After Midnight

It was dark inside the club, the air heavy with a whispering ambience of anticipation. He hadn’t noticed how cold he was, until he felt the numbness in his toes on his way down the entrance corridor, the crisp paper receipt he had received in his exchange at the ticket desk clutched tightly between his fingers.

He sucked in a breath, as he came out into the main room of the club, the atmosphere in the steadily-filling room brimming with adventure and suspense. The stage was small, still darkened and empty. A white sheet, sloppily painted with a black cross and the band’s initials, was the only evidence that they was expected at all, nevertheless, a crop of eager fans had already lined the front of the stage, excitement rising from them like fizz on cola.

Mika slunk into the shadows at the side of the room, certain that nobody in the room was likely to give him a second glance at that moment but unwilling to take any chances. He wasn’t certain why he was there himself, the last thing he felt like doing was explaining his presence to anybody else.

He felt as though every nerve in his body was tingling by the time the band finally took to the stage, the sound of ripping guitar and pounding drums tearing through his veins, as he scanned the scene in front of him, frantically, for the one person he wasn’t sure if he was desperate for or terrified of.

It was a little while before he appeared, stumbling from the side of the stage, his white shirt incandescent in the stage lights, his dark glasses not quite managing to hide the fact that he was already drunk. Considerably drunk.

Mika held his breath, his dark eyes wide, as they followed Billie Joe around the stage. He looked a little different to the way he remembered him; his hair a wild shock of bleach blonde, his fur-lined coat and spotted tie a far cry from the all-black ensemble he had been wearing the last time they met. There were some things that remained the same though. That crooked smile of his still gave him the shivers and, as he lifted a hand to tilt his glasses, the same enchanting green eyes he remembered peered, teasingly, over the top of the white rims. He swallowed.

It took him some time to recover from the shock of seeing him again, tangible and real, stirring up memories he had tried hard to lay to cherished rest. Soon, however, he found he was noticing how good the band sounded, even how good Billie sounded, although he wasn’t sure how he was managing to sound anything other than intoxicated and delirious.

He stomped about the stage with a clumsy yet arrogant swagger that had Mika grinning widely, shouting nonsensical, spiriting encouragement to the adoring crowd. The whole band was quite patently hammered, none more so than their effervescent lead singer, who seemed to have gotten through at least ten cans of beer since he had taken to the stage, even if most of it seemed to have gone down his shirt.

He, suddenly, found himself itching to get nearer, desperate for a closer look, yet terrified of how Billie Joe might react if he were spotted. Deciding that Billie Joe probably couldn’t focus more than a foot in front of his own face at that point, he began pushing through the clamouring crowd, his heart racing as he watched Billie Joe giggling at the front of the stage, all spurious accessories now discarded, his remaining clothes apparently saturated with beer. He was only a few feet from the stage himself now and he found himself staring at the frontman with wide-eyed awe, marvelling at how Billie Joe was managing to make art out of looking a drunken mess, glowing like phosphorescence under the stage lights.

Mika stepped forward at the same moment Billie Joe did, catching the guitarist’s drunken gaze and watching his face glaze with recognition and something almost but not quite fear. He felt his breath swell in his chest at the sight of those familiar eyes, finding himself, suddenly, unable to move from his position at the front of the baying crowd.

A screech from his drummer appeared to bring Billie Joe back to Earth, and he was gone again in an instant, swaying on his feet as he made his way to the other side of the stage. He held his mike in one hand and a half-empty can of Carling in the other and he didn’t seem to care which one he was thrusting at his singing fans, who were now drenched in nearly as much sweat and beer as he was.

“Baby Girls!” he yelled, for what had to be the hundredth time, eyes screwed tight against the harsh stage lights. “Are you ready...”

The crowd cheered in appreciation and he swaggered back over to his band, pulling at his already-loosened black tie, before tossing it to the floor. Mika watched, with a grin, as he kicked into a song he could have sworn they had already played three times over, unable to help his eyes drinking in his gloriously dishevelled appearance. He watched the way his wet shirt clung to his slight frame, the material soaked to the point of transparency, and felt a shiver somewhere deep in his belly as he tried to drag his eyes from Billie Joe’s inked skin.

As the song ended, he lost sight of him, realising with a flicker of panic that he was somewhere in the crowd. He searched the sea of grasping hands and bouncing heads, seeing them swell somewhere stage right, where Billie Joe’s arms and legs were just visible over the top of his fans, who passed him, clumsily, from one side of the stage to the other. Once he was back on his feet again, he was coming his way, and Mika’s heart began to race at the drunken determination in his eyes. Apparently, he had had time to come to terms with the unexpected crossing of their paths since the moment they had first set eyes on one another.

He swayed into the crowd, and Mika reached out, instinctively, to stop him from falling, one hand splaying against the wet material of his white shirt, the other grasping his forearm. The contents of Billie Joe’s beer splashed right over the head of the girl next to him, before it emptied down the front of his Mika’s jeans, but neither of them cared, least of all Mika, because now Billie Joe’s head was leaning close to his own and he could smell fresh sweat and cheap beer and something else that sparked a vividness of memory intense enough to make his knees feel weak.

“It’s you...” he said, into his ear, and Mika nodded, now holding all of the guitarist’s weight from falling into the crowd. “It’s you...”

Mika laughed.

“I know. I was... passing by...”

If Billie Joe heard him, he couldn’t tell, because suddenly his weren’t the only hands on Billie Joe’s body and the inebriated singer was being pulled in several different directions at once by fans on his left and right that were clearly unable to believe the star’s proximity.

“Green doors...” he managed to say, struggling against the crowd, “Around the back... after the show. The green doors... I’ll be there...”

Mika nodded, dumbly, as Billie Joe was pulled away, stumbling backwards towards the stage, then raising his beer can to the crowd.

“Whaddaya wanna hear next?” he called out, dissolving into another round of giggles when three hundred people all tried to shout at once. “Stop Drop and... Stop Drop and... Guys let’s fucking play it again. We can do it better...”

The green doors were closed when he finally made it out of the crowd and around to the back door of the club, closed and guarded by a fierce-looking security guard that sent his mind whirling in panic. He cursed under his breath, watching it leave his lips as a puff of smoky warmth in the wintry air. He could hear approaching voices and it was the realisation that he wasn’t the only one rushing outside to see Billie Joe that had him pushing forward urgently, right up to the doors, where he was stopped with a hand on his chest.

“ID?”

Mika shook his head.

“I’m a mate of Billie Joe’s, he said to come and meet him after the show.”

“Can’t let you in without a pass,” the guard mumbled, around his cigarette, “Step aside please-”

The desperate frustration in Mika’s eyes soon turned to hope, when the door was pulled, suddenly, open, and he was met with the sight of Billie Joe, shirt crumpled and hanging off one shoulder, bleach-blonde hair wet and curling wildly around his flushed face. A moment later, he felt a hot sweaty hand close around his own, and he was being tugged back into the club, doors slamming hard in the face of a baffled security guard.

Mika took in a breath and held it, as Billie Joe stumbled back against the wall and pulled him along with him. Reaching out an arm, he braced himself against the painted brickwork of the empty backstage hallway, then stared down into the drunken eyes of the petite guitarist he could barely believe he was standing in front of again, after all this time.

“Mika,” Billie Joe mumbled, and the fact that he had remembered his name alone was enough to make the singer’s stomach flip. “How did you... what’re you doing here?”

Their faces were close enough that Mika could feel his breath, hot and moist, against his own lips, and he closed his eyes, briefly, in reverence, before he responded.

“I stopped to get milk,” he shrugged, and Billie Joe’s resulting grin made his own smile broaden. “Then ended up in some shitty club watching a band I never heard of.”

Billie Joe shook his head.

“I thought I was seein’ things...” he slurred.

Mika smiled.

“I wasn’t sure you even remembered...” he admitted, quietly.
“Yeah, I remembered...” Billie Joe insisted, letting his head drop back against the wall, “I... course I remembered but... I might not remember this tomorrow...”

Mika laughed, feeling a rush of affection in his stomach, then reaching up a hand to push away a lock of wet hair that was stuck to Billie Joe’s forehead.

“No, I sort of agree with you on that,” he told him, amused, “Seriously, man. You are fucked.”

“Yeah... ,” Billie Joe replied, placing his hands on Mika’s hips to steady them both against the wall. “I drank... a lot of Carling...”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

Billie Joe smirked, and Mika felt his heart skip.

“What else did you notice?”

Mika smiled at his flirting.

“That this is a surprisingly good look for you....”

Billie Joe grinned, reaching one hand up to slide into Mika’s hair, which felt damp from the moisture in the air. Mika’s breath caught in his throat, as he dipped his head and his nose grazed Billie Joe’s, their breath mingling for a moment of electric apprehension that seemed to last forever. Billie Joe released a shaky exhalation, as Mika closed the gap between them, meeting Billie Joe’s mouth in a kiss that was both fierce and deliciously tender. Billie Joe, long since stripped of all restraint and inhibition, let out a moan of appreciation, pulling Mika closer as their kisses deepened.

Mika could barely believe he was here, that they were here, and that this was really happening. He’d be lying if he said his New Year kiss with Billie Joe hadn’t replayed in his mind more than once in the months that had followed it, and suddenly, here he was in his arms again and he could feel him, wet and warm and clinging to his own shirt like he needed him to breathe. Their kisses were filled with a desperate intensity that shook him to the core and his heart raced at the sensation of Billie’s fingers tangling in his hair, gripping his waist, pulling him closer. The guitarist’s tongue was hot and eager against his own, and his breath was heavy when they finally broke for air, Billie Joe’s teeth dragging a little at his lip before they parted.

“Shit...” Mika whispered, his breath ragged.

Billie Joe closed his eyes, letting his forehead drop against Mika’s shoulder.

“I know...” he whispered, “... Fuck, man....Listen. Don’t be offended but... I think I really need to throw up...”

In seconds, Mika had grabbed Billie Joe by his narrow shoulders and spun him around, pushing him down the hallway towards the toilet door. He kicked the door open with his foot, shoving Billie Joe inside, then turning away with a grimace, when the guitarist dropped to his knees in front of the toilet bowl and began heaving into it.

“Ugh...” Billie Joe muttered, sinking back onto the floor,”...Thanks... that really helped a lot.”

The rest of the band were still drinking when the pair made it back to the dressing room backstage and Mika felt his heart begin to quicken a little with nerves, when he followed Billie Joe’s stumbling footsteps into a room of musicians almost, but not quite, as drunk as Billie Joe was.

Mike was laid out on a couch at the far side of the room, a can of beer resting on his stomach, and Tre was standing on a low table in the centre of the room, shirtless and unsteady on his feet, singing what Mika thought might be the eighth rendition of the same song he had heard that evening.

“Bill, man...” he slurred, “Where’d you go...”

“I need to brush my teeth...” Billie Joe mumbled, stepping, ungracefully, over the array of clothing, bottles and guitar cases that littered the floor, “...This is Mika... he went to get milk.”

Mika smiled, feeling suddenly awkward, as Billie Joe disappeared into the bathroom connected to the back of the room and every other face in the room turned to look at him.

“Dude!” Tre exclaimed, “It’s... you’re that... y’know, Dude!”

“Yeah...” Mika grinned, nodding gratefully, when Mike tossed an unopened can of cold lager into his hands, “Thanks, mate...”

He found himself wondering if Billie Joe had ever mentioned him, in the months that had passed since they had met that first time, and what he might have said if he had. The truth of the matter was that Billie Joe hadn’t breathed any more word of their midnight meeting than Mika had, keeping their private tryst nothing more than a brief but treasured memory and leaving his bandmates to wonder what had led to his sudden affection for classical piano.

“What brings you here, man?” Mike asked him, the confusion in his eyes leaving Mika feeling vulnerably self-conscious.

“Oh...” Mika replied, perching on the edge of the couch, “... I don’t live far from here, actually... I was just hanging out with some mates in Dalston, stopped off in Islington to get some supplies and... wondered what was going down at the Garage.”

“We are going down at the Garage!”Tre practically screamed, leaping off the table and onto the couch, where he landed on the band’s surprised-looking second guitarist with a giggle. “You’re goin’ doooown,White. Dooown...”

Mika grinned at the resulting wrestling match that took place on the couch, then looked up when Billie Joe reappeared from the bathroom, the mere sight of him walking into the room enough to make the butterflies in his stomach stir into a frenzy. He was still wayward on his feet, as he crossed the room, the rest of the band too caught up in Tre’s antics to really notice him, or notice the way he placed one hand on Mika’s shoulder to steady himself, or notice the amused sentiment on Mika’s face, when he turned to look into his eyes.

“I learned to play Shostakovich...” Billie Joe told him.

Mika laughed, feeling a warmth settle low in his stomach.

“Really? I knew you could be good if you practiced.”

“I practiced a lot...” Billie Joe replied, “I wrote most our new record on piano... you wanna play?”

Mika shrugged.

“I don’t see a piano around here, man.”

Billie Joe fell against Mika’s side, as he turned to look around the room, almost as if seeing it for the first time. Mika reached out his hands to steady him, suddenly noticing that he was being eyed, suspiciously, by the bassist across the room. He let Billie Joe go, as he turned back to face him.

“Fuck... there isn’t a piano...”

“Fuck,” Mika smirked. He took in a breath, feeling suddenly brave, and before he had thought his next words through, they were on their way out of his mouth. “I have a piano at my flat, though.”

Mika’s coat was too big for Billie Joe. He giggled, as the hood slipped over his eyes, obscuring his vision, and he stumbled into Mika’s side again, knocking him off the pavement and into the gutter.

“I don’t think I need a coat...” he decided, “I’m not even cold, y’know...”

“You’re soaking wet and it’s freezing,” Mika pointed out, stepping back out of the road, “You’re just too fucking drunk to notice.”

“I am fucking drunk...” he conceded.

“Anyway, I needed to do something to disguise you...” Mika smiled, “You are a little bit conspicuous y’know. This place is crawling with girls that want to take you home with them...”

Billie Joe hiccupped, and he grinned.

“Where are you staying?” he asked him, and Billie Joe looked up at the sky for an answer, then tripped over his own feet.

“I don’t know... Maytown? Maryfair... It’s an M Town.”

“Mayfair?”

“That’s the whatever... Fuck, can we stop for a rest?”

“Sure...”

Mika smiled, as Billie Joe slumped against the railings that lined the street, green eyes heavy-lidded and hazy beneath his hood. His teeth scraped nervously, on his bottom lip, as Billie Joe’s hands, gloved in the sleeves of his own coat, came to rest around his waist.

“We probably shouldn’t do this here...” Mika murmured, softly, as Billie Joe pulled him closer, suddenly aware of the last, passing flocks of late night drinkers that passed behind them, taxis crawling the kerbs for customers and, he imagined, a few giggling, straggling Green Day fans, finding their way home after what had to be one of the most bizarre but exciting gigs of their lives.

“What are we doing?” Billie Joe replied, raising an eyebrow, and Mika felt his cheeks tinge at the teasing glint in his eyes. He shrugged.

“I don’t know...” he admitted, softly, “How about you?”

Billie Joe smiled.

“I don’t care...” he murmured, his words still slurring, as he stretched up to press his lips against Mika’s and the two men gave into the kiss for just long enough to make Mika’s heart pound.

Billie Joe took a breath, as Mika pulled away.

“It isn’t far...” he breathed, untangling himself, reluctantly, from Billie Joe’s arms and taking his hand. “Come on...”

The building was quiet when the pair entered, the heavy front door closing with a bang that seemed to reverberate up the stairwell, followed by Billie Joe’s giggles, echoing off the walls.

“Shh...” Mika grinned, grabbing his hand and hauling him toward the stairs, “C’mon up...”

Billie Joe rested his weight against the door, as Mika put his key in the lock, stumbling inside with a drunken laugh, when it opened. Mika chuckled, taking both his hands and steadying him against the clean white wall, then thinking better of it and pulling him forward into his arms.

“Maybe you shouldn’t touch anything...” he grinned, against Billie Joe’s mouth, as the guitarist’s fingers slid up into his curls and he felt hot breath skim his lips, “I don’t really want my walls painted in Carling...”

“Hmm...” Billie Joe smirked, between brief, teasing kisses, “It’s not so much your walls that I’m interested in touching...”

Mika laughed, suddenly not caring that Billie Joe smelled disgusting, or that the moisture from his shirt was soaking through his own clothes. He managed to pull him into another kiss and back him into the living room all at the same time, feeling his stomach tingle at the light moans that were leaving Billie Joe’s throat, their kisses deepening as they stumbled backwards into the room.

“Fuck...” Billie Joe panted, breaking their kisses to get his bearings, suddenly aware of both how much his head was spinning and just how aroused he was starting to become. Mika cupped his hot face in both his hands, wondering if it might be possible to carry on kissing him forever.

“You aren’t gonna puke again, are you?”

Billie Joe laughed, giving his head a shake.

“No... no, I think I’m done with that... I think the walk sobered me up a little actually...”

Mika grinned, the fact he was still garbling his words doing little to convince him. He leaned in to kiss him again, then opened his eyes to meet Billie Joe’s, the intensity of his gaze making his stomach flip. He found himself feeling suddenly nervous, unable to believe that Billie Joe was really standing in the middle of his flat, that he had really found him again after all this time and that suddenly, his feelings and desires were moving far too quickly for him to get any grip on. He broke their gaze.

“I think I need a drink...” he decided, “You want one?”

“Sure...” Billie Joe smiled, “I did say I sobered up a little...”

Mika nodded, his thumb brushing Billie Joe’s cheekbone for a moment, before he let him go and headed towards the kitchen, his own hands grabbing at his hair, as he took a moment to get his breathing and his heart rate under enough control for him to think straight.

Back in the living room, Billie Joe was feeling similarly disoriented. It had been bizarre enough being plucked from a twelve thousand capacity arena and dropped into a small music venue in a strange city, the fact that he was now standing in the middle of an apartment belonging to a guy he had only ever met twice in his life was making his head spin.

He glanced around the room, taking in the warmth of his surroundings. He slid his hands into his still-damp pockets, making his way over to the window, where his eyes, suddenly, landed upon a small, white piano. He smiled.

Mika noticed his hands were shaking, as he poured out two glasses of scotch, pondering briefly whether putting any more alcohol into Billie Joe was something he would regret, then shrugging it off. He paused at the sound of tinkling piano music, glancing up towards the kitchen door with bated breath, feeling a warm sense of surprise at just how beautiful it sounded and just how on Earth he was managing to sound anything near beautiful when he could barely walk in a straight line.

He smiled, setting their drinks down on top of the piano, then folded his arms across his chest, staring, expectantly, at Billie Joe, until he paused, his fingers hovering over the keys, an impish grin spreading across his face.

“What? I got better!”

“Yeah, you got better. You’re also getting your grunge club jizz all over my fucking piano.”

Billie Joe grinned, reaching out to pull Mika down to the piano stool.

“Chill, man... she’s okay...”

Mika raised his eyebrows.

“I’ve had this piano since I was five. I’ve had you five minutes...”

The objection in his voice started to waver, when Billie Joe’s hands slid up his chest to wrap around his neck, his green eyes flicking across his face for a moment, before he leaned in to touch their noses, gently, together.

“Believe me, Baby Boy... you haven’t had me yet...”

Mika felt those tingles starting at his toes again, sweeping his body with gaining intensity, as he lost himself in another round of Billie Joe’s sultry kisses. He groaned, pulling away again, trapped in a stifling space between blind desire and heady caution. Billie Joe grinned, nipping at his bottom lip.

“Would you let me play if I was clean?”

“Hmm...” Mika smiled, between kisses, “Possibly...”

In a moment, Billie Joe was up, and Mika was being dragged by the hand to his own bathroom, which Billie Joe managed to find on his third try, after stumbling into both the bedroom and the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Mika giggled, filled with excitement and intrigue, as Billie Joe’s hands gripped his waist, dipping underneath the hem of his t shirt to rest against bare skin. He shivered.

“Billie...” he mumbled, aimlessly, against his lips. He received no answer, only the sound of the shower spluttering into life, the rush of water making him break their kiss. He glanced down at him in amused disbelief, when he started to stumble backwards into the water. “Billie... Bill... you still have all your clothes on...”

Billie Joe giggled, sinking back against the tiled bathroom wall, squeezing his eyes shut against the stream of water as it soaked through his white shirt to his skin.

“You’re just tryin’a talk me into takin’ them off...” he slurred, with a grin.

Mika shook his head, opening his mouth to answer, when he felt Billie Joe’s wet hands grabbing hold of his own shirt, and before he realised what was happening he was being hauled under the water, all sense of farce melting away when his hands came into contact with Billie Joe’s torso and the guitarist’s mouth re-captured his own.

His mind seemed to fizz and black out, suddenly unable to register anything but the way Billie Joe’s wet hair felt tangled around his fingers, the tension of his muscles beneath the drenched fabric of his shirt and the smell of alcohol rising into the steam that clouded the bathroom.

Billie Joe practically whimpered against Mika’s lips, as the younger man started tugging, almost desperately, at his wet shirt, unbuttoning the last two buttons that had remained fastened, then peeling the sodden material away from his shoulders. Mika pushed a little against Billie Joe’s chest, breaking their contact just long enough to let his eyes roam his wet skin.

“Shit...” he breathed, “You’re...”

He trailed off and Billie Joe didn’t let him finish, pushing him up against the shower wall. His tongue flicked, teasingly, against Mika’s bottom lip, drawing out a long moan that he soon drowned with another deep kiss. Mika took a heaving breath, when Billie Joe pulled away just long enough to tug his soaking shirt over his head. Mika managed a grin, kissing him again, his stomach stirring as Billie Joe’s slippery skin slid against his own.

Billie Joe’s kisses were becoming increasingly fervent, the sensation of his teeth scraping against his lip sending an overwhelming wave of desire through Mika’s body. There was no hiding that Billie Joe was feeling the same way; Mika could feel him gasping against the hot skin of his neck, feel his arousal pressing against his own body and feel his heart hammering against his own chest.