Communion

The warm summer's evening descended upon paradise and the Cool's villa, nestled away somewhere on a peaceful secluded part of the paradisal northern Californian mountainside.

Rose ignored all discussion with her husband over the events of that day and skillfully manipulated him into dropping it so she could nap away the evening undisturbed.

Tre respected her wishes because he could tell she was stressed to the max so to say because he too was very much in a state of the same. As Rose slept in the master bedroom upstairs, this left Tre to pace the house with only his thoughts plaguing his mind and his daughter who complained of hunger at half past 6 o' clock that evening.

With the fathering skills The Cool devoloped over many years with his other children; Tre made his daughter a meal fit for a queen. Or in this case, a princess. A couple of perfectly toaster toasted Eggo waffles and a batch of eggs crisped on the edges to perfection.

You know, fathers that can't cook type food.

At any rate, the young girl was obviously content with her dinner and afterwards took to watching the Disney Channel in the living room. Tre felt this to be a perfect oppurtunity to slink away upstairs and wake his sleeping wife with the intent of having a much needed adult conversation with her.

He prepared the queen her own two eggs and waffles and threw them together neatly on a platter with a thoughtful decorative garnishing of parsley and carefully seperated processed cheese.

How romantic.

He wanted to do whatever it was he could, to break any tension there might be between the two of them. Placing the platter on a bed tray, the drummer set off for the upstairs.

He got more than he bargained for when he came into the bedroom and his wife stood in the doorway to the bathroom in her black lace knits and gave him a seductive stare. The bedroom was shadowed by the curtains sheeted over the windows; reducing the summer's light to a romantic glow.

Tre placed the tray down on the center of the bed and raised his thin eyebrows as his wife walked over to him and flung one arm up on his shoulder and the other, firmly, but not too firmly on his manhood. "I'm going for a shower..." she breathed in his ear, signifying she wanted him to join her.

"You already smell awesome," Tre blurted as he placed his nostrils above his wife's raven hair and took in her distinct sweet aroma. A scent pleasing mixture of Chanel N°5 and Pheromone Perfume, by Marilyn Miglin. He became a little over-excited in the pants and tempted to cave to her advances, but something brought his mind back to the original reason he had come upstairs.

He broke his wife's grasp by pushing her hands away and turning to sit down on the edge of their bed. He let out a sigh as he stared at her standing there before him: tempting, beautiful, goddess-like and untouchable.

Perhaps he was uncomfortable with her gestures, after comments he kept hearing all day long. Whether it be mistakenly hearing his wife over the phone or from the mouth of Green Day's frontman himself.

"What is it?" Rose asked with a displeased and excited tone.

"Rose...I really would like to talk to you," Tre let out suddenly as he could not take his eyes off her breasts and how much he wished he had forgotten everything and was caressing them right this moment.

"Talk about what?" Rose charaded as she threw her hands on her hips as though she were on the defense.

Tre rolled his eyes for a brief moment, taking them off her body. "The secret. Come on Rose..."

"There are no secrets Frank," Rose cooed as she shook her head. "I had a rough day today, that's all. Now you're going to fucking yell at me? You should be comforting me," she incited before calming herself and speaking to a whisper.

"I'm not yell-! I'm not yelling at you...and I'm not going to," Tre promised her sincerely as he soothed his voice. "I just would like to know what the hell today was all about and why everyone's acting so weird all of a sudden. Can't I be in on the secret? Can I know what the hell's changed?"

"Frank, there's no secret," Rose assured him again, this time full out looking him straight in his sapphire blue eyes.

Tre froze as he stared back into her emerald stone resembling eyes and could sense dishonesty and fear. He shook his head and adverted his gaze away from hers. "I'm sorry..." he groaned, wishing to put an end to their constant marital woes.

"Why...why won't you shower with me? What? You don't even want to make love to me anymore? Is it because of today? Did I embarrass you?" Rose questioned her husband as she scratched her arm, feeling immense discomfort.

"Embarrass me?!" Tre exclaimed in an accidental outburst as he continued to shake his head in confusion. "How the fuck...oh God...I just don't get you Rose. Why the hell would I be embarrassed of you?"

"I'm sorry! I guess I was wrong! Jesus Christ, I was trying to make things better between us. By doing this..." she sighed as she pointed to her skimpy black lace getup.

Tre let out a sigh of his own as he suddenly felt overcome with guilt but not so surprisingly, still very turned on by the lingerie she was sporting. "I'm sorry Rose...I guess I kinda wrecked the moment. I'm just feeling so flustered lately over everyone else's flusteredness."

"Yes, you did wreck the moment," Rose nodded seriously before she started to laugh nervously. "It's okay though, I'm very, very sorry too. I love you."

"I love you too," the drummer whispered as he pondered why that extra "very" discomforted him like it did. He simply had to let it go when Rose approached him yet again, this time, only offering him a friendly hug and a peck on the nose.

Rose looked down between the two of them, and at the lower half of her husband's body. She continued to laugh, but now at almost the pitch of a squeal, "That made you a pretty happy boy, didn't it?"

"Yes, yes it did," Tre laughed in return as his cheeks became red and flushed. "Uhh...want some waffles?"

Rose turned her head at a 90° angle; looking past her husband as she took site of the tray of food set down on the bed. She pulled an unintentional grimacing expression on her face as she thought of how she'd have to purge if she'd even touched that bed tray.

"Rose?"

"Hmm? Oh...uh...yeah I guess I'm kinda hungry. Thanks honey," she smiled the most pleasant of smiles.

"Cool," Tre grinned smugly. His tone sounded almost as though he were having an awkward moment whilst meeting a stranger. Which was very odd for an always overly confident Tré Cool. He brought his forehead forth with that continuous grin as he could sense his wife was about to initiate a kiss.

***

Mike arrived home in the early evening and pulled up in the driveway with a two year old Ryan, who had quickly fallen into a heat-induced slumber, in his car seat. Unbuckling him from the safety of the backseat, Mike hammocked his son all the way upstairs and placed him down on his blue Nascar bed, situated in one corner of his sizable nursery.

He gazed down upon the floor and spotted a big black and yellow stuffie staring straight up at him with big white eyes. "Cheerios..." he whispered with a grin as he picked the famous General Mill's bee up off the floor and placed it beside his son. He tucked the bee in beside Ryan like it were another child, knowing how much he loved it.

Mike knew his son would be up all night if he allowed him to sleep now, but this was just fine with him, considering all he wanted to do at this very moment was collapse on his own bed and cry his eyes out.

He gave the boy's forehead a soft kiss and drew back from him with a smile as he tiptoed out of the room.

His light-footed caution began to turn to a careless scuff as he sauntered into his own bedroom, much like he'd thought about it before. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed on top of the cushy duvét, covering his king-sized bed. He let out a sorrowful grunt as he rolled up his eyes and looked out the window, almost directly into the never-setting summer's sun.

"Fuck...what am I gonna do?" he murmured to himself.

As he drew his gaze away from the window, he looked down at the blue plaid duvét cover laid out beneath his buffed sweaty form. He began to wish Rose lay there with him. And like something that took place only once upon a drunken fairytale, Mike knew she and him would never have anything like they once did, again. That was until now.

There she was, in all her entirety, sitting on the edge of his bed adorned in nothing but her soft pale skin and scarce skimpy white lace. Mike sat up and rested his weight on his hands as his eyes pleaded to get a better look at her. A smile spread across his face and he waited for her to speak, but knew he should initiate the conversation first. "What are you doing here?" he asked almost as though he weren't shocked by her presence.

"Frank and I got into a fight. Again. I took a cab," Rose replied as she pulled what appeared to be a cigarette out of her bra and lit up.

"Rose?" Mike asked as he watched her suck on the filter end of the smoke, delicately placed between her index and middle fingers.

"Hmm?" she asked as she broke her seriousness into a smile of a grin. She sat up off the opposite side of the bed and began to walk around it. Mike swung his legs over the edge of the bed before planting his feet on the floor. "You don't smoke, do yo-" He watched as Rose butted her cigarette out on the top of his $750.00 veneer night table with an incredibly luring I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude. He said nothing because all he could do was smile. A smile that turned to quick shock as Rose turned to look at him slowly and placed both her hands on his knees. She exhaled smoke into his face as she dug into those knees and pushed them apart, like her fingernails were the claws of a three hundred and fifty pound tigris.

"Whoa..." Mike gasped suddenly as he looked down and smiled at the raven-haired woman that was throwing herself at him. Her presence was no mystery to Mike. But puzzlingly, he pondered why she was acting this way towards him.

Her husband's best friend.

As she pushed the bassist back on the bed she began to bite at his neck ravenously. Mike was alarmed by her behavior, but beginning to decide he didn't really give or care one iota.

The two: bassist and drummer's wife, rolled around on the silky-soft sheets of his bed for hours, with nothing but the sounds of their: breathing, heartbeats and moans in each other's ears. Something began to disturb Mike in the midst of it all though. As he was about to climax, he felt himself start to twitch uncomfortably and he closed his eyes, knowing he should have been almost there.

This discomfort was caused when he no longer felt Rose's warmth and light weight over his own hips anymore. He reopened his eyes and squinted them as he felt sudden fatigue hit him. The room was now dark and he could see little but the light on the phone blinking on the end table as it rang insesently. "Ah, shit!" Mike shouted as he jumped out of bed, realizing all had been a dream.

Racing to grab the phone, the duvét entangled itself around his foot and tripped him as he struggled to catch himself with the night table. The tall blue-eyed musician landed on the floor with a thud and all that had been on the night table was now with him, on the floor.

"Fuck..." he groaned as he grabbed the phone quickly and answered it; placing it to his left ear; upside down and crooked, no doubt. "H-hello?!" There was no reply, only that destinct dial tone, letting Mike know whomever it was, had already hung up. He groaned again as he threw the phone down, not being dicked enough to bother checking the call display.

As he scrounged around for the light, he discovered in the dark, it too had fallen to the floor. He picked the expensive English lamp up and sat it back upright on the night table and found his original spot on his bed.

He let out a sigh as he looked down at himself, still in the loose fit clothes he'd worn that day, yet now bursting out of the seems of his pants in excitement as he recalled the dream he'd been having. "Fuck..." he groaned again as he began tapping his feet on the floor. He knew how he was going to have to finish it off, and to say the least, it disgruntled the bassist, greatly.

Rolling his eyes, Mike slipped a single hand under his clothes and dropped his head to stare at the floor. Getting only a few seconds into himself, he stopped when something caught his eye and interest.

The phone book lay at his feet. Its eye luring bright yellow pages and bold black text reading 'Escort Service' adverting his attention.

Mike bit his bottom lip as he pulled his hand out of his pants and began to think of Rose. That dream not only really turned him on, but disturbed him with a passion.

Was he to feel guilty for letting such dreams and images of his friend's wife cross and enter his mind? Mike argued with himself about this in his head for what seemed the better part of five minutes. All whilst woody was waitin' for a goody.

Mike shook his head as he tried to blank his mind of everything, even her. The man was craving sex right now like never before, and willing to do almost anything to get it. And to think, it all had started with his undying love and attraction to Rose.

Lifting his buttocks but a few inches off the mattress; Mike lent over and picked up the phone and phone book. He raised his slanted eyebrows with character as he thought of and imagined all the possibilities...