Obedience 25
Author: timrod
Rating: NC17 overall
Pairing: Billie Joe/Mmmmike
Disclaimer: I don't own Green Day, but I do have access to a secure dungeon
Part twenty-five of fuck knows. Want to go on tour with these guys?
Goes hand in handcuffs with
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Yeah, it’s me again - Billie - because Mike can’t remember half of this happening. I remember every single moment, good and bad.
My over-enthusiastic rehydration after the show the night before made my bladder my alarm clock, although Mike had drunk almost as much as I had, and was still out for the count. I managed to step over him, treading between the toys to make my escape to the bathroom downstairs, where everything inside and out of the bus was so still and quiet, that I didn’t even disturb the very early morning silence by flushing. Out of habit, I took a look in the mirror to see how much of a train-wreck I looked, discovering that I had apparently been too tired to take off my guy-liner last night, and consequently resembled the world’s saddest panda. I wiped away most of the mess on what was once a white towel, then threw it to join the rest of our clothes in the shallow bath, abandoned in a damp, untidy heap, my stained underwear on the top. Seeing that made me seek out the patches of darkened skin on my butt and hips, and check my cock for damage, rubbing and squeezing it a little more than I needed to, but not nearly as much as I wanted. Hard, and drawn by the thought of the love of my life just a few steps away, I climbed back to the warmest room in the bus.
Although we only had the one show here, the intermittent snow had made us decide to not travel by night, but to wait for daylight before the buses moved on - plus Frankie was going to borrow our rental car to take Sara to the airport, and it seemed kinda mean to leave without him. The plan was to set off as soon as he got back to travel what our schedule told me was 197 miles to the next stop in Aspen, where we would still have two full days off before the mayhem started over. I figured that the kids would sleep in after their late night, and having reassured myself that there was plenty of time for some lovin’, I selected a couple of items from the floor and clambered back over the sleeping Mount Dirnt.
Mike was lying on his front with his mouth open and hair fanned out over the pillow in the vague shape of the mohawk I’d always begged him to try. Once installed under the cover, now only a single thickness, (Mike must have kicked the other one back some time during the night), I lay in silence, waiting to make sure that he hadn’t been disturbed by my urgent need to piss. The rhythm of his breathing seemed unchanged, but before I gave him a rude awakening, I took care to warm the vibrator I’d chosen, the lube, too. I stop just short of being a complete asshole, and this was meant to be a surprise, not a shock, and the metal toy was fucking freezing after spending a night on the floor. I found that out after sticking it between my legs, leaving my hands free to take the chill from a palmful of cherry lube. But he didn’t stir when I swore, and my ass ambush was soon ready to spring on him. I dabbed my middle finger in the lotion and slipped it in where the sun don’t shine.
It’s fair to say he was surprised. He tensed for a split second, then made a sound like he’d been punctured. I kissed his shoulder and whispered good morning into his ear, and while he was still trying to get his yawning mouth around a response, I took my finger out and put the vibrator in, switched to its lowest level of stimulation.
It was one hell of a good way to start a Monday. Within a minute, I had him whimpering and wriggling, the toy throbbing as I launched a no holds barred attack directly on his prostate. We were still under the cover of the comforter, every movement of my arm wafting our warm body odour into my face, a mix of cherries and man-sweat, and he drew up his legs, allowing his cock some space to expand, a process I assisted by turning the speed up a notch.
“Jesus, Billie ….”
“Good?”
“Fucking lovely. There, oh, fuck, right there!” He gulped his way through another moment of intense pleasure, puckering his lips for a kiss before the next wave of sensations took his breath away. “Which one is it?”
“The ridged one, silver.”
“Yeah, I coulda guessed that.” He giggled and gasped in the same breath. “Fucking cold.”
“Fuck, sorry, I thought I …”
“Shhh, Love. S’okay. Shift up. I can’t reach you.”
It was a very welcome offer. I had one hand filled with a shrinking puddle of lube, and the other was fully occupied in keeping the vibrator inside him, fighting against the contractions that were trying to push it right back out. I shuffled up a couple of inches and his fingers wrapped around me in a sort of backwards grip that made it feel as if I was touching myself, and carried on what I had started in the bathroom. It was tender, unhurried, a sharp contrast to the animal fuck in the dressing room after the show the previous night, the only sounds the similar wet, sticky noises of our kiss, my leaking cock and the lube slicking the slide of the subtly-curved metal cylinder. The hum of the motor was almost inaudible. Nearly all of the vibrator was inside him, concentrating its power on his sweet spot, and the kiss morphed into something ever more heated as the joint efforts of my tongue and the toy threatened to cut off his air supply. I peeled my lips from his, and whispered, although there was nobody around to overhear us.
“I want you. I need ….. oh, god!” He’d let go my cock to squeeze my balls, and all I could think of was how desperate he must have been for contact with something more than the depths of his ass, which was, ironically, the exact place I wanted to be. How fucking pathetic is it to be jealous of a piece of metal? But it was as if he had read my mind. He narrowed his eyes and nodded, his mouth curled into a shy smile, and instinctively, I realised that we both wanted the exact same thing.
It was like we were playing out the previous night over again, except that we were rested after a good, unbroken sleep, and we smelled one hell of a lot sweeter. We had total privacy, and no clock ruling us, but I think we both knew this fuck would not break any endurance records - I’d been working on his prostate for some time, and that had left us both desperate for release. Mike scrabbled to fold back the remaining cover as I turned off the toy and threw it to join its mechanical mates on the floor, hastily coating myself in left-over lube while he heaped pillows to support his upper body, and stuck his pale, delicious ass high in the air.
Within seconds of me entering him, he was slamming back against me, breathing already laboured, and grunting loudly as he tugged on his cock. I pressed his butt cheeks together with my hands, and squeezed his thighs between mine, which made him feel tighter and deeper, and utterly wonderful, and although the world outside was still quiet, we couldn’t have held back our orgasms if our lives depended on it. Mike had been close so many times, thanks to Julie’s incredible workmanship, and truthfully, I don’t know how he held out as long as he did, but I had just as little self-control. Once his ass began twitching around me, there were no brakes. He came as quickly as he had in the dressing room, not with a roar this time, but a sigh, shuddery and broken, spilling his seed on the sheet below as mine spilled inside him.
We stayed clamped together for as long as his shaky legs would allow, finally dropping to lie on his back with me balanced on top, hearts thumping in our chests, our hands clasped, and not caring one bit about the huge damp stain spreading beneath us. I could have happily stayed there for the rest of my life, basking in the after-glow like a lizard soaking up the morning sun, except that this heat came from below me, not above. We didn’t need kisses or words, closeness and silence serving just as well to express how we felt, time ticking by unnoticed as the world outside continued to sleep. In our hectic lives, ruled by children and our chosen career, this was very close to paradise.
Like I said, I could have stayed there forever, but Mike had other thoughts. I was moments away from drifting off, lying in blissful comfort on my warm, breathing mattress when, with a brief kiss, he rolled our bodies until I was under him, flat on my back, legs gently parted by his. Slowly, sweetly, we made love again, until we heard the happy squeals of our children chasing snowflakes on their way to the catering trailer.
We showered and dressed quickly, managing to scramble into our seats just a few moments after Mom placed bowls of steaming oatmeal in front of the kids. We were even in time to say goodbye to Sara, waiting in the warm while Frankie loaded her bags into the car. The airport run would take him at most an hour, so we were planning to hit the road as soon as he got back, with the six of us crammed into Mom’s bus for the relatively short trip - well, by tour standards, anyway. Once we’d finished our unhurried breakfast, given the kids a last chance to get some fresh air, and our drummer had returned, the little convoy rolled out of the parking compound, and on to the open road.
Glory had turned into a voracious reader. She was coming up to five years old, and her favourite place for Mom to take her was the library - she sure doesn’t take after me! There was a huge box of books in the corner and she made a beeline for those, dragging Mike with her, while I took Ollie for an urgent diaper change, and Mom made some coffee to help Frankie defrost. When I’d finished the decontamination, we sat on the floor around a low table covered with toys, which Ollie stacked into rickety towers, just to knock them down again, if the uneven road didn’t get there first, giggling in a way that reminded me so much of Mike’s dirtiest laugh. All this with the background of Gloria reading aloud, with her daddy occasionally guiding her through a new word. Life between shows had never been so enjoyable. We were relaxed, comfortable - together - and the first hundred or so miles flashed by. Around noon, the kids let us know that it was approaching lunch time, and we pulled into a truck stop for the drivers to swap, as well as to find food. Mom and I helped the kids into their coats, and we stepped out into bright late - fall sunshine.
At least, most of us did. Mike stopped at the door, and called me back.
“Bill, I’m gonna stay here if that’s okay.”
“Sure, no problem. Want me to bring anything back for you?”
“No, gonna pass on lunch, but can you see if they got any Advil, maybe something stronger?”
“Mike …..” I felt my guts lurch. He’s so rarely sick, but always just below the surface is the land mine that is his heart defect.
“It’s okay. it’s just a headache, that’s all. I’m gonna go lie down til you get back, try to shift it. Have a good lunch.”
Reluctantly, I left him to let the other adults know what was happening, my thoughts in turmoil, my appetite instantly gone.
It was Advil or nothing. I got a large pack of those and a couple of energy drinks while Mom and Frankie found food with at least some nutritional value for the little ones. I sat outside on a low wall, staring at one particular of the four homes on wheels lined up in the parking lot, chain-smoking two of the cigarettes I’d not been able to resist buying. I hardly reacted when Jeff and the Jasons walked past, carrying clanking bags of beer and snacks to fill the second part of the journey. I owed them an apology later, but at that moment, I was thinking more about my man than manners. My lunch consisted of a stick of spearmint gum, to mask the tobacco on my breath before the kids could smell it, also to stop me from lighting up a third smoke. I walked back to the lot, to find Mike sitting on the door step.
“Hey. Any better?”
“No. Couldn’t lie down. Couch’s too fucking short.” His mouth smiled but his eyes didn’t. “Think I’m gonna go to bed. Is that okay?”
I handed him the bag of meds and drinks, and he popped two pills from the foil with shakier than usual hands. “Course it is. Go, call me if you need anything. I love you.”
“Love you, too. See you in Aspen.”
He rose, brushed my cheek with the back of his hand, and I watched him walk so much slower than normal, until the door hissed and clunked closed behind him.
Mom, Frankie and the kids were another ten, fifteen minutes, I guess. I made myself busy tidying her lounge, piling coffee cups and plastic Disney tumblers into the sink in the tiny galley kitchen, and picking up as many toys as I could find until they returned. This time Glory dragged Frankie, with Ollie in his arms, over to the books, and Mom turned her attention to me.
“Where’s Mike?”
“On our bus, gonna try to get some sleep.”
“That’s probably for the best. You found some meds?”
“Yeah. He took a couple of Advil, that’s all I could get. Hope they do the trick. I think he feels pretty rough. ”
“Do you want to go be with him?”
“Well, yeah, but …. the kids …”
“They’ll want a nap after what they just ate, and Frankie’s here to keep me company. Go, Billie.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I kissed Mom and the children, making them promise to be good, then dashed across to our vehicle, just as the driver started the motor.
It took a while for my eyes to get accustomed to the dark, but when they did, one glance confirmed that Mike was fully dressed, but seemed to be asleep. I picked up a second, completely different array of toys from another floor, and moved the chair that we often used as a wardrobe over to the side of the bed, where there was a little more light, and settled down with my lyric folder. I even remembered my glasses, go me. First job was to write in the alterations to the new song, and add a title, which didn’t take long, but even in that short space of time, Mike moved almost every minute. That’s not Mike. I’ve always envied how he can collapse onto a bed and be snoring almost instantly, and more often than not, he’s in the exact same position when I wake up. Each noise or movement caught my attention, but his eyes stayed closed for most of the rest of the journey, until we were less than a half hour away from our stop. I abandoned my shit to the floor, and crouched next to him.
“Hey. Better?” Stupid question, because I already knew the answer. It was written all over his face. Even by Mike standards he looked pale, and his ridiculous eyebrows were set in a deep ‘V’ where he was screwing up his eyes against the meagre light.
“Still bad. How long since I took the pills? Can I take some more?”
“Too soon. Maybe another hour?”
“Shit.”
“Do you want some fresh air? Should I ask the driver to stop?”
“No. No, we’re close, right?”
“I guess thirty miles. Mike, I’m worried.”
“Billie, people get headaches all the fucking time. It’s not a brain tumour.” He really shouldn’t have said that, the one option I hadn’t imagined. And yes, people get headaches, but not Mike. He doesn’t even get hangovers. He took a swig from his Gatorade and sat up a little. “It’ll go soon, but how about one of your neck rubs?”
It was something I could do to relieve the feeling of helplessness, if not his headache. I climbed onto the bed next to him, not even pausing to take off my shoes, and let him get comfortable against me. I rubbed under his haystack hair, pressing my thumbs over every tense dip and ridge, and a couple of times, he relaxed enough to snatch a few moments of sleep, but always woke with a jolt and a groan of pain, the loudest when we finally arrived at our new, temporary location, and the whole bus shuddered as the engine cut. He reached for his drink, and tapped the pack of pills hopefully.
“Still too soon. So it’s no better?”
He swallowed another mouthful and shook his head. “Nope. Worse, if anything.”
“That’s it. You need to see someone.”
“Billie, you’re over-reacting. I’m gonna be fine …”
“Yeah, that’s what Dad said about his sore throat.”
“Fuck.” He knew when he was beaten. He’d been there with me when a minor illness became something that changed my family’s life. I hooked my arm around him, already connecting to speed-dial #two, somebody who I knew would back me up 100%. Like it or not, Mike was going to see a doctor.
Between Mom, Frankie and me, we bullied him to agree to go to an emergency room, where there was at least a promise of getting some decent medication. He hates hospitals almost as much as I do, but we had him on a back foot - the light outside of the bus was unforgiving, despite the sunglasses I’d found for him, and he was pretty resigned to his fate by the time we found one of the crew to drive the rental car. I was not in the frame of mind to sit behind the wheel, and anyway, my place was in the back seat, with Mike leaning on me. Within seconds of reaching the clinic, he’d been hustled into a consulting room, the door shut in my face, leaving me in the waiting room to stare at my feet in tense silence.
I don’t have to remind you how much I detest these places. It’s bad enough when it’s me getting the attention, but not being by Mike’s side was killing me. I tugged at a loose thread in the seam of my jeans, cleaned my nails with a guitar pick I found in my pocket, and twisted my wedding ring - anything to keep my hands occupied, straining my ears to listen to what was going on behind the closed door. I could hear nothing. The clock on the wall ticked away an hour, nearly two, before the door opened and Mike appeared, grinning, and looking a lot more like his old self.
Mike, the man who will always be sixteen to me, finally had to submit to advancing age. Turned out that he needed reading glasses, and I know it’s not a competition, but they were a stronger prescription than mine.
PS - anyone keeping tabs on the date? The bachelor party should be happening right now.