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“God, you’re so fuckin’ hard, aren’t you? So fuckin’ desperate…”
Billie Joe was practically spread eagle on the bed, in part thanks to the restraints tied around his wrists, keeping his arms extended away from the rest of his body. His legs, though, just tended to find their way open, not needing to be coaxed by rope or steel. Cock erect, it twitched over Billie’s taut frame as Kevin stroked teasing hands along the underside of his thighs, perched between them. Whimpering once, he said, “Kev,” and it left him as a plea.
“You want it, baby? Don’t you?” Kevin watched Billie nod, the sweaty curls glued to his face unmoving despite his vigor, and it was fascinating to him, how the mighty frontman could look so pained and turned on at the same time. Billie Joe looked incredible like this, he thought, tattooed arms flexing above him, pale form intermittently arching off of the bed when he was touched a certain way, hips wiggling and belly glistening with dripping pre-come. “What do you want me to do to you, Billie?” Folding himself over, Kevin ran his tongue over sensitive skin, tasting the salty mixture collected there, carefully avoiding Billie’s dick as he did it and earning more gasps that made him smirk. “Do you want me to give you what you want?” A fleeting lick to Billie Joe’s leaking slit. “Or do you want me to tease you?”
Groaning at the lightning like pleasure that was gone as soon as it started, Billie panted, unable to properly communicate when Kevin’s fingers were now cupping his ass, teasing at his crack without really doing anything at all. The younger man’s mouth was still buried in his heaving stomach, and the only thing he wanted was release. “You,” Billie tried to say, “want you—please.”
The word was beautiful in his ears, and he experienced the typical thrill that came with it—that the great Billie Joe Armstrong, his idol, would ask him for anything. Kevin’s own need was throbbing with the desire to throw Billie Joe’s pale legs over his shoulders and take him, but that seemed too easy. Billie had asked to be tied up, to be teased, and how satisfying could it be, if he gave in this easily? “I don’t know if you’re ready for me yet,” Kevin murmured, and the pointer finger of his left hand dipped in to find a warm pucker. Billie yielded the most delicious cry at the first breach of contact, and when his hips slammed down for more of it, he couldn’t resist sliding his lips around the engorged head of Billie Joe’s erection, suckling briefly. Those same rounded hips tried to drive back upwards, seeking more heat, but Kevin denied him both, pulling away his hand and mouth. “Not so fast, babe…”
“Fuck,” he whined in one harsh syllable, and with his heels dug into the soft mattress, he pumped up his lower half for more, body begging where his mouth could not, brain capable of directing movement and not speech. Kevin was crawling over Billie, sliding up his torso in one agonizing, fluid motion, and his green eyes were pale in the artificial light of the hotel lamps on either side of the bed, but they were bright with desire. “Kev—please.”
Jesus, was it something to see, Billie making his case through moist lips Kevin had already swollen with heated kisses. Perched on his inked chest, he cradled one stubbled cheek so that he could run his thumb over that particularly plump bottom lip while the other dragged down the hem of his boxers to expose the hard-on he himself had been living with for awhile. “Suck me, Billie Joe,” Kevin commanded in a heated murmur, dragging the tip of his prick over that ruby red mouth, “suck me and get me ready to fuck you.”
It was a fair enough offer. He bent his head forward to take Kevin into his mouth, swallowing modest length with ease, cheeks hallowing at the offset. If his hands were free, Billie would’ve been groping all over the younger man’s lean body, his balls, and ass, and chest, in a bid to enhance the blowjob, so he had to settle for doing all of the work with his skilled tongue.
“Oh, shit,” the guitarist groaned as Billie took all of him at once, momentarily closing his eyes to revel in the immediate sensation. It was fucking heaven, and as Kevin reopened his eyes, he slid both hands up into damp black hair to hold Billie Joe’s head. He couldn’t help but settle his weight, getting lost in wet bliss, and he didn’t think there was a better sight than those lips around his rigid shaft. “Oh yeah, baby, fuck yeah,” Kevin encouraged, moans that rumbled in his throat, and his fingers formed fists in Billie’s hair. Billie sucked harder, and he growled and started to rock his hips, dicking into that gorgeous mouth, slow at first but growing in urgency as the need took him over. Kevin’s balls were so tight, dragging along heated skin with each shallow thrust. The sight of Billie Joe’s arms, bound to the headboard visible in his peripheral vision, strapped down and helpless but to service his pleasure, just got him more swept up in the moment, leading him to forget about his initial intention. “Jesus fuck, you’re gonna make me come, Billie, you little slut, fuck yes,” Kevin grunted and put more weight on his knees, scrabbling for the headboard to help hold himself up to angle his fucking hips just so, pushing on the back of Billie’s head now for even more. His orgasm was building up in his spine, he could tell, and his back arched. “Oh, yeah—“
All of it was happening very fast, and he found his senses getting overloaded, overwhelmed. The pressure kept growing, everywhere: Kevin’s weight on his chest crowding his oxygen, his cock hitting the back of his throat so bluntly that even swallowing became difficult, and suddenly, Billie Joe was hyper aware of just how taut the binds were around his wrists and the subsequent ache it caused in his shoulders. Kevin’s mention of his impending climax was something he heard distantly, over the roar of blood in his ears that was now constant thanks to the way he had to bend for Kevin’s dick, but it settled into a reality that wound itself around his brain until it was the only one that there was, and he panicked. Struggling in the restraints, one leg starting to itch with the urge to kick Kevin off while the other stayed firmly planted for leverage, Billie realized how far up Kevin was meant he couldn’t reach him with either foot, or even his knee, thanks to his meager height. Fuck, fuck, fuck, make it stop, fuck—
Billie was squirming and whimpering, eyes clenched shut as his mouth was fucked, and Kevin felt another thrilling stab in his gut, at how this was reducing his lover to a wanting puddle, too. “Oh yeah—oh fuck—oh—oh…!” Hoarsely hollering Billie Joe’s name, holding the frontman’s head in a vice grip, he came, the product spilling as he continued to thrust. Kevin was absolutely fucking dizzy from the force of his climax, lungs clawing in air like he was drowning, and it wasn’t until he opened dazed eyes to praise Billie that he realized something was wrong. Very wrong.
Not only was Billie coughing and sputtering in the absence of his waning erection, he was shaking his head back and forth, ragged breaths quickening from between shiny lips once the phlegm appeared to be rid from his throat. His struggling was more persistent and violent, and in between gasps, he panted, “Get—get off, get off, get off, get off, get off—“
Startled, Kevin did as asked and laid a hesitant hand against Billie Joe’s cheek in a bid to comfort him, leaning in close. “Billie—Billie, I’m sorry—“
“Let me out of these things!” Billie Joe cried out, and the headboard was rattling from how hard he was tugging at the binds. Tears were streaming down his face, and instead of getting better, even as Kevin hastily undid the thick knots on the fabric, his hyperventilating was getting worse and not better.
Billie’s wrists were red and rubbed a little raw in places, and when he had his arms back, the frontman curled in on himself, away from him, burying his face into his pillow. Kevin could feel his heart pounding frantically in his chest, perhaps even rivaling the violent way Billie continued to struggle for air, and what made it worse was the confusion, at how quickly this had spiraled out of control, into something he couldn’t understand. “Hey,” he tried again, voice low and careful as he laid another hand on his heaving back, “Billie Joe—“
“Don’t touch me,” Billie sobbed, squirming away as far as his labored body would go before dissolving into ornate bedding once more, “don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me—“ He kept repeating it, like a bad track replaying in the studio.
Kevin felt helpless. He must’ve taken things a step too far without realizing it, caught up in the moment and assuming Billie already knew his own limits. Maybe Kevin had been wrong about that. A hand tangled in his hair, teeth worrying his lip, he thought desperately about what he should do when Billie Joe so clearly did not want his help—or anything to do with him at all, it seemed. There was only one thing Kevin could think to do, so he murmured, “Be right back, Billie,” and did nothing more than tuck his wilted prick back into his boxers before leaving the hotel room, not even shutting the door all the way behind him.
In truth, this was about the last thing he wanted to do, but he was unsure if there was a better option and it seemed vital he come up with something sooner rather than later; even as he jogged down fancy carpet, Billie’s shivering whimpers echoed in his head. Kevin found the door he wanted, thankful he thought to glance at the room roster Bill Schneider had provided upon check-in. Furiously, he pounded on thick cherry wood, and it took some persistence, but eventually, he could hear muffled grumbling on the other side.
The door yawning open revealed a grumpy looking Mike Dirnt on the other side of it, wearing nothing but plaid pajama bottoms and a ribbed white wife beater. Still rubbing blearily at one of his eyes, he scowled at Kevin, the Prima Donna guitarist who had somehow dicked his way into his band, naked himself but for a pair of blood red boxers. Mike narrowed his eyes, and his voice was gruff with both sleep and annoyance as he asked, “What the fuck are you doing here? I told you fuckers I wanted an early night.”
“It’s Billie Joe,” Kevin explained and was unsurprised to see some of Mike’s frustration turn to concern on a dime, “I think—I mean—I don’t know if he’s having a panic attack, or what, but I—“
“Jesus Christ,” the bassist muttered and reached out one long arm to swipe his keycard off of the table by the door so that he could follow Kevin down the hall.
Relieved it had been relatively simple to get Mike out of his room—but again, not that surprising considering Billie was involved—he led the way back to the suite he’d been sharing with their mutual lover just a few doors down. Billie’s anguished pants could be heard from the hallway, and Kevin allowed himself to be pushed to the side, Mike hurrying ahead to get to the source.
Mike paused upon stepping into the room, no doubt taking in the two black strips of cloth that had served as Billie Joe’s restraints. He spared a dark look at Kevin over his shoulder. “What the fuck did you do.” It wasn’t a question, but a black statement that held so much subdued rage, it would’ve scared the shit out of God himself.
Question or statement, Mike didn’t wait for his answer, and he waited, anxious and helpless, as he climbed into the bed with Billie, on his hands and knees.
Kevin had seen the two older men in a lot of compromising positions; he had been both witness and participant in what had been an increasing number of shared sexual encounters, from oral sex to fucking to the dirtier stuff in between, images burned into his brain that people would pay good money to see. But none of that had ever made him feel like a voyeur in the same way this did.
Curling himself around the naked curve of Billie’s spine, Mike brushed goose bumped flesh in tender strokes, bending his head to touch moving lips to the crying man’s ear. At first, Billie Joe seemed like he started shaking harder, accompanying gasps for breath louder bolstering that evidence, but then Mike was sliding an arm around his waist as if to fuse their bodies together into one. Mike’s mouth just kept moving, saying things Kevin couldn’t make quite make out, and he watched, amazed and transfixed as Billie’s breathing started to slow, only choking on a sob every thirty seconds or so instead of every five, the tense muscles in his tattooed body melting against the sturdy frame of his best friend. Eventually, it was quiet, Billie no longer audible at all, and he realized Mike hadn’t been speaking, but humming: Tiny Dancer, by Elton John.
Really, it was bizarre, but Kevin couldn’t deny it was perhaps one of the most intimate things he had ever seen and he suddenly felt like he should go. There was plenty of shame to be had as it was, he was certain an ass chewing was in his future via the ever righteous fury of one Mike Dirnt, whether or not he deserved it, and it made him want to run. But before Kevin could put on the joggers and t-shirt that he’d retrieved from their crumpled mess on the floor, Mike was murmuring his name.
He looked up to see that Billie Joe was on his back again, head turned into Mike’s painted bicep, and his eyes were closed but he was breathing steadily, even as Mike’s looped fingers worked the hardness back into Billie’s shaft. Though tears still stained flushed cheeks, the sounds coming out of Billie’s parted lips were breathy moans now, and Kevin blinked at the free hand Mike beckoned him with.
There must’ve been something in Kevin’s face—fear, outright terror, panic, take your pick, any would’ve made sense—because Mike canted his head in another invitation, hardly more than whispering when he said, “C’mon. It’s all right.”
While he seriously doubted it was all right, per se, a hidden layer of frustration clearly visible underneath the calculated guard Mike had put over his icy blue eyes, he also knew it was safe to heed the encouragement. Dropping his clothes, Kevin got up onto the edge of the bed knees first to perch where he had been earlier, between Billie’s spread legs. Mike’s long fingers had done their job of reviving Billie Joe’s cock back into an adequate erection, and when they disappeared to stroke Billie’s belly, he took it upon himself to bend over the frontman and capture all of his length in his mouth, all at once.
The response was immediate. Billie arched, his breath hitching, and his fingers flexed into the pillow underneath his head. Between Kevin’s even bobs and twirls, and Mike’s soothing touch, it only took a few minutes for him to reach release, a moan leaving him in a long steady stream just as his come did down Kevin’s swallowing throat. Finished, Billie Joe collapsed, boneless, and only then did he open his bloodshot eyes, coming back to reality in the best way that his longest lover knew to bring him back. That’s who he saw first, smiling benignly bedside him, before his eyes flickered to Kevin towards the end of the bed, so unsure and definitely guilty.
“I’m gonna leave you two to it,” the bassist murmured. Billie looked back to Mike quickly, hand that had been sandwiched between their bodies coming up to awkwardly reach for his arm, but Mike shook his head, almost imperceptible, brushing his lips against his forehead. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” He started to shuffle off of the bed, pausing when he was perched on the edge of it to level Kevin with a look that was serious but not altogether unkind. “Us, too,” Mike added, but he patted Kevin’s naked shoulder once as he got up and left.
For an extended beat, it was quiet, then Billie sighed long and loud, his eyes on the door that had just closed. “Sometimes it annoys the shit out of me.” His voice came out standing like he’d been eating paint or something, and he paused, glancing back at Kevin’s curious eyes, smiling weakly with one corner of his mouth. “How well he knows me,” Billie Joe explained. “Blessing and curse.”
Kevin experienced a familiar pang of jealousy, for all of the good it did him. Still, when Billie beckoned him with a gentle hand, he followed it up to the bed, settling into the opposite side of him Mike had been on, not interested in feeling the older man’s lingering warmth. Some of the pettiness eased away when Kevin was greeted with a languid kiss, calloused palms holding him by the cheeks. There was something (vaguely irritating, truthfully) about Billie’s kisses that always seemed to reduce his insides into a gooey puddle, helped along by the wide intent of eyes that tended to be a different color depending on the mood. “I’m sorry,” Kevin said softly, even as Billie Joe hooked his leg around his waist.
“Don’t be. I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong, not really.” He burrowed himself into Kevin’s arms, sighing into his chest, and against it, he added, “No matter what Mike tells you tomorrow. He knows you didn’t do anything wrong, either.”
He tended to agree, for the simple fact that he’d left. Still, Kevin had about a hundred questions, considering them as he rested his chin atop Billie’s matted curls, glancing about the empty room. Will I ever know you as well as he does? “I don’t think I’ll ever get you two,” is what came out of his mouth, and certainly not a question, “I get that it is, but not what it is.” Kevin could tell Billie was chewing on his lip, his face was pressed so close to his skin, and it occurred to him for the first time that maybe Billie Joe, or even Mike for that matter, didn’t know either. That answered some questions on its own, but it also created more, and he sighed, too. “I know you love each other,” he whispered. “I just don’t know where I’m supposed to fit.”
Billie raised his head, a serious little ‘V’ in his furrowed brow as took Kevin’s cheek back in hand. “You fit right here,” is what he said back to Kevin before leaning in for another kiss, one that tasted like come and tears but no less meaningful for it.
The wedding ring affixed to Billie’s finger slid along his skin when he touched him, a reminder of someone else the fickle frontman loved, but Kevin could only kiss him back, resigned to the things he would never understand with the hope that, someday, he could begin to understand some others.