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The Drinking Game	By : steinerfrau Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 2540 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Rammstein. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Title:The Drinking Game
Author: steinerfrau
Rating: nc-17
Category: Rammslash
Characters:Till/Flake
Disclaimer: This story is not true, it is entirely fiction and no offense is intended.
Archived: At Rammstein Fiction Writers ( www.rfw.bitdark.com ) Feedback: Yes please
Summary: Till/Flake fluff. Two dominants, who comes out on 'top'?

Chapter One
It had begun as a simple idea; to have a drinking contest to cheer everyone up. The last person standing/sitting/conscious would get his gear roadied by the rest of them for a month.
Everyone could see that Schneider had his fingers crossed and was drinking as moderately as possible. Being a drummer had distinct disadvantages with the amount of gear you had to cart around and set up at every gig, so he was really hoping to win.
Unfortunately his alcohol tolerance was only slightly more than the small blonde girl attached to his arm. It was only a matter of time before she'd have to support his weight and carry him out of the bar. As for sleeping with him, she was going to be well out of luck. Only scaffolding and black magic would be able to coax life into Schneider's nether regions, and she didn't look like she possessed either.
Paul would closely follow Schneider's lead. Paul was a tryer, in most things, but not with alcohol. A few more drinks and he'd be horizontally snoring for the rest of the night.
As for Olli, he never took part in drinking contests. He wasn't one much for booze and often left before the real party ever got going. No one minded, if you didn't want to play you didn't have to.
This left the big three in the alcohol stakes.
Till, Richard and Flake, and could they drink? Yup, they could. Some nights they managed to consume the equivalent monetary value in alcohol, similar to the Gross Domestic Product of a small South American country.
Shot after shot, bottle after bottle until eventually bleary eyed and with distinct speech impediments, they slid slowly off the couch and onto the floor, figuring that it was less distance to collapse eventually.
This particular night however, Richard gave in first amongst the heavy-weights. He'd been nursing a head cold all week and it was sorely affecting his performance, on and off stage.
He waved his hand over his glass as Till went to refill it. "No more, I have to go sleep. I feel so bad." Till looked up at him slightly stunned, they'd only just really got started. Olli had excused himself at the beginning, after just one drink to be sociable. Then Paul and Christoph had left only a few moments ago both with eager, soon to be sadly disappointed, looking girls in tow and now Rich was bailing out too? So much for a contest.
Flake frowned, and commented, "So soon, Rich?"
Richard nodded and climbed unsteadily to his feet. "My head hurts and bed is calling."
"That's funny, mine never says anything to me," commented Flake, before dissolving into a heap of drunken giggles, body convulsing at his own cleverness.
Till grinned at his joke and smiled, Flake could make emenement out of almost anything anyone said.
"Go then, Reesch, desert us, and leave us to stew in our own..." Flake salutary speech trailed off, as he burped loudly, and his glasses slid down the end of his nose. He paused to collect himself before resuming his sentence," ....juices."
Reesch pulled a face of disgust. "I don't think, Herr Lorenz, I ever want to be anywhere near your juices to stew in, thanks all the same." Flake pushed his ever present glasses back up his nose and regarded Rich with a magnanimous air.
Till and Flake chuckled in a conspiratorial way as Richard waved a hand absently in their direction, as he left the bar. "No stamina some people, eh Flake?"
"It would appear not," he replied. The bar was filling up and rapidly becoming very claustrophobic. Soon someone would recognize them and the 'false friends' thing would start. The taking of pictures and the autographs would start and the drinking rate and the fun level decrease.
"I think it's time to go", said Flake. Till nodded in agreement and they both polished off their respective drinks and edged carefully out of the bar, heads down, avoiding eye contact. There were times when you just didn't want to be famous.
Reaching the outside world the night air was something of a shock. "Hell, it's got cold," muttered Till as they began walking.
"Aww...poor Chilly Tilly," Flake giggled again and mockingly put his arm around Till's shoulders. "There, is that better? I'll keep you warm!"
Till raised an eyebrow and couldn't help smirking at Flake's sincerity.
"My place or yours honey?" Till asked in his deepest voice. Flake roared with laughter and then batted his eyelashes coquettishly.
"Oh yours I think, sweetie," Flake replied in his best squealing fan girl voice then added in his own tones," Besides its closer."
Till wrapped an arm around Flake and pinched his backside, Flake jumped at the feel of his hand and laughed again. "Can I be your groupie, Herr Lindemann?"
It was Till's turn to laugh this time. The sound resonated off the brick walls of the houses along the street. "Stop it, no more laughing, I'm gonna throw up!" "Well, don't chuck up over me please," Flake released him from his odd embrace that was more like a wrestler's headlock and pushed him away gently. Till stumbled under the sudden increase in bodily propulsion and crasheto ato a car parked along the street. The night sky was suddenly lit up with the flashing of its headlights and the blaring of its alarm.
"Shit!"
Flake tugged Till off the windscreen of the agitated vehicle. Lights came on in the house beside them.
"Time for a quick exit." He hauled the struggling man upright and they fled up the street.
Rounding the corner into Till's road they stopped and sagged against the wall to catch their breath. "That was fun," Till panted. Flake grinned ruefully and leaned down resting his hands on his thighs as he caught his breath.
"Couldn't you buy a car like everyone else, Till rather than try and steal one?"
Till laughed and rubbed his hand over his face. "You're always there when I need you aren't you, Christian?" Flake looked up and nodded his rapid breathing slowing. Till straightened up, "I need a drink." "Said like a professional," replied Flake," come on." He stood up and grasped Till's arm again.
It was only a few hundred metres to Till's apartment. They tiredly climbed the stairs to the third floor and he opened the door with all the skill a semi-drunk man could possess. Once through the door they cast off their jackets and Flake followed Till through to the kitchen. Till pulled a bottle of tequila from a cupboard and two clean shot glasses off the drainer next to the sink.
Flake grinned, "Tequila, nectar of the gods."
"Indeed."
Till poured and they downed the shots in seconds, refilling quickly. "Let's go sit down, before we fall down?"
"Yes," Flake replied.
They wandered through into his lounge in companionable silence. Flake sat down heavily onto the squashy couch and exclaimed as his backside nearly hit the floor. He'd sunk so deep into the aging cushions that the couch had almost folded up around him, Till pointed and laughed childishly, spilling tequila down his shirt.
Flake looked indignant and flailed around trying to extricate himself from the clutches of the inanimate couch-beastie.
Till grabbed his friend's arm and hauled hard, resulting in Flake catapulting through the air and landing on top of his burly friend. Till's grip slipped on the bottle in his other hand and he dropped it. It hit the floor sending up a spray or tequila that thoroughly doused Till's face and hair.
Flake couldn't help himself and began to laugh, tears ran down his cheeks as he lay helpless on top of Till staring at the soaked remnants of his friend, now stinking like a brewery and as unkempt as a brothel keeper. Still giggling, he leaned forwards and began to lick the split liquor from Till's cheek. His tongue flattened against the damp skin and swept upwards, feeling the roughness of Till's unshaven skin.
Till was beginning to see the funny side of the accident and ran his hand through his now dripping bangs. He held the drenched finger's out to Flake who eagerly sucked them dry provocatively, then continued to lick at Till's face across his nose, forehead and down the other cheek.
Without a thought he brushed his lips across Till's who puckered up playfully and kissed him. Flake raised an eyebrow and kissed him back. Till tasted of tequila and sweat mixed with cigarettes and the oddly familiar smell of ......lust.
It never occurred to Flake to stop. He deepened the kiss and tongue met tongue. Probing, tasting and he delved into Till's cavernous, hot, wet mouth. Till responded with passion, embracing his friend with warmth and pressing his body up towards Flake's so their groins rested together.
Was it the alcohol? Certainly. Was it the silly events of that evening? Maybe. Was it the deep abiding feelings of friendship they had for each other? Who knows?
Either way a kiss turned into a passionate embrace and then something more. They could feel a certain rigidity in their groins and Till pushed Flake off his body and onto the floor, he quickly flicked open the buttons on Flake's shirt with one hand never releasing him from the assault on his mouth. Tugging the last of the shirt free of Flake's pants he moved slowly down his neck and licked at his collar bone and on downwards to a nipple.
He sucked forcefully and was rewarded by a tensing of the body in his arms. Flake moaned and then pushed Till roughly onto his back pushing Till's t-shirt up over his head and tugging it off, then rubbing his hand up the broad man's torso, massaging the last of the tequila into his skin. Flake bent over him and suckled the last of the moisture from Till's neck, and kissed him on the lips once more and then started working his way down his body.
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The Drinking Game