This next one is from a random story that bit me; it's basically just a shameless means to get my crack crossover OTP together. And no, I'm not done writing for today yet, I just felt like snipping early.
Exerpt:
“I’ll go.” Frank blurted out, almost surprised at the sound of his own voice. He cleared his throat softly after, not quite looking at Billie Joe as he continued, but not really looking away either. “That is if you still want to, I’m not the best company when drunk.”
Billie Joe just laughed and waved his hand. “You forget that I’m in a band with Tré fucking Cool, if I can handle him drunk, I can handle anyone.”
This gained a few laughs, most of which were Frank’s as he moved toward the door, grabbing his coat. Billie Joe smiled at him, hopping up off the couch.
“See you guys at sound check tomorrow.”
Gerard waved daintily, holding back a giggle. “You take care of our little Frankie, Billie Joe, bring him back in at least three pieces.”
With a raised middle finger Frank left to go drinking with his idol.
Billie Joe favored wine, it seemed, so as Frank did shot of after shot, Billie Joe did maybe three, though he did sip heavily at his wine glass in between. Frank was well on his way to being completely smashed.
He was almost to the point where he started saying stuff that he really shouldn’t. Up until now his conversations with Billie Joe had been first casual, talking about music and their influences and guitars and the like. Then it had fallen to Billie Joe’s family, Frank supplementing that train with random gushings about Jamia. Now it had moved on to their band mates, which, at least for Frank, was a very dangerous place to tread.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” Billie Joe giggled vaguely, taking another very heavy sip from his glass. “But Mike’s almost ready to propose to Brittney.”
Frank’s eyes, well, at least one of them he was sure, went wide. “Really? Wow… she seems so…”
“Don’t go there, Tré and I already have. But, he’s happy with her, and that’s really all that matters.”
Frank laughed vaguely at this, almost hiccupping after but holding it back. “Sounds a lot like Mikey and Alicia.”
“Bassists!” Billie Joe threw up his arms, almost smacking a tender as he passed with a tray of drinks. This prompted a great fit of drunken laughter from both musicians, Frank smacking the bar top with the palm of one hand. Billie Joe’s laugh was infectious, giddy. He was used to hushed, breathy giggles, not the almost too-loud quality Billie Joe’s carried. It was nice. When Billie Joe laughed he could forget about glowing amber eyes, forget about smooth fingers brushing his cheek. He could just forget.
He was just about to wave the tender behind the bar over again and order another shot when he suddenly felt a weight on his shoulders, the sensation only somewhat familiar. It took a moment for his drunken brain to realize that someone’s arm was draped over him, and that said arm belonged to a rather drunk Billie Joe Armstrong beside him.
Frank felt the backs of his ears color; he glanced out the corner of his eyes at Billie Joe, swallowing a bit. The older man was leaning against him slightly, still giggling, face turned toward him. His warm breath was ghosting over Frank’s cheek, smelling of rich wine and something else, something indefinable. Frank cleared his throat, shifting a bit to reach for his wallet. He wondered briefly why exactly he was trying so hard not to pull away from Billie Joe arm as he did so.
“I need a cigarette.” His own voice sounded so familiar to his ears as he spoke. He felt strange, like the whole of time and space had stopped and it was just he and Billie Joe existing. He pondered vaguely, the train of his thoughts taking a unique turn.
He never wanted this night to end.
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