Long Time Lurker, First time Slasher
Jan. 8th, 2006 09:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
revidTitle: Once (Part 1 of 3)
Author: revid
Rating: PG-13/NC-17/PG-13
Pairing: Billie Joe/Mike
Disclaimer:It's called RPS Fiction for a reason: It's FICTION!
Notes: I figure this is a good away as any to introduce myself. I've been lurking for a while, but this is my first attempt at slash. There are some frickin' amazing writers here; I hope I can be found worthy. :) Apologies in advance if I screw something up.
Oh, the story? Alcohol and emotion lead to the unexpected...
Even in a tour full of amazing shows, the Warfield show stood out. Although Oakland was across the bay, it was close enough to home. Aside from the make-up shows from the days Billie Joe got sick, and a couple of shows in Australia later on, this was it, the end, after well over a year on the road for the American Idiot tour. The other "secret" show in LA had been broadcast on AOL, so it followed the script. But for this show, they just decided to have "a good fucking time in the best fucking tour of our lives," as Billie Joe put it in his inimitable fashion.
So after playing American Idiot front to back, and the planned encore of Longview and Minority, they just decided to keep playing, for another hour and a half. They did covers, and songs they hadn't played in years (Disappearing Boy, anyone?), and Tré sang Dominated Love Slave and All By Myself, and even Jason sang lead on Rock the Casbah! And when they stopped because the theater had to shut down, even the people who had missed their trains across the bay or down the peninsula were still sad that it had ended so soon.
The band had decided in advance anyway to get suites in a hotel in the city, so it was easy to go back there to continue the celebration. It had the bittersweet feeling of the cast party after a long running play: part triumph, part sensation of loss....but only a little part. At the bitter end a few hours later, it was Billie Joe, Mike, and Jason finishing the last bottle of wine. Adrienne and the boys had stayed at home, and Tré had decided to head back over the Bay Bridge after all.
Giving up, Jason yawned and said his good-byes, leaving Mike and Billie Joe sprawled at opposite ends of the couch in Billie Joe's suite. And while the partying was certainly more restrained these days -- for example, neither of them now partook of the habit which had given the band its name -- both men had consumed more wine than they had in recent memory.
Billie Joe swung his legs around over the arm of the couch, and plopped his head down, face-up, on Mike's lap. An observer might have found this strange, but not his best friend of 23 years. Billie Joe on a good day had never grasped the meaning of personal boundaries, and Billie Joe somewhat intoxicated was completely oblivious of the concept.
--Hey Mike?
--Yeah?
--Were we not fucking awesome tonight!?
Mike laughed as he absentmindedly played with a few strands of ink black hair. "Yes, yes, we were," he smiled. Billie Joe closed his liner-smeared eyes and sighed in drunken contentment. Mike looked down at him and wondered in amazement that someone who could effortlessly control 50 thousand people -- indeed, someone who had controlled the course of Mike's own life-- could look so child-like and vulnerable.
So maybe it was the alcohol, or the lingering high from the show, or the sudden, uninvited fleeting memory of the sweet kiss that Billie Joe had given him on stage in Albany (which he later heard was preserved for posterity by some guy with a video camera), but whatever it was, it impelled Mike to lean down and touch Billie Joe's lips with a soft kiss. Billie Joe sat up, his eyes wide with surprise, but before either man could speak, Billie Joe swung around, straddled his legs over Mike's, and kissed him, really kissed him. He pushed his tongue to his lips, parting them, sliding it into Mike's mouth. Placing his hand's on Mike's face, he pulled it closer to his own, exploring his mouth with his lips and tongue. He felt Mike stiffen, then relax, and Mike's tongue responding to his own. And then it was Mike's turn to be surprised: he felt his cock growing hard in his pants.
Long before Billie Joe had told that magazine he was bi-sexual, Mike had been well aware of his friend's fluid sexuality. Hell, even the bullies at Pinole Valley High School had figured it out -- more than once they had growled "little faggot" at the slightly built, softly featured boy. As for Mike, he had never cared. He preferred girls (as did Billie Joe, for that matter), and although he had long suspected that Billie Joe might have wanted a sexual component to their friendship, they had not so much as even talked about it.
But now Mike's body was talking to him clearly, and the feel of Billie Joe's growing erection against his abdomen was adding to the volume, and right at that instant, with his hands on his friends narrow hips, his tongue in his mouth, and a bottle of wine on his brain, Mike decided that, at least for tonight, this would be OK. With the telepathy that only long time friends have, Billie Joe understood. He pulled his face back, and without breaking eye contact, he stood up, held the taller man's hands, and pulled him to his feet.
"Come on," he whispered in a small, hoarse voice. He led him to the bedroom: Billie Joe once again the leader, and Mike the follower.
Author: revid
Rating: PG-13/NC-17/PG-13
Pairing: Billie Joe/Mike
Disclaimer:It's called RPS Fiction for a reason: It's FICTION!
Notes: I figure this is a good away as any to introduce myself. I've been lurking for a while, but this is my first attempt at slash. There are some frickin' amazing writers here; I hope I can be found worthy. :) Apologies in advance if I screw something up.
Oh, the story? Alcohol and emotion lead to the unexpected...
Even in a tour full of amazing shows, the Warfield show stood out. Although Oakland was across the bay, it was close enough to home. Aside from the make-up shows from the days Billie Joe got sick, and a couple of shows in Australia later on, this was it, the end, after well over a year on the road for the American Idiot tour. The other "secret" show in LA had been broadcast on AOL, so it followed the script. But for this show, they just decided to have "a good fucking time in the best fucking tour of our lives," as Billie Joe put it in his inimitable fashion.
So after playing American Idiot front to back, and the planned encore of Longview and Minority, they just decided to keep playing, for another hour and a half. They did covers, and songs they hadn't played in years (Disappearing Boy, anyone?), and Tré sang Dominated Love Slave and All By Myself, and even Jason sang lead on Rock the Casbah! And when they stopped because the theater had to shut down, even the people who had missed their trains across the bay or down the peninsula were still sad that it had ended so soon.
The band had decided in advance anyway to get suites in a hotel in the city, so it was easy to go back there to continue the celebration. It had the bittersweet feeling of the cast party after a long running play: part triumph, part sensation of loss....but only a little part. At the bitter end a few hours later, it was Billie Joe, Mike, and Jason finishing the last bottle of wine. Adrienne and the boys had stayed at home, and Tré had decided to head back over the Bay Bridge after all.
Giving up, Jason yawned and said his good-byes, leaving Mike and Billie Joe sprawled at opposite ends of the couch in Billie Joe's suite. And while the partying was certainly more restrained these days -- for example, neither of them now partook of the habit which had given the band its name -- both men had consumed more wine than they had in recent memory.
Billie Joe swung his legs around over the arm of the couch, and plopped his head down, face-up, on Mike's lap. An observer might have found this strange, but not his best friend of 23 years. Billie Joe on a good day had never grasped the meaning of personal boundaries, and Billie Joe somewhat intoxicated was completely oblivious of the concept.
--Hey Mike?
--Yeah?
--Were we not fucking awesome tonight!?
Mike laughed as he absentmindedly played with a few strands of ink black hair. "Yes, yes, we were," he smiled. Billie Joe closed his liner-smeared eyes and sighed in drunken contentment. Mike looked down at him and wondered in amazement that someone who could effortlessly control 50 thousand people -- indeed, someone who had controlled the course of Mike's own life-- could look so child-like and vulnerable.
So maybe it was the alcohol, or the lingering high from the show, or the sudden, uninvited fleeting memory of the sweet kiss that Billie Joe had given him on stage in Albany (which he later heard was preserved for posterity by some guy with a video camera), but whatever it was, it impelled Mike to lean down and touch Billie Joe's lips with a soft kiss. Billie Joe sat up, his eyes wide with surprise, but before either man could speak, Billie Joe swung around, straddled his legs over Mike's, and kissed him, really kissed him. He pushed his tongue to his lips, parting them, sliding it into Mike's mouth. Placing his hand's on Mike's face, he pulled it closer to his own, exploring his mouth with his lips and tongue. He felt Mike stiffen, then relax, and Mike's tongue responding to his own. And then it was Mike's turn to be surprised: he felt his cock growing hard in his pants.
Long before Billie Joe had told that magazine he was bi-sexual, Mike had been well aware of his friend's fluid sexuality. Hell, even the bullies at Pinole Valley High School had figured it out -- more than once they had growled "little faggot" at the slightly built, softly featured boy. As for Mike, he had never cared. He preferred girls (as did Billie Joe, for that matter), and although he had long suspected that Billie Joe might have wanted a sexual component to their friendship, they had not so much as even talked about it.
But now Mike's body was talking to him clearly, and the feel of Billie Joe's growing erection against his abdomen was adding to the volume, and right at that instant, with his hands on his friends narrow hips, his tongue in his mouth, and a bottle of wine on his brain, Mike decided that, at least for tonight, this would be OK. With the telepathy that only long time friends have, Billie Joe understood. He pulled his face back, and without breaking eye contact, he stood up, held the taller man's hands, and pulled him to his feet.
"Come on," he whispered in a small, hoarse voice. He led him to the bedroom: Billie Joe once again the leader, and Mike the follower.
