Chapter Text
Billie Joe sighs into his shallow glass of white wine, swirling its contents round before taking a sip. The hotel bar is quiet on a Thursday night; he’s its only occupant other than a businesswoman at a table behind him and the bartender restocking. A basketball game is playing on the television propped up in the corner nearest Billie, and while he glances at it every so often, it doesn’t hold his attention. Truth be told, he is too tired for much of anything to hold his attention.
“I thought I recognized the sound of that sad sigh.”
Apparently Billie had gotten the bar occupancy wrong. He turns his head over his shoulder and sees Mike a stool over, leaning sideways against the bar’s edge. Billie Joe half-smiles because that’s what he’s being given. “Hi, Mike.”
“Hi. Gin and tonic, please. Hendrick’s,” Mike requests from the bartender who’d dropped his rag in favor of taking his order, and he seems to think about it for a second before gesturing to the empty seat between them. “May I?”
“Hmm. I suppose. We have to practice walking our daughter down the aisle together tomorrow, so I guess we ought to get used to being next to each other.”
“Yes, requires tons of practice,” Mike smirks, and he unzips the leather jacket he’s wearing, shrugging out of it to drape it over the vacant stool on his right. He folds his hands together atop the bar. “What time did you get in?”
“Just an hour ago. My flight was delayed so I missed dinner with the kids.”
“I’m sure they don’t miss us too much. Thanks,” Mike says to the bartender once his highball glass is being slid in front of him. He takes a much needed sip and continues, “I had some issues with a project come up, so I had to rebook for a later flight.”
Surprise, surprise , Billie thinks, and he’s glad it’s not only something he was able to keep from launching off of his tongue but that it was also whispered in his brain without too much bite. It has taken quite a bit of time for him to get there. “Well, it’s a good thing you didn’t keep Madison on the edge of her seat. I can’t imagine the panic if you were missing in the morning.”
Mike chuckles once in the back of his throat, sharing a look of understanding with the man next to him. “Yeah. She’s been frantic every time I’ve talked to her in the last month.”
“Well, she was always gonna be like that, I guess. Poor girl can’t help herself.”
“She gets that from you, y’know.” Mike’s eyes are twinkling in the dim bar lights when Billie raises his eyebrows at him. “The control freak stuff.”
“Huh.” Billie Joe picks up his cell phone, glancing at the screen so the facial recognition activates and lights up the screen. “We made it almost five minutes without you taking the piss out of me.”
“Aww, c’mon, that’s not what I’m doing. There’s good things about it. I probably wouldn’t have made it through school if you hadn’t been there to keep me on task.” It’s all said with fondness, and Mike can tell Billie isn’t truly mad at him by the way he smirks around his wine as he drinks it, getting close to finishing the glass. He glances up at the television, unsurprised to find the score in the Nets favor, so he settles for glancing at Billie next to him in between ones at his drink, poking at ice with the stirrer. “So. Where’s Patrick?”
“Oh, uh—he had to work.” Billie Joe frowns, thumbing the barren ring finger of his left hand, still getting used to its nakedness. He decides there’s really no point in lying to Mike, and he sighs. “We’re getting divorced, actually.”
“Fuck. Sorry. Didn’t know.” Wincing, Mike taps his thumb on the bar, wishing one of the kids had given him a heads up on that particular front, but maybe they didn’t know, either.
“It’s alright. Almost finalized. Moving on.”
“Sure. But divorce sucks.”
Billie throws him a wry smile over his shoulder. “We would know, right?”
Laughing a little bit, Mike nods and agrees, “We would know.” They both raise their glasses in a semblance of a toast and drink, and when Billie polishes his off, he says, “Let me buy you another drink. Chardonnay, right?”
“What else?” Billie Joe murmurs, fidgeting with the slippery stem of his glass as he watches Mike order the wine from the bartender, slipping him some cash that had seemed to appear from nowhere. Mike ends up with another drink, too, sucking down his first pretty quickly to justify its order, and they clink glasses for a true ‘cheers’ with their new drinks. “To Mads and Adam.”
“Mads and Adam,” Mike agrees, “and co-parenting,” he adds after taking a sip. “We could’ve done worse.”
“Not like there was much parenting left to do with Maddie, but yeah, we could’ve done worse.”
“Right, and look at us now. Having a drink together two days before our daughter’s wedding. We’ve all fuckin’ grown up.”
Scoffing through his nose, Billie eyes Mike’s satisfied grin, and he can tell the alcohol is getting to him already. Mike’s sharp cheeks are pinker than they had been when he’d sat down, and of course, he starts cursing more freely the more he has to drink. He wonders how often Mike actually drinks hard liquor these days. “Grown up. Right. I’ll say. We’re in our fifties now.”
“Hey, hey, hey.” Mike is frowning playfully, a finger held up at Billie in warning. “ I’ve still got another month, man, please don’t take that away from me.”
“Sorry. You’ll see, though. When you get there, you either want everybody to suffer with you or fuck off.”
“Doesn’t look like you’re doing much suffering.” When Billie Joe raises an eyebrow at him, Mike shrugs and smiles, and all of it is honest. “You look great, Bill. Always have, but y’know. Wouldn’t peg you for fifty if I didn’t know you were, that’s for sure.”
Billie sits back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest after taking a healthy sip of his refreshment. How was that glass going so quickly? Was it the drink that was making it hard for him to tell whether or not Mike was taking the piss out of him again? Truthfully, though, Billie knows Mike better than that. “Thanks. But I dyed my hair two days ago for this wedding, and I’ve already got greys coming through.”
“Can’t see ‘em,” Mike determines after he gets done squinting at Billie Joe’s hairline which, impressively, hasn’t receded a bit. He can’t say quite the same for himself, and he sighs as he gestures to his own head. “I gave up on that stuff. Too lazy to bother. Embracing the silver fox look.”
“Mmm,” Billie hums, acknowledging as he takes the chance to look Mike over fully. Yes, Mike’s naturally sandy blonde hair has made a complete transition to a light grey, but it’s still thick, and the way he styles it now, trimmed at the sides with the top brushed to one side, makes it impossible to tell he’s lost any centimeters to his hairline. Silver fox? Yeah, Billie supposes he is, but he catches himself before he can keep staring for too long. “It suits you,” he tells Mike and picks up his wine so he has something to do with his hands.
“Thanks….” Mike trails off, and he goes back to poking at the ice cubes in his gin for a moment. He shifts, then turns his head towards Billie Joe again, though he remains hunched over his drink. “Can I ask you something?”
“I guess,” Billie agrees, wary because of the cagey way Mike is looking at him.
“Why didn’t it work out with you and Pat?”
At first, Billie blinks, vaguely surprised Mike has the balls to ask him that question, but maybe he shouldn’t be. He knows the underlying question— was it the same reason it didn’t work for us? —and he sighs, running his fingers through hair sticky with product. “There’s not an easy way to answer that. We just… grew apart, y’know?” It’s true, but Billie Joe doesn’t tell Mike the extent of it, not just because it isn’t any of his business but also because he hasn’t told anybody the reality he’s been living with: he and Pat were never right for each other and he’d been forcing it from the jump. The reasons for that still elude even him.
He’d only been married to Patrick for six years, a third of the time he’d been married to Mike, and Mike can remember like it was yesterday when Billie had awkwardly told him he was getting re married, barely three years since the ink had dried on their divorce. Then he’d been bitter, but now he only feels bad Billie has to go through it all over again. “Well, I really am sorry,” Mike offers. Billie Joe nods in acknowledgement, shrugging one shoulder and half-smiling sadly, which makes him brave enough to say, “But he was never good enough for you anyway.”
“Oh, yeah?” Billie laughs, quizzical, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah,” Mike asserts, like it’s obvious, though he’s secretly pleased his comment had gone over well.
“And what makes you say that, exactly? What was wrong with Pat?”
“Nothing in particular. I like Pat, he’s a nice guy.” It’s true; Mike had always gotten along just fine with Pat. Never would he count him as one of his best friends or anything, obviously, but he knew Pat treated Billie well enough. And yet… “You just can do better, that’s all.”
“You mean, like you?” Billie Joe is amused, softly smirking behind the rim of his wine glass.
“I mean, yeah,” Mike deadpans, and they both laugh afterwards, something else that makes him feel good. Their relationship post-divorce had been steadily improving over the years, and it really is nice they can sit at the bar and talk like a pair of old friends, which is what they had been before anything else. It sure as hell has been quite some time since they’d shared a drink together. Mike has forgotten how good Billie looks with the flush of alcohol in his cheeks. He takes another long pull from his own drink and deliberately sets it down before saying, “So. How’s San Francisco?”
Billie arches an eyebrow at the abrupt turn in conversation but ultimately shrugs both of them, fingering the stem of his glass while his left arm remains tucked over his chest. “It’s good. Hasn’t changed much except the market is crazy, so business is booming.”
“That explains the watch.”
Mike is referring to the silver Versace piece around his tattooed wrist, and Billie Joe hurries to cover it with his palm, tips of his ears heating red. “Yeah, well, y’know—“
“I think it’s good,” Mike interrupts, waving away Billie’s explanation with a smile. “You worked really hard to become a broker, you’re just reaping the benefits now. It’s kinda cool, you sitting here in your hoodie and Dickies, wearing a designer watch.”
“Yeah, well, I have to keep it on, otherwise Ryan will try to swipe it from me when I’m sleeping,” Billie says wryly, and he’s making a joke about their middle child that successfully makes Mike snort. Their first son had been something of an elementary school thief. Thankfully, Ryan had outgrown it, and rest assured, hates when his parents make jokes about it, but he isn’t there to complain about it. “Him and I have adjoining rooms, apparently.”
“Lucky you,” Mike smirks, then nods towards him innocently enough. “What room you in?”
“Uhhh, 4-oh-6.”
Wedging his hand into the tight pocket of his black pants, Mike pulls out his keycard. “4-12,” he tells Billie Joe, “just around the corner.”
“Nice,” Billie says, unsure of what else to say. As Mike tucks the cardboard envelope back into his dark jeans, he watches him, unable to help but notice how in shape his ex-husband still is. The tattoos that sleeve his arms ripple over the muscles as he moves, revealed to Billie by the form-fitting black t-shirt Mike is wearing, and they are arms that had held him (and held him down) a million times. Those times were all in the past, however, as was the last time he’d had sex with anybody —eleven months, to be exact—and he is going to blame his naughty thoughts on that. After finishing his glass of wine and sliding the empty vessel away from him, Billie Joe asks Mike, “How’s LA?” because he feels like he should.
Not answering right away, too busy trying to detect whether or not there’s a snarky edge to the question, Mike deliberates how to respond. He decides Billie had been vague about his divorce, so he has the room to be vague about his feelings towards LA after moving there a year ago. “It’s good. There’s things I like, things I don’t like. I get to use the pool a lot more since it’s warmer, which is nice.”
“Meaning you’ve used it four times since you’ve moved in?”
Rolling his eyes, Mike says, “Haha, very funny. I’ll have you know I’m in there at least once a week.”
“That’s good to hear,” Billie says, and as much as his smile is teasing, it’s genuine. When they’d been shopping for their second home—Jesus, two decades ago, and it’s the home he lives in to this day—Mike had been insistent about an in-ground pool, and he had insisted Mike would hardly use it when the Bay Area barely got above seventy year round. There was also the issue of Mike not being around enough to use it, either, but Billie Joe doesn’t want to go there for a number of reasons. He’s actually having a nice time, and when Mike flags the bartender for another round, he lets him. “So, what about you? How’s business in LA?”
“Uh, y’know, it’s good. Same deal with the market there. Lots of people are trying to build, and with the Oakland location holding steady on its own, I’ve been able to focus on growing the firm down there.”
“You’re becoming an architect tycoon,” Billie observes, good natured and playful again, and it successfully makes Mike laugh.
“Yeah, right. I don’t think two locations makes me a tycoon, but thanks. Hey,” Mike says suddenly, and he spins the stool round sideways now that he has a fresh drink, facing Billie in the new position. “Did you have a lady with a super elaborate updo check you in at the front desk?”
Billie Joe thinks about it for a second before nodding, brow furrowed, curious where Mike was going with this. “Yeah, way too much lipstick, right?”
“Right. Didn’t she remind you of that lady that walked in on us having sex in the bathroom at the Westin in Hawaii?” Mike can see Billie’s brain working to jog his memory, so he decides to help him along, “First vacation after you had Maddie, remember? Our flight was early, couldn’t get an early check-in, and the lady screamed at us, swore she’d get us banned from all—“
“Oh, my God,” Billie gasps, hand flying up to his mouth and head tossing over his shoulder, as if he could see the front desk from the bar. Of course he remembers the incident—you don’t soon forget the times you almost get arrested for indecency in other states—but it takes a second for the image of the Maui lady to click in his brain, but when it does, he giggles. “She does , holy shit. You don’t think—“
“I doubt it, but the resemblance is uncanny, right? Down to the snaggletooth —“
“That’s not nice,” Billie Joe admonishes, but he’s still laughing along with Mike. “As someone who had fucked up teeth most of their life—“
“Your fucked up teeth were always cute, hers sticks out so far its got a permanent red stain from her lipstick.” Billie laughs harder, so Mike does, too, and distantly, he considers how damn long it’s been since he’s heard his ex-husband laugh like that. He leans in closer, not thinking twice about resting his hand on Billie’s slight shoulder. “You honest to God thought we were gonna get kicked out of that hotel and have no place to stay for that trip.”
“You had me bent over the sink, fingering me when she walked in, I thought we were gonna get kicked out of Hawaii .” It all tumbles out of his mouth before Billie Joe can think about what he’s saying, but his nervous giggles become earnest ones when Mike lets out a bark of laughter, both of them doubling over. Undoubtedly, it’s in part fueled by what they’re drinking, but he can’t deny it’s nice to have an excuse to be a little silly with Mike. They used to be really fucking good at being silly together, as evidenced by their jaunt down memory lane.
The giggles fade into dwindling wet chuckles, and Billie sighs as he removes his hand from his aching belly to wipe at the dampness in his eyes, then reaching for a refreshing sip of chilled wine to settle him some more. “We probably should’ve been arrested for that,” he says, grinning at the way Mike shrugs.
“I’m glad we didn’t, and it was a great trip.”
“Yeah….” Billie has pivoted his stool further in Mike’s direction, and he has his glass in his left hand, resting on the bar, swirling its contents into another typhoon. He’s looking down into it as he murmurs, “We had some fun, huh….”
Mike listens to the way Billie Joe trails off, noting that he wasn’t exactly asking him the question, but he chooses to answer anyway. “We did,” he agrees readily, and he sips on his gin. “We had a lot of great times. Seventeen years, three kids, indecent vacations….”
Billie bites down on his smile and wills himself to take a deep breath. The wine is getting to him, no question, and he’s beginning to not trust himself. Considering that, Billie makes an attempt to switch gears again, but he takes another swig of his drink before doing so. “Three kids, and our oldest is getting married on Saturday. We’re ancient.”
“We’ve covered that already,” Mike dismisses with a wave of his hand, and with his drink finished, he sets the empty glass on the bar but doesn't bother to flag the bartender down for another just yet. He’s too busy looking at Billie Joe, head tilted to one side, and he’s still leaning in close, close enough that their bent knees are nearly touching. “And you look far from ancient, Beej.”
Jesus , what is happening here? Mike is flirting with him, using the nickname Billie hates but has never minded Mike calling him; Mike hasn't called them that since they’d separated. He bites harder on his lip, fighting like hell against the coy smile that wants to overtake his mouth, but what the hell, there are fucking butterflies or something. “Don’t give me that look,” Billie tells Mike, voice low, before draining the wine from his glass.
“What look?” Mike asks, innocent, but the smile he can’t help gave him away.
“You know what look.”
“Well, you started it.”
“Wh—I did not.” Mike is shaking his head, and Billie Joe rolls his eyes and hopes the heat in his cheeks isn’t visible because he totally was looking before. “We’re not doing this,” he clarifies, swiveling back to face the bar.
“Doing what?” Mike prompts again, and he turns to face the bar, too. “We’re just having drinks, relax. You want another one?”
“Are you trying to get me drunk so I’ll have sex with you?”
“Billie, we’re here for our daughter’s wedding this weekend. I’m appalled you would even ask me that question.”
“Mmhm,” Billie hums, skeptical, but he doesn’t stop Mike from ordering another round. It’s all in good fun, and it’s not like he’s resistant to that. Since separating with Patrick, there hasn’t been a ton of fun in his life, and considering Billie Joe has been dreading this weekend in some part due to the close proximity with his ex-husband, having this kind of fun with Mike is way better.
They drink and chat some more, mostly about the kids. Since Jamie, their youngest, graduated high school the year before, there hasn’t been much reason for Billie and Mike to keep in touch, especially since Jamie had opted to take a year off before starting college. That’s actually what eats up the bulk of their conversation.
“I just—I worry about him so much, Mike. He’s all the hell the way out in the middle of nowhere by himself—“
“Bill, he’s in Atlanta. That’s not the middle of nowhere.”
“It is when the rest of your family is nowhere near the eastern seaboard. And anyway, right, that makes it worse because Atlanta is such a big city. I don’t—if he wanted to get away from us, why couldn’t he have gone to Portland or Seattle, or God, even San Diego, right? Then we’d just be a quick flight away if he needed us.”
“I think that was the point.” Mike smiles, sad and sympathetic as Billie huffs in frustration before turning away for a sip of wine. “Jamie’s always had a complex about being the baby. Once he outgrew being a daddy’s boy, he wanted that space. Gotta give it to him and trust that he’ll let us know if he needs us, right? I mean, c’mon… remember how bad we wanted to get away from our parents when we graduated?”
“That was different.” Billie Joe sniffs, and he sighs when Mike raises a pair of skeptical eyebrows. “Damn you. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Mike laughs. “It’s not about being on sides, man. Our kids are just grown up, and it sounds like you’re having empty nest syndrome.”
“Of course I am. Jamie moved out, and six months later, so did Patrick.” God, the wine makes Billie so loose with his tongue. He rubs his fingertips into his forehead, and though he has his eyes closed, he’s acutely aware of Mike looking at him. Billie can just picture him biting his lip, all nervous about what to say. But the words just keep coming anyway. Dropping his hand on the bar, he says, “The truth is, things were shit with Pat before Jamie even graduated, and I guess—I don’t know, after everything with us, I didn’t want Jamie to be around for another split. So we waited. Which probably made all of it harder for me, but y’know.”
“I’m really sorry it didn’t work out with Patrick,” Mike tells him quietly after a short pause, and he mirrors the weak smile Billie Joe flashes his way. In the back of his mind, he wonders if it had fallen apart for Billie and Patrick as it had for him and Billie—all at once, or over time? If Mike is honest, he still isn’t sure which way it’d gone in their marriage, but it had felt like all at once to him. He thinks about it as he stirs at the dregs of his fourth gin and tonic, and he’s looking into it as he says, “I know how you feel, y’know. The kids were with you most of the time, so I felt like I had an empty nest from the time you kicked me out.”
Billie Joe frowns. Is that how Mike remembers it? “I didn’t kick you out, Mike.”
“Yeah, maybe not, but you didn’t give me much choice but to leave.”
Licking his lips, Billie traces the damp rim of his wine glass as he thinks about how to respond to that. Softly, he says, “It wasn’t working.”
After shrugging one shoulder, Mike nods reluctantly, swiveling back in Billie’s direction. “So I left. Now we’re here having drinks and talking like adults. Did ya ever think that would happen again?” He asks with his teeth around his straw.
“Not without being under the threat of death,” Billie Joe jokes, and his relief is tangible, that they’re back to lighthearted conversation. He’s truly joking, though, because while co-parenting had certainly been challenging, he’d always thought he and Mike handled it pretty well. The kids even seemed to think so, too. There’d never been any fights over custody or anything like that, but then again, there hadn’t been many fights at all. That had been part of the problem, but Billie Joe doesn’t want to think about that. “This has been really nice,” he admits to Mike.
“Yeah, it has been. Nice way to kick off the weekend,” Mike says, sharing another smile with Billie, and it’s poignant, he thinks, that they are able to do this now with their first born taking such a pivotal step in her life. Almost 29 years ago, they’d found out they were going to be parents for the first time at the absolutely infantile age of 21. He’d been scared then, but it’d turned out to be the best thing tha ever happened to them both. With what was left of his dwindling gin, Mike raises it in another toast. “To Mads and Adam,” he announces, echoing Billie’s sentiment from earlier.
“Mads and Adam.” They clink glasses, then finish their drinks, and Billie Joe is far drunker than he’s been in some time. The wine is swimming in his head, and he has to make a conscious effort not to act as drunk as he is. Billie checks his phone, sees he has some text messages that his eyes can’t decipher in his current state (especially without his glasses), and it all points to one truth. “I should go up to bed,” he tells Mike while rubbing the side of his face. “It’s late for these fifty year old bones, and it’s a big day tomorrow. Madison’s got a whole itinerary for us.”
“I saw that,” Mike smiles, amused, thinking of the spreadsheet their daughter had emailed the whole wedding party about three months ago. Every time he’d spoken to Maddie since, she’d asked him if he had it saved and accessible on his phone. Who she got that from, Mike isn’t sure, because neither he nor Billie have never been quite that anal. Anal…
No, those are bad thoughts, no matter how good Billie Joe looks in his form-fitting navy blue jeans as he slides to his feet, pushing back his barstool with that ass. If nothing else, Mike racks his brain for a way to extend their time, but his unspoken prayers are answered when their two sons come strolling into the bar, one after the other.
“Hold up,” Mike says to Billie, nodding over his shoulder.
Billie turns, and he almost gasps at the sight of who he is certain are the most handsome young men in all the world. Ryan and Jamie both grin when they notice them, too, and once one of them is close enough, he reaches for the tightest embrace he can manage. It didn’t matter who Billie Joe hugged first, but it happens to be Ryan, and he has to lean up onto his tiptoes to kiss his cheek. His middle child had inherited Mike’s height, and then a couple inches extra somehow, but everything else is all Mike, too, down to the pale blue color of his eyes.
“Jeez, look at this,” Billie comments after pulling back to get a good look at those eyes, but he’s referring to the scruff covering Ryan’s cheeks, thick sandy brown that scratches his palms when he takes hold of his face. “I hardly recognize you from the last time I saw you!”
“Dad, you saw me three weeks ago at an open house,” Ryan complains, rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling. Engulfing Billie’s small wrists with his thick fingers, he pulls them back from his cheeks just to kiss one of the palms of his hands. “And it’s just a beard.”
“I know, but you’re far too young for a beard like that.”
Ryan rolls his eyes a second time, but he doesn’t argue. At 25, he isn’t too young for the beard he has, and what’s more, he’s used to Billie Joe’s reactions to any and all indications that his children are adults. Rather than bicker about it, Ryan moves onto his other father for a hug. “Hey, Pop.”
“Hey, son. Beard looks great on you,” Mike winks as he pulls his middle child to him.
“Thanks,” Ryan grins back.
Billie doesn’t hear the exchange because he’s too busy holding and fussing over Jamie, cradling his face, too—far smoother than his brother’s—and worriedly looking him over. “Are you eating out there, Jamie? You look rail thin.”
“Yes, Dad, I’m eating,” Jamie answers patiently with a similar smile to match.
“No shit, he’s eating,” Ryan offers, smirking at Mike. “You should’ve seen what he ate at dinner just now.”
“You both have your father’s metabolism,” Billie sighs, smoothing brown curls back from Jamie’s young face. Jamie is the best mix of both him and Mike in resemblance; he’s only an inch taller than him, with his cheeks and nose, but his eyes and lips are all Mike’s. Billie Joe glances between him and Ryan. “Where’s your sister?”
“Ah, some bridesmaid drama,” Ryan explains, waving his hand. “You should’ve gotten a text about it. Basically Miranda might not be able to make it because of some freak Nor’easter that’s supposed to slam the east coast tomorrow.”
“Oh, no.” Suddenly Billie wishes he’d had the wherewithal to scan his messages earlier. As it was, with the initial excitement of seeing his sons having passed, he’s getting a vague resurgence of the drunken feeling from earlier, and he frowns when he tries to read his messages, still difficult for him to retain. “Well, Madison must be beside herself.”
“Totally,” Jamie deadpans, nodding solemnly, hands tucked in the pockets of his cargo shorts now that he’d got done hugging his pop, too.
“Well, maybe I should—“
“She’s with Adam,” Ryan says, and some of the mischievous glint from his youth is twinkling in his eyes. “He can handle her. And if he can’t, he’s in for it come Saturday.”
Mike playfully swipes Ryan across the back of his head, rolling his eyes when he forces an ‘ow.’ “Be nice to your sister. This weekend is very important for her, and she and Adam were nice enough to put you two chuckleheads in the wedding.”
“Well, she should’ve fucking put us in it,” Ryan mumbles, and he grins innocently at the look Billie gives him. Bouncing on his toes, he raises his eyebrows at his two fathers. “So, what, you guys missed dinner, but are drinking at the bar together? That’s new.”
“We ran into each other,” Billie Joe explains, busying himself with searching his pockets for his keycard so he doesn’t have to look at either his kids or Mike as he says it. He can feel Mike’s eyes on him, and he’s too tired (and intoxicated) to worry about why. Finding the cardboard envelope, Billie raises his head with a smile as he then says, “And now I’m running off to bed. We all have a busy day tomorrow.” After hugging his kids once more each, he points his keycard at them in playful warning. “Don’t forget we’ve got adjoining rooms. Don’t be noisy coming in, alright? Your old dad needs his sleep.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jamie and Ryan grumble, chorused together.
“Goodnight, boys.” Billie includes Mike in that, meeting his gaze meaningfully over his shoulder as he turns to exit the bar.
“Night, Billie Joe,” Mike murmurs, though it mixes with their sons echoing the sentiment.
“So, you guys are getting along, huh?” Ryan asks Mike with some level of surprise once Billie is gone.
“We’ve always gotten along.” Mike half-smiles at the way both Jamie and Ryan look at him, and he shrugs. “Okay, so we’re getting along better . That should make you guys happy.”
“It does, totally.” Ryan spins around to face the bar, squinting at the offerings. “What do you say, Pop, wanna do a shot with me?” He glances at Jamie behind him, smirking. “I’m sure they’ll fix you up a Shirley Temple or something, Jame.”
Jamie rolls his eyes and shoves his older brother’s shoulder before hauling himself up onto the barstool Billie had vacated. “Fuck off, loser. I can drink you under the table any day of the week.”
“Not exactly what I want to hear out of my nineteen year old,” Mike says wryly, shaking his head at the innocent way his youngest looks at him. Ryan orders a pair of Crown Royal shots, and he sighs, holding up a warning finger. “Alright. I’ll do one . But then I’m going to bed, or else I’ll never get up in the morning, and your sister will kill me.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The first thing Billie Joe does after getting to his room is drink one of the bottled waters provided by the hotel, already chilled in the refrigerator, and forces himself to drink the whole thing while sorting out his suitcase. He doesn’t want a hangover in the morning, and though he still feels a little drunk afterwards, he knows it’ll go a long way. With his things situated, Billie strips out of his plane clothes and opts to put on the robe also provided by the hotel before getting ready for a shower. All he really wants is to fall into bed, but he’ll regret it if he doesn’t wash the airport off of him beforehand.
Tightening the sash of the robe around his waist, Billie pads over to the window to close the curtains that are still half open. Up on the fourth floor, he has an okay view of the city of Houston, where Madison has been living since she’d left home to attend the university. It’s where she’d met Adam, and they’d liked it enough to stay. Billie Joe has always sort of hoped she might move back to California some day, but he knows he‘s lucky at least one of his kids has stuck around, Ryan being that kid. And now they’re all together again for the first time since Jamie’s high school graduation last year. Really, he should be nothing but grateful.
As Billie carries his toiletry bag to the bathroom, there’s a knock on the door. He pauses, frowning. It’s after ten o’ clock, who could possibly be checking on him? Billie already sent a goodnight text to Madison, and the boys—oh, well, maybe they both lost their keycards and want in through his adjoining door, he thinks. Sighing, he puts his bag in the bathroom, and he has to mostly close that door in order to peer through the peephole out into the hallway.
It’s Mike. Standing there, glancing around shiftily, like he’s afraid of getting caught. His heart actually skips a beat at the sight of his ex-husband, and Billie Joe re-tightens his robe, suddenly feeling extremely drunk all over again. Why the hell is Mike knocking on his door? Did he get lost or something?
Briefly scratching at his forehead, Billie opens the door halfway since he‘s only in his robe. “Mike? What are you doing here?”
“Can I come in?” Mike asks, having to stop chewing his lip to do it.
“Wh—yeah, I guess, oof !” Billie no sooner gave enough space for Mike to come into his room, and Mike takes hold of him by his hips, kissing him as he forces him up against the wall adjacent to the door. He has the wherewithal to keep his arm extended enough to coax the door shut as Mike does this, but only just, and at the sound of the click, he relocates both of his hands to Mike’s sides, not pushing him away despite his surprise. But Billie Joe does lean his head back to break the kiss—reluctantly, though he’d never admit it—and out of breathless shock and little else, he asks, “What the hell are you doing?”
“I was kissing you until you stopped me,” Mike explains, and he sounds a little winded, too. The nerves are in his face, and they stutter the beat of his heart as he curls one hand around the base of Billie’s spine, the other up to cradle a stubbled cheek. His tongue almost turns to lead looking into Billie’s wide green eyes, but Mike is determined, helped along by four gin and tonics and an ill-advised shot of whiskey. “Is that okay?” He asks, shaky and nearly whispering.
A calloused thumb is running slowly over his bottom lip, and Billie Joe has to fight the impulse to take it into his mouth. There he stands in nothing but his robe, held to the wall by a pair of eyes that are so familiar to him, even in this dank light that turns them grey. Billie feels how fast Mike is breathing, his ribs rising and falling under his palms, but all he can focus on is how warm he is, and sturdy. “Fuck, I,” he starts to say, but then he stops and nods. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”
That’s all the permission Mike needs. This time, when he bends for a kiss, Billie meets him halfway, small fingers sliding up into his hair. Mike gets all he can out of that kiss, nipping at the fullest set of lips he’d ever kissed, and he marvels at the way Billie Joe can short circuit his brain with just a few strokes of his tongue.
“Fuck,” Mike groans, trailing more sloppy kisses along Billie’s jaw, to his ear, eventually finding his neck. There’s a spot there where he can get the hottest noise in the world, and he knows he can find it again. While Mike searches, he pants, “Forgot what a good fucking kisser you are.”
“Shouldn’t have,” Billie Joe says dumbly, and they’re just words falling out of his mouth. He tilts his head to the side, the back of it already having connected with the wall. Mike applies teeth, and a broken moan shakes out from between Billie’s parted lips, fingers flexing against his ex-husband’s scalp. “Oh, God,” he murmurs, and he has to gulp. “We’re going to hell.”
Mike can’t help but chuckle, a low sound in the back of his throat. He ruts against Billie. “Why?”
“How many reasons you want? I can think of a few.”
It’s out of his mouth, but apparently Mike isn’t looking for any true answer because then he rears up to kiss Billie Joe again with an intensity that’s familiar to him despite how long ago some memories were created. One of those reasons, however, makes itself known when they hear muffled, somewhat raucous voices talking past his door, pausing at what sounds like the next door over. They pull back from the kiss, looking at each other, and then there’s no doubt that it’s Ryan and Jamie in the adjoining room letting themselves in, rather noisily.
“The kids,” Billie breathes, panicking. “We—we can’t, if they hear—“
Mike slides his thumb over Billie’s swollen lips to hush him, nodding, glancing behind him to the shared wall as he thinks quickly. Back to Billie Joe with raised eyebrows, he whispers, “My room?”
His heart leaps, but Billie nods. “Okay.” He grabs Mike’s hand roughly before the other can quite get to the door handle. “ Quietly ,” Billie adds, sharp but still hushed, on his way to swipe the key to his room from where it sits on the desk. Adjusting the front of his robe because, uh, hello erection, he also double checks the tightness of the sash considering they would be going out into the hall. “They can’t hear me leave, they think I’m asleep.”
“Right, right.” Mike squeezes Billie Joe’s hand one he’s within reach again and puts a finger to his lips, eyes sparkling.
Billie can’t quite believe they’re doing this, but he can only blame the wine for so much. He knows how he’d been looking at Mike in the bar, how Mike had been looking at him, and he can’t deny it; especially considering the circumstances, what with Madison’s wedding and his impending divorce, he’s been feeling lonely. It’s not the smartest move, sleeping with his ex-husband, but a part of Billie can’t believe it’s taken this long for it to happen again. Attraction hadn’t ever been the problem.
Room 412, Mike’s room, is identical to his, and Billie Joe lets out a squeak that turns into a chuckle when he’s pushed onto the made bed, Mike climbing after him, settling on top of him. He’s reengaged in a blistering kiss, and his hands wander in the meantime, over the ridges of bone and muscle rippling underneath Mike’s fitted t-shirt. It amazes Billie, how new and yet familiar it feels all at once, and he chuckles a second time when Mike starts spreading kisses to the areas the open robe allows him access to.
“You taste like Crown Royal,” Billie murmurs, smiling as he watches Mike wiggle down his body, sliding over soft terry cloth.
“Ryan wanted me to do a shot. I needed it to get up the courage to knock on your door.”
“Did you plan this?”
“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” is how Mike answers, his voice husky. Having already coaxed Billie Joe’s knees apart to sit between them, he begins undoing the knot in the belt of his robe, slowly, like he’s savoring it.
Somewhere in a mind hazy with alcohol and arousal, Billie has the wherewithal to be slightly nervous. Other than a shitty, self-loathing one night stand after Patrick moved out, he’s barely had sex in the last couple of years, and he thinks his body reflects that. That’s to say Billie put on a few pounds he hasn’t bothered to get rid of, and the last time Mike had seen him naked, he’d been at his fittest. When the robe is brushed away by tender, sweeping hands, he sucks in his belly without even thinking about it, but Mike bends down to smother it with his mouth.
“Don’t do that,” Mike chides him, but it’s as gentle as his kisses. “You’ve been doing that since after Maddie, and you’ve never needed to.” His hands cradle Billie Joe’s soft hips like they’re something precious, and he skims his lips over those, too, then the bikini line scar above his groin before swallowing something hard without warning.
“ God ,” Billie gasps, heels digging into the mattress as his back arches off of it. After so long, the pleasure is transcending, and Mike hasn’t forgotten any of the things he likes, varying technique to keep him on his toes. Literally. Billie is still half in his robe, and he struggles out of it one arm at a time. He stays up on one elbow so he has a better view of Mike bobbing between his legs, forming a fist in silver hair, but his arm gives out when Mike slips the spit-slicked fingers formerly around his cock underneath him, wedging in between his cheeks to stroke his rim.
Pulling off with a laborious suck, Mike replaces his mouth with his left hand, jerking lazily as he sits up to look at Billie Joe going to pieces on the bed. Two ink-smattered arms are sprawled up by his head, and Billie seems to realize he’s being watched because he opens his big green eyes, shining in the lamplight glowing from either side of the bed. Mike swallows, unwilling to count how many years it’s been since he’s been inside of Billie, but he knows it’s been a lot longer than he ever would have wanted.
“Don’t have any condoms or lube,” Mike mutters, tinged with regret.
“Poor planning,” Billie Joe breathes.
“Didn’t plan. That’s the problem.”
Billie wonders if that’s explicitly true but has to assume it is. Mike keeps teasing him, looking down at his dick as he strokes it, and there’s a crease between his short little eyebrows, the one he always gets when he’s focused. It makes Billie glance down, too, and he sees how hard Mike is in his jeans, so he squirms. “Take your fucking clothes off.”
At first Mike seems confused, but it’s mostly because he’s reluctant to stop getting those breathy mewls out of Billie Joe. Even so, he listens to Billie and reaches a hand behind him to yank his shirt over his head. Mike tries to get his belt off one-handed, too, but he’s stopped by a pair of small hands when Billie sits up.
Their gazes locked, Billie pulls leather from metal clasps, and it’s only after he’s pushed the jeans down Mike’s hips that he buries his mouth in abs not entirely visible but certainly tactile. His hands are everywhere, then, grabbing at the rock hard ass he now had access to, feeling the muscles anywhere they’ve been built, and it does unspeakable things to his emotions for reasons he can’t comprehend in the moment. Mike has always treated his body like a temple; he’s an architect, and the principles he’s learned in his line of work extend beyond concrete and steel. Too bad Mike hadn’t applied those same principles to their family all those years ago, but Billie Joe won’t think about that now. He doesn’t want to.
Mike wriggles out of his jeans eventually, and when he’s settled between his legs again, Billie squeezes one ass cheek while fondling heavy balls, nuzzling his ex-husband’s belly. He’s taking it slow because he wants it to last, he realizes. Billie has missed this fucking body, including Mike’s thick erection, pulsing against his chest. Half-smiling to himself, he wraps his fingers around the base of it and licks the tip, whimpering softly at the sweet and salty taste of pre-come his tongue collects. Long fingers slide into his hair, and that’s all the encouragement Billie Joe needs to repay the favor Mike had just done to him and takes all of him at once.
“Fuck,” Mike breathes, jaw unhinged as he watches Billie go down on him. He concentrates on the way tattooed fingers jerk the root of his prick, and Billie’s always had incredible technique but he’s not used to it anymore. It’s too much, and Mike has to stop him, taking Billie Joe by the jaw to draw him back at the same time he bends for a kiss, licking into that hot mouth as he presses him down into the mattress. When he’s looking into wide green eyes again, he asks, “Can you fuck yourself on my fingers?”
Billie almost chokes on his breath as he nods, and he can’t suppress the soft moan from rumbling in his throat when Mike slides two blunt fingers past his wet lips. They maintain eye contact as he sucks hard on Mike’s digits, getting them nice and slick because he knows where they’re going, and he wants it.
And it feels good for Mike, the pressure and suction, his cock twitching in sympathy as it hangs forgotten between his legs. The thing is, though, what he always loved most about sex with Billie was watching the older man go to pieces and being the one responsible for it. Mike can’t fuck Billie Joe tonight, but he knows Billie’s had an affinity for his fingers since forever and it’s the one thing about himself he can say with certainty hasn’t changed since the last time they’d made love.
One-handed and with Billie’s help, Mike manages to get a pillow underneath his tailbone, and the robe finally gets thrown on the floor in a haphazard heap. Billie Joe spreads his legs wide for him, knees drawn up as much as his flexibility allows, and he has to take a breath to steady himself at how gorgeous he looks, wanton and open—for him . Mike lays a large palm on his stubbled cheek as he withdraws his fingers and relocates them to Billie’s warm pucker, circling two of them around ringed muscle before easing them inside incredible heat.
“Guuuuuuuuh, fuck ,” Billie grunts, practically wheezing at the initial penetration, clenching tight around the presence inside of him. His hands are back up by his head, arms uselessly sprawled, and he swears he could come just from the careful way Mike feels around, stretching, because it’s been so goddamn long. Billie Joe has to take the same deep breaths Mike did, and that’s when he remembers he’s supposed to be doing the work. Biting the corner of his bottom lip, he rolls his hips down, and he whines at the sweet friction as he builds up to a slow but even rhythm.
God damn , that’s a good view, Mike thinks. The pale flesh not covered with decades-old ink pinks up with the effort Billie expends, and he finds himself concentrating on little things again—the way Billie pushes sweat-slackened curls from his forehead and holds them atop his head, the way his other fingers flex into the bedding, gripping and relaxing similar to how his ass does around him, and God, the way he fucks down, gyrating his hips, more and more eager with every thrust. He’s so stupidly sex, right down to the hushed moans that rattle out of him, and Mike distantly wonders how he ever let him go. When Billie Joe begins to pick up his pace, and his volume, he rewards him by dragging up his free hand from where it’d been resting on Billie’s tensed thigh to wrap it around his swollen cock.
“Oh, Mike ,” Billie cries out, spine arching, and his palm flies up to cover his mouth to stifle the noises he now can’t help. They’re in Mike’s room, but their sons are still down the hall and who the hell knows where the rest of the wedding party is sleeping. Billie Joe can see the flash that darkens Mike’s eyes when he screams his name, and it tightens his belly, letting him know his release is within reach. He lets go of his hair to brace his hand against the headboard behind him, leveraging it to quicken and sharpen his downward thrusts, and Mike’s blunt fingertips brush his prostate at the same time Mike’s left thumb circles his slit to work the pre-come around his dick. That’s about all Billie can take, and he whines, disjointed and louder despite the hand clasped to his mouth, and he chases his orgasm as Mike jerks his erection faster. When he comes, it vibrates through his whole body, and he throws his head back with a strangled scream because though he stilled his pelvis, Mike hadn’t stilled his fingers, rubbing relentlessly around his sweet spot.
As Mike milks Billie’s climax for all it’s worth, he doubles over, ripping the hand away from his lips to pin his wrist to the bed so he can muffle Billie Joe’s noises with kisses instead. He tastes his moans, groaning himself when Billie grabs hold of his hair, thrills going through his body at the way Billie shudders every time he gets a little more out of his waning erection. Only when it’s evident that Billie Joe has nothing left to give, Mike sits up, retrieving his hand from between Billie’s legs to collect a palmful of the panting man’s come to help stroke himself to his own climax.
Billie watches, open-mouthed, squeaking initially despite how spent he actually is at the way Mike utilizes his come to lube both his large hand and his large cock. Ink and skin tremble on Mike’s arm as he furiously jerks off, still pinning his arm to the bed, and he thinks he’d reach up to kiss him if he weren’t enjoying the view so much. Mike looks just so incredible, it’s unfair, and when he comes, it’s with a growl, shooting over the streaks that already cover Billie Joe’s stomach and chest. It’s then that Mike falls into another wet kiss, and he greets him readily with an ambitious tongue, both of them belatedly moaning and whimpering.
When it’s truly over, Mike gets up to go clean up in the bathroom, but he comes back before Billie can begin panicking over what to do. Mike cleans him with a damp washcloth, even making a tender pass over his hole that has him giggling breathlessly—it’s fucking sensitive. Any notion that Billie should panic eases when Mike flashes a smile at him and taps his side.
“Under the covers,” Mike murmurs, and he tosses the washcloth lazily into the shower and turns out the lights while Billie Joe gets situated in his bed.
So Billie’s staying the night. If he hadn’t drunk so much wine, he might’ve been more apt to question it—of both himself and his ex-husband, Jesus—but as it is, he settles easily, curled up on his side in his favorite position. Naked. Mike climbs in after Billie and doesn’t hesitate one bit before spooning him, tucking his arm under Billie Joe’s and fitting along his spine. How they always used to fall asleep, when they were married.
“D’you have an alarm set?” Billie thinks to ask, mumbling. If they’re late getting up, Madison will kill them both.
“Yup,” Mike whispers into Billie’s neck, because he’s kissing it, and then he skims his lips over his temple, brushing curls out of the way. “Go to sleep, Beej.”
Actually smiling at the familiar nickname, Billie Joe squeezes the hand Mike has on his chest and closes his eyes. “Goodnight, Mike.”