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Slip of a Boy	By : KarmaKiller Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Green Day Views: 1871 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Green Day. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Title: Slip of a Boy.
Author: Sarah Elizabeth (Karma Killer)
Summary: Set up in chapters, but basically a series of vignettes chronicling the downfall of Billie Joe's marriage and the growth of his relationship with Mike.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Billie Joe/Mike Dirnt
Feedback: desired.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the arrangement of words. Completely non-profit and completely hormonal. I don't seek to incriminate or befoul anybody.

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Fundamentals

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Billie Joe wasn't always that way. Billie Joe used to laugh...no, he used to outright giggle. He used to play tarzan with hotel chandeliers in a drunken stupor. He used to pick his nose shamelessly on live television interviews and take Joey and Jakob to the park and push them on the swings.

Billie Joe used to have a family and a father's role.

When he lost that, it was like watching a luxury sedan pummel right into a brick wall. The destruction was immediate, but the process of rebuilding was lethargic; nearly incomprehensible. He just refused to let anyone in. Mike was having a hard time with this, as the two had always been inseperable.

"Billie."

His bandmate seemed to ignore him and continued to scratch away at the hotel wall's plaster with his car keys. A worn cigarette was hanging from his dry, cracked lips, and a long stem of ash threatened to singe the carpet at any second.

Billie Joe had been working on this project for a good forty-five minutes at this point, having carved 'rage' in giant graffiti-esque letters across the crown molding and nearly all the way to the domed ceiling. He was now enthralled in the 'o' of his second word, 'Love'.

"Billie," Mike tried again, this time gaining a slight cocking of the head from the smaller man.

"Show's in 10."

They had been waiting in their hotel room trying to relax before playing a sold out New York venue. Mike had taken up residence in the overstuffed recliner at one end of the room, idly flipping through the television channels and chucking the remote upon finding nothing of interest.

Billie had barricaded himself in the luxurious marble bathroom the minute they had walked through the door. Mike had knocked several times to make sure that his bandmate planned on returning, only to be greeted with a sullen silence. When Billie Joe finally reemerged, he had wordlessly clomped over to the wall next to the first bed. His disposition suggested anger, and when he became annoyed with the matress in his way and turned it violently over onto the floor, Mike had confirmed a definite antagonistic presence in the room.

That's when he had begun his mural. Mike didn't know whether he should be intrigued or perplexed, but he did know that this particular hotel bill was going to be a bitch.

Billie finished scracthing in his 'v' and instead of finishing off 'Love', took a significantly longer key and pulled a large gaping line through the word. The grating sound of the key to the plaster made Mike cringe.

Billie joe pocketed his keys and turned to look at Mike, now leaning forward in the recliner, chin in his hand and a strange look in his eyes. Billie didn't like it one bit. He took a final drag from his cigarette and snubbed it out on the bedside table nearest him.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, eyes still on the cigarette butt.

Mike sighed. "Then how should I look at you? As if you're fucking Picasso?"

Not a detail altered in Billie's numb expression. He put his hands in his pockets. "Let's play a show then," he said calmly, turning on his heel and heading for the door.

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Billie Joe hadn't 'spiffed up' (as Tre liked to put it) for the show. His hair remained in its naturally dark pincurls, lacking luster without styling product. He had even forgone what had become his trademark eyeliner. Instead of the usual black and red showman ensemble, Billie was adorned in the same raggedy jeans they had arrived in and the navy blue and black striped shirt he had been wearing for years now. The bassist doubted he would ever be rid of that thing.

A large part of Mike found this appearance and lack of preparation appealing. It brought him back to the old days, when they were happy just to have a gig, a meal, a roof to sleep under on the road. From his position on stage, Billie looked younger again, carefree and natural. Almost as if they had turned back time by a decade. But Mike knew better.

He knew that if you stood as close to Billie Joe as he had been permitted to, that you would see the dark circles under his eyes, the ones he liked to claim were remnants of his eyeliner. You would see the worry lines forming in the crease of his forehead and the crows feet at the outer corners of those hazel pools. A hazel that was darkening more and more every day.

Tonight was a masquerade. Mike wondered if the fans would notice anything at all.

Luckily, the fans seemed as enthused as ever and the show went off without a hitch. Well, almost. They performed the usual lineup, but when they arrived at Billie Joe's choice "Self Gratification" sequence, Mike sensed something was terribly amiss.

He tried to focus on his baseline as he watched Billie's hand travel south, taking a moment to shimmy lazily across his chest, much to the delight of the female audience. Their enthusiasm caused Billie to giggle against the microphone as his fingers toyed with the fly of his jeans.

The offending hand disappeared beneath thick denim and then the moaning began. Mike looked up from his fret and nearly stumbled across his baseline when he found Billie Joe standing very much in front of him, hand very much writhing within his pants. A devilish smirk was pasted across the smaller man's face as he rested his free hand on Mike's shoulder and continued his self-pleasure show.

Mike wasn't entirely sure what his lately off-color bandmate was trying to pull by dragging Mike into his little escapade. But he could feel his face burning along with other, more sensitive, regions of his anatomy. Billie's eyes remained open and gazing directly into Mike's. It was at that moment that it clicked, and with such a realization Mike struggled to maintain grip on the neck of his base.

This wasn't a show. This was genuine.

His best friend of sixteen years was on stage, jacking off in front of Mike with one hand on his shoulder. The crowd ceased to exist, along with their hormonal encouragement. All Mike could decipher was the increasing volume of Billie's exquisite moans, the sensual intoxication filling his ears like honey as the smaller man continued to gaze mischeviously at him through sex-hazed eyelids.

Mike was sure his playing was for utter shit as he felt Billie's grip on his shoulder tighten. He was so close. Within moments Billie had released into his jeans, his erratic hand gestures ceasing and his hold on Mike's shoulder becoming loose.

Without warning, Billie Joe pulled Mike's face to his, smashing his lips down so hard he felt teeth.

Somewhere in the farthest reaches of his conscious, Mike could hear the crowd again, and they seemed to have fallen into a state of euphoria.

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Thanks for the encouraging reviews! I hope this second installment was at least somewhat pleasing. :D

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Slip of a Boy