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The Precipice of Sensation	By : kimbk Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 1867 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know any members of Rammstein. This is purely a work of fiction: it does not intend to reflect any aspect of the members' lives and I do not make any profit from this work.

Chapter List
- 1-The Precipice pf Sensation
- 1
The Precipice of Sensation - A Rammstein/Oomph! Crossover
Pairing: Dero Goi/Richard Kruspe
Warnings: Possibly confusing narrative (intercutting), slash, bondage/BDSM, fetish elements. Please pay very careful attention to time periods mentioned in each different section of text. First time writing bondage, first time writing Dero.
And uh, this is the most explicit fic I have written for R+ since I first started in the fandom too, just to let you know. Boxset Catatonia/Love and Heat in 470 Nanometers/other pieces don't compare. But I actually write sex that's more closer along these lines (detail/narrative style-wise) than what I have done for R+ so far.
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Shoes are slipped off and ties loosened as the two men settle themselves down on hotel beds. "Do you think they'll notice if we push them together?" Dero Goi inquires, examining the bedspreads with a critical look.
"I doubt it," Richard Kruspe tells him, already having reached over to open a window so that he can smoke. The late-autumn breeze is cool and relaxing on his skin. "bitte. Go ahead."
This is done quickly as the taller man jumps to it, two single beds joined to make a double and the blankets arranged as such. The sky is darkening outside rapidly so Dero also turns on the bedside lamps before settling down on the soft mattresses with a sigh.
"You must be tired."
"Only marginally," he responds, smirks and beckons to Richard with a finger. "come here, mein Herr."
"There's no need to insist on calling me 'Herr', Dero, there's only three years between us," but Richard smiles back in that enigmatic way that only he's capable of, blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly and taking on a sideways glance as the corners of the lips quirk slightly upwards. Looking at the younger man splayed out on the bed, he licks his bottom lip, pink tongue flickering out ever so slightly and sweeping around the flesh. "let me take your jacket. Won't do much to crumple them."
Richard does like respect and formality in a relationship. Going both ways, of course.
"Danke. Though I will never get over your metrosexuality, Rikh."
Richard's bandmates call him 'Risch'. Till is permitted to sometimes use 'Rikh-hart'. But Dero is another matter altogether, dropping the end syllable altogether and trilling the 'R' ever so luxuriously at the tip of his tongue.
"Says the one who wears eyeliner on a permanent basis. Eyeliner, more like guyliner."
But they don't mind. Impeccable fashion choice is an attribute they both share and love, and indeed have done since the beginning. Soon they're lying in bed together, having found a much better use for their ties although they've both discarded their jackets and shirts. The sensation of rich woven silk and satin - a guilty, perhaps unmanly pleasure for both, but nevertheless a part of their beautiful balance.
"Links-" Richard quotes in his hoarse, low tone as Dero's hands explore his torso and start working on a steady knot. "-rechts - ge-rade-aus-"
Sometimes, Dero thinks to himself as he gently heaves himself off the bed to admire his handiwork, Richard smirking lazily at him - lying on the bed, upper body exposed and arms bound together with red silk tie - sometimes, life isn't meant to make sense. And that's fine.
-----
Not a lot about their relationship has made sense from the beginning, after all.
-----
It's the sixth of January, just past eight o'clock in the evening.
"Auf je-dem Tisch liegt blei-che Haut - so still und starr und ohne Qual-"
It's also Epiphany, the yearly Dreikönigstag, and the scene is a smoky bar with a central stage.
"Den Schädel auf die Brust entzwei der Leib gebährt zum letzten Mal-"
The only ones at the bar tonight are nine Germans (and the bartender and some roadies), all members of Neue Deutsche Härte bands. Two-thirds of them make up a band called Rammstein and the other three make up Oomph!; they're spending the special occasion together. Rammstein and Oomph! are known for having fans who don't always get along with each other.
"Die Näpfe voll mit Fett und Hirn aus Gottes Tempel; Teufels Stall-"
Rammstein fans say that Oomph! relies too much on elaborate style instead of actual musical technique. Oomph! fans say that Rammstein puts too much focus on being edgy to the point of distastefulness and the shock value of it all. And occasionally you get fans who insist that they can get along, won't they just pipe down and enjoy the incredible musical output from both of the bands already?
"Nun Kopf, an Kopf, auf blankem Boden; Paradies und Sündenfall!"
The two bands' actual reaction to this is a massive: Ah well, what the hell, why can't we just all be friends.
It's really the most sensible reaction to have.
"Der Rest in Ei-mer lauter Fehl-gebur-ten Haare vom Greis..."
Dero Goi paces slowly along the length of the stage, singing, lightly tapping out the jazz rhythm with his cane and occasionally giving his observers a little wink or a smile. There's something distinctively ridiculous about hiring entertainers to entertain people who are themselves entertainers, so they've all decided to throw a little party, booked the entire bar just for the night, and have decided to put on a few performances from each band as a form of friendly rivalry and appreciation. That, and entertainment. Oomph! have done a fine job of it for sure, going with a cabaret feel with one of their songs - perfectly fitting for an atmosphere like this.
"Und Blut von Mäd-chen, die sich einst verkauften an fettes Fleisch..."
Not exactly partying material, the lyrics. But that's the charm of their musical genre. Dero knows that the lead singer of the other band, Till Lindemann, is particularly fond of him and his lyrical abilities and the feeling is also mutual - the older man writes more poetically than he, but Dero is more skilled at manipulating the dissonance between lyrics and music. It's a beautiful balance and a strong mutual respect. He should probably ask Till out for a drink sometime, even though they are far from dropping formalities at this present moment.
"Wenn du die Antw-ort suchst auf alles, was dich quält..."
Dero twists the end note at 'quält' in the elegant way that never fails to bring forth nods of approval from the crowd, and smiles a little as he lets his gaze sweep over the other members of Rammstein sitting and watching him.
"... Menschen sind ge-born zu ster-ben!"
This is the first time in their long careers that they've really had the chance to be acquainted with each other. At their age, there isn't much time to mess around much with cold formalities and awkwardness, so they've basically just jumped into it - Dero and Till were discussing literature and brandy within an hour of their initial meeting, for one, and he finds Flake surprisingly interesting as well. Crap and Flux focused more on their fellow guitarists, while also getting to know Schneider and the ever-so-shy Olli. It's odd to think that Olli is so young compared to most of the others - hell, even Dero is one year his senior - and yet has been performing smoothly with the rest of his band throughout all of those years.
So overall, Dero's impression of the band has been positive, and he's certain that Rammstein's feelings towards them are also the same. His gaze falls on Richard Kruspe, the lead guitarist of Rammstein, who's staring at him intensely as he performs. Almost too intensely. The red lights reflect almost lilac on the other's blue eyes, and while it certainly lends him an unique air to his already-handsome visage, it's quite distracting. Richard has a small white box on his lap and his guitar in a case by his feet, Dero notes as he moves on.
Odd specimen. He and the younger man haven't actually spoken to each other save for brief 'Guten Abend's. Richard is handsome in a slightly more delicate way than Till's hard-set, masculine features - but there's something about him that makes Dero feel mildly curious. They ought to say more than just hello; but not now. Maybe later.
"Feuer-! Feuer-!"
But life just isn't that predictable.
At this point, just as the singer is keeping hold on the last note and Crap kicks in with his lead guitar, Richard stands up - and without so much as a warning, takes aim and hurls the box that he's had on his lap for the past verse or so in Dero's direction. A gasp rises from the crowd, and Flux visibly misses a chord as he hurriedly steps back; Till throws his lead guitarist a look of mixed panic and confusion as if to ask what the hell's wrong with him, but all Richard does is to sit back down, never taking his gaze off the younger man. Dero himself flinches a little at this unexpected turn of events, but only for half a second as he manages to (somewhat awkwardly) catch the box instead of letting it hit him on the head.
What - what the hell?
But he's got to be professional about it. He doesn't let his confusion show as he quickly looks back at his fellow bandmates, signaling for them to just carry on before actually taking a look at what he's caught. From what he can read, it's a small box of Asbach chocolates. This doesn't make it any less confusing, but Dero assumes from the pristine state of the box that it was meant to be a kind of spontaneous gift, not something tossed at him out of malicious intent. Dero looks towards Richard, who's merely sipping at his beer and gazing back at him coolly. As if he's innocent and didn't just throw an entire unopened box of chocolates at him. We'll soon fix that, he thinks with an inner grin as the instrumentals come to an end and the spotlight falls back on his form.
"Wir sind für kur-ze Zeit hier ein-ge-fä-delt..."
Dero swiftly works on the edges of the box (bound with fancy tape) and pries it open while singing, knowing that all eyes are on him and Richard to see what's going to happen next. Till in particular's watching with interest, green eyes focused on his every movement and scattering ashes onto the (thankfully-chrome) table because he's concentrating too hard to pay attention to the cigarette.
"... Und dann verli-ern wir unsern Fa-den wie-der..."
Five chocolates, all of fair size. Round, wrapped with foil. That's all he needs to notice for the time being; he plucks out one as he walks towards the guitarist, giving him only a little smirk. Richard raises an eyebrow in confusion as Dero stops in front of him, his surprisingly-tall height emphasized in their respective positions.
"Wir sind für kur-ze Zeit hier ein-ge-fä-delt..."
The foil is unwrapped from around the chocolate, and Dero leans down so that their faces are level with each other. As he does so he catches a slight but incredibly charming scent around the guitarist, a vaguely sweet and sensual aroma that makes him smile. Whatever cologne the other's wearing, he sure would like a bottle of it.
This one's for you.
"... Und dann verbrennt man unsere kalten Glie-der...!"
As he sings 'Glieder' he lifts up Richard's chin with one gloved hand, making the other blink a little and let out a small 'oh' in surprise; this is a cue for him to push the chocolate between the other's lips, pressing with one finger to make sure that it goes in completely. The rest of the crowd laughs merrily at the sight, clearly relieved the Dero's managed to handle the situation with humor and style and without any misunderstandings - Till relaxes only then, watching his stunned lead guitarist stare after Dero as he smirks and walks back onto the stage to finish the song.
He sure does hope that he hasn't made Richard angry, though. Although in the event that he actually is angry, calling that anger justifiable would be really stretching it. After all, he started it. But when Dero finishes the song to tremendous applause and high-fives from his bandmates, he sneaks a look in Richard's direction to see that the guitarist doesn't look angry at all. In fact, he actually looks kind of amused, his eyes filled with silent acknowledgement: bravo, you have bested me.
Sure beats applause any day.
"Your turn now," Flux is calling out. "give us a song, Till!"
"Gladly," the singer calls back, and gives the rest of his band a knowing look. "please give us a minute or so while we decide what to play."
But they don't need a minute. Richard already seems to have decided, and immediately leans forward to whisper something in Till's ear - the man listens and then nods, gesturing for everyone else to follow him onstage. Dero leans back on the chair with a little sigh, glad for the break - he always feels ever so pleasantly worn out after a performance, and even though it was for a crowd of barely twenty, he's put a lot of decent effort into it. The beginning strands of 'Du Riechst So Gut' start up and he bobs his head lightly to it, completely aware of the explicit subject matter and fully approving of the two bands' mutual lack of squeamishness.
He's still got the chocolate box tucked under his arm. Dero picks one up and stares at it, now having the chance to observe it a little better - Asbach Kirschen. They're chocolate cherries; he doesn't have a preference for them, but sure, why not?
It was a gift. I might as well indulge.
And indulge he does, unwrapping a chocolate and popping it in his mouth as he leans back and watches Rammstein perform. Till's harsh yet hauntingly resonant bass tones echo around the bar, along with Paul and Richard's guitars, perfectly at harmony with each other. He deliberately focuses his gaze on Till and Paul for a while as he eats his chocolates - not very hard, especially seeing as the former is the vocalist after all - before sneaking a glance at Richard just in time for the second verse to start.
"Jetzt-" the guitarist's blue eyes lock with his, and Dero is startled at shockingly deep, harsh and yet seductive his voice is. "-hab ich dich!"
A shiver of excitement runs down his spine, and he hastily looks down. The box is now empty, but needing a distraction, he closes the lid on it and turns it over, figuring that he might as well read the list of ingredients or something. Instead, he finds something scrawled in pen on it and peers closely at it - then the realization hits. When Dero looks up, feeling a little as if someone's hit him over the head with a pillow, he sees that Richard has been watching - the older man gives him a discreet wink before turning around and playing on.
"Well," he exclaims quietly to himself. "I'll be damned."
On the underside of the box is written: Richard Zven Kruspe, 030-82914215.
-----
A while ago Dero gave his lover a leather collar as a Halloween gift, black, slim and elegant; Richard loved it and he's worn it ever since. No one was any wiser to the conspicuous O-ring attached to it because the guitarist's been wearing leather collars as part of his daily fashion for years now anyway. All the better to attach leashes to, and that's exactly what Dero's done now. He gives it an experimental pull and nods in satisfaction.
"So what's going to be on the menu for tonight, hmm?"
"That'll be telling now, Rikh, wouldn't it? You can find out for yourself as we go along."
Before the older man can answer, Dero and Richard are interrupted by two knocks on the room door. "I'll get it," the younger man says smoothly and moves off the bed, aware that the sight of Richard with his wrists tied up on the bed is precariously hidden only by the fluttering curtains from the window and the sink by the wall. Richard doesn't look too nervous about this, though; when he gets to the door, a young hotel maid with her hair tied up in a bun is standing there, holding a tray with two champagne flutes, a champagne bottle held in an ice-filled bucket and a large, shallow bowl filled with strawberries and cream. "Danke," he tells her, receiving only a silent nod before she turns away, clearly not interested in anything more than getting her job done. He smirks, rather bemused, as he carries the tray to the bed.
"What's that?"
"I ordered some room service. Figured that we might share some dessert together, seeing as we didn't have any at the restaurant."
Richard smiles. "I can't say I can protest to that. Though, how am I going to have my share if I'm tied up?"
The younger man settles down next to his lover without a response, putting the champagne flutes and bucket aside on the bedside table and switching the lamp on. The room is illuminated with a lush, soft golden light. "Like this," he says nonchalantly as he takes hold of the bowl, placing it on his lap before picking up a cream-coated strawberry and holding it up to Richard's mouth. He holds it just so that the older man can't quite reach it, leaving him to lick off the cream dripping from the pointed end of the fruit and watching in almost childish amusement before he gives in and lets the older man have it.
"You could have sat up. It's only your hands that are bound."
"But then I wouldn't be humoring you," the older man grins, and Dero has to concur. "and while I'm at it, you can help me out. My trousers need to go, and it's not as if I can undo them myself, can I?"
Dero is only too happy to oblige. Without a word he unbuttons the other's trousers and slides them off his hips, tossing them to the floor before gazing at Richard's black boxers (and the erection straining against it). "New underwear? I swear you buy more than you will ever get to wear in a lifetime."
"Hey. That's an authentic Olaf Benz. And you know I do choose my clothes very carefully, Dero. They need to feel good on the skin."
"Every time I see you, you take metrosexuality to new levels, I swear to God."
"Yes, and I'm gorgeous," Richard smirks before accepting another strawberry between his lips. Dero looks at him sideways; the older man is a fine specimen, he always has been, and he does look especially ravishing tonight, he's not about to deny that.
"You'd look much better with your face between my legs," he says.
"Is that a request?"
"No. It would be if I said 'bitte'. But I didn't."
"You just did."
"Oh, touché."
Richard merely grins and takes another strawberry. They are silent for a while after that, glancing at each other, focusing on the sound of the wind outside, the dim lamp illuminating their bodies with a warm golden glow.
Before long, the strawberries are all finished and there is only liquid cream left at the bottom of the shallow bowl. Dero swirls it around a little, gazing at the bottom of it blankly, before moving to face Richard. "Lift up your head," he orders; the older man obeys instantly, sitting up as best as he can with his bound hands restricting his movement.
His expression gives away nothing. Richard doesn't say anything in response either, waiting silently for a command to be given. That's just how Dero likes it. He bends forward and tilts Richard's chin up with one gloved hand, pressing the edge of the bowl to his lips.
"Drink," he says. Richard does him one better, obeying silently - but rather than drinking the cream, he laps it up as more of the liquid touches his lips, frantically working at the sweet nectar and looking almost like a cat as he does so. Dero bites his own lip lightly as he watches, excited as he watches the guitarist's pink tongue lapping at the edge of the china; a little of it has splashed onto the side of Richard's cheek in the frenzy, which makes him think of other liquids that could be covering the other's skin right now.
Smirking, Dero pulls away the bowl just as the older man's getting to the final few drops of the cream. Richard looks up, puzzled - the leash on his collar is tugged gently, indicating that the singer wants him to get on the floor. "Undo me," he says, a command instantly understood by the guitarist - he kneels down in the floor in front of Dero, face level between the other's legs. His trousers need undoing; he takes hold of the zipper with his teeth and pulls down, the zip making a rough noise, before he is briefly pushed away as the singer unbuttons the rest and pulls the garment down to slide to the floor. Seeing his lover in tight boxers, his erection straining against it, makes Richard let out a small groan and lick his lips lustfully - he bends forwards and brushes his lips against the hardness, mouthing along it gently to show his appreciation.
"Ah-ah," Dero scolds and tugs briefly - but roughly - on the leash. Richard is pulled away with a small whimper. "did I say that you could do that?"
"N-nein..."
"All kinds of defiant today," but the singer chuckles. "at least you're eager and willing to show me it. Good."
But Dero's far from unmerciful by all means. Seeing that what they're about to do might be a little too restricting in their current position, he reaches down and pulls at the silk tie around Richard's wrists, freeing his hands for the time being. There's not much point in hesitating now. Dero was never the one to withhold things unnecessarily from people. He pulls down and tosses away his boxers in one casual movement, giving the older man a warning glance to not move just yet as he grabs his toiletries bag from the side, rummaging around. "Ah," he exclaims as he plucks out a thin bottle, putting the bag away again before peering at the label. "perfekt."
The bottle is filled with clear, cold gel. He picked one at random out of his collection and packed it this morning, and he's made a good choice despite that, for sure. Richard is going to like this. He presses down on the top of the cap while the older man watches his every movement closely, letting the gel squirt out onto his hand before he reaches down to grab his member with it. Dero briefly tenses at how cold it is, but it warms up to his body temperature quickly as he moves his hand up and down, the liquid seeping a little between his fingers, becoming slick and hot. He closes his eyes and strokes himself like that, knowing full well that Richard is staring at him, enjoying the moment of voyeurism that he's allowing his partner.
He's all lathered up in edible lubricant now. Vanilla, one of Richard's favorites; when the scent becomes evident, his blue eyes light up in recognition and barely hidden pleasure. "You know what to do, ja?"
"Do you want me to lick it all?" Richard asks, his voice low and sultry as he stares at his lover and his erection.
"You know I do. Get on with it."
Dero's not actually a big fan of sweets. He knows that Richard is, though, which is reason enough for him to indulge in the occasional things like this. The older man loves sweets such as cake and biscuits, and feeding him those delights is a nice pleasure from Dero's part. As evidenced from their first meeting, the guitarist has an addiction to cherries and chocolate in particular, and Dero can almost swear that he, too, is beginning to empathize and develop an affinity for them as well.
And then there's this. Sweet things as a way of coaxing out the lust in him. Richard takes hold of his member and licks gently along the shaft, letting out a contented sigh at the taste of vanilla and the silky-soft sensation on the tip of his tongue; he then starts licking Dero clean, working his tongue against the sticky lubricant and the thick, hot precum leaking from the tip. The saltiness mingles with the sweet taste and he's moaning at it, eyes sliding shut with pleasure as Dero groans and strokes the top of his head.
"Yes," he breathes. "ah. Ahh, Rikh. You get better every time."
Richard gives him a little smile before moving closer, a small sound (a cross between a whimper and a low groan) escaping his lips as he engulfs the head of Dero's member in his mouth. He stays still for a few seconds, gently letting the tip of his tongue lick across the slit before pushing down to take the entire length. He's skilled, not even pausing for a second before he pulls back up again - so agonizingly slowly that Dero bites his lower lip and only barely manages to stop himself from moaning out Richard's name - and then back down, easing into a slow, even rhythm.
"Mm," Dero whimpers as the older man cradles the base of his shaft with one hand; eager for more, he bucks his hips slightly upwards, trying to stay in the other's hot, tight mouth as long as he can only to find himself held down by Richard's gentle but firm hands pressing down on his thighs. Just like that, the dynamics between them have suddenly been reversed - Dero can't move his hips even if he wanted to, the older man is surprisingly stronger than he looks, and all he can do is to writhe weakly in ecstasy and stare blearily downwards at his lover's face.
Though, it's not at all a bad thing. Richard does indeed look much better with his face between Dero's legs.
-----
The instant Dero gets home, the first thing he does is to pour himself a tumbler of whiskey before calling up Richard's number. The older man picks up within three rings as if he had been waiting by the phone all this time for him to call. "Herr Kruspe," Dero starts.
"We're already past the formality barrier. Drop the 'Herr' and just call me 'Richard', bitte," Richard says.
"Why don't I take it a bit further and drop the end syllable altogether, 'Rikh'?"
"Memorable," Richard laughs. "I approve. I'm actually about to go to bed now - but listen, Dero, do you want to meet up at a cafe in two days' time? Without the others."
That's how they have their first true conversation over the phone and arrange their first private meeting. Nearly five months have passed since then. It's now late spring, the end of May, verging into summer. They've really spent a lot of time learning about each other during those five months, mostly through long conversations that never seem to go anywhere but eventually do. And Dero has figured out one very important thing: Richard is intensely bizarre, out of this world, and very attractive to him.
The man is impeccable. He's always well-dressed and freshly-shaven, not a hint of blemish anywhere on his smooth, tanned skin. Cleanly-pressed suits and beautifully manicured nails. Dero, three years longer, is also a fairly sharp dresser himself - but he knows that he falters beside Richard in that department, being focused more on the unique aesthetics of clothing rather than routine practicality. What he wears stands out more than what Richard wears, but it's not the same as being perfectly dressed for every occasion. And of course, Richard is handsome in a mature, dignified way while Dero has a slightly wilder disposition. That's not to say that Richard is completely devoid of youthfulness, though - he's addicted to sweet foods to an almost childlike degree, while Dero is a little more of a gourmet. The guitarist also has to focus completely whenever he's shopping for clothes and is meticulous with every detail, to the point where one of the first things he asked Dero when they met up for the first time was what his exact shirt measurements were, while the singer can usually throw on anything and it'll fit nicely.
He has stubble, Richard is clean-shaven. He has piercings and tattoos, Richard has clean skin. He's wild-eyed and prone to moments of impulsiveness, Richard is far less so. They're very different personalities, but opposites do attract, and during the five months they've been meeting up, they've really clicked with each other. Everything about Richard is intriguing, from his outlook in life to his good looks, and he'd be lying if he said that he didn't think about the guitarist in a more intimate manner now and then. But as lustful as he can be, he has manners, and five months into a friendship is really too early to bring that subject up. Maybe if it lasted for over a year or two, he could ask. At least there needs to be no heartache as to whether Richard is even attracted to men in the first place, Dero's confirmed that he's divorced, bisexual, and currently not in any relationships. Good enough. He can wait.
At least, he thinks so until this night, when Richard asks the question that changes everything.
"Have you ever tried bondage before? You look like the type to be into that sort of thing."
Dero shakes his head. They're in a bar together; they usually end up going to bars whenever they meet, and tonight is no exception. "I tried handcuffs once. Didn't like it, it chafed my wrists something awful - and what do you mean, I look like the type?"
The older man ignores the latter question. "It chafed? Were they metal, by any chance?"
"Yes."
"Hmm," Richard peers at him, frowning lightly. "and whoever did it... were they experienced?"
"I don't think they were. It was a spur of the moment thing, Rikh."
"Because it's not supposed to be that painful, you know. A bad experience. I'm sorry to hear that. Can't say I've never had that happen to me, either."
"... You're into bondage?"
The older man's eyes are half-lidded and intensely blue under the lights. "Well, that's why I brought it up, right?"
The singer raises both eyebrows. This is certainly new; he doesn't really know what to say to it, and simply sips at his beer as he tries to think of a response. "... Since when?"
"Oh. That's a long story."
"We've got the whole evening."
"I'll tell you all about it when I get back from the bathroom. Tschüss for the time being, Dero."
Just like that, the guitarist rises from his bar stool with a flourish and walks off, smoothly parting the crowd as he disappears to the other side of the bar. Left alone, the singer swirls the rest of his drink in the glass and stares into the surface, contemplating what's been said to him. Richard's just given him something else to think about, apart from his fashion styles, good looks, flawless guitar technique and his intoxicating cologne. All of those attributes are enough to make Dero feel intensely attracted to him, and now bondage - he can't say that he ever felt much about the practice, he's not for or against it, but if it's with the older man - maybe he could-
"... What are you two even going on about, there?"
The unfamiliar voice shakes Dero out of his thoughts and he looks up. It's the bartender, giving him a vaguely bemused and disgusted look. "I beg your pardon?"
The bartender frowns. "All I hear from at your end is bondage, bondage, and bondage. Are you two fags or something?"
Dero could respond to this in a variety of ways. He could keep silent and ignore the bartender, even though he's feeling distinctly furious and he's not exactly the most even-tempered of men as it is. He could viciously chew the man out for even daring to suggest such a thing, but at the same time, he knows that he won't be able to deny it per se because - well, because it's true, he is carnally interested in Richard. Luckily Dero only has to face this internal turmoil for about five seconds before he hears the guitarist's bemused voice answering for him from behind.
"What, can two men not talk about sex to each other without being gay nowadays?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"Just pure sex advice, here. That's what brothers do for each other."
Dero suddenly has to clamp his teeth down on his bottom lip to bite back his laughter; the bartender stops pulling his pint and scrutinizes the two of them. "... Brothers?"
"Ja, er ist mein Brüder," Richard nods, completely nonchalant as he too fixes the bartender with a beady eye. "you can see. We look similar. The shape of the face, our stature, our clothes, voice... it's obvious, isn't it?"
The man stares at the two of them for a long time, confirming this trait - Dero is actually kind of amused at the coincidental resemblance they happen to share when they're both wearing similar suits - before relaxing. "Gott sei dank," he finally speaks as he picks up a glass and starts polishing it. "I thought you two were screwing each other or something."
Richard's blue eyes sparkle with mischief, and then he says something that the younger man would never have expected in a thousand years.
"Did we say that we weren't?"
The bartender drops the glass and it shatters on the floor. The patrons look at him disdainfully - what use is a bartender who drops glasses, really - but he doesn't even notice them, too busy gaping at the two men. "Wha - what?"
"Oh ja," Dero plays along, now grinning like a maniac as he wraps an arm around Richard's waist. It's the first time he's touched the older man apart from at the makeshift cabaret, and quite intimate for a German to be initiating towards another so soon after their initial meeting, but the guitarist simply leans into his embrace with a smile. "who said that we weren't having sex with each other. Look at him. Handsome. Sexy. Like I am, and in the same ways. That's where the attraction is. Our fucking is mostly out of narcissism, you can see that, right?"
By this time the man has figured out that he's being mocked, and even though he still looks entirely confused as to what part of their story is a lie and what isn't, he nevertheless turns red with anger. "You're cut off," he hollers. "both of you! Get out of my bar right now!"
The younger man only winks at him, infuriating him even more, and Richard looks as if he's about to pass out from laughter altogether. "Gladly," the former shouts back, grinning from ear to ear, as he takes Richard's gloved hand in his own and begins to run towards the door. "of course we aren't paying you for the drinks either! Try not to get caught selling watered-down beer next time."
"What was that about watered-down beer?" Dero hears one particularly drunk, large-bodied patron roaring at the bartender after overhearing his comment, along with the frightened mumble from the man, and takes that as a cue to run out of the bar completely with Richard in tow. They run down the darkened street for about a minute before they stop and break down in complete hysterics, laughing until tears are running down their faces.
"Oh," Richard says breathlessly, wiping at his eyes. "oh. That was brilliant. The things you say, Dero - hey, your eyeliner's running."
"Is it? Oh, Scheiße."
But Dero honestly can't bring himself to care too much. Pulling out a tissue, he dabs at his eyes while giggling maniacally, almost smudging the make-up even more in his mirth. "I know another bar here, one without judgmental bartenders or whatnot. Are you up for another round of drinks, Rikh? I'll fix the eyeliner there too."
"Of course I'm ready for another round of drinks. We never finished the first round properly. Was the beer watered down?"
"Nein," Dero smirks as he turns and leads the way, seeing that their destination is just across the road. "I only said that to piss that bartender off, it just worked a bit better than I expected. Beer is serious business, isn't it? Wouldn't be surprised if he'll need stitches by tomorrow, that patron looked like he was about to reach over and strangle him right there," he shrugs. Richard's following him closely and paying attention to his every word; Dero suddenly thinks back to the older man's warmth, tight in his hand and seeping through the leather gloves, and feels himself getting a little flushed. "but that's what he gets for hating on both of us. Richtig?"
"Ja."
Five minutes later they're both settled back down in the new bar. Richard orders two drinks for them, the same as what they had at the other one, while Dero quickly nips over to the bathroom and fixes his eyeliner before coming back and taking the seat next to the older man. The bartender only gives them perfunctory, polite glances and doesn't seem to be interested in interfering with them, which is for the best, because soon enough their talk turns back to the issue of bondage once more.
"You never finished telling me about it. How'd you even start?"
"Our stunts, mostly. The ones that Till devises."
"Doesn't Flake take the brunt of that?"
"Oh, he does," Richard nods, plucking out a cigarette. "but Flake also gave me my first ball gag. Completely non-sexual context though, it was more of an accident. I was talking to him while he was practicing his piano and that must have annoyed him or something. I've been friends with him for nearly half my life and I still can't figure him out most of the time, and this was what - ten years ago? I could figure him out even less then. Anyway. He just turned to me in the middle of my speech and asked me to close my eyes for a bit - and before I knew it, he'd stuffed a ball gag in my mouth, fastened the strap behind the head, and then he just went straight back to practicing. Left me to fumble around with a mirror to undo it myself. The bastard."
Dero snorts in amusement. "Okay, Flake just became about a hundred times more awesome in my eyes."
"He let me keep it, too. That's how it started. But I'm not really into ball gags - give me a bit gag any day, that's how I roll. And that was around the same time, we did this photoshoot, all of us - and long story short, I was naked except for the British flag around my waist, a collar and a bit gag fastened in my mouth while Till straddled me with the leash in his hand."
The younger man almost ends up coughing up his sip of beer at the mental image, feeling his cheeks redden. Luckily the guitarist doesn't notice, now too engaged in his recollection, but nevertheless Dero shifts a little on the bar stool uncomfortably. He's pitching a tent at just the thought of Richard, helpless and submissive.
"It was interesting for both of us," the older man's still saying. "Till and I. I knew he had a thing for bondage before, but that was the moment I decided that I was into it as well. I stole the bit gag and took it home with me after the photoshoot, and by God was it the best choice I made regarding sex toys, ever."
"Did you ever try it out with him afterwards?"
Richard looks away and doesn't answer this question, instead busying himself with finding a lighter. But silence speaks volumes. Dero doesn't pursue the question but immediately finds himself feeling a little envious towards Till. Lucky bastard, he thinks, getting with his lead guitarist years before I even came on the scene.
"Say," he asks once Richard's cigarette is lit, seeking to change the subject slightly. "you... do have brothers, I think you told me once?"
"Mmm. Older and younger. I was the middle child."
"You, uh, never tried bondage with - with, you know...?"
"No, I don't know."
"With your brother. Or brothers, plural."
"I've never had sex with my brother. I would never have sex with my brother. That's disgusting."
Dero looks at him sideways before leaning in close, his breath tickling Richard's earlobe. "Would," he says, before pausing in sudden nervousness. If this doesn't work out, he'll hopefully be able to get away with it by blaming it on the alcohol. "would you - with me?"
The guitarist just looks at him and blows smoke in his face. Dero grimaces and pulls away, coughing, feeling somewhat hurt - well, if he wanted to say no, then he could have just said no for God's sake - but when the man stubs out a cigarette that he's only taken two or three drags of, he looks down at the ashtray and back up, feeling a little bewildered. Richard is the most hardcore smoker he's ever had the fortune of meeting. He's the last person who'd want to waste a perfectly good cigarette, and with no reason to do so-
-or is there a reason?
"... Would you like to find out?"
-----
"That's enough," Dero groans. He's feeling as if he's about to come already, and it's way too early for that. With difficulty he manages to tug at the leash behind Richard's neck, gently withdrawing from a mouth unwilling to release its prey; his knees are shaking and his member is slick with saliva and precum. Dero shudders in pleasure before hurriedly clearing his throat and tugging the older man up to sit on his lap, pulling him into a lusty kiss and re-establishing his dominance lest his position might be taken over. "... did you enjoy that?"
Richard nods.
"Good."
Pushing the guitarist back down to lie on the bed, Dero briefly glances at the silk tie on the floor and contemplates using it again - but it won't be secure enough. "Wait," he orders as he abandons that thought and reaches for his bag instead; a few seconds later and he's pulled out a pair of leather bondage cuffs. "aha! Just the thing we need."
"I knew you chose this hotel because it's got railing headboards-" the older man comments, bemused, as Dero works on cuffing his wrists to the bed. "-oh. Mmm. Nice cuffs you bought, there. Padded?"
"Only the best. You should know, you taught me to work with them."
A nod of approval. "And I taught you well."
He's got two pairs, actually. But Dero decides that there's no need to cuff Richard's ankles; he'll go easy tonight. Satisfied enough with his work, he spreads the other's legs apart and settles his body between them, erections colliding as they both let out a small involuntary moan at the contact. It's your turn now, Dero thinks inwardly as his eyes gleam with mischief; he tugs at the leash to pull Richard into another kiss as he reaches to the bucket of ice on the bedside table. It's wet with condensation and the ice cubes within are slick, but for the most part they're unmelted. Dero grabs hold of one and breaks the kiss before showing Richard what he's got.
"What're you going to do with that?"
No answers are necessary. To be extra safe, Dero licks at the ice cube a little to really make sure that it's partway melted before sliding down and running the cold tip against one of Richard's nipples. The older man lets out a sharp gasp, back arching at the freezing touch and his nipples perking up almost instantly. He does the same to the other nipple, hearing Richard moan out loud and tremble.
"Gott," the guitarist whimpers as ice-cold water runs down his chest. Still silent and focused on what he's doing, Dero pops the ice cube in his mouth and chews, swallowing it before licking at the nubs with his cold tongue. They're harder than he ever remembers them being, pert and pink from the blood rushing to them so quickly; he grins against the other's skin before suddenly nipping at one overly-sensitive nub with his teeth. This makes Richard's low, hoarse moans change in pitch to an almost-scream as he throws his head back, writhing in beautiful agony in a futile attempt to regain some control.
It's quite a sight, seeing Richard losing control so suddenly and wonderfully. Dero almost wants to immortalize it on film, but he knows that no amount of skilled filming or photography can do justice to the sheer rapture the other's going through. Nevertheless, as he moves down slowly - his still-cold tongue running a slick trail down the other's stomach and thighs before licking at the tip of his now-twitching erection - Dero makes sure to watch more than anything, focus on the look of pain and bliss on Richard's face. Even as he takes the other's length in his mouth and starts deep-throating it, Dero stares straight into Richard's eyes, observing the way the older man's pupils are dilated, how his eyes darken, lighten and flutter shut in unspeakable pleasure. If there's one attribute about him that he definitely excels at over the older man, it's the intensity of his gaze and his ability to not blink for ages at a time while he's doing things like this. Richard's struggling against his bindings as Dero licks and bobs his head along the length of his erection, almost looking as if he wants to cover his eyes in utter embarrassment, but he can't. He can only stare straight back into the younger man's hypnotizing gaze.
He doesn't last long. With a wordless cry he bucks his hips and spills his seed inside Dero's mouth; the younger man is briefly startled, but quickly swallows, feeling the hot liquid slip down his throat before pulling up. He's so turned on now that all he wants is to take Richard right there and then, further bondage be damned; he fishes out a foil-wrapped condom from his bag along with the lubricant and holds it up so that the older man can see it, silencing his moans.
"... Tell me what you want."
The guitarist whimpers in frustration. "You know what already-"
Dero answers this by pressing hard on the still-sensitive tip of the other's member, making him yelp in mixed pain and pleasure. "You're avoiding my request. I'm asking nicely, Rikh, I'm capable of being a lot less nicer as you'd know. Now tell me, what do you want?"
"I want - I want you inside me," Richard says, panting heavily, his body glistening with a sheen of sweat. Dero only raises an eyebrow at this - it's not enough, is the message he's sending - so the guitarist is forced to expand on it. "I want to come again, Dero... I want... I want you to fuck me and fuck me hard. I want your fingers in me, lubing me up... I want you to pinch my nipples and stroke me off and get your - mnnh - get your... big hard cock inside me. I want you to stuff me with your cock. I want you to fill me up with your cum. Please. I'm begging you."
All he gets is a deadpan stare. "You think just talking dirty is going to convince me that easily?"
"Well, I don't see him complaining," Richard protests weakly, gesturing towards Dero's erection - which, rather contrary to the nonchalant facade the younger man's putting on, is rock hard and leaking heavily from the tip.
"Of course not. It's my cock. Cocks don't get to complain about anything."
"Exactly. I'm offering myself to be fucked, Dero. Why would anyone with a sane mind and a beautiful cock like yours complain about that."
Haha. Well played, the younger man's expression softens and he lets out a little laugh. His poetic soul will never cease to be amazed by Richard's wit. That's the Richard Kruspe I know and adore.
"Then I won't make you wait," Dero breathes huskily, before tearing open the foil wrapper with his teeth.
-----
Dero doesn't actually get to find out whether Richard's willing to have sex with him that night in the bar; they simply drink in silence and part ways after. It's around mid-June when he finally gets to figure out Richard's intentions when the older man invites him around to his house for a cup of coffee. He makes sure to dress nicely in a casual suit and spends extra time on his hair and eyeliner, feeling oddly nervous about the whole thing - get a hold on yourself, Dero, it's just coffee, you like coffee and you like Richard so that's enough - before he grabs his cane and sets off.
He doesn't get an answer when he rings the bell. Unfazed, Dero calmly peers around the side and back of the house, checking to see if there are any windows or doors that he can knock on to get the older man's attention; sure enough, there's a wooden door at the back. He goes over to it and pushes it lightly to check - and is pleasantly surprised when the door just swings open, revealing a little passage leading to a lush garden inside. From what little he can see, it's small but nevertheless a pleasant looking one, fresh with the smell of honeysuckle and roses. Dero steps inside and shuts the door behind him ever so quietly before taking his first steps forward into the garden. His footsteps rustle softly against the grass, and his cane makes a small knocking sound when he brushes it against a fence; suddenly he feels as if he's intruding, that he's being too loud and he finds himself holding his breath lest he might not notice the older man nearby.
Klopf - klopf - lass mich rein.

Lass mich dein Geheimnis sein.
"Rikh? Are you there?"
The scent of roses is overwhelming. He turns the corner, expecting to come out to a view of the entire garden, only to find that said view is actually blocked by a large shed. He shoulders his cane and lets out a little 'hmm', wondering if he should check the shed itself before deciding to move on and look around first. Moving around it, Dero sees that the garden is much larger than he initially thought; he's only in one corner of it, and the lawn also goes around the other side of the house as well. The grass is neatly trimmed, and there's a little bird-bath and feeding table right opposite where he's standing; two woodpigeons are perched on it, preening their greyish-pink feathers ever so elegantly.
Dero feels somewhat at home, and yet bizarrely lost at the same time. A mental maze, with the heavy scent of flowers disorienting his senses. He takes a few more steps forward, seeking Richard's presence-
-before something large and silver lying on the ground catches his eye. Dero bends down and peers at it; it's a pair of shears. The question of what such an object is doing there is answered when a rustle sounds and Dero suddenly finds himself staring at a pair of sturdy gardening boots.
"Thank you for coming."
"Rikh," the younger man says, standing up again. Richard is dressed in a thin, short-sleeved shirt that highlights his muscles, jeans and the aforementioned boots. He's also wearing gardening gloves. "I let myself in. I hope you don't mind."
The older man shakes his head, a little smile playing about his lips. Dero catches a hint of his faint cologne mingled with rose and petunia. "Of course not. I was just trimming my roses," he reaches out and actually takes Dero's hand in his, pulling him closer to a nearby rose bush. "I'll be done in a few moments... come and see."
And the younger man does see. The rose bushes are small but well-maintained, and all of them are of the scarlet variety. Most of them are still budded, although a few have bloomed magnificently here and there. If this is what the garden smells like right now, Dero thinks that it would be utterly overpowering by mid-July when they all bloom. Richard is trimming the top of the rose bush with the shears, discarding leaves and flowers with broken stems and pruning away. He snips a half-open rose off the brambles, still wet with early-morning dew within - and examines it closely before handing it over to Dero, who takes it with a slightly startled 'thank you'.
"Don't mention it," the guitarist says, more to himself than the younger man as he works the shears one final time; he then steps back and observes the rose bush with a critical eye. "ah. Good enough. Now, I shouldn't keep being so rude... sorry to have kept you waiting, I've set up a place on the lawn. Still care to join me for coffee?"
"I do."
Within five minutes they're sitting down to a slice of sponge cake and coffee out of two thermos bottles, which Richard produces out of a covered basket sitting on a large blanket that's been spread out over the lawn. Dero slides off his jacket and loosens his tie; the older man's also insisted that they do this properly and has provided gold-edged coffee cups and saucers to go with their little picnic. Richard's taken off quite a lot more, too - the boots and gardening gloves have been set aside, along with his shirt (which is discarded with the offhand comment that 'it's getting too hot'). It's this last thing that makes it hard for the singer to look at him.
He's beautiful. Richard's skin is perfectly smooth, so well-cared for that it'd be hard to believe the man's over forty years old. Dero's aware that he's staring, though, so he coughs and looks away to let the older man have some privacy.
Privacy that he wasn't aiming for in the first place.
"Why don't you take off your shirt as well? We're alone, it's okay. No one's going to watch."
Dero tries to ignore the question with a mild shrug, only to find his body suddenly captured in the other's arms. "Come on," Richard's warm voice coos in his ear. "it's hot."
What are you doing to me? What do you want from me, Rikh?
Without really understanding what's happening, Dero puts away the china cup back in the basket, along with the empty dish, before he slowly starts to work on his own shirt buttons and soon tosses it away to join Richard's own crumpled shirt on the ground. Only then does he allow himself to look at the older man to find that-
"Very hot, isn't it?"
"How in the world did you take your trousers off so fast?"
"Let me demonstrate," Richard says calmly, and reaches for the zip of the other's trousers and tugs it down, unbuttoning them and quickly sliding them off his hips. "just like that. Not too difficult."
The air is warm. Too warm, thick with the scent of flowers, of Richard's cologne, their shared desire.
"Do you want me?"
"Yes. Very much so. I thought it was obvious."
Not really. It wasn't obvious to Dero, at least. "Well, I'm flattered," he says - he's doing a bad job of hiding his own lust, that's for sure. If someone else saw them now they'd be seeing two naked men sitting in a garden and staring at each other with near-predatory looks on their faces, and he's suddenly not sure what to feel about that. "but it really hasn't been that long since we - we became friends. Wouldn't this, well, have the slightest chance of impacting our relationship negatively?"
"Would it?" Richard says, and kisses him for the first time.
Knock - knock - let me in.
The kiss is brief, but it's enough to unlock the lust and passion within them both. When Richard pulls away for breath, Dero grabs his chin with one hand and forcibly tugs him back, lips crushing lips hard enough to bruise. The doubts have vanished away, just like that. He suddenly wants the older man desperately, he wants to see him ruined and thoroughly depraved, he wants to feel the other's erection twitch in his hand, to cover him with his cum and make him pant and beg and mewl out his name like a cat in heat. Pushing Richard backwards to lie flat on the blanket, Dero lets out a little growl as he covers his naked body with his own, planting little kisses on the other's perfect skin. Richard doesn't resist in the slightest, arching into their embrace as naturally as if they've been lovers for years.
"That night. When you threw chocolates at me."
"Oh, Dero. Bring back the past."
"Why exactly did you do it? You never gave me an answer."
Richard's response is to appear to change the subject completely. "I never realized you had a tattoo," he comments, staring at his chest with obvious fascination. "you've never shown it to me before. It's beautiful."
"Why, thank you."
The older man presses his hands against the other's chest, lightly stroking the skin. "May I?" he asks quietly before he rolls them both to the side, kissing and tracing the outline of the tattoo ever so delicately; his fingertip brushes ever so gently against one of the other's nipples in the process, making Dero moan out loud as it stiffens a little at the touch. "and there's your answer for you."
"What? I don't-"
"Your voice," Richard cuts him off, still focused on caressing his partner's body. One hand reaches down to fondle his erection. "you have a beautiful voice. It's more than just beauty that I'm talking about though - you have the right voice. One that holds your band together. One that lingers in the air long after the singer's left the room, one that burrows deep into the soul. That's why I became interested in you at the cabaret," pause. "I've only ever said this to one other person, and that person was Till. Over ten years ago. I doubt I'll ever make a comment like this to anyone else ever again."
Ahh.
"Possess me."
Let me be your secret, Rikh.
"I'm yours," Richard whispers.
Feeling triumphant, Dero grins down at his captive. "So the charismatic lead guitarist of Rammstein is a sub, hmm?" Richard merely laughs in response, pulling the other's body close.
"I wouldn't be so quick to judge based on position alone."
The first time they make love is actually kind of fairly tame, that way - their discarded clothing lying on the lawn as they moan and writhe, lying on the blanket, bodies joined together in ecstasy. Dero's fingers close over the thorned rose on the ground once and he hisses a little as it draws blood from the tip of his index finger, but Richard takes it and sucks at the appendage so sensually that he forgets about it within a few seconds. In the quiet, with only the mild breeze, the occasional hum of a honeybee drifting along, the sound of skin sliding against skin along with their shared moans breaking the silence, Dero experiences a moment of paradise.
"... Rikh, can I... mmm, ahh... can I... come inside you?"
"... Bitte..."
The guitarist's body is hot and tight, skilled too from the way he reciprocates Dero's movements with fluid elegance - he might be on bottom but Richard is the one who's better experienced, that's for certain. The singer doesn't mind. He must be holding back to allow Dero to take the lead, and to prepare himself to teach the younger man later; and that's a good sign. It means there will be a time for the singer to learn. It means they will do this more than just once, that this is not their first and final time together. And as he grips the other's hips and cries out his release, his cum trickling out and staining the blanket beneath, he already can't wait for the next time.
"Dero..." the guitarist pants from beneath him, voice hoarse from moaning and lips swollen with kisses; thinking that he might have hurt Richard, Dero moves as if to withdraw, only to be stopped when the other wraps his legs around his hips. "not yet... stay with me."
"I will."
Nothing more is said after that for quite some time. Dero soon pulls out quietly and lies down next to Richard, holding him close. The garden is quiet once more, and sensing this, a dove has settled down on the bird table, cooing and pecking at the scraps on it. A late-spring butterfly flutters past them.
"... I want to do this again, Rikh. Sometime. Preferably quite soon."
"The feeling is mutual. You were good."
"... You want to... make this... a regular thing?"
"Believe it," Richard says softly, and they fall back into silence, letting the breeze cool their bodies. Dero closes his eyes, tired but sated; he should get up and get dressed, but Richard's garden is so beautiful, warm and calming - and the man himself is even better - that he doesn't want to move just yet. He'll give it a while.
In the peace, only a lone songbird coos - cuck-oo - in the distance.
-----
"Dero..."
The leash has actually come off. He wants their lovemaking to be just that, not accidental strangulation. He knows they could have kept it on, but the singer's actually feeling somewhat wild at the moment and doesn't quite trust himself to keep in control.
"Dero, ahh, tiefer..."
Richard's squirming and moaning louder than Dero expected him to. It must be the ribbed condom that's doing it. They've never tried ribbed condoms before. They've got a lot to try out. But for now Dero is content simply making love to Richard like this, sliding in and out of his wonderfully tight entrance, only their shared moans and the somewhat-lewd and slippery sound of his thrusts breaking the silence. The older man tugs firmly against his restraints, wanting to pay attention to his own neglected arousal, but it's no use - and Dero's purposefully denying him any chance of an orgasm.
"You're so beautiful," Dero murmurs hoarsely as he runs his lips over every part of the other's body that he can reach, wanting to possess, wanting to taste and engrave every sensation into his mind as he has done so many times before. "I mean it, Rikh. Most glorious creature I've ever kissed and done this with."
Richard's response is a muffled moan. He tosses his head back on the pillows, panting as the bed creaks out the song of their union, beyond being able to speak. His breathing is already harsh as it is, sounding ragged and rough as it tears free from a throat hoarse from all the moaning he's done.
It's beautiful. Perfect. He wants it all. Dero bites down on Richard's shoulder and sucks hard on the skin of his clavicle, marking him with dark love-bites that will stay long after they've finished and will require Richard to exercise his creative spirit if he wants them hidden. The singer just so happens to have fairly sharp teeth, and he can get extremely merciless when it comes to bruising his lover. This is one of those times.
"Ah - ah, lieber Gott, Dero, please!"
"Please you..." the younger man breathes out. "... please you how exactly?"
"I - I want more - harder - deeper-"
Richard's skin is not actually all perfect. It took Dero a while to notice because it was such a faint mark, but the man actually has a bit of a burn mark near his right shoulder gained from their earlier years; it's faded into almost nothing now, but it can be still be felt, a slightly rougher patch of skin amidst flawless smoothness. Dero likes this spot because it's an imperfection he can nurse, soothe and yet make blindingly obvious. He licks at it now, sinking his teeth in, just deep enough to break the skin and make the blood rise to the surface - but not enough for him to actually bleed.
"Very well, I'll give you more!"
"Oh Gott...!"
Dero thinks back to the various liaisons they've had over the past few months, and to the various techniques they've tried out. Tease-and-denial with feathers. Riding crops. All kinds of gags - Dero's current favourite is the muzzle - silken blindfolds and actual rope-involving bondage. Richard demonstrated a frogtie on him just a few days ago, ankles tied firmly to the thighs and the legs spread wide open, completely exposing the sensitive spot between them.
It's shameless. Utterly, utterly shameless.
It's primal and filthy and lewd and Dero loves it.
"I'm going to come," he gasps out, feeling Richard tensing hard around his shaft. Finally he reaches down and starts furiously pumping at the other's arousal, making Richard almost start sobbing in pure pleasure as he cries out and thrashes about helplessly. Despite the other's clearly agitated state, it's Dero who comes first, muffling his scream of ecstasy onto the other's chest as his body is wracked with violent spasms; he stays absolutely still save for a few shudders and twitches as he comes, and it goes on for so long that he's sure that without the condom, his cum would be leaking all over the bed by now. It's feeling the younger man breathe out shakily and sinking to lie on top of him that brings Richard to his climax, oddly enough, and even though he doesn't ejaculate as much compared to Dero, it's just as intense of an orgasm.
Their scent is hanging thickly in the air, of sweat, sex and primal male musk. Richard's eyes are closed tight, unshed tears glistening on his eyelashes, and for a long moment all Dero can do is to look, and to breathe in and out, trying to calm down his racing heartbeat to normal levels.
They both bring out a raw, animalistic side in one another, that's for certain. At least he's thinking that when he pulls himself out, hearing the disappointed whine from the older man - I'm sorry, Rikh, but I think your poor wrists need releasing now - before he numbly reaches for the key and unlocks the cuffs. Richard doesn't even react as his arms fall limp, staring at his lover blankly, only the rapid rise and falling of his chest betraying his fulfillment and longing.
The condom is tossed away in the bin, and then they just lie together on the sheets - damp with sweat and cum - in mutual dazed silence.
-----
The second time they have sex, they check into a hotel pretending that they're not going to have sex. It's a week after their initial go at it. They're both dressed modestly, with form-fitting shirts and trousers, although Dero's wearing sunglasses and Richard's wearing black lipstick for some reason. But then the singer himself wears eyeliner. It's a fashion choice, and that's not something he can challenge. When the hotel room door shuts, Dero takes the lead first by pushing Richard onto the bed and climbing on top of him with a low purr - but not doing anything to ease their longing, instead nuzzling into his neck.
"I can't say I mind this, but what are you doing exactly?"
"What cologne do you use?" Dero says, inhaling the now-familiar scent of his partner. He's determined to get a straight answer out of the man today. "it's always been the same one since we first started meeting up."
"Why? Don't you like it?"
"On the contrary, I like it almost too much," he breathes in and out again, nuzzling Richard on the nape of his neck and smiling. "the more attractive someone's scent is, the more I'm inclined to have their pheromones smeared all over me as soon as possible. I can't quite place what yours is, but every time I'm this close to you, it turns me on. So what cologne is it?"
Richard has to think for a bit. "Vanilla," he finally says. "fairly certain it's vanilla... with a hint of wood and anise... I got it for a gift months ago, it's something I put on almost out of habit, but that's the scent. Remind me to look up the brand later," pause. "but going back to what you said... so you operate by scent when seeking out partners, hmm?"
"You could say that. You smelled good even back in January, at that bar. When I leaned in that was all I could think about for a moment."
"Then you stuffed a chocolate cherry in my mouth."
"Then I stuffed a chocolate cherry in your mouth," Dero laughs, nodding. Richard gives him one of his soft smiles, somehow more seductive from the black lipstick highlighting the curve of his mouth - before he suddenly pulls the younger man up and presses an intense kiss to his lips, slipping him his tongue as he rolls over to lie on top of Dero. "-oh, Rikh..."
Richard only deepens the kiss further, nipping slightly at the other's full bottom lip and forcing them to part. Moaning in pleasure, Dero leans back on the pillows and closes his eyes, feeling the older man polishing the skin of his neck with his lips and reaching up with both arms to grasp at the headboard, wanting to get a firm grip on earth before-
-"Got you."
The singer's eyes flutter open in shock as he tries to pull himself up and finds that he no longer can. Somehow Richard's managed to lock one of his wrists to the headboard with a leather cuff without him noticing; he swiftly does the same to the other wrist before giving Dero a cheeky grin. "I think it's time to start up some lessons in bondage," he says calmly, running his finger down Dero's still-clothed chest. "after all, I did tell you all about it before, didn't I? If this is going to work out, we're going to have to make room for my kinks as well. Don't worry. Tell me if it hurts and I'll stop everything immediately - and I'll be going easy on you anyway. You're not anywhere near the point where I can tie you to a St. Andrew's Cross and spank you with a crop."
"Y-you sneaky bastard. What the hell?"
"Do you want me to uncuff you?"
Pause. Hesitate. "I - I didn't say that, just that - ugh. This is not cool, Rikh. Not cool at all."
"Oh, touché. How much was this shirt?"
"... Uh... it's a couple of years old. Maybe fifteen Euros?"
Without further hesitation, Richard takes out a pair of small nail scissors from his bag and starts snipping away at the front of Dero's shirt, working his way up from the bottom. The younger man stares in complete shock - he almost feels like shaking Richard off and questioning Rikh, what the hell am I going to wear back home if you do that? - but something about lying utterly helpless like this is indeed a turn-on. The effect only strengthens when the older man stops halfway through, grabs the split end of the shirt with both hands and roughly pulls them apart, tearing the garment right off Dero's body.
Oh. Oh my God.
All Dero can do is to gasp and stare. This is nothing like the submissive Richard who panted and mewled beneath him only a week ago, the Richard who shyly asked him to come inside his body. His boxers are given the same treatment and are cut away as well, even though there was no need for them to be destroyed, they could have been slid off along with his trousers - but Dero doesn't think too much about it. It's Richard's turn to take the lead and thoroughly appreciate the other's body. He strokes Dero's forehead, cheeks, along his sideburns and strong jawline - traces the shapes of his tattoo, spanning his chest and spiraling up both arms - before smiling and pressing his lips to the other's inner thigh, leaving one perfect kiss-mark in black lipstick on the skin. "I operate by taste, mainly. If I licked you all over, I think you'd mostly taste of cocaine and sex. Just an observation."
"I doubt that. I don't even do cocaine."
"Well, let's find out, shall we?"
And Richard does, licking him all over in the most delectable manner with his wet and slightly-rough tongue until Dero's hard and begging desperately for release. That's how they establish their territory and favored way of pleasure. Now that they've agreed to make this a regular thing, they should learn more about each other as they go. Dero, focused on the intangible such as scent, hearing and vision; Richard, focused on the physical side with taste and touch. This will also go on to govern their preferred kinds of sex play - the singer enjoys blindfolds and being tied in such a manner that he can't see what Richard's doing to him. Richard on the other hand prefers to taste and lick at his lover's body, loving scented lubricant in particular; he also loves experimenting with various sensations, latex, leather, or the feeling of Dero's skilled fingers on him, or the other's mouth sucking and leaving a mark on his skin. Of course all of this also goes around the other way, as evidenced when Richard leaves tiny fingernail marks all over the other's skin and gives him such an intense blowjob that Dero can swear he's almost knocked to the stratosphere when his orgasm hits.
"Lucky I chose a hotel that I know to be soundproof, ja? "
Dero's moaning and trembling so much that this doesn't even sink in until some minutes later. "So," he manages to shoot back, breathing hard to try to regain some control. "do I taste of cocaine and sex?"
"Of sex, yes. Pineapples make cum taste sweeter, I remember."
The younger man looks at him with confusion, but that's all Richard is willing to say before he moves on. True to his word, he doesn't introduce Dero to gags or riding crops or anything like that from the start - he just sticks to cuffs for the time being and teaches the younger man a lesson on how to improvise by slipping off his own tie and tying it around his eyes as a makeshift blindfold. Simple, but once he's blindfolded, his whole world suddenly becomes the softness of the hotel bed and Richard's index finger trailing around his chest and shoulders, circling his nipples. The sheer deprivation of sight, that he's been robbed of his ability to predict what the older man's about to do next, keeps Dero securely on the edge of mad anticipation - indeed he honestly doesn't see it coming when Richard starts planting butterfly kisses on his inner thighs, or when he slips a lubed-up finger inside his entrance and crooks it just so that it rubs firmly against the sensitive gland, making the singer feel as if he's about to die of pleasure.
That's how Dero Goi learns the appeal of bondage and sensory deprivation.
Richard takes him in hard yet elegant thrusts, rolling his hips just enough to give them both the maximum amount of pleasure. Every now and then he brushes up against the prostate, but mostly just the sensation of his length sliding in and out of him is enough to make Dero squirm and moan helplessly; the older man doesn't neglect his partner's pleasure either, gently massaging his member with one hand and lightly tweaking his nipples at irregular intervals. With such skill, it's no surprise that they both reach an intense climax not too long after they've begun - short, but intense enough to make up for it. The guitarist doesn't consider himself done even when he's pulled out and rolled over next to his partner, admiring and kissing the tip of Dero's now-flaccid member.
"... Are you having fun down there, Rikh?"
"Yes. Don't move. I want to hold it for a little longer. It's gorgeous."
"I see."
Dero can't say he's ever someone so willing to compliment the way his member looks. But it's not exactly something he can complain about. Richard holds onto it for so long and with such an intense look that it actually starts to make him feel weird, but when he finally lets go Dero finds himself missing the other's touch immediately afterwards. "I've got to go," the older man says, getting up and beginning to get dressed. "I'm meeting up with Paul and Till for dinner."
"Fair enough," the singer moves off the bed as well, wincing a little at the ache in his backside. He's going to be feeling that one for at least a full day. "I'll go home too. Maybe jerk off to the memory of you and I having sex later... that was excellent."
"Save it for when we meet up again."
But the compliment has cheered up Richard, he can see that. Without prompt he reaches inside his bag, beckoning to Dero to come closer - when the younger man complies, he pulls out a little package and gives it to him. "You're going to need that."
And indeed it turns out to be something quite useful. Inside the package, neatly folded and ready to wear, is a lovely black dress shirt with pearl buttons. Dero blinks down at it, stunned; he did know that he was going to have to find a way of salvaging his torn shirt somehow, but this isn't something that he expected. Seeing that Richard's waiting, he slowly puts it on without comment - it fits perfectly against his form.
Suddenly one of the first things that Richard asked him float back into mind. What's your shirt size, Dero?
"Rikh, I... I didn't expect..."
"Hugo Boss," the older man says casually as he lights up another cigarette. "and I say, that does look good on you. Don't thank me, Dero, there's far more where that came from. Least I could do to make up for destroying a perfectly good shirt."
The singer might have protested and said that there was no need for Richard to buy him anything. But the truth is that without it, Dero would have had to leave shirtless - and he's right, the shirt does suit him. It actually suits him better than the old one. The fabric slides perfectly against his skin in the way only very few clothes manage to do, and he has to admit, the older man has wonderful taste. This is also a way of Richard marking his property, dressing him in clothes that he deems suitable. Dero feels a mixture of pride, joy and humility at this before he notices that one very important thing is missing from this ensemble.
"... No boxers?"
Richard simply laughs and exhales smoke. " Nein. You'll just have to go commando until you get back."
"What? That's not fair."
"Life isn't fair, my pretty thing."
Dero pouts about it for a while, but it still doesn't stop him going to the supermarket to buy some canned pineapples instead of heading straight back home. And every time he wears the shirt that Richard bought him, he'll be reminded of that day and end up grinning in pleasure.
-----
Post-coital talks have become more interesting since he began seeing Richard, that's for sure.
"Latex tastes bad," Richard is saying, now mostly recovered from his orgasm and freed from the cuffs. His wrists are marked with red, tender and rubbed a little, but it's clearly in a nice way, not with painful chafing. "all hot and rubbery and kind of sickly-sweet. I would never have learnt to appreciate it from the way it feels when you touch it, or the smell of it - but then you wear something made out of it and give yourself some time to get used to the feeling, and holy shit. Almost like wearing a second skin. You become almost molded in it. You don't wear latex, it becomes you, more like."
These little tidbits of information stem back from the beginning of their relationship when Dero was going through a crash course in BDSM, and somehow after sex of any kind the guitarist feels the need to expand on whatever kink that's arisen to his mind right there and then. Right now it's latex. Dero sometimes has the urge to record or note down Richard's musings and publish them, from the particular sensual elegance he gains during those times.
"I also find that you need quite a bit of lotion if you want to put it on. I've got a latex corset somewhere."
"Maybe you can wear it underneath your suit when we meet up?"
Richard smiles wide. "That's what I was about to get at. I don't like it during summer or even during autumn because it gets so sweaty after a while. When it cools down... mmm, it'll be lovely, I reckon."
"I'll be looking forward to it."
The bucket of champagne needs tending to now. Most of the ice has melted into water, but the bottle itself is still beautifully cold. Dero fetches a towel from the bathroom before taking out the bottle, dabbing at the water dripping from it; the label is wet and a bit of it peels off, but it doesn't matter. "And now. A treat for afters."
"Ahhh. I was wondering what that was for. Good one, Dero."
Dero doesn't answer, but turns away as he twists the cork; it's freed with a loud popping sound, and he pours the drink into champagne flutes, the bubbles in the pink champagne floating and making a pleasant fizzing noise.
"There's no purpose to champagne. It only exists for the occasion where you need to hear the cork popping."
"Quite," Richard nods in agreement, and accepts the champagne flute. It's rosé, Richard's favourite, sweet and refreshing after their heated intercourse. Together they snuggle under the sheets, propping their backs up with pillows as they drink champagne in silence and bask in the afterlove; Richard's hair is slightly mussed after what they've done, the area around his mouth tinged pink from Dero's stubble, and his clavicle and neck are littered with love-bites. There is satisfaction in marking something so perfect and beautiful, and as Dero gazes at him, he feels an overwhelming fondness welling up inside his heart.
Richard finishes his glass first and puts it aside with a content sigh. "Do you want more?" the younger man asks softly, reaching for the bottle, but Richard shakes his head.
"I'm quite tired now, actually," he murmurs, before he sinks down onto the pillows and closes his eyes. Anxious that he might fall asleep first, Dero quickly downs the rest of his drink and puts his glass aside before he, too, slides down to lie next to Richard. The older man smiles lazily as he feels Dero's body pressing against his. "mmm. Hey."
"Lie on my chest."
Richard does so, curling up slightly and letting his breath fan across the skin of Dero's tattooed chest. "Comfortable?" the latter asks, reaching over and turning the lamp off. But Richard's already asleep, chest rising and falling evenly with every breath; Dero chuckles slightly and bends down to kiss and nuzzle his forehead, inhaling the scent of musk, sex and vanilla cologne.
"Sleep well," he murmurs softly, kissing the shell of his ear ever so delicately before he, too, closes his hazel eyes and loses himself in content sleep.
-----
"-So the new album we'll be working on just before September-"
"-Booked a studio already-"
Dero can't concentrate. He's shifting on his chair, breathing more rapidly than usual, gazing at the clock every ten seconds or so and feeling increasingly desperate for the meeting to end already. He's still got over half an hour to go, though, and it's absolutely torturous.
Absolutely, gloriously, delightfully torturous.
"-Dero, are you feeling all right?"
He nods hastily, seeing Flux's concerned gaze. "I'm - I'm fine."
"You've been really out of it so far. What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
How's he going to explain that beneath his trousers, he has his crotch bound with elastic rope that's rubbing ever so agonizingly against and beneath his erection every time he shifts in his chair? Richard did it for him just this morning, and even though they've been sleeping together and practicing bondage for a couple of months now, the singer has never truly realized just how skilled the older man is with ropes and knots. Dero can't even begin to figure out how to loosen the rope just slightly, let alone untie anything. He's going to be stuck like this until he sees Richard again that evening.
All because he took the last cigarette. If it didn't feel so amazing, being bound like this, Dero might have even felt a little resentful for this disproportionate retribution that he's being put through.
They've probably established everything in their sexual relationship now except for who's dominant and who's submissive. Richard appears to be the latter, with his collar, overall agreeable personality and being shorter than the other; Dero is also usually the one doing the penetrating and initiating their encounters. But once they've got their clothes off and are in the bedroom, the older man never fails to take Dero by surprise. He's still the one who knows more about BDSM, too.
Two doms don't work well with each other. Two subs don't work well, either. They can't really be placed into either category. It'd be safer to say that they won't ever establish who's dominant over who, because switching it up is so much more interesting. The singer feels a curiously perverse enjoyment from being dominated and under the other's mercy as well - the times when Richard's on top are usually the ones that stand out the most in his mind.
He's addicted to the older man, for sure. It's all good, except when Richard does things like this for the sheer punishment value of it.
But that's just the way it is. He's learning more and more about the art of BDSM and about Richard as the days go by. Since the end of June they've been experimenting with various things, and Dero has gotten into it remarkably quickly, that's for sure. He almost can't remember how he had sex before without all the kinkiness that he's engaging in now; but he does have a quite a bit to learn yet. When he gets out of this meeting and out of his bonds, the first thing he's going to do is to research rope bondage techniques of his own. That'll show Richard.
"... Dero. Dero, wake up, man, you're freaking me out. You've been staring blankly at that coffee cup for ten minutes now. What the hell's going on?"
... If he even makes it out without blowing his load right in his trousers, that is.
Ach. Goddamn it, Rikh.
-----
When the morning sunlight shines through the window and across Dero's eyes, he wakes up to find that he can't move his legs.
Feeling a surge of sudden panic, Dero looks down at himself - and sees with shock that his legs have been cuffed and forced wide apart with a spreader bar. His wrists are also cuffed to the headboard. He's still naked too, naked as the day he was born, only a pillow tucked ever so coyly between his legs preserving his modesty. The side of the bed next to his is empty and Richard is nowhere to be found or heard in the room.
"What the-"
He never gets to finish his sentence. The hotel room door suddenly opens without warning and the maid from the night before walks in with a tray of toast and coffee in her arms - she just walks right across and sets it down on the table on the other side of the room before she notices Dero staring at her, completely mortified. When she realizes this fully, she lets out a little scream of utter shock and clamps one hand over her mouth, her cheeks rapidly turning red and staring at him for what seems like an eternity - before turning and fleeing the room, banging the door shut behind her.
At the same time, Dero hears a barely stifled chuckle coming from the bathroom, and then the pieces all fall into place.
"Richard!" he hollers, struggling against his bindings. The bathroom door swings open and a mostly-cleaned up and dressed Richard emerges, laughing his head off, from the room. "you - oh my God, you're such a dick I don't even-"
"Ahhh. Es tut mir leid," but his apology is only half sincere, as visible from the way he's still grinning. "I didn't mean to frighten you - or the girl - so, but I saw that you had a second set of cuffs in your bag, and I couldn't resist now, could I? I'm an addict. I just can't help it. Mea culpa, Dero, mea culpa."
"... How did you even manage to stuff a spreader bar of this length in your bag?!"
"Adjustable, of course," Richard picks up the tray, carries it over and then sits himself down on the bed, picking up a slice of toast and nibbling at it. "want some?"
"You know I don't eat breakfast, Rikh."
"Well, I do," the older man says nonchalantly. He spreads some red jam on a second slice; some of it gets on his finger and he holds it out for Dero to lick off, which the singer does so eventually. Cherry jam. "at least have the coffee. Consider it my way of making up for the prank."
Dero looks at him disbelievingly. "Coffee! Do you really think I'm going to forgive you that easily just because you gave up your cof-" he's stopped from further outbursts when the rim of the cup is pressed to his mouth, the coffee touching his lips as Richard tilts the cup a little and makes him sip at the hot liquid. He's made to drink at least half of it right there. It is a very nice coffee, but that doesn't change the fact that he's still pretty mad at Richard.
"I wasn't exactly asking you to drink it," the guitarist says softly as he pulls away the cup. "it's not really as if you had a choice in the first place. I don't expect the coffee to make up for this, anyway. Rather, I'm going to make up for it with the logical consequences that come with you drinking my coffee."
"What the hell are you even talking about."
Richard doesn't answer until he's finished with all the slices of toast, mopping up the jam and crumbs with the very final mouthful. "Well," he finally speaks up, draining the last few drops of the lukewarm coffee. "I've just finished my breakfast, and I'm still going to need something to wash it down with, right?"
Silence. The singer just stares at him for one long moment before he suddenly grasps Richard's meaning, eyes widening at the realization.
"Ach!" Richard exclaims cheerfully as he sees this change; without further hesitation he reaches down and pulls away the pillow from between Dero's legs, exposing his hard, smooth erection to air. "now he understands!"
"The things you do, Richard. Jesus Christ."
"My, he looks excited," Richard laughs as he kisses and licks the tip of the shaft. "nothing like helping out a lover with his morning wood to convey an apology, right?"
"... You can be so childish sometimes," Dero mumbles, but his body is already flushed with excitement. "... get on with it, then."
"Danke. Consent is a very important thing."
And Richard does indeed get on with it. Dero's still a little sore from the events of the night before, and quite sensitive from it, but he does his best to last as long as possible even under the other's skilled tongue - it helps to think about the rather mortifying incident with the hotel maid. Humiliation play is one thing and flashing an innocent girl is something else entirely. Poor girl. Hope she can forget about it later. Then Richard delves lightly beneath the foreskin with the very tip of his tongue and the younger man nearly comes right there and then.
"Did that hurt?"
"N-nein... "
They started off with a blowjob, now they're finishing off with one. A nicely crafted symmetry. Soon enough he bucks hard into Richard's mouth and groans his name as he comes, watching the guitarist drinking him thirstily and eagerly cleaning his member with his tongue in the manner of a cat grooming another. Feeling completely drained, Dero moans again and sags heavily into the bed, feeling Richard freeing both of his ankles from the spreader bar, along with his left wrist, before moving up for a long, gentle kiss. It's moments of tenderness like this that he values the most.
"Less thirsty now?"
"Mmm," Richard packs away the items save for the single cuff lying on the bed in his bag and stands up. "delicious, like you always are. And I hope I'm forgiven."
"You are."
"Rest well. I'll see you tomorrow then, Dero."
"And the same. Before you go, though - um, the other cuff, bitte?"
Richard grins at him before he tosses the key to the handcuffs on Dero's stomach; with that, a little kiss and a whispered 'bis Morgen', he departs from the room and closes the door, leaving his lover thoroughly ravished on the bed.
-----
They don't say 'I love you' to each other. The closest they've come to that is kissing, and Richard once said that the younger man was precious to him.
He's asked, though. The day he gave Richard the collar and they tried it out the first time. It was just the once, but he did ask.
"Rikh?"
"Ja?"
"Do you love me?"
Richard hadn't answered. Dero had waited a full five minutes in anxious silence before sighing and rolling over on the bed. "Never mind," he had mumbled, and he'd certainly felt a little irritated at himself for having asked the question at all. Given, for both being Germans, they've progressed very fast in their relationship - so perhaps he ought to have been just content with that. But Dero had suddenly felt unsure about where these trysts were going, annoyed with himself for having made Richard uncomfortable - and at the same time, a little hurt. He'd die before he'd admit it but deep inside he'd been hoping, maybe - maybe Richard did-
The guitarist had wrapped his arms tightly around his waist at that point in his thoughts, startling him. "Your body's cold," he'd murmured quietly, and that was the extent of their conversation that night.
-----
But it was also the first night that Dero and Richard actually fell asleep together, woke up next to each other in the morning - and the younger man knew from that point onwards that what they had was something quite special. For the past month, since that night, he and Richard have been seeing each other not just to practice their uniquely-balanced relationship but to simply fall asleep in each other's embrace, and Dero knows that they've progressed beyond the point of no return. One can make love to many people, but the desire to actually share sleep with another is truly special and limited only to one, after all.
Maybe it's not just a dominant-submissive thing they have.
Dero uncuffs his left hand and lies back flat on the bed, thinking. He ought to check out before ten. But it's only half past seven now; it was a very early breakfast that Richard ordered, that's for sure. Dero closes his eyes and rolls over, his naked body pressed tight against the sheets and burying his face into the pillow. He smiles to himself lazily, fingers roaming over the surface of the sheets and pillow; Richard's left him with his scent enclosed in those objects, and it won't hurt to spend some time thoroughly appreciating it.
They might not call it love just yet. Perhaps they'll never call it by that name. But Dero can wait until they figure it out, and he's not worried because he knows that neither he nor Richard is willing to end this simply as a fling. Yes, he can wait; his partner is worth every second of it.
Soon the last of the autumn leaves will fall and winter will take its place, and soon it will be a full year since Richard first threw a box of Asbach chocolates at him in that smoke-studded bar. Perhaps he could take Richard out for the occasion, treat him to some clothes or a meal, take a walk together, compose a song for him, all the things that people who're young and hopelessly in love do. Neither of them are exactly young, though; he'll have to see to that. But he does know one thing - one way or another, the guitarist will wake up on the sixth of January next to Dero and a gift-wrapped box of Asbach chocolates on the bedside table. He'll let the older man eat them off his body too, indulging in taste, his favourite of the five senses. If nothing else, that particular addiction's going to be paid homage to, because it brought them together after all.
As he was thinking before, life isn't meant to make sense sometimes.
And Dero honestly wouldn't have it any other way.
-------------------------------------------
This was my first attempt at writing Dero Goi and I hope he was a very sexy Dero Goi doing very sexy things. All techniques and toys themselves depicted in this fic are real and I tried to get them as detailed as possible while keeping it to a oneshot length. By 'oneshot length' I do mean over 40 pages/17500 words, but yes. Any corrections by practitioners are appreciated. Dero and Richard being kinky however, sadly is not real. Asbach chocolate cherries are indeed a real product and if you've read some of my fics, chances are you came across a passage that mentions Richard liking cherries. I don't know if he likes cherries in real life, but it's part of my fanon. I have entire notes about what foods and drinks each member of Rammstein likes/dislikes in my twisted little universe. The songs used are two of my favourite Oomph! songs, following my usual fashion of translating background music to words on a screen - 'Labyrinth' and 'Geborn zu Sterben'. I'm a big fan of jazz/cabaret, and 'Geborn zu Sterben' is a song I really admire on that front.
I do think BDSM is one of the purest ways of communicating love and honesty. Fully giving yourself to someone and in return having the confidence in them to hurt you just enough that it feels good. Trusting someone to deprive you systematically of one of the five senses or more - and still managing to function and love through faith in your partner alone. It's not so much the pain that is sensual, though that's a definite factor - but it's more the feeling of complete and mutual trust involved, I think.
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The Precipice of Sensation