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Fic: Of Bruises and Baby Oil (A Crack!fic Co-op) [1/2]
Fandoms: My Chemical Romance & Green Day (You don't need to like both bands to read it, in fact liking only one band will give you someone to root for)
Title: Of Bruises and Baby Oil
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ladyfoxxx & villiagegreen
Rating: R
Warnings: Consensual athletic violence (think Fight Club)
Length: ~12k. Complete in two parts
Pairings: Frank/Gerard, Billie Joe/Mike, implied blink-and-you'll-miss-it Billie/Gerard
Disclaimer: So completely didn't happen.
Summary: Two skinny, short, slightly femme front men pick a fight. Battle of the century ensues.
Author's Notes: Sovilliagegreen and I decided it would be a good idea to write a fic where Gerard Way and Billie Joe Armstrong fight in a cage. (Don't even ask.) It was huge amounts of fun to write and I'm going to miss seeing new chapters from villiagegreen in my inbox making me smile like a loon. If it isn't obvious she wrote all the Green Day parts, while the MCR fun was mine.
On with the show!
"You know, I'm really not comfortable with this." Under normal circumstances Gerard would be totally down with having Frank rub baby oil all over him. These aren't normal circumstances.
"What, is it the oil? Or the not wearing a shirt part?" Frank's still greasing Gerard's arms as he asks, fingers quick and firm. "Cos the oil's a good idea. He's not gonna be able to get a grip on you, you'll be all slippery."
Gerard just glares at him.
"No, strangely enough Frank, it's the whole cage-fighting thing I kinda have a problem with." Gerard grumbles, grinding his heel into the cruddy burn-marked carpet of the dim little back-room-cum-dressing-room. He can't block out the noise coming from under the door anymore. The rumble of the crowd outside sounds primal to his ears, bloodthirsty, even though it's much the same noise he usually hears before a show. But he's not going out there to sing. He's going out there to fight. And he's never been much of a fighter. Though he has plenty of experience getting beat up and he's really not keen for more.
"Did you see the sign hanging out there? It says Scream For Blood!" Gerard's trying to sound annoyed but it comes out mostly panicked. He lets out a strangled noise, pulling on his hair. "Why the fuck am I doing this again?"
Frank gets up in his face, all hot breathed and indignant.
"He insulted us Gee. Fucking insulted us." Frank grabs up the now-battered copy of Rolling Stone and brandishes it like a placard before flipping it open and reading it at Gerard, spitting fire with every word. "Derivative. Unimaginative."
Gerard's eyes crease to slits, hands clenching into fists.
"Utter tripe. Emo-tard." Frank adds, voice gaining volume and bile.
"He's trying to kill the album. Kill the band." Frank's nearly yelling now, grabbing Gerard by the back of the neck and locking their eyes.
"You're gonna wreck him, right Gee? Fucking take him down."
Yeah, Gerard's thinking. Yeah he can do that. Fuck Billie Joe Armstrong's not that much bigger than him. He looks pretty frail and small. Gerard's all oiled up and hard to grab, and he can use fingernails and elbows and knees and teeth. There's no rules. He can fight dirty. He can do this. He can fucking do this.
He's nearly made it to the door when it hits him again. This is going to hurt. A lot, most likely.
His feet stick on the carpet and he turns back to Frank.
"I just don't see why Bob can't do it. He's way bigger and scarier than me." Fuck is he whining? Yeah he's whining like a little pussy.
"Jesus Gee, Bob's not even over his wrist surgery yet. And you're the fucking frontman. Suck it up."
Gerard's twitching, quivering with flight response and chewing on his hair. He's running a venue blueprint through his head, trying to figure out if there's any stairs between here and the stage - no cage, he could "accidentally" fall on, hurt himself, get out of this. Frank grabs him by the chin.
"You can do this, alright? Do it for us. Do it for your fucking band." Then Frank kisses him so hard their noses bang and their teeth clash. Gerard tastes blood and he knows it's not the last time he'll have that copper tang on his mouth tonight. He wrenches his lips from Frank's, holding him by the throat, breathing heavy when he says,
"Let's do this."
***
Billie is bouncing around the dim lit room, jabbing and spitting at his imagined opponent, doing his best 'karate kid' impression.
“Bill, why the hell are we here, you're going to get hurt.”
“No I'm not, I am going to kick some lily ass is what I'm going to do.” Billie huffs, slapping at Mike's shoulder, trying to keep himself pumped.
Mike takes his wrist, trying to get the man to calm “Let's not be dumb, you aren't a boxer, you are not a ninja, and Gee is a little youn-”
“Don't you fucking say it, don't you DARE! He is barely younger then me, and I am in better shape! Have you seen me!- “ Billie takes to slapping himself on the chest, trying to look formidable, “and after everything we have done for them! We took them on one of the biggest tours of our lives! I bought them beer! And I offer a little constructive criticism...”
“You called them 'emo-tards'.”
“CONSTRUCTIVE CRITISISM and they have the gall to call US out, to challenge us!”
“You're the one who decided cage match.”
“Mikey, Mikey, Mikey..... I have to, it must be done. I'm the king of punk rock... I must protect the throne!” Billie shouts, taking once again to fighting the air.
Mike flops on the worn out sofa next to Tre, adjusting uncomfortably on worn metal springs, “This is pointless, if you even can kick this kid's ass, what does that prove? Nothing.”
“I think you are going to break him.” Tre says, trying to sound supportive, “Do you want to borrow my Snoo mask?”
Billie looks like he is giving it honest thought, “Nope, I think I will do fine with out getting all Mexican wrestler on that little fucker.”
Billie takes to inspecting his frame in a cracked mirror, scowling and growling at trying to look a little bit less like his pale thin self. Looking into the reflection he spies his friends over his shoulder, staring at him like he has completely lost his marbles. He flicks back to his own eyes, rubbing at them with his fingers, trying to smear them till they look more bad ass and less sephora.
“I can beat this guy right, I'm not kidding myself?” Billie sighs, a little less resolute then a few moments ago.
Tre gives him an eager thumbs up and Mike stands crossing the dingy room, wrapping lanky arms around Billie's waist.
“Billie, you will kick the dog-shit out of him.”
“But, you were right, he has a few years on me and...”
“Listen... listen to all those screaming people, I know what that noise does to you, use it and you will do fine babe, make me proud.”
Billie smiles at him in the glass, craning his neck to plant a kiss on his cheek, “Thanks Mikey.”
“Just come back to me in one piece, I mean a few bruises is pretty ok.... just don't let him bite your ear off or anything.” Mike smirks.
Billie laughs, “I'll try my best.”
Mike unlatches his arms and pats Billie's shoulders, 'Come on, we need to get you ready for this, you are going to murder that little prick right?”
Billie breaths deep and begins bouncing on the balls of his feet “Totally.”
“Float like a fairy, sting like a bumble bee!” Tre cheers, gaining a look of perplexed interest from his band mates.
Mike feels the little light bulb go off over his head, “I'm pretty sure the last time we saw them, Gerard made a pass at me.”
“THAT LITTLE SON OF A BITCH!”
***
The dressing room door slams open and Gerard emerges, hoping he looks tougher than he feels. His bandmates and manager are loitering in the hallway and from the way they startle and look over at him guiltily he knows they were talking about him. Probably about the insanity of this whole thing and he's likely to agree with every word.
They're all staring at him like they haven't seen him shirtless and covered in oil before. Which, of course, they haven't. Bob's trying really hard not to look, Ray just looks uncomfortable, Brian's smirking like this is the funniest thing he's seen in a long time and, hey, hang on -
"Where's Mikey?" The greasy man demands.
Ray starts to say something, looking apologetic and jesus fuck if Gerard doesn't nearly lose his shit over that. If Gerard's not allowed to punk out on this then his brother certainly fucking isn't either. He's about to let loose and wail on about support and showing a united front when-
"I'm here, I'm here, I'm here!" Mikey races down the hallway and catches Gerard in a tight hug.
"I'm sorry. I nearly didn't make it." Mikey's voice is muffled into Gerard's shoulder. "Ew, gross. What are you covered in?"
"Don't ask." Gerard laughs abruptly. Frank launches himself at them both and then they're all getting in on the hug - Ray, Brian and even Bob too.
They're all just a mess of arms and chests and hands when "Thank You For Then Venom" starts blaring out of the auditorium speakers. The crowd starts screaming their fucking lungs out.
That's Gerard's cue. The scrum slowly comes apart, all eyes on him.
"I guess this is it then." Gerard sounds way too unsure for a guy who's about to fight someone. In a cage.
"Fucking kill him. " Frank slaps him in the chest, then they all start shoving him towards the screaming, till he's striding ahead of them down the hallway, all attitude. The guys keep him pumped, supplying him with plenty of insults to use and a variety of reasons why Billie Joe Armstrong is cunt who needs to take a dive.
The stage doors burst open and Gerard's hemmed in on all sides by screaming, howling, spitting fans. The crowd are in a pink fit, crying bloody murder, barely being held back by a team of burly security crew. Gerard can't help thinking that the security guards look a lot more suited to being in a cage fight than his own self. He'd be more at home in a dress, maybe doing some needlepoint, whatever.
The crowd must be divided based on who they support, because on his left it's all blood spittin' hatred, while his right hand side is hysteria, all tears, running eyeliner and reaching hands. The band shove their way through the crush, security crew barely keeping them unmolested. Frank's got two fingers hooked in Gerard's belt loops, keeping him close.
"So gimme all your poison, and gimme all your pills,"
Frank starts singing along with the track, now there's an idea. Gerard joins in and by the time they make it to the raised dias of the cage the whole band's joined in, screaming out the words, half the crowd behind them. Now that's fucking solidarity.
"You're running after something you can never kill! If this is what you want then fire at will!" Gerard shrieks at what's he's figured out is the non-Green Day section of the crowd. He doesn't have a mic and he doesn't even care. He spins on his heel, letting them see where Frank's written "REVENGE" across his back in sharpie. They howl at him appreciatively and he can feel it, that familiar adrenaline rush thrumming up from his feet to his temples. Now he just has to channel it into his fists.
He glances over at Frank as the song rattles to a close. He's flushed and panting, his eyes afire. It's a rush and they're both terrified, but fucked if they're gonna back down now.
Frank grabs him by the back of the head, pressing there foreheads together, close enough that Gerard can hear his voice over the baying of the fans.
"Don't fucking die okay?"
Gerard figures he can only do his best.
****
“Fuck, Fuck, FUCK!” Billie shouts, hearing the roar of the crowd and the music kick in, “This is really happening isn't it?”
Mike nods and Billie takes his bouncing pace from 'caffeinated squirrel' to 'meth addicted hummingbird'. In the uncovered bulb of the back room, Billie's thin coating of sweat starts to show.
“You are going to show him who's king bitch around here, I know you got it in you, after all, you would never have gotten yourself into this mess if you couldn't get yourself out.” Mike says, voice holding a bit of promise.
Billie's hands clench and unclench, forming tiny quick fists, “Fuck me rotten, I need a smoke.”
Tre digs through Billie’s jacket, turning it from a neatly folded square of fabric into a tangled mess. He tosses Billie the pack and the jittery man, who quickly moves to light up, throwing the rest of the pack back. Billie notices he doesn't have the ever present lump of metal in his back pocket, “Mikey, I need my...”
Mike beat him to the punch, holding out Billie's zippo lit and ready to go, Billie cracks a bright smile for the first time in an hour. “God damn I love you.”
Mike's eyes flash wide and bright, “Before you go out babe, you gotta do this,” pulling out his cellphone and dialling furiously then pressing the plastic doo-dad to Billie's ear.
“Mike?”
“No, it's me.”
Billie hears the smile in the voice on the other side of the line, “I'm still mad you didn't let me come.”
“Sorry, But you know Mike has his eyes on me...”
“Tell Mike if you come home dead I'm castrating him,” the voice is serious.
“Mikey, if I come home dead you are getting castrated.” Billie repeats. Mike cups his crotch in mock fear.
“You are going to shove his balls down his throat for me, right babydoll?”
“For you, anything” Billie felt his back bone straighten.
“I Love you Billie Joe.”
“I Love you to 80.”
Billie shuts the phone, passing it back and moving his fingers to busy themselves on fiddling with his cigarette. Mike wraps a protective arm around the spastic waist, “Come on, we should head out, their song is almost up, and that means...”
“That means I get my moment in the sun before going all Tarantino on this little prick.” Billie states squarely.
Mike gives little push and they spill into the hallway, meeting with their tiny cheering section of band mates, two men slouching against a wall in matching red shirts.
“Break his neck.” says Freese.
“Piss on his grave.” adds White.
The Jasons take to poking Billie's ribs and ruffling his hair, Billie bats the probing hands away, “Thanks for coming guys, I like having the support.”
Jason smiles and gives Billie a push, “You don't need us for that, hear the ... you know.... mad half of that racket? That's the half that's going to lose their shit when you walk out there.”
Billie closes his eyes and tunes into the buzz, so much angrier and raw then the crowds he was used to hearing. The speakers quiet a moment and a new track flips on, a familiar garble of noise. Jasons both force their hands once more in his hair, Tre nervously pulls him into a hug, leaving a chaste kiss on his cheek, “Give 'em hell Billie Joe.”
Billie plants a fraternal kiss on Tre's forehead, finally turning to the door, Mike still latched on his waist, fingers gripping a bit tighter.
They push through the door and everything is loud and bright, screams pierce his ears and wide green eyes have a fit looking at groping hands and blood thirsty strangers. He is quick to put his scary face back on, forcing his brow to wrinkle and pout to suck in a bit.
'As God as my witness, the infidels are gonna pay' the speakers sing, a voice Billie thought sounded cool when they recorded it, but now feels silly and weak.
“I should’ve picked a better song.” Billie screams into Mike's ear.
“Stop worrying about stupid shit, you little control freak.” Mike shouts back with a smirk, going in for a firm kiss.
Mike slides his arm free, leaving Billie with a swift smack on the ass, “You got this, Bill.” he says, trying his best to be heard over the sea of maniacs.
Billie studies the crowd as they walk out, one side’s attention is focusing mainly on the skinny figures a good deal away, them, who had already come out. A few strays on that side bother to turn abouts and throw him the bird and actually start throwing the beer cans. Billie and the gang inch instinctively away, into the reaching fingertips of those who seem to be on their side.
Billie looks into these faces more carefully, these are the kinda people who attend shows, men with tattoos, angsty boys, and a surprising about of snarling young women. It's obvious a good deal are drunk, many raising fists to the music pumped in on a bad sound system, they all looked ready to go to war for him, and it is unnerving.
'Nope, this is good-' Billie tells himself, '-I am going to ruin this kid, and then all these fuckers are going to want to buy me a drink', Billie lets his eyes flick back to those who are obviously not his people, '... And these ones will tear my skin off.... Armstong, what have you done to yourself?'
Realizing these thoughts are doing nothing for him, Billie turns to his crowd, his flock, raising his arms and gaining a loud cheer. He feels his nerves buzz at the adoration, this he needs, this charges his battery, this is what’s going to save his ass tonight.
Billie turns back to his mates, receiving a messy salute from his fellas. Finally he’s got the nerve to turn to the cage that stands before him, the giant fight sized cage,... a cage where he plans to fight a guy who has a few years on him.
Needing another vote of confidence, Billie yanks the back of his pants down, flashing his army his pasty backside and gaining a cry of support.
“ ...Death to the ones at the end of the serenade...”
Billie recovers himself, dropping the butt of his smoke and putting on a wicked smirk, “Piece of fuckin' cake.”
* * *
The cage gate slams closed with a bang. In a completely unnecessary move, one of the hulking security guards wraps a thick chain through the opening, locking it with an enormous padlock. Down the other end of the arena, another security guard padlocks the second gate. This is really happening.
Gerard is alone, in a giant cage, with a man who wants to do him harm. There is no way out. It's somewhat terrifying.
His breaths are loud in his ears as he dares to look over at his opponent. Billie's face is a mask a hate, scowling at Gerard. He's bouncing lightly on his feet, almost like a boxer and it's making Gerard a little nervous.
Insanely, he feels like they're characters in a computer game, Mortal Kombat or suchlike, with life-bars and three button combos. He feels like he should have some signature move to do, some sort of arm-swirling kick-pose thing that would make the crowd scream and make Billie Joe shit his pants in terror. But he doesn't.
He shakes himself out, tempted to start bouncing like Billie but doesn't want to look like he's copying. Instead, he plants his hands on his hips, cocks his head to one side and does his best "is that it?" look, like he's not fucking terrified of what's to come and he's in no way intimidated by Billie and his fucking bouncing and his smeared eyeliner and his "I'm gonna kill you" pout.
A voice bellows out over the loud speaker.
"Gerard Way, are you ready?"
Gerard raises his hand to the air like he was told to do, hoping the trembling isn't noticeable from a distance. His heart's beating so fast he feels lightheaded, so he just takes big breaths, forcing it out, trying to look tough as he does so and having no idea if it's working. The crowd's screaming is at fever pitch now, like they can smell the blood to come.
"Billie Joe Armstrong, are you ready?" The loudspeaker hollers and Billie Joe throws his hand up fast, doesn't even hesitate, like he just can't wait to get into this. The Green Day contingent roars its approval and Billie spits on the ground, still bouncing, still glaring.
"Three, two, one..." The crowd chants along, screaming out the countdown, then the announcer calls, "Fight!" and a siren blares and before Gerard really has time to process Billie is rushing at him in a flat out run.
Not wanting to look chicken Gerard rushes forward also until they crash together in the middle of the cage, Billie's hands finding Gerard's neck and shoulder and all Gerard can do is grab his opponent by the wrists and try to pull him off. The baby oil helps to some degree and he gets Billie's hand off his neck, fingernails scraping as he does, leaving a long scratch down Gerard's chest.
Billie wrenches his hand free of Gerard's grip, pulling back and letting fly with a punch that strikes Gerard so hard across the cheekbone he can feel each knuckle individually. His head jolts backwards as pain blossoms in his cheek.
Lucky punch, it was a lucky punch, he tells himself as he forces himself upright again and Billie lands another lucky punch on his other cheek. Gerard falls forward, hands on his face and fuck if he isn't flashing back to a hundred other times he's been in this position, helpless and getting beaten on by some older fucker with a point to prove. His entire high school life flashes past him, so he takes the face of every mother fucker who ever hit him and places it over Billie's in his mind.
Then he straightens and turns as fast as his muscles can move, cocking Billie in the face with his elbow. He feels the shock of the impact jar up his arm and watches with a sick kind of pleasure as Billie's head cocks back, spit flying from his mouth. In the moment it takes Billie to recover Gerard lands a punch on him, right in the guts and he doubles over clutching his middle.
Gerard's not sure what to do for a moment, Billie's bent double and there's no obvious place to land another hit on him. He's about to grab his opponent by the arm and pull him upright for more punishment, when Billie makes his move. He flies up, throwing his arm out as he does, backhanding Gerard so hard across the jaw it sends him spinning.
It takes real effort to fight the inertia and pull himself to a stop. He turns around and gets a face full of scowling angry frontman as Billie grabs him again, trying to shove him back against the cage, but he's slippery, squirming out of Billie's grip and throwing a flailing punch that barely makes impact.
Billie has another go, successful this time, throwing Gerard backwards against the cage so hard he can feel the crosswire leaving it's mark on his back. Then Billie's up in his face, going for his throat and Gerard's reaching out blindly, pulling at Billie's hair and trying to land a punch in his side, but the fence is in the way, he can't pull his arm back far enough to put any force in behind it.
The hand around his throat is squeezing and breathing's getting hard. He's starting to see stars, arms getting weaker and less useful. Somewhere distantly he can hear the baying crowd and he thinks he can pick out Frank's voice above all the others, screaming at him to just kill, fucking kill him. It's starting to get dicey when he gives up on the weak punches and plants his second hand into Billie's hair, holding firm as he cocks his head forward, praying real hard that's he's doing it right.
The headbutt catches Billie well off-guard, he goes flying backwards, losing his grip on Gerard's throat. Gerard's still a bit dizzy but he grabs at his advantage and lunges forward, backhanding Billie across the face. Billie stumbles sideways and Gerard shoves him hard, sending him flying downwards, barely getting his hands in front of him as he hits the ground. Gerard kicks him in the guts and hears Billie groan and half the crowd booing and shrieking abuse. Sure, the fight might be anything goes but he did just kick a man while he was down. He's considering whether to do it again or try something else when Billie's arms lock around his legs and shove, sending him flying sideways.
He hits the ground hard, shoulder and elbow taking the worst of the impact. He rolls onto his back, eyes searching for Billie when he's suddenly upon him, straddling him at the waist and back handing his face. Gerard can taste blood now, feel it rolling down his jaw from a split lip as Billie hits him again. Instinctively his arms fly up to cover his face, elbows forward and the next backhand hits his bicep instead.
Before Billie has a chance to pry Gerard's arms open and hit him again Gerard's in motion. He let's fly with his right arm, punching forward blindly and hitting what feels like Billie's neck. While Billie's reeling Gerard surges up, shoving Billie backwards, flipping them both over so he's on top now, holding the older man down with an elbow across his chest and his arms trapped above his head.
They struggle like that for a few moment, panting and growling at each other. Gerard's sweating and bleeding and it's dripping down on Billie's face as he scowls up at him. Billie's struggling, shifting around, trying to buck Gerard off and it's taking a lot of effort for Gerard to not think about what this reminds him of. What with the full body contact and the chest rubbing and the friction and the panting. Not it's really not like that.
He shoves Billie back down, hearing the smack of his back hitting the concrete.
The announcer's voice comes over the loudspeaker, counting down.
"Ten, nine, eight..." The crowd joins in, screaming it out. Gerard's just gotta hold him seven more seconds to win this round.
Billie knows and he shoves up at him, getting one hand free and palming Gerard's face. Gerard shoves him back down, pressing harder into his chest with his elbow and Billie can't hide his wincing now.
"Six, five, four, three..." The chanting’s getting louder, littered with screams for Gerard to hold on, hold that fucker down while the Green Day supporters scream at Billie to get up, fight back, get the fuck up.
Billie makes one last effort to throw Gerard off him, bucking up and wrenching at Gerard's hair. Gerard holds firm, backhanding him for his trouble and Billie's spitting out blood onto the concrete when they get to zero.
The crowd go fucking nuts.
Gerard's releases his hold and gets up as quick as he can, wanting to put distance between himself and Billie immediately. He stalks over to his band without a backwards glance, thrumming with adrenaline and blood and triumph. He faces off his wall of supporters throwing his arms in the air and they scream at him, howling their approval. He shakes the fence at them and kicks at it and they scream back harder.
The padlocks come off and Gerard kicks the cage open. He's barely stepped out when Frank leaps on him all arms and legs and lips and they're kissing messy and hard and fuck his split lip is hurting from it but he can't bring himself to care.
"Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, I knew you could fucking do it!" Frank's yelling into his face and kissing him everywhere. Gerard's covered in sweat and oil and blood and it's getting all over Frank. When he pulls back to look at him there's a smear of Gerard's blood on his cheek.
"It's only round one." Gerard reminds him, pressing their foreheads together.
"You did it once you can do it again." Frank's all confidence. "Come on, get ready." He drags Gerard into the waiting circle of his band where there's congratulatory pats and cold sponges to his aching cheeks and cool water on his tongue. As the adrenaline dissipates he can feel the burn of his injuries calling louder, so many parts of his body throbbing hot with pain.
He can't help looking past his cluster of supporters to the other side of the arena, watching Billie Joe and his crew.
He can't help wondering whether Frank's right. If he really can do this again.
****
“What in the blue hell.... did he break your nose?” White whispers, poking at Billie's bloodied cheek.
“Jesus! Can you breathe? He punched you in the THROAT!” Freese states, wide eyed.
Tre winces at his friend's poor shape and passes Mike a water bottle. Billie is sitting up between Mike's legs, obviously a bit winded but still punchy, fingers fidgeting and eyes that communicate he’s only just barely letting Mike attend to him. Mike is carefully wiping at Billie's face, happily surprised and disgusted that a majority of the thick red plasma is not coming from him but in fact dripped on him from his opponent. Billie feels his heart race as Mike fiddles with the bottle, the rapid thump leaves him with no patience, he yanks the bottle to himself even though his hands are throbbing and he pops off the cap.
“Relax.” Mike lectures, taking the water and holding it for Bill. Billie tries to shoot him a look, but craning his neck aches and he reaches for his own throat, rubbing at the burn. Mike once again bats Billie's hand away from any kind of work and presses fingertips in firm little circles around the budding bruise. Billie lets out a low “Ooooooh…” and a fresh pearl of blood rolls down his chin. Four sets of eyes lock on that little drop.
“So that's where all that blood was coming from.” Mike muses. Billie awkwardly pats his chin and shoves fingers in his mouth. He winces like a kicked puppy and pulls his fingers loose, a little rock sits in his digits, “Fucker broke a tooth... well fucker cracked a tooth, I guess I broke it.” Three sets of eyes are in shock at the calming man holding his own tooth getting recoated in blood, Mike smiles a little, at least his baby still has a sense of humor.
“How you feeling Bill, he got you pretty good out there?” Mike asks as softly as he can over the scream of fans wanting the two thrown back to each other. He pushes Billie forward a bit, cleaning long red scrapes from being thrown on the cement. Mike nods to Tre and he grabs a sponge, helping to get the sweat and blood off the competitor.
Billie speaks with gravel in his voice, “Fuck, I hurt ... But I can go again, I feel a little buzzed y'know? Endorphiney?..... Gerard got lucky.” Billie speaks and more blood drops spill free, Tre goes to wipe them away and Billie inches out of the way, licking his lips like an animal, stealing his water back to take a swig and spit the rosy fluid on the floor.
Mike takes a breath between inspecting every blemish on Billie to notice the fact that his hands are getting greasy, “What does that kid eat? He sweats lard or something...”
Billie barely notices as he broods, but the others show interest as Mike wrings his hands. Tre grabs the skinny fingers and sniffs, “That's baby oil dipshit.... Way greased himself up? What is this? American Gladiators?”
Billie grimaces, trying to process that what he interpreted as sweat was in fact a goo found in nurseries and strip club kiddie pools.
Mike rolls his eyes and goes back to work, time is flitting and he refuses to let Billie go if something is seriously wrong. He wipes softly at a large pink welt on Billie's stomach and the man trembles, the surprise to the reaction is easily read on Mike's face, “You said 'endorphiney' right? Like.... you know, do you mean.... that kind of endorphiney ....”
Billie finally inches about to look Mike in the wide bright blues, “Ya...kinda.... are you mad at me?”
Billie's brain flashes back to getting mugged, getting beat up and held up at gun point, how bad it scared him, how close to death he felt, but he also flashes back to running home to Mike, and embracing him and kissing every inch of flesh because he felt more alive then ever before.
He’s feeling that same adrenaline sting, y'know, it can't be helped.
The Jasons avert their gaze, whistling to themselves and creating the perfect image of feigned innocence, Tre turns away also, but his distraction is trying to catch a peek of the crazy little brat who got slicked up for this shit.
Mike can tell Billie's breath is slow and unforced, his heart is racing, thumping through his chest, Mike lets some of his tact fall away and he presses a hand to Billie's groin, he isn't hard but his body is definitely interested in something, “No, I'm not mad, use it, show that fucker who's boss... I'll make it worth your while.” Mike sighs right into Billie's ear.
Billie smiles through red sore lips, “You better, if my luck keeps up, I will end up in a full body cast and I won't even be able to masturbate.”
Billie feels his pride pick itself back up, he can do this, he can make round two, he can at least survive round two.
“Hey Mr. And Mr. Uncomfortable-moment, um look....” Billie and Mike look up at Tre who is pointing across the room, Billie looks over and a blood smeared face turns away quickly.
Tre sounds surprised, “I think you spooked him.”
Speakers blare with a disembodied voice, “Opponents, Round Two.”
Billie stands quickly, ready for a bit of revenge. Mike scrambles for his feet and pulls Billie around to face him before darting back to the cage, “You are going to show that cocky little fuck who owns his ass... I know you will.”
“You better be right.”
Mike goes in for a kiss, stopping short when his brain remembers the blood and shattered tooth, moving instead to plant one firmly on the warm purple bruise on his neck. Billie groans but doesn't so much as shiver. Billie runs a hand through Mike's hair, knowing he is more nervous then himself.
Billie slips away, grinning and spitting at his own side of the crowd, trying to rile them up, and he is greeted only with solid cheers. Billie takes off, trying to beat Gerard to the ring, trying to prove that round one isn't going to bother him.
He is completely annoyed when Gerard beats him by a solid 36 seconds. That traitorous little son of a whore, Billie once liked this guy, gave him advice, introduced him to family, and now Billie is coming in as underdog in some kind of Chuck Palahniuk wet dream.
“Billie Joe Armstrong, are you ready?” 'what the hell, you only live once' Billie thinks, throwing his arms in the air, smiling wolfishly wide with blood coated teeth.
“Gerard Way, are you ready?” The kid throws his arms up, looking more focused than last time, less worried.
'I'll give you something to worry about' Billie thinks, trying to rile himself up to that chemical high of fight-or-flight.
If Tre thinks he's scared, why not push it?
“GOOD LUCK GEE!” Billie shrieks across the cage as they face off, eyes wide and trying to look as frenzied as possible.
Gerard cocks an eyebrow, his focus at least rattled.
“Three! Two! One!” and the siren wails, time to stop fucking around.
He tries to avoid repeating his round one experience (because that went so well), and he lets Gerard come to him, running zero to sixty at him. Billie's bet pays off, Gerard's own inertia adds weight to shoving his shoulder into the other man's solar plexus. Gerard gasp is audible over the crowd and he grabs his stomach, trying to catch his breath, Billie catches him on the chin with a closed fist and the kid stumbles, falling to the cement.
Billie feels his pride well, just a bit, until that is a kick to the shin or a lucky flail brings him down on top of Gerard. Gerard recovers too quick and gets a fist full of Billie's hair, pulling his head down to the cement.
Billie feels his gut wrench as his vision fades for a moment and the kid scuffles about to stand. He blinks heavily as he feels a gush of blood trickle into his eye. Panicking, Billie reaches out and grabs the waist band of Gerard's pants, yanking him down and giving Billie the opportunity to try to get him in some kinda pin.
Billie goes for his shoulders, trying to push him to the concrete, but he fights back, snatching Billie by the wrists and holding him off. The two grapple, feeling almost trapped in a stale mate. They push and grip at each other’s arms and shoulders, each trying to force the other into that all important position. Gerard is the first to get his hand loose and strikes Billie hard across his face, eyes sewing shut in pain.
Billie feels his brain flood with panic, it's all happening again only faster, he starts strong and ends up with Gerard hovering over him and holding him down. Hands move to subdue his forearms but Billie refuses, forcing a knee between him and his antagonist. Gerard gags and huffs, diaphragm still contracting in pain. Billie can see the water in his eyes and uses all the strength in his legs to push him off.
Billie juts to push himself onto Gerard, almost kneeling on his back trying to keep the air out of his lungs. Hands blindly reach out for him and Billie deliriously trying his best to corral them, shoving nails into wrist and yanking, pushing his weight down to protect himself from the wild thrashing. Gerard thrusts his head back with a snap and Billie (in the least manly way possible) yelps in surprise, narrowly avoiding another headbutt.
Billie glares at the back of sweat-slicked hair, using your own cranium is as a weapon is a dirty fucking trick in his book Billie decides, noticing he is having a harder and harder time keeping him down.
'Come on mystery announcer man, start that whole numbers bit' Billie curses in his mind.
Billie thinks of something he hasn't thought of as a fighting tactic since kindergarten, he can't believe he's about to do this to another grown man in the name of fisticuffs.
One of Gerard's hands gets loose and starts to pry at anything it can get a grip on, leaving scratches on Billie's side and face.
Billie takes it as a sign of now or never and bites broken tooth and all into Gerard's neck. Billie can't tell if it's his or the kid's blood but it's there and Gerard is tense, obviously what Billie is doing it making it even harder to breath, the free hand tries to force fingers in Billie's mouth, tries to get canines out of thin skin.
“Ten, nine...”
Billie holds his throbbing jaw tight, he can do this. The crowd is loud in his ears but he can't tell anything more than volume, his own pulse in his ears is all he can even begin to decipher.
“Five, Four…”
Gerard's desperate fingers do their job, shoving Billie's face back.
The crowd is less pure noise and words are formed, it's too late.
“Two, one, zero!”
Billie quickly rolls off his opponent, looking up at the lights above them, he blinks and notices one eye is throbbing, is it going to blacken or was it from the blood oozing into it, he wipes at it and it stings. He sits up and Gerard is looking at him with a mix of disgust and shock. Billie stands, 'It would be sporting of me to help him up' Billie thinks as he turns, hurrying quickly to his side of the room, out of the cage.
“Mikey, get me a cigarette!” Billie calls out over the spastic crowd, ready to revel while thinking about how there is no way in hell he can pull that off again.
***
Concluded in part two
Title: Of Bruises and Baby Oil
Authors:
ladyfoxxx & villiagegreen Rating: R
Warnings: Consensual athletic violence (think Fight Club)
Length: ~12k. Complete in two parts
Pairings: Frank/Gerard, Billie Joe/Mike, implied blink-and-you'll-miss-it Billie/Gerard
Disclaimer: So completely didn't happen.
Summary: Two skinny, short, slightly femme front men pick a fight. Battle of the century ensues.
Author's Notes: So
villiagegreen and I decided it would be a good idea to write a fic where Gerard Way and Billie Joe Armstrong fight in a cage. (Don't even ask.) It was huge amounts of fun to write and I'm going to miss seeing new chapters from villiagegreen in my inbox making me smile like a loon. If it isn't obvious she wrote all the Green Day parts, while the MCR fun was mine.On with the show!
"You know, I'm really not comfortable with this." Under normal circumstances Gerard would be totally down with having Frank rub baby oil all over him. These aren't normal circumstances.
"What, is it the oil? Or the not wearing a shirt part?" Frank's still greasing Gerard's arms as he asks, fingers quick and firm. "Cos the oil's a good idea. He's not gonna be able to get a grip on you, you'll be all slippery."
Gerard just glares at him.
"No, strangely enough Frank, it's the whole cage-fighting thing I kinda have a problem with." Gerard grumbles, grinding his heel into the cruddy burn-marked carpet of the dim little back-room-cum-dressing-room. He can't block out the noise coming from under the door anymore. The rumble of the crowd outside sounds primal to his ears, bloodthirsty, even though it's much the same noise he usually hears before a show. But he's not going out there to sing. He's going out there to fight. And he's never been much of a fighter. Though he has plenty of experience getting beat up and he's really not keen for more.
"Did you see the sign hanging out there? It says Scream For Blood!" Gerard's trying to sound annoyed but it comes out mostly panicked. He lets out a strangled noise, pulling on his hair. "Why the fuck am I doing this again?"
Frank gets up in his face, all hot breathed and indignant.
"He insulted us Gee. Fucking insulted us." Frank grabs up the now-battered copy of Rolling Stone and brandishes it like a placard before flipping it open and reading it at Gerard, spitting fire with every word. "Derivative. Unimaginative."
Gerard's eyes crease to slits, hands clenching into fists.
"Utter tripe. Emo-tard." Frank adds, voice gaining volume and bile.
"He's trying to kill the album. Kill the band." Frank's nearly yelling now, grabbing Gerard by the back of the neck and locking their eyes.
"You're gonna wreck him, right Gee? Fucking take him down."
Yeah, Gerard's thinking. Yeah he can do that. Fuck Billie Joe Armstrong's not that much bigger than him. He looks pretty frail and small. Gerard's all oiled up and hard to grab, and he can use fingernails and elbows and knees and teeth. There's no rules. He can fight dirty. He can do this. He can fucking do this.
He's nearly made it to the door when it hits him again. This is going to hurt. A lot, most likely.
His feet stick on the carpet and he turns back to Frank.
"I just don't see why Bob can't do it. He's way bigger and scarier than me." Fuck is he whining? Yeah he's whining like a little pussy.
"Jesus Gee, Bob's not even over his wrist surgery yet. And you're the fucking frontman. Suck it up."
Gerard's twitching, quivering with flight response and chewing on his hair. He's running a venue blueprint through his head, trying to figure out if there's any stairs between here and the stage - no cage, he could "accidentally" fall on, hurt himself, get out of this. Frank grabs him by the chin.
"You can do this, alright? Do it for us. Do it for your fucking band." Then Frank kisses him so hard their noses bang and their teeth clash. Gerard tastes blood and he knows it's not the last time he'll have that copper tang on his mouth tonight. He wrenches his lips from Frank's, holding him by the throat, breathing heavy when he says,
"Let's do this."
***
Billie is bouncing around the dim lit room, jabbing and spitting at his imagined opponent, doing his best 'karate kid' impression.
“Bill, why the hell are we here, you're going to get hurt.”
“No I'm not, I am going to kick some lily ass is what I'm going to do.” Billie huffs, slapping at Mike's shoulder, trying to keep himself pumped.
Mike takes his wrist, trying to get the man to calm “Let's not be dumb, you aren't a boxer, you are not a ninja, and Gee is a little youn-”
“Don't you fucking say it, don't you DARE! He is barely younger then me, and I am in better shape! Have you seen me!- “ Billie takes to slapping himself on the chest, trying to look formidable, “and after everything we have done for them! We took them on one of the biggest tours of our lives! I bought them beer! And I offer a little constructive criticism...”
“You called them 'emo-tards'.”
“CONSTRUCTIVE CRITISISM and they have the gall to call US out, to challenge us!”
“You're the one who decided cage match.”
“Mikey, Mikey, Mikey..... I have to, it must be done. I'm the king of punk rock... I must protect the throne!” Billie shouts, taking once again to fighting the air.
Mike flops on the worn out sofa next to Tre, adjusting uncomfortably on worn metal springs, “This is pointless, if you even can kick this kid's ass, what does that prove? Nothing.”
“I think you are going to break him.” Tre says, trying to sound supportive, “Do you want to borrow my Snoo mask?”
Billie looks like he is giving it honest thought, “Nope, I think I will do fine with out getting all Mexican wrestler on that little fucker.”
Billie takes to inspecting his frame in a cracked mirror, scowling and growling at trying to look a little bit less like his pale thin self. Looking into the reflection he spies his friends over his shoulder, staring at him like he has completely lost his marbles. He flicks back to his own eyes, rubbing at them with his fingers, trying to smear them till they look more bad ass and less sephora.
“I can beat this guy right, I'm not kidding myself?” Billie sighs, a little less resolute then a few moments ago.
Tre gives him an eager thumbs up and Mike stands crossing the dingy room, wrapping lanky arms around Billie's waist.
“Billie, you will kick the dog-shit out of him.”
“But, you were right, he has a few years on me and...”
“Listen... listen to all those screaming people, I know what that noise does to you, use it and you will do fine babe, make me proud.”
Billie smiles at him in the glass, craning his neck to plant a kiss on his cheek, “Thanks Mikey.”
“Just come back to me in one piece, I mean a few bruises is pretty ok.... just don't let him bite your ear off or anything.” Mike smirks.
Billie laughs, “I'll try my best.”
Mike unlatches his arms and pats Billie's shoulders, 'Come on, we need to get you ready for this, you are going to murder that little prick right?”
Billie breaths deep and begins bouncing on the balls of his feet “Totally.”
“Float like a fairy, sting like a bumble bee!” Tre cheers, gaining a look of perplexed interest from his band mates.
Mike feels the little light bulb go off over his head, “I'm pretty sure the last time we saw them, Gerard made a pass at me.”
“THAT LITTLE SON OF A BITCH!”
***
The dressing room door slams open and Gerard emerges, hoping he looks tougher than he feels. His bandmates and manager are loitering in the hallway and from the way they startle and look over at him guiltily he knows they were talking about him. Probably about the insanity of this whole thing and he's likely to agree with every word.
They're all staring at him like they haven't seen him shirtless and covered in oil before. Which, of course, they haven't. Bob's trying really hard not to look, Ray just looks uncomfortable, Brian's smirking like this is the funniest thing he's seen in a long time and, hey, hang on -
"Where's Mikey?" The greasy man demands.
Ray starts to say something, looking apologetic and jesus fuck if Gerard doesn't nearly lose his shit over that. If Gerard's not allowed to punk out on this then his brother certainly fucking isn't either. He's about to let loose and wail on about support and showing a united front when-
"I'm here, I'm here, I'm here!" Mikey races down the hallway and catches Gerard in a tight hug.
"I'm sorry. I nearly didn't make it." Mikey's voice is muffled into Gerard's shoulder. "Ew, gross. What are you covered in?"
"Don't ask." Gerard laughs abruptly. Frank launches himself at them both and then they're all getting in on the hug - Ray, Brian and even Bob too.
They're all just a mess of arms and chests and hands when "Thank You For Then Venom" starts blaring out of the auditorium speakers. The crowd starts screaming their fucking lungs out.
That's Gerard's cue. The scrum slowly comes apart, all eyes on him.
"I guess this is it then." Gerard sounds way too unsure for a guy who's about to fight someone. In a cage.
"Fucking kill him. " Frank slaps him in the chest, then they all start shoving him towards the screaming, till he's striding ahead of them down the hallway, all attitude. The guys keep him pumped, supplying him with plenty of insults to use and a variety of reasons why Billie Joe Armstrong is cunt who needs to take a dive.
The stage doors burst open and Gerard's hemmed in on all sides by screaming, howling, spitting fans. The crowd are in a pink fit, crying bloody murder, barely being held back by a team of burly security crew. Gerard can't help thinking that the security guards look a lot more suited to being in a cage fight than his own self. He'd be more at home in a dress, maybe doing some needlepoint, whatever.
The crowd must be divided based on who they support, because on his left it's all blood spittin' hatred, while his right hand side is hysteria, all tears, running eyeliner and reaching hands. The band shove their way through the crush, security crew barely keeping them unmolested. Frank's got two fingers hooked in Gerard's belt loops, keeping him close.
"So gimme all your poison, and gimme all your pills,"
Frank starts singing along with the track, now there's an idea. Gerard joins in and by the time they make it to the raised dias of the cage the whole band's joined in, screaming out the words, half the crowd behind them. Now that's fucking solidarity.
"You're running after something you can never kill! If this is what you want then fire at will!" Gerard shrieks at what's he's figured out is the non-Green Day section of the crowd. He doesn't have a mic and he doesn't even care. He spins on his heel, letting them see where Frank's written "REVENGE" across his back in sharpie. They howl at him appreciatively and he can feel it, that familiar adrenaline rush thrumming up from his feet to his temples. Now he just has to channel it into his fists.
He glances over at Frank as the song rattles to a close. He's flushed and panting, his eyes afire. It's a rush and they're both terrified, but fucked if they're gonna back down now.
Frank grabs him by the back of the head, pressing there foreheads together, close enough that Gerard can hear his voice over the baying of the fans.
"Don't fucking die okay?"
Gerard figures he can only do his best.
****
“Fuck, Fuck, FUCK!” Billie shouts, hearing the roar of the crowd and the music kick in, “This is really happening isn't it?”
Mike nods and Billie takes his bouncing pace from 'caffeinated squirrel' to 'meth addicted hummingbird'. In the uncovered bulb of the back room, Billie's thin coating of sweat starts to show.
“You are going to show him who's king bitch around here, I know you got it in you, after all, you would never have gotten yourself into this mess if you couldn't get yourself out.” Mike says, voice holding a bit of promise.
Billie's hands clench and unclench, forming tiny quick fists, “Fuck me rotten, I need a smoke.”
Tre digs through Billie’s jacket, turning it from a neatly folded square of fabric into a tangled mess. He tosses Billie the pack and the jittery man, who quickly moves to light up, throwing the rest of the pack back. Billie notices he doesn't have the ever present lump of metal in his back pocket, “Mikey, I need my...”
Mike beat him to the punch, holding out Billie's zippo lit and ready to go, Billie cracks a bright smile for the first time in an hour. “God damn I love you.”
Mike's eyes flash wide and bright, “Before you go out babe, you gotta do this,” pulling out his cellphone and dialling furiously then pressing the plastic doo-dad to Billie's ear.
“Mike?”
“No, it's me.”
Billie hears the smile in the voice on the other side of the line, “I'm still mad you didn't let me come.”
“Sorry, But you know Mike has his eyes on me...”
“Tell Mike if you come home dead I'm castrating him,” the voice is serious.
“Mikey, if I come home dead you are getting castrated.” Billie repeats. Mike cups his crotch in mock fear.
“You are going to shove his balls down his throat for me, right babydoll?”
“For you, anything” Billie felt his back bone straighten.
“I Love you Billie Joe.”
“I Love you to 80.”
Billie shuts the phone, passing it back and moving his fingers to busy themselves on fiddling with his cigarette. Mike wraps a protective arm around the spastic waist, “Come on, we should head out, their song is almost up, and that means...”
“That means I get my moment in the sun before going all Tarantino on this little prick.” Billie states squarely.
Mike gives little push and they spill into the hallway, meeting with their tiny cheering section of band mates, two men slouching against a wall in matching red shirts.
“Break his neck.” says Freese.
“Piss on his grave.” adds White.
The Jasons take to poking Billie's ribs and ruffling his hair, Billie bats the probing hands away, “Thanks for coming guys, I like having the support.”
Jason smiles and gives Billie a push, “You don't need us for that, hear the ... you know.... mad half of that racket? That's the half that's going to lose their shit when you walk out there.”
Billie closes his eyes and tunes into the buzz, so much angrier and raw then the crowds he was used to hearing. The speakers quiet a moment and a new track flips on, a familiar garble of noise. Jasons both force their hands once more in his hair, Tre nervously pulls him into a hug, leaving a chaste kiss on his cheek, “Give 'em hell Billie Joe.”
Billie plants a fraternal kiss on Tre's forehead, finally turning to the door, Mike still latched on his waist, fingers gripping a bit tighter.
They push through the door and everything is loud and bright, screams pierce his ears and wide green eyes have a fit looking at groping hands and blood thirsty strangers. He is quick to put his scary face back on, forcing his brow to wrinkle and pout to suck in a bit.
'As God as my witness, the infidels are gonna pay' the speakers sing, a voice Billie thought sounded cool when they recorded it, but now feels silly and weak.
“I should’ve picked a better song.” Billie screams into Mike's ear.
“Stop worrying about stupid shit, you little control freak.” Mike shouts back with a smirk, going in for a firm kiss.
Mike slides his arm free, leaving Billie with a swift smack on the ass, “You got this, Bill.” he says, trying his best to be heard over the sea of maniacs.
Billie studies the crowd as they walk out, one side’s attention is focusing mainly on the skinny figures a good deal away, them, who had already come out. A few strays on that side bother to turn abouts and throw him the bird and actually start throwing the beer cans. Billie and the gang inch instinctively away, into the reaching fingertips of those who seem to be on their side.
Billie looks into these faces more carefully, these are the kinda people who attend shows, men with tattoos, angsty boys, and a surprising about of snarling young women. It's obvious a good deal are drunk, many raising fists to the music pumped in on a bad sound system, they all looked ready to go to war for him, and it is unnerving.
'Nope, this is good-' Billie tells himself, '-I am going to ruin this kid, and then all these fuckers are going to want to buy me a drink', Billie lets his eyes flick back to those who are obviously not his people, '... And these ones will tear my skin off.... Armstong, what have you done to yourself?'
Realizing these thoughts are doing nothing for him, Billie turns to his crowd, his flock, raising his arms and gaining a loud cheer. He feels his nerves buzz at the adoration, this he needs, this charges his battery, this is what’s going to save his ass tonight.
Billie turns back to his mates, receiving a messy salute from his fellas. Finally he’s got the nerve to turn to the cage that stands before him, the giant fight sized cage,... a cage where he plans to fight a guy who has a few years on him.
Needing another vote of confidence, Billie yanks the back of his pants down, flashing his army his pasty backside and gaining a cry of support.
“ ...Death to the ones at the end of the serenade...”
Billie recovers himself, dropping the butt of his smoke and putting on a wicked smirk, “Piece of fuckin' cake.”
* * *
The cage gate slams closed with a bang. In a completely unnecessary move, one of the hulking security guards wraps a thick chain through the opening, locking it with an enormous padlock. Down the other end of the arena, another security guard padlocks the second gate. This is really happening.
Gerard is alone, in a giant cage, with a man who wants to do him harm. There is no way out. It's somewhat terrifying.
His breaths are loud in his ears as he dares to look over at his opponent. Billie's face is a mask a hate, scowling at Gerard. He's bouncing lightly on his feet, almost like a boxer and it's making Gerard a little nervous.
Insanely, he feels like they're characters in a computer game, Mortal Kombat or suchlike, with life-bars and three button combos. He feels like he should have some signature move to do, some sort of arm-swirling kick-pose thing that would make the crowd scream and make Billie Joe shit his pants in terror. But he doesn't.
He shakes himself out, tempted to start bouncing like Billie but doesn't want to look like he's copying. Instead, he plants his hands on his hips, cocks his head to one side and does his best "is that it?" look, like he's not fucking terrified of what's to come and he's in no way intimidated by Billie and his fucking bouncing and his smeared eyeliner and his "I'm gonna kill you" pout.
A voice bellows out over the loud speaker.
"Gerard Way, are you ready?"
Gerard raises his hand to the air like he was told to do, hoping the trembling isn't noticeable from a distance. His heart's beating so fast he feels lightheaded, so he just takes big breaths, forcing it out, trying to look tough as he does so and having no idea if it's working. The crowd's screaming is at fever pitch now, like they can smell the blood to come.
"Billie Joe Armstrong, are you ready?" The loudspeaker hollers and Billie Joe throws his hand up fast, doesn't even hesitate, like he just can't wait to get into this. The Green Day contingent roars its approval and Billie spits on the ground, still bouncing, still glaring.
"Three, two, one..." The crowd chants along, screaming out the countdown, then the announcer calls, "Fight!" and a siren blares and before Gerard really has time to process Billie is rushing at him in a flat out run.
Not wanting to look chicken Gerard rushes forward also until they crash together in the middle of the cage, Billie's hands finding Gerard's neck and shoulder and all Gerard can do is grab his opponent by the wrists and try to pull him off. The baby oil helps to some degree and he gets Billie's hand off his neck, fingernails scraping as he does, leaving a long scratch down Gerard's chest.
Billie wrenches his hand free of Gerard's grip, pulling back and letting fly with a punch that strikes Gerard so hard across the cheekbone he can feel each knuckle individually. His head jolts backwards as pain blossoms in his cheek.
Lucky punch, it was a lucky punch, he tells himself as he forces himself upright again and Billie lands another lucky punch on his other cheek. Gerard falls forward, hands on his face and fuck if he isn't flashing back to a hundred other times he's been in this position, helpless and getting beaten on by some older fucker with a point to prove. His entire high school life flashes past him, so he takes the face of every mother fucker who ever hit him and places it over Billie's in his mind.
Then he straightens and turns as fast as his muscles can move, cocking Billie in the face with his elbow. He feels the shock of the impact jar up his arm and watches with a sick kind of pleasure as Billie's head cocks back, spit flying from his mouth. In the moment it takes Billie to recover Gerard lands a punch on him, right in the guts and he doubles over clutching his middle.
Gerard's not sure what to do for a moment, Billie's bent double and there's no obvious place to land another hit on him. He's about to grab his opponent by the arm and pull him upright for more punishment, when Billie makes his move. He flies up, throwing his arm out as he does, backhanding Gerard so hard across the jaw it sends him spinning.
It takes real effort to fight the inertia and pull himself to a stop. He turns around and gets a face full of scowling angry frontman as Billie grabs him again, trying to shove him back against the cage, but he's slippery, squirming out of Billie's grip and throwing a flailing punch that barely makes impact.
Billie has another go, successful this time, throwing Gerard backwards against the cage so hard he can feel the crosswire leaving it's mark on his back. Then Billie's up in his face, going for his throat and Gerard's reaching out blindly, pulling at Billie's hair and trying to land a punch in his side, but the fence is in the way, he can't pull his arm back far enough to put any force in behind it.
The hand around his throat is squeezing and breathing's getting hard. He's starting to see stars, arms getting weaker and less useful. Somewhere distantly he can hear the baying crowd and he thinks he can pick out Frank's voice above all the others, screaming at him to just kill, fucking kill him. It's starting to get dicey when he gives up on the weak punches and plants his second hand into Billie's hair, holding firm as he cocks his head forward, praying real hard that's he's doing it right.
The headbutt catches Billie well off-guard, he goes flying backwards, losing his grip on Gerard's throat. Gerard's still a bit dizzy but he grabs at his advantage and lunges forward, backhanding Billie across the face. Billie stumbles sideways and Gerard shoves him hard, sending him flying downwards, barely getting his hands in front of him as he hits the ground. Gerard kicks him in the guts and hears Billie groan and half the crowd booing and shrieking abuse. Sure, the fight might be anything goes but he did just kick a man while he was down. He's considering whether to do it again or try something else when Billie's arms lock around his legs and shove, sending him flying sideways.
He hits the ground hard, shoulder and elbow taking the worst of the impact. He rolls onto his back, eyes searching for Billie when he's suddenly upon him, straddling him at the waist and back handing his face. Gerard can taste blood now, feel it rolling down his jaw from a split lip as Billie hits him again. Instinctively his arms fly up to cover his face, elbows forward and the next backhand hits his bicep instead.
Before Billie has a chance to pry Gerard's arms open and hit him again Gerard's in motion. He let's fly with his right arm, punching forward blindly and hitting what feels like Billie's neck. While Billie's reeling Gerard surges up, shoving Billie backwards, flipping them both over so he's on top now, holding the older man down with an elbow across his chest and his arms trapped above his head.
They struggle like that for a few moment, panting and growling at each other. Gerard's sweating and bleeding and it's dripping down on Billie's face as he scowls up at him. Billie's struggling, shifting around, trying to buck Gerard off and it's taking a lot of effort for Gerard to not think about what this reminds him of. What with the full body contact and the chest rubbing and the friction and the panting. Not it's really not like that.
He shoves Billie back down, hearing the smack of his back hitting the concrete.
The announcer's voice comes over the loudspeaker, counting down.
"Ten, nine, eight..." The crowd joins in, screaming it out. Gerard's just gotta hold him seven more seconds to win this round.
Billie knows and he shoves up at him, getting one hand free and palming Gerard's face. Gerard shoves him back down, pressing harder into his chest with his elbow and Billie can't hide his wincing now.
"Six, five, four, three..." The chanting’s getting louder, littered with screams for Gerard to hold on, hold that fucker down while the Green Day supporters scream at Billie to get up, fight back, get the fuck up.
Billie makes one last effort to throw Gerard off him, bucking up and wrenching at Gerard's hair. Gerard holds firm, backhanding him for his trouble and Billie's spitting out blood onto the concrete when they get to zero.
The crowd go fucking nuts.
Gerard's releases his hold and gets up as quick as he can, wanting to put distance between himself and Billie immediately. He stalks over to his band without a backwards glance, thrumming with adrenaline and blood and triumph. He faces off his wall of supporters throwing his arms in the air and they scream at him, howling their approval. He shakes the fence at them and kicks at it and they scream back harder.
The padlocks come off and Gerard kicks the cage open. He's barely stepped out when Frank leaps on him all arms and legs and lips and they're kissing messy and hard and fuck his split lip is hurting from it but he can't bring himself to care.
"Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, I knew you could fucking do it!" Frank's yelling into his face and kissing him everywhere. Gerard's covered in sweat and oil and blood and it's getting all over Frank. When he pulls back to look at him there's a smear of Gerard's blood on his cheek.
"It's only round one." Gerard reminds him, pressing their foreheads together.
"You did it once you can do it again." Frank's all confidence. "Come on, get ready." He drags Gerard into the waiting circle of his band where there's congratulatory pats and cold sponges to his aching cheeks and cool water on his tongue. As the adrenaline dissipates he can feel the burn of his injuries calling louder, so many parts of his body throbbing hot with pain.
He can't help looking past his cluster of supporters to the other side of the arena, watching Billie Joe and his crew.
He can't help wondering whether Frank's right. If he really can do this again.
****
“What in the blue hell.... did he break your nose?” White whispers, poking at Billie's bloodied cheek.
“Jesus! Can you breathe? He punched you in the THROAT!” Freese states, wide eyed.
Tre winces at his friend's poor shape and passes Mike a water bottle. Billie is sitting up between Mike's legs, obviously a bit winded but still punchy, fingers fidgeting and eyes that communicate he’s only just barely letting Mike attend to him. Mike is carefully wiping at Billie's face, happily surprised and disgusted that a majority of the thick red plasma is not coming from him but in fact dripped on him from his opponent. Billie feels his heart race as Mike fiddles with the bottle, the rapid thump leaves him with no patience, he yanks the bottle to himself even though his hands are throbbing and he pops off the cap.
“Relax.” Mike lectures, taking the water and holding it for Bill. Billie tries to shoot him a look, but craning his neck aches and he reaches for his own throat, rubbing at the burn. Mike once again bats Billie's hand away from any kind of work and presses fingertips in firm little circles around the budding bruise. Billie lets out a low “Ooooooh…” and a fresh pearl of blood rolls down his chin. Four sets of eyes lock on that little drop.
“So that's where all that blood was coming from.” Mike muses. Billie awkwardly pats his chin and shoves fingers in his mouth. He winces like a kicked puppy and pulls his fingers loose, a little rock sits in his digits, “Fucker broke a tooth... well fucker cracked a tooth, I guess I broke it.” Three sets of eyes are in shock at the calming man holding his own tooth getting recoated in blood, Mike smiles a little, at least his baby still has a sense of humor.
“How you feeling Bill, he got you pretty good out there?” Mike asks as softly as he can over the scream of fans wanting the two thrown back to each other. He pushes Billie forward a bit, cleaning long red scrapes from being thrown on the cement. Mike nods to Tre and he grabs a sponge, helping to get the sweat and blood off the competitor.
Billie speaks with gravel in his voice, “Fuck, I hurt ... But I can go again, I feel a little buzzed y'know? Endorphiney?..... Gerard got lucky.” Billie speaks and more blood drops spill free, Tre goes to wipe them away and Billie inches out of the way, licking his lips like an animal, stealing his water back to take a swig and spit the rosy fluid on the floor.
Mike takes a breath between inspecting every blemish on Billie to notice the fact that his hands are getting greasy, “What does that kid eat? He sweats lard or something...”
Billie barely notices as he broods, but the others show interest as Mike wrings his hands. Tre grabs the skinny fingers and sniffs, “That's baby oil dipshit.... Way greased himself up? What is this? American Gladiators?”
Billie grimaces, trying to process that what he interpreted as sweat was in fact a goo found in nurseries and strip club kiddie pools.
Mike rolls his eyes and goes back to work, time is flitting and he refuses to let Billie go if something is seriously wrong. He wipes softly at a large pink welt on Billie's stomach and the man trembles, the surprise to the reaction is easily read on Mike's face, “You said 'endorphiney' right? Like.... you know, do you mean.... that kind of endorphiney ....”
Billie finally inches about to look Mike in the wide bright blues, “Ya...kinda.... are you mad at me?”
Billie's brain flashes back to getting mugged, getting beat up and held up at gun point, how bad it scared him, how close to death he felt, but he also flashes back to running home to Mike, and embracing him and kissing every inch of flesh because he felt more alive then ever before.
He’s feeling that same adrenaline sting, y'know, it can't be helped.
The Jasons avert their gaze, whistling to themselves and creating the perfect image of feigned innocence, Tre turns away also, but his distraction is trying to catch a peek of the crazy little brat who got slicked up for this shit.
Mike can tell Billie's breath is slow and unforced, his heart is racing, thumping through his chest, Mike lets some of his tact fall away and he presses a hand to Billie's groin, he isn't hard but his body is definitely interested in something, “No, I'm not mad, use it, show that fucker who's boss... I'll make it worth your while.” Mike sighs right into Billie's ear.
Billie smiles through red sore lips, “You better, if my luck keeps up, I will end up in a full body cast and I won't even be able to masturbate.”
Billie feels his pride pick itself back up, he can do this, he can make round two, he can at least survive round two.
“Hey Mr. And Mr. Uncomfortable-moment, um look....” Billie and Mike look up at Tre who is pointing across the room, Billie looks over and a blood smeared face turns away quickly.
Tre sounds surprised, “I think you spooked him.”
Speakers blare with a disembodied voice, “Opponents, Round Two.”
Billie stands quickly, ready for a bit of revenge. Mike scrambles for his feet and pulls Billie around to face him before darting back to the cage, “You are going to show that cocky little fuck who owns his ass... I know you will.”
“You better be right.”
Mike goes in for a kiss, stopping short when his brain remembers the blood and shattered tooth, moving instead to plant one firmly on the warm purple bruise on his neck. Billie groans but doesn't so much as shiver. Billie runs a hand through Mike's hair, knowing he is more nervous then himself.
Billie slips away, grinning and spitting at his own side of the crowd, trying to rile them up, and he is greeted only with solid cheers. Billie takes off, trying to beat Gerard to the ring, trying to prove that round one isn't going to bother him.
He is completely annoyed when Gerard beats him by a solid 36 seconds. That traitorous little son of a whore, Billie once liked this guy, gave him advice, introduced him to family, and now Billie is coming in as underdog in some kind of Chuck Palahniuk wet dream.
“Billie Joe Armstrong, are you ready?” 'what the hell, you only live once' Billie thinks, throwing his arms in the air, smiling wolfishly wide with blood coated teeth.
“Gerard Way, are you ready?” The kid throws his arms up, looking more focused than last time, less worried.
'I'll give you something to worry about' Billie thinks, trying to rile himself up to that chemical high of fight-or-flight.
If Tre thinks he's scared, why not push it?
“GOOD LUCK GEE!” Billie shrieks across the cage as they face off, eyes wide and trying to look as frenzied as possible.
Gerard cocks an eyebrow, his focus at least rattled.
“Three! Two! One!” and the siren wails, time to stop fucking around.
He tries to avoid repeating his round one experience (because that went so well), and he lets Gerard come to him, running zero to sixty at him. Billie's bet pays off, Gerard's own inertia adds weight to shoving his shoulder into the other man's solar plexus. Gerard gasp is audible over the crowd and he grabs his stomach, trying to catch his breath, Billie catches him on the chin with a closed fist and the kid stumbles, falling to the cement.
Billie feels his pride well, just a bit, until that is a kick to the shin or a lucky flail brings him down on top of Gerard. Gerard recovers too quick and gets a fist full of Billie's hair, pulling his head down to the cement.
Billie feels his gut wrench as his vision fades for a moment and the kid scuffles about to stand. He blinks heavily as he feels a gush of blood trickle into his eye. Panicking, Billie reaches out and grabs the waist band of Gerard's pants, yanking him down and giving Billie the opportunity to try to get him in some kinda pin.
Billie goes for his shoulders, trying to push him to the concrete, but he fights back, snatching Billie by the wrists and holding him off. The two grapple, feeling almost trapped in a stale mate. They push and grip at each other’s arms and shoulders, each trying to force the other into that all important position. Gerard is the first to get his hand loose and strikes Billie hard across his face, eyes sewing shut in pain.
Billie feels his brain flood with panic, it's all happening again only faster, he starts strong and ends up with Gerard hovering over him and holding him down. Hands move to subdue his forearms but Billie refuses, forcing a knee between him and his antagonist. Gerard gags and huffs, diaphragm still contracting in pain. Billie can see the water in his eyes and uses all the strength in his legs to push him off.
Billie juts to push himself onto Gerard, almost kneeling on his back trying to keep the air out of his lungs. Hands blindly reach out for him and Billie deliriously trying his best to corral them, shoving nails into wrist and yanking, pushing his weight down to protect himself from the wild thrashing. Gerard thrusts his head back with a snap and Billie (in the least manly way possible) yelps in surprise, narrowly avoiding another headbutt.
Billie glares at the back of sweat-slicked hair, using your own cranium is as a weapon is a dirty fucking trick in his book Billie decides, noticing he is having a harder and harder time keeping him down.
'Come on mystery announcer man, start that whole numbers bit' Billie curses in his mind.
Billie thinks of something he hasn't thought of as a fighting tactic since kindergarten, he can't believe he's about to do this to another grown man in the name of fisticuffs.
One of Gerard's hands gets loose and starts to pry at anything it can get a grip on, leaving scratches on Billie's side and face.
Billie takes it as a sign of now or never and bites broken tooth and all into Gerard's neck. Billie can't tell if it's his or the kid's blood but it's there and Gerard is tense, obviously what Billie is doing it making it even harder to breath, the free hand tries to force fingers in Billie's mouth, tries to get canines out of thin skin.
“Ten, nine...”
Billie holds his throbbing jaw tight, he can do this. The crowd is loud in his ears but he can't tell anything more than volume, his own pulse in his ears is all he can even begin to decipher.
“Five, Four…”
Gerard's desperate fingers do their job, shoving Billie's face back.
The crowd is less pure noise and words are formed, it's too late.
“Two, one, zero!”
Billie quickly rolls off his opponent, looking up at the lights above them, he blinks and notices one eye is throbbing, is it going to blacken or was it from the blood oozing into it, he wipes at it and it stings. He sits up and Gerard is looking at him with a mix of disgust and shock. Billie stands, 'It would be sporting of me to help him up' Billie thinks as he turns, hurrying quickly to his side of the room, out of the cage.
“Mikey, get me a cigarette!” Billie calls out over the spastic crowd, ready to revel while thinking about how there is no way in hell he can pull that off again.
***
Concluded in part two
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Because, Gerard, Bob would give Billie a heart attack just by looking at him, and that wouldn't be fun for the audience, they want blood!
HAHAHAHA Oh Billie, don't worry honey, Gerard is 32 going on 80. BOYS, WHY SO VAIN? ILThem.
Meth addicted hummingbird! A little more badass and a little less sephora! Fighting to see who's king bitch! OMG I love you so so much.
I can't stop laughing, seriously.
Also, this?
Is pure genious. I love you Gerard, you fabulous dork!
I loved the fight, it was amazingly described and was also believable. I NEED TO KNOW WHO WINS! (Team Gerard all the way!).
BUT THE BEST PART OF THIS IS GERARD SHIRTLESS AND COVERED IN BABY-OIL. IT'S SEXY AND HILARIOUS AT THE SAME TIME.
I love this, A+++++
Laura.
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YOU LIKED MY PARTS, YOU LIKED MY PARTS!
*settles down*
I was so worried all ya'll MCR folks wouldn't be diggin on my wee little sugar-buzzed Billie-Baby.
come're... come're... I gotta huggle you...
*glomps*
Thank you for the love.
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I even feel interested in getting to know Mr. Armstrong a little bit closer. I DO NOT NEED A NEW FANDOM, I'LL BLAME YOU AND HUNT YOU DOWN IF I GET INTO THEM AND NEGLECT MY RL AS A RESULT!
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Oh, let me welcome you to the fine world of Mr. Armstrong!
To start, Just look at dis wittle face.... (http://www.greendayauthority.com/Picture_Vault/displayimage.php?pos=-5540) He's such a tiny little honey. He is a slash writers dream, for he runs about kissing strange boys,just plain getting kissed by strange boys (http://www.greendayauthority.com/Picture_Vault/displayimage.php?pos=-1706), wearing dresses, and making googly eyes at his bandmates. He also likes to talk about giving his band head (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9b1qIFU2iRA&feature=related)... which is always a plus...
Also you can read more of my stories! Like this one! (http://community.livejournal.com/comingclean/2425562.html?#cutid1)
and I didn't invent his bouncing sadly.... just look (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HN38cR585I8)...
COME TO THE DARK SIDE! you will be in good company, like my chemical romance themselves. (http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y7/Jane_Strays/Green%20Day/ah5.jpg) Look at them all dressed in their green day shirts.... You go hug Billie Joe, Mr. Frank, it's so cute.... (http://i43.photobucket.com/albums/e387/Billie_Joe_Is_Beautiful/San%20Francisco%20Recording%20Academy%20Honours%202006/180230_600px.jpg)
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So, I guess what I'm trying to say is: SOLD!
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THIS WAS SO WORTH IT JUST TO SEE YOU IN A VANNA WHITE OUTFIT. Just saying.
Gawd I love that photo of Frank & Billie Joe hugging. We just pissed all over canon having them hate each other since they're like bosom buddies to the end in RL.
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And Billie Joe comes in flavors... I SHIT YOU NOT! He has alter egos.... which is insane and far too campy, but I write for them often so you should know aboutthe reverend strychnine twitch (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j6fCB2iLIzs&feature=related) , hard-drinking and hard-screwing leader of the foxboro hot tubs, who has a penchant for all things 60's AND Wilhelm Fink (http://userserve-ak.last.fm/serve/_/137094/The+Network.png), leader of the Network, who is both crazy and german....
I write for the Rev A LOT.... like this one (http://community.livejournal.com/comingclean/2337654.html) and this one (http://community.livejournal.com/comingclean/2323997.html).
Ok... I will stop pimping my tiny little sex god to you now... just sayin....
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For serious.
*fluffs 80's vanna hair*
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To borrow the words of my ridiculously hilarious co-author: BABY OIL IS ALWAYS THE PUNCHLINE. It's the gift that keeps giving. There can NEVER be enough baby oil references really.
Gerard is a FABULOUS DORK (who would be completely at home doing needlepoint and we don't even need to talk about the crossdressing because IT'S CANON) and I am so chuffed you took the time to comment in lowly part 1. YOU!!!
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