straight for the bedroom, purely out of habit, and for once, we undressed like civilised people, clothes folded or in the laundry box rather than leaving our floor one vast trip hazard. It was not late, and it felt earlier than it actually was because our body clocks had been totally fucked by last night, and although we were both physically ready for sleep, our minds had other ideas. We sat against the headboard, and while my phone used its last atom of battery power somewhere in the car, we scrolled through a movie-reel of photos and messages from Mom on Mike’s.
I know we’re biased, but shit, those kids are cute. Despite promises about not spoiling them, Glory seemed to be wearing a different princess outfit in every tenth picture, and don’t get me started on Ollie in Mickey Mouse ears. He reminded me so much of the time Mike wore some of those on stage and I made him put them on after the show for a bit of very drunk and very un-Disney role play. Yeah, I was Minnie. We sent a few messages back and forth about the trip, before Mom had to give up and go to bed herself.
Inevitably, our flicking through the vacation photos ended up with us finding the less family-oriented pictures taken during our anniversary celebrations, and one thing led to another ……
******
The little escapade in the car, combined with the consequences of looking at video images of us basically eating each other made us crash and burn well before midnight, and we woke, refreshed, to a gorgeous bright, clear, and incredibly early Friday morning. Mike threw open the doors onto our glass-walled bedroom terrace, and we sat out in the building warmth, naked, sipping our first coffees of the day, soaking up the sun. We were trying to think what to do with our last full free day - things that we don’t have time for when the kids are around, but for the life of us, we could not think of one single thing, until the whine of our opening security gate set the dogs barking, and us scuttling back indoors.
The gardeners’ early start disturbing the dogs triggered deep pangs of guilt and over the next few minutes, our day took shape, almost organically, based around their needs. Our tour was still a good few weeks away, but Mike had already started the rigorous fitness campaign we need to help our ageing bodies cope with the demands we were about to put on them - the first time with two small kids in tow, too. He was itching to go for a run - his idea of a short jog involves several miles - and as that is not in my top one hundred list of fun things to do, we agreed that I would spend the time surfing, enjoying the last decent days of summer and a near-perfectly timed tide, whilst he gave the dogs some much needed exercise, letting them run along with him. We decided to take the Mustang again, not least of all because it had a hitch for the trailer, and while I got my surfing shit together, Mike filled a cooler with sandwiches, fruit, bottled drinks, and a shitload of dog treats.
My favourite local ocean hang-out was reasonably close, but by the time we reached it, you would have thought that the dogs had been penned up in the car for a week. They ran into the water for a short cool-down whilst I changed into my dry-suit, then we met part way down the beach, Mike and the mutts headed to the shore-hugging path on top of a low cliff, me into the breaking surf.
The little bay was almost empty - part of the reason I love it here - and the water was as good as it gets on this part of the coast. I caught some great waves, loving the sensation of spray in my face and wind in my wet hair, which left me exhilarated and totally relaxed. The ocean was fucking cold, but my suit kept most of me warm, and the sun stopped the rest from getting frostbite. There were only three or four other surfers near me, and we shared our individual triumphs, laughed at our failures, and persuaded the quitters that they had time and energy left for just one more ride. I loved every single minute, most of all because of the incredible sense of freedom surfing always gives me.
Mike had intended on a ten-miler, his own idea of freedom, and when I saw him on the shore, throwing a frisbee for three animals who had clearly not had enough playtime, I thought he had cut his run short. He hadn’t. It’s just real easy to lose track of time out on the water, and I’d only done this three or four times all summer. I cruised in close to him on the last ride of the day, and together we headed back to the trailer to dry fur and skin, and fill ourselves with our simple picnic whilst the dogs flopped in the shade, munching treats when they could be bothered.
“Good run?”
“Yeah, great.” He checked the pedometer he always takes with him, slung around his neck with the earphones from his mp3 player, which was still playing something I couldn’t quite hear. “Fuck, over twelve miles. That’s more than I planned”
I peeked over his shoulder at the clock on the meter. “Shit time, though. Were you running backwards?” It was way later than I thought it was. No wonder I was so fucking hungry.
“I wasn’t going all out today. Thought I’d break myself back into it gently.” Yeah, he calls twelve miles gentle. Told you so. “We stopped up by the lighthouse for a bit, too, watched you.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s a couple of places for sale down there. One of them looks perfect. I made a note of the realtor’s name. Worth a look?”
I mumbled a yes through a mouthful of root beer. We had always dreamed of a place on the beach, never got round to buying one, and a house this close to our regular home and the marina where Mike keeps his boat made sense. He managed to interpret my reply as a positive one, responding with a ‘ cool ….’, dropping a kiss onto my salt-sticky hair as he stood to tidy up our mess.
“So how was the water? Looked good from where I was.”
“Yeah, it was good. Great tide, even saw a couple of humpbacks out there.”
“Cool. No sharks?”
“No. Not today.”
“Good, cos, I’m the only one allowed to bite you.” His eyes sparked with something that made my shorts feel a size smaller. “Home?”
“Yeah. Need a shower.”
“Yeah, gotta get these three out of the heat, get them some food, too.” Mike opened the tailgate and a tiny piece of torn foil sachet blew out of the car on the eddying wind. We smiled at each other knowingly, spurred on to pack up the rest of the gear very quickly.
We got home just in time to see the gardeners leaving. It was, after all, Friday, and too hot to work in our sun-trap grounds in this gorgeous, early-fall heatwave. I actually remembered to look for my phone, which was of course, dead, and helped Mike bring all of the crap indoors. The mutts trotted in behind us, and after filling food and water bowls to capacity, and taking off their soaked collars, we left three comatose animals in the cool of the kitchen, and naturally, headed for our room. It smelled gorgeous - Frankie’s flowers had knocked the parking lot elevator smell right out of the air. I opened the balcony door a crack, then made straight for the shower to wash the salt and sand from my skin before it started to make me itch. I’d smothered my exposed parts in sun cream, and that was proving an effective glue for the approximate half of the shore that I’d brought home with me, but it made for a cheap exfoliator. Just like Mike was building his stamina, I was preparing for the tour by making sure my post-pregnancy butt was cellulite-free and presentable when and if I dropped my pants.
I didn’t hear Mike over the sound of the shower on full power, the first I knew of his presence being a second pair of palms on my emery-board ass, triggering the sweetest memory of the first time he had touched me in an intimate way. His mouth on my neck was far hotter than the water, and when his hands slid on a coating of soap bubbles to cup my chest, it didn’t need a genius to figure how the rest of the afternoon was going to pan out.
We washed and dried quickly, not bothering with anything as fancy as deodorant or shaving, eager to do a little work out together on cool, silk sheets that would probably mean we would need another shower afterwards. We slid into the bed, belly to belly, feasting my eyes on just how lovely he looked, with water-slicked hair and with a sun-kissed glow on his skin, but he turned me, instead spooning me with his erection jammed into the crack of my ass. As soon as I settled into the new position, his fingers sought out my nipples again, his teeth darkening the bruise on my neck, and it occurred to me that the groan he let out when he took off Tiny’s collar was not, as I thought, muscle ache from the run, but the start of this cock-stand. I sighed, and melted into his arms, happy to let him play with my chest for as long as he wanted to, or, at least until my horniness got the better of me.
That turned out to be a pretty long time. Boobs had been a bit of a no-go area when we were feeding the babies, and it had only been a couple of months since we stopped taking the hormones that swelled them, and mine in particular were still quite defined. Mike was making up for the lost months, rolling my nipples between his thumb and forefinger with quite a bit of enthusiasm. I wasn’t going to stop him. I loved it too, especially when he stroked over the tattoo of his name that I had had done during the sex-free part of our honeymoon. Fuck, he’d more than made up for that, too. I tried to be as vocal as I could because he likes it, and from tomorrow, we would have to turn down the volume for the sake of the babies, but so often I lapsed into near-silence, hypnotised by just how fucking good it felt. When he spoke, lips covering my ear, it actually made me jump, although his strong arms around my torso calmed me instantly.
“Too much?”
“No. No, just a bit intense. ’S good.”
“I love your tits …”
I wriggled back an inch further so that he didn’t have to stretch so much, now very aware of his erection digging into me. “Good, because I love you touching them. Mike ….?”
“Mmmm?”
“Do you miss them? I mean real tits …. women?”
He pulled me on to my back a little so that we could make full eye contact, the easiest way to convey the honesty of his answer. His eyes never lie. “No. Not one bit. Why would I want a woman when I got you?”
I pressed my lips to his to thank him for the compliment, but I had one more question. “So, not women, then, but what about me being a woman? You know, surgery …”
His response was pretty convincing. As well as the steady blue stare, he finally left my nipples alone to stroke down the contours of my stomach to my sac, which he handled like a pair of those Chinese therapy balls, rolling them in his palm in the way that he knows I love, one finger extended to explore where his cock had been probing a few seconds before. I spread my legs a little, and, breath stolen by a sudden, short kiss, gasped for air as he slid his lips around my dick.
I knew at once I was not destined to finish in his mouth. He knows how far to go before we go too far, and I guessed right, that what he was trying to do was to simply get me fully hard, and fuck knows that is never going to take long when his mouth is part of the equation. This afternoon, when his words on the beach and his actions in the shower had been anything but subtle, my cock had a head start, so to speak. I tugged and raked at his hair, his instinct and previous experience telling him when it was time to stop. He squeezed the last drops out of the nearest bottle of lube onto his fingertips, and, turning his back on me briefly so that I could see what he was doing, gave himself the absolute minimum of prep, straddled me and impaled himself on my cock.
It was sublime. At first he simply drew himself up and down my shaft at the slowest of speeds, ensuring the lube reached where it needed to, his back ramrod straight, hands spread over his thighs, wanton and so fucking hot. He stared, a slight smile on his face when he wasn’t overtaken by some unseen pleasure that made him look temporarily surprised. His shaggy hair, still heavy with water from our brief shower, flopped over his eyes, and he shook it, like the dogs had done on the beach earlier, to free his vision, resulting in a huge moan when my dick hit a different, delicate part of his insides. That sensation made him change tactics, now rocking our bodies against each other, and the moans became the most delicious rhythmic grunts as he concentrated on getting himself off. His cock, swollen to capacity, swung wildly, slapping against his belly with the momentum of his movements, its tip sparkling with a steady ooze of pre-come. I managed to catch some on my finger, and the sight of me licking it away had him falling forward, encouraging me to thrust hard into his supremely welcoming body. I wriggled my hand between us, and when he gave me the faintest nod as a go-ahead, I squeezed his erection in my fist. He squeezed mine with the iron muscles in his ass, and together, we took a long, slow journey to a gorgeous, overpowering, simultaneous release.
We kissed until the tremors stopped, until he lay heavy on me, too blitzed to support his own weight any more. I held him to me, feeding the death-throes of my orgasm with glances at the reflected image of us on the ceiling, where I watched my softened, wet member slide from him, and we sighed at the sensation, in a kind of harmony, just as we do when me make music. Slowly, and still panting, Mike eased himself upright, spreading more wet mess on skin and sheets.
“How could I ask you to give that up?” His eyes twinkled above smile-creased cheeks. “And there’s no fucking way I want to stop doing that either. I love you just as you are, Billie Joe. I love us.”
My words got trapped by the lump in my throat. I pulled him to the mattress to lie alongside me, my hands spread over his warm flesh, my mouth wide to receive his tongue, close and calm in the fading afterglow of our orgasms. He’d made his point in the simplest of ways. Our relationship had developed over the years into something approaching perfection, and a lot of that was due to the fact that we approached almost everything from the same perspective, and there was no way either one of us wanted to jeopardise that for the sake of a pair of tits. He wrapped his leg over mine, locking us together, and we sniffed the blend of fresh sweat and semen rising from our bodies, with the undertone of the sweet perfume from the flowers, and that, too, was perfect. It was one of those moments that I will remember forever, not just for the extraordinarily good fuck, but for this even more intimate moment between us.
We kissed and groped and smiled at each other for a long while, both of us tempted by sleep, but resisting it. The kids would be back this time tomorrow. We had to get into a normal sleep pattern for all of our sakes, and dozing now would not be helpful. It was a struggle. The fresh air and exercise both in and out of the bedroom had taken their toll, but we fought the urge to just close our eyes and drift. To help us stay awake, we wriggled up to sit against the headboard, where I settled into the pillows, Mike’s head on my shoulder, flicking through the photos of our little family once more. After we’d seen them all a dozen times, he kissed my belly and gave me one of his sappiest smiles.
“I miss them. I’m gonna call Mom, see if we can talk to them for a bit.”
“Sounds great, and yeah, me too. Place is so quiet without them.” Mike waited for the call to pick up, then hit the speaker phone button and laid the gadget down on my chest.
In short, Mom protested that the kids had been perfect angels, but they were out with my aunt and cousin, who had decided that Mom needed a break, so we couldn’t talk with them.
“So you’re looking forward to coming home for a rest, huh?”
“Actually, no. I was going to call you in about an hour, tell you that we’re staying an extra night. There’s some princess parade thing tomorrow which Gloria will love, and there’s fireworks, too. We’ll leave Sunday, as soon as the children have had breakfast, so we’ll be home early evening - say seven. Is that a problem? Billie? Mike?”
I suppose we had gone rather quiet. We were counting the hours until we could hold our babies again, and now we had to add another 24 hours to the time-frame. It was as disappointing as having to cancel a show at the last minute, but the kids were going to love it, and they deserved this treat before their routine was disrupted by the tour. We tried to sound positive, but by the time Mike hung up, we were both pretty subdued. I kissed his knuckles gently.
“Upside, we get more time alone together.”
“Mmmm, yeah. S’pose so.”
“Thanks for the enthusiasm, Michael!”
He gave me a goofy smile and nuzzled in to my neck, apologising with a suck on the hickey. “Don’t mean it that way, and you fucking know it, Billie Joe!”
“Yeah, I do, and I feel the same. Sorta empty …..”
Mike has the filthiest laugh. He slapped his butt and licked the bruise again. “Emptier than I was a half hour ago …”
“Mmmm. A half hour ago …” We started to kiss away our mini fit of depression, and it was working, too, when we were interrupted by Mike’s phone ringing, somewhere buried under our bodies. A quick pat-down located it, and as soon as he saw who the caller was, Mike put it back onto speaker phone.
“Frankie! How’s things?”
“Good. Real good. How was the anniversary?”
“Fucking great. Thanks for the flowers and champagne. Appreciated.”
“Yeah? I got no imagination when it comes to buying gifts, but flowers are always good, yeah?”
“Always.”
“So what are you guys doing? Still ‘celebrating’ … “ I swear, I could HEAR him doing the finger quote thing. “…. or are you waiting by the gate for the kids to get back?” He knows us so fucking well, and Mike chuckled as he answered.
“We are in bed, if you must know …”
“I must.”
“… but the kids won’t get back til Sunday. Mom’s booked another night.”
“Fuck, that woman has more energy than I do! Bummer, though.” There was a short pause, and this time I imagined his thinking face, complete with light bulb over his head. “So why don’t you take a trip to Anaheim? Give them a surprise.”
It was a damn good idea to start with, and it was getting better by the minute. “You could fly down there in the morning, then share the drive back. Mom took the seven seater, yeah?”
“Yeah. Yeah, there’d be room …”
“There’ll be a ton of flights you can catch, and it isn’t going to be hard getting a room, if you pull the ‘I’m a rock star’ card.”
We did this little snorty thing, because all three of us knew that was never going to happen. We’d sleep in the car rather than pull that kind of shit on anyone. It was almost planned out in my head when I thought of a snag.
“The dogs. We got no-one here to look after them, can’t take them with us.”
“I can do that. Ya still got the same code on the gate?”
“Yeah …”
“That’s it then. My girl is out of town this weekend, and my kids are here to look after my mutts. Good old Uncle Frankie can house and dog and pool sit, and have a nice meal waiting for you when you get back on Sunday.”
“Ummm, Frankie …..”
“Mike, I know what you’re thinking and what happened to my kitchen could have happened to anybody.”
“You were drying your socks in the microwave.”
“Yeah. Doesn’t everybody?” Frankie took the pause as it was meant, as a negative answer. “Okay, I’ll get takeout, my treat - Chinese maybe? No, pizza. Everyone loves pizza.”
***********