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...and all the sinners, [are] saints!	By : runningnakedinthepark Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 2308 -:- 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
- 1-Hope I
- 2-Love (Chastity)
- 3-Anger
- 4-Jealousy
- 5-Sloth
- 6-Greed
- 7-Lust
- 8-Gluttony
- 9-Charity
- 10-Vanity
- 11-Hope II
- 1
- 2
- 3
Title: …and all the sinners, [are] saints! (1/10)
Author: Mr. Naked
Pairing: Till/Christoph
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Well, sorry to blow your bubble, but it ain’t true :P
Summary: Love/Chastity
Archiving: Only with my express permission.
Inspired by: Mein Herz Brennt – Rammstein

I – Love (Chastity)

“Made damn sure that Pilate
Washed his hands and sealed his fate”
- The Rolling Stones: “Sympathy For The Devil” -

Welcome to the dark world of Till!

My soul is an arctic desert, a huge endless place sunken into an eternal night. It has cliffs, it has abyssal crevasses, where many have fallen and lost their souls while attempting to explore and tame it.

He, he seems to be one of those fools trying to get into this icy desert within me; with his smiles thrown at me, blue beams turned towards me - summer sky eyes. He’s here, near me, doing his best to enchant and to lure me.

The cold place inside me remains frozen, though, but I witness, amused, all his struggles to get the key to open it.

My eyes avoid his serene glance; I know he’s trying to make the Sun rise over this always-shadowed place. His glimpse roams over me; his black-silky eyelashes lower coyly covering over those two blue lakes that are his eyes, like trying to hide that full of sweet promises look of his. He seems to try to send a little warmness to make the ice in me begin to melt.

But the melted ice would only uncover the barren rocks under it. It’s only a place haunted by ghosts from the past, and dark thoughts. The light of the glorious Sun rising wouldn’t chase them away either.

I can’t warn him, though; instead I indulge myself, as my gaze travels along the nice shapes of his body; his parted thighs, his straight chest, his arms, strong, yet not that thick. Yes, this is what he is offering me, along with his wonderful face - the dimples he makes when he laughs, his lips perfectly proportioned to be kissed and chewed on.

I can’t allow such an exquisite being to be drawn in the darkness of the unending obscurity of my soul. He’d be tortured in this arid place, tormented and his heart just ripped out and burned on the worst of fires. Or frozen to death. He’d be destroyed in no time.

I pretend not to follow his little gestures, I don’t want to inhale deeper in order not to be drugged with the scent of his warm, intoxicating flesh.

He doesn’t know but he’s standing on the edge of the cliff separating the sane world from hell. With his next step he’d fall, go down forever, like in one of those nightmares; his body would be crushed against the walls, yet, he’ll keep falling until he’ll land with a thud on the dead ground in the motionless wasteland of my soul. And if he’d have the strength to stand and look around, he’ll see he’s in a graveyard. The place where all the souls of those that been through my life are buried. Along with all the guilt, shame, remorse, anger.

Yet, he’s insistent, getting serious out of a sudden and calling my name, on a lower tone.
He wanted to tell me something important. And it must be really important, since he’s hesitating, inhaling loudly, seeming unable to sort his thoughts and find the words. I pretend that I don’t understand his little hints and signals, that I haven’t figured out what were meaning his lingering looks thrown at me lately, his presence always near me, and all those situations he has created just to be with me.

I also know what he’s hoping for.

I’m well aware of what I’m craving for, too. For that Sun, brought by his smile, in this secluded place in my heart, to chase away the motionless cold atmosphere, and, by melting these blocks of ice, to feed my thirsty soul. Sweet water to fertilize this dry soil on which the Garden of Eden will grow. To bring color in there; gracious coiled vines to grow, butterflies and birds to fly above, heavenly songs to be whispered by joyful springs watering this Paradise.

There’d be hope and trust. And fondness.

Only at thinking about that my sight gets blurry. Who am I trying to fool?

Haven’t I tried to have all that, a bit of light and warmth in this scarred soul of mine? God knows I did, but nothing can chase away the coldness, the eternal night and this motionlessness. Instead, during years, I’ve put together a collection of destroyed lives, of those that tried to bring me that warmth and light I’m hungry for.

But he finally found the courage to say it. To me. He wants me. He feels like he can’t live without me. He worships even the ground I’m stepping on. He has only me on his mind and all his thoughts are about me only. He’s dreaming of me, at nights; he’s fantasizing about me during daytime.
I look back at him, trying not to reveal my shock. I was thinking he’ll just jump on me, I wasn’t expecting such a detailed and open confession. I was hoping that it was just a crush, a couple of fucks thing that he’s looking for. Instead, seems that it’s a whole goddamned romance!

He’s sitting there, I’m sat here; he doesn’t make the slightest attempt to touch me. He’s only speaking, telling me some facts. It’s no request, no asking, and nothing pathetic.

Despite his hesitations, he sounds like someone who’s sure on himself; his tone isn't shuddered by any emotions. We know each other for too long for this kind of shit.

I remain motionless while my lips part to let the word out very clear:
“No.”

He squints at me for a split of a second, then he puts his hands in his lap, parting his thighs a bit more, not as an invitation for my lewd peek to explore them, but to make sure he’s sat well, so he won’t fall off his chair when he’ll fully realize what I meant.

“Why?” His voice asks calmly, but his fingers clinch onto each other.

I shrug and light a cigarette.

“I know your ways very well Till, I know what you like and what you don’t like,” he says.

Yes, we know each other so well, he knows me for my adventures and affairs with other men. I know his as well. He knows I never refuse a delicious pair of legs, a nicely built body and a pair of blue eyes.

“Do you think I’m not good enough for you, Till?” He inquires.

We know each other for too long to get mad and yell or other crap like that. And he was never the man to get into a conflict. He always avoided fights or tried to put an end to them.

“I know it’s a bit of a shock to you, Christoph.” I answer instead. “But it’s better this way, for everyone.”

He stands up, allowing my gaze to travel up and down along his slim body. Black boots up to his knees, straight legs wrapped in black fishnet stockings, short black pants, flat abdomen, slim waist, a chest just to caress and kiss, nicely shaped shoulders, perfect face features and dark curls of his hair.

“Why is it better?” He needs to know.

I can barely prevent stretching out my arms to coil my fingers on the edge of his pants and pull him closer to me, so I can lay my face over his navel, to kiss his skin and embrace his hips.
I sigh. I drag another smoke from my cig. My eyes search for the ashtray. My mind searches for a believable lie.

“It is kind of stupid, you know,” he says, calm tone, but I can sense that he’s impatient, bothered by my tricks to delay the answer.

And my answer has to be honest; I owe him that, at least, because he’s my friend. But the truth would break him even more.

“You’ll get over it soon, Christoph.” I say while fetching the damn ashtray.

He folds his arms over his chest and parts his legs a little more.

“You know, you’re one cynical bastard, Till. No wonder you always end up alone. Of course I won’t get over it, ever,” he says, a bit of sadness sneaking in his tone, but just that.

“I don’t want to get involved with anyone from the band, Schneider. It’s bad, a recipe for disaster.”

He inclines his head.

“Fuck you!” He whispers then he lifts his head again.

A grimaced smile is moving my lips. I found the perfect lie, haven’t I? Why don’t I feel relief then?

He must be really mad, but he’s fighting hard not to show it.

I have this impulse to reply to him, nasty, that yeh, that’s exactly what he wishes for, to fuck me, but he won’t have it. This way I’d push him away more, making him to hate me. But I can’t add more salt on his wound.

“I still need to know why,” he says while leaving the room. “That, you owe me!”

I stare at his silhouette as he leaves the dressing room. Through the open door I can hear bits of sounds from outside, someone is doing the last sound checks, a moaning guitar string, the grunting thud of the bass, voices… Our concert will start soon.

I turn my glare to the mirror I’m sat in front of. From there looks back at me this man in his 40s, wearing black lipstick and thick eyeliner on his eyelids.

“Because I love you, Christoph Doom Schneider.” I whisper to the man in front of me, as I’m focusing my glomp over the other man’s blackened lips pursing around the cig butt to drag another smoke. “I’ve been loving you for so long, I’ve lost the count of years. I love you so much that it aches. To me you’re more than a nice built body, a pair of delicious legs and heavenly blue eyes. I love you so much that I can’t allow this monster that I am to devour you like he did with others before you. I need you here, with me, for always.”

I did it again, haven't I? I've put out his warmhearted smile, starting my work of destructing him. Over that fire animating him, I've thrown the veil of my shadowness, fearing that his heat might contaminate me.

The man in the mirror doesn’t reply. He looks like a demented clown, wearing make-up - scary and dark, just like my soul - and he frowns and blinks heavily those blue watery big eyes of his.

To be continued...
- 1
- 2
- 3
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...and all the sinners, [are] saints!