Untitled, But That's Alright. You'll Like It., chapter 1
It was a month before one would die and four before the other would marry. Neither were acquainted, but they knew of each other. It's amazing how a dingy little bar and alcohol can change all that.
But I'm skipping ahead of myself, which is not something I'm fond of. It was a warm night in March, in the lovely city of New York, and a certain Billie Joe Armstrong walked alone down a dimly lit street, not scared that he'd be recognized. He hadn't shaved in a week and his hair was getting a bit shaggy. He didn't feel like cutting it, or shaving, and besides, Adrienne wasn't around to make him. This was his guy time. The time when he could lounge around in three day old clothes and drink all he wanted and chain smoke until his throat refused to work. He loved it. And he adored New York. The city had a wonderful air to it, one that made Billie Joe consider moving there many a time. He never went through with it, however, much as he wished he would. California was his home, always would be.
He was so caught up in thoughts concerning New York and his lack of hygiene, he hadn't even noticed that he had come to a complete stop, conviently outside of a little bar titled 'The Shell'. Quite a odd name, and it intrigued him, so in he stepped, smiling inwardly at the soft bell sounding above his head. He stepped farther in, his eyes darting around, slowly adjusting to the very low light. It smelled like stale smoke and liqour and it somehow calmed him. He took a seat on a rickety bar stool, almost feeling as though music would start to play in the background and a beautiful woman would walk through the door, giving him a seductive little stare.
But no. It wasn't a woman that was the object of Billie Joe's admiration tonight. It was a man, sitting a few stools away. The slightly long, dirty blonde hair immediately gave away who it was. A secret idol of the aforementioned Billie, Kurt Fucking Cobain (Obivously, that's not his middle name, but that's not the point). The man seemed upset at something, as he was bent over his glass of beer, probably not his first, his nose halfway in the glass, close to drowning in it. Billie felt a strong need to sit next to himself, let himself be known. And, considering that this strange night could only get better, he did just that. He stood and moved over until he was in the seat next to him, eyes facing forward, body still as stone. He ordered two shots of the strongest whiskey the bar had to offer and when they were given to him and he had paid, he slid one in front of Kurt.
And boy did he thank himself for doing just that. The man beside him raised his head slowly and turned towards Billie Joe, a small smile daring to creep across those lovely, lovely lips. Now, Billie Joe wasn't one to call himself gay, or at the least bisexual. He loved women, loved fucking them, loved Adrienne, and fucking her. But, at seeing that cute little smile, a twinge, however small, went through his groin. And it was quite nice really, as his thoughts went rather quickly to what else that shy little mouth could do. But then the older man beside him was speaking and he used every inch of willpower he had to focus on that.
"Thanks. Shall we take drink them together or are you going to stare at me like a crazed fan some more? I'm actually starting to like it."
"Oh, um, sorry. I was just, um, never mind. Together."
There was a nod from Kurt and he gripped his small glass as Billie Joe did the same. The both threw the shots back at the same time and identical sour looks appeared on both their faces. Billie Joe was the one the break the silence, ordering six more shots, three for him, three for his companion. They did them all simultaneously and kept ordering more. There was little talk as the drinking continued, but neither man minded. There seemed to be a silent agreement between them both, and a silent attraction that neither would dare admit out loud. After twenty, maybe even twenty four shots were devoured, by both men mind you, they were obviously terribly sloshed. And then a song was playing, softly, and by god, it was 'Heart-Shaped Box', a favorite of both men. They began singing it, Billie Joe first, Kurt slowly joining, their voices filling the bar and causing the few people left there to turn and smile secretly. It was quite a sight, both men swaying, arms draped over shoulders, their made-to-be-heard voices sounding as perfect as always. When the song was over, Billie Joe's lips landed near the other man's ear, in either an attempt to kiss it or an attempt to say something. We're going with the latter on this one.
"Come back to my hotel room. Please."
There was a nod and a loud scraping noise as two chairs were pushed quickly back and two men, not touching but obviously wanting to, stumbled for the door. They stepped out into the cold night air, which only seemed to fuel them more, as one tried, successfully thank god, to get a taxi. It pulled up and both men slipped in, sitting a little closer than they should have been. The address was given to the driver and he was told to take the quickest route possible. He agreed, especially when a nice crisp one hundred dollar bill was slipped into the seat beside him. He seemed to be going two thousand miles per hour and Billie Joe rejoiced. His hand somehow sneaked its way onto Kurt's thigh and he gave it a gentle squeeze, eyes fixed forward, body trying to ignore the feel of fingers brushing over his leg, up to his own thigh, and then higher, not to where he wanted them, but to his side, and around to his chest and to his neck, and finally his lips. The fingers traced them slowly, and Billie Joe could feel a pair of eyes fixed on him so intensely he already felt naked. He turned to face them just as the taxi halted. They jumped out, Kurt throwing three bills, not sure what they were, at the driver, and they rushed into the hotel, trying not to look as flushed and aroused as they both were. The elevator ride was hell, but only because there was another couple with them and they couldn't even breathe on each other without drawing attention to themselves. Each man was telling himself it didn't matter, to just grab his one-night lover and not let go, but shyness overtook boldness this once. And then that delightful bell rang and they rushed out as one, hands somehow finding each other and taking hold as one was led to the other's room.
Thank god Billie Joe had requested his own room this time. God knows what would have happened if he would have strolled in, Mike and Tre would have been sitting there no doubt smoking pot, holding hands with (I'll say it again) Kurt Fucking Cobain. Some questions would be asked, at the very least. But both men were probably asleep, or still out at some bar. Who knew, who cared? Certainly not one who had just gotten his door open and had the sexiest rock star ever (besides himself, ahem) at his disposal. And he was not going to let that opportunity pass him by. Both men, one just barely a legal drinker and the other so close to death he could taste its bittersweetness, stood facing each other, eyes watching eyes. Both were shy, unknowing, but lust drove the younger to step closer, closing the space between them. A hand came up to stroke one's cheek and eyes closed, as lips met for the first time. Now, neither saw fireworks or heard music, but shudders racked both bodies and butterflies attacked both stomachs. It was, as I have many a time called it, list. A mixture of extreme like and extreme lust. Shy hands snaked around a slender waist and pulled a warm body closer. Fingertips slipped just under the hem of a shirt and caressed soft skin, skin almost too soft to be believed. Then shirts were shed, first the younger's, then the elder's, and a gasp issued, but neither cares who did it. Their lips are together again and neither has felt so *good* before and then they seem to remember there is a bed in the room and they intend to put it to good use.
<Now, here is where the writer will usually go into explicit detail, writing all about sucking, nibbling, orgasm-ing into oblivion, both men joining together through the lovely art of sex. However, as there as young children that can easily access this, and it's going to be public, I'm going to have a rather.. well, *censored* version. So enjoy.>
Billie Joe rested on top of Kurt, both bare chests, each equally slicked with a thin film of sweat, resting against each other. Expert hands, although he'll swear he'd never done it before now, traveled down a delightful abdomen, the feathery touches enough to drive the man underneath him right insane. Names were whispered softly and moans were barely heard, but as you know, this was simply the beginning. Skilled fingers found what they were looking for and a rather annoying pair of pants were soon disposed of, making one slightly shy twenty-two year old rather happy. Ah, but not the man under him, who was becoming annoyed that Billie Joe was having all the fun. There was a flip and hazel eyes stared into green eyes, which were sparkling softly with a hint of mischief. Another pair of pants were shed and hands traveled freely, receiving somewhat louder moans than were heard before. Perhaps someone was sensitive? Places were pinched lightly, fingernails were drug over skin, and then lips, teeth, and a tongue retraced the trails earlier traveled, resulting in a shivering young mess of a rock star. And he looked damn sexy all vulnerable like that. Which made lips and teeth move lower, the teeth slowly retreating as lips and tongue took over, and a pair of ears took in every whimper, moan, and whisper of their name. And then it was over, too quickly perhaps, and the lips were back up, pressing against another pair softly and they were flipped again, hands sliding down a slender chest and a hand slipping underneath way too thin material. It was the others turn to moan and Billie Joe was not disappointed. But then that was over and he had no other choice but to curl up beside Kurt, wrap his arms around him, and wish that he would wake up and he'd still be there.
But, when Billie Joe awoke the next morning, he was alone, a note resting on the bedside table. He read it with a soft smile, denying the tear that slid down his cheek and fell right in the middle of the note.
Dear Billie Joe,
I'm sorry I'm gone. I had to get back to my hotel room before Courtney flew in. She was supposed to be here mega-early to surprise me. Can you hear the happiness in my voice? -Sigh- Last night was wonderful, and although I have the hangover from hell, I still remember it all. I'm going to make it a goal of mine to buy all your CD's just so I can hear your voice again and again. I'll drive myself crazier with it. I miss you already and I hope we meet again someday. Just make it soon. I feel.. weird now when I'm not around you. Enjoy your stay in New York, remember me by it always.
But I'm skipping ahead of myself, which is not something I'm fond of. It was a warm night in March, in the lovely city of New York, and a certain Billie Joe Armstrong walked alone down a dimly lit street, not scared that he'd be recognized. He hadn't shaved in a week and his hair was getting a bit shaggy. He didn't feel like cutting it, or shaving, and besides, Adrienne wasn't around to make him. This was his guy time. The time when he could lounge around in three day old clothes and drink all he wanted and chain smoke until his throat refused to work. He loved it. And he adored New York. The city had a wonderful air to it, one that made Billie Joe consider moving there many a time. He never went through with it, however, much as he wished he would. California was his home, always would be.
He was so caught up in thoughts concerning New York and his lack of hygiene, he hadn't even noticed that he had come to a complete stop, conviently outside of a little bar titled 'The Shell'. Quite a odd name, and it intrigued him, so in he stepped, smiling inwardly at the soft bell sounding above his head. He stepped farther in, his eyes darting around, slowly adjusting to the very low light. It smelled like stale smoke and liqour and it somehow calmed him. He took a seat on a rickety bar stool, almost feeling as though music would start to play in the background and a beautiful woman would walk through the door, giving him a seductive little stare.
But no. It wasn't a woman that was the object of Billie Joe's admiration tonight. It was a man, sitting a few stools away. The slightly long, dirty blonde hair immediately gave away who it was. A secret idol of the aforementioned Billie, Kurt Fucking Cobain (Obivously, that's not his middle name, but that's not the point). The man seemed upset at something, as he was bent over his glass of beer, probably not his first, his nose halfway in the glass, close to drowning in it. Billie felt a strong need to sit next to himself, let himself be known. And, considering that this strange night could only get better, he did just that. He stood and moved over until he was in the seat next to him, eyes facing forward, body still as stone. He ordered two shots of the strongest whiskey the bar had to offer and when they were given to him and he had paid, he slid one in front of Kurt.
And boy did he thank himself for doing just that. The man beside him raised his head slowly and turned towards Billie Joe, a small smile daring to creep across those lovely, lovely lips. Now, Billie Joe wasn't one to call himself gay, or at the least bisexual. He loved women, loved fucking them, loved Adrienne, and fucking her. But, at seeing that cute little smile, a twinge, however small, went through his groin. And it was quite nice really, as his thoughts went rather quickly to what else that shy little mouth could do. But then the older man beside him was speaking and he used every inch of willpower he had to focus on that.
"Thanks. Shall we take drink them together or are you going to stare at me like a crazed fan some more? I'm actually starting to like it."
"Oh, um, sorry. I was just, um, never mind. Together."
There was a nod from Kurt and he gripped his small glass as Billie Joe did the same. The both threw the shots back at the same time and identical sour looks appeared on both their faces. Billie Joe was the one the break the silence, ordering six more shots, three for him, three for his companion. They did them all simultaneously and kept ordering more. There was little talk as the drinking continued, but neither man minded. There seemed to be a silent agreement between them both, and a silent attraction that neither would dare admit out loud. After twenty, maybe even twenty four shots were devoured, by both men mind you, they were obviously terribly sloshed. And then a song was playing, softly, and by god, it was 'Heart-Shaped Box', a favorite of both men. They began singing it, Billie Joe first, Kurt slowly joining, their voices filling the bar and causing the few people left there to turn and smile secretly. It was quite a sight, both men swaying, arms draped over shoulders, their made-to-be-heard voices sounding as perfect as always. When the song was over, Billie Joe's lips landed near the other man's ear, in either an attempt to kiss it or an attempt to say something. We're going with the latter on this one.
"Come back to my hotel room. Please."
There was a nod and a loud scraping noise as two chairs were pushed quickly back and two men, not touching but obviously wanting to, stumbled for the door. They stepped out into the cold night air, which only seemed to fuel them more, as one tried, successfully thank god, to get a taxi. It pulled up and both men slipped in, sitting a little closer than they should have been. The address was given to the driver and he was told to take the quickest route possible. He agreed, especially when a nice crisp one hundred dollar bill was slipped into the seat beside him. He seemed to be going two thousand miles per hour and Billie Joe rejoiced. His hand somehow sneaked its way onto Kurt's thigh and he gave it a gentle squeeze, eyes fixed forward, body trying to ignore the feel of fingers brushing over his leg, up to his own thigh, and then higher, not to where he wanted them, but to his side, and around to his chest and to his neck, and finally his lips. The fingers traced them slowly, and Billie Joe could feel a pair of eyes fixed on him so intensely he already felt naked. He turned to face them just as the taxi halted. They jumped out, Kurt throwing three bills, not sure what they were, at the driver, and they rushed into the hotel, trying not to look as flushed and aroused as they both were. The elevator ride was hell, but only because there was another couple with them and they couldn't even breathe on each other without drawing attention to themselves. Each man was telling himself it didn't matter, to just grab his one-night lover and not let go, but shyness overtook boldness this once. And then that delightful bell rang and they rushed out as one, hands somehow finding each other and taking hold as one was led to the other's room.
Thank god Billie Joe had requested his own room this time. God knows what would have happened if he would have strolled in, Mike and Tre would have been sitting there no doubt smoking pot, holding hands with (I'll say it again) Kurt Fucking Cobain. Some questions would be asked, at the very least. But both men were probably asleep, or still out at some bar. Who knew, who cared? Certainly not one who had just gotten his door open and had the sexiest rock star ever (besides himself, ahem) at his disposal. And he was not going to let that opportunity pass him by. Both men, one just barely a legal drinker and the other so close to death he could taste its bittersweetness, stood facing each other, eyes watching eyes. Both were shy, unknowing, but lust drove the younger to step closer, closing the space between them. A hand came up to stroke one's cheek and eyes closed, as lips met for the first time. Now, neither saw fireworks or heard music, but shudders racked both bodies and butterflies attacked both stomachs. It was, as I have many a time called it, list. A mixture of extreme like and extreme lust. Shy hands snaked around a slender waist and pulled a warm body closer. Fingertips slipped just under the hem of a shirt and caressed soft skin, skin almost too soft to be believed. Then shirts were shed, first the younger's, then the elder's, and a gasp issued, but neither cares who did it. Their lips are together again and neither has felt so *good* before and then they seem to remember there is a bed in the room and they intend to put it to good use.
<Now, here is where the writer will usually go into explicit detail, writing all about sucking, nibbling, orgasm-ing into oblivion, both men joining together through the lovely art of sex. However, as there as young children that can easily access this, and it's going to be public, I'm going to have a rather.. well, *censored* version. So enjoy.>
Billie Joe rested on top of Kurt, both bare chests, each equally slicked with a thin film of sweat, resting against each other. Expert hands, although he'll swear he'd never done it before now, traveled down a delightful abdomen, the feathery touches enough to drive the man underneath him right insane. Names were whispered softly and moans were barely heard, but as you know, this was simply the beginning. Skilled fingers found what they were looking for and a rather annoying pair of pants were soon disposed of, making one slightly shy twenty-two year old rather happy. Ah, but not the man under him, who was becoming annoyed that Billie Joe was having all the fun. There was a flip and hazel eyes stared into green eyes, which were sparkling softly with a hint of mischief. Another pair of pants were shed and hands traveled freely, receiving somewhat louder moans than were heard before. Perhaps someone was sensitive? Places were pinched lightly, fingernails were drug over skin, and then lips, teeth, and a tongue retraced the trails earlier traveled, resulting in a shivering young mess of a rock star. And he looked damn sexy all vulnerable like that. Which made lips and teeth move lower, the teeth slowly retreating as lips and tongue took over, and a pair of ears took in every whimper, moan, and whisper of their name. And then it was over, too quickly perhaps, and the lips were back up, pressing against another pair softly and they were flipped again, hands sliding down a slender chest and a hand slipping underneath way too thin material. It was the others turn to moan and Billie Joe was not disappointed. But then that was over and he had no other choice but to curl up beside Kurt, wrap his arms around him, and wish that he would wake up and he'd still be there.
But, when Billie Joe awoke the next morning, he was alone, a note resting on the bedside table. He read it with a soft smile, denying the tear that slid down his cheek and fell right in the middle of the note.
Dear Billie Joe,
I'm sorry I'm gone. I had to get back to my hotel room before Courtney flew in. She was supposed to be here mega-early to surprise me. Can you hear the happiness in my voice? -Sigh- Last night was wonderful, and although I have the hangover from hell, I still remember it all. I'm going to make it a goal of mine to buy all your CD's just so I can hear your voice again and again. I'll drive myself crazier with it. I miss you already and I hope we meet again someday. Just make it soon. I feel.. weird now when I'm not around you. Enjoy your stay in New York, remember me by it always.
