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Chronicles (Multi-chapter, serial slash fic)	By : Cyndiana Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 1897 -:- 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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TITLE: Chronicles ep. 002
AUTHOR: Cyndiana
ARCHIVE: A Feather in the Blood (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/afeatherintheblood)
RATING: NC-17 for graphic description of M/M sexuality
SYNOPSIS: Till and Flake, the beginning.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: This epi is set back in Rammstein’s VERY early history, when Flake used to wear a bowler hat onstage. Told from Flake’s POV.
DISCLAIMER: A work of fiction. Not a statement of fact in any way. Not for profit.

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He’s following me like a puppy dog.

Why? I’ve not one clue.

Since this merry band of misfits we call Rammstein formed, Till has acquired some sick, strange interest in me.

I clamber off-stage, my lanky limbs aching from the exertion of performance, and there he is, sweat glistened and smiling.

I take off my bowler hat, and throw it on top of my duffle bag.

I need a shower and hope against hope that Till does not take a mind to follow me to assure I’ve got proper genitalia.

I hear Till enter the shower room, and shuffle up to a nearby urinal.

I giggle to myself like a schoolboy at the sound of Till pissing. I guess I find it tickling that he would do something so crude in my presence. It shouldn’t surprise me, it’s not like I haven’t been kicking around in bands for some time, and been privy to much worse occurrences, but I found this particularly amusing.

I soap myself up, and even allow myself to hum a bit as I hear clothes hitting tile.

Oh…no…

I hear the slap of bare feet on tile coming closer to me, and I long to climb up the cold, smooth, gridded wall that surrounds me.

I see four thick fingers curling around the edge of the white vinyl curtain.

Why me?

He steps in, and I gasp for air like a dying flounder…

He is built like a Greek god, slightly tanned, deeply chiseled, solid and strong.

I can’t even bring myself to formulate words let alone enough to string together in a sentence.

“Spare some hot water?” he asks matter-of-factly.

I regain enough of my motor skills to nod, and he takes his place under the shower head next to mine.

I am frightfully self-conscious as I snatch glimpses at his physique.

If there were ever a physical antithesis of me, it would be Till Lindemann.

Where I am thin and frail, he is thick and firm.

All over.

I make sure my back is to him as I finish rinsing myself off, and I feel a slow bleed of crimson slithering its way over my skin as I blush from head to foot. I only hope I can pass it off as the effects of the hot water.

When I am clean enough to be satisfied and make my escape, I hear him speak softly…

“Flake, can you scrub my back?”

Fucking hell…

I swallow the lump that rockets into my throat, which I am not all together certain isn’t my heart, and take the soap from him.

I draw the softly scented bar over the broad, muscular surface, trembling as I swear I hear sounds of approval escaping his throat.

I put the soap back in the dish and run my hands over the skin, drawing a soft, white lather.

I relish the feeling of soft, soapy skin over firm, rippling muscles, and nearly give myself over to madness.

“Flake, I think you’ve got it, thank you.” he says softly, following with a gentle chuckle.

I laugh uncomfortably, and again prepare to make an escape, before he speaks again.

“Shall I scrub yours for you?”

Double fucking hell…

Reason number one why I believe there is no God…

…No God could possibly play such a cruel trick on me…

…then again…
I figure one good turn deserves another, and knowing how sensitive Till is, refusing his offer of kind goodness would hurt his fragile feelings, so I nod, and bare my back to him.

My heart slams itself against my breastbone, and I fear it will break free from its bony prison and leave me to die.

I feel the soap sliding easy over my back, and after he returns the soap to its dish, I feel his hands working it into a lather…

…and working me into quite a lather as well.

God, please let this be over soon so I can replay it over and over in my mind in my bed tonight.

His hands work their way down to the small of my back, and my body betrays me, back arching up into his touch.

In unison, they work their way lower, cupping my ass, squeezing firmly.

Oh God…

Is this what he wanted? Why he’s been following me for the past few weeks? He wants to fuck me?

He presses his erection against the cleft of my ass, as he works at the sensitive parts of my neck with his lip-covered teeth.

If I had all my faculties about me, I’d have stopped him at once. I’m not one to cater to sex without meaning. I am very old fashioned that way, but right now nothing had more meaning than this right now…

I reach behind me, clasping his head, gripping his hair, giving him all the invitation I hoped he’d need.

I see him grab the soap from the dish once more, and feel him slide the bar over my ass and in between…

I moan softly, and I feel two fingers guided inside of me.

Pain, screaming and impossible to ignore.

But, something inside me stirs, craves more.

He works his fingers in and out of me, and the pain fades out softly and pleasure comes into it, and I am gasping.

Once I am open, and receptive, I hear the sound of soap slicking flesh, and feel the head of his cock enter me.

I cry out as pain shreds my nerves into ribbons, but my lips plead, “Mehr! Mehr, bitte!”

He penetrates one more inch, and the pain is greater, but I want it to be greater still. I want it to hurt.

“Gib mir alle es!” I cry, and he obliges, filling me to capacity, splitting me in two.

I feel his hands grip my hips, and he pistons into me with unfaltering rhythm.

I sob, clawing at the steamy tile in front of me, savoring every sensation.

He bites down on my shoulder, and I cry out, loving every second.

He pounds against a spot buried deep inside me that drives me mad, my nerves uncoiling and sparking with such erotic energy I’d never known.

In moments I have made the tile wall a bit whiter, and I hear Till cry out, filling me deeply, completely.

I am sore, I am used, I’m quite sure I’m broken, but I am thoroughly, mind-blowingly sated.

Till turns me to face him, and his lips crash against mine, and I hold him as close as I can manage.

We speak no words. There is no need. His smile says quite enough for me at the moment.

We dress, and start on the journey to the friend’s house we are staying at.

I climb into my sleeping bag, on the floor, and prepare to rest.

God knows I need it after the exertions of only two hours ago.

Just as I am securely lingering between asleep and awake, I feel soft kisses fluttering over my cheek.

“Till, what are you doing?”

“What does it feel like I’m doing?” I hear him ask, a smile in his voice.

“It feels like you’re trying to get us found out by the others.”

“Bah…let them…I don’t care.”

I smile at his boldness, and my breath hitches as his hand locks fingers with mine.

This is nothing like I expected.

I hear his sleeping bag shuffle closer to mine, and feel his stubbled chin resting on my shoulder.

His lips kiss my cheek twice more, before I hear his breaths slow.

I don’t what this is, and I don’t know if I like it, but right now I’m far too tired to care, and he feels so nice holding me and I’m so close to falling asleep…

DIE ENDE…until Ep. 003!
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Chronicles (Multi-chapter, serial slash fic)