Status: Completed!

The Man Who Would Not Be King

Epilogue

Tré lifted his head from the pillow, his eyes coming blearily into focus. He sank down again, decided the light cutting through the window shade wasn’t yet bright enough for him to consider getting up. Even if it had been, he wasn’t too sure the rest of his body would move at his bidding; it was currently being held hostage by the arm resting on his chest, and his lower half was tangled, mixed in with someone else’s legs. Following a crack in the ceiling, Tré sighed in contentment. He lost himself in the fissure, so much so that he couldn’t see it anymore. What flashed before his eyes was a montage of the past two weeks.

The knowing smiles every time Tré was seen in so much as the same room as Billie Joe, the inappropriate jokes aimed their way by both Jason and Pete, who’d seemed to have teamed up, and the random relationship advice Mike spouted at fixed intervals.

MIKE: It’s important to try something new during sex every once in a while. So make sure to spice things up.

JASON: I have some magazines you can borrow if you’re interested. Oh wait, sorry. I don’t have any gay ones. Tough luck.

PETE: I do, actually.

[ALL laugh]

PETE: No, really. You never know, man.

A hand delicately hesitating, asking permission to explore new territory. Kisses trailing a backbone, teeth nipping gently at the soft underside of a throat, fingertips circling the soft pad of a nipple. And breath, breath hitched or running rampant, breezing past a sensitive ear, and sparking waves of goose bumps to be smoothed away by loving hands.

Tré shivered into the memory, and then, out of it, settled into the beautiful warmth of the body half on top of him. He could see escaping the sheet the risen skin of a fresh tattoo. He had a memory for that, too.

“Are you sure you wanna go through with this? I don’t know, maybe it’s a bit early…” Tré paced nervously around the small room that was more the size of a large closet, really, and crowded with strange pieces of metal, like a doctor’s examining room.

Billie Joe grinned back at him, recklessness radiating off of him in billows—he was a smokestack, pouring the giddiness of new love into the atmosphere. “Dude, just trust me. This is gonna look sweet, and if we do break up it’s not like I’m gonna erase you from my life, so why can’t you stay on my arm? I’ll always love you in some fashion, Tré.”

The tattoo was a replica of a photo strip. Billie Joe had come upon a photo booth in some city or other and pushed Tré inside, instructing him to look pretty, because he’d had an idea. Tré complied, never finding it easier to dig for a series of genuine smiles. All he had to do was imagine the man standing outside waiting for him, and they floated up to the surface.

Next to him, Billie Joe shifted awake. He stretched without really moving somehow, then let his weight fall back on Tré. “Mornin’,” he said, having noted that Tré too was conscious.

Tré groaned in response. “Don’t remind me.”

Billie Joe squeezed his middle in encouragement. He bit his lip thoughtfully, then spoke again. “Today’s D-Day, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, the day the news hits the masses.”

“But also the day that we address the news. You ready for Letterman tonight?”

Tré flipped over in one motion, Billie Joe retreating to make this possible. He buried his head under his pillow. “Is that a trick question? Because I don’t think I’ll ever be.” His words came out muffled, and Billie Joe had to lower his ear closer to hear him.

“It won’t be so bad. All we have to do is announce our love, I’ll show off my tattoo of your handsome face—faces,” he laughed, “and lastly we’ll make a public apology to Annabelle and then play our new hit single, Boulevard, and that’ll be that. It’ll be great and afterwards, don’t forget, we still have two weeks off before the next leg of the tour. Two weeks to be cozy in bed like this and not having a care in the world!”

Tré emerged from his hideout. “Yesss, I can’t wait!” he cried, and kissed Billie Joe fully. “One thing I’ve been wondering, though, Billie…are you finally gonna accept your title tonight? King of Punk?”

Billie Joe snickered. “Nahhh, you can have it. I don’t think it’s appropriate for me. I’d so much rather be your queen instead.”
♠ ♠ ♠
THE END. Finally! After 11 months of writing this, it is done. Phew. Thank you for reading! :D

Also I kind of feel like a committed sacrilege after modifying the Adie tattoo into the Tre tattoo. >_> Don't be too mad!