Obedience 20
Author: timrod
Rating: NC17 overall
Pairing: Billie Joe/Mmmmike
Disclaimer: I don't own Green Day, but I do have access to chloroform
Part twenty of fuck knows. As many as it takes.
Goes hand in handcuffs with
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Two sold-out arena shows, two days off (apart from the TV appearance, the radio interview, the magazine photo shoot ….. so, almost off), a quick mid-week festival appearance, and we were one gig and a 24 hour break away from Saturday, when Mom would bring the babies to us in Denver. It was going to be relatively relaxed, too, with an easy overnight drive between our next shows, the second of which was a whole two days later. That meant one day to ourselves and one day with the children without music or travel getting in the way. On the kind of tour we undertake, that is pure luxury.
We were getting great reviews (not that we go out of our way to read them), but he last of these shows before the kids joined us was the best so far. The arena had a problem with its roof a few days before we were due to play, and as we didn’t want to cancel, our team scouted around for a different venue. They found one, a little bigger, and only a handful of miles away, and we were able to offer a couple of thousand extra tickets at the last moment, which sold out in minutes. I’ve no clue if it was that, our excitement at seeing the children again or what happened after it that made this turn out to be such an incredible night.
Sara was due to fly home to California on Monday, so she and Frankie were - how can I put it delicately? - making the most of their last days together for another three and a bit weeks. Because of the venue change, our soundcheck was late, which was kinda lucky, because she was leaving Frankie feeling a little fragile most mornings, to say the least. He was loving every minute of it, and Mike and me, well, we got a lot of mileage out of imagining what was going on in the neighbouring bus, if you catch my drift. Some nights, they were so loud, we didn’t need to imagine.
By the time we got on stage that Thursday night, we were all in very high spirits. Frankie had disappeared straight after the soundcheck, hadn’t even turned up to eat with us, which was unlike him - he uses a hell of a lot of energy during a show, and needs to stack up on carbs, and he isn’t known for missing many meals. Mike and I tried calling him, but his phone was off, and all we got was a giggly voicemail message. We weren’t worried - we knew where he was. Hell, anyone within a hundred yards of the compound knew. Plainly, the pillow he had put over the air vent in the bedroom had moved, because we were hearing them loud and clear, which made us realise just how much the crew heard when we were getting carried away a week earlier. One of the drivers put on some music to drown them out, which was thoughtful, but unfortunate when the first track he played was The Bad Touch. Ooops. Less than an hour before we were due on, a very flushed Frankie emerged to a chorus of cheers, and headed to the make-up trailer for some damage limitation work to his face and hair. When he joined us in the green room, he had a burger in each hand, a banana sticking out of his pocket, and the biggest twinkle in his eyes.
“Hey. Did I miss much?”
“No. Just dinner.” Mike’s twinkle was almost as bright. “Had fun?”
“Fuck, yeah. We were ….errrr …. playing poker. Well, kind of.”
“Kind of …?”
“Well, strip poker, actually. Loser had to pay a forfeit.”
“Yeah? Who won?”
“Sara.”
“You look pretty fucking happy for a loser, Frankie.”
He’d crammed a mountain of bread and meat into his mouth, and we had to wait for him to swallow most of it before he answered. “She’s got this fantasy, wants to tie me down, torture me a bit, dominate me. Thing is, I never told her, but that’s one of my fantasies, too - and we got two days off after tonight to act it out. Can’t fucking wait.”
When I think back, I remember the noise Mike made, how his eyes sparked brighter. I should have suspected something was forming in his perverted little brain, but we had a job to do, and there were a couple of tweaks to the show that we needed to go through, and Mike’s behaviour slipped from my mind as I ran through the changes with Frankie. I went backstage to find a guitar to warm up my fingers and calm my pre-show nerves, but Mike scuttled off into the night with a promise that he’d be back soon.
Finally, he was at my side, a few minutes before our entrance music started playing. The Pink Bunny high-fived us as we waited for our cue, and the show got under way, all of my nerves gone from the first few notes.
It started well, and just got better and better, playing alongside two men who were tonight. competing with each other for the role of class clown, and in front of an amazing, responsive crowd. I joined in, getting kids up on stage every few songs, and generally showing off, which always goes down well, and by the time we got to the first encore, I was still full of energy, feeling that I could carry on all night. We did at least sneak in an extra song, but there was a curfew and a hefty fine for breaking it, and I came back pretty quick for the last part of the set, too quick for my normal catch-up with Frankie and Mike.
The Simba thing from the first show had been reported everywhere, and Mike had done it a few more times, always warning me before I came back on stage alone, but tonight, he hadn’t given me any heads-up, and to be honest, I was so wrapped up in the moment that I never gave it a thought. I launched into Good Riddance, letting the fans sing a chorus by themselves, and stringing out the guitar solo as long as I dared, totally energised by the atmosphere in the room. When I finished, as usual, Frankie bounded to the front of the stage to throw splintered drumsticks into eager hands, and I watched the wings for the first sign of Mike’s return.
He always comes to me from my left hand side, absolutely always, and when I heard the crowd laughing at something behind me, I just assumed it was Frankie being Frankie. It wasn’t. Mike appeared from the wrong side, the leopard print throw that I recognised from our green room tied around him, his chest half-exposed, Tarzan style. He’d tried to look more the part by rolling up the legs of his pants - his lucky Solos - but as much as I love and worship him, he looked fucking ridiculous in a fake animal skin with black boots and socks. Before I could grab a microphone and rip the shit out of him, he turned me and lifted me in that now- familiar way. The crowd loved it, as usual, me too, if I’m honest, especially when he rubbed his face over my ass. Nobody saw that, apart from possibly Frankie and a couple of stage hands, but everyone must have noticed the bulge in my pants when he held me up for far longer than usual, his fingers pretty much forming a frame to highlight my growing problem. At last, he let me down, turned me to face him, then picked me up again to run into the wings with me giggling and waving over his shoulder.
Apart from that first time, he’d always set me down as soon as we were out of sight of the auditorium, because hours of leaping about with that heavy bass around his neck has taken a toll on his knees over the years, but tonight, he kept running, as if I weighed nothing. I expected him to turn towards the dressing room, mentally preparing myself for one of those nights when he would take me up against the wall almost as soon as the door closed behind us, but no, he was heading for the back exit of the arena, where the crew were already well into their load out. All the way to the fresh outside air, we were cheered and waved off, and I remembered the glint that I’d seen in the green room before the show and realised that everyone was in on this - except me.
Outside, a car was waiting with its engine running, the door open so that Mike could throw me onto the back seat and clamber in with me. He rapped on the screen that separated us from the driver, and we sped off into the dark city, sliding over the leather until we could finally fix our safety belts.
“What the fuck …..?”
“You’re being kidnapped.” He gave me the goofiest smile I’ve ever seen, hitching the heavy throw back over himself. I think he was regretting taking off his shirt, because late October is not the warmest part of the year, especially after you have been roasted under spotlights for the past three hours. Bare, sweaty skin on leather isn’t comfortable - I knew that from several memorable experiences in the back of cars from the early days of our relationship.
“Good luck with that. My husband won’t pay the ransom.”
He pulled me in tight, I suspected to steal some of my body heat. “Good. That means I get to keep you.”
“You got me. Suicide pact at 99, remember, when we’re too old to fuck.”
“Same casket.”
“Yeah, same casket. So where the hell are you taking me or am I not supposed to know?”
“Airport. We’re not sleeping on the bus tonight. We’ve got a bed in a hotel, in a room that doesn’t shake all night, and a bathroom where we won’t have to stand in the fucking shower to use the john.” I got a soft, sweet kiss, and he lowered his voice, although we both knew the driver couldn’t hear us. “And we can make as much noise as we like without Frankie giving us a round of applause in the morning.”
“Sounds good to me. So, wait, airport?”
“Yeah. I went all rock-god, rented a private plane. We’re flying to Denver, got a hotel next to the airport so we’re close to pick up Mom and the kids on Saturday, but tomorrow, it’s just you and me. I thought we deserved a little time alone.”
It was appreciated. Touring is great, but there’s always someone just a few yards away - it can get claustrophobic on long stretches. and although this was not as intensive as some of our tours have been in the past, a break from it was very welcome, even for just one day. Typical Mike. He knew what I wanted better than I did.
“I’m so fucking lucky to have you. I love you …”
“Love you, too. We got a bag in the trunk, a coupla changes of clothes, the laptop, a few toys …” His eyebrows did a little Mexican wave. “With luck, we won’t need the clothes till Saturday.”
“Yeah, I got a feeling your luck’s in.” We shared another little kiss, and I felt how he flinched as my drying sweat touched his already-cool skin. “You got a jacket in the trunk? You’re gonna freeze dressed like that.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna need that if we have a long walk from the car. It won’t match the rest of the outfit, though.”
.… because you put such a lot of effort into achieving that look, huh? Star Wars meets the stone age …..”
“I thought you liked it when I go caveman on you.”
“Caveman, yeah, I do, but Fred fucking Flintstone?” I undid the hasty knot, draped the throw around both of his shoulders and rolled his pants legs back over his exposed knees as a temporary fix for his shivering. “There. Warmer?”
“Yeah, thanks. Could do with another hug, though.”
My drenched stage clothes left me no warmer than the leather, but Mike’s semi-nakedness was not the only thing in a semi condition, and that was generating a very different kind of heat between us. Our closeness and our kisses had kept my cock interested, and I reached under the folds of the rug to massage Mike’s balls, getting him rock-hard in a very short time. I undid his zipper, but he grabbed my other wrist gently to stop me unfastening my seat belt.
“Uh-huh, no time, not now. Airport’s three miles.”
“Fuck. I want …”
“Yeah, I know, me too, we just gotta wait a bit. The plane’s ready and waiting, the flight takes about an hour.” He pulled my hand out of his pants and kissed my palm. “How d’ya feel about joining the Mile High Club?”
My belly did a somersault, and I swallowed loudly, because he’d just suggested acting out one of my fantasies. “Oh, god, yes. Yes, please.”
It’s one of those things we’d never managed to do. Sure, we’d jerked each other off under the cover of an airline blanket, and once I’d blown him on a long-haul to Japan whilst Frankie slept next to us, but we’d never fucked because we didn’t want to get thrown off the plane, and have our sordid little story plastered all over the trash press. Hell, it had been bad enough when I was wearing my pants too low a few years back, and a flight attendant got a little power-hungry. No way did I want to be caught with them around my ankles, but tonight would be our chance - just us and a pilot, and thousands of feet between us and any camera lens.
God bless America and its love of flying. The small airport was close to the venue, and I reckon we reached it before Sara had tied the first rope around Frankie’s legs. We cleared the rudimentary security checks and the driver dropped us at the bottom of the Airstairs, where we virtually levitated into the plane with our heavy hold-all. The pilot closed the exit to seal us in our little cell for the next hour or so (bless him, he showed no reaction at all to Han Flintstone), Mike stowed the bag for take off and we belted ourselves in, eager for the moment we could release the catches and act out the scene we’d been discussing on and off for the past fifteen minutes.
It was small, but not cramped. Mike could stand without getting a concussion, and there were eight spare seats. As soon as we levelled out, we both scrambled to out feet and Mike wasted no time in finding a tube of lubricant in a side pocket of our bag.
We’d made good use of the first part of the flight. Our hands and lips had been busy on each other’s bodies, still neither of us showing any major signs of fatigue after a concert that had used a lot of energy. That’s something I love about us - we may be considered middle-aged, old, even, in the world of contemporary music, but we are both in pretty good shape, and despite a relationship of almost thirty years’ standing, we still get the same kick out of sex as we always did. We guessed we would have only twenty or thirty minutes before we’d have to belt up for the descent, which left us no time to get naked. Good. Fucking partly-clothed is another huge turn-on, and my erection throbbed when Mike pulled my jeans and trunks only as far as my knees and told me to turn around. I realised his fly was still open from when I’d been mauling him in the back of the car, and he peeled his damp pants just far enough down to free his cock.
Little more than a half hour ago, I had been performing in front of sixteen thousand people, but now, in the company of just one other soul, I felt stupidly self-conscious. Part of that was because I knew I smelled pretty stale, but above the whine of the engines, I could hear Mike taking in deep breaths to savour my scent, just like he had when he was rubbing his nose over my ass on stage earlier. I couldn’t open my legs much, restricted by my pants, and he had to hold my butt cheeks apart to get the lube in the right place, with me leaning against the back of the seat in front, my head resting on my folded arms to give him unrestricted access to the bite on my neck. I knew immediately that this was all the prep I was going to get, and my cock filled a little more.
“You gonna be alright?”
“Yeah, fine, no problem.”
“Good.” He chuckled into my neck, kissing the hickey that had become almost as permanent a feature as any of my tattoos, placing the lube on the folded-down table of the seat next to us. “D’ya think we’re a mile up yet?”
“Fuck, yeah, easily. Mike ….”
“Yeah, I know. I love you.”
Before I could respond, I felt myself opening up, slow and smooth, his impressive erection sliding on a generous amount of silicone gel, until we couldn’t get any closer. He let out a huge sigh, placed his hands on my hips, and started playing out our fantasy.
I want to do it again, as often as possible. It felt fucking amazing, occasional small pockets of turbulence adding a sort of weightless quality to the fuck. He didn’t touch my cock at all, letting it bounce in sync with his drawn-out thrusts and the movement of the aircraft, but that was fine. What was happening in my ass was pleasurable enough for the moment, and the stream of grunts and compliments flowing into my ear let me know that it was just as good for him. It was all too soon that I heard his breathing change, his rhythm increase subtly, and he growled his instructions into the hickey before sucking on it again.
“Don’t come. Not yet.”
I sighed out my reaction. “Okay. Feels fucking beautiful. Just use me, Mikey.”
The growl got deeper, his lunges now more desperate, and then that moment of calm, as he held his breath and let his orgasm take over. I could feel him twitch and spasm inside me, and the temptation to grab my dick and invest a few seconds of energy into my own climax was strong, but this was his fantasy, too, and I let him take it to the limit. When his fingers at last relaxed their death-grip on my hips, I heard the contents of the hold-all being jumbled and a triumphant noise when Mike found what he was looking for,
“Relax, Baby. Love you.”
I felt his cock leave my body, a small trickle of wet heat following it, but immediately, there was a cool pressure on my closing hole, and with exquisite care and sensitivity, Mike screwed a long, conical plug into me. I knew without having seen it that it was the black one we’d been playing with a few nights earlier, and I knew he’d chosen it because it was the one that did the most for me. It locked into place easily, and as soon as it did, Mike turned me round.
“Comfortable?”
“Yeah. Feels amazing.”
“Good. Enjoy.”
I was desperate for release, but the seatbelt sign was still off, and we had time enough to snatch a kiss before Mike finished me. He didn’t have to ask me to hold my shirt out of the way as he sat and drew me close, hands clamped around my butt to maximise the sensation of the toy that had replaced him, and told me to fuck his mouth.
I didn’t break any endurance records. Everything about this fuck felt surreal and new, despite our intimate familiarity, and when I came, it was hard enough to make me very aware of the plug almost to the point of pain. Mike sensed that of course, even anticipated it, letting his fingers trail to my balls and thighs instead, until, ironically, I came back down to earth. He stood up to kiss me again, tugging my clothes back into place and stifling the moan I gave out as I realised he wanted to leave the plug inside me.
“Mike ….”
“Shh, it’s okay, you just need to relax.”
“That’s fucking easy for you to say, Jeez, it feels fucking huge.”.
“It’s smaller than me.”
“Yeah, but, fuck ….”
He giggled, and I melted. I couldn’t be angry with that much adorable. “We’ll be landing soon, and the hotel’s close, just a short walk …”
“Walk?!”
“You can do it.”
“Jesus, I thought it was Frankie getting tortured tonight.”
“You’ll be fine. You had one of these things in your ass for a whole show back in 2000, remember?”
I remembered alright - having a guitar bumping against a boner in front of ten thousand people is not something you can easily forget. That night stopped me making bets with him for a good many years. “That was much smaller.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He grinned again, and the plug moved violently inside me.
“Jesus!!!!” I kissed him anyway, because who wouldn’t? “I just hope we don’t fucking crash. I don’t want to be remembered for dying with a fucking huge butt plug in my ass.”
Within a couple of minutes of getting Mike back into his pants and finding somethign warm and dry for him to wear, the descent into Denver started. The landing was interesting for me, amusing for Mike, and the walk to the hotel was a challenge, but when we were alone in our room, making the most of having a shower big enough for two, I forgave him everything.
Everything, until I discovered he’d borrowed the paddle from Sara