Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At this point in the tour, the hamster wheel of traveling is getting to Billie Joe a little bit. You get to a venue, you soundcheck, you spend the night in a hotel, you play the show the next night, and then you’re corralled into a giant bus that transports you to the next city. 

Rinse and repeat. 

After a while, all of the venues, hotels, and cities look exactly the same, and the thing is, you hardly ever get good sleep . It’s more like passing out from pure exhaustion after he sweats his balls off for two hours straight. That’s why Billie has his eyes closed in the backseat of the Escalade that’s shipping them from the arena to the hotel after soundcheck.

”… and here’s Billie, pretending to sleep because he doesn’t want to be in my video.”

Billie Joe opens one eye to regard Mike on the bench seat next to him. His bassist has a fancy Canon DSLR camera held up between them, smirking behind it. Mike has been going around filming shit the last few days. Greg gave him a camera to catch behind the scenes stuff that he can edit together for social media. Bastard.

Wordlessly, Billie raises his hand and forces the device down. “You’re right,” he deadpans. “I don’t want to be in your video.”

”That’s not what you said last night,” Mike jokes as he turns off the recorder, and Billie cracks a smile.

”Nobody wants to see that.”

” I want to see that,” Mike disagrees, his voice low enough for only Billie Joe to hear, and he brushes his hand lightly over his knee.

Reopening his eyes, Billie glances over his shoulder to make sure nobody in the backseat heard. Jason Freese is crammed in the middle seat, giggling at whatever Tre is saying, and Jason White appears to be actually asleep. In the front seat, Bill is absorbed in his cell phone, and of course their driver is oblivious, happy to tune them all out. On the other side of Mike is Jeff, who’s got his headphones on. 

Confident that nobody is going to notice, Billie nudges his friend with his knee. “Does that mean you’re coming to my room tonight?”

The way Mike drapes his arm across the back of the seat would be seen as casual to anyone else. Even their bandmates surrounding them wouldn’t think anything of the way he plays with the hair at the nape of Billie Joe’s neck. “Unless you’re too tired,” Mike replies with a teasing smile.

”If there’s one thing I’m never too tired for,” Billie mutters, “it’s sex.”

His grin widening, Mike lifts his eyebrows. “I’ll come to your room around nine? Give us both time to phone home.”

Billie nods, licking his lips. Mike is itching his fingertips along his hairline now, populating goosebumps up and down his arms. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Okay, so maybe at least some part of Billie Joe’s exhaustion can be explained by how many nights he stays up into the wee hours of the morning fucking his best friend. But it’s like he said, when given the choice between sex and sleep, he’s going to choose sex more often than not. They say your libido winds down as you age, but Billie has no idea what those people are talking about. The day may come, but he can’t see it on the horizon.

When they get to the hotel and pile out of the vehicle, Mike squeezes his ass when nobody is looking, and it makes Billie smile to himself. He’s not the only one with a steady sex drive.

They eat dinner as a group—sushi Bill ordered for delivery—and Billie Joe excuses himself early to first smoke a cigarette and then FaceTime Adrienne, which is a part of his nightly ritual when she’s not on tour with him. She floats in and out usually, a few weeks on and a few weeks off. It’s sort of bittersweet because he misses her when she’s gone, but generally he can only sleep with Mike in her absence. Technology has come so far, though, to fill the gaps when there’s all this distance between Billie and his wife of over twenty years. He remembers running out of quarters for the payphone trying to talk to her, and now she’s on his iPhone screen, reachable at a moment’s notice.

Adie is pretty talkative tonight, and she gives Billie a chance to say hi to all of their dogs, who he might miss just as much as he misses his wife. He sits on the couch in his suite chatting with her, honestly happy just to see her face. Even after all this time, she’s still the most beautiful woman in the world to Billie Joe, and he knows how lucky he is to have her. Over the years, he’s put Adie through the ringer, particularly with his whole rehab stint not too long ago, and she’s stayed by his side. They’ve had rough patches, of course, and she’s kicked Billie’s ass to the sofa when he’s deserved it, but they’ve gotten through it all. Of all his many accomplishments, his marriage might be the one he’s most proud of, which is a big deal seeing as he was inducted into the fucking Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame two years ago.

She’s telling him about the visit she’s planning to see her parents in Minnesota when there’s a knock on his door, and Billie realizes it’s nine PM sharp. The thing about Mike, he is always either early or right on time. He gets up to let Mike in while he’s still listening to Adrienne, holding the phone up in front of his face.

”Who’s knocking on your door this late at night?” Adie questions, feigning attitude. “It better not be a hooker.”

”Totally a hooker,” Billie Joe smirks, and after opening the door, he turns around so Mike will be in view of his front-facing camera. “Adie thinks you’re my hooker,” he explains to Mike, talking over his shoulder.

”If I was, he’d need a refund,” Mike says to Adrienne as he rests his arm on Billie’s shoulder and leans closer to the camera. He sweeps his palm over his face and rubs his chin. “Can you imagine ordering a hooker and having my ugly mug show up?”

Laughing, Adie wags her finger at him. “Hey now, don’t talk about my friend like that! And from the way your wife tells it, nobody would be kicking you out of bed with the moves you got.”

”I do alright,” Mike says smugly. Adie probably misses it, but he squeezes Billie’s shoulder when he says it. 

Billie Joe is also hyper aware of his bandmate’s closeness, and he clears his throat. “Alright, um, I’m gonna let you go babe,” he tells Adrienne. “Mike and I’ve got a song we need to work out.”

“Okay, just make sure you don’t stay up too late. You need your rest.” Adie blows him a kiss. “Love you, Boo.”

Billie reciprocates the gesture. “Love you too, Adie. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, boys,” Adrienne says to both of them, waving into the camera.

“Night, Adie!” Mike calls out.

The picture reverts back to the home screen when Adie ends the call, and Billie feels a slight gnawing in his gut as he brings the device to where his charger is already plugged in on one of the nightstands. Whether or not she should, even after all of the lies he’s told over the years, Adie continues to trust him and take him at his word. Of course she wouldn’t give it a second thought, Mike coming into Billie Joe’s room late at night. It wouldn’t occur to her, probably not even in her wildest dreams, that Mike is there to do anything scandalous. Then again, there was a time it never would’ve occurred to Billie either. Things change.

“You okay?”

At the concern he hears in his bassist’s voice, Billie turns and finds him right in the spot he left him, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, brow furrowed. He mirrors Mike’s position and offers a small smile. “Yeah, I just—” Billie Joe pauses to think about it and briefly scratches at his hair. “It’s kinda hot? The sneaking around?”

Mike nods readily as he comes closer. “Mmhm.”

“Sometimes it makes me feel like shit, too,” Billie says in a softer voice, craning his neck to maintain eye contact with Mike once he’s standing before him. “Y’know?”

“Do you wanna stop?” Mike asks, lifting his hand to stroke Billie’s jaw with the backs of his fingers.

”Never,” Billie Joe answers. “That’s the problem.”

From that, Mike must garner permission to kiss him, which is good because that’s exactly what Billie wanted him to do. Taking Billie’s face between both hands, he kisses him urgently, like it’s something he’s been waiting all day to do. His long fingers slide through Billie Joe’s hair and coaxes him closer until their bodies are flush together as though Mike is trying to fuse the two of them together by the force of sheer will. When he takes Billie by the hips, he pushes him onto the bed, covering his body with his own.

This is what Billie loves, the thrill that this gives him that he can’t get at home. There’s a primal part of him that wants to be with someone who can take control of him; he wants firm muscle and sinew, strength and domination. His attraction to men is not new, of course, but once Billie Joe started acting on it, he found it difficult to stop, especially with Mike in such close proximity to him so often. He knows it’s risky, dangerous even, but like he said to Mike, it’s not something he’s interested in giving up. Not when it feels so damn good.

”I’ve been thinking about ripping your clothes off since we crossed the border into… what the hell state are we in?”

Chuckling breathlessly because Mike is actively biting his earlobe, Billie replies, “Who knows. Who fucking cares.”

“Good point.” Mike kisses a sloppy trail back to his mouth, and he slows down a little, closing his lips over Billie’s with more intention. In between, he murmurs, “I never get tired of kissing you.”

Sometimes Mike says really sweet things that directly contradicts the goofy personality he presents to the world. In the same way, Billie Joe positively melts when he says stuff like that. He’s used to being fawned over and praised, but it hits his ears differently when Mike does it. “Likewise,” Billie smiles against his mouth, itching his fingernails into his scalp. “Y’know, I’ve got a surprise for you….”

”Do you now?”

”Mmhm. You wanna see it?”

“Depends.” Mike starts mouthing over his neck. “Is it a sexy surprise?”

”I don’t think you’ll be disappointed,” Billie responds coyly, and he starts pulling away. “It does involve me in less clothing, so that should help.”

”I’m onboard already.” Mike rolls over and props himself up on his elbows. His curious smile becomes a frown, though, as he watches Billie Joe collect a plastic shopping bag from his backpack and head into the bathroom. “Where do you think you’re going?”

”You’ll see.” Just before Billie shuts the door behind him, he sees Mike flop dramatically back onto the bed, and he smiles to himself. He better make this quick.

Fortunately, Billie has a lot of experience with swift costume changes. He strips and tosses his clothes haphazardly in the corner, then shimmies into the new two-piece outfit after ripping the tags off with his teeth. Once he’s satisfied with the fit, Billie Joe teases at his hair with his fingers. What he really needs is a pass through with his straightener—the product he spritzed through it this morning has given up by now—but he doesn’t have time for that. Besides, Billie has a feeling Mike won’t be all that focused on anything above his neck.

He turns out to be correct in his assumption. When he reemerges from the bathroom and clears his throat, Mike lifts his head from the mattress, and the change in his expression would be comical under different circumstances. Gaping like a fish, he just stares at Billie for a few seconds before slowly pushing himself upright. “Holy shit, Beej,” Mike mutters, “where the hell did you get that?”

”Ah, this old thing? I had it lying around.” That’s a lie. The bus stopped in a plaza this morning that happened to have a Spirit Halloween across the street. A bunch of the crew had wandered over while everyone else got Subway, so Billie Joe joined them and somehow was able to make this purchase without anyone noticing. 

Mike raises his pointer finger and twirls it in a single circle. “Spin,” he commands softly.

Doing what he’s asked, Billie does a deliberate 360 degree turn, trying very hard not to smirk and ruin the illusion. Honestly, when he bought this, he intended to wear it as a joke or a prank, but he’s glad he followed his instincts. After all, what fantasy is more common than that of the slutty cheerleader? The bedazzled white crop top is form-fitting, the cut stopping an inch above Billie’s belly button, and the flared, pleated skirt sits on his hips just right. Both articles are pretty tight on him, probably because it wasn’t necessarily intended for his shape and frame, but he would argue that it adds to the appeal. 

Once he’s facing Mike again at the foot of the bed, Billie Joe smooths his hands over the sparkly letter ‘S’ embroidered into the chest of the tiny tank. “What do you think? You wanna fuck a cheerleader?”

 “I think you better get your hot ass over here,” Mike replies, smacking the mattress to emphasize his point.

Unable to contain his grin this time, Billie crawls up the bed and straddles Mike’s lap. He’s conveniently commando in this outfit, meaning the semi he’s been sporting for the last ten minutes rubs pleasantly against the textured bulge in Mike’s sweatpants. Billie hugs his bandmate’s waist with his knees, and at this angle, he’s actually the one looking down into Mike’s eyes, which are gray in the dim hotel lighting. Draping his arms over Mike’s shoulders, he tilts his head, and with all of the seriousness in the world, he asks, “Do you want to play with my pom-poms, Mike?”

Mike snorts, briefly touching his forehead to Billie Joe’s collarbone, and when he raises his head again, his gaze is simultaneously twinkling with amusement and smoldering with arousal. It’s a fine line they walk, being best friends and all. Things can be funny and sexy at the same time. “If you’re talking about your balls, then yes, I do. Mm.” He squeezes Billie’s waist with both hands while pressing a kiss to his exposed shoulder. “Damn, this is fuckin’ sexy. It feels like it shouldn’t be, but it totally is. What made you do this?”

”Well, I knew you never made it with any cheerleaders in high school, so I figured I’d do you a favor and let you live out your dreams.” 

”I’d take you over any of those girls in high school any day.”

There’s another one of those things Mike says that would sound corny or insincere if anyone else said them. Billie smiles to himself as Mike scatters soft kisses all over his neck, but his lashes flutter when those strong hands drift underneath the fabric draped over his backside to cup his ass. Unwittingly, Billie Joe pushes back into his touch with his lower lip between his teeth, experiencing a fresh wave of goosebumps. He loves the feeling of calluses on such sensitive skin and the undertones of possessiveness with which Mike touches him. It makes Billie feel desired without a single damn word needing to be said, and he hasn’t necessarily had quite the same satisfaction within his marriage in perhaps a decade or more.

“I think, uh—I think we need to film this.”

Their eyes meet, and once Billie has figured out that his bandmate is actually serious, he laughs nervously. “This? You wanna film this ?”

”Why wouldn’t I?” Mike counters, running his fingertips down the lengths of his tattooed arms. “I need to document the one time in my life I got to fuck a cheerleader.”

”You’re a rockstar,” Billie Joe reminds him wryly, “and you can fuck anybody you want.”

”Well, the thing is,” Mike begins in a low voice, his thumb now dragging across Billie’s bottom lip, “I don’t wanna fuck just anybody.”

The implication is weighty, and the only appropriate response Billie has is to sink down for a kiss. He holds onto Mike’s sharp jaw with both hands, and Mike’s hands wander all over his back in needy strokes as their mouths move together and tongues intertwine with passion that continues to amplify. Underneath the flimsy veil of the skirt, Billie Joe is rock hard, and he’s thinking about what it will look like on video, when Mike inevitably lifts up the backside of this thing and fucks him like he’s been wanting since the last time they did it, a mere 36 hours ago—more or less. That’s the reason they started recording in the first place: to relive it all, over and over again, once the tour is over and the immediate availability to each other diminishes to nothing.

Groaning, Billie mutters, “Okay, go get the camera. But be fuckin’ quick about it and make sure nobody sees you.”

With a triumphant kiss, Mike lifts Billie off of him. “Don’t worry, I do everything faster when I’ve got an erection.”

Billie Joe laughs, and as Mike vanishes from his room, he blows out a breath and rubs a palm over his hot face. He then picks at the fabric of his tight crop top and gives himself a satisfied nod. This could turn out to be the best forty dollars Billie ever spent.

~*~

Sometimes, afterwards is the best part, and that sounds crazy, even to Billie. How can the best part be after sex? It’s a newer thought to him, that’s for damn sure. But the thing is, when it’s over, Mike will spoon Billie Joe from behind and just hold him in the cocoon of his thick arms. In the warmth of a comfortable bed and familiar body heat, he feels safe; he feels protected. It’s not to say Billie never feels that way at home… but it’s different with Mike. 

“That was really fuckin’ hot,” Mike murmurs in his ear, and Billie sort of hums his answering giggle. “I mean, I think you’d be, like, the cheerleader that got expelled or whatever, but it definitely doesn’t make it any less hot.”

”What makes you say that?” Billie Joe asks, dragging his fingernails over the forearm Mike has curled around his chest. “All the tattoos?”

”It’s a factor,” Mike says, and they both laugh this time. He kisses behind Billie’s ear and then down his jaw. “Nah, just—fuck. I don’t know, man. You’re amazing.”

The wonder is evident in his friend’s tone, and Billie closes his eyes. It’s always been a two-sided thing for him, taking compliments. On the one hand, Billie would like to agree: he’s a goddamn rockstar capable of commanding crowds, and he’s the fucking shit… but on the other hand, he’s a person with deep-seated insecurities. If he lets his thoughts run away, he’ll get caught up in the imposter’s syndrome of it all and have a panic attack. With Mike murmuring sweet nothings in Billie Joe’s ear, their legs tangled together underneath the sheets, those thoughts don’t exist.

His eyes closed, Billie sighs and adjusts his head on the pillow they’re sharing. “I’m glad you were into it. It was pretty fuckin’ hot.” He hugs Mike’s arm closer to him, the one he has lashed around him. “You’re gonna stay, right?”

”Yeah, of course.” Mike squeezes him. “Not gonna have too many more chances like this.”

Billie hums his response and starts chewing on the inside of his lower lip. Mike is right. With the tour winding down, this time spent together is fleeting. It’s a relatively new facet of their relationship, but it’s become as important to him as their musical bond. They’ve always been soulmates in that sense. This physical connection is now an extension of that, and it’s also something Billie Joe can’t believe they haven’t been doing the whole time.

“We’re gonna have to get creative,” Billie says. “Y’know, to find excuses to hookup.”

”It’s a good thing we’re in a band together.” Mike kisses his shoulder.

”I hate hiding it from Tre.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Mike says, “Yeah, me too. But it’s like we talked about. It’s a slippery slope. And if we tell one person, it’s one more person who has to keep it a secret and lie.”

”He would, though.” Billie turns his head to look at Mike over his shoulder. “Keep it a secret.”

”But then we’d be asking him to keep it from Sara. And if she found out somehow, there’s no way she wouldn’t tell Britt or Adrienne.” His mouth regretfully twisted to the side, Mike strokes the side of Billie Joe’s face. “We’ve talked about this, Bills. It’s taken decades, but we’re finally in a place where everybody’s happy. We can’t screw that up.”

Sighing again, Billie nuzzles into his lover’s touch. “I know. You’re right.”

Mike nods and deadpans, “I know. I am right.” When Billie playfully rolls his eyes, the bassist grins and shifts so that he’s straddling him, holding himself up over him, and in this new position, he brushes their lips in a soft kiss. “All the lying and sneaking around is hard, but I think you’re kinda worth the hassle.”

”Yknow, I didn’t know you were such a romantic,” Billie Joe says, sarcastic, but he’s smiling.

”Romance is my middle name,” Mike purrs, and he’s grinding his groin against Billie’s. His voice drops an octave or two, and he arches a suggestive eyebrow. “You wanna go again? Seize the moment?” Mike nods towards the left. “The camera’s still rolling.”

Billie glances in its direction. He’s still a little apprehensive about all this taping they’re doing. As much as Billie Joe is a natural born exhibitionist, he also knows better than anyone that physical evidence is what gets you caught. If they’re not careful with the videos, the wrong person could find them—like Adie or Brittney. It really turns Mike on, though, and when Mike is turned on, Billie is turned on, so he’s going along with it. Besides, he won’t complain when he has quality spank material in a few months time; his sex drive hasn’t diminished, but Adie’s has, leading him to spend more time with his right hand than he used to.

Right now, though, Billie has no use for his right hand because he has Mike’s thick cock rubbing against his own. Biting his lip, he strokes his hands down Mike’s chest, admiring dark ink and downy hair. “You wanna fuck me again?” Billie Joe asks, and the question comes from deep in his throat.

”I wanna fuck you all the goddamn time,” Mike mutters, and he adjusts his hips so that his revived erection is grinding underneath Billie’s balls. “But especially when you’re already loose from my cock.”

Deliberately, Billie spreads his legs at the same time Mike throws the sheets off of his back like he’s removing a cape. He slides his hand around the back of Mike’s neck to pull him closer, and he growls, “C’mon then, Mr. Romance.”

~*~

Chapter Text

Two months later and the tour feels like a fever dream.  They’d taken some time off to be with their families and it had felt good to reconnect. Coming down from the road and transitioning back from rock star to domesticated husband is always a difficult one for Billie but necessary. He needs to feel like a normal human sometimes or he’d lose his mind, that other side of him is unsustainable for very long. 

But now Billie is getting restless again, both personally and professionally.  He misses Mike, and texting isn’t enough. Some nights when Adie goes up early he stays up late, puts music on and imagines they’re together again, back in one of the many hotel rooms they shared. He flips through his notebooks and the voice clips on his phone. He has some songs he started on tour and he swears to himself it’s not just an excuse. He really wants to lay them down. So the next day he calls Mike and Tre and they agree to meet in the studio.  

Reuniting this way some months after touring is a bit like the first day of school. They compare notes on their breaks, vacations they took, things they did, before getting down to work. Billie manages to corner Mike exactly once, stealing an embrace and quick kisses when Tre goes to the bathroom. They’re welcome, but still not enough. Never enough. 

So he throws himself into his work. They get some good things down and then Billie wants to spend a little more time on the guitar tracks. He spends so long fiddling with the dials and sounds that his bandmates get bored waiting for his genius to play out. His concentration is broken by Mike’s irritated tones coming from behind him. 

“Tre… what the hell are you drawing on me?” he asks.

“Guess,” says the drummer.

“I don’t want to guess. I want you to stop fucking drawing on me.”

“Well, that’s no fun.”

“No fun—Jesus, is that a fucking dick and balls?”

“Thought you’d like it.”

Billie Joe sighs loudly at his bandmates, loudly enough to get their attention, and Mike stops going after Tre and the dry erase marker he’s holding above his head and out of the bassist’s reach. With his hands on his hips, Mike looks to Billie, who’s hunched over the soundboard. 

“We distracting you?” he asks.

“Is it obvious?” Billie quips sweetly, but he drops the facade rather quickly, tapping his Sharpie on the open notebook in front of him. “Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you guys sticking around—“

“But we’re doing more harm than good?” asks Tre.

“Pretty much.”

“Man, say no more,” Tre says, and he stands abruptly from the office chair he’d been in, pushing it backward with enough force from his thighs to send it flying into the wall behind him. “I’m fuckin’ starving, and there’s an A’s game on in, like, twenty minutes.”

Tre is already hunting for his keys, but Mike hesitates, letting Tre leave so he can stay behind and get a few private words in. 

“So I was thinking,” he begins, “Brit and the kids are at her parents’ this week in Ojai and I’m all by my lonesome. Wanna come over and keep me company?”

Saying the one thing that could get Billie’s attention, he looks up from the mixing board. “Tonight?” he asks hopefully.

“If you can tear yourself away from another potential hit record,” Mike shrugs.

Quite familiar with the mischievous glint in his boyfriend’s eyes, Billie Joe snags Mike by the wrist to kiss the palm of his hand and then follows that up with a quick swipe of his tongue. 

“Fuck yeah,” he murmurs, voice husky, “It’s been too damn long.” He’s glad that’s all it takes to get Mike to bend down for a kiss on his pouty lips. “I just have a couple of guitar tracks I want to get down while they’re in my head. I won’t be long, I promise. I’ll call Adrienne and tell her I’m working late.” 

“Okay,” says Mike, “Just not too late, huh? Don’t get lost in your brain and forget.” 

“I won’t,” he promises, head already back down. When given the choice between music and sex, the answer is always both, and it’s a balancing act Billie has been practicing for years. “See you soon.”

Billie is driving himself more than a little crazy in the effort to make something as deep and meaningful as their last record. Mike likes to tell him the onus isn’t on him, but that’s not true; deep down, Mike knows that, too.

Billie has been living with a chip on his shoulder for years, but no matter how many trophies they win or copies of albums they sell, it only gets bigger. A part of him wonders how he hasn’t just come to accept and live with it by now. Sometimes Billie Joe wishes he could get rid of everything and take his van to the ocean and stay there, surfing and camping and watching the sun set over the Pacific every night. But he has too much responsibility for that, and what’s more, the music would follow him anyway—he knows better. It’s a nice fantasy for when he’s stressed out, though.

With the studio to himself, Billie is able to accomplish a few things. He works out some transitions he’s been obsessing over and tweaks some lyrics that need some fine-tuning, and by the time he’s ready to skip out to Mike’s house, it’s past eight o’ clock.

Billie Joe shoots Mike a quick text on his phone to let him know he’s leaving and will be there in twenty minutes. Hiking his backpack over his shoulder, he locks up and digs in his sweatshirt pocket for his car keys, eyes still locked on his screen as he approaches his Ford. Mike sends him a suggestive message back that makes him smile to himself. He’ll have to remember to delete this text thread later. The best thing about dating another man, Billie often thinks, is how much sex you both want to have all the time without any bargaining or negotiating necessary.

Before he can get the key in the lock of his car, Billie Joe is thrown up against the side of it with enough force to make him drop the chain and his phone, his hat flying off of his head. The wind is momentarily knocked out of him, but he chokes when he feels the sensation of cold steel pressing into his temple. In the weak reflection of the driver’s side window, illuminated by the orange glow of the singular light in the studio parking lot, Billie sees the shape of a person looming over him, beating him by at least four inches with a black ski mask over their face. His belly turns over violently as the stranger pats down his pockets, and the sweeping chill of dread is familiar because he’s been in this position before.

“Where’s your fuckin’ wallet?” growls the stranger, who most definitely must be male, and his left hand digs harder into Billie’s shoulder once it gives up looking for itself, pushing him harder against the unforgiving surface of the car. “C’mon punk, now! ”

“It’s in—in m-my backpack,” Billie Joe stutters, and he winces when the bag is ripped from his shoulder. 

The man digs his knee into Billie’s back as he tears open the zipper of the old rucksack, rummaging around for what he’s looking for. If the stranger’s knee is up to hold him, he decides he must only be balancing on one foot, so he thinks quickly and pushes back to throw the guy off of him. It works, and Billie drops to the pavement to scrabble for his keys. His wallet and whatever the hell else that’s in the bag, the mugger can have, but he will be damned if this asshole steals his vintage Ford.

Billie Joe is fast, but he’s not fast enough. He manages to grab onto his keys, but the stranger comes back swinging before he can pop back up. A boot connects with his chest, and Billie slams hard into the pavement, and he’s lucky he has the wherewithal to brace himself so his head doesn’t hit the ground with the same velocity his back does. Stars are blurring his vision as it is, accompanied by a dull roar in his ears, but he can still hear the stranger swearing at him as he kicks him in the side and in the legs, not satisfied until he’s coughing and gasping for air, unable to fight back no matter how much he may want to. The boot comes down on his wrist, and Billie cries out at the pressure that keeps coming until his fingers unclench, relenting his precious car keys. They’re only kicked away, skittering across the concrete, disappearing under the belly of the Ford.

The mugger crouches down, and he has the gun raised again, brushing sweaty, tangled curls back from Billie Joe’s forehead with the tip of it. He has to squeeze his eyes shut, he’s so terrified, and he thinks this is it. This random ass piece of shit mugger is going to kill him, blow his brains out in the studio parking lot, and he’ll probably be found by the cleaning crew in the morning. Jesus, the news headline writes itself.

After what feels like an eternity, the man makes a decision and he leans back enough to swipe him over the head with the butt of his revolver, hard enough to send the Green Day frontman’s cheek into the ground. 

Each breath harder to pull in than the one before it, Billie Joe watches the mugger rise through eyes heavily lidded. The last thing he sees before he succumbs to the darkness that wants to overtake him is that brutal boot coming down on his cell phone. The sound of it splintering is the last thing he hears.

~*~

Chapter Text

When Billie opens his eyes again, they’re bleary, and he has to blink several times for the scene in front of him to focus. He’s in a bed, and Mike is pacing in front of it, rigid with one hand on his hip, the other having a fingernail torn apart by anxious teeth.

“Mike?” Billie asks, or tries to. Really, it sounds like nothing more than garbled nonsense because his throat is dry and his tongue feels like it weighs at least seven pounds, probably more, but it gets Mike’s attention all the same.

Skidding to an abrupt halt, Mike’s head snaps in Billie Joe’s direction, and then he mumbles his name as he rushes to his side.

“Mr. Armstrong,” Billie recoils from a voice coming from his other side, and it doesn’t take him long to figure out it’s a doctor, given how he’s dressed in a white coat. He flashes a penlight in Billie’s eyes that has the sharp intensity of an icepick. “Back with us.”

“Could you not shine that thing in my eyes?” Billie Joe grumbles, pulling away from the stabbing light with one of his palms held up in front of his face, noticing for the first time the IV line in the back of his hand. “Jesus, what a rude wake up call.”

“Just doing my job, checking for a concussion. You were unconscious for quite some time,” the doctor points out and begins typing something on a tablet resting in the crook of his arm.

It’s no coincidence that his head is aching. Billie reaches for the offending area until he finds an egg shaped knot that he gingerly touches and winces. He lowers his hand just as Mike takes him gently by the cheek, worried blue eyes wide search his own. 

“How do you feel?” his best friend asks.

“Like I went through the car wash without my car.” Billie covers Mike’s hand with his own, and he frowns when the doctor stops him by taking his wrist, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm. “What the hell—“

“Billie, don’t argue with him.”

Beaten by the bassist’s sternness, Billie Joe slumps a little bit and lets the doctor take his blood pressure, trying to get his bearings back in the meantime. It’s daytime if the light filtering through the curtains is any indication, and he’s in a hospital room. The space is small, but apparently Billie has it to himself.

“Ninety-six over seventy. A little low.”

“I run low.”

“Mm. Can you tell me what year it is?”

“Uh… 2017.”

“And who is the president?”

“Satan.”

The doctor stops typing to shoot Billie a look of concern, and Mike sighs. “He’s joking.” 

“Oh yeah? Why couldn’t I have been in a coma for four years?” he mutters and Mike's weary gaze causes Billie to stop his rantings. For the first time, Billie realizes how tired Mike looks. 

“He knows who the president is,” Mike confirms.

“Alright… and what’s your middle name, Mr. Armstrong?”

“My middle—I don’t have a middle name.”

“I think he’s fine,” Mike cuts in again, and he’s rubbing a palm over his face, the other braced against the hard plastic frame of the hospital bed.

“Well, he’s not fine,” the doctor says, flipping the cover on his tablet over and tucking the offending penlight into the pocket of his white coat. He turns back to his ornery patient, “You’ve got three bruised ribs, a sprained wrist and a minor concussion, so you have some healing to do, but you will be fine. Do you remember what happened to you?”

“Yeah, I—“ Billie Joe stops because it all comes back to him at the same time, but fragmented, dueling memories that make him dizzy. He recalls the chill of steel on his cheek, a voice growling in his ear, pressure in his left wrist—which explains the tight bandage wrapped around it. Lifting it, touching the back of it with his undamaged hand, Billie says, “I was mugged.” The doctor nods once at him, solemn, and carefully Billie turns his head to look up at Mike. “How did—who found me?”

Mike averts his eyes and clears his throat before answering, “I did.” He pauses because that takes Billie aback. “When you didn’t—you said you were coming right over, and you didn’t, so.”

He ends the sentence, and Billie Joe inhales shakily, unable to imagine what that might have looked like for Mike, finding him like that. 

“You need to rest, but the police will likely want to speak with you shortly to get your statement.” The doctor starts for the door, but he stops and glances back at them before he opens it. “There’s also a lot of reporters asking questions. Would you like to—“

“We have somebody that handles that,” Mike says, and he’s massaging his forehead with his fingertips again, the thing he always does when he’s stressed.

Once they’re alone, Mike drags over the vinyl chair from the corner to sit as close to Billie’s bedside as he can get. He curls his fingers under Billie’s bruised ones and he ducks his head down into the painted bicep exposed by a paper thin hospital gown, lips skimming in an imitation of kisses. “God, I was—scared the shit out of me, Bill.”

Billie swallows at the way Mike’s voice wavers, and he reaches his undamaged hand around to caress dirty blonde hair. It coaxes blue eyes to lift, meeting his own, and he deadpans, “Me too.”

“What the fuck happened?”

Blowing out a breath that hurts his ribs, Billie slumps harder against the hospital bed, which is actually a lot more comfortable than he would’ve thought. He blinks at the mottled ceiling, and the fear returns to him even though he’s safe. “I was just—leaving the studio, y’know. Got jumped out of nowhere. He asked for my wallet. It was in my backpack, and when he was—he was looking for it, y’know, and I tried to—to, like, push him, I guess, because I was scared that wasn’t all he wanted.” Billie Joe bites his lip, dry and cracked, remembering how certain he’d been that he was going to lose his life. His good fingers dig into the center of his forehead. “I thought he was gonna—he had a gun, y’know, so I—“

“Hey, hey—you’re okay, babe,” Mike says, and he gets up to perch on the side of Billie’s bed, twisting his torso sideways to comfort his boyfriend. He takes Billie carefully by the cheek as he had done earlier, like he’s something delicate. And today, he sort of is. “You’re okay,” Mike reiterates, firmer than before, and he balls up Billie Joe’s good hand in his to kiss it. “That mother fucker can’t hurt you.”

A reluctant chuckle hums in Billie’s throat, and he dislodges his hand so he can brush Mike’s stubbled chin with his thumb. “I’m sorry you found me like that,” Billie says softly, “but I’m glad you found me.”

“Me too.” There’s something dark that passes over Mike’s face, indicating all of the panic and worry he’d gone through in the last few hours. His sigh is shaky as he smooths matted hair back from Billie Joe’s forehead. 

It’s then that Billie suddenly remembers. He pushes himself up slightly like he’s going to spring out of bed and is only stopped by a sudden sharp pain in his side that captures his breath.

“Adrienne…” he groans. 

Mike settles him back down, “I called her as soon as I got here. We’ve both been here all night, I just sent her out for some breakfast. She was kind of surprised to hear from me. That was a bit awkward.”

Billie remembers his last words to his wife, calling her from the studio to say he was working late. Alone. This is not the way Billie would choose to be caught in a lie. “What did you tell her?”

“That I left my wallet at the studio and went back to get it and that’s when I found you,” he says. 

He nods, satisfied. “A lot of lost wallets for one night.” Then he shifts again to try and get comfortable, winces and gently touches his rib cage that he can tell is bandaged underneath his gown. “Y’know, I don’t mind getting tossed around on occasion, but this, uh—this sucks.”

“No kidding,” Mike frowns. “She canceled your credit cards by the way. What else was in your bag?”

After thinking about it for a second, Billie shrugs the shoulder that hurts less. “Nothing that important. Nothing that can’t be replaced. Sunglasses, headphones, a couple of CDs, I think. I had a notebook with some stuff but it was a new one, there wasn’t much in it yet.”

Billie turns his head, just so, seeking a real kiss. It’s tender and featherlight, very much restrained due to his injuries, but no less meaningful for all of that. When it’s over, he opens his eyes again. 

“I’m sorry shitty things happen to me,” he whispers. There’s no good reason for Billie to feel guilty except that he does, especially because he knows what it does to his best friend of 35 years, but Mike shakes his head, anyway.

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Beej. You can’t help that you’re petite and fragile and a prime target.”

“Hey, I can still kick your ass,” Billie says, but he’s chuckling and when Mike starts chuckling too, Billie gets laughing hard enough for it to hurt him again. Even breathing hurts him right now. “Speaking of being fragile… did they mention when I can get out of here?”

Rolling his eyes, Mike leans back. “They’re at least keeping you overnight. Don’t even start,” he warns before Billie Joe can so much as open his mouth. “You have a head injury, Billie, of course they’re going to keep you overnight.”

“The doctor said it was minor.”

“So? It’s still brain trauma, dude. You were out cold for hours . Do you know how fucking scary that was? Even if it’s just for my peace of mind, you’re staying overnight.”

There’s the buzz of a vibration from the table beside Billie’s bed, and Mike reaches for his cell phone that’s sitting on top of it. As he looks at it, he adds, “You need a new cell phone too, by the way.”

“Add it to the list….”

Mike sends the text he was writing and looks back up at Billie Joe with a small smile. “Adrienne’s on her way back up. I told her you’re awake. I’ll grab a cup of coffee so you guys can have a sec.” He says it into Billie’s hair, apparently not minding one bit that it’s dirty, since he kisses it, too, lingering out of reluctance to walk away from him. 

“Coffee…?” Billie asks hopefully with big sad eyes.

“I’ll find the doctor, ask if it’s okay.”

“Thanks. Hurry back,” Billie calls after his boyfriend who’s already on his way to the door, and there’s no escaping the neediness that seeps into his tone. In general, he’s a needy person, but in this moment it’s amplified by his ordeal, and no matter what the circumstances of his life are, he always feels safest with Mike.

“You won’t even have time to miss me, Bill,” Mike winks, but he still has that weak smile on his face, the one that makes him look so fucking tired.

In Mike’s absence, Billie Joe leans back and puffs out another breath that hurts his chest and his ribs, and his fingers itch to lift the blankets and gown in order to check out his battle wounds. He only has a few seconds to do it, as well as managing to catch the time from the clock on the wall: 9:11 in the morning, which means he’d been out for basically half a day. His stomach feels empty too, and he wonders what the protocol is for getting fed around here. He’s pretty sure his last meal was breakfast yesterday.

A knock sounds off on the door just two or three minutes after Mike walked out of it, and while shifting himself into more of an upright position, struggle though it is, Billie Joe calls out a timid, “Come in,” that hurts quite a bit on the way out. He winces, hand coming up to cover his ribs where all of the pain is centered, but he tries to recover and turn it into a smile before the door swings all the way open.

Searching dark eyes find him quickly followed by a relieved smile. “Hey, Boo,” his wife says, beelining straight into his arms. Billie inhales her scent and relaxes. His anchor. She always has that calming effect on him. “I was so worried,” she says in muffled tones on his shoulder.

“I’m okay,” Billie reassures her, “It’ll take more than some random asshole to take me down. He just caught me off guard. It was dumb.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she says, lowering the rail and taking a seat carefully on the bed beside him. “Don’t say that. He could have killed you.”

“Dumb luck, then,” smiles Billie. “But I don’t want you to worry. They’re making me stay one more night but then I’ll be home.”

He thinks of Mike and their planned escape, their single night together since the tour ended, ruined, but then he goes back to appreciation that he lives to fight (and fuck) another day. There’ll be other opportunities.

“You’ve been talking about putting more lights and security cameras in that lot for a long time,” she notes, “I always say it’s too dark out there.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says, “Maybe this is the push I needed to do it. I’ll talk to Bill about it. Once I get another phone.”

“Well don’t worry about that now,” she tells him, taking his hand. “It was lucky Mike forgot his wallet.”

Billie’s concussion must be messing with his brain because for a minute he forgets all about Mike’s little white lie. “What?” he says.

“The wallet he went back for,” she explains, “Did he tell you? That’s how he found you, otherwise, you might have been there all night. I went to bed early.”

“Oh, yeah,” says Billie, shaking his head slightly to rearrange his marbles, “He did mention that yeah. Lucky.”

As if on command, his bandmate and best friend pokes his head in the door, a pair of takeaway coffees and a police officer with him. Mike gives Billie his paper cup, one that’s significantly shorter than the one he keeps himself. “Billie, this is Officer Maxwell. He wants to talk to you about what happened if you’re up for it now,” he says.

“I just want to get your statement and ask a few questions, Mr. Armstrong,” says the officer, a dark skinned mustachioed man with a baritone voice who towers over everyone else in the room. 

“Right, yeah. Of course.” Billie Joe doesn’t particularly enjoy chatting with anyone in uniform, but he’d known it was coming. “So, uh—what’d you wanna ask?”

“Well, I’d like to take your statement,” he says, as he pulls up a chair so he can rest the pad of paper he brought with him on his knee. “If you’re alright with that, that is.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Billie scratches his hairline, and he thinks about where to start. He’s had to do this before and remembering all of the trauma makes his chest tighter in a way that has nothing to do with his injuries, but he feels a little better when he sees Mike standing just behind the cop, his presence in his line of vision going a long way. “So, I guess, um—I was leaving the studio, y’know, where it happened. Everybody else had gone for the day, so I was alone, and I locked up the building on my way out. It’s not that big, y’know… I was walking out to my car,” he explains, deliberately leaving out the part where he texted Mike to let him know he was coming over. 

“About what time was this?” asks Maxwell.

“Around eight? Maybe later, something like that. It was dark. The parking lot’s not that bright. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t particularly paying attention to my surroundings because I’ve left that studio by myself a million times, so I was looking through my keys. I was about to unlock my car when, uh—I was just shoved up against the side of it, and he—he had a gun that he put to my head.”

Billie pauses and squeezes his wife’s hand as his words elicit a small gasp from her at the mention of the gun. She hasn’t heard the details yet.

“Do you have any idea what kind of firearm it was?” the office asks.

Billie shrugs. He fucking hates guns of all shapes and sizes and doesn’t make it a point to be able to differentiate the types of them by sight. “It wasn’t very big. I think it was a pistol or something, but y’know, I really don’t know.”

“Then what happened?”

“Uhh,” Billie Joe pauses to take a breath, blinking rapidly, and he wonders if it’s going to be this conversation with the police that triggers his inevitable mental breakdown over this stupid shit. Mike must sense it because he locks eyes with him, a small act that makes all the difference. At the same time he’s still holding tight to Adrienne’s hand. Billie finds himself sandwiched in the odd position of needing to draw strength from his boyfriend, while also providing it for his wife. It’s a heady balancing act that makes him feel like a curious link in a chain. “He asked for my wallet. I told him it was in my backpack, so he took it from me. I had it kinda slung loose over my shoulder, y’know—“

“What kind of backpack was it?”

Billie shrugs again. “It was just, like, a… normal black backpack. Ratty as shit, I drag it everywhere with me when we travel. He took it, and he kind of, like, kept me pushed up against the car while he looked through it. That’s when I tried to get him off of me. I threw him off and then tried to get my keys from the ground because I’d dropped them when he jumped me.”

“And then what happened?”

To the best of his ability, Billie recounts the rest of his encounter with his mugger, expanding on the details he can remember when he’s prompted. He gives them the best account of what was in the backpack as he can manage, and they ask Mike a few questions, too, about what the scene looked like when he’d found him. Reliving the whole thing sucks for both of them, but it’s something of a necessary evil. 

“Did he give you any indication that he was aware that it was you he was assaulting?”

“No, he didn’t seem to, I mean he didn’t ask for my autograph or anything,” he says, laughing slightly at the absurd notion, hoping to lighten the very heavy mood. No one else laughs. Then Billie goes silent as an odd memory comes over him. Mike notices.

“Billie, what is it?” He asks.

The guy could have killed him so easily, but he didn’t. That pause just before he was knocked out. Was it a pause of recognition?

“There was one weird thing…” he begins again with a shrug, almost ready to dismiss it himself.  “Well when I was down he pointed the gun at my head and I swear he was gonna waste me. But then he just kind of stopped and took a beat, and that was when he clubbed me instead. Maybe he recognized me and decided not to kill me? I don’t fucking know.”

His revelation brings a chill over the room. Officer Maxwell asks a few more questions, some about the studio and its security (or lack thereof, Billie is ashamed to admit), and Mike chimes in on some of that and also directs them to Bill and the other suits at the label. Then he has Billie read the statement over before he signs it, and he gives him a card with a number for him to call if he remembers anything else about the incident. Of course Maxwell tells him the chances of them finding the guy or his stuff are minimal, but having been through this once already, Billie already knows that.

By the time the officer leaves, Billie Joe is more exhausted than he’d been upon waking up from his concussion-induced stupor. His earlier hunger pangs are forgotten and his measly cup of coffee is gone. “How come I got the toddler size coffee?” He complains to Mike once Maxwell is gone, unapologetically grumpy.

“The doctor said you could have a small cup. Too much caffeine can inhibit your recovery from the concussion. You’re lucky you got that much.”

“Well, that’s balls….” he says, making a feeble attempt with his busted ribs at throwing the cup toward the wastebasket against the wall. He misses of course and Mike makes the rebound shot for him. 

Adrienne smiles at his bad attitude, “You sound better already.”

Billie yawns, the thimble of caffeine doing nothing to keep his exhaustion at bay. “Adie, if it’s okay, I think I want to sleep.”

“Of course,” she says, getting up and planting kisses on his forehead, cheek and lips. “Rest, and I’ll come back later with some overnight things for you.”

“Thanks,” he says, eyes already closing, “I love you.”

“Love you too, Boo,” she says, waving to Mike as she goes. “I’ll ask the nurse to bring you some food for when you wake up.”

The reminder of food makes Billie marvel once again at her perceptive nature, but her words already feel like a distant echo to him. He wakes only slightly at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice.

“I better go, too, and let you sleep,” says Mike softly upon Adrienne’s exit. “Britt keeps texting me anyway.”

Eyes still closed, Billie reaches out his hand towards the sound. Seconds later, he feels Mike take it, lacing their fingers together. Mike leans down, kisses and nuzzles Billie’s neck and whispers in his ear. “I’ll be back, too. Nurse you back to health myself if I have to.”

Mike’s suggestive words make Billie smile in his half sleep and drift off to the most pleasant dreams. 

~*~

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, in the middle of the afternoon, Billie Joe is sprawled across a pool lounger in his backyard, scrolling through social media because he’s bored. In his recovery from the mugging, it’s something he’s been doing a lot of. Billie talks a big game, about how damaging Instagram and Twitter are—and he believes it—but that doesn’t stop him from wasting too much time on one app or the other. Same as anyone else, he gets sucked in, especially when he’s lacking in obligations. Tre decided to fly with Sara to South America for an extended vacation, so Billie can’t get into the studio with the band, and besides that, Adrienne has been insistent about him resting. He’s older these days, she says, and his body needs more time to heal than he thinks it does. Billie Joe’s fatigue and sore ribs prove her point, though he still rolls his eyes at her when she gets on his case.

Truth be told, Billie is restless, and it’s not just about wanting to have band practice or demo some of the tracks he’s been tweaking on his phone. That’s a good part of it, obviously, but it’s not all he’s thinking about. Honestly, Billie is thinking about his bassist. They were supposed to hook up, and then he went and got his stupid ass mugged, foiling that plan entirely. It’s now been over two months since the last time they were able to get into bed together, which might as well be an eternity. Billie Joe misses the sensations of Mike’s calloused hands on the most sensitive parts of his body, how urgently and passionately Mike kisses him, and the feel of Mike’s erection that promises all sorts of nasty pleasure. He’s jerked off in the shower a non-zero amount of times in the last few days, but that’s getting pretty old.

It doesn’t help that Billie keeps coming across Brittney’s posts on his Instagram feed. Apparently, her and Mike just went for a trip to Big Sur, so she’s spamming content in the way she does when she’s excited about something. He’s not exactly jealous—or at least, he’s not jealous of Brittney directly. Billie is just envious of their romantic getaway and all of the sex they probably had, judging from the types of photos and captions Brittney is posting. Mike is shirtless in more than one of them, but the most suggestive image is one where he’s sitting up on the bed with his pointer finger suggestively crooked at the camera. Then there’s the mirror selfie where Brittney is in a bikini with Mike pressed up behind her, his face hidden from the camera and in her hair. She captioned that one with: When he loves a blonde.

Because he’s not an asshole, Billie Joe likes the posts. Besides, it might be suspicious if he didn’t, but he stares at their mirror selfie for a while, chewing on his bottom lip. He’s happy for his friend, of course, for being able to get away with his wife of eight years. To be fair, Billie got to spend quite a bit of time with Mike on tour, so he really doesn’t have any right to be envious… except that he is, and he can’t take it anymore. It’s been too damn long.

Billie opens up his message thread with Mike and texts: I wanna see you. He doesn’t bother with a hey, man or a how’s it going? and instead skips straight to the point. They’re men. They don’t need a bunch of fluff, Billie Joe thinks. 

It takes Mike about ten to fifteen minutes, but he replies, Me too but Britt’s been keeping me busy.

This makes Billie frown, whether or not it should. Yeah, he knows she’s been keeping Mike busy, so he didn’t need the newsflash. 

Before he can respond, Mike sends another text: How you been feeling?

He’s referring to his injuries of course, but Billie doesn’t want to waste any time talking about that. He writes, Good but horny. After thinking on it for another few seconds, he adds, Send me a dick pic.

Don’t think it’s a good idea, Britt checks my phone sometimes. Gonna have to delete these as it is.

As far as Billie Joe knows, his wife has never once gone through his phone, so he finds it kind of fucked up that it’s something Brittney does, though it’s not necessarily surprising. In some ways, she likes to keep a tight leash on Mike. All things considered, she’s probably not wrong for doing so. Regardless, this conversation is not getting him anywhere closer to having the sex with Mike that he wants to have. Billie puts his phone down, sighing in frustration and rubbing at his eyes, dislodging his sunglasses in the process. He thought they’d have an easier time of this, being bandmates and all, and that’s not to mention the fact that Mike only lives, like ten minutes from him. 

While Billie is moping, his phone vibrates, this time with a phone call. It’s Mike, and he doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Hey.”

”Hey, this seemed easier,” Mike responds. He sounds slightly out of breath and like he’s trying to keep his voice down, and there’s a mechanical whirring in the background that makes it harder to hear him. 

“What’re you doing?” Billie Joe asks, curious.

”I’m on the treadmill while Britt’s in the garden.”

Billie stifles a groan, letting his head fall back on the lounger. If Mike’s on the treadmill, then he’s all hot and sweaty and sexy, like he is when he’s fucking him. “You’re killing me,” Billie accuses.

”Yeah, yeah, yeah—well, that’s why I’m calling. I had an idea.”

”Go on.”

”I think I can convince Brittney to go down to Newport in the next week or two. Could you meet me there? She’s always got yoga classes and shit she wants to do down there, so I could probably get away and meet you at your place.”

It’s an intriguing idea, but it only takes a little bit of thought for the plan to dissolve. Billie Joe sighs. “I don’t think it’d work. Adie would want to go with me.”

”Alright… Well, what if we did some kind of double date with the girls? We don’t have anything going on this weekend. Maybe we could have dinner, and you and I could try to sneak off.”

Twirling his sunglasses around by one of the arms, Billie considers it and decides it’s better than nothing. Also, he’s very pleased Mike is putting some effort into this since it means he wants to see him just as much. “Okay,” Billie agrees, “okay, yeah, let’s try that.”

“Cool, I’ll put the bug in Britt’s ear.”

”I’ll do the same with Adie. Make it seem like it’s more their idea, y’know, to avoid suspicion.”

”Yeah, good idea. I’ll text you later, alright?” There’s beeping in the background of the call, and the whirring noise slows down, presumably because Mike is turning off the treadmill. “And keep getting better, okay?” His voice drops lower, more heated. “I want you to be in good enough shape for me to fuck the shit out of you.”

Billie Joe’s guts tighten deliciously. “Promise?” He asks breathily.

”It’s a guarantee, Billie. Talk soon.”

”Bye, Mike.”

~*~

Chapter Text

Saturday night rolls around, and Billie finds himself on one of the nicer streets in San Francisco, outside of one of the nicer restaurants in the area. He’s smoking a cigarette and probably bringing down the curb appeal of this little Italian place, but he needs to do something with his nervous energy as he and Adrienne wait for their friends to join them. Billie Joe has no reason to be nervous, but it feels like he’s tingling with anticipation. It’s been almost three weeks since he saw Mike last, and even if it’s going to be in the company of their wives, he’s excited to see him now.

”They should be pulling up here in a second,” Adie says to him while typing something out on her phone, most likely a text to Brittney. She tosses her phone into her small black handbag afterward and smiles at Billie, brushing imaginary lint from the shoulder of his suit jacket. “You’re good, right, baby? You’re sure you’re up for this?”

”Yes, Adie, I’m fine,” Billie replies with a wry smile. “I told you, I’ve been chomping at the bit to get the fuck out of the house.”

”I know, but I worry.” Adrienne tugs playfully at the lapels of his blazer. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another with you, you know.”

His smile softening, Billie Joe nods and murmurs, “Yeah, I know,” as he tucks one of her dreadlocks behind her ear. He’s put Adie through so much hell, it’s hard to fault her for any of her anxiety. Truth be told, Billie has a little twinge of guilt, too, but he’s been really good at ignoring that lately. Still, in the spirit of expressing his gratitude, he bends to give her a light kiss on the lips. “Thanks for putting up with me, babe.”

”Mmhm,” Adie hums with the faintest inflection of sarcasm, and then something seems to catch her eye when she leans away from him. “This is them.”

A vintage red Corvette is idling at the curb, and from the passenger seat, Brittney emerges, her long legs preceding her. She’s wearing a gauzy silver dress with matching heels, showing off her figure as she tends to do, but Billie hardly notices. He’s too distracted by the tall drink of water coming around the front of the car from the driver’s seat. His cigarette smoldering down at his side, Billie Joe watches Mike interact with the valet, smoothly handing over his keys along with a crisp bill of cash like he’s done it a thousand times because he has. The only reason he stops staring is Brittney stepping in front of him for a hug.

”It’s been a while, Billie,” Brittney says in her airy, California-flavored tone of voice, and settling back on her heels, she regards him with her head tilted in sympathy. “I haven’t seen you since the mugging. You’ve been recovering okay?”

”Yeah, I’ve been good, thanks.”

”Good. Mike was so freaked out finding you like that, you know.”

”Well thank goodness that he did,” Adie chimes in. Mike has joined them, and she turns towards him, grasping his arm. “You were a hero that night Billie was mugged, coming to his rescue like you did.”

Mike waves her off. “I ain’t no hero.”

”Well, it was really goddamn lucky you were there,” Adrienne insists, and she leans up on her tiptoes to hug him properly. “What would I do without you around to help look after my danger magnet of a husband?”

Their eyes meet over the top of Adie’s head, a mutual exchange of guilt. The only reason he found Billie Joe that night is because he didn’t show for their planned hookup. It’s just like Adie, to be overly thankful (and perhaps a touch dramatic about these types of events), but it always comes from a genuine place, which makes it all the worse. 

That may be the reason Mike responds with a weak laugh. “Well, you know, I’ve been looking after his punk ass for two and a half decades now.”

”I’ll tell you one thing, we’re buying dinner tonight to thank you,” Adrienne tells him, then raises her eyebrows at the rest of them. “Should we go inside and see if our table is ready?”

”Yes, I’m starving,” Brittney says, stepping forward to link arms with her. “I’ve heard such good things about this place, too.”

Billie remembers his burning cigarette, flicks the collected ashes, and raises it. “You girls go on ahead. I’m just gonna finish this first.”

They do, their heels clacking on the pavement, leaving Mike and him alone just like he wanted. With their backs turned, the bassist shuffles closer to Billie, and his eyes are smoldering like the cigarette balanced in the crook of Billie’s tattooed fingers. “You dyed your hair,” Mike says in a low voice, almost faintly accusatory.

”You noticed,” Billie Joe replies with a soft smirk, and his eyes roll upwards as his free hand picks at the straightened locks of his bleached hair. “Well, you know me, how I get bored with my hair.”

”Yeah, I fuckin’ know you, alright,” Mike mutters. “You trying to get me to jump you right here in the street?”

”If I thought it’d work,” Billie counters.

After quickly glancing at the door of the restaurant, Mike sneaks his hand underneath Billie’s jacket, smoothing along the curve of his torso, but he doesn’t say anything. They just stare at each other, tension buzzing between them. Billie Joe can clearly see it, how bad his friend wants him, and it’s so fucking thrilling, the way his heart beats faster in his chest as a result. The want goes both ways. Mike looks really damn good right now. He’s dressed in all black, and he’s got stubble lining his jaw line that Billie wants to feel with his fingertips. That’s all not to mention the way Mike slides his palm down his side and hooks his thumb past the waistband of his trousers.

”I want to kiss you so bad right now,” Mike says, the ache evident in his tone.

Taking the last drag from his cigarette, Billie tosses the butt to the ground as he says, “Likewise. I want to do a lot more than that, though.”

”We will,” Mike promises, and he takes his hand out of the inside of Billie Joe’s blazer to rest it on the outside on the small of his back, gently pushing him towards the entrance of the restaurant. “Let’s just try to get through dinner first.”

Now that they’re in such close proximity, that seems like an incredible feat to Billie, but it’s not like they have any other choice. Their table is waiting for them inside when they enter, and they’re seated in an intimate corner with little foot traffic. It’s not surprising considering he had to pull the celebrity card to get a last-minute reservation at this place, so now they’re pulling out all of the stops for them. The waiter brings a complimentary bottle of champagne, which is useless for half of their foursome, but it’s a nice gesture nonetheless. Billie especially can’t complain about this since Mike is reliably more frisky when he’s had a bit to drink, champagne specifically.

Whenever the girls get together, they always do a lot of chit-chatting about the kids and minor gossiping about mutual friends, so Billie Joe and Mike have to come up with their own shit to talk about that isn’t how badly they want to fuck. Music being the safe topic that it is, Mike tells him about a new bass he’s just picked up, and he listens as best as he can when he’s more focused on Mike’s long fingers that stroke his chin while he speaks. Billie thinks about where those fingers have been, the buttons they’re capable of pushing, and it makes it super fucking difficult to focus. They’re seated across from each other at this tiny table, but it might as well be the length of a catwalk when they can’t touch each other. 

In between the salads and the entrees, Billie toes out of his shoe and extends his leg underneath the table to brush the side of his foot along Mike’s calf. Mike had been listening in on whatever their wives were talking about, but his eyes flicker towards him at the contact, though he’s diligent about withholding a visible reaction. The corner of his mouth lifting in a would-be flirty smile, Billie Joe points his toes, dragging them as far up Mike’s leg as he can reach without compromising his position, and he circles them around the inside of Mike’s tense thigh. Very deliberately, he licks his tongue over his top lip and almost grins at the way Mike’s fist tightens around his dinner fork. If you knew to look for it, too, you’d notice a flush racing down Mike’s neck and to his chest, revealed by the top open buttons of his dress shirt, something that can’t be hidden by a skilled poker face.

Billie keeps it up through dinner, unable to help himself. His leg is too short to reach Mike’s crotch—a pity, to be sure—but he makes it interesting by switching things up, either trading off between Mike’s legs or using the heel of his foot to press into Mike’s knee. Mike does an exemplary job of pretending it’s not happening, so much so that Billie begins to wonder if it’s not having that great of an effect on him. That notion crumbles when the girls make a trip to the bathroom together after their plates have been cleared.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” Mike mutters, dropping his crumpled cloth napkin to the table as he leans forward on his forearms. 

It’s funny how affectionate an accusation like that can sound. Billie Joe is practically giddy on the inside, and he smiles cheekily at Mike over the rim of his water glass. “Thanks for the compliment,” he says.

”I almost choked on my eggplant at one point,” Mike tells him wryly, but his blue eyes are twinkling.

Sitting forward to mirror Mike’s permission, Billie murmurs, “I want to choke on your cock,” and he watches what it does to Mike’s expression.

”Jesus Christ, Billie,” Mike breathes, looking nearly pained with arousal.

”I’m just telling you the truth.” Billie Joe glances over his shoulder, and seeing no sign of their wives, he bites his lip and taps his fingernails against the dewy surface of his glass. “How’re we gonna make that happen? If I have to go home without touching you, I’m gonna kill myself.”

”That’s dramatic,” Mike says, amused.

”Well, I tend to get a little dramatic when I’m horny.”

”The thing is, you’re always horny.”

”You saying you don’t want me?” Billie challenges hotly, arching one eyebrow.

Mike’s face darkens, his voice is an octave lower when he responds. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone this bad in my entire goddamn life.”

If it’s a helluva thing to say, it’s a helluva thing to hear. The way Billie’s stomach twists in on itself is crazy, intense like the way his balls tighten. He can’t remember ever experiencing quite this much sexual tension with someone. Billie Joe fantasizes about climbing over this table and straddling Mike in his chair, about crawling underneath it and sucking Mike off, about grabbing Mike by the hand and dragging him into the alleyway for a dirty fuck. These scenarios play out in his head one by one, fueled by the heat of Mike’s gaze locked with his. 

The connection is broken when Mike’s eyes flicker off to the side, and he straightens up in his seat as the girls return to the table. “Billie and I were just saying,” he says to Adie and Brittney, “we should stop in at the club just down the street. They do live music on Saturdays.”

”That sounds like fun to me,” Brittney says, leaning into Mike and draping her thin arm around him. She wiggles her shoulders and smiles suggestively. “I could do a little dancing. What do you say, honey?” 

Her question is directed at Adie, who glances up from her purse, ultimately looking at Billie. “Um, I don’t know,” she says reluctantly. “You should probably go home and get some rest, don’t you think?”

”I’m good,” Billie Joe replies at once. “I’d love to hear some music.”

”Of course you would,” Adrienne says with a half-roll of her eyes. After pulling out her credit card and setting it down on top of the check left by the waiter, she concedes by softly sighing. “Alright, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to stop in for a bit. You’re just going to listen,” Adie orders Billie, sternly pointing her finger at him. “No thrash-dancing or finding a way up there to play or something.”

Boy, does she know Billie well. Grinning, he curls his hand around her small finger and brings it to his lips for a kiss. “Yes, ma’am,” Billie Joe winks. Adie turns back to Brittney, and he turns back to Mike and his heart skips a beat from the way he’s looking at him, like he knows exactly what to do with him and has a plan. It’s so fucking sexy.

On the short distance to the club, they walk in a line, Billie holding Adrienne’s hand and Mike holding Brittney’s, the wives in the middle. When they get to the entrance, Mike holds the door open for all of them, and in gentlemanly fashion, he lets Adrienne and Brittney go first. Billie’s award is a subtle squeeze on the ass as Mike shuffles in behind him, and an honest to God shiver runs through him at the promise that comes with the groping. 

The club is dark and loud like any good club should be, and it’s at the perfect capacity: not packed to the gills but filled with enough patrons to be lively. Billie Joe has been here to see bands before but not in quite some time since he prefers to stay on the other side of the Bay whenever possible. It actually has a decent-sized stage for the live music and plenty of booths for viewing considering they’re in the heart of downtown San Francisco, and the bar is relatively big, too. That’s where they head first so Brittney and Mike can get a drink. Adie orders a mocktail, and after taking a sip of it, he actually orders himself one. More often Billie will reach for a non-alcoholic beer in a setting like this, but tonight is all about throwing caution to the wind. 

Mike finds them a booth in the corner, shaped in a half-circle, and as Adie and Brittney slide in at either end, he removes his trench coat. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” he announces, projecting his voice over the band that’s currently playing. 

It’s an all-female outfit whose vibe seems to be nineties alternative, sultry and almost bluesy. Billie is into it, but he has more pressing matters at hand. After meeting Mike’s eyes in the lights that strobe from the nearby stage, he tells the girls, “I’m just gonna step out for a smoke real quick.”

”Be safe,” Adrienne advises him in her no-nonsense tone of voice.

”I’ll go out and find him if I have to,” Mike assures her, his hands falling to either of Billie Joe’s shoulders.

She seems satisfied with this because she turns to make a comment to Brittney about the band, and Billie takes that as their cue. Doing his best to seem inconspicuous, he beelines for the bathrooms on the other side of the club with Mike close behind him. Fortunately the table they selected is blocked by a wall from the front of the club, which may have been the reason Mike led them there to begin with, because their wives won’t be able to see them disappear together.

In the seclusion of the long hallway containing the bathrooms, Mike presses in closer, moving his hands to his hips to steer Billie into the men’s room. It’s a single-person bathroom, currently unoccupied—fucking jackpot —and Mike can’t get the door closed and locked fast enough once they’re inside. They crash together for an urgent kiss, groping frantically for each other in the small space. Mike backs him up to the counter and lifts him up onto the edge of it.

”Ah, fuck,” Billie Joe’s face screws up tight and he hisses, an involuntary sound, and he curls his arm around his ribs. 

“Oh, shit, sorry, I forgot.” His brow furrowed, Mike glances in between Billie’s face and his torso with his hands hovering around like they can do something to help. “Are you alright?”

”Yeah.” Billie’s smile is more of a grimace as he lightly rubs over his upper right side, where his ribs are smarting the most. “You’re just gonna have to be a little… gentler with me than usual.”

”I can do that,” Mike murmurs, and he smooths his palms along the curve of Billie Joe’s sides, close enough that he has to tilt his head to maintain eye contact. “You know, I really wish I could get my hands on that fucker who did this to you.”

The threat is evident in Mike’s low voice, and the sentiment is sweet. It wouldn’t be the first time he went after someone harassing Billie. A few years ago, Mike confronted a stalker with a baseball bat. They weren’t sleeping together then, however, so there’s an extra layer of romance now. Smiling softly, he hooks his ankles around Mike’s legs and cups both of his cheeks. “I’d rather you put your hands on me.”

Humming, Mike threads one set of fingers through Billie’s hair, their noses grazing. “My pleasure,” he purrs, on his way in for another kiss.

As their mouths hungrily reconnect, Billie Joe moans quietly, holding Mike tighter to him. It feels like he was waiting for fucking ever to get to this point, Mike’s hard body against his, and he wants to fuse them together so they can never be separated again. If Billie examined this impulse carefully, he’d see how dangerous that kind of desire is, but he’s too caught up in the moment to bother. His focus is on the stroke of Mike’s tongue, the nimbleness of his fingertips along his scalp, and the feel of muscles rippling underneath his own touch. It’s a collision of sensation that Billie is so easily lost in, the rest of the world seemingly falling away.

Mike moves to kiss his neck, focusing on the sensitive spot just below his ear, and groaning, Billie Joe reciprocates wherever he can reach. “Fuck, that feels so good,” he mutters, mostly referring to the way Mike’s light stubble brushes his skin.

”I’d do it all day, but we’re on the clock.” Mike kisses a lightning fast path back to his lips, and simultaneously, he unbuckles Billie’s belt and undoes his buttons to pull his cock out of his trousers. He curls his big hand around it, pumping his fist and swiping his thumb over the dewy slit.

”Oh, fuck,” Billie gasps. With hands curled around the counter’s edge to balance himself, he leans away to watch, his top teeth momentarily scraping over his bottom lip, which gives way to another round of cursing. “Fuck, Mike, fuck.”

”I love the way you sound.” Mike takes him by the nape of his neck and then bends to lick a stripe over his throat, then kissing back down to the open V of his dress shirt. “You wanna fuck, right?”

” Fuck yeah, are you kidding?”

“Alright, jump down for me, I’ll help you.”

”No way, fuck me like this.”

”Much as I’d love to, I think it’d hurt you, especially when I’m meant to be gentle with you. C’mon.”

At Mike’s encouragement, Billie Joe carefully returns to his feet, much to his dismay even if it’s sweet of his friend to be mindful of his injured body. Mike spins him around and pushes his pants and underwear all the way down his thighs, and then those hands are on his exposed ass, groping and squeezing. Billie releases a mewl of pleasure, his senses prickling at the promise of what comes with such an intimate touch. His head falls back and to the side, and Mike’s lips return to his throat, his teeth gently nibbling. 

“You have no business being this sexy,” Mike tells him while he’s unbuttoning his own trousers, and Billie smirks.

”I’ve been saying that for years.”

”Mmhm. Bend over.”

Billie Joe obeys, leaning forward to brace himself on the counter. He hears foil ripping, and in the next instant, feels cold jelly dribbling down his ass crack. The gasp Billie yields turns into another broken sigh when he’s spread open and the lube is spread around with a blunt thumb. Widening his stance without even thinking about it, his back arches as the same thumb briefly breaches his entrance, and he unwittingly moans. “Oh, fuck yeah.”

”Wish I could take my time with you, but I don’t have it, baby. You ready for me?”

”Yes,” Billie whimpers, “fuck me.”

Mike lets out the hottest little growl before he takes Billie Joe by the hips and gives him what he’s asking for. He presses into Billie with shallow thrusts until his dickhead catches on his slicked rim, his fingertips digging into him as he eases inside. “Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ tight, Billie, holy shit,” Mike says breathlessly, resting his forehead on the base of Billie Joe’s sweaty neck. “You’re gonna have to touch yourself, okay, baby? Touch yourself ‘cause this is gonna be really fuckin’ quick.”

And God, it is, but it was always going to be; it’s not like they had much choice in the matter. Mike is going at a relentless speed within thirty seconds, and Billie furiously strokes his erection to keep up. Regardless, he’s knocking at the door to climax in short order, his sweet spot singing every time Mike spears inside of him, and it grows in intensity until his balls are fit to burst. This is what Billie has been waiting for—this fullness, this friction, this thrill that he can’t get anywhere else. It’s an incomparable pleasure, being fucked like this, and there’s something extra dirty and sexy about doing it in a public restroom with their wives nearby. There’s a shame mixed up in it, too, but at the same time, he gets the most delicious pang in his gut when he thinks about Brittney in particular walking in on her husband pounding his ass in a club bathroom.

A strangled cry rattles out of Billie Joe’s chest. “Ah, fuck, I’m gonna come, fuck!”

”Yeah, you gonna come for my cock?” Mike asks roughly, moving his hand to tighten his fist in Billie’s hair. Billie whines affirmatively, and his bassist somehow starts drilling into him faster. “That’s right, baby, that’s fuckin’ right, and I’m gonna fill your hot fuckin’ hole.”

That kind of talk tips Billie Joe over the edge, and his climax is explosive. Slamming his palm into the linoleum counter, he comes, and within moments, Mike pounds into him a final time. Mike’s prick throbbing inside of him prolongs his orgasm, and Billie experiences full-body spasms as a result, his head hanging in surrender to the bliss of sensation. 

“God fuckin’ damnit,” Mike mutters when he slowly pulls out, and then Billie feels his thumb at his entrance again, rubbing over the stretched, sticky muscle. “Fuck, you should see this. So much fucking come….”

Billie Joe groans, Mike’s words inspiring another pulse of pleasure. “I can feel it.”

Against Billie’s neck, Mike murmurs, “I’d lick it out of you if I had the time.”

”Oh, fuck,” Billie whimpers, his pucker and cock both twitching at the thought, somehow still interested. “Let’s make fuckin’ time,” he mumbles.

”Next time,” Mike chuckles, punctuating the promise with a nip at his earlobe. He reaches around Billie Joe to rip paper towels from the dispenser. “Here. We’ve gotta get back. The girls will be wondering where the hell we are.”

Begrudgingly, Billie wipes off of his palm and his dick with the rigid brown paper cloth, and fortunately, he didn’t get any unwanted substances anywhere else. Mike does him a favor and cleans out his hole for him, gently, so as not to hurt his oversensitized rim. Still, Billie can feel the residue of Mike’s come clinging to that intimate ring of skin, and he finds it so fucking hot. He loves it.

Once they both have their pants refastened, Billie Joe pulls the bassist back to him for an indulgent kiss, delighting in the way Mike holds him by the curve of his spine. There’s so many parts of him Mike didn’t touch, parts of Mike he didn’t get to touch, and he groans because he wants more. “This is fucking torture,” Billie complains, leaning their foreheads together with his arms hooked around Mike’s shoulders. “When can we do this again? Properly. I need you for more than five minutes.”

A half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, Mike fixes some of the hair at the front of Billie’s head. “You’re so needy,” he says, his blue eyes warm with amusement.

”Yeah, I am,” Billie Joe replies, unbothered. “I need to be regularly serviced by your hot dick, or I’ll malfunction, so when can I see you?”

”We have that meeting at Otis next week,” Mike reminds him, eyebrows raised. “Maybe we could hook up after?” 

“Fuck, I forgot all about that. That’s perfect. The meeting’s at, like, eleven, right? And it’s just PR bullshit, so it won’t take long.”

”Which will leave plenty of time for me to service you with my hot dick.” Mike bends to place a sensual kiss to Billie’s waiting lips, then licking over the bottom one. “And my hot tongue,” he adds in a guttural sort of voice, causing the hair on the back of Billie’s neck to stand up.

”Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Billie Joe mumbles into Mike’s open mouth.

”Never.” As Mike kisses Billie again, he first squeezes his ass before slapping them both. “C’mon. We’ve been gone way too long.”

After they help fix each other’s clothing, they slip out of the bathroom. They agree to just tell Adrienne and Brittney that Mike met Billie outside while he was smoking, so they head back to their table together. The band that was playing is loading off their equipment when they return, and he’s a little disappointed to have missed out. However, Billie Joe is less disappointed when he sinks back into the booth and feels the sweet, lingering ache in his ass, the ghost of a deep fuck. 

”I was getting worried,” Adie says as he slides in beside her, and indeed, the concern is set into her pretty features.

”Sorry, babe, smoked a second.” The lie comes so easy, Billie should probably feel bad about it, but he tries to absolve himself by kissing his wife on the temple, snaking his arm around her. 

“That’s okay,” Brittney smiles. “We got to have our girl time.”

Mike has his arm draped over her shoulders, their fingers are intertwined up by Brittney’s collarbone, and Billie clocks it while reaching for his fruity mocktail. He has a fleeting pang of jealousy, but he remembers that the imprint of Mike’s fingernails are on his hips. It goes away, so Billie Joe returns the smile, allowing it to linger on his best friend. “Good. Everybody needs a little girl time.”

~*~

Chapter Text

A little less than a week later, Billie has some pep in his step on his way to the studio. This isn’t a first for him, but he’s definitely more chipper than usual, probably because of his and Mike’s planned hookup that will follow the PR meeting today. Billie has at least a hundred different positions he wants to try, and buried in the bottom of his brand new black backpack that he slings over his shoulder as he gets out of his car is an unopened bottle of scented lube as well as a cock ring and a vibrator still in their packaging. He doesn’t know what he wants to do with either one of them yet, but he’s downright enchanted by the possibilities, confident he and Mike can find creative uses for each item. It better be worth it, though, because Billie Joe had to make the order online behind Adie’s back and intercept the box when it came. Stuff for the studio is what he’d told her… which wasn’t totally a lie.

As it happens, Tre is dismounting from his motorcycle at the time Billie shuts the door to his Ford. When Tre removes his helmet, he reveals a head of electric purple hair, and it makes Billie smile. There is hardly anything more familiar to Billie than his drummer-of-a-different color, who seemingly changes his look by spinning a wheel or something. The comfort is in the chaos or however the saying goes.

”What’s up, drummer man?” Billie Joe greets him. “Long time, no see.”

“Good to see you on your feet,” Tre nods, deftly stealing Billie’s travel mug of coffee from his hand for a sip. “The way Adrienne told it to Sara, it sounded like I almost lost my frontman.”

”You know Adie,” Billie sighs, “she can exaggerate a little bit when she’s scared.”

”Yeah, she’s the only one who does that,” Tre smirks, to which Billie Joe rolls his eyes. The minor irritation is forgotten, however, when his friend slings his arm across his shoulders as they fall into step through the small parking lot. “You do like to keep us on our toes, BJ.”

Billie can hear the affection in Tre’s voice, and he’s warmed by it. Whether or not he’ll say it outright, he knows how much Tre cares about him; he’s checked in with him about a hundred times via text since the mugging, just to make sure he’s healing okay, and it’s not just their livelihood he’s worried about. It’s part of why Billie feels so guilty, sneaking around behind Tre’s back with Mike, but he just has to hope he’d understand.

“Well, y’know—” Billie Joe pauses to haul open the door to the building. “—I got lucky. It could’ve been worse.”

”From what I hear, it was lucky Mike found you before you were eaten by stray dogs or something.”

He makes the comment over his shoulder while climbing the stairs, and Billie chuckles weakly, experiencing a little bit more of that guilt. Everybody keeps bringing this up, like it was some kind of miracle Mike found his beaten ass. Luck or divine intervention had little to do with it. Billie was only fortunate that they had a planned hookup for Mike to miss him and have a reason to go looking for him. Oh, well—he has to figure people will forget about the whole mugging fiasco eventually.

At the top of the steps is the apartment side, and it’s one of the reasons Billie Joe purchased the building as a studio. Even if the studio itself is laughably tiny, it’s priceless to have the upstairs living space, complete with kitchen and jukebox. He’s become attached to Otis in just the last couple of years since it’s become sort of a second home, and admittedly, this will not be the first time he and Mike will take advantage of the apartment’s privacy for naughty activities. It’s just too damn convenient.

When Billie steps up after Tre into the apartment, he finds Bill and Mike already there, and his gaze automatically falls on his bassist. Mike is sitting on one of the barstools in the kitchen, leaning one arm on the island, a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. He smiles, but Mike doesn’t return it. That’s when Billie realizes how uncomfortable Bill Schneider looks where he stands behind the island, and he frowns.

”Who died?” Tre questions, in typical Tre fashion, and he’s removed his sunglasses. 

“Nobody died, Tre,” Bill Schneider sighs, but he’s rubbing the back of his neck in the way he does when something has gone horribly wrong, and he won’t look anybody in the eye either.

”Well, you’ve got that look on your face,” Tre insists. “The last time you had that look you were telling Mike and me that this one was going to rehab.” He jerks his thumb at Billie Joe for emphasis, then offers him a sympathetic glance. “Sorry, Billie.”

”No, you’ve got a point,” Billie says, and he looks to Mike for answers, who shakes his head and raises one of his palms.

”He won’t tell me nothin’. I’ve been trying to needle it out of him for the last ten minutes.”

”I didn’t want to have to get into it more than once,” Bill explains, now rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. “When I rip the bandaid off, I want to just, you know, rip it off and be done.”

”Rip the bandaid off what ?” Billie Joe demands, unceremoniously dropping his backpack on the floor. Honestly, he’s starting to get a little freaked out. Bill has seen it all over the years, so this has to be pretty bad for him to be so fucking cryptic.

Bill lifts his head, his eyes flickering nervously between the three band members in the room, and his uncertain gaze lingers a little longer on Tre. He’s clearly hesitating for whatever reason, but ultimately, he just sighs again, apparently resigned. “Alright. Rip the bandaid off. Right. Here we go.” Stepping around to the short side of the island, Bill pulls the laptop forward, the one Billie hadn’t even realized was sitting there. After opening the lid, he stops and glances in between the trio again, who have all moved in closer. “Okay, I want you guys to remember not to panic, alright? Because it’s not going to do any good to lose our heads here when you see what I’m about to show you.”

”Dude, just fucking show us,” Mike snaps impatiently, hardly ever so rigid as he is right now.

Taking a deep breath, Bill yields a somber nod and turns back to the laptop. He keys in his password, and once he’s in, a web browser is already pulled up. The page that’s loaded displays a blank video box, and Bill might as well be launching a nuclear weapon with how tentatively he presses play. It’s like the keyboard is going to come out and bite him or something, and even after he clicks the button, he takes a step back like the laptop is going to explode after all.

To start, Billie doesn’t really understand what he’s supposed to be watching. For the first ten or fifteen seconds, the video box remains black, and the sound coming through the shitty laptop speakers is grainy, maybe muffled voices. But then he hears a familiar voice say, “You forgot to take the lens keeper off, dumbass,” and he quickly realizes the reason it’s familiar is because it’s his voice. There’s faint laughter, like giggles, and then the black screen becomes colored, pixel by pixel, and what comes into view is a bed in what appears to be a generic hotel room. More important, though, is what’s on the bed, and that happens to be Billie Joe… in the cheerleader outfit he wore for Mike on tour.

”What the fuck,” Billie whispers under his breath, and he’s gravitated closer to the laptop without consciously doing so, bracing his palms on the counter space in front of it.

The back of Mike enters the picture, strutting towards the bed, and the recorded version of him is saying, “I want you to get in my lap.”  

His jaw slackened in horror, Billie watches the video version of himself make a show of straddling Mike, who’s sitting up on the bed. The camera is pointed at the front of the mattress, so when Mike lifts up the bottom of the costume’s skirt, it gets a full shot of his pale buttocks and the hand Mike gropes it with.

“Yeah, take a look at this ass I’m gonna fuck ,” Mike is telling the camera, but his head tips back to look at Billie Joe as he draws his hand back and slaps a rounded cheek.

”Oh, fuck,” Billie gasps on the video, his spine visibly arching. His voice soft and coy, he asks, “Have I been a naughty cheerleader?”

”So naughty ,” Mike confirms. “Gonna spank you until it hurts to sit on my cock.”

They start kissing feverishly, and now both of Mike’s hands are on his ass, pulling the cheeks apart to reveal his hole, and Billie covers his open mouth in mortification. He remembers the night this was filmed, of course, but he’s never actually seen this, and he’s acutely aware that both Bill and Tre are in the room seeing this, too.

“Why the hell am I watching this right now?” the present Mike demands Bill, and past the edge in his voice, it’s shaking. “How do you have this?”

”It was put on the internet last night,” Bill explains quietly, and the way he avoids Mike’s eyes is almost sheepish. “There’s, uh—there’s more.”

” More? ” Billie repeats sharply, this being the one thing that could break his trance. “What do you mean, more ?”

Wordlessly, Bill reaches for the trackpad on the laptop and drags his finger over it to click into another tab open on the browser. It’s another video page on the same website—something Billie Joe has never heard of before called CelebPorn.com—and he hits play. 

Billie’s eyes widen with alarm all over again at what immediately comes into view. It’s a closeup of his face, and he’s going down on Mike, his lips sliding up and down the bassist’s erect cock.

Off-screen, Mike is muttering, “Goddammit, you’re so good at that, Billie, fuck.” He’s holding the camera so his voice comes through clear despite how breathless it sounds, and his free hand is petting Billie Joe’s hair, smoothing damp curls away from his forehead. “Got this just for you, baby, was thinking about your mouth on me the whole fucking show. Look at me, Billie. Show the camera how pretty your eyes are when you’re sucking Mike Dirnt’s dick.”

Mike loves to narrate when filming home movies like this, and when they were doing it, Billie thought it was hot. Right now, it’s making him sick to his stomach. It doesn’t help when Mike sets the camera off to the side, on a nightstand or something, putting both of them on screen, and at once it’s apparent that this time there’s no costume between them, they’re both completely naked and in full view of the camera.  It’s also a completely different hotel room than the last one. At Mike’s encouragement, the recorded version of Billie Joe turns around so he’s straddling Mike backwards, and he resumes blowing him as the bassist spits on Billie’s hole and starts to finger him. His response is decidedly enthusiastic by the way he moans around Mike’s erection and ruts against his chest.

”Gonna get you good and wet for my cock, baby,” Mike is promising Billie on camera, husky and ragged in the same token. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? My cock inside you?”

Billie pulls off Mike to whine his answer, his head lolling to the side. “Fuck yeah,” he whimpers, and he gasps when Mike buries his face in the crack of his ass. “ Oh, fuck, Mike, yes….”

“Am I hallucinating right now?” Tre’s voice cuts through the lewd noises coming out of the laptop. “Did I smoke this morning, and I just don’t remember? Because I have to be hallucinating, right?”

”You’re not hallucinating, Tre,” Bill says, grave and apologetic in the same token. Without saying anything else, he hovers next to the laptop again and clicks to yet another tab and starts yet another video.

In this one, Billie Joe is getting fucked on his back in the very apartment they’re standing in, and this seems to be the last straw for Mike. “Why the fuck is this on the internet?” He demands, one rigid fist propped on his hip, but the other hand he gestures with towards the computer is trembling. Mike is glaring daggers at Bill, but he’s as white as a sheet… or as white as Billie’s ass, depending on what analogy you want to go with.

”I was hoping you guys could tell me that,” Bill replies.

Tearing his eyes off of the screen to stare wide-eyed at their friend and assistant, Billie splutters, “What—why— I don’t fucking know— ”

“This isn’t happening,” Mike mutters, and he shakes his head as he turns away, all ten of his fingers tangled in his previously spiked blonde hair. “This cannot be fucking happening—”

“We have to get this off,” Billie says, and he’s already bordering on the edge of hysteria. “Immediately, right now.”

Swallowing, Billie slowly turns his head back towards the laptop, and his stomach lurches at what’s happening on the video now: he’s on his knees, and Mike is taking him from behind now, intermittently spanking him. The camera captures the perfect angle to see Mike’s dick sliding in and out of his body to his enormous pleasure. The sounds are ungodly, they’re either moaning each other’s names or cursing, and Billie’s begging for it harder and faster , and he can’t take it anymore. Billie slaps down the lid of the laptop abruptly, and he bends over a little bit, his hands in hair that’s crisp with product. This has to be a dream, he thinks. Any second now, Billie Joe is going to wake up next to Adie in bed, free from this fucking nightmare.

“So I assume from your reactions that these are legit? You guys are seriously fucking?” Tre’s voice cuts through the silence that followed the slamming of the laptop. When Billie dares to turn his head to look at him over his shoulder, he finds him bewildered and incredulous. “How did that happen?”

Mike ignores him completely. “I want to know how the fuck this got on the internet,” he growls, pointing furiously at the computer that has offended him so much, but he’s glaring at Bill, like this is somehow his fault. “Tell me how the hell this happened, Bill, and whatever you have to do I want it taken down .”

“If it was that easy, Mike, I would’ve done it already,” Bill tells him earnestly, gesturing towards himself. ”The lawyers are working on a cease and desist to serve this website, but that’s only part of the problem. We don’t know who got their hands on what is obviously private material and where else it’s going to end up. Somebody on the PR team told me there’s clips on Reddit already and the milder stuff is on Twitter. You guys know what the internet does with stuff like this. It goes viral—” He pauses to snap his fingers. “—like that.”

The thought of his ass going viral makes Billie want to throw up. He’s turned around to lean against the island, and behind his closed eyes, all he can see are images from those videos playing over and over. Shaking his head, Billie Joe covers his mouth with his palm, so his voice is muffled when he says, “How could this—I just don’t understand how—how it could….”

He trails off, and Tre again sees fit to fill the void. “When did you guys start fucking? How long has this been going on for?” Billie doesn’t lift his hanging head and Mike says nothing, and the drummer huffs in frustration. “Seriously, guys, this is fucked up. I mean, how could you not tell me?”

”Can we get to that later, Tre?” Mike snaps, and the anger in it makes Billie want to start crying for some reason. “We’ve got bigger fucking problems to deal with right now.”

”Okay,” Bill sighs, obviously seeking to derail the tension, “putting aside the—the context of these videos for now, and please believe me, for the love of God, I want as minimal details as possible, but how did you guys shoot these? You weren’t stupid enough to film them on your cell phones, were you?”

His face in his hands, Billie Joe shakes his head, mumbling, “Of course not.”

”It was all on the camera Greg gave me,” Mike explains, and without looking at him, Billie knows he’s pacing in a slow circle. “Everything was on the same SD card, and I only made one copy.”

“You didn’t upload the files to, like, your iCloud accounts, did you? Because people get hacked all the damn time.”

“Of course not.” Mike says it with a lot less patience than Billie had.

”Did the SD card go missing?”

”Well, mine didn’t, but I can’t speak for his .”

”I didn’t lose it,” Billie Joe starts to say, lifting his head to glare at Mike in response to what he perceives to be an accusation. “I’m not a total fucking moron, I—” He stops short because something shakes into place in his rattled brain. His eyes now widening at Mike and his shoulders slumping, Billie moves his hands to fist them both in his hair. “Oh my God,” he whispers meekly, “my backpack.”

Briefly, Mike’s eyes widen, too, then he shakes his head in disbelief. His lips make a couple of attempts at speech before he manages in a seething, answering whisper, “Are you kidding me?”

”What backpack?” Bill interjects, his gaze snapping back and forth between the two of them. “The one the mugger took?”

”You had the SD card in there ?” Mike questions furiously as he advances on Billie in one long step until he’s glaring down at him. “You told me you were going to put that somewhere safe !”

”I was—I was going to, and I—I must’ve forgotten, I—”

”Jesus fucking Christ,” Mike growls, and he spins abruptly on his heel like he’s afraid of what he’ll do if he doesn’t. Rubbing his palm over his mouth, Mike resumes pacing, and then he begins rambling, sounding more desperate than angry. “What the hell kind of website is that anyway? I’ve never even heard of it. Bill, you need to shut it down. As fast as possible, please, you need to shut it down.”

”I’m doing everything I can, but it’s not like I can wave some magic wand here. The team at Warner Brothers will get to work scrubbing the internet, but it’s going to be an uphill battle. For all intents and purposes, the damage is done, and I think you guys need to accept that.”

Mike throws one of the barstools to the ground. “I don’t accept shit ! This is going to ruin our fucking lives. When Brittney sees….”

It must be too much for him to commit to speech, and Billie can’t blame him because it makes him think of Adie. He was so caught up in the reality of anyone seeing this stuff, let alone his own wife, and suddenly he’s absolutely physically nauseous at the idea of her watching any of the clips he just watched. 

“Oh my God,” Billie croaks, “Adrienne.”

”So nobody knew about you two?” Bill asks. “Nobody?”

Slowly, Billie Joe shakes his head, and he sounds almost detached when he says, “No. We agreed to keep it a secret.”

”Yeah, so much for that,” Mike scoffs bitterly.

Billie turns only his head to look at Mike, who is now pacing in the living area of the apartment, and he narrows his eyes. He knows Mike well enough to tell when he’s angry, but much more than that, he can tell when he’s angry at him specifically. Quietly, Billie asks, “Is there something else you want to say, Mike?”

Though Mike halts in his tortured semi-circle, he says nothing right away. He’s faced in Billie Joe’s direction but not looking at him, and the muscle in his taut jaw is twitching the way it always does when he’s mad. Glaring daggers at the wall, Mike mutters, “I just can’t fucking believe you, Billie,” and he scoffs again. “You swore up and down you’d keep the SD card safe when I gave it to you.”

”In case you’ve forgotten, I was fucking mugged , so I’m sorry if—”

”Oh, no, no, no.” Mike interrupts him with a wagging finger as he advances closer to him. “You’re not gonna play the victim here, no way.”

“I am a victim, you asshole!”

”Which has fuck all to do with the situation we’re in! If you’d put it somewhere safe instead of leaving it in the backpack you lugged around fucking everywhere , it wouldn’t have gotten stolen!”

”This is all my fault then?” Billie demands, his nostrils flaring. “Is that what you’re saying, Mike, that this is all my fucking fault?”

“I’m saying exactly what I said: you didn’t do what you said you would do, and if you had, this never fucking happens.”

”Y’know, this goes both ways,” Billie Joe reminds him, his tone decidedly pretty nasty. When Mike pulls a face like he has no idea what he means, he continues, “Making those videos was your idea, not mine. I never wanted to record anything.”

”Are you kidding me?” Mike asks him furiously, leaning into his face now. “That’s bullshit , and you know it.”

”You’re gonna try and tell me it wasn’t your idea?” Billie challenges.

“I didn’t hide the camera, Billie,” Mike says dryly, but his voice is still shaking with rage. “The filming was consensual, and if you’re gonna try and paint it any other way, you can go to hell.”

His eyes spark, and a beat passes before Billie Joe responds, low and acidic, “Consensual or not, there wouldn’t have been an SD card to steal if the videos weren’t made in the first place, and that’s on you , Mike, so fuck you for trying to lay the blame on me.”

Mike opens his mouth to retort, but Bill interjects with another sigh, going so far as to step in between them with a meditative hand raised towards each bandmate. “Alright, let’s take it easy here, guys. We’re not gonna get anywhere by throwing blame around. I mean, if you want my unsolicited opinion, you’re both really goddamn stupid, but that’s not what matters. We need to talk about damage control.”

”What do you mean, damage control?” Mike asks, impatiently.

”We need to talk about the kind of statement you guys want to put out. The PR team is already working on something, but I’m supposed to be getting back on the phone with them after talking to you.

”We’re not putting out any kind of statement,” Billie says flatly. At the reluctant face Bill makes, he becomes more adamant. “No fucking way, Bill. I was mugged and my privacy was violated, so what the hell do I owe anybody? Fucking squat, that’s what.”

”The public is gonna expect something.” Bill is earnest and exasperated in equal measure. “Billie, the label is going to expect something. You can keep it as vague as you want, but silence is not the right play here.”

Scoffing from where he stands by the staircase, leaning against the wall with his burly arms crossed over his chest, Tre meets the looks Billie Joe and Mike turn to give him dead on. “Yeah, I’m still here.” To Bill, he adds, “Silence has been their preferred method up until now, Bill, so it’s no surprise that’s the route Billie wants to take.”

”Well, what do you wanna say, Tre?” Billie Joe asks, bristling at the uncharacteristic vitriol in his drummer’s words. 

”I don’t really fucking care what we say, if anything at all, because I’m too hung up on the fact that you assholes may have just torched the future of this band without even giving me the courtesy of a heads up that you’re fucking each other.”

”It wasn’t personal, Tre,” Mike says tiredly, like he doesn’t want to bother acknowledging Tre at all, and he has his eyes closed, fingertips pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Yeah, I’ll bet it wasn’t,” Tre grumbles bitterly.

“We should’ve told him,” Billie tells Mike, and then he peers around him to address Tre. “I wanted to tell you, but he insisted on keeping it a secret from you.”

”Why do you keep making it sound like I forced you into all of this?” Mike demands viciously. “Let’s not forget who made the first move, Billie.”

That’s a low blow as far as Billie Joe is concerned. An angry lump forming in his throat, his fingers clench into a fist at his side, the entire limb attached to it thrumming with the urge to hit Mike right in the sharp arch of his cheekbone. Billie resists the temptation, but he feels so betrayed and pissed off, it’s nearly impossible to sit with it. He pivots sharply away from Mike, and when his eyes catch on the closed laptop still on the island, he shoves it off of the counter with a rough sweep of his arm. Bill can’t hide the way he flinches at the destruction of his property but he knows better than to say anything about that right now.

The device crashes to the hardwood floor, and sarcastically, Mike comments, “That’s productive.”

” Fuck you,” Billie spits at him, and he’s tearing off his leather jacket, suddenly feeling a hot flash running through his body. “Y’know, I don’t even know what you’re so fucking mad about, Mike, because this is way worse for me than it is for you.”

”How the fuck do you figure that?” Mike questions, bewildered.

“Don’t you play fucking dumb,” Billie warns him with another biting scoff, punctuating it by throwing his balled up jacket across the room.

”No, you’re gonna have to explain it, Billie,” Mike says indignantly, matched with the way he has his hands on his hips. “How the hell is this worse for you than it is for me?”

“Who’s fucking who in those videos, Mike? Which one of us is bent over, sucking cock, who’s on their hands and knees, and who’s wearing the goddamn cheerleader outfit?!” The last of it comes out through Billie Joe’s gritted teeth, something he’s doing to push back against the tidal wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He’s stepped up in front of Mike again, staring steadily at him, daring him with his glossy eyes to challenge the implication of what he’s saying. Some faint twinges of regret flicker across Mike’s tense face, but it’s too late for that now. ”Those videos are humiliating,” Billie seethes, “way more for me than you.”

As Mike releases a heavy exhale, his shoulders fall slack, and he shakes his head at Billie like he’s at a loss. “I’m sorry. Okay? Truly, I’m sorry if the—the stupid dynamics bother you that much, but Jesus, you know—unlike me, you’ve already made your sexuality very clear to the world. You’ve kissed a thousand men in public and shown your ass at every available opportunity. I’ve always been more private than you, so it’s—it’s just as bad for me as it is you, man, just in a different way.”

Billie Joe yields a single disdainful chuckle. “So just because I’m more open with my sexuality, that means—what? I mean, what are you really saying? Are you saying I’m a whore and the world already knows it, so this just should be, like, any other day for me?”

Sighing impatiently, Mike’s hand claps to his forehead. “No, Billie, that’s not what I’m saying.”

”It sure sounds like that’s what you’re saying.”

”You’re trying to tell me this is worse for you than it is me,” Mike explodes, probably not too pleased with the bitchy tone Billie was using, “and I just don’t fucking accept that! This affects us equally .”

”Yeah, you think so? Okay, well, why don’t we film and post another video of me fucking you in a dress or something? Because only then will it be fucking equal, Mike, and if you weren’t being so willfully obtuse right now, I know you’d fucking see that.”

Mike shoots right back at Billie Joe. “Why do you always have to be such a goddamn martyr?” He demands, his voice hard and cold. “Nobody’s pain is ever as great as your pain. No one suffers the way you suffer. You’re such a hot shit frontman, you forget that the world doesn’t revolve around you, but I’m here to remind you, man—it doesn’t .”

Indignant, Billie splutters, “I don’t think the world revolves around me, you son of a bitch, why would you even—”

”Whether you want to admit it or not, you do, and this situation—that you’re in with me, who’s supposedly your best friend—” Mike pauses and presses his palm against his chest to emphasize his point. “—is going to ruin my life just as much as it is yours. Jesus, I’d go so far as to say it’ll ruin mine worse than yours.”

” What ?” Billie challenges, “In what fucking universe?”

”Adie forgives you for everything. You’ve cheated on her — how many times? And she always takes you back. Some might say she has a self-esteem issue, but who am I to judge? So do I, and for that matter, so do you.”

”I think you should leave Adie out of this, Mike,” Billie Joe says, dangerously soft and controlled.

Mike shrugs in a mocking sort of way. “Fair enough. You sure as hell did.”

Billie opens his mouth to retort, but he’s interrupted by the slamming of a door. When he looks towards the stairs, he sees Bill descending them quickly and calling after their drummer, who they’ve only just realized is gone. Sighing in aggravation, Billie gestures roughly in that direction. “You realize he’s fucking pissed, right?”

”So am I,” Mike retorts.

”We betrayed him, Mike. I mean, goddammit, this may lose us the fucking band, do you realize that?”

”Maybe it should,” Mike says flatly, and Billie Joe is taken aback by his indifference.

”You don’t mean that,” Billie whispers.

This time when Mike shrugs, it’s resigned. “Don’t I?” He still has one hand on his hip, and the other is rubbing his chin as he stares hard at the floor. A sudden chuckle ripples out of Mike’s throat, but it’s a hollow sound. “I can’t worry about the goddamn band right now, Billie,” he says in a tone that is very much condescending, and he starts backing up towards the stairs. “I’ve gotta go home and find out if I still have a wife.”

The way he says it pisses Billie Joe off even more, but the thing is, he’s got a point. He should probably do the same.

~*~

Chapter Text

“C’mon move it people, get out of the fucking way,” Billie mutters at the other drivers as he races home to his wife. 

He’s white knuckling with one hand in a vice grip, tapping the steering wheel in an anxious rhythm with the fingers of the other, pushing his speed as much as he dares. All the while his phone on the dash is blowing up in front of his eyes, drawing them like a siren away from the road. The floodgates have opened already: Messages, texts, alerts, notifications… news is spreading fast just as Bill said it would, too fast for him to keep up with.  It’s too much.  

His breathing gets short and heavy. Panic is urging him to pull over and indulge in a freak out but he can’t, and he can’t deal with the outside world right now either. He has to take care of things on the home front. At a stop light he rips the phone off the holder, switches the damn thing off and tosses it down on the passenger seat. 

Even without a phone those videos keep playing in his head like his own personal peep show. That thought once excited him but now Billie couldn’t possibly feel less aroused. Stupid , he thinks, you are so fucking stupid for keeping them where they could get stolen. He imagines family, friends, fans all watching them, shocked and laughing. Embarrassment covers him like a weighted blanket, crushing his chest, reigniting the healing pain in his ribs, over the thought of everyone and their mother seeing something so intensely intimate and private.  Imagining the questions he’s likely to face from journalists for the foreseeable future, his cheeks burn.  Rehab was nothing compared to what the press will make of this.  Billie never wants to show his face in public again. 

Turning into his driveway at last, he forces himself to put everything else aside and stay focused. If he can just find a way to explain to Adrienne, help her see that he’s a victim too, maybe they can work together to stem the bleeding – to his reputation, to the band, to their marriage, to all of it. They’ve weathered countless storms together, this was just one more thing they would get through as a team, right?

“Adrienne?” he calls out from the front door, dashing towards the living room to find her. 

And he can tell right away that he’s too late. 

She’s on the couch, crying silently, one hand over her mouth as she watches a video on her phone. Billie’s breath catches at the damning sound of his own voice coming from the speaker.  

“Oh yes, fuck yeah that’s it… right there… fuck me Mikey…”

He cringes and shivers like his blood is chilling in his veins. She drops the phone on the coffee table with a clatter and buries her face in her hands. Very slowly, he approaches her like a scared rabbit, inching forward until he sits — not too close — on the L shaped end of the couch. He clasps his hands on his knees in a penitent position, leans forward and waits for her to look up at him, using the time to figure out where to even begin to explain what she’s just seen.  

Adrienne knows he’s there but she’s not going to make it easy for him. Billie needs to be the first one to say something, and ‘I’m sorry’ feels wholly insufficient and pathetic so he doesn’t dare. He knows he fucked up, but compared to his past mistakes he wants her to understand the sheer magnitude of this fuckup, the mountain of fucking consequences he’s buckling under the weight of right now, making this time completely different. This is much bigger than the two of them. So whether it’s a good idea or not, he decides to start there. 

“The videos were on an SD card in my bag when I got mugged.  I forgot all about them, but that’s how they…” he swallows and starts again. “I know this is bad Adie, you have no idea how bad.  Everything is so fucked up right now.” 

She says nothing so Billie continues, opening up and letting his greatest fears roam wild, “Everyone is pissed at me like it was my fault I got robbed, even though it was Mike’s idea to make the movies. You don’t have to worry about this thing with MIke though. He’s so mad I’m sure it’s over anyway… and there’s a good chance the band is over too. Nobody knew about us, not even Tre, and now he’s mad…”

He stops his rambling and looks up at an expression of pure disbelief staring back at him. Adrienne has stopped crying and now just looks at him confused like she doesn’t even recognize this stranger in her house. 

“ Tre ?” she says, “I don’t give a fuck about Tre, Billie. Or Green Day. This is about us .” 

“Yeah, yeah you’re right,” nods Billie, even if he’s not sure he agrees with her. Billie has been struggling to suppress the panic he’s feeling over the idea that he may have blown up not just his marriage but his entire life. Adrienne has just made it clear she is not going to be a sympathetic ear, though. Not when she’s collateral damage. 

“I swear I’m not unhappy,” he tries, “I love what you and I have, and maybe a lot of guys have affairs because they really want out of their marriages but I don’t . I honestly don’t. I don’t want to leave you or do anything to mess us up. In a weird way that’s why I tried to keep it separate.”

“Then why?” she asks. 

She deserves to know that much. Billie digs down deep to get at the truth for her. “For a while now I’ve had these feelings for Mike that I don’t know what to do with. It’s like a piece I didn’t even know I was missing. It’s not better, it’s just… different.”

“Being with a man?”

Billie shakes his head. “No. Being with Mike . I never felt like you weren’t enough for me Adie, it was never like that. I don’t want anybody else, and I promise you mad or not he’s not a threat to our marriage. It's just Mike.”  

“ Just Mike? ” she repeats, as if saying it again will make it make sense. “Billie, you can minimize this all you want but after everything we’ve already been through once again you lied to me. Once again you’ve proven yourself to be untrustworthy and unfaithful, and now the whole world knows it too. What does that make me look like?”

Pathetic be damned, he has no words left so he says it. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice breaking.

“I wish that were enough,” she replies. “I really do. And I wish you would have come to me before with this. I don’t have any answers for you right now, but I do know I need some space from you. I think you should move out for now and give me time to process everything.”

Billie already feels like he’s hanging from the edge of a cliff by his fingertips and now one by one he’s losing his grip. 

“No, no Adie, look,” he tries, “We need to stay together so we can work on this. How are we gonna talk this through if I’m not here?” 

“This isn’t over. We’ll talk again, but not now,” she affirms. “If you think I’m going to throw our marriage away so lightly that’s your specialty not mine.”

“I don’t want to throw it away. I’m no good without you, you know that!” he cries. 

“Believe me I do,” she snaps, finally losing it, “Look at all the trouble you get up to when I’m not around! If you really want to save this marriage like you say you do you’ll do as I say! I can’t keep being the only adult in the room, Billie. Maybe being out on your own will finally force you to grow up and take responsibility for yourself. I can’t do it anymore.”  

He rises, giving her one last opportunity to take it all back. One last chance for the universe to right itself by freezing this scene and saying “Just kidding!” He was counting on her support during this very public scandal. How is he gonna get through all this on his own?

But instead his wife just crosses her arms and says, “Do you want to start packing or do I just throw your shit out in the yard?”

Billie trudges upstairs, tosses a few things randomly into a bag and returns to the scene of the crime, his recording studio and the empty apartment that awaits him there. Ironically, he remembers that this was where he and Mike had planned to hook up that night after their band meeting, but they both know how that went down. Now here he is. Alone.

He drops his duffel on the floor and his body face down on the queen bed, ignoring the discomfort in his ribs, screaming into his pillow. He’s furious at the motherfucker that stole the video and ruined their lives, but he also knows it wouldn’t have happened if there hadn't been something there to steal, just like Mike said. He played his own part in this and can’t blame someone else entirely, not even Mike.  

Billie questions why he still had that card in his backpack. Yeah he forgot about it but why was it there so long after the tour ended? He told himself it was because he didn’t want someone to find it at home but he wonders now if that was really the reason. He could have hidden it better in his studio, but the truth is he liked the feeling of keeping it close, a little bit of Mike with him always. It made him feel safe, like how an alcoholic still keeps a bottle stashed away for emergencies but at the same time tests his own nerve by resisting it every day. And maybe, if he’s willing to admit it, a part of him wanted to get caught, to alleviate his own guilt, just another self-destructive act because things can never be too good with him for too long.

He replays the conversation with Adrienne over in his mind, searching for signs of hope in her words. She suggested that he could have come to her earlier about his feelings for Mike. Would that have made it okay with her?  She said this wasn’t over so did they still have a chance? As long as he doesn’t get served divorce papers he has to believe they do. If she needs time to consider her options the least Billie can do is give her that. Now he just has to worry about the future of his band, and what the public reaction is likely to be.

Even though spending the night alone gives a guy plenty of time to think, by the time he sees the sun come up, he’s no closer to any answers. 

~*~

Chapter Text

It’s been a week since the leak, and Billie is still living in his studio. Mike still isn't talking to him, Tre hasn’t reached out and Adrienne hasn’t made any decisions either.  He orders pizza or takeout tacos from the place next door most days, tries to focus on writing and playing guitar now that his wrist brace is off and his headaches have gone away, and mostly lays low, but it’s a constant struggle because he knows the videos have now hit everywhere. 

Spread wider by every news outlet online, the internet is an even bigger living nightmare for him than it used to be. He’s had to deactivate his social media accounts and still fight the urge to look every ten minutes to see what people are saying. He’s barely gone out since he’s been here which makes staying off line an impossible task when he already feels so cut off from the outside world.

Officially, the band are on a break, according to the carefully crafted, bare bones statement they released the day after the incident. As Billie had predicted when he argued with their manager over it, the public turned out to be pretty unsatisfied with that. He preferred to not say anything at all. Once you were put in a position to have to defend yourself he knew there was nothing you could say that people would accept. Now as he scrolls their self righteous, holier than thou comments on the band’s accounts, his fingers itch to want to tear into everybody that thinks they have the right to judge his life.

Billie lays his guitar down on the couch and gets up to make a pot of coffee. Putting some music on the jukebox, he picks up his phone out of pure reflex and before he is even actively thinking about it, he’s scrolling again. Over on discussion boards like Reddit, they talk about whether they think Green Day is over, and views are split on if they’re happy about that or not.  Others talk openly about Billie and Mike’s marriages like that’s food for public consumption too. 

Do you think Mike and Billie are going to come out publicly as a couple , someone asks.  Some posts have been surprisingly supportive, particularly the ones from the queer community that praise them for their “bravery” and living their truth ( if you can call it that, Billie scoffs, he doesn’t think their wives would agree). Those fans are likely the ones that weirdly wanted the two of them to be a thing anyway, it was something he used to think was funny, before their fiction became his reality.  

On the darker side are those who say they feel betrayed, angry, even aggrieved on behalf of their wives somehow. Another thread laments that Billie represented “one of the good ones” (whatever that means in their heads) and now they say they don’t know what to believe in. It’s a lot for any human being to live up to, much less a supremely flawed one like himself. If his rehab was anything to go by, he would think they already knew he wasn’t perfect and never claimed to be. 

Some former fans organize a #FODGreenDay movement, forming an unholy alliance with the ones that always accused them of being corporate sellouts. Those assholes have just turned up the volume on their hate, acting all vindicated and using it as an excuse to let their homophobia run wild. They feed off each other and their opinions grow more and more extreme.

Degenerates, perverts , they call them, among even worse things. They point out all the kids that go to their shows and idolize them, posting photos of happy kids on stage being gifted guitars as they imply some darker motivation behind it, proclaiming they shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near kids. Billie feels physically ill at the suggestion that he and Mike, fathers both, are somehow a danger to their young fans, but then what can he expect from a group that says the same thing about drag queens? 

When he sees death threats he finally decides to put his phone down, knowing that he probably should have done so much sooner. Had he stayed on any longer he would have seen his studio address get doxxed by a hate group.

That’s why barely a week after that some unhinged letters begin arriving at his place.  He saves them all up and gives them to his manager to investigate whether any of them pose a real threat. 

“These are just cranks,” he assures Billie over the phone one day, “but I can hire personal security for you if you want.” 

Billie always uses bodyguards when he’s on tour, but unlike Hollywood A-listers he’s never had to consider doing that in his off time.  He likes feeling like an ordinary person in Oakland, not flashing his celebrity everywhere like some asshole with an entourage. He never feels unsafe or under siege out in public, fans are for the most part pretty respectful when he occasionally does encounter them.  He doesn’t honestly believe that any of these threats are real to the point where it should force him to change the way he lives his life, present circumstances notwithstanding. 

“Nah, I don’t want that,” he replies. “They’re just letters. Why would anyone care that much to actually do anything?”

A few days later Billie receives a package with a UPS label.  He mistakenly opens the cardboard box without thinking because he ordered some new guitar pedals. As soon as the smell hits him, he cries out, repulsed. 

“Ugh! What the fuck?” Billie drops the box like it’s on fire, spilling its contents on the floor.  

A mangy, decomposing dead rat rolls out along with the remains of a little Pride flag that’s been cut to ribbons. His heart is pounding as he wonders what sick fuck would do something like this.  He wills himself to get it together, that they’re just trying to scare him and he shouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Kicking the carcass back in the box with his shoe, he takes it out back and tosses it in the dumpster, then comes back in and scrubs his hands until they’re raw. Despite the personal pep talk, Billie keeps his head on a swivel the whole time he’s out there and can’t shake the feeling he’s being watched.

HIs studio is starting to feel a lot less safe but for now he doesn’t know where else to go. His family’s homes are out of the question since he doesn’t want to bring this kind of attention to their door. He misses the gates and security of his home, and imagines Adrienne sleeping soundly in their bed without a care. He’s grateful for that at least. He knows he can change his mind any time about the bodyguard idea but he’s trying very hard to project the image that this isn’t getting to him, he is determined not to appear scared.  Still, he knows he was lucky there wasn’t something explosive or poisonous in that package.  

Every time he goes out to the parking lot he’s reminded of the attack. He thought he was over it but the latest threats are triggering him all over again. They installed security cameras and better lighting immediately after it happened but he still feels vulnerable and paranoid whenever he leaves.  

Cabin fever, he decides, that’s what it is . The longer he stays cooped up the more agoraphobic he becomes, and his phone is only making it worse.  Social media isn’t reality, he needs to get back out into the real world, and the one thing he can always rely on when he needs some self care is live music. He decides he needs to get out and see some bands.  

~*~

Chapter Text

The Ivy Room is dark and smoky with the aroma of weed and body odor and just about damn near perfect. Three bands are on the bill that night and when Billie shows up the second act is already on, a band called Blood Money. Slipping in quietly and staying near the back close to the bar, he watches as four long haired dudes scream and thrash around on stage. Their sound is mayhem in the best way and the audience appreciates it, drunk as most of them are. They clearly have a love for eighties metal bands that Billie shares. He smiles and bops to the drumbeat and very quickly is feeling more like himself.  

The band’s set concludes with a Def Leppard cover that drives him wild, taking him back to the shows he saw as a teenager. More people start filling up the bar area and available floor space and standing room gets tight. They pay their cover charge at the door to see the main act, a band that Billie has yet to see live, but has been meaning to check out since he first heard their record. 

Since Mike played their record for him, to be exact. And suddenly Billie is lost in a memory.

It was on tour, and Mike had climbed onto his bus in the parking lot of a truck stop.

“Have you heard these guys?” He asked, handing him an earbud, the tell tale lift of excitement in his voice.

They were an East Bay band, and they were getting some attention judging by their Spotify streams. They had an EP out that was a mix of melodic, catchy tunes and heavy, distorted guitars. As Billie listened, he also looked at Mike, who had a self satisfied look that said he knew that this would hit right in Billie’s sweet spot for music. 

“Dude, they’re rad,” Billie told him, adding them to his list of follows. “Maybe an opener for the next tour?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” He agreed. “Let’s get our people to call their people, like they say.”

Then Mike looked around the quiet bus.

“We alone?” He whispered.

“Yeah, we got a few minutes,” Billie smiled, the music still playing in his ear. He pulled his bass player and secret boyfriend down onto the couch with him. “C’mere.”

Billie is brought back to reality like a slap in the face when the lights come up and he realizes he daydreamed through the end of the set. The bands are already doing their thing onstage for the changeover, packing and setting up one after the other, trying not to step on each other on the tiny stage.  Billie finds even this part interesting to watch, he knows those early days in a band are a struggle but simpler times and hella fun too. At times like these he would give almost anything to be back there. 

He’s roused from his own further musings by a voice speaking behind him. Billie ignores it, assuming the dude is talking to someone else. After another minute he hears it again, and it sounds like the same nonsense as before.

“Rah rah” 

His eyes stay fixed on the stage, mentally urging the headliners to come out already and start the show. When he hears it a third time slightly louder he knows it’s directed at him. 

“Rah rah”

Mercifully, the lights choose that moment to dim and the crowd applauds the entrance of the main act. Billie was beginning to feel conspicuous under the house lights but as the room darkens he relaxes, focusing harder on the band picking up their instruments and introducing themselves.

But this douchebag refuses to let up. He’s just itching for a reaction.

“You gonna give me a cheer, pom-pom girl?” he says.

Billie closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then he turns and makes a beeline for the door.  The last thing he needs is a public bar fight with some drunk asshole. He gets a few steps down the street when he realizes the guy has followed him out, still taunting him as he retreats.

“Where’re you going, you pussy?” he calls.

A part of him worries this guy might have a weapon, that he’s one of the trolls that’s been threatening him online or even the one who sent the rat. But a bigger part of him feels like a little bitch for running away, so although he’s still walking, he slows.

“My kid’s a fan of your band,” the man tells him, “She’s in middle school. What am I supposed to tell her now? You’re sick!” 

After the mugging Billie would have thought he would feel anxious at any confrontation with a stranger but instead of causing a flight response, he feels intense rage. It makes him dig in and want to fight this motherfucker. He stops, turns and faces him for the first time.  The guy is middle aged and slightly bigger than him but Billie’s ability to fight dirty makes up for what he lacks in size.

“I don’t need your homophobic bullshit!” Billie challenges. “Fuck off!” 

“You’re a goddamn groomer, that's what you are!” the guy yells back. “You like dressing like a little girl? Does that turn you on, creep?” 

That sets Billie off and he charges at the bully, shoving him with two hands. 

“You sound like a really shitty dad!” He accuses.

The man returns the volley by trying to throw a punch that Billie ducks and pays him back with a kick to the knee. His opponent reacts by grabbing Billie’s sleeve and trying to get him in a headlock. Soon they’re both trading curses and throwing punches with abandon wherever they can land. Billie is taking all of his fury out on this guy who’s just a stand-in for everything that’s gone wrong in his life lately. He’s so lost in his personal battle with the universe that he is surprised when a pair of arms gets between them and pulls them apart.

“Hey! Knock it off!” The interloper yells. 

Billie straightens, brushes the hair out of his eyes and blinks because he can’t believe that standing in front of him is Mike.  The bass player has his hand on the other guy’s shirt and he’s pointing him in the opposite direction down the street.

“Get the hell out of here before someone calls the cops,” Mike orders the guy.

He must realize he’s outnumbered because the man collects himself and listens to reason, but not without making one more smartass remark as he goes.

“Lucky you had your boyfriend here to save your ass again. He sure does love it!” 

Mike has to physically hold a growling and enraged Billie Joe back from chasing the fucker down the street. 

“Stop! Billie! Let him go,” Mike commands, hands gripping tight to his shoulders.

It’s been so long since Mike’s touched him that he practically melts as a pure biological response, but the feeling does nothing to thaw his anger, it only adds a layer of frustration on top that makes it worse. Billie takes a breath and looks around, noticing the handful of onlookers that have gathered to see what the commotion was about. Then he remembers himself, shakes Mike off and turns away, wiping some blood off his lip. 

“What are you doing here?” He turns back at once and spits the words out at Mike, adrenaline still pumping, not at all happy to see him like he once would have been. 

“I was in the bar,” he explains. “I saw the guy hassle you and follow you out.”

The truth is Mike saw Billie the moment he arrived at the club but he didn’t want him to know he was there. He went to check out that new band too, and was counting on the low likelihood that Billie would show his face in public, as the more recognizable of the pair. When he saw he’d been wrong, he kept his distance but the dude heckling him got Mike’s attention.

Then when he saw the guy leave after Billie, he became irrationally fearful. All Mike could think about was that first assault and finding Billie unconscious in the parking lot. He imagined this guy pulling a knife or a gun on him in the alley and he couldn’t stay still. The thought that Billie could be in danger again drove him to blow his cover and intervene. 

“Well, I didn’t need your help,” Billie tells him, seething, “I could have taken the guy.”

“I know,” says Mike. “I just didn’t… Nevermind.”

He’s not ready to share what was going through his head with Billie, so instead he just turns to go. Clearly Billie’s still mad and so is he so there’s nothing more to say and this is just too damn awkward. Seeing Mike walk away gives Billie second thoughts and he regrets his anger. Jumping in when the other was in a fight was something they always would have done without a thought. Now everything’s changed.

“Uh… thanks,” Billie calls out to him. 

Mike turns around and gives a small wave. “You’re welcome. Good night.”

Billie watches Mike thrust his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and stroll down the dark street. The crowd of rubberneckers disperse with nothing more to see and he’s on his own. Despite the chill in the air and between them, Billie feels a surge of warmth inside.  As angry as he still must be, Mike cared enough to defend him. He smiles to himself.

Maybe there’s a chance of fixing this after all.

~*~

Chapter Text

When Mike wakes up the next morning, he wants to yank the covers over his head and go back to sleep. If it weren’t for the springs in the mattress digging into him at all angles, he probably would. As it is, Mike grimaces and grunts rolling off of his side and onto his back, and he feels every disservice this guest room twin-sized bed is doing to his aging body. He’s thought about ordering a more comfortable replacement, but he knows it would piss Brittney off. His exile to the guest room is part of his punishment, and she wouldn’t appreciate Mike taking any measures to improve his conditions. The only reason he’s still in this house to begin with is because of the kids. Without them, Mike would most assuredly have been out on his ass from the start.

Sighing, Mike scrubs his palms over his tired face and then leaves them there. Even if it weren’t for the mattress, he would’ve slept like shit anyway. Mike keeps going back over everything that happened at the Ivy Room last night. It was probably a mistake going there in the first place and truthfully, he talked himself into the delusion that it wouldn’t turn into a fucking fiasco. Everything turns into a fucking fiasco lately, so Mike should’ve seen it coming. He just really wanted to see that band, and though he knows how much Billie has been wanting to check them out too, he didn’t believe his friend would be ready to show his face in public yet. Add it to the list of things Mike has gotten wrong lately.

Mike drops his hands, his head falling to the side, and he bites at his lip, recalling the moment he saw Billie in the crowd. He’d panicked at first and hadn’t wanted Billie Joe to see him, but in reality, it was kind of nice to even catch a glimpse of his bandmate after not having seen him in so many weeks. At this point, all of the knee jerk anger doesn’t burn as hot as it did in the beginning. Admittedly, Mike had wanted to throttle Billie when their entire homemade pornography collection was posted to the internet, but in the time since, he’s come to admit to himself that his friend had simply made a mistake. It’s not like he hasn’t made his share of mistakes too. 

And last night really drove home for Mike how different their situations are. The things that asshole said to Billie last night were disgusting, and he sees now that it is worse for his friend than it is for him in certain ways. Billie Joe has been viciously emasculated in a way Mike hasn’t. He’s seen some online comments, but seeing it in person was another thing altogether. A part of Mike wishes he’d sucker punched that asshole himself.

But Mike probably shouldn’t have gotten involved at all if Billie’s reaction to his appearance was anything to go off of. He just couldn’t help himself. Seeing the guy follow Billie out of the club scared the shit out of him. All he could think about was the mugging and its brutal aftermath, which was up there in the top most awful moments of his life. Nightmare scenarios were charging through his brain, and it felt like Mike had no choice but to intervene. If something happened to Billie while he stood idly by, he’d never forgive himself. Mike wanted to explain this to Billie last night, but it was pretty clear the frontman didn’t want to hear it, likely because he felt emasculated all over again by being treated like a damsel in distress.

Thinking about it makes Mike’s guts twist uncomfortably. He has no idea how to fix things with Billie Joe, and of course what he said at the studio in the heat of the moment wasn’t true—he doesn’t want to lose the band. Far more importantly than that, Mike doesn’t want to lose his friendship with Billie. Ideally, he doesn’t want to lose their newfound intimacy either, but in all likelihood that’s over and done with, so he has to take what he can get.

Sick of agonizing over it, Mike throws the covers off and lumbers out of bed. He needs coffee. It’s after nine o’ clock, which is a lot later than Mike usually sleeps. Throwing a t-shirt on, he pads out of the guest room in his boxers and bare feet, and he secretly hopes Brittney had plans after dropping the kids off at school. They’re in the worst kind of limbo right now, and Mike is torn between wanting to be around her to fix things while also dreading being around at the same time. She’s been consistently catty and cold since the videos were leaked; she hasn’t even settled into some kind of neutrality yet. This isn’t necessarily a surprise… Mike knows who he married, and it isn’t a particularly gracious or forgiving person. But how can he fault her considering what he’s done? If she humiliated him in the same way, Mike would be catty and cold, too.

Entering the kitchen, Mike finds he’s in for more of the same. She’s sitting on the bench in the breakfast nook with her laptop opened in front of her, and when she peers around it, she’s looking particularly incensed. He stops short. What the fuck did Mike do now?

”You were with Billie last night,” Brittney accuses, her voice positively dripping with acid. 

Mike’s stomach drops. How could she possibly know he ran into Billie Joe last night? Shaking his head, Mike splutters, “What? No I wasn’t, I—”

“Oh, you weren’t?” Brittney interrupts haughtily, and she spins her computer around, the plastic scratching along the ceramic tiles underneath it. “You’re on TMZ, Mike,” she tells him, enunciating each word with caustic inflection. 

For the love of God, this cannot be happening. Stepping closer, Mike sees a block of grainy photographs of him and Billie out on the street in front of the Ivy Room. There’s a video too, that’s playing on a loop of the physical altercation with that bigoted piece of shit, including the part where he got involved. Everything was clearly taken on camera phones and were probably sold to the celebrity gossip site for a pretty penny. It’s hard to feel much other than exhaustion in reaction. The shit show that has become his life just keeps rolling.

”Brittney,” Mike begins, his fingertips digging into his forehead, “I wasn’t with Billie last night. He just happened to be there.”

”Don’t you try to gaslight me,” Brittney warns him. 

Does she even know what gaslighting means? Mike isn’t sure, but it doesn’t really matter. Resting both of his hands heavily on the back of the chair in front of him, he patiently says, “I’m not trying to gaslight you. I went to the club to see the band I told you I was going to see, and I ran into him on the way out. That’s the truth.”

”You’ll forgive me if I don’t take you at your word, Mike,” Brittney says, scathing as she slams the lid on her laptop closed. Glaring at him all the while, she pushes her way out of the booth, snatching her empty coffee mug from the table to take it with her. “Seeing as your word turns out to be good for absolutely nothing.”

Oh. So they’re really going to do this. Again. Withholding a labored sigh, Mike pivots towards her as she moves angrily about the kitchen. “Britt,” he tries again, “I know I lied about plenty, but I’ve told you, Billie Joe and I aren’t even on speaking terms, let alone planning on secret meetups at the Ivy Room.”

”And you damn well shouldn’t be on speaking terms! I told you I didn’t want you anywhere near him until I said so.”

”Well, like I said, I didn’t plan to be anywhere near him.”

Brittney faces him with her arms tautly folded across her chest and her hip dangerously cocked to one side. Mike considers that he’s lucky she hasn’t taken to destroying his instruments or something. “I don’t believe you,” Brittney informs him. “You know what I think? I think you went there hoping you’d run into him because you can’t stand to be away from him.”

”That’s ridiculous,” Mike scoffs.

”Yeah, okay, Mike, it’s ridiculous,” Brittney remarks sarcastically. When Mike rolls his eyes and shakes his head at her tone, she doubles down, pointing at the computer to illustrate her point. “You’ve been following him around like a puppy dog since you were in grade school! From the day we met, I had to hear about the great Billie Joe Armstrong—the man, the myth, the legend!” Brittney emphasizes each word by flicking her hands in front of her. “It was always a little pathetic, you know, the whole sidekick thing, but this—”

”It’s not a sidekick thing!” Interrupting her is a bold move, but Mike feels like he has to fucking defend himself for once.

”You’re right! It’s worse! You won’t fight for your own fucking family, but you’ll fight that scumbag’s battles for him!”

”Don’t talk about him like that!” Mike growls, and he feels the anger flushing over him, reddening his neck and chest the way it always does. 

“He’s been sleeping with my husband, and I’ll say what I damn well please about him,” Brittney hisses, and the way her eyes are narrowed at him are reminiscent of a snake, like a cobra ready to strike. “There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for that pint-sized, skanky son of a bitch, and I’ve known that from the start. I just didn’t realize it included fucking him.”

Honestly, there’s not much Mike can say. Hearing her talk about Billie that way infuriates him, but it’s not like she doesn’t have a point, whether or not he wants to admit it. Rather than spit back at her like he wants, Mike huffs a sigh and runs his fingers through his hair. “Britt, you know—I don’t know what more I can say to you,” he says, and though he tries to sound calm, it’s impossible to hide his frustrations. “We’ve been going back and forth for weeks. I’ve apologized profusely, and not for nothing, I’m really fucking ashamed of myself, so—”

”You ought to be!” Brittney shrieks. “It’s not just yourself you humiliated with those videos, Mike, but our whole family! You’ve turned us all into one big joke.”

”I‘m painfully aware of that, okay? You don’t need to tell me that. I need you to tell me what it is exactly you want me to do. How are we ever gonna get past this? What do you need from me?”

“What I need for you is to be done with Billie. Permanently.”

“Britt, I told you, I am,” Mike says, exasperated, but she’s shaking her head before he’s even finished.

”But you’re not! You can’t even let that man have a bar fight without jumping to the rescue, and that was just last night, Mike. When it comes to him, you can’t help yourself.”

”He’s one of my best friends, what do you expect?”

”I need it to be over,” Brittney insists darkly. “All of it.” When Mike opens his mouth to respond, she continues more loudly, “I don’t just mean the affair. I don’t want you to ever see that fucker again, period.”

”Not an option,” Mike says flatly. Her expression somehow blackens further, and he shrugs, at a loss. “Brittney, we’re in a band together. Green Day is our fucking livelihood. If there’s any chance of keeping that, I’m not gonna walk away from it.”

”So you’ll choose your stupid band over our marriage?” Brittney asks, clearly appalled.

”That stupid band is all I know! I’ve been in that stupid band since I was a teenager, and besides that, it affords us this life we have!” Mike gestures around him because this beautiful kitchen proves his point well enough. “You have everything you could ever want because of that stupid band!”

Her eyes flashing, Brittney snarls, “Everything except for a faithful fucking husband!”

”Well, you’ve got that too,” Mike assures her, though it seems to fall on deaf ears. “The thing with Billie Joe is finished, Britt,” he says, imploring her with his eyes. “It was—it was all a fucking fever dream, you know, it—it never meant anything. We can keep the band without any of the other stuff. You don’t—it doesn’t have to be some extreme ultimatum.”

Brittney doesn’t respond right away. She still resembles that cobra snake, cold and calculating… and deadly. “I think you’re completely delusional,” Brittney says softly, each word deliberate, and all of the rage and hysteria is gone. “Maybe it’s a symptom of fucking that man because, Lord knows, Adrienne is, too. Whatever it is, I’m not drinking that Kool-Aid.” Her arms falling away from her chest, she props her hands on her hips as she approaches him until they’re nearly toe to toe, forcing her to crane her neck to maintain eye contact with him. “I’ve been in competition with Billie Joe Armstrong since the day I came into the picture. All this time, I thought it was the music or the band I was in competition with, but no. It’s always been Billie Joe fuckin’ Armstrong.”

“That’s crazy,” Mike mutters.

”No, you’re the one that’s crazy if you think I’m buying the bullshit anymore. After everything you’ve put me through, you’re lucky you’re even getting an ultimatum instead of the fastest divorce conceivable.” Brittney arches one cruel eyebrow. “It’s your band and it’s whorey little ringleader, or it’s this marriage and your family. You’re not going to have it both ways.”

Mike is at a loss. His shoulders slump, and he opens his mouth to speak but all that comes out at first are scoff-like noises. In distress, Mike rubs his palm over his face while shaking his head, trying to think of what he can say to make his wife see reason. They might be way past that, however. “Brittney, you can’t—you’re asking the impossible of me, you realize that, don’t you? You’re forcing me to choose between you and my kids—my kids—and everything I’ve known for over three fucking decades.”

”I’ll give you time to think about it,” Brittney says, and she makes it sound like she’s doing him a kindness. 

“I’m not sure there’s any amount of thinking I can do that will make that a choice I can make,” Mike replies weakly.

”I guess we’ll find out,” Brittney shrugs, and she steps around him. “I’m taking the kids to my mom’s while you consider what’s more important to you,” she calls to Mike over her shoulder, and apparently, that’s the end of the discussion.

It’s not like this is all new territory for Mike. After all, this is his third marriage. The difference this time, though, is that Mike thought he’d really found his endgame. They’ve had their share of differences, sure, but because he wanted so badly for this to be the one that stuck, especially for the sake of their kids, he learned to live with things he wouldn’t have with his past wives. More significant than that, up until the whole thing with Billie, Mike had been one hundred percent faithful. Admittedly, the thing with Billie was really fucking bad, but that was after about fifteen years of monogamy, something he’d never accomplished before. When you’re a rockstar, that’s kind of a big deal.

Mike realizes, of course, how little this means to Brittney now. He gives her space while she packs suitcases for herself and the kids, and if he’s truly honest… he might even be a tiny bit relieved once she’s gone because it means he doesn’t have to tiptoe around her anymore. That’s all Mike has been doing these last few weeks, trying to keep the peace by staying out of sight as much as possible. Now he can drink his coffee without fear of Brittney stomping by and passively aggressively glaring at him in hateful silence.

But with that being said, Mike is on his own, left with this horrible ultimatum to stew over. Normally during hard times, he looks to the band as an outlet or a distraction, but he doesn’t even have that. Mike has barely played his bass since this all happened because it’s just a reminder of how screwed up everything is. He thought he hit rock bottom before, but apparently, there is no such thing. 

Sitting at the kitchen island, hunched over his steaming mug of black coffee, Mike finds himself perusing the very TMZ article that put him in this situation. He rewatches the short clip a few times, of him separating Billie Joe and the jackass who harassed him, and then he looks at the blurry photos for a while, focusing too much on his estranged bandmate’s face. Billie looks so furious at him in the grainy cell phone snaps it’s unsettling. Having been friends for this long, they’ve obviously got into fights before, but rarely has it gone on like this. It’s pointless to deny it, too—they haven’t done anything other than mildly bicker since they started sleeping together, and it’s possible their dynamics are irrevocably different regardless of what side of this ultimatum he comes out on. Maybe there is no path back to the band or their friendship. 

There’s only one way to find out. Mike opens up his contacts on his phone and hits the favorites folder where a select few people reside. Billie’s name is in there, and he stares at it, chewing on the inside of his lip as he agonizes. The frontman can be really fucking stubborn, so Mike knows, if someone is going to reach out and start a dialogue, it has to be him. It’s possible Billie Joe would break down eventually, but he doesn’t have the patience for that with all that’s hanging in the balance. After all, they’re just a few years shy of fifty. At a certain point, for some things, they have to be fucking grownups whether they like it or not.

With that thought, Mike taps into Billie’s contact to make the phone call. It rings about five times, enough for him to worry he’s going to have to leave a bumbling voicemail, but then Billie picks up, and Mike can hear the hesitation and uncertainty in his voice.

“Hello?”

”Hey,” Mike answers, pushing past the rapid beat of his heart, “can we talk?”

~*~

Chapter Text

It speaks to the level of Billie Joe’s nerves that he tidies up the Otis apartment before Mike comes over. Typically he wouldn’t give a fuck about what any of his friends might think about his stack of empty pizza boxes or dirty socks on the floor, but he has this feeling about his impending conversation with Mike, like it’s an opportunity for a clean slate or something. They both said a lot of nasty shit to each other the day the videos leaked, and Billie knows his friend wouldn’t have reached out to him in the first place if he didn’t want to patch things up. Since their run-in outside of the Ivy Room a couple days ago, he’s done a lot of thinking when it comes to the path forward, and it feels like fixing things with Mike is the best place to start. After all, they dug this grave together, and they should be able to dig their way out of it together, too.

Mike lets himself in with his key, eliminating any potential door-answering awkwardness, so Billie is warned of his imminent arrival by the sound of his heavy footfalls on the wooden stairs. His heart skips a beat of its own accord as he pours the last of the hot water from the electric kettle into the carafe of coffee he’s brewing via pour-over. Left to his own devices, Billie Joe almost exclusively will use the Keurig, but in the spirit of extending olive branches and all of that, he decided to go the extra mile. If there’s one thing he understands, it’s that the surest way into Mike’s good graces is to make him a good cup of coffee. In that, they’re not so dissimilar.

When he senses Mike has reached the top of the stairs, Billie glances over his shoulder but doesn’t make eye contact. “Hey.”

”Hey,” Mike echoes. “Smells good in here. Is, uh, is that the new blend?”

”Yeah. The box came yesterday. I haven’t tried it yet. Figured we could try it together.” Billie pulls two mugs down from the cupboard while the last drops are percolating, and after disposing of the filter and grounds, disperses the finished product evenly. When he turns around, he finds Mike on the other side of the island, studying the packaging of one of the coffee bags he left in the box there. Tentatively, Billie Joe holds out one of the cups across the counter. 

Mike returns the bag of beans to the box and accepts the mug. “Thanks.”

”Sure.” Billie sips carefully from the steaming black brew, but it’s too hot to properly assess the flavor, so he places it on the island in front of him. He takes his first good look at Mike and feels a twinge in his gut, something akin to guilt. Mike looks fucking tired, unshaven and withdrawn and overall depressed. This isn’t explicitly his fault by any means, but Billie certainly hasn’t helped either. Running his fingers through his tangled hair, he opens his mouth to start, but Mike beats him to it.

“Look, um—I’m sorry. For all of the shit I said when those videos leaked. I was upset and angry, but I shouldn’t have taken it all out on you like I did.”

It’s like a weight immediately falls away from Billie Joe’s shoulder, and with it goes a sudden exhale, like his chest is floating. “You weren’t totally wrong, Mike, I—you had a point. If I’d been more careful, nothing would’ve leaked.”

His mouth twisted to the side, Mike teeters his head from side to side. “That’s true,” he says, but it’s good-natured, proven by the tiny smile he gives Billie, and he shrugs. “If we hadn’t made the videos, nothing would’ve leaked either, and it was my idea to record us in the first place. And even if you went along with it… I know I might have pushed it a little.”

”The truth is, I totally fucked up by keeping the SD card in my backpack, and—and we both fucked up by filming any of what we did.” Billie pauses to blink, almost in disbelief. “Bill was right, y’know, we’re really goddamn stupid.”

”That, we can agree on,” Mike sighs, tipping his cup in Billie Joe’s direction like it’s something to toast to. When he lowers the mug back to the counter, he taps his thumb on the rim of it as he stares down into its contents. “You had another point too,” Mike continues, quieter than before, and it seems as though it’s with some regret he lifts his eyes to meet Billie’s. “I do see how parts of this are worse for you than it is for me. The other night—that was really plain evidence of that.”

Even thinking about it has Billie wincing. He’s replayed the altercation with the Ivy Room heckler in his head a thousand times, not least of all because it wound up on the internet as everything in his life seems to do these days, and it makes him feel sick for countless reasons. Blowing out a breath, Billie Joe shakes his head and mumbles, “Whatever, y’know, it’s—all that is what it is.” After taking a sip of coffee, he says, “Mostly I just want the death threats to stop.”

”Death threats?” Mike frowns. When Billie nods, he asks, “What, like on social media? You gotta turn off the comments and DMs, Billie, and block the trolls out.”

”I did,” Billie Joe insists, bracing his hands on the edge of the island. “I’ve gotten stuff mailed here. Fucked up shit.”

His brow furrowed, Mike purses his lips as his fingers tighten around the handle of his cup. “People are fucking sick,” he mutters, sounding disgusted and angry.

”It’s not like that’s anything new,” Billie points out, and then he shrugs. “Y’know, it’s not like these have even been my first death threats.”

”If you ever find out who’s sending them,” Mike begins in a wry voice, “you just send me a name and address, and I’ll take care of it.”

A weak half-smile lifts the corner of Billie’s mouth. There’s something super comforting about Mike saying that because it’s what he always would have said before. It almost feels like he has his best friend back. His confidence grows with the understanding that there is a path back from the exceptional mess they’ve made of things. “So, um—I’m kind of living here right now. Adie kicked me out.”

Mike tilts his head to the side, seeming to take a beat for that information to sit. “She’ll take you back,” he says, like he’s stating a fact and not offering his opinion.

”Yeah, I hope so. I mean, I’ve put her through hell before, but we always fight through it.” Billie Joe watches his friend nod and drink his coffee, and his stomach swoops because just having Mike here with him reinforces his conviction that he doesn’t know how to be without Mike any more than he knows how to be without Adie. They’re both such essential parts of him, and the thing is, even Adrienne herself hinted at it back when everything blew up… so what if he could have it both ways? Clearing his throat, Billie decides to go out on a limb and broach the subject. “This might be—I’m sure this is premature of me, but are you—do you have any interest in keeping what we had?”

Looking taken aback, Mike asks, “What, the sneaking around?”

”No, no, that ship has sailed,” Billie says with a nervous chuckle. “What I mean is,” he continues slowly, tracing patterns on the countertop rather than looking Mike in the eyes, “what we had was pretty awesome. Maybe I could get Adie’s blessing where we could, y’know, keep the friends with benefits thing.”

”Adie’s blessing?” Mike repeats with mild incredulity, his eyebrows raised. “You really think she’d be okay with that?”

Billie Joe shrugs. After all, he’s sort of making this up as he goes along based on what could be a heavy dose of wishful thinking. “I mean— maybe, yeah. When everything happened she said something about how instead of lying about it I should’ve just come to her first, like that might have made a difference or something? She knows how important you are to me. She could be cool with it.”

The exhale of the deep breath Mike takes turns into a mirthless chuckle. All he can hear in his head is his own wife’s voice, calling him a sidekick and not meaning it as a compliment. From sidekick to side piece, he thinks. Is that all he is? Could she have been right? He’s not ready to share that thought just yet because as Billie pointed out, this is all premature, but Mike isn’t sure he’s ready to be anybody’s side piece. 

“That could be true about Adrienne, but there’s no way Brittney would ever go for that.” He tells Billie instead, his expression difficult to read, and he’s quieter when he starts speaking again. “She left and took the kids after the whole thing at the Ivy Room wound up on TMZ. I don’t—it’s possible she’s not gonna come back.”

”Fuck,” Billie winces, and he brings his warm mug of coffee up to cradle it against his chest. They both may have thrown a whole load of napalm at their marriages, but the difference between them is Mike’s kids are so much younger than his. It didn’t really occur to Billie Joe until now, and the thing is, it’s probably something he should’ve been thinking about before he began fucking his bassist. “There’s gotta be something you can do to get her back,” he tells Mike, soft and earnest. “What if I talked to her?”

”That would be the worst thing that could happen,” Mike says dryly.

“Fair enough,” Billie concedes. Though they’ve always gotten along just fine, he’d never categorize his relationship to Brittney as a friendship, per se, and knowing what he knows of her, he imagines she’s actively hating his fucking guts right now. But much like he hopes for his own wife, Billie wants to believe she’ll come around. “She might just be talking a big game because she’s pissed, but you never know, maybe she’ll feel differently after a little space, right? I mean, this is you and me. Brittney’s gotta understand that—that whatever was going on between us, it wasn’t some random affair.”

Mike isn’t looking at him now, instead gazing down at his hands as he spins his wedding ring around his finger. “That might be part of the problem,” he murmurs.

Billie Joe frowns. “What do you mean?”

Sighing again, Mike leans back on his barstool and lifts his palms in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know, Billie. I’ve been in my own personal hell these last couple of weeks. The most I’ve been able to breathe is since she packed her shit and left, and it made me think, maybe it’s for the best? Brittney—when she makes up her mind about something, there’s no changing it, and if she feels a certain way about all of this, then—then that’s just how it is….”

His friend trails off, sounding more uncertain than Billie has heard him in recent memory, and he has an impulse to reach out across the counter and take his hand. He thinks about going around to the other side of the island and comforting Mike with a hug. It feels like it’s been ages since Billie Joe was last intimately close with another human being, and as someone whose love language is decidedly touch, nothing would be better for his soul than an embrace with one of his best friends in the world. But he doesn’t know if that's what Mike wants, and considering the topic at hand, he doesn’t dare. Billie is unlikely to fix anything right now by pushing envelopes.

“Have you heard from Tre at all?”

The change in topic pulls Billie out of his thoughts, and he clears his throat in the same way he tries to clear the longing out of his brain. “Oh, uh…no. When I talked to Bill, though, he said he was pretty upset.”

”Upset enough to quit the band?” Mike asks, glancing at Billie Joe out of the corner of his eye.

”I don’t know,” Billie answers honestly, tapping his fingers against the side of his coffee cup, still holding it over his heart. He remembers what Mike said the day the videos leaked, and his stomach quivers. “What about you? You’re not gonna quit on me, are you?”

The way Mike looks at him then is even harder to read than before, and it’s made worse when he doesn’t respond right away, his mind clearly racing behind his blue eyes. “This band has been my entire life from the moment we started it, Billie,” he says, deep and quiet but also measured, “ and I don’t think there’s ever a world in which I could walk away from Green Day. It might be the one thing I’m physically incapable of doing.”

”Y’know,” Billie Joe exhales shakily, “you have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that.”

A small smile twitches on Mike’s mouth. After a beat, he says, “So… I suppose if you and I don’t wanna give up on the band, we better apologize to our drummer and hope he’s willing to forgive us.”

”Tre is generally pretty forgiving,” Billie points out.

”Yeah.” Mike shrugs his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t blame him if he’s not as forthcoming with the forgiveness this time around, though.”

”He definitely has a right to hold this against us for as long as he wants to,” Billie agrees with a slow bob of his head. After a pause, he reaches into the pocket of his joggers and pulls out his phone, which he nervously fidgets with. “Should we, uh—should we try and give him a call and find out right now while we’re here together?”

Mike takes a deep breath, and then he nods. “There’s no time like the present, I guess.”

~*~

Chapter Text

Mike’s still looking seriously glum as they wait for Tre to come over, and Billie is itching for something to talk about to lighten the mood.  

“Hey, it’s not so bad,” Billie reminds him, “How many times have we had the ‘do you want to break up’ talk anyway? And not once has it happened.”

Mike allows a grin to escape on his face, “Yeah, I think the first time was when Al went to college.”

Their first drummer John Kiffmeyer, or Al Sobrante as he liked to be called, left in 1990 without even telling them. Billie had learned it second hand and he was devastated.  “That felt like the end of the world. Now that seems silly, doesn’t it?”

Considering all they’ve accomplished since it did seem silly, but at the time they were just aimless teens and Kiffmeyer had done everything for them. But they learned, and met Tre, and got better. 

“Remember when we quit the Insomniac tour and went home?” Mike said, “I thought we were done then.”

In 1995 they canceled their remaining dates in Europe and went home exhausted and homesick. They might have been technically rich and famous by then but it felt like coming home from the war. “So we took time off, got a new manager and regrouped,” Billie pointed out. “It was fine.”

“It got really bad again after Warning though,” says Mike, “Tre and I were giving you a lot of shit. We never really considered the stress you were under to write another hit album.”

Billie thinks back to that time and he can almost feel the panic attacks again. He was having confidence issues big time, second guessing himself so much he was afraid to bring songs to the guys. Their caustic criticisms only made it worse. “I think that time even I was ready to walk away,” says Billie, “I called and asked you, remember? And what did you say?”

“I told you that this was the single most important thing we were ever going to do with our lives,” says Mike.

“And you were right,” he tells him. “It still is.”

Neither of them mention the last time they thought Green Day was over, because it’s still a fresh wound, but they both know what it is. It was only five years ago, after all. Much like in 1995, it had been fueled by an unsustainable lifestyle. With Billie in rehab, Mike and Tre shared their concerns about continuing in a band the demands of which had almost killed their frontman. They couldn’t ask Billie to make that sacrifice if he wasn’t willing, but he came back healthy and determined to continue on once more.

This is not normal behavior for most bands and they know it, but because the band and their friendship are inseparable and always have been, recommitting to one has just strengthened the other every time. It’s their secret ingredient, and one that they hope will carry them forward now, and on and on until they physically can’t do it anymore. 

As though reading Mike’s mind, Billie says, “We’ve been here before. I’m not giving up now. Not over this.”

As if on cue, the downstairs door bangs open and their drummer jogs up the stairs. 

“Hey,” he says, looking all around the room. “I didn’t know if you were ever gonna call.”

“There’s coffee over there if you want some,” Billie offers. 

Tre exhales, “Like you wouldn’t believe.” He turns and makes himself busy while Mike and Billie wait in silence on the couch. Tre takes an unusually long time fixing his cup how he likes it, and it starts to feel a little awkward. Finally he turns, sips from his mug and slowly approaches, surveying the seating arrangement like he doesn’t know where to sit.

Billie wants to roll his eyes. This studio was a second home for all of them, and now it feels like Tre is waiting for an invitation. It’s almost painful, and he steals a glance at Mike who’s squirming in his seat, looking down at his fingernails. After all their years of friendship they’ve never been this stiff and formal with each other, even at their lowest moments. It’s downright weird. Tre finally takes a seat on the chair facing the couch as he continues sipping his coffee. Billie decides to start because someone has to say something. 

“Uh, so…” he begins, “I know I said it before but we were all kind of shocked and mad, so… I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. Really I am. We both are.”

“Okay,” says Tre, skeptical, “Then why didn’t you? Really.”

Mike jumps in. “I didn’t want him to. I didn’t want to put you in a position to have to keep a secret from Sara.”

“Oh so you did it for me?” says Tre. “How noble.”

“We were paranoid, okay?” says Billie, “We were trying to keep it quiet for the sake of our families and out of the media, trying to avoid the very thing that happened.”

“Yeah good job,” Tre says, “You fools didn’t need me to do that, you did it all on your own.”

“Yeah well let’s not get into that again,” says Mike, looking at Billie, “We talked about it, we both share the blame, and we agree we never should have kept it from you.”

“Why not?” prompts Tre.

“Because we’re a team,” says Billie. “And anything less than total honesty isn’t good for the band and it isn’t good for our friendship.” 

“Correct,” he confirms like a college professor, appearing more relaxed. He puts his mug down on the coffee table and leans back, taking in the two of them in a single frame for the first time. “So, are you guys still…” he trails off with hand gestures, waving between them.

Mike rescues him by catching his meaning. “We don’t know,” he says, “and that’s the god’s honest truth. If anything changes we’ll tell you.”

“Okay, good enough,” he concedes. “That’s between you. Now what about Green Day?”

Billie is eager to get on the subject. “If we’re all in I want to keep going, that’s if we still have a fanbase.”

“That statement was kind of lame and pissed people off,” Tre notes. 

Billie shakes his head, “I don’t want to make any other kind of a statement to the public. Fuck that. I just want us to keep our heads down until this all blows over.”  

“All that cancel shit doesn’t bother me,” says Tre. “It'll all calm down when the next scandal hits. What matters is if we still want to play together.” 

“More than anything,” says Mike, “When life went to shit, it was always the thing we had to fall back on. I feel like we could use it now more than ever. I just want to play with you guys.”

“Yeah man, that’s all I want too,” says Billie, relieved. 

“Same, but before we get to that,” says Tre. “I have some ground rules.”

Billie and Mike look at each other, surprised but willing to do whatever it takes to make their drummer comfortable again. “Okay, shoot,” says Billie.

“As long as we agree on transparency going forward,” Tre begins, firmly, “I’m willing to accept the possibility that you two might be in a relationship, but you have to both promise me that any personal disagreements will not impact the band.  Sex between coworkers is never a good idea in my opinion, so you have to keep it separate at all times. I don’t want to be in the middle of any lover’s squabbles, I refuse to mediate or pick sides. Keep me informed but also leave me the fuck out of it. Can you do that?” 

“That’s kind of a fine line but if we have to we’ll walk it,” says Mike.

“Deal,” says Billie.

The discussion is all academic for now anyway because Billie and Mike are only barely back on speaking terms. They have no idea if it’s in the cards for them to resume their relationship. So much is up in the air. Mike still doesn’t know where he is in his marriage, and for that matter, neither does Billie. That’s why it feels like a colossal achievement to at least get Green Day back on solid footing. It’s what helps to make this day the best one that Billie’s had in a long time. 

It’s the rush of riding that wave that makes Billie feel hopeful an hour later when Adrienne finally calls and asks him to come over. She’s decided that it’s time they had another talk. 

~*~

Chapter Text

The thought of losing her forever is one that Billie can’t bear. It’s incomprehensible to him, he thinks, as he drives the familiar route to his house on autopilot. Yes, he’s put her through hell yet again, only worse. This time is different because there are feelings involved that neither Billie nor Mike can deny. But he loves Adie too, he’s never stopped loving her so is this something his marriage can accommodate or at least forgive?

For the first time in weeks, he enters his own house and is greeted with the familiar sound of furiously excited yapping and the patter of little paws. The dogs missed him like crazy, they practically bowl him over. Billie can’t believe in this whole mess he’d forgotten all about them, but seeing them now does something to his stress levels that only dogs can. He takes extra time to cuddle and greet them each before walking into the firestorm that awaits him. 

The pleasure of seeing his pets gives Billie a sense of hope. Adie reached out first and invited him over. That has to be a good sign, right? he thinks. You don’t do that to someone you’re going to dump, you meet on neutral ground in a public place so there’s no tears or tantrums. 

They’re going to work this out because they have to, he decides, because it’s what they’ve always done.

His wife of twenty three years is settled on the living room sectional, a pile of yarn in her lap and knitting needles in her hand. Billie finds himself struggling to interpret every bit of body language for clues. Knitting is Adie’s love language in a way. She’s made everything from baby blankets to sweaters, hats and scarves for just about everyone in their rather large extended family. But at the same time, it’s also the thing she does when she’s tense and needs something physical to do to distract her mind, so Billie is drawing a blank on this tableau. She’s still knitting away in silence while he stands there. 

He decides to take a seat a few feet from her. “Adi…” he begins, before she cuts him off.

“Did Mike tell you we talked?” she says. Knit, knit, knit.

Billie is thrown by this opening. When did that happen, he wonders.

“No, he didn’t” he admits, “About what?”

“You of course,” she says, putting the needles down for the first time. A strange feeling of relief hits him, like there was a chance she was going to stab him with them. 

“It seems that we’re both hung up on you,” she continues, looking him in the eye. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?” 

“Adie, I…” but he is cut off a second time when she holds her hand up. 

“I think you should let me finish,” she says. 

“Yeah, sure. Sorry,” he replies, nervously.

She looks down at her lap where a ball of yarn still sits. Clutching it for comfort, she begins again. “See, this is the problem I’m facing. I’m so sick of sharing you, Billie—with the band, with other lovers, with the whole damn world! I can’t deny how important Mike is to you, but at the same time what you two did was the ultimate betrayal. We both know you haven’t always been faithful, but those others didn’t owe anything to me. This was with someone I trusted like a brother. Mike should have known better, even if you didn’t.

I’m furious with him,” she continues, “but also it’s so hard to hate him. He was your first best friend. He knows you in ways I can’t, and each of us has a part of you that the other can’t understand. I get that. Neither of us wants to share you, but we don’t know how to let go either.”

“Well… that’s good right?” Billie interjects, reaching for any branch he can find, “Then you get how important you both are to me. I never meant to hurt you. It’s Mike. Maybe there’s a middle ground here. If you don’t want to let go of what we have then let’s start from there and work on that.”

“‘Start from there’”, Adrienne repeats, shaking her head at the irony considering their long history, “That reminds me. You never did tell me how it started. I asked Mike but he insisted I get it from you.” 

Billie shrugs. It wasn’t any major event, it was really so ordinary. “It just sort of happened,” he said, “Back during rehab. It was the first time I was feeling well enough to go out for some coffee, my first time out of the house in weeks.  And wouldn’t you know, I ran into him at the cafe. We’d missed each other, so we talked, then we went to Otis... I didn’t plan for it to happen. I never would’ve thought it could happen, but it did. It was like we saw each other in a new way, or something.” 

“Rehab. That was 2012…” says Adrienne, thinking, struck by a memory, “At the Hall of Fame induction, you called him your soulmate in your speech. Do you remember that?”

”Yes, I remember.” Billie says, impatient about it. “It was ‘musical soulmate’, Adie. Mike is my bandmate and my best friend, but you—you’re my wife.”

She’s unmoved. ”You were already sleeping with him when you called him that. I know that now. I also know that music is everything to you, and Mike’s an integral part of all that. So I’ll ask you – are you in love with him?”

Billie doesn’t answer, but the way he can’t look her in the eye is an answer in itself. 

“You do realize he’s in love with you,” she says.

That catches Billie off guard and his head snaps back to face her. 

“He said that to you?” he asks.

”Just like you he didn’t have to,” she answers. “He can’t hide his feelings for you either. Now you tell me how I’m supposed to compete with that?”

”You don’t have to. It’s not a competition,” he protests, and he means it. The two are as different to Billie as they can be.

”You’re right,” she agrees earnestly. “I’m not interested in competing for you anymore, Billie. What am I supposed to do here? You’ve humiliated me. Our family.” 

“I never meant for that video to get out,” Billie says lamely, “I was mugged. It was a stupid accident. I’m sorry that it humiliated you.”

“You sound more sorry that I found out than you do about the act itself,” she says, “I know I could never ask you to stay away from him, and at the same time, I can’t trust you with him. I know better than to give you any sort of ultimatum when it comes to Mike so instead I’m just stepping down. I forfeit.”

Billie rises up out of his seat, a tightness growing in his chest. “What? No, no Adie, we have to work this out. It’s what we do. We find a way!”

“I can’t,” she says, “Not this time. There’s no way forward from here. If it was another meaningless affair maybe because I always knew I had your whole heart. But you love him. I know you do. So I can’t.”

“I love you,” he insists. 

“And I love you,” she says, “But you don’t deny loving Mike. Don’t you see, Billie? That’s the whole problem.”

~*~

Chapter Text

Honestly—and he’s not proud of it— Billie Joe has lost count of how many times his marriage has been on the rocks. To put it mildly, he’s fucked up a lot. Between infidelity and substance abuse, Billie has tested the absolute limits of not only Adrienne’s patience but the openness of her heart. She has extended more grace to him than any man deserves, and it should not surprise him as much as it does, that she has finally shut the door on him. Billie has always needled his way back into her goodwill somehow, some way, but this time, there is no path back to her. He feels the finality in his bones. 

It puts Billie Joe in something of a daze. Simply put, it doesn’t feel real. Just when he thought he’d be moving back home, he’s back at Otis the day after Adie told him her decision, aimlessly picking through the few boxes he brought with him.  Now that his exile has become more than a temporary condition, it occurs to him he has no idea where to put any of this shit. The apartment space might be larger than the studio downstairs, but that doesn’t mean it has any sort of significant storage capacity. As it is, Billie has been living out of his luggage these last few weeks since the closet in the unit’s single bedroom is packed with band equipment. Otis isn’t a long-term living solution for him, which means he’s going to need to find something more permanent. 

He went from his mom’s house as a teenager to sharing squats and apartments with his friends, and straight into married life when he was only twenty two. Billie realizes now that not only has he been married for more than half his life, he’s never really lived alone before. He doesn’t know how. Walking into a quiet house in the daytime, meals alone, the long, dark, silent nights, a big empty bed… He’s sure in no time he’ll be talking to the walls, losing his mind, and that’s the best case scenario.  Worst case is he drowns himself in alcohol every night.  To be fair, having a life partner didn’t always keep him sober, but it sure kept him sane. 

The thought frustrates Billie, and he shoves the box he was looking through sideways down the island, knocking an empty pizza box to the floor. In turn, that reminds him he’s going to have to figure out how to feed himself today, for the umpteenth day in a row. Billie Joe isn’t used to that. On the road he has tour managers and caterers to handle that, and the rest of the time, he’s always relied on Adie to steer that ship. All that’s over, obviously, and unless Billie wants to eat pizza and takeaway tacos for the rest of his life, he’ll have to either start learning to cook or hire a private chef. He’s pretty annoyed about either option.

These are just the small ways his life is now upended, Billie thinks. There’s assets and bank accounts and all of that shit, but that’s nothing compared to what this means for him as a person. For better or worse, for the last two decades and change, Adrienne has been Billie Joe’s other half. More than that, though, she’s been his anchor – the one thing that has kept Billie grounded in this rock and roll lifestyle that is so tumultuous, chaotic, and uncertain. Without her, he’s as good as lost at sea. Adrift. 

In hindsight, it was awful fucking naive of Billie, but he really thought they would work this out. He would’ve bet on it. He thought she was nearly there. But then she had to talk to Mike. He would give anything to know what she and his so-called best friend talked about that led to her making her final decision. He also knows it wasn’t the cheating alone that did him in. It was the goddamn video that found its way out into the world, leaving Adrienne vulnerable to the public humiliation that followed. That’s what started all this. 

Did she really even have a choice? Adie has been judged privately in the past for her decision to take him back after indiscretions, but that was mainly among their own small circle of people who were aware at the time. Now every tabloid and clickbait gossip site has an opinion, and if she forgave Billie—again—the judgment would be on a global scale, all because of the evidence, the undeniable, incontrovertible proof of how badly he’s betrayed her, available by means of a Google search for strangers and loved ones alike. When Billie thinks about it like that, he’d probably divorce him too.

But the fact remains, it’s those damn videos that put Billie Joe in this situation. Without them, none of this would be happening, and he knows who’s responsible for that. The private conversation with his wife was just the final nail in the coffin. It distracts him from his despair, replacing it with an anger that builds. An anger that makes Billie want to have a drink, if only to cool it off. Since that isn’t an option, he chooses to go for a drive instead, ripping his keys off of the counter, storming down the stairs to the street.

Billie drives straight to Mike’s house, going about ten miles per hour faster than he ought to. Truth be told, he’s not exactly thinking about his actions too much. If he did, and he were to take a beat and chill out, Billie Joe would likely realize this is just about the worst thing he could do right now. The problem is, he’s always been a creature of impulse. It’s how this whole mess started in the first place, at least where the affair with Mike is concerned. Impulse is how Billie operates, and if he hasn’t learned how to keep himself out of trouble by now, he never will.

When Billie pulls up into Mike’s long driveway, he handles his old Chevy more roughly than is wise, same as how he slams it into gear and shuts the driver’s side door behind him. He storms towards Mike’s front door and furiously knocks on the white painted wood, then impatiently waits for the homeowner to arrive, fists taut on his hips. It takes longer than Billie Joe would prefer, so huffing, he knocks again, and he’s mid-knock when Mike answers the door.

“Hey,” Mike says, and a quizzical little smile quirks on his thin lips, “Billie, what’re you—”

There is no time for pleasantries, or at least, Billie doesn’t have the patience for them. In fact, he does what comes naturally to him: he doesn’t let Mike finish his inquisitive greeting and instead shoves him right in the chest, effectively wiping that annoying smile off of his face. Mike takes several surprised steps back into his foyer and Billie follows. 

“This is all your fault,” Billie Joe seethes. He shoves Mike a second time, able to do it because the bassist is so shocked by his initial aggression. “You son of a bitch, it’s all your fucking fault!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Mike asks, and for what it’s worth, he seems genuinely perplexed. 

It only serves to piss Billie off more. “She’s done. Adie. She wants a divorce.”

Mike’s features change, tweaking into something that looks like pity in this moment even if, deep down, Billie knows better. “Fuck, man,” he starts to say, and he’s brave enough to rest his hands on Billie Joe’s vibrating shoulders, “I’m sorry—”

“The hell you are,” Billie snaps, ripping Mike’s hands off him. It takes Mike aback, and he doubles down. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Billie demands. “Was this part of your plan all along, Mike? Those videos—was that what it was all for? Some grand scheme to get me all to yourself?”

“Are you out of your damn mind?” Mike asks him, his voice quiet, his slight eyebrows pulled together. 

“No, but I must’ve been,” Billie Joe answers viciously. “I let you rope me into doing those videos, even though I knew better!”

“Rope you into it?” Mike repeats sharply, and his jaw is hard set now, one single muscle twitching in the way it does when he gets particularly impatient. Billie doesn’t back down, glaring right back, and so he says flatly, “I didn’t rope you into anything, Billie. Nobody forced you to have sex on camera. You did it of your own volition, same as me.”

“It was all your idea, Mike!” Billie Joe explodes, split flying out of his mouth in the process. “You fucking pressured me, and you know you did!”

Mike chuckles, dark and disdainful, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we’re doing this again,” he mutters, rubbing his wrinkled brow with his fingertips. “Look, I’m sorry about Adrienne. I didn’t see this coming. When we talked, I didn’t…”

“What did you tell her?” Billie presses.

“I didn’t tell her anything,” Mike protests, “We agreed we were both in a bind. She didn’t seem like she came to any decision. If anything, she was trying to find a way to make it work, in spite of everything. You’re pretty lucky, man.”

“I don’t feel lucky,” he snaps back, “You two met and talked– behind my back– and the next thing I know I’m out on my ass. What do you call that? You want to stand there and tell me you didn’t have something to do with that?”

“I didn’t tell her to divorce you if that’s what you’re implying!” Mike protests.

Billie’s barely listening anyway because his brain is in a death spin. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t live without her Mike, I can’t…”

“In case you haven’t noticed, my wife left me too,” says Mike bitterly, quickly growing tired of Billie’s self pity act. 

Billie turns away from him and starts pacing the foyer. That’s why when he mutters something in response Mike can’t hear his words, though he detects the bitter, sarcastic tone. 

“What was that?” Mike asks.

He stops pacing and repeats his words more clearly. “I said ‘correction: your most recent wife.’ It’s not the same at all.”

Mike stares back as stunned as if Billie had slapped him. “I can’t believe you said that. We have two kids! Same as you! You’re gonna judge me? You think you’re better than me? Don’t act like you and Adrienne are some kind of love story for the ages. You two have been on the brink of divorce more times than I’ve had marriages! Maybe the real difference is I just know when to quit!”

He could go on. Mike knows Billie doesn’t have the moral high ground no matter how many years he and Adrienne have stuck it out. There’s wedded bliss and then there’s co-dependency.  If there’s such a thing as the opposite of a commitmentphobe Billie would be it. But pointing that out would only make him more furious than he already is so for the sake of peace Mike bites his tongue.

Billie ignores Mike’s accusations and instead eyes him suspiciously. There’s something Billie just can’t let go of, like a dog with a rag. “You spoke to her and then she backed off, so you must have told her something. What was it? Did you tell her that you weren’t gonna give me up? Why can’t you just cop to it, Mike? Why can’t you just admit that this is what you wanted?”

Mike throws his hands up, exasperated. Billie was sounding unhinged. “You think I wanted to blow up our whole lives? Do you really think that’s what I wanted? If you did, you’re dumber than anyone has ever accused you of being.”

That strikes a nerve, but then again, Mike knew it would. He wouldn’t have said it otherwise. He tried to diffuse things, but it was getting them nowhere, so fuck it. 

His eyes flashing, Billie Joe raises his fist, intent on popping the bassist in his crooked nose, hearing the satisfying crunch, breaking it for the third or fourth time, it’s not like he could possibly keep count at this point.

Swiftly, though, Mike catches him by the wrist, as though he anticipated the impulse. His eyes are like steel, penetrating Billie where he stands, and his grip is the same, unyielding. For a moment, they just stay as they are, breathing heavily into each other’s faces, and it’s really something, how fine the line can be between love and hate. It wouldn’t be the first time they didn’t know which side they were standing on.

“Is this really what you want to do?” Mike asks him, soft and disappointed, the same way he talks to his kids sometimes.

“Fuck you,” Billie Joe responds, and as much as he hates the way his voice trembles, there’s nothing for it because it’s not just the pulsating rage anymore. It’s everything. He tears his arm away from Mike’s grasp, and without a second glance, storms out of the house, the door rattling shut behind him.

~*~

Chapter Text

When Billie Joe gets back to Otis he reaches for his suitcase, dumps it out and starts repacking. He can’t stay here anymore. He’s too close to both Mike and Adrienne, he can sense their dual presence everywhere in this town. It feels like the walls are closing in on him. He needs to go somewhere he can breathe. He picks up his phone and texts Kevin Preston, his friend from the Foxboro days. The Prima Donna frontman was always up for a good time. 

Hey, he types, I’m coming to LA for the weekend. Wanna hang?

By the time he finishes packing and books a flight his phone chimes. 

Hey stranger, been a while. I’m around, text me when you get here

If Kevin knows about the scandal he’s kind enough not to say.  Kevin is a chill dude, very Valley, and he parties like a beast. A weekend getaway is just what Billie needs to put this all out of his mind. He texts back a thumbs up and heads out the door. 

When he arrives at his hotel he gets a text from Kevin with an address for a dive called Bar Henry on Sunset. It sounds perfect. Checking himself out in the mirror in his room Billie can practically see the little angel on his shoulder asking him what his intentions are, but he ignores it in favor of the devil grinning with anticipation on the other side. There’s really only one sure fire way to forget his troubles and he knows it. 

“Billie!” calls a voice from the dim back of the bar when he enters. 

Kevin and his bandmates are already there, commanding a circular booth. The table is piled with drinks. Kevin rises to greet him with a big warm hug. 

“Hey,” says Billie, “How ya been man?”

“Really great,” says Kevin. “We just finished a new album so we’re celebrating. Your timing’s perfect. Sit down, what can I get you?”

“Uh,” Billie hesitates, looking over the array of tumblers, pint and shot glasses that fill the table. “Beer’s good.”

“We got a head start on the shots, I’ll get you a shot too,” he offers, slapping him on the shoulder. 

Billie slides into the booth while Kevin goes to the bar. 

This was a good idea, Billie thinks, leaning back into the crushed velvet seats. Kevin and his bandmates obviously haven’t been keeping close tabs on Green Day press since they toured together or they’d know about Billie’s rehab and sobriety. They’re not gonna hassle him or be a bummer. He can forget about everything and have a good time. He chats with the guys about the new record. They have it playing on the sound system so it’s sort of an informal listening party.  Billie thinks it really rocks and he tells them so.

Kevin returns with a round for him and another for himself.

“So seriously dude, you doing okay? I mean you know, with the whole internet thing…” Kevin asks when he slides back in next to him. 

Billie’s heart sinks a little because his tone and eye contact suggests he knows about the most recent unpleasantness like everyone else in the fucking world. 

“Shit’s crazy,” he admits, picking up his beer,  “I just want to put it behind me, you know?”

“Yeah totally,” says Kevin, “We don’t have to talk about it. Let’s just get ripped.”

Billie tosses back a shot, feeling the pleasant burn as it goes down. He missed this.  The album ends and some classic garage rock comes on. Everyone is talking about music. After two rounds he’s already feeling light headed and he remembers he hasn’t eaten much all day apart from some coffee and a sandwich at the airport. He should probably slow down, but just as he’s about to ask if they have any food at this place a server comes by with another round. 

“I deejay here sometimes so the bartender takes care of me,” Kevin explains at the seemingly never ending rounds of drinks. 

Two rounds later he’s forgotten about the food. He gets up for a stretch and nearly tips over.

“I got the next round,” Billie offers, leaning on the table to straighten up, but the room still seems a little tilted. 

“In a bit,” says Kevin, sliding out, behind him and stumbling to the exit, “I’m going out for a smoke.”

Billie goes to the bar, orders a round for the table and takes a stool while he waits for Kevin to return. He thought it would be harder to do this but the problem is it’s not a problem at all. He takes to drinking again like riding a bike, and he’s quickly knocking them back like he never stopped. His troubles recede into the far distance.

A pretty blonde girl is next to him, probably in her thirties, dressed for a night of clubbing. Billie is just drunk enough that flirting with her seems like a good idea. His marriage is over, he thinks, so what does he have to lose? 

“What are you drinking?” He asks her with a smile. “I can buy you another.”

She smirks at him with a look just short of an eye roll. “I got it thanks,” she says as she waves a bill at the bartender, ordering a martini.

“So… you here with friends?” he tries again to feel her out, undeterred.

She laughs to herself and shakes her head. 

“What?” asks Billie, starting to feel a little annoyed at himself for being off his game.

The bartender places down her drink and she picks it up. “Aren’t you married?” She asks him, “And gay?”

Billie scowls as she walks away laughing. “That’s hella biphobic,” he mutters to himself, taking a deep gulp of his beer. If this shit is still following him around he’s clearly not drunk enough. 

“Chicks, man. They’re brutal.” Says a guy to his right, nursing a whiskey. “I want to buy you a drink after that.” 

The guy catches the bartender’s eye before Billie can say anything. 

“Thanks,” says Billie. He puts out his hand. “I’m Billie.”

“Karl,” says the man, accepting the handshake. He’s about Billie’s age, tall and muscular with a full head of dirty blonde hair. Billie tries his best not to think of Mike. “We’ve actually met.”

“Really? I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

“Don’t be sorry it was a long time ago,” Karl says. “It was one of my first production jobs. I worked as a rigger for one of your music videos, it was full of stunts. You took the time to introduce yourself to everybody in the crew and thank us all. I never forgot it because it was such a rare thing. It’s just not something celebrities do. Most of them are self centered assholes.”

“Oh, I remember making that video, and the crew. It was a long day, you guys worked your asses off,” Billie notes, not remembering Karl specifically but recalling as much detail as he can. “I come from a working class family man, I get it. Who doesn’t want to be appreciated?”

Karl eyes him for a minute, like he’s thinking. “Yeah, you’re different alright. So what are you doing here drinking and hitting on young women like it’s a going out of business sale?”

“I’m… drowning my sorrows I guess,” he admits, the alcohol loosening his tongue, “My wife wants a divorce.”

“That’s too bad. I’m divorced too,” Karl reveals. “It was fair. I cheated on her.”

Billie grimaces. “I can relate.” His drunkenness takes a turn and starts to weigh on him like a stone. The conversation gets him in his feelings and he finds himself wanting to open up to this stranger. “I made… uh, I guess you could say some very public mistakes.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with your work,” the guy says, but he’s not mocking Billie at all, instead he sounds deeply sympathetic. 

“Everyone’s familiar with my work,” Billie grumbles. 

Karl shakes his head and shrugs, “We all do fucked up shit sometimes. You just gotta move on and move forward. Fuck these people.” 

The platitudes are simple, but somehow they make Billie feel a little better. If other people think he’s worthy of forgiveness maybe he can eventually forgive himself.  

Karl leans in closer, “Hey, I got a joint on me if you want to go out back for a smoke.”

Billie is well past the good light feeling from the alcohol and needs something to lift him back up, so it sounds like a good idea.

“Yeah, let’s do it,” he says, getting up. 

In the alley behind the club, Karl lights the joint, takes the first hit and passes it to him. Billie inhales, enjoying the rush of the weed in his lungs. He hands it back. Karl takes it, their fingers brushing lightly. Before long, he’s feeling nice and stoned. He relaxes and leans against the wall. They silently pass the joint to each other until Billie notices Karl staring at him funny, his eyes glazed and distant. 

“What’s the deal?” Billie asks him, taking another hit. 

“Nothing, just thinking of something,” says Karl, “You know, it was really hot in that one video where you let your friend finger you while you sucked his cock.” 

Billie feels a chill rush through him like he plunged into an ice bath. His expression drops along with the joint that falls from his fingers as he’s overcome with fear. He’s hoping the drug made him imagine what he just heard, but he must have heard correctly because before he can react Karl moves on him. The larger man grips him tightly first by one arm and then by the back of his neck as he tries to kiss him. Their lips touch roughly. He smells like whiskey and weed. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”  Billie pulls his head back, resisting but the man only tightens his grip until it hurts. 

“Nothing you haven’t done before. Come on. Let’s see that pretty ass of yours,” he slurs. 

One hand snakes down Billie’s back to his rear. The man cups and squeezes his butt cheek and it makes his skin crawl. In front of him he can feel the man’s boner through his jeans growing and pressing up against his groin. 

“Stop!” Billie cries, squirming to get away.  

In response Karl suddenly rears back and slaps him hard across the face with a sharp crack. Billie’s so inebriated he didn’t see it coming, and he barely feels it at first, like all of his reactions are delayed, moving in stop motion. Then the sting registers and he feels sick. 

“Oh, yeah I remember you like to play rough, don’t ya?” Karl says, treating this all like a game.

He tears at Billie’s shirt to get it open, buries his face in his neck and puts his entire weight on him to hold him up against the brick wall. Billie’s arms are pinned behind his back. Teeth and saliva graze at his throat and he struggles to get his hands free but he can barely breathe from the pressure. Then clumsy hands are fumbling at Billie’s belt buckle. 

Billie remembers through the fog and the panic that he may not have use of his arms but he has legs too. His attacker has to move back slightly and widen his own stance to open the front of Billie’s jeans allowing him enough space to lift his own knee. Just as eager fingers slide down into his pants Billie uses all his strength and rams his knee upwards right into the guy’s crotch. Karl cries out in surprise, releases him and staggers backward. 

Billie sprints out of the alley like the devil is chasing him back towards Sunset. 

“You’re nothing but a fucking tease!” Karl yells after him in a voice that’s noticeably higher pitched than before.

He may be running but it’s like he can’t run far enough. It’s everywhere he goes. Even drugs and alcohol can’t help him escape this new reality that his life has become.

~*~