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Denied	By : girlcalledkill00 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Green Day Views: 1367 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't know or own the band Green Day or any of it's members, including Billie Joe Armstrong or his wife, Adrienne Armstrong. This is a work of fiction and I get no money for this, just fun.

Chapter List
- 1-Denied
- 1
Note: This is a het BDSM oneshot with a loving D/s relationship and power exchange. Thereis just a little, implied smut. Enjoy!
Denied
Sometimes, it's about more than pain...
“Jesus Christ, but I want a drink.”
I froze at the words that I hadn’t heard for three years. Well, I'd heard them, but never like this. Never so...final. There was just something about his voice; an edge that I hadn't heard in a long time.
I turned away from the kitchen sink and faced Billie as I clutched at the hand towel I had been drying breakfast dishes with. He had the refrigerator door open, looking at the shelves, and not seeing anything. Or maybe not seeing the beer he was wishing for, anyway.
“What’s the matter, Billie?” I kept my voice calm and quiet, even though I instantly had a startling image in my mind of Billie getting into his car and going to buy beer. I blocked the mental picture. I wasn't even going to go there.
“Nothing, I just want a drink, goddamn it. “ He shut the fridge door and looked away from me and swallowed, and I knew something, or everything, was troubling his brilliant mind. I could have probably guessed; the new album was going to drop in three days, after all, and that was only the beginning. But that wasn’t really the point. It did him no good if I was the only one who could describe what was wrong. He was the one who would decide if he was going to drive to the gas station and buy a twelve pack.
I paused, then absently wiped at the counter as I said cautiously, "Do you want to talk? I mean, you know, you don't just blurt out that you want a drink. Not like that. Is there anything I can do for you, Billie?"
I stopped wiping the counter to look at his face and try to read him. I got nothing. He walked away from the fridge and stood by the window. Leaning his forehead on a pane of glass, he looked out at nothing, just as he had looked into the fridge.
Sometimes the only way into his head was through the songs, but that wasn't going to help me now. And he wasn't offering himself up voluntarily either, except for that one bomb he just lobbed at me: 'I want a drink.' What the hell was I supposed to do with that? I stared at his handsome profile as I tried to think.
He shrugged and said, "No, I'll be all right, it was just a passing thing. I'm--I'm going outside to have a cigarette. " He avoided my eyes as he looked down and fumbled around with the zipper of his sweatshirt.
My first reaction was one of irritation, which I immediately brushed aside as petty and trivial. I drew a deep breath when I realized what I needed to do. He wanted me to do SOMETHING, that much I knew, or he wouldn't have said anything at all. I decided to try something that I know he loves, despite the fact that he's only enjoyed it in our bedroom..up to now.
I dropped the towel onto the counter, walked around it, and stepped up to him. With gentle fingertips on his stubbly jaw, I tipped his face up. He stopped screwing around with the zipper and dropped his hands. I stared up into his eyes which shone clear light green in the morning light through the windowpane, even through his glasses.
Changing the tone of my voice in a way that only he would understand, I curled my fingers around his jaw and my gentle touch transformed into a strong grip around his chin. With my other hand I pointed at a stool by the kitchen island.
“Billie Joe, sit at this counter until I tell you that you may get up. “
He tried to shake his head but I held fast to his face. His pale cheeks flushed pink as he realized what I was doing. He stammered, “No , not here, not now…” He ran trembling fingers through dark curls. Despite his words, I caught a slight spark of interest in his eyes. I also noticed the dark circles under them. I persisted.
I took my hand from his chin, and grabbed a fistful of unkempt hair at the back of his head, and I drew closer to him until my body brushed his. I whispered, “Listen, my sub, if you don’t do as I say, you are going kneel on the kitchen floor instead of sitting on a nice comfortable chair. So get your ass into that stool and don’t move or speak. You are going to fold your hands together on the counter and sit perfectly still until I give you permission to move. Got it?”
He stared at me and his cheeks flushed pink again. I tightened my fingers in the curls and he winced. “Got it?” I repeated. I pressed my hips into his and felt him stiffen. He brought one of his hands around and lay it on the small of my back, and tried to pull me closer. I pulled away immediately.
"No, Billie Joe." I wasn't going to give him any attention down there, at least not now. "You need to do as I say. This is your last chance. Are you going to obey me?"
“Y…yes…” he said as he wiped his hands on the front of his sweatshirt.
“Yes, what?”
Suddenly shy, he lowered his eyes and whispered, “Yes…Mistress….”
I let his hair go and pointed at the stool. He sat in it and clasping trembling inked fingers together he lay his folded hands before him on the counter. Cheeks glowing, he watched me nervously as I walked back over to the other side of the kitchen island.
I lay my hands on the countertop and faced him. “That’s better. Now you sit there, close your eyes, and don’t speak or move. “
Incredulous, he looked at me. "What--"
“I said close your eyes, Billie Joe. And don't say another word. “
Lifting his hands from the counter, he took his glasses off and hooked them over the front of his shirt. He closed his eyes, then refolded his hands. My heart pounded. The way he trusted me was the most beautiful thing in the world.
“Now, right now, in your mind, you are going to meditate, or pray, or both... whatever you need do to get yourself above your addiction and get past this moment. You are going to breathe. You are going to pray. And you are not going to stop until I say so. You are not going to move, or speak, or open your eyes, until I give you permission. Do you understand?”
He was quiet for a long moment, but he kept his eyes shut, so I waited patiently.
Finally, he said, “Yes, OK, but…”
I interrupted him by raising my voice above his, “Do you understand?”
He twisted his mouth up, but he said quietly, “I understand.”
“You understand, what?”
“I understand...Mistress,” he whispered.
“Good, now do as I said.”
I watched for a moment to make sure he obeyed me. He was very still and he was silent. His lips moved slightly and he pressed his eyelids closed tight. He looked like a child at night, dutifully saying prayers, and I wanted to touch his rough cheek. But that wasn’t what he needed.
After watching him for a minute, I decided to do some food prep for tonight while I supervised Billie Joe. I chopped vegetables, washed some fruit, and cleaned up as I went, and I took my time doing it. Billie managed an entire 15 minutes without moving, which was a world record for him. Then, hands still folded and eyes closed, he started to shift in his seat.
“Billie Joe, hold still. You are moving. “
He complied. “I’m sorry, “ he said, then hastily added, shy again, “Mistress. “
“Keep your eyes closed. Focus and meditate, Billie. If you don’t do this, or if you start fidgeting again, I’ll have to punish you.”
He lowered his face at this. My punishments were bad.
“But if you do as I say, without any more reminders, you might get rewarded.” Reaching across the counter, I breifly lay my hand over both of his, and squeezed hif fingers. He shivered at my touch, drew a deep breath, and exhaled.
Lifting his face that now glowed, he sat perfectly still, eyes closed, lips moving slightly, for another half hour. I finished washing and chopping vegetables for a salad for dinner, and then I turned my back on him to finish the dishes, confident that he would remain obedient. He did.
When I decided he had had enough time, I wiped at my hands, and came around behind Billie Joe. Laying my hands on his shoulders, I whispered into his ear. “You may open your eyes now. But don't move, and don't speak until spoken to."
I brushed some stray curls from his forehead and I traced the lovely flecks and strands of grey that had appeared at his hairline since his last coloring.
With a sigh, he opened them, but he was surprisingly good, and did not move. I smiled. I kept my lips close to his ear and said, “You did very well, little sub. “ I kissed his cheek. He smelled nice, like homemade soap and cinnamon gum.
“Thank you, Mistress,” he said quietly to the counter, since I didn’t give him permission to move.
“How do you feel?”
I caught him off guard with that one. I liked to do that. He nearly turned to face me, but he caught himself just in time, and instead he pressed his folded fingers together tighter and said, “I…I…don’t know, OK I guess..."
“No Billie Joe, how do you FEEL?” I wasn’t going to let him off of this so easily. I drew my lips close to his ear and whispered, “I’m not going to give your permission to move until you answer my question, and believe me, I’m going to know if you lie to me, my pretty little sub. “
He swallowed. I drew in to his side, so he could see me in his peripheral vision, and I curled my hands possesively around his upper arm, claiming him as my own. Even through his baggy sweatshirt I could feel his solid bicep, and I felt the stirring, even now after all these years, of an animalistic physical attraction to him.
He blinked, and to my surprise, one tear fell from each eye and rolled down his cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I feel…like shit.”
He opened his eyes and looked at the grain of the granite countertop. I squeezed his arm. I said nothing; it was his turn to speak about anything he could get out of his crowded mind. The words poured from his lips as he pressed his clasped hands together on the counter.
“I can’t sleep…God, Adie, the album is coming out and I’m so fucking nervous about it, I’m so full of fucking self doubt... It doesn’t even make sense. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m afraid... I feel…afraid. Everyone is relying on me. Sometimes, I just…Jesus.” More tears came as he blinked. He squeezed his eyes tight to clear them out. I waited and let him cry as long as he wanted.
“Please….” He said after a minute or two. He sounded so meek now, the stirring increased in my gut. “Please, may I move my hands to wipe at my eyes…Mistress…”
I released his arm. “Yes, you may move your hands, and you are released from the stool, Billie Joe.” I grabbed a clean towel from a hook under the cabinet and handed it to him. He mopped up his eyes, then stood up. I wrapped my arms around him, under his, and lay my cheek to his chest.
I squeezed him tight, feeling and knowing every inch of the flesh, muscles, and bones beneath my hands as if they were my own. He was so slight, yet so strong at the same time. Billie Joe was the perfect sum of all his imperfections and contradictions. Dropping the towel on the counter, he wrapped his arms around me, and I sighed at the reassuring weight and strength of them. He kissed my forehead and leaned his scratchy cheek on it, and then he pressed his body into mine. Once again I felt the evidence of his own desire stir and stiffen against my hips. Tightening his embrace, he tenderly kissed my forehead again, and continued the kisses with expert soft lips; this time working his way down my temple and cheek with quickening urgency.
“Now Billie Joe,” I spoke one more time in that tone that he loved so much, “Which do you want, the drink, or the reward?”
He paused and lifted his face from mine. It had smoothed out, and his cheeks still glowed as they had when he sat at the counter. I knew that he still had so much left to deal with, and more tears to shed; but for now he smiled down at me , for the first time today.
The wrinkles at the upturned corner of his mouth and at the corners of his sparkling eyes gave me my answer and a reward of my own, all at once.
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Denied