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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
- 17
- 18
- 19
A/N: Warning: Contains detailed description of drug use (smoking pot).

Something wakes Georg in the night. He frowns, listening. It’s Tom, talking in his sleep in the living area.

“No,” he hears. “No, I don’t want to. Don’t. Don’t make me.”

Realising the kid is having a nightmare, Georg quickly gets out of bed and goes to the couch where Tom is sleeping. The boy’s eyes are closed, flickering to and fro behind his lids, and his head turns back and forth on the pillow.

“Please. Please, no. Stop it,” he mutters, and lashes out with his arm, as if he’s pushing someone away. “Leave me alone.”

Georg crouches down on the floor beside the couch, seeing Tom’s body twitching under the blanket in the silvery light filtering through a crack in the curtains. Georg furrows his brow as the teen’s movements get more restless and his breathing escalates to almost panting. Should he wake the kid? Or would that just make him even more agitated?

“No. Go away!” Tom yelps, desperately clawing at himself. “Get the fuck off me!”

Deciding to wake him, Georg grabs Tom by the shoulder and shakes him. “Tom, wake up!”

The younger actor blindly scratches at Georg’s hand in panic, crying, “Don’t touch me! Let go of me!”

“Hey, hey. Settle down,” Georg says, trying to calm the boy. “It’s only me.”

Tom abruptly sits up with wild, unfocused eyes, pounding on Georg’s chest with his fists and yelling, “I hate you, you bastard! I fucking hate you!”

Under attack, Georg catches both of Tom’s fists and tries to hold them still until the kid realises where he is and who he’s with. Still trapped in the nightmare, Tom swears and struggles, pushing at Georg and trying to hit him but the older man firmly restrains him, waiting for the storm to pass.

“It’s Georg, it’s Georg. It’s me, Tom. It’s me,” he keeps saying reassuringly.

Suddenly, Tom gives in, sobbing against Georg’s chest, all the fight gone out of him.

Wrapping his arms protectively around the crying teenager, Georg whispers soothingly, “It’s okay, sweetheart. Shh. It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

Slowly, Tom looks up at the other man in the semi-darkness. His cheeks are wet with tear-tracks.

“Georg?” Tom says uncertainly.

“Yeah, baby. It’s me.” His heart aching for the boy, Georg cradles Tom’s face tenderly with both hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “I’m here and nobody’s gonna hurt you again. I promise.”

The next thing Georg knows is that his lips are upon Tom’s. The older actor is not even thinking about what he’s doing, or what it means. For now, he is acting on pure instinct, gently kissing Tom until the teenager’s night-fright is nothing more than a fading memory and his tense body relaxes in Georg’s secure embrace. Tom’s mouth is so very soft and sweet under Georg’s own, the ring at the corner barely even noticeable anymore. Tom starts responding, hesitantly, gratefully. They don’t touch tongues, the two co-stars exchanging intimately light butterfly-wing brushes of their lips – Georg comforting Tom and Tom desperately needing that comfort.

When Georg is absolutely certain that Tom has recovered from his nightmare, he draws away, places one last kiss on the kid’s forehead and murmurs, “Go back to sleep, Tom.”

“Stay,” Tom mumbles, tugging at Georg, making the other man climb up onto the couch with him. Lying behind Tom, Georg burrows his face in the boy’s blond hair and breathes in the familiar scent of him. Tom snuggles back against his solid body, Georg’s arms wrapped securely around the younger male’s warm, supple figure. With Georg there holding him, Tom’s breathing soon turns deep and regular as he falls asleep again. Georg keeps watch for half an hour or so, to make sure Tom’s not going to have any more bad dreams but he doesn’t.

As usual, Georg wakes up to an empty trailer in the morning, Tom having vanished sometime during the night with all his belongings, like he wasn’t even there. Trying not to think about the kiss they shared, the older actor yawns and stretches on the couch, going over his lines for the scenes he will be shooting and mentally preparing for another day’s work on the set.

………

Georg finds it hard handling a gun. It’s very intense for him. Even though it’s only got blanks in it, he still feels like he’s holding a venomous cobra. It feels dangerous. It feels wrong. He’s very aware that the metal device is capable of killing human beings in a heartbeat. These things, when fully loaded, can blow bloody holes in people’s vital organs and splatter their brains out like grey pudding.

However much he detests guns and the damage they can do, Georg can’t avoid touching them when his occupation is an actor and the knowledge that there are no actual bullets involved doesn’t lessen his sense of unpleasantness. Especially since he has to pretend to shoot Tom, the one person he would never, ever harm. Tom is standing on the jetty leading into the lake where Miles and Joseph usually meet. When he aims the weapon at Tom and pulls the trigger, the special effects technician out of range of the camera presses a button and the little bag of fake blood hidden in the blond boy’s pants leg bursts to simulate a gunshot wound. Seeing the red fluid spraying out of Tom’s thigh and the way he cries out and falls down precariously close to the edge of the dock, Georg almost feels like throwing up for the second time in a month but manages to master his emotions and complete the scene without losing his lunch.

Although, it’s hard not to react when Tom is lying holding his injury and gasping very convincingly in pain, gazing up at Georg with a hurt, shocked expression in his face that looks all too real. Damn, the kid is a brilliant actor. He seems to handle these types of scenes with greater ease than Georg. But Tom is a different person to Georg. Tom’s dad is in the Army so the boy would have seen lots of guns and has probably had practise shooting them as well. As for violence, Tom has seen a lot of that also. According to Tom’s own words, he’s been in many fights and as he used to participate in karate competitions, he’s probably used to winning too. He’s even been arrested and thrown in jail for trying to fight a cop. Georg hasn’t done any of those things. He’s a lover, not a fighter.

Georg only gets over his disturbed feeling when the shoot ends for the day and instead of looking at Tom covered in blood, he can look forward to seeing the kid clean, showered and uninjured.

After Gustav calls cut, Tom gets up laughing. Proving that his leg wound is only fake, he jumps off the wooden pier situated in front of the green screen and stage lights, a computer-generated forest and moon to be added later by digital artists. The speedboat is real enough but it’s just sitting there in a shallow pool of water, being rocked by apprentice stagehands during filming to replicate the motion of bobbing in a lake. The shallow pool surrounds one side of the pier, the side that Tom almost fell in. They could have shot in front of an actual lake but it is easier and cheaper to use CGI than take the whole crew on location. They’ll only go on location when they have to use the boat for a high-speed chase and Tom can’t wait for that day because he gets to drive it for a few scenes.

The blond teen takes off the nerdy glasses he has to wear as Joseph’s character and grins at Georg, indicating to his bloody thigh. “That was awesome. I love getting shot!”

“Not in real life, you wouldn’t,” Georg says, stepping down onto the floor. The vinyl trench coat squeaks as he moves. Rolling his head from side to side, he cracks his neck. He releases a slow breath and stretches his arms above his head, rotating his shoulders and shaking off the last remnants of snaky Miles Vanderwolf, becoming plain old Georg Listing again.

“Are you okay, G?” Tom asks, belatedly remembering that one of Georg’s female friends got shot and murdered when he was at high school and that’s why he doesn’t like guns.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” Georg mutters, taking off his leather gloves and rubbing his face with one hand. “It’s just kinda hard when I’m playing a character who’s so bad.”

Trying to be helpful, Tom offers, “But you’re so good at being bad.”

Arching a brow at his co-star, Georg drawls, “Thanks, I think.”

“Why do you accept these roles, when they affect you so much?” Tom questions, not judging, just curious. “I mean, you’ve done action and drama before and you could always do romantic comedies or something but lately, you seem to be choosing really dark types of characters.”

It’s true – Georg’s last few roles have included a skinny meth addict who’ll do anything for a hit, a meticulous 18th century doctor/serial killer reminiscent of Jack the Ripper, and a shaven-headed satanic cult member with tattoos all over his body and a basement full of decomposing sacrificed animals. And now, a diamond-stealing, hooker-shooting sociopath with homoerotic urges towards his best friend, who he paradoxically tries to kill.

“I guess I like challenging myself.” Georg gives a wry smile. “When I need break from all this darkness, that’s when I’ll go and make some romantic comedies.”

Seeing that Georg is okay, Tom smiles back. “Fair enough. See you later?”

Peeling off the trench coat, Georg drapes it over his arm and clandestinely winks at the other boy before saying goodnight to Gustav, David Jost and Hannah. The redheaded actress had been watching the proceedings from the sidelines, though she was not required on set that particular evening. Hannah wants to talk to him alone but Georg tactfully brushes her off, not wanting Tom to get angry with him so soon after they’ve made up and become friends again. The older actor departs the stage, going to return his costume to the appropriate trailer. Tom takes that wink Georg gave him before he left as an affirmative reply to his hint about coming over. He knows that they’re supposed to be buddies only but he doesn’t think that will last very long. They’re both still attracted to each other; Tom can feel it, and he’s sure Georg will give in to that attraction sooner or later. Not wanting to appear too eager to leave, he lights a cigarette and wanders over to check out what Gustav and Hannah Dallas, among others, are engrossed in looking at.

“Look at this, Tom,” Hannah urges, pulling him over to the screen so he can see himself and Georg acting out the scene they just finished. “Right there. You guys are outstanding!”

“We’d wanna be outstanding. It only took us fifty-fucking-seven attempts,” he kids, concealing his true feelings towards her. He used to like Hannah but now he doesn’t because he believes she’s got her sights set on snaring Georg. Why else was she there watching the scene even though she wasn’t in it? Tom can’t let his mistrust show or she might get suspicious. As far as she’s aware, he and Georg are just good pals. Neither of them want Hannah to know otherwise. Granted, she wouldn’t flirt with Georg if she knew that he had been with Tom but as she doesn’t know that, she’ll keep doing it which is decidedly irritating.

“And what are you doing tonight?” Hannah enquires, gazing at Tom with blue-grey eyes that would be very pretty if he didn’t hate her so much. “Or are you going to bed now?”

Tom shrugs. “I dunno. Probably not yet. Might stay up for a while, I guess,” he returns vaguely.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Gustav advises, giving Tom a mock-stern look over the thick rim of his specs. “We start early tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Gustav is fully aware that Tom and Georg have made up and are seeing each other like usual so he has a pretty good idea of what they’ll be doing later on. Not that he has anything against it, not at all. The two actors really shine on screen when they’re getting along as opposed to when they’re fighting. As their director, he can tell when all is not harmonious between the co-stars. The boys need to be in a positive frame of mind to work their best with each other and to put it simply, Gustav just feels happier when they are both happy. Despite his gruff exterior, he’s a secret romantic – just ask his wife.

“Well, you have a good night,” Gus says, letting Tom leave. “See you in the morning, okay?”

“Bye, Tom,” Hannah also farewells, focusing back on Georg’s handsome face on the screen in front of her. “If you see Georg, tell him he was wonderful today.”

Nodding, Tom has another drag of the cigarette and then exits the set, hating Hannah just that little bit more.

………

Georg does go to Tom’s trailer later on, but not until he’s showered, had a bite to eat and phoned his mother. He doesn’t want to rush over to the boy as if he hasn’t seen him all day because he has. He’s spent over fourteen hours with Tom on set and a short break won’t go astray for either of them. He doesn’t want Tom to get sick of him or to appear as if he’s too impatient for the kid’s company. Though he is.

When Georg reckons he’s given Tom ample time to miss him, he changes into a white shirt and blue jeans teamed with a zip-up brown leather jacket. He stands out the front of Tom’s trailer in the semi-darkness, chewing gum to keep his nicotine pangs at bay, and taps on the door. Immediately, he hears Tom dashing around inside. It’s either Tom or a runaway bull judging by the heavy footfalls clomping on the floor. The clomps seems to go in a circle first, as if Tom’s doing a few warm up laps around the living area, then charge up one end of the trailer, where Tom’s bedroom is, then all the way back. Georg tilts his head, listening with a puzzled expression on his face. There are more trampling noises and finally the door opens.

“Hey,” Tom says, appearing somewhat out of breath. “You’re here.”

“Indeed I am.” Georg raises his eyebrows. “What were you doing in there, chasing cockroaches?”

“Nothin’,” Tom replies evasively. “Are you coming in?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Georg remarks and treks up the steps into Tom’s abode. The occupant of the trailer has bare feet and is wearing baggy jeans and a T-shirt depicting some rock band Georg’s never even heard of.

Tom notices that Georg’s breath is minty but not from those gross menthol cigarettes; this is from peppermint gum. The guy’s been chewing it all day long. Guess he really is serious about quitting smoking.

“I’ll just be a sec,” Tom says, shuffling into the bedroom on his bare feet. He leaves the door open. After taking his jacket and boots off, Georg curiously follows Tom, wondering what the kid is up to. Tom is kneeling on the carpet, one arm under the bed. He brings out a small plastic zip-lock bag with what appears to be lawn clippings in it, a bowl with some scissors and a tall, cylindrical ceramic object about ten inches high and two and a half inches wide. Georg recognizes all that as drug-smoking paraphernalia.

“When I was running around before, I was hiding this,” the teenager divulges, setting the items on the bedspread. “For all I knew you coulda been a cop. Do you mind?”

Though he’s not a fan of pot, Georg shakes his head. “No, go ahead. It’s your trailer.”

“Thanks, dude,” Tom says gratefully. “Man, I really need to get stoned. I was gonna do it before you got here but my agent called and I got caught up talking to her.”

He strolls to the bathroom and fills his ceramic bong with the required amount of water and comes back to sit on the bed. Georg doesn’t touch drugs of any kind and knows that if this really bothers him, he could leave the room and return later but he’s beginning to get curious. He’s never been with someone when they’re getting high before. What will the effect be like on Tom? Well, he will find out in a minute. Tom’s going to do this whether Georg’s here or not so he may as well stick around and learn something, even if he doesn’t agree with it. And if he’s here, Georg can make sure whacked-out Tom doesn’t do anything dumb like try and climb onto the roof of his trailer and jump off for kicks. Georg accepts that he can’t stop Tom from asphyxiating a few of his brain cells but he can prevent anything more harmful from occurring.

Georg lowers himself down on the bed opposite Tom and studies the pre-smoking procedure, chewing his gum with his mouth closed politely. First, Tom opens the bag and tears off a chunk of the weed, placing that in the bowl. To the bowl, he adds a smidge of tobacco from his pouch on the bedside table then gets the scissors and chops it all up. He takes a pinch of the mixture and stuffs it into a small bronze cone-shaped pipe-end protruding from the outside centre of the bong. Next, Tom grasps the water pipe in his right hand and with his left hand he flicks on a lighter, touching the flame to the tiny nest of pot. He brings the open end of the bong up to his mouth, sealing it off, and simultaneously breathes in while circling the lighter around the cone, to make sure he burns up all of the weed and doesn’t leave any behind. As he’s drawing back, the flame is getting sucked down into the smouldering marijuana like a vortex and there’s a thick bubbling noise, which is the hemp smoke being pulled through the water and up to Tom’s mouth.

As the last of the tobacco/pot mix is incinerated in an orange glow, Tom inhales a fast, deep breath and then takes the water pipe away from his mouth, holding his breath. He holds it for a few seconds and then lets it all out in a rush, aiming the expansive cloud of blue smoke at the ceiling. An acrid reek permeates the air and Georg tries not to crinkle his nose or cough. He hopes he can’t get high from second-hand smoke. He thinks it’s probably unlikely, unless the whole room is saturated with it. As it stands, the smoke is hovering around the light fixture on the roof so he believes he’s pretty safe. Tom repeats the whole process thrice and as he’s exhaling for the third time, he offers the bong to Georg, lifting his brows in a silent question.

“Oh no, n-no thank you,” Georg stutters, making a halting gesture with his hand. “I’m fine.”

“You sure you don’t wanna try it?” Tom asks inquisitively, setting the pipe and the bowl and scissors onto the table beside his bed.

“No way,” Georg declares. “That stuff is dangerous.”

“No, it isn’t,” Tom scoffs and lights an incense stick he has handily left within reach. The perfumed scent of sandalwood soon fills the trailer. Now Georg realises why Tom’s hair smells like incense. He’s been covering up the fact that he smokes dope.

“It’s not dangerous, Georg.”

Georg rebukes, “Oh, it’s not? Tell that to my uncle who is in a mental institution as we speak. He started smoking it as a teenager, thinking it was harmless but he soon developed paranoid schizophrenia - I’m talking of the worst kind, with hallucinations, voices, the works - and will never have a normal life again. He can’t work. He can’t sleep. He can’t talk to people. He can’t go outside. He can’t even function in the world anymore. That’s why I don’t want to touch it.”

Tom levels his dubious gaze at Georg. His eyes have gone red, squinty and heavy-lidded.

“So, you’re saying everyone who smokes pot is gonna end up a schizo?”

“Well, not necessarily,” Georg admits. “It doesn’t happen to everyone. Only those people with a certain genetic tendency to it. A tendency they might not even know they have until the drug unleashes it in their brain. That genetic tendency can run in families too. My younger cousin is starting to show the same signs and they only appeared when he began doing it. Potentially, I could develop schizophrenia if I start smoking pot like you do.”

Tom doesn’t appear fazed. “Well, I’ve been smoking it for years so if I was gonna go schizo, I think I would have done it already. I may be a little nuts but I’m not straight-jacket nuts.”

Georg sighs. “I’m just worried about you, Tom. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Tom croons. “You’re just a big old teddy bear, aren’t you, G?”

Georg can’t help being concerned. That’s a by-product of loving someone. “Just promise me if you start hearing voices, you’ll stop, all right?”

“Yes, dad.” Tom laughs and flops onto the bed, lying on his back with his head resting on one arm. Following him, Georg lies down on his side, supporting his chin with his hand, bent elbow braced on the mattress, facing his wasted partner.

“How are you feeling?” Georg asks.

“Pretty fuckin’ cruisey,” Tom announces with a contented expression on his face. “You?”

“Not as good as you, I take it,” Georg rebounds, blowing a little bubble with his gum and popping it. “However, I prefer natural highs.”

“Like what?”

“Y’know. Like riding my Harley,” Georg elaborates. “Surfing. Helping people less fortunate. Meeting my fans. Knowing that I’ve done a good job with my role in a film, making people believe in my character. That gives me a high. So does driving really fast down the highway, Ernie hanging his head out of the window, tongue flapping in the wind,” he ends with a smile.

“Yeah, that’s much safer than smoking a bit of weed,” Tom mocks. “I hope you put a seat belt on your dog so when you roll the truck, he doesn’t get thrown through the windscreen.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Georg swears. Ernie is like his best friend and he’d never deliberately put his dog’s life at risk. “I do have a seatbelt for him and I’m very careful when there’s somebody else in the truck with me.”

Tom sniggers. “You say ‘somebody’ like your dog’s a person.”

“Well, he is,” Georg persists. “He’s my buddy. I’ll bring him over to meet you one day. Just don’t wear white or he’ll leave paw prints all over your chest. He’s very friendly and tends to jump on you, lick and poke his nose in your crotch.”

“Just like his owner used to,” Tom teases, causing Georg to make a moue of abashed agreement.

“Do you have any pets, Tom?”

“Not yet. I thought about getting a dog but I think I’d rather have a pig.” Tom closes his eyes as he speaks, talking dreamily. “Yeah. Like one of those pot-bellied ones. Then we’d be two pigs living in a sty. We’d both be as messy and dirty as each other.”

Georg pictures Tom in his New York residence, in just his underwear, slumped on the couch watching TV with his pet pig lounging next to him, both of them surrounded by pizza boxes, soda cans and stale French fries. He even pictures the hog with a little pair of matching boxer shorts on, tubby belly hanging over the waistband. He laughs to himself.

Meanwhile, Tom’s imagining pretty much the same thing and is lying there with a silly smile on his face, wondering how much pot-bellied pigs cost and whether Bill would allow one in their apartment. Porkers are smart animals. He ponders whether he could train one to walk beside him like an obedient mutt and to fetch his smokes when he wants them.

Looking at Tom beaming like a ray of sunshine, Georg thinks that the kid looks idyllically beautiful stoned. He’s cheerful and untroubled, as if he’s entirely free and at peace with himself. Georg wishes the boy could be this way all the time, without the drugs.

And Tom is indeed feeling free right now. When he’s buzzing like this, all the things Tom usually frets about seem utterly worthless and trivial, as if they don’t even matter and never did. Who cares about his crappy childhood? Who cares about his stupid dad and his bitch of a mother? Not Tom. Life is too short to care about shit like that. The human body was designed for pleasure; the pleasure of food and drink, the pleasure of drugs, the pleasure of music, the pleasure of sex. It’s all good. It’s all there to be enjoyed. People should just quit stressing and calm the fuck down because they’re not going to be here forever.

Taking his own advice, Tom releases all of his thoughts as if they are Monarch butterflies fluttering up into the sky and allows the feeling of being high lap over him like the foamy tide of the ocean. His heart is racing in his chest, thundering like a thoroughbred horse down the final stretch of the race track but instead of being hyped up, Tom is as languid and comfortable as a business man groaning on a massage table getting his back rubbed with scented oil. He feels heavy yet superbly buoyant, as if his body is made of clay and his head is a helium balloon with a Tom-face painted on it. He can feel his pulse throbbing in his skull, his eyes, his stomach, all of his limbs, even in his fingers and toes.

“Hey, G. I’m sorry you have to see me like this, all fucked up,” Tom murmurs, knowing this must be tedious for Georg, watching him sprawled on the bed as lively and interesting as a starfish stuck on a rock. Sometimes Tom is more energetic after he’s inhaled. Depends on how much he’s had, who he’s with and what mood he’s in. Sometimes he goes places, goes out in public with his friends or with Bill, to a bar or club. Sometimes he feels like staying home and watching a DVD while devouring bowls of popcorn by the handful to gratify the munchies. Sometimes he has a pot-fuelled bout of inspiration and creates a new song, singing to himself and strumming away on his guitar into the wee hours of the morning.

And sometimes, like now, he just wants to be lazy and do nothing. This type of mood usually occurs after he clocks on at five a.m. and has been on set for fourteen hours, like he had been today. After a draining workday like that, he needs to chill and cannabis seems to be the best relaxant for him. It’d be better if Georg was high as well because then they could both lie there like lumps, but Georg is clearly against drugs. The guy practically crossed himself and stammered a prayer of protection when Tom offered him the bong.

“I don’t do this every day but I just need it sometimes, y’know? It’s like, medicinal to me,” Tom tries to explain. “Some people take anti-depressants for their shitty lives. Me? I smoke pot.”

“It’s okay,” Georg says non-judgmentally, now that he knows what hell Tom has been through in his young life. “If I didn’t want to see you like this, I wouldn’t be here.”

Truthfully, Georg isn’t as bothered as he thought he’d be seeing Tom on a drug bender. It only looks like Tom’s falling asleep. There’s nothing disturbing about that. The kid’s acted worse when he’s been sober. Georg had anticipated Tom spewing out hilarious verbal-diarrhoea like the stoners in movies but the kid is scarcely saying anything or doing anything. All it seems to do to Tom, according to Georg’s observations, is make him slow and sluggish. The boy is just lying there, eyes shut, drifting in his own universe of drugged bliss, something Georg has never experienced and has no identification with. He almost feels a twinge of envy for the bliss Tom’s so slothfully wallowing in and is briefly tempted to find out what it’s like but common sense speedily squashes that notion down.

Georg doesn’t need weed or any other chemical to feel good. He produces enough pleasant-feeling oxytocin from merely being in the same room as Tom, even if his co-star has turned into a big lifeless melon-head. Lying there whacked out of his brain, Tom’s not in any condition to take part in an intellectual conversation with Georg. The kid’s non-chattiness is not a matter of great importance to Georg anyway; they did enough talking last night.

He puts his chewed piece of gum in the nearest ashtray and decides to recline next to Tom, maybe take a little nap. After all, they had a hard day at work so a bit of rest is definitely in order. It’s nice just to close his eyes and lie there quietly, doing nothing at all.

“Yo, Georg,” he hears sometime later.

“Hm?” The older man is so relaxed he doesn’t even crack an eye open.

“I think you should take advantage of me.”

Now, Georg’s eyes spring open. “What?”

“I mean, I’m just lying here submissively,” Tom murmurs in a dreamy tone. “If you try anything, I won’t stop you.”

Georg doesn’t take the bait. “We’re not doing that stuff anymore, Tom, remember?”

“Not even if I ask you to fuck me?”

Sitting up so quick he almost gives himself whiplash, Georg exclaims, “No! Why would I do that?”

Tom remains unflappable. “I gotta lose my cherry sooner or later so it may as well be with you.”

“Aw, shit; you’re so out of it,” Georg says with despair. “You have no idea what you’re even saying.”

“Yeah, I do. I’m high, not totally brain-dead. I’m saying that you can fuck me if you want to.”

“No. I’m not gonna do it. Especially, not with you like this.”

“Come on, G, I wanna know what it’s like,” the younger boy pursues, his half-closed eyes aimed at his unwilling partner.

Georg stares at him, shaking his head in bafflement. And now for something completely different, Tom is the one asking to be fucked. This is not like him at all. If Georg did what Tom is saying he can do, that wouldn’t be just taking advantage, that’d be like date-rape. Tom is under the influence of a narcotic and isn’t himself so he can’t be fully aware of what he is suggesting or in the right frame of mind to consent to it.

“I can’t. I can’t take your virginity like this. Look at you. You’re barely even conscious right now,” Georg emphasizes, gesturing to Tom’s weakened form. “I doubt you’ll remember anything in the morning and even if you did, you’d hate me for it, like the time we got drunk.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Tom assures him. “Smoking pot doesn’t affect me like drinking. I will remember this tomorrow and I won’t be mad; I can tell you that now. Weed-sex is totally different to drunk-sex. Bill and I have done it when I’m high and I always remember everything.”

“I’m not going to have sex with you, Tom. Friends don’t fuck friends.” Georg’s stance is unchangeable and this seems to disappoint Tom.

“Aw, you’re no fun, old man.”

“Probably not.” Georg lays back down, hands behind his head. “But as I’m the older, more responsible one here, I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“What right thing?”

Sighing, Georg says, “Letting you and Bill be together.”

Following some deliberation, the younger actors suggests, “What if we weren’t together?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if Bill and I broke up? Would you fuck me then?”

Avoiding the question, Georg frowns and asks, “Why would you break up? You two seem perfect for each other. You seem to get along great. Don’t you?”

“Well, yeah. When I see her, that is,” Tom interjects. “We have our ups and downs, like everyone else but generally we don’t fight much at all. She was upset when she left because I’m so busy now and we don’t see each other much anymore. It wasn’t like this before. We had plenty of time to spend together. Now Bill’s got a full-time job in New York and I’m in Hollywood, working on bigger and more time-consuming projects and she’s worried we’re gonna end up having to separate over it.”

Georg’s pulse jumps. He tries not to sound too excited. “What do you think about that?”

“I dunno. I suppose it’s possible,” the teen estimates. “I don’t get to go home very often. Long distance relationships are hard to maintain, everyone knows that.”

Tom doesn’t normally talk about Bill or their relationship due to the delicacy and inflammatory nature of the subject but because Tom’s high, it seems not to bother him. For some reason, Georg’s not bothered either. Since Bill has been and gone, and they have fought and made up, it seems the co-stars have reached a truce about the ravishing raven-haired female. It seems they have wordlessly accepted that she is part of their world but they are not going to let her existence interfere with their friendship. They may as well talk about this while they can for tomorrow they may not be so straightforward and open with each other. Tomorrow, Tom may rebuild the barricades around his person that he has let crumble this night and refuse to discuss his girlfriend or their private relationship again. Tomorrow, Georg may not be able to stand hearing her name.

But tonight...Tonight Georg is feeling very optimistic, as if he has a real chance of being Tom’s boyfriend and only serious partner. If Tom is willing to talk about breaking up with Billinda, then that’s proof that the boy is allowing himself to get closer and more intimate with Georg. If he gets closer to Georg, logically he’ll get more distant with Bill. The more distant he gets with Bill, the greater the prospect of them calling it quits. Bill may even get tired of Tom being away making movies for most of the year and may even dump him herself. That would save Tom from having to make a choice. Georg believes Tom doesn’t want to make that choice or he would have done it already. In an ideal world, that’s what should happen. Billinda should break up with Tom. Simple.

Alas, Georg knows the world is far from ideal or simple so he’ll just have to be patient and wait.

“What would you do if she asked you to choose between her and your career?” Georg inquires.

“Bill wouldn’t ask me that. She knows that I need to do something, to work, to earn money. I mean, I can’t let her support me. I gotta make a living too, you know? Anyway, I enjoy acting. I may bitch about this job sometimes but I really do like it.”

“But what if she did ask you that?”

“She wouldn’t; she’s not demanding. If anything, I’m the demanding one,” Tom admits. “Bill puts up with a lot from me but even when I’m really depressed and moody, she somehow always makes things better. She balances my moods, calms me, makes me see the brighter side of life. She lifts me up when I’m down. She’s like the other half of me, that half that’s always been missing since I was a little kid. I always tell her she’s like the twin I never had.”

Before Georg loses his newfound optimism, Tom appends his last statement with, “But there are things she can’t give me, Georg, things that only YOU can.”

“A penis?” Georg’s retort is dry.

“That’s part of it, yeah,” Tom admits. “Sex with you is so different to anything I’ve had before. Different in a good way.”

“Don’t you have good sex with Bill?”

Tom shrugs. “Sometimes. When me and Bill first got together, we’d bang every day, tie each other up and do all sorts of kinky things. But that wore off. Now, we’re so busy we hardly ever do it anymore but strangely enough, it doesn’t really bother either of us. I guess our friendship is more important than fucking. In fact, she’s the best friend I’ve ever had. If we broke up, I wouldn’t miss the sex that much but I’d still want us to be friends.”

Tom pauses musingly. “Would you be able to handle that, G? If you and me got together one day as a couple and I still had Bill as a friend?”

Georg considers it. “No, I think I could handle that. I know she’s a big part of your life, and your band, and I know you’re close.”

“We are. In another life she could have been my brother. We even share the same star sign.”

Sounding unsure of his place in Tom’s world, Georg queries, “Do you think we could ever be that close? You and I?”

“Why not? Look at what we’ve been talking about lately. I wouldn’t tell you all that stuff if I didn’t feel close to you.” Tom rolls over, hugging Georg around the midsection and laying his head on Georg’s chest, surprising the other male. “You’re a good man, G. I don’t trust people easily but I trust you completely. I don’t know how to explain it but being with you makes me feel more complete than I’ve felt for a long time. I didn’t know how much I needed you in my life until I met you. Does that make sense?”

Other guys would dismiss Tom’s words as the nonsensical rambling of a teenager on drugs but Georg sees through all that to a deeper meaning. “Yes, it does make sense because I feel precisely the same way about you, Tom.”

Warmly, Georg hugs him back. As a friend, of course.

Resting there upon Georg’s chest, Tom listens to the older man’s heart steadily thumping. The sound is soothing and reassuring under his ear, lulling him almost into a trance. Here with Georg, Tom feels as though nothing could ever hurt him. He feels safe. Secure. Sheltered. All the scrambled, incessant thoughts that normally bounce around in his brain like jumping beans have settled and quietened and the only thought he has now is how nice this is, this serenity and tranquility. It’s not often Tom feels this way and so he intends to lie here for as long as possible, for as long as Georg will let him.

“Hey, thanks for what you did last night, too,” Tom ventures. “You know, when I was having that bad dream? I appreciate you bringing me out of it.”

“You remember that?”

“I remember a lot more than you seem to think I do,” the stoned teenager replies enigmatically.

Is Tom talking about the kiss? Georg had been wondering if the kid had any memory of it and by that statement, it seems he does. But Tom doesn’t ask for it again and neither of them talk any further about the incident. It was just one of those impulsive things that happened while Georg was trying to comfort Tom after his nightmare and they both understand that it doesn’t change things between them as they are at this time. It doesn’t mean they’re back together as lovers. Georg doesn’t regret kissing Tom as the boy really needed it at that particular moment, however, he won’t repeat it tonight and he certainly won’t have sex with Tom because that is something he WOULD regret. No, it’s enough for Georg just to be here with the younger male, hugging him, feeling the warmth of his body and hearing him breathe.

Although this is only a temporary situation, Georg feels blessed to have his blond co-star back in his embrace after so many days apart. He knows that Tom isn’t able to make any kind of commitment to him yet but Georg has this unwavering sense in the marrow of his bones, like an intuitive, clairvoyant sense, that regardless of what occurs over the subsequent months, what setbacks and obstacles he and Tom will have to face, they will end up together. Georg somehow knows that Tom will be with him, whether the kid consciously makes the choice or if that’s just how it pans out once destiny has dealt her cards.

It’s not difficult for Georg to imagine being with Tom as romantic life-partners when the boy is snuggled in his arms like this, soft and pliant and exquisitely gorgeous, his face peaceful and tranquil. It looks as though Tom would rather be here than anywhere else, or with anyone else. It just feels right. Like it’s meant to be. Georg doesn’t even care about finding a wife and having children anymore, like he once used to desire. That was before he met Tom and fell head over heels for the beautiful eighteen year old musician and actor.

Georg wishes he could tell someone about Tom. Like his mother, with whom he normally shares all the good things that happen to him. He hasn’t been in love since his ex-girlfriend - the formerly pregnant one - turned down his marriage proposal and ran off overseas to hook up with some hunky Spaniard. Because he was so destroyed after that happened, that he’s able to give his heart away once more is fantastic and warrants celebration. As much as he longs to share that wonderful news with her, Georg’s mother wouldn’t be ready for the shock that his love interest is a boy. She’s old school, of the belief that everyone should be getting married and procreating. She can’t wait for the day when Georg gives her grandchildren and Georg doesn’t want to crush her dreams by telling her it might not happen. If his mother knew her only son had forsaken women for a long-haired rebel with a pierced lip and a criminal record, it would make her very sad.

On the other side of the coin, she might just accept it, when she sees how happy Tom makes Georg. All she’d want is for Georg to be happy. Anyway, it’s pointless pondering that now. He doesn’t think he should tell her until he and Tom are in a serious relationship and Georg isn’t certain when that will be. Until that is established his mother will have to be kept in the dark about Tom, along with everyone else in his life. However, it’s a secret Georg doesn’t mind keeping because he’s not keeping it alone.

The two actors lounge there on the bed and don’t speak for a very long time. They don’t even need to, content to just share in each other’s company and enjoy the quiet closeness they feel. When he eventually checks what time it is, Georg nudges Tom’s shoulder with the heel of his palm, thinking that the boy has fallen asleep on him but Tom lifts his face up and looks at the older guy, still alert, or as alert as a teenager can be after smoking a shit-ton of weed.

“Whassup?” Tom expresses with slit-eyed stoner sluggishness.

“Just checking that you’re still alive.”

“Yeah, man.” Sitting up, Tom yawns and stretches his arms above his head, the T-shirt he’s wearing riding up and displaying a strip of his flat tummy. “Sorry if you’ve been bored. You could have entertained yourself by taking advantage of me, you know, Georg.”

Tom’s all-too-casual remark prompts Georg to remind, “But I didn’t.”

“But you could have.”

“But I didn’t,” Georg re-establishes sternly. “And I won’t.”

Tom shrugs, making out like it’s Georg’s big loss.

Noting Tom’s still-squinty eyes and humongous pupils, Georg remarks, “From the looks of you, you’ll still be high at work tomorrow. Gustav will be able to tell.”

“No, he won’t. It always wears off overnight. I’ve done this many times and Gus has never noticed or he would have said something. Or yelled at me.”

“Hm. True,” Georg concedes, knowing that their no-nonsense director wouldn’t tolerate any of his actors showing up to work drugged or drunk. He probably doesn’t care what they do on their off-time but when it comes to filming, he expects absolute sobriety and professionalism.

Tom reaches for his packet of cigarettes. Lighting one, he asks, “Georg, will you do me a huge favour? Can you go get me something to eat?”

“From where?”

“I dunno. Seven-Eleven?”

“You want me to go driving at this time of night to fetch you some food?”

“Would you?” Tom says eagerly. “I’d go myself but as you know, Bill’s got my car. I could get a cab but I’d end up paying forty fucking dollars just for the trip. I got a whole list of excuses.”

“And why should I be the one to go get it?” Georg objects, thinking that it’s Tom’s own fault he’s got the damn munchies.

“Because I’m hungry and there’s nowhere nearby that I can walk to for food,” Tom whines. “And you have wheels. Could you go for me, please? Pretty please?”

“Oh, quit whining. I suppose I could do it for you, just this once. You’re lucky I’m so nice,” Georg relents, getting up to fetch his jacket. “So, what do you want?”

“A hot dog,” Tom answers with the punctuation of exhaled smoke. “With the works. Bacon, cheese, onion, mustard.”

Georg shakes his head and pronounces, “If I’m going to Seven-Eleven, I take no responsibility for the quality of the hotdog I’m about to buy. It could have been sitting there all day and might possibly contain Salmonella. It’s your gamble.”

“I’ll chance it.” Tom’s more worried about filling his stomach with food than whether it will come back up later. “And make it two. I’m starving.”

“Two, then,” Georg confirms, shrugging on his jacket and getting his boots. “Anything else, my lord?”

“Cherry coke.”

“That it?”

“Uh...yeah. I’ll just get you some cash.” Fumbling on the floor beside the bed, Tom collects his wallet and flips it open. “Fuck it. I’m flat broke. Can you cover it?”

“I guess,” Georg says dubiously. “You know Tom, you should be making a reasonable income by now. I mean, this is your third movie. Do you have ANY money in your bank account?”

“Not really.”

“What do you spend it all on?”

“Just the usual living essentials. Rent on my apartment. Cigarettes, food, coffee.”

“Weed?”

“And that too.” Catching Georg’s scolding look, he tosses back, “What? That’s an essential!”

“No, it isn’t,” Georg flatly disagrees. “You really should form some kind of savings plan for your future. You don’t want to still be broke when you’re thirty.”

“Yes, dad,” Tom jeers, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Don’t get all naggy. I’ll swear I’ll pay you back, okay?”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, bankrupt-boy.” Georg jingles his keys and makes for the door.

“No, wait!” Tom exclaims, dropping cigarette ash onto the carpet. “Get me a caramel sundae too. From Burger King. They make the BEST sundaes there.”

Patiently, Georg waits for further instructions.

“Are you going?” Tom prods.

Sighing exaggeratedly, Georg replies, “Yeah, yeah, I’m going. The things I do for you, kid. Anyone would think I’m your personal assistant.” A warning note enters Georg’s vocabulary and he points a finger at Tom. “If you’re asleep when I get back, young man, you’re going to wake up with a hotdog stuffed up one of your orifices.”

“As fun as that sounds, I’ll still be awake. I’m too hungry to sleep.”

“Hey, speaking of food, would you like to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?” Georg queries, opening a fresh packet of gum and popping a peppermint tablet onto his tongue so he isn’t too tempted to snatch one of Tom’s cigarettes and hinder his new identity of non-inhaler.

“You sure you wanna be seen with me on a date, G?” Blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth, Tom adds, “Like, in public?”

“It won't be a date. We can go out purely as friends. You like Mexican, right?”

“Love it!” Tom affirms, thinking of enchiladas and burritos and tacos, already starting to drool. “Count me in, dude.”

“Alrighty,” Georg says. “Well, I better go get your damn junk food. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Okay,” Tom mutters distractedly, turning on the television to amuse himself until Georg returns. Hopefully, there’s some late-night movie showing that will keep him entertained. As Georg turns to go, Tom throws a pillow at his back. Georg stops and swivels his head.

Grinning, Tom flutters his eyelashes, cooing in a babyish voice, “Thank you, Georg. I love you.”

“Stop being cute, Tom. I know you’re just using me.”

Tom laughs and Georg reluctantly smiles. He doesn’t let himself get too hopeful by what Tom said because he knows the kid is wasted and he’s not serious. He’s not saying that he loves Georg; he’s saying that he loves what Georg will do for him. And apparently Georg is a sucker and will do pretty much anything the brat wants.

To tell the truth, he doesn’t really mind going to get the hotdogs for Tom. And the other stuff. Although, Georg did used to imagine that when he went on errands in the middle of the night to get food it’d be for his pregnant wife with cravings, not his bombed-out co-star with the munchies. But, as he’s swiftly learning, life doesn’t always turn out the way one expects.

Sometimes it’s much more interesting.
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Improvisation