Rage & Love

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Please. I have no ties to Green Day. They own all the songs as well.

Rage & Love
Part One

"Rage and love
The story of my life."

I tried to say it right, really I did. But sometimes I open my mouth and stuff comes out that I don't mean to. All I wanted to say was that it hurt when he called me a slut. But instead I started screaming and crying and going hysterical and he left.

He left and his cell phone's off and it's been four hours and I'm so fucking worried. He's never been gone longer than two hours after a fight. What if he got in a wreck?

This is all my fault. Mike's in a wreck and probably bleeding to death and it's all because I grabbed that guy's ass at the club. My boyfriend's going to die and it's all my fault.

I hate my life.

*Mike's POV*

I probably shouldn't have called him a slut. It was just some harmless flirting. I know Billie'd never cheat on me.

But I fucking hate it when he starts crying like that. I was never good with tears and I feel so damn helpless when he starts doing that. And when he called the first time I was just so pissed . . . may my cell phone rest in pieces.

He's probably at home completely and totally freaking out and crying and calling Adie to see if I'm over there and then calling Tre who'll call him an idiot because Adie obviously just said I wasn't at their house. And it's all because I called him a slut.

Sometimes I open my mouth and I just say the wrong fucking thing.

Why the fuck are those lights so bright?

*Billie's POV*

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. How can they tell you shit like that over the phone? How can they just say 'Michael Dirnt is in critical condition at St. Mary's Hospital and he's requesting to see you'.

a) It's Mike, not Michael.
b) Mike doesn't request something. He fucking demands it.

Adie's on her way over because I can't fucking drive. I'm crying and my hands are shaking and I drank half a bottle of scotch while Mike was bleeding in a ditch.

This is all my fault.

---

Cause everyone's heart
Doesn't beat the same
We're beating out of time

---

*Billie's POV*

"I didn't mean to. Oh God, Mike, I'm so fucking sorry." And I'm off and crying again and he brings his hand up to my cheek and wipes my tears away with calloused fingertips that, despite their roughness, are so gentle.

"It's my fault, Billie." he says, even as I shake my head. "Yeah, it is. I shouldn't have yelled. Or called you a slut. You're not a slut."

"But I did grab his ass." I clutch at his hand like a two-year-old girl clutches a doll.

Mike rolls his eyes. "I don't care. I was just pissed, but not at you. I just yelled at you."

"Why were you so pissed?"

*Mike's POV*

Damn Billie Joe for asking questions like that.

"I just had a bad day. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

Billie giggles and it's so cute. "We didn't wake up in bed." And he's right. We woke up on the bathroom floor. Actually, I woke up on the bathroom floor. He woke up in the bathtub which was not filled with water, thank God, or he'd be in the hospital bed.

"On the wrong side of the floor then, you freak. Now, are you going to kiss me or what?"

He leans down and brushes his lips against mine softly, but I'm not having any of that. I grasp the back of his head, threading my fingers through his hair, and bite his bottom lip softly before meeting his tongue with mine. His lips are so soft.

"Love you." he says when he pulls away.

The doctor comes in. "Your ankle's not broken. We'll keep you a few more hours, but you should be able to go home after that."

"How's the girl?" I ask.

The doctor shakes his head. "She didn't make it."

*

*Billie's POV*

I don't care how much Mike hurts. Well, I do actually, but sex always makes you forget how guilty you are. And he feels guilty and I feel guilty, so I think we definently need some hot sweaty make up sex.

That's why when he crawls into bed, my hand immediately starts rubbing him through his boxers. His eyes, which were closed, fly open. "Jesus, Billie Joe."

I kiss his neck as my hand teases him to a hard on. "You really didn't think we wouldn't have make up sex, did you?"

"Billie, I just got in a car wreck." Mike says, trying not to enjoy what I'm doing to him.

"I'll be gentle."

"Oh, fuck it."

*Mike's POV*

I had to pick the horniest little fuck out there, didn't I? I should have realized that I might be having sex when I'm not horny after Billie Joe started giving me blowjobs in the eighth grade for doing his homework.

I'm dating a prostitute. I moan. A very skilled prostitute who's hand is now in my boxers, running fingers across the slit of my cock. God, he's good at that.

He finally slips my boxers off and then takes me in his mouth. I put my hand on the back of his head and he takes more of me as I push gently against his scalp. There's nothing as hot as seeing Billie Joe deep throat me. Well, maybe seeing Billie riding me.

Billie starts to hum around my cock and that almost sends me over the edge, but he pulls away.

"Billie . . ."

*Billie's POV*

I know it's going to hurt, especially since I don't plan on using any preparation and the only lubricant is the saliva from the unfinished blowjob I just gave him. But it's my fault he got in the car wreck, so I think I can deal.

"You want me to ride you?" I ask.

"Fuck, yes." he says.

I move so I'm hovering over him, a knee on either side of his hips before I start to lower myself onto him. I try not to wince, but I'm going too fast and he senses it.

"Slow down, Billie." he says. "It's not going anywhere."

But I don't slow down and I'm moving before my muscles have relaxed. I look at Mike.

He's seething.

---

This version is a teeny bit different than the original which is on a forum that doesn't allow porn. It's so fucking sad I could cry.

So...any R&R?