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Regen (Rain)	By : maybebaby Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 2556 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Rammstein. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Title: Regen (Rain) 15/28
Author: akasha6
Beta and co-writer: Mr Naked
Translation: lisa_thecat
Rating: NC 17
Pairing: Till/Richard, Richard/Christoph, Christoph/Paul, Till/Gert
Disclaimer: None of this is true, it's all work of fiction.
Warning: This story contains imagery and ideas that some might find gory, immoral and possibly offending. (violence, BDSM, non-consensual sex, incest)

The author would like to thank Mr Naked for the wonderful job he did as a beta and co-writer and to lisa_thecat for the translation.

Chapter 15

Two months later...

When you sit in the dark, frozen by its coldness, time ceases to exist. That's how Satan has his immortality. In Hell time stands still. In Hell you are this empty shell of flesh and bones, and after a while – how long had it been since Till was locked in there, days, months, years? - well, after a while the pain, the disgust while being touched by Gert and many other men, you don't feel them anymore.

The memory of Richard was hidden very well, a flicker of an image under Till's eyelids, as he blinked from time to time over those burning, dried of tears eyes of his. He hadn’t had a heart for so long now, to feel it cringe whenever that memory flashed him. And he was sure that Richard was dead. In the last weeks he started thinking that if death means eternal oblivion, then that's what he wanted. He was craving for death, like a thirsty man in the desert longing for water. And maybe he would meet him there. Richard. To get warmed by his embrace, to quench his thirst in the blue waters of his eyes.

Till crouched on the floor. He was shivering, and he didn't even know if it was because of the cold or if he needed his shot. He embraced his knees with his arms. Everything hurt. There wasn’t a place on his body that wasn’t covered in blue marks or hidden painful wounds.

He heard the growls of drunken men coming from afar. Next, the rattle of the key chain. They were coming to get him.

Every day. Every night. Strangers’ faces. Sweaty bodies. Brutal hands. The only gratefulness and relief Till felt was in the third day after he was made to accept the drugs they gave him to keep quiet and obedient.

He heard the clanging sounds of the keys as someone was unlocking, then the door was opened. Then, the blinding light of an electric lamp strayed on the wet walls of the cellar. Till covered his eyes, hurt by the strong light. He heard the steps as someone walked, coming closer to where he was. Blinking heavily, Till looked up.

As Till’s eyes were getting adjusted to the light, his glance traveled up along that pair of slim, straight legs. In front of him stood a tall, good-looking man. The new guy was dressed casual but one could figure out he was rich. That wasn’t it, as Till pushed himself up, to stand, he realized that there was something about this man, something that showed that he wasn’t into this kind of stuff. As much as the new arrived might have tried to hide it, behind the sharp glance of his blue eyes, Till knew that this wasn’t the type of “customers” he usually had. As their glances met, there was a sad smile on the new guy’s face, but that smile turned into an expression of purest ice-coldness as the “customer” turned to Till’s father, who had just entered the dark oubliette.

“OK. I’ll take him for ten days. I’m paying right now. Cash.” His tone didn’t allow much discussion; he put his hand in the pocket of his trousers and extracted a fat wallet, stuffed with banknotes.

“Ten days?” Till’s father sounded something between shock and incredulity. “That’s a long time. I make a lot of money with him in ten days. There are others…” His words melted in his mouth as he saw the money the stranger had in his hand.

“I only want him,” decided the other man. “I double the sum,” he added and in his hands appeared, like magic, more money.

Till knew his father very well, he knew he’d give up. Till knew that there was only one thing in this world that’d turn his father on, more than seeing pain on his son’s face; that only thing was money.

“Ok, ten days. But don’t touch his face,” the father added and signaled toward his men that they were ready to come after anyone who’d damage the “goods”, no matter how much money the newcomer would pay. The other man nodded slightly. Till's father left the cellar, leaving his men to prepare Till and deliver him to the customer.

*

A soft voice - the whisper of an angel. Birds singing. The warm caress of sun rays flooding the room, the wonderful smell of freshly washed bed linen. Richard felt himself smiling in his sleep. All of that gave him a sense of peace – he was home. Home. And no matter what happened each time, his home still felt like home every time he got back there.

Richard stretched his body under the covers, happy to just enjoy the comfort of his bed. His bed. He didn’t have the strength or the desire to open his eyes.

A tender touch. Butterfly wings on his skin. A warm, soft breath near his cheek. And that soft voice again: “Hey, little brother, I know that you’re awake.”

A kiss above his left eyebrow; someone caressed his head tenderly.

“Ok, you don’t have to talk with me, Richard. Let me talk to you.”

Richard felt someone sitting on the edge of his bed. Christoph. He had always been his guardian angel, his savior in moments of need. Carefully Richard opened one eye first. Christoph smiled. Then the other eye; Christoph laughed. His irresistible laugh.

“Your excursion in independence ended like always in a catastrophe,” Christoph announced to his brother on this half reproachful, half joking tone. “Dad is going to disinherit you if you don’t stop with the drugs and the disappearing for months.”

Richard smiled weakly. “He hasn’t already done it?” He whispered almost inaudibly.

“You know that for whatever reason he loves you, he worships you. You get away with anything,” Christoph pulled the blanket from Richard’s upper body. “But this, here,” and he pointed the naked chest of his brother. “Only confuses him more.”

Christoph’s lank and delicate fingers caressed the visible scars still in process of healing on Richard’s tender skin. That touch made Richard jump as if electrocuted: Till!

He rolled on the bed and hid his face in the pillows as if to hide away from that memory.

“Who is Till?” He heard Christoph’s concerned tone, as he felt the touch of his fingertips caressing his bare shoulder.

Richard realized that he must have said that name out loud - a bitter and filled with pain whisper.

“You kept saying that name in your sleep,” Christoph added on a warm tone, as his hand traveled along the spine of his brother, in something between a friendly pat and a massage.

Richard squeezed the pillow in his arms. Since they brought him back from the hospital, he was in this state of continuous dreaming; in his bed, bathed by the warm and gentle sun rays coming through his window – a time for healing. But these really fast and short flashes crossed this dreamy state, of peace and serenity, from time to time. A name. A man.

Richard rose from the bed, almost jumping, but just like as all the times before he wanted to race out, to find that man, to rescue him, he ended up collapsing on the floor. Luckily, Christoph caught him in his arms.

“Hey,” this one whispered. “Take it easy little bro. You’re not able to get anywhere now.”

And Christoph helped him get back on the bed.

“You must rest.”

Richard pushed Christoph’s chest, but without any strength, only a gesture to show him that he wanted to be left alone.

“I have to go,” Richard whispered fervently, looking straight into Christoph’s eyes, as if begging to be let to go. “I can’t explain to you right now. I just hope I’m not too late.”

“Yes, I know you have to,” Christoph replied putting him back on the bed. “But first you need your strength back.”

“Did dad figure out?” Richard wanted to know. “I mean how I got the money for my hits.”

Christoph looked at his brother, at his face wearing that expression of deep concern, and the furrowed eyebrows. Even since those days when Richard was lying there, on the border between nightmares and unconsciousness, and he was watching him, Christoph knew that something happened out there, something happened to his brother to affect him so much.

And now Richard couldn’t be calmed down about this.

“I’ll need dad’s connections,” Richard started again. “I hope he’s not that mad at me and he will want to help.”

Christoph pulled a sad, but warm smile. Richard had always been the problem child of the family, but their parents always did their best to get him out of all the messes he got himself into and always welcomed him back with arms wide open – the prodigal son. Their parents didn’t know, also, a lot of things about Richard, like how he offered his services to various men, to get the money for his drugs. These kinds of things weren’t to be known by their parents, especially by their father. Their father took it really bad when he learned about Richard liking men. He didn’t need more stuff like that.

“You know that he’s worried about you,” Christoph said, trying to comfort him. “His worry is bigger than his anger. And this time you’ve outdone yourself. To be found like that, half dead, like you were, that really got him. Don’t do this to him again, please, take it as a favor to me, don’t pull this crap again.” Christoph sighed. “I’ll help you with this guy, but do this favor to me.”

Richard nodded. He could read on his brother’s face that this crap, as he named it, really got not only their father.

“OK. We have to call Paul and Olli, because we need their connections, also. We have to get as many people as possible. We need lots of them. You know what I mean, Christoph.”

Richard’s heated mind was already conceiving plans after plans. Christoph always had this sort of intuition about things; he didn’t need to be told much and he didn’t need to press for explanations. It was as if he knew that he would get them, at the right time.

“Paul would do me any favor. He would be very happy to help,” Christoph added to reassure Richard.

*

“Come! Get up!”

The stranger stretched out his hand for Till to hold on to stand up. It was obvious that the man sat on the floor wasn’t in a great shape.

Till looked at that hand with delicate fingers; then he looked at the man standing in front of him. The gesture was contrasting with the ordering tone of that guy.

That guy had blue eyes, deep blue eyes.

Till turned his look off that hand; he struggled with his own big and shaky sore body, and, after few attempts, he managed to stand up. This curtain of black flooded his eyesight.

Christoph studied him. He was not too steady on his legs; he wore nothing except for a pair of jeans. Never the less, Christoph had to admit that his brother always managed to get the finest men. Beyond the dark circles around his eyes, the three-days stubble on his face, the appearance of a total wreck, Till’s refined muscles, thick arms and that glare in his eyes were stirring Christoph’s attention. No wonder Richard wanted to have this man.

Till threw him a spiteful look. Not hatred, more like a mix between complete indifference and some sort of “you think you can crash me, but you actually can’t.”

Christoph swallowed this lump in his throat. There wasn’t time for musing and analyzing. He wanted to tell who he really was and who sent him there, to that wrecked man that was making efforts to remain standing without any help. But he had a role to play; he could see it with his own eyes that even his own life was at stake in here, in this house, where he was surrounded and watched closely by all those bodyguards, the ‘soldiers’.

“Let’s go!” He ordered and pushed Till as roughly as possible.

They walked along the corridors, Till, Christoph, and the two guardians, then up the stairs, to the entrance door. Light was diffused through the wider windows, blinding Till.

He lifted his arm, to protect his eyes with his palm, but someone grabbed his wrist and pushed him out. Out!

Raindrops splashed Till’s bare torso. That flash of memory, the memory of Richard blinded Till, not the light. He closed his hurt eyes. On his skin he felt the sweet, cool caresses of the wind. The air. Outside.

Till was outside.
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Regen (Rain)