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The Brain Is The Greatest Erogenous Zone	By : varenoea Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 2543 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Rammstein. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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“Aaangels never come down, there’s nobody they wanna hang arou-hou-hound…. But if they did, if they knew you at all, then one by one the angels, angels would fall…”

Flake sat on the half-built stage, dangled his legs a little and hummed, trying to find the chords for the song. He liked it. He felt like a kind of soul-brother to Melissa Etheridge. A song about somebody who should never know that someone (who was only supposed to be “such a very good friend”) wanted to pull him into bed… that was just what he needed now. He didn’t have a record, so he just sung it to himself. And he only knew the chorus.

“Hey, old boy. When can I get my guitar back?” Paul watched him

“Just a second. I’m still looking for a chord.” Flake tried again.

“That’s G major you need”, said Paul in a bored voice and hoped that his feeling had not guessed wrong for him.

“Hey, right. How did you know?”

“Just feel it. On your own instrument, you get perfect pitch into your fingers after a couple of years. And now give me my guitar back. I want to pack it back up.”

Flake, moping, handed the guitar back and got up.

“Hey, minstrel from hell!” Richard waved at him. “Will you come over here? We need someone to help carrying that box with the floodlights over on the stage.”

“Remind me again. Aren’t we a rock band? Aren’t we supposed to have roadies for that?” Flake slouched down and helped lifting the heavy open box which also required Richard just to let anybody lift it.

“Yes, but they can’t be everywhere and we’re in a hurry, so… one two three and UP…”

They stumbled up the stairs to the stage, lifted the thing over a couple of cable bundles on the floor and finally over the low platform for the drum set. Richard, walking backwards, was leading.

“Richard, wait, there’s a…”

…tom in the way, was what Flake had wanted to say. But it was too late; Richard made a strange sound as he tumbled backwards and let go of the handle of the box. According to the laws of gravity, the box fell towards the deepest point available, and that was: against Flake, who was still standing down in front of the platform.

Floodlights clattered, glass broke and Flake gasped loudly as the box hit his stomach and nearly his feet too. He just pulled his feet away in time and lost ground in the process.

Only when he landed flat on his back he noticed the sharp pain in his left lower stomach. Lucky that it didn’t hit me deeper. That could have become really unpleasant…

He found that he was still gasping, and suddenly he became aware of the blood on his hands. “Oh no…” he groaned.

“Flake! Richard! Are you okay?”

Till’s voice, somewhere over him, made his chest ache. No, was the text his brain dictated. I’m not bloody okay, so come over here and help me!

Flake tried, but he couldn’t sit up. That would have required healthy muscles.

“Flake? Oh shit…” Till knelt down beside him, eyes wide open, pulling the hands away from the wound.. “Is it deep?”

“How… would I now?” Flake moped and was frightened at the sound of his own voice. It was so weak. So hoarse and breathy.

Richard came over the platform, perfectly fine, and pressed his hand to his mouth.

“Shit. Oh shit!” Till shoved the pullover up and opened the fly of Flake’s torn and cut jeans. “Lie still, okay? Must have been the glass… or the metal… anything sharp. Oh balls…” He pulled the rim of the underpants down and to the side. Flake gasped.

Stop undressing me!his voice wanted to say. But all that came out was a hoarse, pained groan. Till’s hands were on his hip and on his thigh, and holding the clothing to the side. Wiry, brownish hair was visible where the pants were pulled to the side.

“Bleeds really hard”, Till panted.

“I’m fine. I just need some plaster and I’m fine”, croaked Flake, getting mad at the way he was being manhandled.

“Be reasonable!” Olli’s bald head was somewhere above him. “I’ll just go and fetch a first-aid-package.” Oh, a deja-vu from “Du hast mich”. They can stick it up…

A loud groan stopped him from finishing the thought, and he suddenly realised that it was rasping through his own throat. The pain ate at the inner tissue. Still, in a funny way it didn’t seem particularly dangerous to Flake. He had other things to worry about, which were much bigger problems. And growing, too.

Till noticed when something hard suddenly pressed against the underside of his hand. He startled and gazed down, and Flake wished he was dead. His throat was dry as sandpaper, and his face was burning with shame.

“Uh”, said Till, somewhat flabbergasted.

“I’m sorry”, rasped Flake under his breath, “I’m sorry, I’m not doing that on intention…”
Till tried to smile reassuringly and moved his hands as far away as possible without letting the cloth touch the wound again. “It’s okay”, he said in a funny bedside-manner, “it’s probably just the fright.”

Flake closed his eyes and nearly sobbed with pain, embarrassment and shame. It had to happen, right? It had to happen with all the others standing around and watching.

“Just you… hold it to the side, okay? So I can have a look at the wound.”

Flake gulped the tears down and pulled the offending object over to the right as far as possible.

“Can’t we just… put some iodine on and… put some plaster and bandage on it?” he asked weakly. “I can play. Really. I can stand. If you let me get up.”

“Nope”, scolded Paul. “You’re bleeding like a slashed pig!”

“And it’s near some vital organs”, said Till. “You’re not going anywhere before a doctor has seen that. It might inflame or who knows what.”

Oh, great! Idiot. I’m sure it took him a whole week to learn those stuck-up words.
Flake just lay back weakly. He felt giddy and cold. Was that already blood loss? He hoped like hell that it wasn’t. The concert was going to start in two hours. Or, as things were, it was not going to start. Or start without him.

He vaguely felt that Olli came with the first-aid-stuff and a blanket. He was put down on he blanket and carried to some car, there was shouting, and he really felt horrible as the centre of attention in this nasty condition.

It’s funny. I wouldn’t mind if that was just for show but to know that I really can’t walk and I really need to be carried… God, this is so embarrassing.

It was only several hours later when he regained some tranquillity, and it was mostly because he had been filled with pills, painkillers and tranquillizers. He had been cleaned, sewed up again and was now lying alone in a big white bed in a big white room, with a bottle which hung far over his head, and in which a little bubble rose to the surface for every drop of NaCl mixture that dripped into his arm. Around the canula, his elbow began to turn purple.

“What do you mean, he was completely under narcosis?” rumbled Till. “For such a glass cut?”

“So, can we see him now?” asked Schneider, more diplomatically.

“But it’s nothing life-threatening, I hope?” asked Paul.

“I feel like crap. If I only hadn’t let the box go.” Richard ran his fingers through his hair for the umphthousandth time, and the muscles around his jaw were visible with strain.

“Stupid crap accident”, said Olli and patted Richard’s shoulder. “Just fucking bad luck.”

The doctor opened the door. “Fifteen minutes. No longer.”

Flake blinked. He felt even worse than before, in his little hospital shirt that was open at the back. At least he was sitting half-upright so that nobody looked down at him.

“Hey”, said Richard in a soft voice and swallowed heavily. “How are you?”

“There are only two chairs here”, noticed Paul and secured one for himself.

“How was surgery?” asked Schneider and grinned, trying to make Flake grin too. “Rather boring?”

Flake still wished he was dead. They have all seen my dick under the pants. Swelling. Brushing Till’s hand. Several people touched me there in the last few hours. Zero reaction. All because of Till, aow…

Seeing that all the chairs were occupied, Till took a seat at the bedside, near Flake’s feet. Schneider did the same on the other side. They obviously all expected him to talk.

“Err… I’m not gonna die”, declared Flake, because that was all he was sure about.

“Nice to hear.”

“Uhm… I’m feeling a little better. They told me I had to stay here for another day, so they can watch the wound, so it doesn’t get inflamed, and so on…” His voice died away. “What time is it?”

“Half past eleven”, said Schneider.

“Bugger. The concert…” Flake’s shoulders dropped. “Maybe they let me out at midday, then I can play at the concert the day after tomorrow…”

“It won’t take place before Thursday”, said Till.

“What? Why?!”

“Because we didn’t want to cancel it. We thought it’s better if you have a break of a couple of days”, said Paul. “We didn’t know that you were feeling super before we came here.”

“Don’t sarcasm me”, moped Flake.

“Is there anyone you need?” asked Olli. “I mean, your mum, or your teddy bear, or your sweetie or anything like that? Someone we should give a call so he comes here and holds your hand?”

“Don’t pull my leg either…”

“Just in case.”

Flake moaned and leaned back. Then he thought about it.

“Till”, he said weakly.

“Hm? What?” Till was startled out of his thoughts.

“Could I just… have a word with you alone? Sorry… I mean, it’s not like I don’t like to have you around, but… I…”

“It’s okay”, pouted Schneider. “We can tell when we’re not wanted.”

“Apart from the fact, of course, that I’m your best friend, really”, moped Paul.

“We’re going”, threatened Richard, “but see what you get! Don’t know if we ever feel like coming back…” and out they went. Flake couldn’t help grinning. In a way, they really make me better.

Till took a seat in one of the chairs and came a little closer to the top of the bed. Flake sat upright, his shoulders hanging, and looked at him hollow-eyed.

“I brought your book.” Till produced “Narziß und Goldmund” out of his jacket.

“Thanks”, mumbled Flake. Damn that book…

“So you want me to hold your hand instead of your mum?”

“Nooo”, mumbled Flake, feeling weaker. Yes, please. Just not my hand. Not my hand as such. But there would be another thing you could hold, I would greatly appreciate if… “I’d just…”

“Yes, what?” Till tried to smile as kindly as possible.

“I’d like to thank you. For taking care of me, I mean.”

“Uh. The others did too. Olli fetched the first-aid-package. He did much more than I.” Till squirmed. “I mean, it’s self-evident. I couldn’t let you lie there bleeding, could I? You did look like you were going to die like they do in the movies. Krrrk.” He put his head back, letting his tongue hang out like a hanged man.

So you were worried about me?

“So you were worried about me?”

Till lifted one eyebrow. “Of course. I didn’t think it was a trick or anything like that.”

Flake stared at the white cover and was silent. “Uhm… I’d like to… apologize for… getting a… it was no intention, it didn’t have anything to do with you, and I didn’t want to insult you or anything… it wasn’t personal…I… don’t know why…”

Till shrugged and grinned. “’s okay… I was glad that you were keeping your blood somewhere you couldn’t loose it.”

So you were worried about me.

“It’s still embarrassing as hell”, said Flake and managed to laugh a little.

Till just grinned understandingly and said nothing. “Was that it?”

“Yes”, Flake sighed.

“Good, then we can call the others back in, can’t we?”

Flake nodded, and Till opened the door but was back quickly enough to retain his chair.

Flake distributed general thanks, especially to Olli, and was glad when they all left in the end. He was tired and filled with warm feelings.

You did worry about me. You did.

And he drifted away into warm tickling dreams.
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The Brain Is The Greatest Erogenous Zone