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Wicked Games	By : runningnakedinthepark Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 2287 -:- 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.

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Title: See the sun (Wicked Games 2)
Author: Robby a.k.a MrNaked
Rating: NC-17 for M/M
Pairing: Till/Richard
Disclaimer: This is all pure fiction; none of this happened.
Summary: The “Game” is still on…

See the sun

“I miss you.

It’s hard to admit it, but I know it has to be said; you’re right and I’m wrong.

From your letter I understood one thing: that you really hope that I care for you, that your marriage will hurt me and that losing you will hurt me.

I don’t care about you, I love you, Richard Z. Kruspe-now-Bernstein!

Yes, I love you!

I realized that I do love you during that horrible day of your wedding. No, actually I realized how much I love you. I realized how much I already missed you, back then. I realized how blind I was. But I guess now that it’s too late!

Forgiveness? Probably I don’t deserve it. That’s why I don’t even dare to ask for it.
Do I regret it all? YES. Do I want you back? Oh, God, I do! How much I do!

Since that day when I received your letter, I’ve been writing to you, every day, every night, but I didn’t dare to send those letters. I knew I had to let you be, to enjoy your married life, without me in it, without my desperate cries and thoughts. And now, after all these years, I have stacks of letters, all written to you, but they will never get to be read. In each of them I tried my best to let you know how I feel, how wrong I was doing all that to you, how sorry I still am. And probably, this one will get to sit with the other letters in the pile too.

You know it very well, this isn’t a game – a continuance of my game – it’s a punishment. Seeing you everyday, seeing you happy and smiling, is a punishment. Did you ever feel like lying on the ground and just screaming, screaming out all the pain that is burning you inside, all the hurt that eats you inside? This is how I’ve felt since then, since your letter.

And I have to live with it, Richard. I have to carry this burden every second of each day and night.

And also, I have to hide it. I built myself a mask; I put on it in the mornings, as I wake up, and take it off only when I’m by myself. I smile with you, I laugh at your jokes and funny words, but inside me, each second, my heart tears itself apart, bit by bit like a rotten cloth.

Why do you think I’d rather publish my poems and travel around the country to promote them? Why did we all take that year off as a vacation?”

I stopped. Another flood of my thoughts, another wave of pain thrown in a demented crisis on paper. Same things all the time, just different words – that’s what I write, again and again. It was pointless. He will never read them. Ever!

I was the bad guy in this story. And, like in stories, the bad guy gets what he deserves. I didn’t die; I just had to live with it, with this loss – this pain – tormented endlessly by regrets and guilt.

What was in my mind back then? Why didn’t I wake up to see that it was all wrong? Why didn’t I just realize that it was time to stop?

What hurts most is that he thinks I don’t love him. Oh, yes, I do. I’d do anything for him, if it would help him, if it would make him happy. That’s why I didn’t get myself someone else. That’s why I’ve spent all these years alone.

I always hoped that something would happen and he’d just leave that woman. I still hope that. In the same time, I feel so guilty for wishing it, when I see he’s happy with her and with his new life.

I look beyond the small yellow circle of light coming from my desk’s lamp; I look into the darkness where this whole room is sunk. And the darkness around me feels even thicker, from all the dense smoke.

Oh, God I want him back! Give him back to me! Just for once. Give me the guts to tell him, to let him know what I really feel.

Since that letter we never got to talk about what happened between us. Even in those moments when we got to be alone in the same room. Just as if that part of our lives never existed.

And I wanted to tell him. But I felt like I would have been like the last jerk on the planet. What could I possibly add to what I did to him?

Saying: “You know Richard, I’m terribly sorry for what I did,” seemed too futile. To cry and beg, too pathetic, too dramatic. To ask him back, what right do I have anymore to ask that?

Another sleepless night. Another letter to my collection.

Soon I’m going to meet him. Again. Soon I will have to fight against myself to look like everything is all right with Till. And, damn, he knows it. He knows very well what’s in my heart; an eternal bleeding wound. He knows that with each smile he makes at me, he just adds more salt on that wound. Yes, I deserve it, but sometimes it feels like it’s too much.

I enjoy my dark thoughts and ideas. I enjoy a bit of sadness, and even pain. But not this pain. This isn’t being S&M. This is real torment…

Hell, I’ve started writing that damn letter in my mind now!

How many times have I had the urge to just jump on a plane, to go to him and tell him?!

And soon we’ll meet again, in Spain, for the recording sessions…

***

I was never a man to socialize too much. I’ve always preferred to see nice places or to read a good book, rather than to be with people. My thoughts, my ideas for poems, songs, and other things were enough for me. I do feel lonely sometimes, but I also enjoy solitude.

I don’t mind working late hours in the studio, recording, listening to the same tune again and again – till I get sick and till I become unable to realize if it’s of any good anymore. I enjoy more, though, leaving in the morning, so exhausted, watching with aching eyes the dawns shredding the sky, while I’m getting back to the hotel, in my car, on those still sleeping streets.

In these moments of loneliness it’s not as painful anymore; it’s rather soothing, filling my heart with this little sweet and sour sadness; sweet understanding and gentleness toward everything that is composing this Universe. An ancient and subconscious knowledge of everything, though I can’t tell what it is.

I’m not lonely; on the back seat of the car, I’m carrying my thoughts, my ideas, my regrets, and my pain.

Richard left long before I did; he had to ring Caron in the States. He was as tired as I was. As all of us were.

I parked the car and stopped the engine. I got out and closed the door. I lit a cigarette and looked around me. As tired as I felt, I didn’t want to go up there, to shut myself in the room with my own demons in there, fighting again with them. Here, the cold grasp of the breeze was like chasing away my tormentors, my own thoughts. Soothing sound of the breeze between the palm trees’ long leaves, green swords shivering in the morning...

I didn’t even feel like drinking. I was invited to join the others, Christoph, Olli, Flake and Paul, for a drink, but not this time guys! For five damn years, I’ve been drinking and crying my eyes out for something that I had, and me – with my own hand – I chased it away. For five years, I drank to gain the courage to go to him, to say: “Ok, come back to me, I’ll let you do to me all I did to you – and even worse – and I won’t complain.” But no amount of alcohol could ever give me this courage. I know I’m the bad guy in all this and I don’t deserve any mercy!

Another car, a slithering metal thing, pulled near me. I could feel the engine purring like a lazy cat under the glittering metal cover. I blinked slowly, my eyelids covering for several seconds my eyes burnt by exhaustion. Then, it was like I suddenly woke up.

Richard!

The door opened, and here he was. He was a bit slimmer. Actually I was surprised, days ago, to see him again, looking so well, in perfect body shape. Very neat and good looking as always. I only got older and bigger. And bitter.

As I was standing with my back rested on my own car, smoking my cigarette, he looked at me, closed his car’s door, then stood there. He lit his own cigarette and rested his back on his own car. It felt like I was looking in a mirror.

He was mimicking me. Mocking me! I smiled, truly amused by all this.

“Hey Richard!” I said with my rusty voice.

“Hey Till!” answered the image in the mirror.

I smiled again, a bit embarrassed because I felt so lost for words. I wanted to say something, something meaningful, something to let him know.

He smiled back at me, not an amused smile, just a replica of my own drained smile.

“You’ve been drinking,” I realized.

“I’ve been drinking,” he replied.

“You shouldn’t be driving.”

“I shouldn’t be driving.”

I hesitated. I felt like saying something nasty, like “You’re an asshole!” or something like this, so he’d stop with this stupid game.

But no, I have no right to!

I let the cigarette fall on the ground, and I stepped on it to put it out. Richard just stood there motionless.

I closed my eyes. I longed for a deserted and beautiful place. The beach. That Mediterranean beach, with brownish pebbles and sand on the Spanish coast…

“Wanna come with me?” I suggested in a whisper, the same voice of the breeze playing with the palm trees and the flowers in this country’s gardens. Of course, this isn’t just another fantasy of mine, one of those million dreams I’ve had in these five years about making up with him. Of course he’ll refuse.

“We have to be back at the studio in a few hours.” I heard his voice, same voice as the breeze. I turned my face so he wouldn’t see my angry and desperate glance.

“We’ve been working hard; we can take a day off,” I forced my lips to say, swallowing that cry and those tears that I could feel ready to burst. I’m a man, for fuck’s sake, I’m not supposed to be so teary!

“You drive.” I could hear the breeze.

I didn’t wait another second. I was back in the driver seat, starting the engine, and I heard tires squeaking under us as I was pulling back, to leave the parking lot, before Richard could change his mind.

I still couldn’t believe that we were in the spring, wearing only t-shirts. That sky was so clear, getting now, at this hour, its daily blue shade already. Because dawning is a long process, like a birth; not as painful, but just as beautiful.

“I’m still pissed off about those people losing my case at the airport.” I started to make casual conversation while getting on the Spanish highway. But he didn’t answer, just rested his head on the window’s glass, looking outside.

I shut up too, embarrassed of the stupid sound of my own voice. I should be more respectful toward the beauty this land was offering to our eyes. I shouldn’t chatter like an idiot about my luggage that got lost in that airport. And these people, they don’t even speak English, even those who have jobs that require them to! And those who know a bit of English, will answer you “Where?” when you ask them “When?” and so on.

I was really upset about this stupid incident, though. I wouldn’t have minded losing any other thing, and I always prayed not to lose the case with my letters for him. Not that. But, God – as cruel as usual – did this to me. Another phase of my punishment!

It doesn’t matter, I thought, looking at the road, looking at the mountain wall rising from the highway, with little houses perched on its rocks. I’m just a silly old man with silly habits; it was my fault for carrying them around.

On my other side, there was a glittering mirror reflecting the first rays of the rising sun – the sea. Above it, on the burning sky, glimpses of clouds were floating by. And near me, the blue mirror of his eyes, reflecting the sea and the sky.

I fell in love, once again, instantly.

I licked my lips; I bit them a little so I wouldn’t sound so pathetic.

“I wanted to talk with you,” I dared to say.

I looked straight ahead, at the empty highway, and I threw a glance to the reddish mountain, to those wild rocks covered with dusty green grass and small trees.

“Till, I’ve a hangover, not now, please.”

I complied. I clenched my fingers on the steering wheel, almost breaking it into crumbs, a reflex to this flame that burnt my soul for an instant. I clenched my jaws; I couldn’t afford to get angry right now.

So I drove. I drove for miles; I didn’t even know where to take him. I drove fast, to put a huge distance between me and my tormentors, my thoughts, my pain, my regrets. But they were still with me, on the back seat of this damn car.

“My legs are numb.” I dared to disturb the silence, once again, after long hours of just driving. “I’d like to pull over for a bit.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at me. He seemed so absorbed by all these sights; I got angry at those beautiful places for taking him away from me, for being more interesting than what this dark soul, 40ish-aged man had to say.

I hated the dawn for revealing all this splendor, all these gold shades it was pouring on the waves, all the pinkish nuances it was smudging on the clouds. I hated myself for being the way I am.

But I stopped the car. We both got out, with numbed movements. Near the highway was this narrow strip of asphalt where we could pull over. Next, there was a longitudinal metal bar, to prevent falling. Right in front of our feet, the cliff was going straight down for meters, to meet down there the sea’s angry waves, hitting and splashing the rocks.

I turned my glance to him. His face was like carved in white stone, polished neatly, with those so perfect features, and oh, so tempting lips.

I didn’t need any alcohol, I was already drunk with all the silent beauty of this place, already drunk and aroused by his presence.

I leaned toward him.

“I’m sorry for everything, Richard,” my lips brushed, in their movement, against his still lips.

Soft dry velvet. That’s what I felt under my lips, while kissing his. He didn’t move. Not a fiber moved inside his body. Nothing. I could hear my heart tearing apart in pain. Again, that rotten cloth splitting with a quiet sad moan.

He didn’t hit me. He didn’t even look at me. I was too cruel a monster to even be looked at. For the first time I wanted to cry. I wanted to be able to groan, to scream the pain burning in my chest. But I was too silenced by all this.

I lowered my head, before throwing another glance at the sea of flames spreading to the horizon, and then I got back in the car. I waited for him, smoking my cigarette, feeling this pressure on my upper chest telling me I’ve already smoked too much for the day. I was too tired. Too tired for this. Too tired for pain, too tired for sadness, even too tired to be amazed by this land. Too tired to go further.

“I need to sleep,” I whispered to myself, but he was just getting inside the car.

“Me too,” he said. “We should stop for a couple of hours before getting anywhere from here.”

“Like in a motel, you mean?”

“Do you have any better idea?”

I shook my head and started the car again.

***

One room, two separate beds.

I collapsed in mine, and before I was drawn into my sleep, I had this short vision of Richard as my slave and wondered how could I go along with that silly thing I did to him?

“Goodnight, Richard,” I whispered, even though the sun was already up in the sky.

He just turned on his side, onto his bed.

And the world disappeared for me.

When I woke up he was getting out of the shower, naked, still wet body, with hips wrapped in a towel. Again, I clenched my teeth, wishing I wouldn’t have seen him. Not this way. Not the little droplets sparkling on that white smooth skin of his, inviting me to drink them with my thirsty lips. And now, naked under hot water, I was fantasizing about them, about that skin they were dripping off.

I was a bit shocked to see him still only with that towel around his narrow hips, when I got out of the shower. His hair was dried a little, black short spikes pointing upward. He was sitting on the bed, his bed, talking on the phone, with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

I sat on my bed, but on the other side, with my back turned to him. I didn’t want to be teased that way anymore. I didn’t even want to hear his voice anymore.

So I didn’t. I picked up my clothes, looking absently at them and then to my thighs wrapped in the thick long towel. I sat there, my mind sunk in my thoughts, my worries, my anger about the lost letters, in that tearing feeling that this was final. We’d have to go back and do our recordings. But the worst was the feeling of failure. I failed again, I couldn’t talk with him even though I’d had him with me for hours, only the two of us.

That kiss fell like a warm droplet of rain on the bare skin of my arched back. I froze.

“I was talking to you, Till.” I heard his voice, and felt the caress of a smooth dry and warm skin against mine.

I sat still, unable to talk, alarmed, not knowing what to do. I felt the tickling of something and I deduced it was his eyelashes. He was rubbing his face against the skin of my back, so slow, so soothing and so arousing. Then he placed his palm on my shoulder. I felt him rising toward me, and his cheek rubbed against mine.

Was this again a part of the game? My wicked game that turned against me?

His cheek laid warm on mine and stood still. I felt his lips moving. “You are such a big and so sad man,” he whispered, and then his cheek turned so his lips could meet mine.

My mouth opened to receive his – his lips and his tongue – feasting on me, sucking on my tongue and on my lips.

He was knelt on my bed, behind me, so I turned more to face him, to let him gently push me down, in order to lay me onto the bed. He placed my head on the pillow, and then, slowly, but with only one elegant move – like only he knows how to do it – he took the towel off his hips, revealing his stiffened cock. He leaned over me, his fingers caressing my face, his lips nibbling on mine, and his tongue – a hot wet fast snake – dancing in my mouth.

Then, he detached himself from me. He straightened his back and mounted my upper chest, his thighs rubbing slightly against my arms. I just closed my eyes and started to lick his hardened cock like the sweetest thing I ever tasted. My fingers spread themselves on his stiff strong thighs, caressing them, happy to meet them again after such a long time. He placed his hand on the back on my head, making it stand still so he could start gently to thrust, to fuck my mouth with his full erect cock.

So happy to feel him again, to touch his moving hips, to feel the stiffened flesh on his buttocks, to explore his thighs! So happy to abandon myself to his movements, to close my eyes and just taste his skin. And then he stopped, pulling out a bit, but not all from my mouth. His cum invaded my lips and the tip of my tongue, but not deep enough to just swallow. Instead, it slid warm on my chin, down on my neck, and Richard’s hot lips rushed on my skin to collect it all, kissing and licking me clean – a kitten sipping his milk.

My arms embraced his body, and we rolled over; I felt his hot sweaty skin under me. I felt his thighs embracing my hips, rubbing their silky skin against mine. My cock grew even bigger, pressed on Richard’s stretched body and my lips were so happy to taste his skin again, his sweet familiar and so much missed flavor.

So I started going down with my kisses, sucking his nipples, then going further, nibbling on his skin, traveling even lower, sucking his inner thighs, spreading his legs up in the air and sticking my tongue in his hole. I felt his long moan, starting from inside him, contorting his body and leaving his lips. As I was sucking, licking, rimming him, he just moaned and screamed like I’ve never heard him before. His hissing, his gasping, his fingers clenched on the bed sheets…

His legs on my shoulders, I lubed him and entered him; his back arched a bit, like offering all of himself to me. And I wanted him all. I wanted to get as far as I could inside him, to touch that magic spot inside him, to see him twitch, to increase the rhythm, to make him cum again, as I leaned forward to kiss him and to suck his nipples. I closed my eyes to abandon myself into this, to feel my muscles clenching between themselves and to pour all my love and all of myself inside him.

My body covered his, a hot sweaty blanket, feeling under my chest his pounding heart, his quickened breath – delicious chest movements – inhaling and exhaling in the same rhythm as mine. I knew he finally got what he wanted all along.

***

The first thing I asked, while we were in the car, on our way back to our hotel was: “Am I forgiven?”

He shook his head and simply answered: “No.”

I looked back to the black asphalt snake of the highway with its long longitudinal white stripes. I still had so much to tell him, so many things to ask. But I stopped myself. If I’d started on this, I would have ended up in tears or, Hell!, fighting with him. Guess I have to be happy with what I get!

But I couldn’t resist.

“What was this all about, then?” I asked turning my face to see him.

He threw me this glance as if saying: “Man, you’re such an idiot!” and turned his face away from my gaze, to look out again, from the car’s window at the mountains’ reddish rocks.

And that was it. We arrived at the hotel, and we parted without even saying “Goodbye!” What was the point anyway, we were to meet again at the studio. And we did, all six of us, for long working hours, exhausting talks and listening sessions. Of course we got picked on for delaying the start of this session, but no one asked where we’d been.

After a few hours, we all crawled back to the hotel, back to our rooms.

I opened the door, and my room welcomed me, empty and quiet. I turned on the lights. On the bed – my suitcase with my treasure!

I guess, God doesn’t hate me that much! They finally found it and sent it to me. Things didn’t look so bad anymore. After rain, the sun rises!

I opened the case, looked at each piece of paper – my treasure was back with me! I started reading bits, a line here, a paragraph there. As tired as I was, I still sat there kneeling near the bed, like a child surrounded by his beloved toys.

On the last one, the unfinished letter, under my handwriting, there was a different one, a familiar one: Richard’s.

“The game isn’t over yet, love!”

I laid my head on the edge of the bed, closing my eyes, holding to my chest that piece of paper. Seconds later I lowered my head, propping my chin on my chest.

I inhaled. In my own warmth, that scent of freshly baked bread that sun and sea give to the skin, I sensed Richard’s scent. I sensed his skin’s flavor that I wanted to keep on me. I didn’t care what others might have said, but I didn’t wash, in order to preserve, even for only few more hours, that feeling of Richard, imprinted on my body.

Alone, exhausted and shut in that room, after all that long time, I was happy.

To Be Continued
- 1
- 2
- 3
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Wicked Games