Improvisation

BY : Rina76
Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Tokio Hotel
Dragon prints: 1005
Disclaimer: I do not know Georg Listing, Tom Kaulitz, Bill Kaulitz or any members of Tokio Hotel. This story is a complete work of fiction and not true. I don't own this fandom am not making any money from the writing of this story.

Title: Improvisation

Author: Rina

Summary: 
Georg Listing is a well-known American actor and Tom Trumper is a young man from New York just starting out in his acting career. They are in Hollywood and have both been cast as the leads in a crime thriller movie about two diamond thieves. Georg is a gentleman, easy-going, well-mannered and straight, or at least he thought so until he met Tom, who is the opposite of him in every way - moody, badly-behaved, bisexual and carrying a lot of past baggage. Despite all this, there is a definite attraction between the two of them that is not just acting for the cameras. Georg wants to pursue this attraction behind the scenes and see where it leads but there's one major problem: Tom has a girlfriend called Billinda.

Rated: Adult++

Characters: Georg Listing, Gustav Schafer, Tom Kaulitz, Bill Kaulitz

Genre: Slash, Alternate Universe, First Time, Gender Swap, Twincest - Not Related (no M/F sex scenes)

Main Pairing: Tom/Georg

Side Pairing: Tom/Billinda

Author Notes: This is actually an old story of mine which I removed from all fanfic sites a decade ago and completely re-wrote, intending to turn it into an original book and get it published. Obviously, that didn’t happen so it's been sitting on my computer untouched for 10 years. Just recently, I started to think that it was a waste sitting there on my hard drive with nobody to read it. I still liked the plot but had fallen out of love with the characters I created. Once my last fic Captivation was finished, I thought about revamping that neglected story yet again, only this time for the TH fandom, so that’s exactly what I’ve done. Now the dusty old story has a new lease of life with characters that I am really excited about and I hope you like them too!



Chapter 1.



Joseph Reisinger walks down the dim alleyway towards his car, his keys jangling in his hand. He is in his late teens and has a tall, lean, long-limbed build. Lengthy blond hair is tidily tucked into a ponytail and falls below his shoulders in a sleek curtain. It’s blonder on the tips and darker at the roots, as if dyed in the past. His face is soft, smooth and femininely-featured, although his jaw is strong and his brows dark and thick. His skin is ivory-fair and marked only by a couple of beauty spots on his cheek. His lips are plump and rosy-pink. His eyes are velvety chocolate-brown framed with long black lashes. There is a pair of silver-framed spectacles perched on his perfectly straight nose, implying that he’s intelligent. His plain, drab clothes and nervous demeanour seem to suggest that despite his brains and good looks he is a shy, awkward loner who’s never even been on a date, let alone been kissed before. He comes to the end of the alley and stops dead in his tracks, startled and frozen in shock. 



Miles Vanderwolf is there, leaning against the wall. Waiting for him.



He is as different to Joseph as night is to day. Though slightly shorter in height, Miles is older a few years, and his body is solid and more muscular - not as slim and supple as the other boy’s. His skin is bronzed with a golden tan, chestnut brown hair clipped short at the sides and slicked back with gel on the top, giving him a sinister appearance. His facial features are finer and sharper; his nose pointer than Joseph’s. His deep-set eyes are green and shrewd, seeming to pierce through the night. Though his expressions is hard and haughty, Miles is still very attractive in an ice-cold kind of way, like a stone statue. The only thing he has in common physically with Joseph is that they are both male. 



Miles is dressed in black pants and a vinyl trench coat and is resting against the brick wall of the alley, idly smoking a cigarette. He smiles insidiously in greeting. 



“Hello, Joseph. Nice evening for a stroll, isn’t it?”



Joseph blinks a few times, as if to regain his startled composure, and then moves forward. 



“Hey, Miles. I was just – just, ah...” He doesn’t quite finish the sentence and clears his throat, attempting not to appear shaken. He starts again. “What do you want, Miles?” 



“What do I want?” Miles repeats. He drags on the cigarette and blows the smoke out of his nostrils, peering at Joseph with penetrating eyes. “Let’s see. How about some fucking honesty for starters? You told me you were staying home tonight so what were you doing in that bar?” 



Joseph tries not to quake in his shoes. “Nothing.”



“Nothing, huh?” A scornful Miles flicks his cigarette butt toward the scared figure and Joseph jumps aside to avoid the burning object. Miles abruptly leaps off the wall and grabs the blond boy by the shoulders, making him drop his car keys in fright. Roughly pushing him down, Miles forces Joseph to his knees and then brutally shoves him backward, sending the younger one sprawling, causing him to cry out and his glasses to fall off. Swiftly crouching, Miles straddles him, slamming Joseph’s head against the cement, watching the younger one’s face crumpling momentarily in dizzy pain. Wanting answers, Miles leans down and stares into Joseph’s bewildered eyes, hands entangled in Joseph’s hair, holding him prisoner and forcing the weaker male to look at him. Joseph just stays there, lying on the hard pavement. He is gasping for breath and reflexively clutching Miles’s forearms, but doesn’t even try to fight or get up.



“You were in there with that whore. I saw you together,” Miles growls aggressively.



“Tina’s not – Don’t call her that.” Joseph defends the redheaded woman he was with in the bar. 



“She takes money for sex, Joseph. That’s a whore. Believe me, I know. I’ve paid for it.” 



Joseph appears dismayed and distressed by this information. 



“Oh, you didn’t realise? Poor Joe. So naïve.” The older man gives a thin-lipped smile, taking sadistic pleasure in letting Joseph know what Tina does for a living. “Yeah, your precious girlfriend isn’t just a waitress. She pimps her ass out to anyone who’ll pay. If you’re supposed to be so smart, genius, how the fuck could you not figure that out?”



Joseph cannot answer. He’s too confused and intimidated. So, Miles keeps talking. 



“C’mon, Joseph. We’re friends; be honest with me. What did you say to her? Did you let her in on our plan? Did you promise her a cut of the diamonds?” His green eyes blaze intently into Joseph’s darker ones.



“No,” Joseph replies. Miles doesn’t believe him and scoffs. Joseph repeats, more emphatically this time, “No! I told her nothing! She doesn’t know anything.”



“I saw you go into the bathroom. Did she follow you in there? Did she suck your dick?” For a platonic friend, Miles sounds insanely jealous.



Joseph returns in horror, “Of course she didn’t! I wouldn’t even-” 



Miles’s angry voice cuts him off. “Don’t you fucking lie to me, Joe! You’ve been screwing around with her. I know it!” The bully’s face displays fury and perceived betrayal. He slams Joseph’s skull cruelly against the cement again, his hands fisted in Joseph’s blond locks. 



After a painful wince, Joseph opens his mouth as if to speak and nothing but a grunt comes out. Then he manages to say, “I’ve just been talking with her. That’s all.”



“Talking?” 



“Yeah, just talking,” Joseph grinds out. “I’ve been getting information on the security guard’s routine and how often he goes on patrol. She thinks I’m interested in opening a restaurant nearby and I said if I did, she could have a job there. She doesn’t know about the bank vault or what we’re planning to do. You have my blood oath, Miles.”



After a few tense seconds, Miles finally believes him and uncurls his strong grasp but his fingers remain in Joseph’s hair. “You really didn’t tell her anything?”



“Of course not. I’m only doing all this so I can take care of my little sister. I want to give her everything our parents can’t anymore.” Joseph’s voice is close to breaking with grief. “That car crash may have made us orphans and I can’t do a damn thing to change that, but I am NOT gonna let us be broke and homeless too.”



Miles is still staring piercingly at the other male. “That’s the only reason you’re doing this, why you’ve been spending all this time with me lately, plotting and organizing every little detail of the heist? So you can buy a nice house and put Krystal through college?”



“No, I’m also doing this for US,” the blond boy stresses, raising his brows for emphasis. “If we pull this job off, Miles, we’ll be set for life. Once we have those diamonds in our hands, we can both finally leave this tiny lakeside town and go wherever we want in the world, like we talked about. I won’t have to fix computers for a living and you won’t have to steal cars or sell drugs anymore. We’re better than that.”



Even though he’s still pinned to the ground, Joseph doesn’t try to get up and he doesn’t seem afraid anymore either, squeezing Miles on the arm with familiar fondness. That friendly squeeze turns into an absent caress, Joseph knowing the real reason behind Miles’ angry behaviour. 



“Forget about Tina, okay? She’s nothing to me,” Joseph says quietly. “We’ve lived next door to each other since we were kids, Miles, and for all our differences you’ve always been my best friend. And you always will be. No woman is ever gonna come between us and ruin our friendship, I promise.”



After hearing this, Miles’ face softens, as does his voice. “Goddammit, Joe. Why do you make me worry so much? Huh?” 



The older man sounds both exasperated and affectionate. His mouth curves in a half-smile, turning it from cruel to pleasant. His left hand comes across to sweep over Joseph’s cheek in a loving manner. Miles is now cupping Joseph’s face and gazing down at him searchingly. Joseph is directly looking up at his partner in crime and his eyes are very wide and very dark, almost inviting. There is an extremely still, pregnant moment where it seems as if the world has paused, is holding its breath, is waiting for something. The faces of the two males are very close together. It doesn’t take much movement for Miles to lower his head, just a slight downward twist to the right, and then his mouth is pressed against Joseph’s own. Joseph stiffens, his eyes going even larger. Miles’s eyelids fall shut with a flutter of lashes. He kisses Joseph hungrily, claiming him back, tearing him out of that dirty slut Tina’s unwanted clutches and back into his own. 



Joseph Reisinger is his. And his alone. He belongs to Miles; he is Miles’s property, whether Joseph likes it or not. Miles Vanderwolf parts those irresistible pink lips with his demanding tongue and thrusts deep and hard, possessing the inside of Joseph’s hot, moist mouth like an act of sexual violence while paradoxically cradling the blond boy’s face gently in his hands the whole time, as gently as if he is holding a new born baby. 



And Joseph lets him do it.



“CUT!” A loud voice yells, breaking the spell. “Georg, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”



Georg Listing, semi-famous American actor and eligible bachelor, breaks the kiss and gets off the other boy, standing up and turning around inquisitively, his tongue flickering over his lips. Gustav Schafer, the highly respected German-born director of this movie, comes stalking across the room, a white sheaf of paper in his hand and a disgruntled expression on his face. Georg glances at Tom Trumper. He is still lying there, his back to the cement, unmoving. He is staring at Georg with a shocked, stunned look in his chocolate eyes, his lips wet and glistening with Georg’s saliva. Georg offers Tom a hand to get up but Tom ignores it, getting off the studio floor himself. All around them are cameras, lighting and various members of the crew. At the unscheduled interruption, everyone seems either amused or annoyed. And Gustav is most certainly the latter. 



“What was that?” he demands irately, gesturing in Tom’s gob-smacked direction but glaring at Georg through a pair of black-rimmed glasses.



“It’s called a kiss,” Georg says with a grin, trying to make light of the situation. 



“Don’t be smart with me,” Gustav warns. He smacks the wad of paper against Georg’s chest. “Do you see what I’m holding in my hand? It’s called a script. I’m looking at it right now, and you know what? That kiss was not in the script, Georg.”



“Yeah, I know.”



“Well, then why did you do it?” Gustav frowns at the brown-haired actor.



Georg shrugs. “I dunno. I just did.” 



When he is not in character, Georg’s voice is completely different. In character his voice is harder, crueller. Out of it, his voice is warmer, friendlier and more laid-back, as is his personality. 



“Look, Gus, I’m not trying to ruin the scene,” he continues apologetically. “I was getting into the moment. At that point in time, I believed that that was something Miles Vanderwolf would do. It just felt right and I was just going with the flow. You know how it is.”



Gustav sighs at the logical explanation, his temper cooling. “Listen, I don’t mind if you like to ad lib a little. I’m open to suggestions, you know that, but you can’t just do something major like throw in a kiss without consulting me first. You understand?”



“Yeah, okay. Sorry,” Georg says making a repentant face. He shoots Tom another glance. Tom has recovered somewhat. He doesn’t look as if he has been whacked in the head with a mallet anymore. In fact, he’s starting to look irritated. Georg smiles apologetically at him and Tom makes a half-scowl in return, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and dusting his clothes down in preparation for the next take he knows they will have to do thanks to Georg’s improvisational face-sucking. They have already done this scene four times, and almost had it perfect too. Then Georg had to go fuck it up.



Unperturbed by Tom’s vexation, Georg squints at Gustav curiously. “So, are we going to keep that in?”



“It’s not in the script,” the blond-haired director reminds, pointing at the page he is holding.



“Well, can we ask Terry write it in?” 



“No, we cannot,” Gustav says flatly, speaking for the scriptwriter Terry on her behalf. “There’s no kissing in this film, at least not between those characters.”



“Why not?” Georg asks, wanting to know. To him, a kiss seems like a natural progression of Miles’s dominance and spiralling infatuation with his best friend Joseph.



“There just isn’t.” 



“But why not?” Georg persists. “I mean, c’mon. There are definitely homoerotic overtones happening in the plot. I’m definitely picking those vibes up. Aren’t you picking them up, Tom?” He looks to the other actor for backup.



“Whatever you say, man...” Tom lifts his shoulders noncommittally. Hey, this wasn’t his idea.



“Look, homoerotic vibes or not, there’s not going to be any kissing. All right?” Gustav sounds weary of Georg’s dogged perseverance.



Georg looks around at everyone else who is staying right out of this argument and he realizes he’s on his own. Tom isn’t even backing him up here. His co-star has got to see the sexual chemistry between the characters of Miles and Joseph. God, how can he NOT see it? It’s so bleeding obvious. Georg saw it in the script, before any shooting had even taken place. Or maybe Tom does see but just doesn’t want to get involved in the debate. The younger long-haired actor is gazing back and forth between the two of them, Georg and Gustav, seeming interested in the subject but remaining frustratingly silent and unhelpful. Georg fights the urge to smack Tom upside the head for his lack of support, and then lifts his chin, determinedly meeting Gustav’s eyes. 



“Well, if you want my opinion, Gus, I think there should be a kiss between Miles and Joseph.”



“Well, I didn’t ask you and it’s my movie and I say it’s not going to happen,” Gustav states staunchly. 



“But I really think you should at least consider the possibility...”



Gustav cuts him off. “Georg, no. You’re the actor, and I’m the director and you have to do what I tell you to, okay? We’re not changing the script. Just leave it at that. Now let’s do the scene again, the way it was supposed to go.” He stares at Georg, daring the other man to object. He may be around the same age as the actor he’s meant to be directing but Gustav Schafer projects the authority of someone much older and more commanding, especially with his German accent, so Georg abandons his protests and does what he’s told.



“Okay. Okay, fine.” Georg sighs in defeat and Gustav goes back to his chair and starts barking orders. The rest of the crew is getting ready for take five. And six and probably seven, too. Nobody, no matter how good a performer, ever gets it right in just one take. Even if they do, more takes are completed, just in case they can do better.



“Hey, Tom?” Georg says, turning to his co-star. 



Tom is impatiently enduring the undesired attentions of a stylist/makeup artist tidying up his flowing blond tresses and then powdering his face, which had gone slightly sweaty and shiny during the head-slamming scene. He sneezes and glowers at the powder-puff wielding woman – Natalie, her name is – who doesn’t seem affected at all by the intimidating intensity in his dark glare. She spritzes him with hairspray to ensure his ponytail stays suitably neat and smooth. Tom rubs at his itchy nose with one hand and aims bemused brown eyes in Georg’s direction.



“What?” 



Done with Tom, Natalie quickly dusts Georg off with translucent powder and leaves them alone. Well, as alone as you can be on a small set crammed with cameramen, grips, lighting technicians, and other assorted yet essential people involved with the making of a movie.



“Did that bother you?” Georg asks, a little crease in his forehead. “What I just did?”



“No,” Tom mumbles, looking down at the pair of glasses he is holding. “Why would it? I’ve got an open mind.”



“I know, but you looked pretty spun out after I did it, though.”



Tom jerks his head up, his face full of accusation. “Yeah, well, that’s because you stuck your goddamn tongue in my mouth, G! You could’ve warned me,” he almost snarls. “I wasn’t expecting it.”



“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to hit me last week, either,” Georg counters with an arched brow. 



Tom groans and rolls his eyes. “Shit, you had to bring that up again, didn’t you? How many times can I say I’m sorry? Fuck.” He still feels awfully bad about accidentally hitting Georg in the mouth during a fight scene. At Tom’s guilty look, Georg chuckles throatily and grasps the other boy’s shoulder reassuringly.



“Don’t stress about it. I guess you could say we’re even now.” Georg winks amicably at him.



“Right. Even,” Tom mutters, shrugging his hand off. “I fucking hope so.” 



“Hey, you think they’re gonna put that on the DVD?” Georg ponders. “Y’know, like an outtake. You think they’ll use it?” 



“What, the punch?” Tom asks distractedly, his mind busy wondering if anyone would miss him if he snuck outside for a sly smoke. After that little drama, he is in dire need of a nicotine hit.



“No, the kiss.” 



Tom snorts and looks over at the director. “Going by Gus’s reaction, I doubt it.”



After a pause, Georg asks suddenly, “Why’d you let me do it?” 



Not sure if he heard correctly, Tom turns back to him and sees a flirtatious gleam appear in Georg’s green gaze. That gleam makes Tom feel slightly uncomfortable.



“For your information, Georg, I only went along with it because I knew you were improvising,” Tom says irascibly. “And it would have been fine if you hadn’t given me tongue. You broke the actor’s code of conduct, dude. Not cool.”



Georg should have given Tom a make-believe French kiss, where it looks like the actors’ tongues are touching but in reality aren’t. That’s the standard way to kiss in front of the camera. Most actors simply don’t want to get that intimate with their co-stars. 



But Georg does.



He smiles at Tom, very slowly and very suggestively. 



“I was good, wasn’t I? That’s why you let me do it. Isn’t that right, Tom?”



Tom gapes at the other man. What the fuck is Georg doing? Hitting on him? Improv is one thing but this, whatever this is, it’s ridiculous! Georg knows that Tom has a steady girlfriend and is not available for dating or any other extra-curricular activities. And as far as Tom is aware, Georg – though happily single – is straight as an arrow.



Or is he? 



If Georg’s supposed to be so straight, then why’s he making with the bedroom eyes? The fact that he has never acted this way towards Tom before is why the second boy is so astounded and taken aback.



At the incredulous expression plastered across Tom’s pretty features, Georg can’t help breaking out into a huge grin, almost-dimples appearing in his cheeks. The seductive look in his eyes vanishes, as if it had never been there, leaving only barely contained humour and mirth. 



“C’mon, admit it,” Georg teases, giving Tom a shove in the arm. “You got a little excited back there, didn’t you?” 



“Yeah, you wish. YOU were the one getting wood over it,” Tom drawls scathingly, incredibly relieved that Georg is only playing with him. Relieved and a tad pissed off. Amidst his chagrin, he notices Gustav crossly motioning for them to quit messing around. He shoves Georg back, a little harder than was necessary, making him stumble. 



“That wasn’t fucking funny. Asshole.”



Georg just laughs merrily at the insult and strolls away, lighting up another cigarette and leaning his compactly-toned body onto the wall, assuming the pose of hot-headed diamond-thief Miles Vanderwolf once again. 



As Tom wanders down the alleyway set to take his place for the re-shooting of the scene, he unconsciously licks his lips, wishing he’d had time to take a cigarette break because then he wouldn’t still be tasting Georg in his mouth. The dude tastes like coffee, tobacco, salt and...and...maleness, for lack of a better word. Tom feels a surge of irritation, but he’s not sure if it’s directed at Georg or himself. Probably Georg.



“Asshole,” he mutters again, slipping the fake pair of reading glasses back on. Fuck Georg for doing that, for making them do the scene again, for making Tom feel like this. Fuck him! Well, Tom can’t do anything about it now. Pushing the matter to the very back of his mind, he decides he’ll deal with Georg later. The issue is not resolved yet.



“Aaaaand...we’re rolling!”



Gustav’s authoritative tone rings through the air and Tom takes a deep, steadying breath and lifts his foot to take the first step, a camera and boom microphone trailing his every move. He isn’t Tom Trumper, rebellious eighteen year old New York resident, actor, part-time rock guitarist and baggy jeans-wearer, anymore. He is a geeky, introverted, safe-cracking criminal mastermind dressed in a checked long-sleeved shirt, pressed pants, silver-rimmed glasses and boring, lace-up shoes. 



He is Joseph Reisinger now. 



And Joseph’s lips are still glowing white-hot from the kiss.



………





As Gustav ordered, Georg sticks to the script and the shoot finally wraps up for the afternoon. After he walks off the set, the experienced actor makes his way back to his trailer, takes a shower and changes into worn black jeans, so faded they actually look grey, and a white t-shirt with a logo of Hawaii on it, all hibiscus flowers and hula dancers. The screen printed logo is starting to crack in places because it is a favourite shirt that he wears often, even sleeps in. Georg got it on his last surfing holiday. The clumps of gel have been washed out of his hair and the short brown strands sit more naturally on the top of his head, softer and still slightly damp. His feet are bare and his toes sink into the plush cream carpet as he walks over to answer the loud, insistent knocking on his trailer door. 



“Oh, hey. It’s you,” he exclaims as he opens the door to find Tom standing there. Georg had been half-expecting to discover a gaggle of hyper girls who still have crushes on him from his teenage heart-throb days. It wouldn’t be the first time fans had tracked him down wanting autographs or photos. Even though he’s twenty five years old now and has eleven movies under his belt, three Golden Globe awards and an Oscar nomination, it seems he will always be remembered for playing the cute, funny school student in a lame-ass prime time soapie that receives repeat showings on cable TV and is still hugely popular for reasons he can’t quite understand. It was called Teen High and a large part of his childhood was spent on that set. He went through puberty on the show, voice changes, pimples and all. Though Teen High got his career started and he is grateful for that, Georg still cringes in embarrassment when he watches it now. While he thought it was the coolest thing ever as a kid, in his adult opinion it was a piece of melodramatic crap. Try telling that to the love-stuck thirteen year old girls who send him fan mail written with glitter pen on pink scented paper. 



But there is no gaggle of girls on his doorstep. Not even one girl. Just Tom. Not that that’s a bad thing. Actually, it’s quite a welcome thing, like when he cracks an egg open and it’s a double-yolker. Wondering what it is that brings Tom to his temporary abode this fine evening, Georg is about to ask him but the young American teen climbs the stairs two at a time in his sneakers and rudely pushes past him, not asking if he’s allowed to enter the premises or even saying hello. 



“Sure Tom, of course you can come in,” Georg says wryly and closes the door after him. He turns to find the other actor pacing restlessly up and down, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hooded sweater. The teenager has a baseball cap on and his blond locks are sticking out underneath it, falling untidily around the sides of his face, as if he deliberately messed it up with his hands right after the cameras stopped rolling to erase all traces of Joseph Reisinger’s peculiar nerdy neatness. 



Apparently, Tom had a mass of dreadlocks before landing this role but he had to get them taken out to play his current character. He was asked to cut his hair short too, but Tom refused to chop off six years’ worth of growth for one damn movie. There is a metal ring through the corner of his lower lip which he only puts in when he’s not working. Same goes for the black tubular earrings in each earlobe. He is wearing an orange hoodie and a pair of oversized blue jeans held up by a canvas belt. Clipped onto a belt loop of his jeans is a silver key chain that drapes over one thigh and curves back up to disappear into his pocket. On the end of the chain are his apartment and car keys, not that he needs them here; he left his car back home in New York for his girlfriend Billinda to drive around. 



Georg watches Tom pace his trailer floor with mild amusement. “You’re gonna wear a hole in my carpet,” he says with one brow raised, and Tom stops his pacing. 



“Sit down. Please.” Georg gestures to the padded seats around the circular table in the centre of his trailer. Tom shakes his head, preferring to stand. The boy appears agitated. He glances at Georg, then quickly looks away, then glances back, a scowl marring his normally smooth forehead. It seems like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to begin.



“Well, spit it out already,” Georg drawls, leaning back against the kitchenette bench top, which is opposite the table, and folding his arms across his chest. “You obviously have something you wanna say to me.”



Tom takes a breath, begins to speak, stops, gathers his courage and then starts again. 



“Dude, you can’t just go around shoving your fucking tongue down people’s throats without asking!” he blurts out, managing to sound both irritated and insulted. “Or at least giving a bit of advance notice, you know? It’s called common courtesy.”



“Ah.” Georg nods understandingly. “You’re still pissed off about that.”



“Well, yeah. What did you think I was pissed about? That your trailer is nicer than mine?” Tom says sarcastically.



“It is?” Georg grins delightedly at that information. “Well, of course it would be. I AM the main star of the film, after all.”



Tom gives him a withering glare, not in the mood for jokes. Georg sighs and scratches his head, shooting Tom a bemused look.



“Why are you so upset by this? Huh?”



“I’m not upset,” Tom argues, but his face contradicts that statement. “It’s just that..well, you know. It’s uh, not something that I...I usually...Fuck!” He breaks off, and looks around as if seeking the right words, unable to describe exactly what he is feeling. 



Georg cocks his head and gazes at Tom with deep set, sea-green eyes. He gazes at the younger boy in such a calculating way and for so long that Tom stops being pissed and starts to feel weirdly nervous, shifting uncomfortably.



“What?” he asks defensively, a frown drawing his thick brows together.



Georg licks his lips, a fast flash of pink tongue over the outline of his mouth. He licks his lips and then pronounces, “You liked it.” 



Even though he knows perfectly well what the other guy is referring to, Tom stares at him as if he doesn’t have the faintest idea what he’s talking about and tries to ignore the rush of panic in his veins. 



“I...what?” he almost squeaks.



“Don’t play dumb. You know precisely what I mean.” Georg’s voice is low and husky, resembling a purr and those blue eyes are like molten glass, hot and liquid and glittering all at once. “You liked it when I kissed you, didn’t you, Tom?” 



The way Georg says Tom’s name, rolling it off his tongue like a soft breath, it sounds as if he saying something sexy and erotic. Tom feels his heart beginning to thump in his chest and his cheeks heating up. Georg is flirting with him again! The first time he was convinced that Georg was only messing around, but this time, he isn’t so sure.



“Are you-” Tom’s throat goes dry and he swallows. “Are you fucking with me?”



“Not yet...” Georg says provocatively. Tom’s eyes go round at the innuendo.



“That’s why you’re so upset,” the older actor continues. “You liked it and you don’t know how to handle it. Tell me I’m wrong.”



“Bullfucking shit,” Tom declares, but there’s a tremor in his voice. “That’s not it, G.”



“It’s not?” Georg takes a step towards Tom, and Tom takes one back. “Then what is it?”



“I...I...That’s not it!” Tom repeats, the panic in his veins beginning to show in his words. 



“No?” Georg questions, taking another step. Tom stumbles in reverse. The back of his thighs hit the edge of the table and he can’t go any further. 



Georg’s penetrating gaze burns into Tom’s own. He is standing very close to the blond boy. Too close, Tom thinks frantically, feeling his personal space being trespassed into. Georg is that close that Tom can see tiny gold specks in the other male’s green irises.



“Because you know what, Tom? I reckon that IS it.”



“No! It isn’t!” Tom totally wants to put some distance between the two of them but he can’t. He’s trapped. He curls his fingers around the edge of the table top and holds on tight so Georg can’t see how much his hands are trembling.



“Really.” Georg lifts his brows. “If that’s true, then I should be able to kiss you right now, and you shouldn’t get bothered by it. Right?” He awaits Tom’s answer. 



Tom just gulps. If he says yes, Georg will kiss him again. He knows this as surely as he knows his own name. And if he says no, then he’s admitting that he liked it and he doesn’t want to do that.



“Well?” Georg prompts, knowing he’s backed Tom into a corner, not to mention the table. Tom gulps again, desperately trying to think of a way to get out of this but failing to come up with anything. He admits he’s not the smartest guy in the world - he didn’t even complete high school - but normally he has a witty comeback for anything. However, right then Tom’s brain is nothing but a useless lump of grey flesh sitting in his skull like a paper weight.



“I...I should go,” he stammers weakly, making an attempt at squeezing past Georg but the brown-haired male snatches his arm and halts Tom’s escape, pushing him back onto the lip of the circular table. Tom turns to face him, a spark of anger lighting in his eyes. Georg’s got some nerve to grab him like this! He yanks at the other man’s grasp.



“Let me go, Listing,” Tom says, but the command comes out nowhere near as forceful as he wants it to sound. In fact, he almost sounds scared. Tom realizes with a prickle of alarm that he IS scared. What the fuck is going on? He’s not usually afraid of anybody.



“I’m not letting go until you answer me,” Georg proclaims, keeping his hold firm on Tom’s arm. “It’s a simple question, kid. You liked the kiss. Am I right or am I wrong?”



“You’re wrong,” Tom states with false confidence, hoping against hope that Georg is only bluffing and won’t actually kiss him again. This is all some fucked up game that Georg is playing with him, for whatever fucked up reason, and Tom is determined not to let the other guy win. He scowls at Georg, hating the older actor for making him feel this way, furious and utterly terrified at the same time. It’s not a pleasant combination and the emotions war with each other, like two snakes slithering inside his gut. 



“And don’t call me ‘kid’.”



Unperturbed by Tom’s blistering dirty look, Georg stares at him and the blond teen stares back, not dropping his eyes, not letting Georg get the better of him, not showing his underlying fright. The air is practically crackling between them but Tom doesn’t know with what. Tension? Aggression? Oh, those are definitely there, but there’s something else too. Something that makes all of his five senses keenly sharp. He can smell the soap Georg showered with lingering on the second male’s skin and the freshness of his aftershave, can smell the cigarette butts in the ashtray next to the sink, and the perfume of some flowers he doesn’t know the name of that are in a glass vase on the laminated bench top. 



He can hear the low hum of the fridge, the quiet ticking of a clock somewhere within the trailer and the faint dripping of the recently used shower. He can also hear Georg’s soft breathing, as well as his own (which is a fraction faster than normal), and Tom can hear his own heart pounding in his head like a drum. His heart is thudding that hard, he’s certain Georg must be able to hear it too. It feels like it’s going to jump right out of his chest. 



Not only are his senses of smell and hearing working overtime, but Tom’s skin is highly sensitive too, every nerve activated, and he is painfully aware of each physical sensation. The weight and texture of the clothing on his body, the belt around his hips, the silver chain resting on the left side of his upper leg, stray ends of his hair tickling his neck, the edge of the table digging into the back of his thighs, the pulse of blood in his veins, the heat rising in his face. He can sense all of these things but most of all, and most disturbingly of all, he feels Georg’s fingers scorching through the layers of his hoodie right onto his arm. Tom is sure there will be finger prints burnt into his skin when Georg lets go. That’s if he does let go. If his arm is not released in five seconds, Tom is going to use excessive force and the fact that Georg is his co-star won’t stop him. He doesn’t have to take this shit. 



From anyone. Ever. 



Two seconds short of being kneed in the balls, Georg removes his hand from Tom’s bicep and smiles. The blond boy goes slack with gratitude, not realizing how tensed up he had been until that instant. It appears that Georg is only testing him. Tom is thankful to have been set free but what Georg just did to him is not fucking okay and the bastard is not getting away with it. He takes a deep breath, all ready to give Georg the most vicious, nasty scolding he’ll ever get in his entire life. Before he can even get one word out, Georg’s hands are suddenly cupping his face and their lips are joined. Tom makes a startled (and muffled) yelp, trying to pull away, but with his thighs flush against the table edge, he has nowhere to go. With an audible sucking sound, Georg breaks the connection of their mouths and grins smugly at Tom.



“So, did that bother you, tough-guy?” Georg drawls with one eyebrow lifted. 



Tom blinks and then abruptly shoves Georg hard in the chest, away from him, making the older actor crash backwards into the sink. The next thing Georg feels is Tom’s fist slamming into the side of his face and he sees silver stars shooting across his vision.



“Fuck you!” Tom snarls savagely and storms out of Georg’s trailer like a denim-clad whirlwind, leaving the door wide open and the other man reeling from the shock of the blow, hanging onto the kitchen sink with both hands and trying not to black out. The whizzing stars eventually fade and Georg experimentally touches his cheek and opens his mouth, checking to see if his jawbone is still in one piece. It hurts but thankfully, nothing seems to be broken.



“Shit,” he utters.



He had been positive that Tom wanted it, that he wanted to be kissed, despite his half-hearted protests. Georg had been positive that there was some undercurrent of attraction between them, an attraction that had been there ever since they first met and which appeared to be gradually growing each day they worked together. He had been positive that Tom would reciprocate any advances he made, despite the younger actor having a girlfriend. All Georg really knows about her is that her name is Billinda Kaulitz, she’s a costume designer and that Tom has been seeing her for long enough to make it serious. Even though Tom has a female partner waiting for him at home, Georg also knows that that the boy is actively bisexual. He figured that out when he and Tom went clubbing one night in L.A. shortly after shooting had begun. 



Now, Georg is not really into clubs because they are noisy, crowded and the techno music they play is crap but he agreed to go that one time simply because Tom asked him to and he couldn’t say no to the kid. He supposed he could stand the music and the annoying drunken patrons as long as Tom was there to distract him. And the blond teen was a whopping source of distraction, even though he was wearing preposterously large jeans and a baggy, loose top that showed nothing of his lean body. Wondering what Tom looked like under all that shapeless clothing, Georg was going nuts trying not to stare too much and picture the boy naked. The place was full of large-breasted girls in skimpy outfits but Georg only had eyes for one young man. Watching Tom talk, smile and laugh, Georg’s gaze was continuously drawn to that silver lip ring and the gorgeous mouth it’s embedded in. 



Also present at the club were the other cast members of the uncompleted crime thriller (tentatively titled Diamond Cut), including award-winning actress Hannah Dallas, whose part is a prostitute named Tina – the one Joseph Reisinger was meeting at that bar and the one Miles Vanderwolf gets all jealous over. From the screenplay, Georg knew he would have a lot of scenes with Hannah and would get the unpleasant task of killing her character off with a gunshot to the head, when Miles discovers that she seduced Joseph and took his virginity. The twist in the tale is that Tina’s ghost comes back to haunt Miles and drive him insane, the unusual storyline appealing to Georg and making him choose this film out of the pile of other scripts he had been given. 



With Georg, Hannah and Tom already in the club along with a handful of other actors who have minor roles, it seemed the only main member of the cast who wasn’t there was Amy Hall, who plays Tom’s character’s little sister, Krystal Reisinger. She really is little; she’s only twelve and as such is not lawfully allowed to enter a bar or club. Neither is Tom, being three years under the legal age of buying and consuming alcohol in the United States of America. However, the bouncers at Club Red didn’t even ask Tom to provide identification, despite his youth. The teenager probably gains entrance into clubs everywhere he goes because he acts older than what he is, plus he’s so bloody good-looking. Everyone knows that good-looking people have a lot more doors opened for them. 



For once, Georg was having an enjoyable time in a club, downing pints of beer and having a chat with all of his co-stars, getting to know them a little better. He found that despite her celebrity status, Hannah Dallas wasn’t stuck up or conceited at all and they quickly formed a friendship. A very attractive actress in her early thirties with a great figure, long red hair and misty blue-grey eyes, she had just received her divorce papers in the mail and couldn’t be happier to be single again. She even flirted with Georg. If he wasn’t so entranced with Tom, Georg might have asked the older woman on a date. 



Georg had been perched on a stool at the bar talking to Hannah about her multi-million dollar horse ranch when he spotted Tom in a dark corner. The boy was behind the club’s sound system, kissing a girl in skinny jeans and a tank top who had short black hair and a decidedly flat chest. Most likely Asian, judging from the girl’s distinctively feathered hairstyle and olive coloured skin. The pair were reflected in a mirror on the wall and it was pure chance that the angle of Georg’s seating arrangement allowed him to observe the hidden tryst. He was inwardly questioning Tom’s choice to cheat on his long-term girlfriend Billinda with some random chick he just met until Georg deduced with shock that it wasn’t a chick at all.



It was another boy. 



That explained the absence of boobs. Tom had one arm around the Asian guy’s neck, cigarette in hand; the other hand was clutching a bottle of pre-mixed bourbon and cola. The two boys were kissing in an eager, messy, drunken way that both enthralled and disturbed Georg. He couldn’t stop staring at first, until Hannah jolted him out of his trance by touching Georg’s shoulder and asking him some question he can’t even remember now. Nobody else could see Tom making out with a member of his own sex, only Georg, and the sight stuck with him long after he glimpsed it. That night at Club Red, Georg came to realise two important things. One: that he had a hopeless man-crush on the blond teenager he’s working with. And two: he had suspected all along that Tom was not strictly into the ladies. That’s why Georg had been attracted to him from day one - because he knew he might actually have a chance. It made sense to him. That’s why he sometimes got the feeling that Tom was looking at him in a way that was more than just casual interest, whether the kid realised it or not. That’s why Tom never pulled away or appeared uncomfortable when Georg slung a friendly arm around him or gazed intently into his eyes when they were talking. Looking at Tom and that other boy kissing, coloured lights swirling in their hair and over their clothes, it all made perfect sense.



From that night on, Georg vowed that one of these days he was going to be the lucky guy who got to kiss Tom’s pierced lips. It became his obsession. Since then, the older actor had just been biding his time, waiting for the right moment to make his move. And today had been that moment. He fully went for it and hit on the boy like a speeding train but the whole event didn’t turn out quite how Georg planned. He had expected a lot more co-operation from his bisexual co-star but it looks like Tom isn’t interested in Georg, not in that way. The painful throbbing in the side of his face is proof of that. 



Georg feels his stomach twisting up at the blunt rejection. He had been really looking forward to Tom kissing him back and not just because the teenager is unbelievably pretty. The first time Georg saw Tom at the initial script reading, his breath was literally taken away. He’d never seen a boy with such stunning, long-lashed chocolate eyes the perfect shape of almonds. He’d never seen a boy with such a luscious, sensuous mouth or such deeply carved cheekbones. Combined with his shoulder-length blond hair, heart-shaped face and flawless skin, Tom looked like an androgynous creature not of this world. Like an Elven prince or something.



That was until he started talking. An Elven prince would not pepper his sentences with curses and inject such a rebellious attitude into his distinctly male voice. An Elven prince would not smirk to himself as though thinking dirty thoughts. An Elven prince would not sit there and smoke one cigarette after the other, not caring if it offended anyone else. An Elven prince would not be wearing baggy denim and a hooded sweater. And an Elven prince certainly would not have piercings in each earlobe or a ring through his lower lip.



From that first glimpse, Georg was hopelessly fascinated and smitten by Tom Trumper. And still is. 



The eighteen year old actor is unearthly beautiful but Georg doesn’t just want him because of that. Every bit of Tom is intriguing, inside and out, his physique and his personality, even his lightning-fast mood changes. One minute Tom’s happy and laughing; the next he’s snapping at people like a gator with a sore foot. Some days he comes to the set and only speaks when he has lines to say; other days nobody can get him to shut up. When he’s at work, he is very mature, grounded and professional beyond his years but when the cameras stop, Tom is gleefully telling rude stories and playing practical jokes on the crew and other actors.



That’s just the way Tom is, Georg has discovered. Always surprising. Always captivating. An enigma. 



Not only is he the prettiest boy Georg has ever seen, but the kid has this mysterious mesmeric aura about him, something that draws Georg in and makes him want to be around Tom, like the clichéd moth to the flame. And Tom is the flame. No doubt about it. He blazes brighter than everyone in a room full of people and he doesn’t even have to try. Georg feels somehow more awake, more alive in Tom’s presence. He had been really looking forward to getting to know the teen on a more intimate level. Seems like it’s not going to happen now, not with the violent way Tom reacted and left his trailer. 



“Shit,” Georg utters again. He stands there cradling his bruised jaw and says to no one in particular, “Well, that sucked.”

 



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