FicWad

"I'm sorry…"
"Please…" Tré murmured, pressing his soft lips to Billie's, pulling him close. "Shut up, I've missed you so damn much, don't ruin it."
Billie mumbled in response, holding on to Tré, letting a stray hand find its way down to Tré's ass.

Three weeks ago, they fought, not like that's anything new, they fight like an old married couple, but, this time, Billie meant what he said, at least he thought he did. He convinced himself that Tré was having an affair.
He threw a bowl at Tré and accused him of cheating. The look on his face was priceless when he found out that Tré had done nothing of the sort.

Tré strives for dominance in everything, this is no exception. He gripped Billie's thighs, lifted him up and smiled at the little surprised noise that was forced from Billie's lips when he placed him down on the lowest kitchen worktop.
"Shit…" Billie whimpered as Tré pushed him back further down so he was lying with his back touching the cold wooden surface.
"What?"
"Spatula." Billie answered simply, bringing his arm around behind him and removing the offending kitchen utensil from under himself.

Tré grinned, took it from Billie's hand and threw it behind him. "Pants…" He muttered, literally ripping the flimsy fabric of Billie's tight black pants. "Just fucking get them off…" He sighed, proceeding to pull his own off at a remarkable speed.

Billie fumbled for a few minutes with the zipper, but finally got the impossibly tight clothes off and looked up at the half naked man before him.
Tré bit his lip and looked down at Billie.
Billie nodded.

The next few minutes were a blur of the remainder of their clothes being thrown around and naked flesh touching, their breath dancing upon each other's skin.
Tré pushed his hips close to Billie's and let out a soft moan at the thrill of skin on skin once again. Three weeks was a long time, but now the waiting could finally be halted.
"Ready?" Tré murmured through a haze as he kissed Billie's cheek.
"I've always been ready." Billie murmured, pulling Tré down so he could taste those lips once more before he tasted blood.

Tré smiled and pulled away. He looked to his right. A bottle of vegetable oil, 'how prophetic,' he though to himself, reaching for it.
Hurriedly he tipped a little too much in his hand; he grimaced slightly, before smiling back up at Billie and rubbing his lubed hand up and down his length quickly.
Taking hold of lover's hips he aligned himself with his entrance and pushed against it gently.
Billie gasped and smiled. "Don't tease."
"Who said I was teasing?" Tré answered smiling as he pushed all of himself slowly into Billie.
"Oh, oh god Tré." Billie whimpered, gripping on to the drummer's arms, digging his nails in harshly.
"Sshh…" Tré whispered reassuringly as he pulled himself out a bit before slamming back into Billie's tight hole. Three weeks can change a lot, especially when Billie Joe decides to stay faithful.

Tré sped up, listening to Billie's moans as he hit his lover's prostate time after time. "T-touch. Yourself…" Tré spat out through gasps as he felt the warm piercing feeling begin to brew in the base of his cock.
Billie gulped as he let his right hand wander down his body and down to his own hard cock. Moaning he gently took it into his hand and started to jack off in time with Tré's perfectly aimed thrusts.
He bit his lower lip so hard; blood began to seep quietly from under his lip. "Tré… Please… Harder…"
Tré said nothing but nodded in acknowledgement as he pushed himself in deeper and harder. "Fuck it… Billie… Take it."

Tré opened his eyes and looked down at Billie, whose face was now screwed up in concentration as he focused on each movement, being it Tré's inside him or his own hand frantically rubbing his own cock.

Billie came over Tré's stomach and his own in a hurricane of obscenities, insults and apologies. Tré sighed and pummelled in harder, just waiting, for that explosive moment. He didn't have to wait long.
He too came; cursing, sweating and declaring love for the man under him. He sighed as he felt the release that he thought he'd never experience again.

There was something unspoken, they vowed in their drunken love sessions that if they were to ever break up, they would go back to women, they knew this would be hard, since both knew they never truly wanted to be with a woman since that first time back in '91.

Billie winced slightly as Tré pulled out gently and pulled their sweaty sticky bodies close. "Please, never again."
"What? You don't want to fuck me ever again?"
"No." Tré laughed. "Fights, please, I hate it, no more fighting."
Billie Joe nodded. "No more fights, I promise."
"How do I know that? You've changed."
"I guess you'll have to just trust me."
Tré looked into Billie's eyes carefully before answering. "I trust you Billie Joe."


________


He bursts with pride when he lets his son beat him in soccer, and thanks himself. He loves the way his wife smiles when she sees him walk in, all because he knows he is great.
He likes to look, look at himself, he finds solace in mirrors on the good days, the rush of knowing he is almost a god in peoples eyes fills him with conceit, and people notice, and lose respect for him, as he is only human. They condemn him for even thinking that, but the person who condemns him most his in fact himself.

Billie Joe walked into the dark room, sighing as he made his way over to the large poster of himself on the far wall.
He flicked the switch. Light burst throughout the room, burning his eyes, but what scalded his eyes further are the pictures of himself, littered on the walls. He sighed and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

You see; The Joe is a complex creature, behind those electrifying green eyes, behind the talent of his skill, behind the blinding showmanship, behind the act is something almost indescribable.

Self loathing clouds his vision, fear of failure drives him, his heart fills with pride when he watches his friends succeed, it falls when he loses his temper for the fifth time that night.
So he comes here almost every night. To his room, to his hideout, his impenetrable fortress.

The room was filled with mirrors, pictures of himself, many of them desecrated and torn. He smiled at them and took out a marker from his pocket.

_____________


"What's got into you Billie Joe?" Tré asked after Billie Joe had blown off, again. "You're like fucking Jekyll and Hyde."
Something smacked inside Billie's head. The insult took a wrong turning somewhere and was beginning to blossom into a brilliant idea.
"I am." Billie replied, turning on his heel and walking out of the door.


When back in his house, Billie picked up a sketchpad and pencil and ran upstairs.
Like a child he jumped on his bed, and like a mother's reply he heard his wife call from the floor below. "You'll go through it next time Billie Joe."
"Meh, so what?" He muttered under his breath.

He placed the tip of the pencil in his hand just above the paper. "If he exists… Then I don't have to fucking… Get in so much shit… He's my own worst fucking… Enemy… Me…" He started drawing.

Pretty soon an accurate drawing of himself appeared on his page. He looked down at the page for what seemed the first time. He curled his lips in an evil grin. "Bastard." He whispered. The picture seemed to smile. "Yes, I am talking to you, you worthless little fuck. Fucking cheap whore." He panted as he drew lines over the self-portrait.

He moved the pencil to the clean side of the paper and started to just draw lines over the paper, thick dark, heavy lines.
Suddenly he stopped and looked at the paper. The face was still there, but heavy lines of black masked the pale white face.
"Me…" He whispered.
"Daddy… What's the matter?" Billie Joe looked up to see his son standing in the doorway.
"Nothing honey, daddy just needs to lie down."
"Don't fink so, mom wants you."
"Honey, think. It has a T, not an F… Not Fink, THink."
"Think…" His son slowly repeated.
"That's my boy." He said smiling, getting up off the bed and walking over to the child and ruffling his dark hair. "Fink." He whispered to himself as he padded lightly down the stairs.


"Fink."
"Billie, what's up with you?"
"Huh?" He snapped out of his daze and looked over at his wife.
"You've not eaten your dinner, it's your favorite, and you keep on muttering fink under your breath."
"Oh." Billie pushed away the plate of food. "Not hungry, but thanks."
Adrienne sighed, picking up his plate and standing up. "It doesn't matter, it'll be in the microwave if you want it later."
"Thanks, I need to get out, I need to get some air, I'll be back later." Billie started, going to stand up.
"Again?"
"Yes again, why not?"
"Because Mr. Armstrong, this is the sixth time this week, and its only Tuesday." She replied, throwing down the plates.
He jerked as he heard the china shatter into millions of tiny pieces.
"Mommy!"
Sighing, Adrienne looked over at their small son. "I'm sorry." She looked back over at Billie. "Well go then."
"Don't worry, I will." He said, standing up and pulling his jacket on. "I wouldn't count on me being back tonight, I wouldn't put it past you to stab me while I sleep."



Tré gasped when he saw the state of Billie Joe, lying on his doorstep. "Fuck Bill, what happened?"
"Nothin'…" He muttered, trying to stand up, but only to succeed in falling back down.
"Billie! Why the fuck? What happened? Did you fight with Adie again?"
"Umm no."
"Then why the fuck did you get so fucking drunk, you are drunk right?"
"And The C-cool gesht it in one…" He said, stumbling over his words and his feet as he stood up and attempted to walk into the house. "I love you so much… You." He cleared his throat and spoke all too quickly. "Youhateme?"
"Billie, I've told you before, I could never hate you, now c'mon in, it's freezing out." Tré sighed, wrapping an arm around his friend.


Lying Billie Joe on the couch was one of the hardest things to do especially when he moved at completely the wrong time and tried to bite Tré at least once. "You know what Billie? I'll just fucking leave you be, you just lay there and choke on your own fucking vomit, you've lived too long for a rock star, you shoulda been dead when you were twenty fucking four." Tré winced at his own sharp words and went upstairs, first making sure Billie was lying on his side.
Silently crying into the armrest of the couch Billie soon fell asleep muttering fink.

In the midst of his drunken slumber he began to dream, dream a dream he would remember come morning.

A man sat on the edge of the bed that Billie Joe and his wife had once shared. He was about the same size as Billie Joe, and held himself in a similar proud way.
Billie had been watching him; he had the same fluidity of movement that Billie himself possessed. And yet, he had never heard this strange man speak, and had never seen his face.
This man wore a mask, not just make up, but a full on mask, white and black.

Billie entered the room and sat down at the man's feet. "Why are you on my bed?"
The man shrugged. "It's nice here."
Billie closed his eyes and replayed the man's soft familiar voice in his mind. "W-who are you?"
"That would be telling." He couldn't tell, but he thought that he heard a smile in the man's soft voice.
"What's your name?"
"Fink." He said, with a quick flick of his wrist Billie was floored.
"What?!" He gasped.
"Don't fucking say you don't want it, I can give you what you want, screw Adie, screw Tré. I know more about you then you think"
"I don't know who you are."
"Trust me, you do." And with that, Fink's head drifted lower and lower down Billie's body before reaching his clothed crotch. Billie accidentally thrusted up. "Someone's eager." Fink laughed as he looked up at Billie.
Billie just bit his lip.
Fink laughed that laugh of his again and pulled the zipper down with his teeth.

Once Billie's pants were fully off, he looked around. He was no longer in his bedroom; he was on a stage.
He looked up at Mike and Tré, but instead, hoping they wouldn't see, but they saw him, they also saw Fink as he took Billie's hard length into his mouth.
"Oh god Fink…" He muttered, bucking up gently, pushing his cock deeper down the masked man's throat.

He felt as if he was spinning and closed his eyes, bucking up to Fink's warm welcoming mouth. This time when he opened his eyes, he was back in the bedroom, close to spilling everything he had into Fink's mouth.

"Fink… Please… Don't fucking stop… FUCK!!" He yelled as he spilt down Fink's throat. Billie sighed, trying to get his breathing back to a normal pace, whilst trying to focus on hat happened. He gulped loudly, just as Fink swallowed.

"Why do you wear that thing?"
"What?"
"The mask."
"It protects me."
"In what way?"
"If people don't know who I am, they can't condemn me."
"True, I suppose. Take it off, I won't laugh." Billie said smiling.
Fink sighed. "Why the fuck not?" He took it off.
Billie gasped. He was staring back at himself; the man under the mask was him.


Billie woke with a start. "Fink." He muttered, sitting up and getting an old mask from Tré's box of tricks. "Black and white." He murmured putting it on without a second thought. He went over to he mirror in the hall. "Fink."
Billie smiled as he caught glimpse of himself with the mask on, although he couldn't see it the priceless hidden smile.

He stood there staring at his reflection, fascinated. Checking Tré was still upstairs he slid a hand down his pants, instead, he imagined it wasn't his hand, well it wasn't, it was Fink's. He moaned softly, not taking his eyes off the mirror, watching Fink's reaction as he jerked himself and the masked man off. Quickly he sped up, his breathing now turning into hard short gasps, he slammed his eyes shut and gasped every time he accidentally swiped his slit with the tip of his thumb. Fuck the Fink thing, he thought to himself, this is me.
"Oh holy fuck…" He gasped as he felt his warm come coat his hand. "Fuck…" He looked back into the mirror and grinned as he withdrew his hand from his pants, and wiped them on a cushion.

He chuckled softly to himself. "Fink…" Quickly he took the mask off and shoved it into his pocket.
"Answer to my fucking prayers." He muttered going back to the couch and lying down, slightly scared that now he, Billie Joe, had something to hide behind.


"Billie Joe, are you going mad?" Tré asked staring at him when Billie told him his idea.
Billie shrugged. "Maybe, but see Tré, it works."
"How do you mean?"
"I mean this." Billie Joe panted as he pinned the drummer down on the floor.


"Wow, just fucking wow." Tré gasped as Billie pulled out and flopped down next to him.
Billie laughed pulling off the mask and throwing it to one side. "Yeah…" He breathed, still trying to get his breathing to a normal rate.
"You've gotta be Fink more often if he's like that every time."
"Maybe, just maybe." Billie laughed.




_____2005_____




"Hey…"
"I'm sorry."
"I swear to god Billie Joe, if you say that ONE more time, I will kill you." Tré threatened, rubbing his temples.
"Hey, don't be like that." Billie whispered, getting down so he was at eye level with the drummer. "What's the matter?"
"You are Billie Joe, you'll be the fucking death of me." Tré smiled, looking up at the concerned guitarist before him.
"Oh will I?" He asked, a sly look of satisfaction covering his face.
"God yes…" Tré began, but was cut off by Billie pinning him down on the floor and attacking his neck with kisses. "Billie… Are you ok?"
Billie nodded. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Cos I'm usually on top…"
Billie laughed. "Well, now I am."
"Billie?"
"Yes?"
"Be Fink…" He asked, picking up the mask.