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Improvisation	By : Rina76 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Tokio Hotel Views: 1721 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Georg Listing, Tom Kaulitz, Bill Kaulitz or any members of Tokio Hotel. This story is a complete work of fiction and not true. I don't own this fandom am not making any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
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- 11
The camera zooms in on a dead woman lying on her back in Miles’s garage. Her hands are bound together with fishnet stockings and her legs are spread apart on the floor gracelessly. That’s the way she landed when she fell over backwards. She is wearing a low-cut lacy top, a denim miniskirt and high-heeled leather shoes. There is a gag tied around her mouth and a bullet hole in her forehead. A thin line of blood oozes from the fatal wound and runs down over her temple. Bright red liquid has flowed out from the back of her head and soaked into her long auburn hair. It stains the concrete floor underneath her. Nobody heard the murder because Miles put a silencer on the gun.
   “Fuck, bitch. You bleed more than a stuck pig,” Miles says disgustedly and kicks the limp body with one boot. As well as his usual trench coat and black pants, he is wearing a black balaclava with only his eyes and mouth showing. With gloved hands, he reaches for a plastic tarpaulin, intending to wrap the corpse in it so he can put it in the trunk of his car and dispose of it in the lake. He stops and stares at the dead woman. There is so much blood. It’s dark and thick, like raspberry syrup. He suddenly drops the tarpaulin, yanks off his balaclava, bolts out of the room and retches in the first corner he can find, his gut heaving all its contents up in an unstoppable gush. He coughs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He stands there, half-bent over, his hands on his thighs, taking deep breaths to tame the persistent urge to vomit again.
Tom is standing at the side of the set watching the scene. He rushes over to Georg.
   “Hey, you all right, G?”
At the brunette’s lengthy silence, Tom again queries, “You right?” and instinctively rubs Georg’s back. Georg swallows and sniffs, giving his co-star a cursory nod, closing his eyes for a moment or two to compose himself. His nausea contained, he stands up and bashfully faces Tom, who is frowning at him in worry.
“Well, now you’ve seen me puke so we’re even,” Georg jokes, trying to make light of the situation. At the reminder of his orange hangover-hurling, Tom makes an empathic face.
   “Yeah. Not fun, is it?”
Georg gives a dry chuckle, feeling a little ashamed that he just barfed in front of the entire crew and some of the cast. Having already called cut on the scene, Gustav comes up to the two actors and focuses on the darker-haired one, having arranged for somebody to come clean up the puke. It’s not Ria though; she is busy working on Georg’s trailer at that very minute, thinking how much tidier he is than Tom and how good his pillowcases and sheets smell. Not that she smells them on purpose because that would be horribly unprofessional of her but she can’t help noticing the musky, manly scent that surrounds her as she strips his bed. Because Ria is busy performing a maid’s daily duties, an elderly man gets the unenviable task of mopping up Georg’s breakfast.
   “Are you okay, Georg?” Gustav asks in fatherly concern.
   “Yeah,” Georg answers and scratches the back of his neck in a gesture of embarrassment. “Sorry about that, Gus. I don’t know what came over me. The sight of all that fake blood just made my stomach churn.”
The blond-haired director waves off his apology. “Don’t even worry about it,” he says to Georg understandingly. “Are you going to be able to finish the scene or should we leave it for another day?”
   “I can finish it,” Georg confidently tells the other male. “I’ll be right in a few minutes.”
With a nod, Gustav obligingly announces that it is time for a break and members of the crew wander off to get caffeine and have a smoke. Tom, who is usually the first one lighting up, stays with Georg. Gustav turns to the blond teen.
   “Look after Georg,” he commands, knowing Tom will do just that. He can tell that Tom cares a great deal about his co-star. As he anticipated, Tom nods acquiescently.
   “Will do, sir.”
After Gustav heads off in the opposite direction to meet with David Jost, the film’s producer, Tom gets a chair for Georg and orders him to sit down. Not about to argue with Tom, Georg strips off Miles’s trench coat, lowers his muscular form into the canvas-backed chair and feels much better sitting. He rolls down the top of his turtleneck sweater to give him more room to breathe. Tom hovers beside him in concern, his hand resting soothingly on Georg’s shoulder.
“You sure you’re all right, man? You don’t really look all right.”
Georg peers thankfully up at his co-star, liking this caring, concerned side of Tom. It’s a side he doesn’t get to see very often.
“When I was at high school, one of my close female friends was abducted and murdered,” Georg confides in a low tone. “That scene brought it all back.”
“Fuck,” Tom answers, his eyes wide. “I’m so fucking sorry, Georg. I had no idea.”
“It’s all right. Just…don’t tell anyone that, okay?” The older actor rubs his face. “I don’t really wanna talk about it.”
“No problems. Can I get you anything?” Tom’s voice is soft as is his expression. “You want a drink, coffee or something? I’ll get you whatever you like.”
“Coffee would be great, thanks,” Georg replies, needing something fortifying in his now-empty stomach. “Make it strong, huh?”
   “You got it.” Tom squeezes his shoulder and purposefully strides over to where the coffee-making facilities are located. While Georg sips the strong, sweet beverage he brings back, Tom chatters away, trying to take Georg’s mind off what just happened and how it brought up painful memories. He tells Georg a story of one time in his childhood that he was chased through a field by a ginormous pissed off wasp (complete with descriptive hand gestures and sound effects) and soon has Georg’s interest captured, even eliciting a chuckle or two out of the male in the chair.
   “So did you escape it or what?” Georg asks, very intrigued by the tale.
   “Not a chance,” Tom says excitedly. “I was running and leaping over logs and shit, pumping my skinny legs as fast as I could, but it finally caught up to me and stung me on the thigh, like ten times or something. I was only wearing these little red shorts and so it was right on my bare skin. It was digging its butt into my leg - ‘cause the stinger’s in the butt, you know - and unlike bees, wasps can sting you over and over again and they don’t die. It was going to town on me, man. It was like, ‘Take that, kid! And that! I’ll sting you good!’ ”
Here Tom mimes the back-and forth ass-action of the insect, making Georg laugh, even though he was cringing with the agony poor eight year-old Tom must have went through at the vicious attack.
   “And the worst part was,” Tom gleefully went on, “I didn’t even do anything to it. It’s not like I was tormenting it or poking its nest or anything. It just came after me for no goddamn reason! Nasty motherfucker. I’m just happy it didn’t bring its pals along. I’d be dead right now if there was a swarm of those chasing me down. What a way to go, huh? Death by killer wasps!”
At his dramatic tone, Georg grins, thinking that Tom is one hell of a storyteller. His grandkids are gonna love him.
   “Eventually, I got away but fuck, it was awful. Scarred me for life. Even now, if a bee or a wasp comes near me I freak out and if they actually land on me, I’m like, ‘Get it offa me! Get it offa me!’” Tom does this girly dance, hopping around and flapping his arms like a demented chicken. This hilarious pantomime makes Georg choke on his coffee. He starts coughing and Tom enthusiastically thumps him on the back.
   “Shit. Sorry! I was trying to make you feel better, not worse,” Tom laments. Georg recovers from his coughing/laughing fit, wipes the tears from his eyes and glances at his entertaining co-star.
   “No, no. You did,” he insists, setting his mug down on the floor before he spills it everywhere. He touches Tom’s hand, which is lightly resting on his arm, and smiles up at him. “That was some story, Tom. I could almost feel the stinging. Thank you for sharing that.”
Tom smiles back, glad he can cheer Georg up with his stories.
   “Any time, bro.”
They gaze at each other for a little while, still smiling, feeling very close and intimate, as if they are in their own little world, as if nobody else is around. After what they did together the night before, how could they not feel closer? Worshipping the body with your mouth is about the most intimate thing you can do with another person. Well, the second most intimate thing anyway. And, barring Gustav and Ria the maid, nobody else knows about them. Not a single soul. They cherish their secret, liking this thing, this undertow of attraction that they have between them. Even if it drives them crazy sometimes. Even if they aren’t completely sure of what it is. All they know is that it is exciting and it is private and it is special and it is theirs.
All theirs.
A crew member yells out loudly and interrupts their moment and they both suddenly realize their hands are connected and they looking at each other in a very non-platonic way, in full view of everyone. They hastily separate and hope that if anyone saw them, they would think it was just rehearsing, just them playing the roles of Miles and Joseph which would explain the unnecessary boy-touching. Tom ducks outside to have a quick smoke. When the short break is over, the two actors get back to work. Georg walks into the garage again, which is actually a single room on the set decorated with shelves, tools and metal cabinets. Hannah Dallas, who plays the now deceased prostitute Tina Churchill, is sitting on a director’s chair with her name emblazoned across the back of it, the gag removed from her mouth and the fishnet stockings untied from her wrists. She is drinking bottled water through a straw. She looks up. Despite the morbid, grisly way she appears with deathly grey skin, oozing bullet wound and blood soaked hair, her beauty shines out from under that special effects makeup.
   “Georg! How are you feeling?”
   “I’m fine now, thanks,” he replies reassuringly, rolling his turtleneck back up. Because Hannah is still looking at him quizzically, he decides to partially explain the reason why he ran out of the room like he did.
“It’s just that looking at you lying there, tied up and gagged…I don’t like seeing you like that. It’s very disturbing, you know? That bullet hole looks so damn real.” He suppresses a cold shiver. “So does the blood.”
Hannah smiles and touches the wet crimson substance in her already-red hair. “Yeah, this slimy shit is gonna be hell to wash out.”
“I can imagine,” he says sympathetically, thinking of how he has to shampoo his hair three times every evening to remove all the globs of styling wax and gel he gets put in each morning.
As Hannah assumes her position back on the floor, makeup staff hovering over her, she enquires, “Ready for take two?”
Back to business, Georg bends to pick up the tarpaulin he discarded earlier, flashing that devastating, dimpled grin at her. “Sure am. I’ll try not to throw up on you this time.”
And he doesn’t. After the shoot wraps for the day, Georg stays behind and talks with Hannah, who has had her makeup removed and her hair shampooed. She is sporting a towel wrapped turban-style around her head. Rather than think less of Georg for vomiting at the sight of fake blood, she seems touched by his emotional empathy.
Tom, who is standing outside the set by himself and smoking his usual after-work cigarette, peeks in through the doorway and watches them chatting. He wants to ask if Georg is going to come to his trailer tonight. It’s his turn, after all, and Tom really wants to see him. Tom’s still concerned about Georg and wants to do something to make him feel better. Though Georg may project great confidence around others, Tom knows that the guy is a lot more sensitive and vulnerable than people think he is, due to the strong kinds of characters he plays. Here Georg is playing Miles Vanderwolf - egomaniac, sadistic tormentor and all-round asshole, when Georg is anything but. Georg is not like Miles at all. For starters, look at his car. No shiny black Porsche or Audi for Georg. Instead, he’s got this beat up blue truck which is barely holding itself together. Georg makes more than enough money to buy a whole garage full of new cars but for some reason he keeps driving the same old vehicle. It’s as if he prefers things that are rustic and falling apart.
He’s also an animal lover and owns a little black dog called Ernie that travels with him almost everywhere he goes. Ernie jumps up into the truck and Georg takes him the beach, the country, the city. Georg told Tom that he would keep Ernie in his trailer if he was allowed but he’s not, so at present his beloved pet is staying with one of Georg’s friends but he still has a photo of the dog in his wallet.
Another thing that Tom has found out about Georg, besides his fondness for crappy cars and furry critters, is that he is quite the handyman. Georg is one of those guys that loves to fix things and make things and if they’re made of wood his neighbours can hear him hammering and sawing away for hours, later emerging with sawdust in his hair and on his clothes. While he likes to dress decently, he sure isn’t a fashion victim. He prefers flannel shirts, jeans, boots, t-shirts and comfy jackets. Certainly no knee-length vinyl trench coats or expensive Italian shoes. Georg is so far removed from Miles Vanderwolf they are like polar opposites. Tom really digs that.
What he’s not digging is the lengthy conversation Hannah has drawn Georg into.
   “Oh, come on,” he mutters, wishing Georg would hurry up. “Pass me some maple syrup. I’ve never seen two people waffle so much before.”
When he hears Hannah giggle at something presumably witty Georg said, and sees her playfully punch him on the arm, Tom feels this weird, sharp pang in the middle of his chest, right under his sternum. He rubs at the twinge, absently thinking he has indigestion. However, when he notices Georg grin and teasingly tug on an escaped lock of Hannah’s red hair, the pain intensifies. What the fuck is that all about? Tom has seen Georg talking with Hannah lots of times, even flirting with her, and he’s never felt this way before. He doesn’t like it. He scowls petulantly, wishing she would get the hell away from his secret lover. She’s too old for Georg and anyway, isn’t she supposed to be married? Not one for listening to set gossip, Tom has somehow missed the news of Hannah’s recent divorce.
The more he thinks about it, the more convinced Tom is that Georg is somehow punishing him, getting back at Tom for having a girlfriend. It’s a paranoid thought and has no concrete basis but Tom can’t help thinking it anyway. Maybe Georg is trying to make Tom realise what it feels like to be second in someone’s life, and not first. Well, it’s certainly working.
Not noticing the envious long-haired teen watching from around the doorway, Georg shifts closer to his female co-star, gazing intently into her almond-shaped, blue-grey eyes as they talk. Georg even brushes his knuckles over her cheek. Fed up with watching Georg and Hannah’s sickening interaction, Tom furiously flicks his cigarette butt onto the ground, causing a shower of sparks to scamper across the concrete like ants on fire, and storms off, swearing under his breath. A few angry steps later, he comes across an empty aluminum can lying in his path, an orange soda can no less, and it seems to be mocking Tom, reminding him of the drunken night of passion he shared with Georg. It’s like everywhere he turns lately, something makes him think of Georg. Just once, Tom would like to not think about the man but he can’t. It’s an impossible feat; Georg Listing is under his skin now, just like an invisible tattoo. He’s under there, embedded in deep and no amount of scrubbing will get rid of him. Georg has stained Tom, branded him, marked him forever. Overcome with frustrated rage, Tom utters every curse he can recall, violently stamping the soda can into a crumpled disc with his sneaker, and then kicks it as far as he can. The circle of battered metal misses some dude’s head by mere millimetres and the dude, one of the prop guys to be precise, stares at Tom as if he’s just escaped from a mental institution.
   “Take a fucking picture, why don’t you?” Tom spits as he stomps crankily past the dude. “It’ll last longer, moron.”

Tom goes back to his trailer, pours a bourbon and cola, drinks it and inhales a cigarette or five, all the while fuming about Georg’s bold audacity. How dare he flirt with Hannah like that! Especially after the night before where he was calling Tom impassioned things like, ‘sugar’, ‘honey’ and ‘baby’. And right now he’s in there making with the Casanova shit as if Tom means nothing to him. Not a fucking thing! The blond teenager fumes and smokes and drinks and restlessly paces the floor for another two hours, not even having any dinner because he’s so worked up that eating is the furthest thing from his mind. He watches the minutes tick by. It’s supposed to be Georg’s turn to come over but it doesn’t look like he is going to show. Or if he is, he’s taking his sweet motherfucking time about it. Tom can’t wait. He needs to see Georg and yell at him, maybe throw a punch or two because the prick deserves it. And for being such a prick, Tom resolves that Georg isn’t going to get any sexual favours tonight, not even if Georg begs. Tom is so furious at his co-star, he breaks his own rule for the second time.
He goes to Georg’s trailer.
He doesn’t carefully click pebbles against Georg’s window this time. He clomps up the steps and pounds on the door that hard that the glass windows rattle in their panes. Georg answers, his brow creased.
   “Could you knock any louder?” is the first thing Georg says to him, crooking an eyebrow. “Are you trying to dent my trailer?”
Tom just clomps on in as if he owns the place and the smell of bourbon wafts inside with him. Georg sighs and shuts the door, anticipating a heated exchanging of words presumably due to Georg’s lateness. Tom looks ready to explode. That’s good, it means he cares whether Georg shows up or not, but also it is bad because Pissed, Snarly Tom isn’t one of the kid’s better personalities. And Pissed, Snarly Tom mixed with alcohol can only be a volatile combination. He turns to the blond boy, prepping himself for the impending verbal abuse about to assault his ears. But surprisingly, Tom doesn’t yell at him. Now that he’s near Georg, seeing him in the flesh, seeing that toned body and the vivid green eyes and sharply sensual lips, Tom’s steadfast intention of shouting and punching fades away and all he wants to do is…is...
God, Georg is so fucking sexy, Tom realizes, his anger morphing into red-hot lust. Without warning, startling even himself, he grabs Georg, kissing him hard on the mouth. Georg drags Tom’s hands away from his face and attempts to halt the kiss.
   “Mm. No, Tom, stop,” he mumbles, as Tom’s lips cover his own again and his hands find Georg’s ass, groping him, his fingers digging into the firm gluteus maximus muscle. “Don’t. Don’t touch me. Stop it!”
He shoves the other boy in the chest and finally Tom stops kissing and mauling him.
The teen frowns at Georg and makes a gesture of bewilderment, confused by the knock back. “What’s wrong?”
Georg shakes his head, giving the boy a funny look. “Nothing. I just gotta have a shower first. I’m all icky and sweaty and still have makeup on. I just feel gross.”
   “You’ve only just gotten back?” Tom says incredulously, taking note that while Georg is dressed in regular street clothes, he does indeed have foundation and eyeliner on and his hair is in the same style he wore during shooting. Tom didn’t pick up on it straight away because he had other things on his mind. Like yelling.
   “We finished like, over three hours ago, man. What’ve you been doing?” Then his face turns suspicious. “Let me guess. You were with HER.”
   “If you are referring to Hannah,” Georg begins coolly, not liking the derogatory tone Tom is using, “then yes. I was with her. We were talking.”
   “Talking, huh?” The younger male plainly disbelieves the explanation for Georg’s tardiness.
   “Yes, Tom. Talking. You know that thing you do with your voice to communicate?”
   “Don’t be clever, asshole,” Tom remarks spitefully. “Did you go back to her trailer? Is that where you’ve been all this time?”
   “I didn’t go anywhere with her,” Georg returns, perplexed by Tom’s anger. “We were just on the set, right where you left us.”
   “But you like her, don’t you? You two were getting extremely cosy today. I saw the way you were touching her face.” Tom curls his lip in disgust. “Never thought you’d be into married women.”
Irritation sharpens Georg’s tone. “I’m not. I was simply brushing away a stray hair. And for your information, Mr. Know It All, she’s not even married any…” Suddenly, the older man realizes what’s going on. “Wait - are you JEALOUS?”
Tom rolls his eyes. “Of some middle-aged actress? As if.”
Now totally certain that it’s jealousy fuelling Tom’s unusual behavior, Georg treats the kid more kindly. “Tom, I don’t need a shower because I had sex. I need a shower because I’ve had long, hard day at work and I’d like to be clean before you touch me. You don’t really think that I’d go back to Hannah’s trailer while I’m meant to be with you, do you?”
Still looking sullen, Tom doesn’t reply.
“Because I would never do that,” Georg promises. “When I’m seeing somebody, I’m not interested in anyone else, no matter who it is. I’m sorry if it looked like I was flirting with her but I have two sisters and I always get along great with women. It doesn’t mean I want to sleep with any of them, okay?”
After a moment or two of silence, Tom speaks. “So you don’t want to fuck her?”
“No!” Georg exclaims.
Tom’s eyes are still narrowed slightly but he’s beginning to believe Georg. “Do you still want to fuck ME?”
“I want to do a lot more than that with you,” Georg confesses, closing the gap between them. He cups Tom’s chin with one hand and the boy flinches a little. “You have no reason to be jealous of Hannah. I don’t think about her when I go to sleep, nor do I think about her when I wake. I think about YOU, Tom. Just you.”
Georg slips his other hand around Tom’s back and leans in, kissing the younger actor on the lips, showing him that Hannah is not the person Georg dreams about at night. It’s Tom.
Always Tom.
Tom stands there stiffly at first, his mouth closed tight, but Georg’s persuasive lips and stroking fingers cause him to give in and kiss Georg back. His black mood dissipating, Tom moans at the back of his throat, a sound of acceptance and submission, and opens to the older male. They touch tongues, lightly to begin with and then deeper and with more passion. Tom tastes like bourbon and cola. As their tongues are entwining and jaws moving together in an instinctual rhythm, adapting to each other’s pace, Tom’s hands creep up under the sides of Georg’s shirt and go around his waist, his fingers cold on Georg’s warm skin. The brunette experiences chills over the flesh of his torso and up his spinal cord. Every time Tom touches him is a precious moment, and every time Georg gets to enter the velvety inside of Tom’s mouth, he almost has to pinch himself. He can’t believe that he is actually allowed do something so intimate with his eighteen year old co-star.
Gently ending the kiss, Georg presses his lips to Tom’s soft cheek and then whispers in his ear, “You are the only one I want to be with, Tom. You and only you.”
In a very quiet voice, peeking timidly up at him through his lashes, Tom says, “You mean it?”
   “I mean it,” Georg vows and takes Tom’s left hand, placing it directly over his breastbone. He gazes at Tom, letting him see the honesty in his eyes. Tom gazes back, feeling Georg’s heart beating steadily under his palm, through the thin layer of his shirt. Georg’s right hand covers Tom’s, holding it against his chest.
Mumbling, Tom says, “I thought that maybe you might have been paying me back for Bill or whatever…”
   “I wasn’t. I’ve accepted that you have a girlfriend, Tom. I will never try to punish you for that and I will never see anybody else behind your back,” Georg solemnly pledges. “Do you believe me?”
Tom breathes in and then out, slowly, and then nods, holding Georg’s gaze.
   “Good.” Georg brushes back Tom’s hair. “Now give me a smile so I know you’ve forgiven me for being so irresistibly handsome and attractive to women.”
Tom reluctantly does what he’s told, his smile only a small one, but a smile nonetheless. And it’s heart-achingly beautiful. Just like he is.
   “There’s my boy,” Georg says fondly and kisses the teenager on the forehead. “Anyway, it’s probably a good thing if people think I’m interested in Hannah. Then they won’t think I’m interested in YOU.”
Hm, Tom never thought of it that way. Makes sense. Maybe he should let Georg spend more time with Hannah after work, just as a decoy.
“Now, I’m gonna go have a shower. You wanna come hop in with me, kiddo?”
   “I had one earlier,” Tom replies, a bit slow to catch on.
   “You can never be too clean,” Georg suggests, a distinctly sinful glimmer appearing in his eye. He grins and trails a finger down Tom’s stomach. “Or maybe we could just get dirty…”
Catching Georg’s infectious deviousness, Tom grins back. “Okay.”
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Improvisation