Billie Joe curls his fingers around the neck of the guitar, tilting his head down and leaning close to hear the melody as it's played. He is surrounded by amplifiers, but plugging the instrument into one of them might give him away. He only has a short time, anyway. And so he closes his eyes, fingertips dancing over the fretboard with ease as he tries to memorize this new tune until he can write it down.

Predictably, a heavy set of footsteps slouches their way down the staircase. Squeeking, Billie Joe urgently swings the guitar off his lap, setting it upright in the stand next to him. He slides off the top of the amplifier and to his feet, sweeping the overgrown black hair from his eyes just as the door opens. Tim peers into the small practice room, one tattooed arm still crossed over his bare chest. When his startlingly blue gaze finds Billie Joe in the center of the room, his eyes narrow.

"Billie," he starts with a warning tone. "What have I told you about being down here without me?"

Billie Joe clasps his hands together, fingertips twisting nervously around each other. "That...there's a lot of expensive stuff, and I could break it...so I shouldn't come alone..."

"And...," Tim prompts.

"And...I might hurt myself, if I'm not careful...," Billie Joe finishes for him, head ducking down as his full mouth forms into its natural pout.

"That's right," Tim concedes, nodding. "Now, come upstairs, an' I'll read ya a bedtime story."

Amazed that he got off so easily, that pout quickly spreads to a sweet grin on Billie Joe's face. He flounces towards the door, fitting his hand into the larger one outstretched towards him. Tim leads the way back upstairs, swinging their entertwined hands between their forms. The light in the front hallway is a lazy orange, shadows stretching three times the size of their object in the fading sunset.

The pair head up another staircase, to the first door on the right. It's the bedroom Tim used to share with Brody, but Billie Joe has long since learned not to talk about that. Sometimes, he's frightened to even think about it, afraid he might think too loud and be overheard by the man next to him. Still being tugged along by the hand, Billie Joe follows into the adjoining master bathroom.

Only then does Tim release his hand, and the younger man turns to him by habit. Deft fingers curl around the hem of Billie Joe's t-shirt, yanking it upward gently and mussing his already messy hair more as it slides over his head. Tim tosses it into the laundry hamper, across the space easily. Then, looking back at Billie Joe, his eyes narrow again.

"Billie..," that same warning tone from before.

Billie Joe's stark green eyes widen of their own accord as he realizes Tim is focused on them, but it's too late, now. He can't say a thing.

"Are you wearing make-up?," Tim asks, perfunctionary. They both know he is.

Resisting the urge to take a protective step back, Billie Joe nods his head ashamedly. He had forgotten to clean the smudged black eyeliner off when he came home. Tim may have let it go otherwise, but this on top of being caught unsupervised in the studio...he wasn't getting out of this without a punishment.

Tim reaches out, the back of two fingers lifting Billie Joe's chin, his eyes still squinted disapprovingly.

"Y'know I don't like ya wearin' that stuff unless we're going out, boy," Tim reminds him.

Billie Joe slides his lower lip between his teeth, worrying it absently until one of Tim's callused fingers presses just beneath that lip, pulling it free gently. Wanting to avoid that peircing gaze, but not daring to look away, Billie Joe gives a faint, much belated nod.

"I know, Daddy," he offers, in that tiny, eight-year-old voice that he knows does more to condemn him than plead his case. "I forgot to wash up when I came home."

Tim's mouth sets itself into a hard, disapproving line. "Well, wash up now, and brush your teeth. Then you know what to do."

Billie Joe nods, watching Tim slink to the other room, hating the disappointed slump of the man's shoulders. It's not that he didn't try to remember his rules, but sometimes his mind got going too fast and he forgot. He was forgetful, his Daddy always reminded him of that, too. And said that someday Billie Joe was going to make him go prematurely grey, though Billie Joe often wondered how Tim would know with his head shaved.

As much as he would like to delay the inevitable, Billie Joe turns to the sink, plucking his dinosaur-themed toothbrush from the holder and applying liberal amounts of toothpaste to the bristles. He could bide his time, but if he got caught slacking it would only make Tim more angry. And so he brushes his teeth a little faster than necessary, making sure to rinse twice, once with mouthwash and once with water. Then he takes up a washcloth, wetting it and running it carefully under and around his eyes until all traces of the black make-up are gone. It wasn't that Tim hated the make-up, he just said it made Billie Joe look older, and he didn't want his boy looking any older. He was perfect just the way he is.

The memory of the words bring a smile to Billie Joe's face, but as he turns around and scampers back into the bedroom, the sight of Tim sitting stiffly in the leather chair near the bed wipes the expression away. Tim gives a short nod, and Billie Joe knows if he has to give any more encouragement, it'll only be worse.

Slinking doggedly to stand in front of the chair, he keeps his head ducked. Tim's hands come up, working the belt free from its buckle and unclasping his pants. He slides them off the younger man's hips, along with his boxers, nudging them down his thighs until they drop to the floor freely. Billie Joe steps out of them, nudging them aside with one bare foot and waiting, hands grasping each other again to keep from shaking.

"C'mere," Tim prompts, and though his voice is no louder than any other time, the exasperated tone makes Billie Joe's stomach squish downwards in search of an escape route.

The boy obeys, sliding one knee onto the cushion near Tim's thigh. Tim slips an arm around his waist to pull him down, directing both legs to one side of his own lap and leaving his torso to sprawl over the other. Billie Joe shifts, trying in vain to get comfortable, but it's no use. With his ass high in the air and presented as an easy target, and his hips settled uncomfortably against the man's knees and groin, the position is made to humiliate.

Tim's rough hand rests on the small of Billie Joe's back, a spot of warmth on his otherwise cold body. As he speaks, he pets that hand in soft circles. They may be meant to reassure him, but to Billie Joe, the touch only seems to make every nerve ending in his body bristle with fear.

"If ya make this easy for both of us, maybe I can still give you yer bedtime story. Okay?"

Billie Joe nods emphatically. Already, he can feel tears welling up behind his eyes. Worse than being punished, he hates the sad tone in Tim's voice. He hates to disappoint his Daddy.

Tim's hand continues to stroke back, over the soft curve of the boy's ass and down his thighs. It switches legs, smoothing back up the opposite thigh and continuing to that pale ass, rubbing soft against the smooth skin. Then without warning, it lifts, coming down hard on that cheek with a resounding slap and making the smaller body in his lap jerk, more with surprise than pain. The stinging doesn't start until a second after it lands.

Tim lifts his hand again, repeating the motion on the opposite side, just as hard. Billie Joe clenches his teeth together to bite back a threatening whimper, knowing it will only get worse. And he's proven right. Again that strong hand comes down, covering his ass with a hard smack. Billie Joe is sure that, if Tim stopped now, he would have three glowing pink handprints on his backside. But Tim doesn't stop, he continues the motions, each time letting his hand fall just as heavily onto the supple flesh. The only sounds in the room are those of skin meeting roughly and the whines that Billie Joe is increasingly less successfully in hiding.

As Tim warms up, the hits begin to come closer together, and Billie Joe could swear they got harder though it's likely that it only hurts more because they find the same areas of sensitive skin over and over. He chances a glance up at Tim's face, finding his jaw set, eyes tight with concentration; Tim was really getting into his element. Despite his attempts otherwise, Billie Joe squirms on his lap. A whimper falls from parted lips and he snaps his jaw shut, biting his lower lip. After that hand meets the top of his thighs, there's a brief pause as Tim catches the movement, hand hovering in midair.

"Billie, don't abuse your lip like that. You know they're too pretty to be chewed all to hell."

Billie Joe releases his lip accordingly, moaning painedly for the contrast between Tim's soft, caring voice and his rough hand as it swats at his backside again. With no way to hold back now, the whimpers and groans fall freely from his mouth, tears beginning to track their way down his face. If anything, the force of Tim's hits only increases for the protests. Billie Joe cries out loudly once, stiffling himself as best he can after. His tiny hips wriggle as he writhes on the other man's lap, erection pressing hard into Tim's thigh and spurning the man to continue the torture.

Then, just as Billie Joe has started to believe it will never end, the slaps begin to slow down. Each hit is softer than the one preceeding it, until finally the worn hand that was inflicting so much pain moments ago is smoothing over his smarting, reddened flesh. It still stings and Billie Joe squirms for it, not sure if the soothing motions are helpful, or if they cause more pain. Finally that hand stills against his tailbone.

"Now," Tim's voice cuts the electric silence. "Will you remember to wash yer eyeliner off when ya get home tomorrow?"

Billie Joe nods quickly, promising pleadingly with a pain-thicked voice. "Yes, Daddy, I will."

"And will you remember to ask before going to the basement?"

"I promise I will, Daddy, I promise," his voice nearly cracks with its insistence.

Tim winds an arm under the boy's chest, pulling him up to settle into his lap facing him. His hands replace themselves against either side of the boy's face, thumbs gingerly cleaning away the traces of tears. Leaning forward, he presses a soft, chaste kiss to that gorgeous, pouting mouth. Shakily, a smile forms on them as he pulls back. Tim returns it beaming.

"There's my brave little boy," he praises, stroking fingers through Billie Joe's messy black hair. "Go 'head and lay down."

Billie Joe nods and murmurs a 'thank you,' scrambling off of Tim's lap to stretch out on his tummy across the large bed. He crosses his arms, burying his face in them as the last of the tears fade away. Tim sidles into the bathroom, returning quickly. Grasping one of Billie Joe's ankles, he eases the younger man's legs apart, moving to kneel on the bed between them.

With a sniffle, Billie Joe lifts his head and turns his face to the side. His plaintive voice is quiet and hopeful. "Kiss it better, Daddy?"

Tim fights the smile on his face from turning into a lecherous grin. "Arrite, boy."

Setting the lotion he'd retrieved aside, he presses a palm to either side of Billie Joe's hips. He scoots himself farther up the bed, then purses his lips, leaning down to press them softly against the irritated skin of Billie Joe's backside. He lifts his head, delivering a kiss to the opposite cheek, and eliciting a moan from the boy. Given that response, he can't help but continue, feathering kisses all across the reddened flesh. His mouth parts, giving his tongue room to dart out and smooth over the skin. It's burning hot against his tongue, and Tim stifles one of his own moans for it.

Drawing that tongue broadly across the skin, he moves his mouth from the top of one thigh, all the way up to Billie Joe's hips. Only to retrace his path, relocating his mouth a bit to the left. The hips under his start to squirm more actively as he continues, lifting his head and flattening the wet muscle against the opposite side of his ass, drawing it up slowly. Another pleading whimper filters from Billie Joe's throat, and Tim relents. One hand raises to rest against the side of his hip, thumb ghosting back and forth over the curve of his ass as Tim lowers his head, letting the tip of his tongue skim up between the crease of his ass.

Finding its target, that tongue swirls around the tight ring of muscle halfway back. Billie Joe squirms pleasantly, letting a soft 'please' escape his open mouth. But Tim only continues dragging his tongue in slow, teasing circles, successively making them smaller and smaller. When the circle becomes as tight as it can, Tim leans closer, tugging on the flesh with his fingers to give his mouth room to close against it. He gently probes his tongue into that relaxed opening, rewarded with a soft sigh from the boy above him as he lifts his ass back towards the attention.

Letting his eyelids flutter closed, Billie Joe focuses on that wet muscle sliding in and out of him. He was already fully aroused from the spanking, and this is only going a long way to making that arousal uncomfortable. He knows, though, that any complaints will get him more punishment and then he may have to go to bed without his bedtime story. But that continued stimulation makes him buck and writhe nonetheless, and after a few long minutes of the exquisite sensation he unfolds his arms, clawing at the comforter.

"Fuck!," he cries out, and the attention stops at once.

A hand comes down on his ass, softer than before, as Tim straightens up with a chuckle. "No cursing, little boy."

There's definitely a darker tone to his scratchy voice now. Billie Joe forces himself to settle his hips down, fingers relaxing their grip. "I'm sorry, Daddy."

"That's better," Tim concedes, pulling his legs up under himself to kneel again.

He retrieves the bottle of lotion, uncapping it to spread a generous amount on his fingertips. He drops his hand back to Billie Joe's backside, carefully spreading the fluid into the abused skin and rubbing it in gently. It goes a long way to ease Billie Joe's nerves, though it's still mildly arousing, and he finds before too long he can breath comfortably again. That is, until slides two fingers down the crease of his ass and slips them inside of them.

Billie Joe's back curves for the touch, pressing his ass wantonly back towards Tim's hands. Tim scissors his fingers, then crosses them, stretching the younger man's body and accustoming it to the touch though there's hardly any need. Pushing his fingers farther back, he seeks out the spongey section of tissue that indicates Billie Joe's prostate, nudging his fingertips hard against it. That back curls into a pretty arch for him again, Billie Joe releasing a long, low moan. Tim grins ferally for the response, stroking the pads of those digits over that same spot methodically until he has the boy writhing at his touch again. Plaintive, beseeching noises fight their way from Billie Joe's mouth, but no matter how much he begs, Tim does not relent. He just continues stimulating that gland, until Billie Joe is certain he'll explode from any more.

However, he knows it is against the rules to come before his Daddy tells him he can.

Finally, after what seems like hours of the torture, Tim slides those fingers from inside of him. He crawls over Billie Joe's body, pressing one gentle kiss to the back of the boy's neck before moving to settle himself against the headboard. Billie Joe lifts his head, blinking up at Tim blearily and giving a questioning moan.

Tim undoes his belt, stripping off his pants and boxers to toss them aside. He slouches against the pillows a bit,letting his eyes drift back to the boy spread-eagled on his bed and giving him a soft, adoring smile. Patting his thigh a couple times, he reaches out to help the shakey other man sit up and slides him onto his lap.

"Ya ready for yer bedtime story, little boy?," Tim asks, a decisively lustful roll to his voice.

Billie Joe nods his emphatic response, and snatches at the lotion Tim offers him, suddenly revivified. Pouring some of the lotion onto his palm, he curls his hand around Tim's straining cock. Tim moans, eyelids flickering threateningly, though he does not allow them to close. Billie Joe continues to stroke his hand over the man's erection, spreading the liquid over it until every square centimeter of the heated flesh is glistening. When Tim raises a hand to stop him, Billie Joe smiles bashfully, removing his own hand.

Grasping Billie Joe's hips, Tim lifts him slightly to slide farther down the bed until he's nearly laying across it, his shoulders and head supported by the fluffy pillows. Then he guides those hips forward, directing Billie Joe to hover over his crotch. He replaces one hand, gripping the base of his own cock lightly as the opposite hand presses down on Billie Joe's hip, leading him down and onto it. Both men moan melodically as Tim fluidly eases into Billie Joe's ass, retracting his hand to place it back on that hip instead. Billie Joe settles himself flush in Tim's lap, pausing there to give them both a chance to take one last, deep breath.

Tim nods slowly, fighting his eyes back open. Billie Joe pushes both palms flat against Tim's chest, spreading his fingertips out across his pectoral muscles and waiting patiently for the man to start.

In a quavering, half-breathless voice ill-suited to the rhyme, Tim's voice is nonetheless melodic as he starts to sing. "I love little pussy, his coat is so warm..."

Billie Joe pulls himself up, inhaling sharply at the feeling of Tim's cock gliding fluidly out of him. His fingertips curl into the hard muscles beneath them, eyelids falling halfway closed. But he fights to keep them opened, focused on the man beneath him as he starts to ease back down. Tim's breath catches in his throat, but it only interrupts the lullabye for a moment.

"And if I don't hurt him...he'll do me no harm...," that voice is gruffer and shaking with obvious arousal. Billie Joe cries out as quiet as he can as he forces himself all the way down, the head of Tim's dick grinding hard into his prostate again. They both shiver pleasantly but Billie lifts up again, increasing the pace as he goes, nearly letting Tim slip out of him before dropping back down quicker than before. Tim's nails dig into the flesh covering his hipbones, and his words are even lower.

"So I'll not pull his tail...ah...nor drive him away." Billie Joe rapidly lifts himself, barely giving the organ inside him a chance to brush against that sensitive spot inside of him. He's more focused on pleasing the man beneath him now, and from the way that Tim's arms shake he guesses he's doing a fairly good job. Those hips rise up to meet him each time he forces himself down, now, and Tim has to unclench his teeth to get the last line of the rhyme out, a strained whisper.

"...but pussy and I, very gently...will play..." Tim throws his hips up against Billie Joe's ass, burying himself deeply inside the younger man. Not having expected it, Billie Joe bends enticingly, crying out loudly. Grasping those hips harsher, Tim sits up, rolling Billie Joe underneath himself. Billie Joe folds his legs up against Tim's chest on instinct, barely having the time to do so before Tim is thrusting into his frame. His shoulders shove back against the bedframe, slamming it into the wall, and his moans turn into high-pitched gasps for air as Tim fucks him as hard as he can.

It seems almost impossible, after all the teasing before, that Billie Joe hasn't yet come. But he's still waiting for that signal from Tim. His fingers dig deep into the man's toned shoulders, back arching and falling sporadically as he whispers pleas with sparse breath. Tim can feel the tension in his own stomach winding tighter, and tighter around itself, and moments before it snaps he leans closer, eyes closed, whispering against Billie's sweatslicked forehead.

"Come for me, boy. Let me hear you scream."

And Billie Joe is only too happy to comply, spine snapping into a rigid bow so quickly it nearly forces Tim's cock out of him. Tim buries himself deeply inside the younger man, shuddering almost violently as Billie Joe's head drops back and he releases an inhuman scream of 'Daddy' that no little boy would ever be capable of. That sound, coupled with the muscles clenching vice-like around Tim's erection, is enough to convince him to let the ball of fire in the pit of his stomach release. He feels it singe up his veins, igniting every nerve in his body until the vision behind his eyelids turns a vibrant shade of red. He spills inside of Billie Joe, feeling Billie Joe's semen arcing up desperately from the younger man's cock, drenching his lower stomach and the space between Billie Joe's thighs.

They hold tight to each other, clutching as close as the position allows as each convulses, breath a nonexistant thing here. Feeling his body start to give out, Tim jerks his hips back, freeing his drained cock from Billie Joe's form. Those legs slip out from under his chest to wrap tightly around his sides instead, as Tim collapses onto Billie Joe's chest, breath catching in his throat before he starts to gasp for air. Billie Joe laces both arms tight around Tim's neck, pulling the man's head to his shoulder and inhaling desperately against the side of his scalp.

It feels like a lifetime later when Billie Joe allows his eyes to open, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. Tim is still resting against his chest, head against one shoulder, though their grip on each other has slackened drastically. Petting one exhausted hand down the man's back, Billie Joe allows his eyelids to drift closed again, humming the lullabye under his breath. He feels, more than hears, Tim chuckle for it.

Lifting himself with much effort, Tim noses affectionately against Billie Joe's cheek before pressing their mouths together lightly. Neither has the breath or energy for a drawn-out kiss, so their mouths rest against each other gently for a moment until Tim pulls back, rolling to the side. He tugs the blankets down, hooking his feet under them to drawn them back over himself and his companion. Billie Joe stretches to the side, flicking the light off before tucking himself back against Tim's side comfortably. One of Tim's arms loops around his shoulders, fingertips stroking through his sweat-dampened hair. Both are a complete mess, but neither seems to have the will to care, now. Tim shifts back into the pillows comfortably, and Billie Joe brings his head to rest on Tim's chest, fingers splayed out across his muscled stomach.

"I love you, Daddy," Billie Joe whispers against his skin, eliciting a shiver from Tim.

"Love you, too, Billie Joe."