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Captivation	By : Rina76 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Tokio Hotel Views: 6307 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Bill or Tom Kaulitz or any members of Tokio Hotel and this story is a complete work of fiction; it is all made up and not true. I am not making any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 22. Hangover
Now that the boys aren’t in there anymore, I turn the power off in the spare room, shutting the jukebox down and all the games equipment, the flashing lights and noise dying into silent darkness. Sometime during the night the two alcohol-affected teens stir from their post-sex huddle and separate themselves, rolling over and instantly passing out again. I let them sleep in way past the point I normally would. Heaven knows, they need it. Bill awakens first, dragging himself out of the bed like a skinny scarecrow, hair in knots and tangles, his eyes no more than mere slits, normally soft lips chapped and reddened from all the kissing and other such things he did the evening before.
Yawning and raking his nails over an itchy scalp, he stumbles over to the bathroom, still wearing last night’s pants, the kid making an uncomfortable face at how stiff his underwear is underneath and giving his crotch an idle scratch. He trips over the same plastic ball that Tom did last night, uttering a couple of annoyed German swear words before kicking it out of the road. Tom doesn’t even shift from the prone position on his belly, too deeply asleep to notice Bill’s clumsy movements. I watch Bill in the bathroom, interested to see how he’s acting this morning and if he regrets anything he did the night before. The hung-over singer peers in the mirror and pokes his tongue out at how terrible he looks but he doesn’t appear to be showing any signs of remorse for what happened with Tom. He takes a piss and then drops his pants to have a shower, washing the stench of stale beer out of his hair. As he’s soaping under his arms, Bill drinks some of the shower water, opening his dehydrated mouth and letting it pour in. He stands there for a while, dizzily leaning against the cubicle walls until he feels well enough to get out and dry off.
Tom still hasn’t stirred so I dial through to their room, the ringing of the phone forcing the older twin to wake up, groaning and swearing in groggy aggravation. He fumbles around, grabbing Bill’s pillow and pulling it on top of his head, trying to block the sound. He doesn’t answer my call or pick up the receiver so I let it ring, again and again. At least until he’s had enough and lashes out with a snarl, roughly slamming the phone from the bedside table and knocking it to the floor with a crash. The ringing stops.
“Was that Koji? What’d he want?” Bill mumbles with a yawn, coming out of the bathroom in a white robe and rubbing at his hair with a towel.
Tom grunts. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”
“What, you didn’t even answer him? Tom!” Glaring at his temperamental brother Bill throws the towel over his shoulder and gathers up the portable phone from the floor, checking to see if it’s broken. When he hears the tone on the other end, Bill presses the green button, returning my call.
“Finally,” I drawl. “Thought you guys had died in there.”
“Sorry. Tom threw the phone onto the floor,” he explains, his voice husky and coarse from their big evening of singing, shouting and drunkenness.
“Bit grumpy, is he?”
Arching a pierced brow at his ignorant sibling’s back, Bill replies, “You could say that.”
“Well, I don’t care what kind of mood he’s in. Get him up and meet me in the conference room. We have things to discuss.”
“Um, okay. We’ll be there as soon as we can,” he promises, sounding suddenly nervous.
Tom growls at Bill like a hibernating bear when the smaller boy tries to take the pillow off his head.
“Don’t touch me!”
“But we have a meeting.” Bill stands there anxiously. “Koji wants to talk to us. We have to go.”
“Not going,” is Tom’s muffled response.
“But you have to. If you don’t show, he’ll come in here and drag you out of bed himself,” Bill insists. “Tom, move it! Get up.”
After a lot of grumbling and cursing, Tom throws the pillow off and sits up in bed bare-chested, rubbing at his crusty, bleary eyes. His forehead has a painful-looking purple lump on it. His dreadlocks are hanging haphazardly around his stubbly face, thick eyebrows scrunched together in irritation at having been woken well before he was ready.
“Here, I’ll help you get dressed,” Bill offers, getting a clean T-shirt and hooded sweater, holding them out for Tom to put his arms into. Tom just snatches the items off him.
“I don’t need your fucking help, Bill,” he snaps meanly. “Get away!”
Sensing that Tom’s moodiness isn’t all due to binge-drinking, Bill glances down, twisting his slim fingers together in unease. “Are you mad at me?”
“What do you think, genius?” Tom crossly pulls on the hoodie, gathering his dreads in both hands and flipping them out of the neckline of it.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
Bill’s thin shoulders start to quake. “So…you remember.”
“Wish I didn’t,” comes Tom’s curt reply as he finds his pants still undone and yanks them back up. “Obviously, I didn’t drink enough, did I?”
“Tom, about last night,” Bill begins to say in a noticeably blameworthy manner. “I wasn’t trying to-”
“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Tom grits out, finding his shoes. “As far as I’m concerned, it never happened. Got it?”
Bill just bites his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth as he watches Tom stomp to the bathroom. Tom slams the door, wincing at the effect the loud noise has on his head, splashes water on his face and then takes a leak, although I’m guessing he wouldn’t have much in the way of body fluids left after all the vomiting, crying and ejaculating he did the night before. Realising his thirst, he sticks his mouth under the faucet and drinks the water straight out of that, no cup. At least he doesn’t throw up again.
When they finally arrive in the meeting room and sit down, both the boys look hung over, tired, uncomfortable and ashamed, Tom much more so than Bill, the two of them avoiding each other’s eyes and shifting awkwardly in their chairs. Their behaviour just screams ‘guilty secret’.
“You look like you need these.” I push some pills over the table, along with a bottle of water. “It’s just aspirin. Good for hangovers.”
Bill takes two, gulping them down. Tom doesn’t touch the tablets, even though he must need them, what with tripping and banging his head on the door the previous evening. He’s wrapped a bandanna around the bruised bump on his forehead so I can’t see it or ask him how it happened. Clever. He must have a splitting headache and probably a good deal of nausea on top of that but he stubbornly and stupidly refuses my medical advice.
“Have fun last night, kids?”
Quietly and politely, Bill answers, “We did. Thank you. It was very thoughtful of you to do all that for us.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I look to Tom. “Anything significant happen that you want to tell me about?”
“Nope,” he mutters, slouched hostilely in his chair, not even looking at me.
“Nothing at all, Tom?”
“I said: no,” he lies flatly.
“Surely something occurred,” I persist. “After all, I gave you all that alcohol in the very hopes that it would. Did you get a little wild? A little uninhibited, maybe? Was there perhaps a little drunken twincest?”
I know Tom hates that term because he grits his teeth after I say it, his cheeks reddening with both anger and shame. His eyes flash dangerously at he finally looks at me, his gaze filled with venom.
In a low growl, he returns, “Mind your own Goddamn business, you pervert.”
“Ah, so something DID happen.” I smile triumphantly. “Tom Kaulitz, wanna share it with the rest of the class?”
“Fuck off.”
Since I’m not getting anywhere with him, I turn to his quieter and much more well-behaved brother. “Bill? How about you? What did you guys get up to last night? You promised you’d tell me if you made any more progress.”
“Bill, don’t,” Tom says warningly, shooting his sibling a threatening look. “Don’t you say a fucking word.”
“Maybe we should just tell him,” Bill tentatively suggests. “You know if we don’t, he’s just gonna keep us here until we do.”
“Your brother is a smart boy. Listen to him, Tom,” I advise. “I can lock you in here all day. How many hours can you go without a cigarette? Or a toilet break? Or something to eat?”
He remains mute.
I turn my chair around, sitting in it the reverse way and folding my arms across the back of it, resting my chin on them and getting comfortable for a long interrogation session.
“What happened, guys? Believe me, there’s nothing you can tell me that I haven’t already done myself, with my own brother. It’s not gonna shock me. So, what did you do?”
I look to Tom. He keeps his lips firmly glued together, staring stubbornly down at the floor. I’m not getting anything out of him. When I glance to Bill, he lifts his lashes, uneasily meeting my inquiring eyes. Of course, I know what they did already. I just want to hear them admit it because that’s the first step to acceptance.
“Tell me, Bill. It’s okay. Trust me,” I push softly but kindly, letting him know that I’m not going to judge him for what he says.
He gulps, clears this throat, tugs his sleeves further over his hands. In a timid tone, he confesses, “Well, we…we kissed.”
“That’s great!” I praise him enthusiastically. “How was it?”
“Nice.” He’s blushing and has averted his eyes from me but at least he’s telling the truth.
“Wonderful. And about damn time, I must say. Anything else?”
With a quick, apologetic glance at Tom, the younger affirms apprehensively, “Ja.”
“Please elaborate.”
Tom shuts his eyes in a pained gesture, not wanting to listen anymore but not having a choice.
“I took Tom’s shirt off. I undid his jeans. I touched him. And then, um… I gave him…” Pausing, Bill fidgets with his nails, dropping his abashed gaze.
“You gave him what?”
Voice lowering to just above a whisper, the prettier boy reluctantly reveals, “My…my mouth.”
“What do you mean? Did you give Tom oral sex? Did you suck him off?”
Too embarrassed to even speak, Bill just nods mutely, non-verbally admitting what he did. He ducks his head, hiding beneath his long brunette locks. Tom just makes a short, strangled-sounding groan of mortification and drops his face into his hands, looking like he wants to die. Or crawl into a deep, dark cave and never emerge again.
It’s funny. They can be vulgar around each other and their band-mates, they can swear in their songs and in everyday life but right now, these bold, foul-mouthed teenagers can’t even bear to say or hear the simple words, “Blow job.”
Bill wasn’t this shy after he did it to me. I guess it’s different because I’m virtually a stranger and he doesn’t know me that well. We had no history, no past, therefore we had no boundaries to breach or lines to cross. But he knows Tom. Exceptionally well. He knew Tom in the womb. They’ve spent their whole childhood and adolescent years together and had very clear boundary lines drawn around their relationship that they never crossed or stepped over. Except for last night. The line they crossed over then was an awfully big one.
And every time they look at each other, they know it can never be undone.
“Tell me how it made you feel, Bill,” I coach in a soft, understanding tone. “Did it make you feel good? Did you enjoy giving Tom pleasure? Giving him your love?”
Whispering from behind the shielding dark curtain of his hair, Bill bashfully admits to all three questions, “Yes.”
“Did you swallow?”
A short, self-conscious nod, Bill’s cheeks turning even rosier.
“What did it taste like?”
“It was okay.”
I’m not trying to humiliate him. The reason I’m asking so many detailed questions is not for my own perverse entertainment but just to see exactly how much they do remember about what they did. Bill hasn’t forgotten anything, it seems. And if Tom had, he’s quickly being reminded.
“Would you do it again if he wanted you to?”
“I would. For him.”
Since he’s being so honest, I press, “Did Tom give you pleasure too?”
“Yes,” the younger teen replies after only a small pause.
“In what way?”
“I made him… touch me.” Bill swallows shamefully, a lump bobbing in his slender throat.
“Where?”
“…Everywhere.”
“Everywhere? Even inside you?”
He stiffens in the chair, unwilling to answer, but even if I hadn’t seen the footage, it’s very clear to me that that’s exactly what happened.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be touched there, or to have someone put their fingers in you. It’s a normal, natural part of lovemaking,” I reassure him. “Did you at least enjoy it? Was it good?”
He gives a jerky shrug, again too filled with embarrassment to admit it.
“It didn’t hurt? Tom didn’t hurt you?”
A shake of the head, more confident this time. “No. He’d never do that.”
I glance to Tom. He’s got his eyes closed tightly and tensely, as if picturing himself anywhere else but here. He’s probably imagining himself on some warm, sunny beach, soaring through the waves on a jet-ski, like he should have been doing right about now. But he’s not on a beach. He’s in my conference room, underground. Trapped. He’s heard every word that’s been spoken in here, every damning confession from Bill about their drunken brotherly bonding, but is desperately trying to pretend he’s not hearing it and that he wasn’t even there. It doesn’t do him any favours to be in such deep denial. He can pretend all he likes that they didn’t do anything but Bill is telling me the absolute truth. No matter how uncomfortable it’s making him, he’s not denying what they did in that bed.
I study what I can see of Bill’s downcast face behind that long layered black and white fringe, mainly the angle of his straight nose and the pink softness of his mouth. He’s sucking in his bottom lip, nervously chewing on it.
“Bill, when Tom was touching you…Did you come?”
A sharp intake of breath at my extremely personal question. His hands twist together in his lap. But then a tiny, hesitant, “…yes,” issues from his barely-parted lips.
“Thank you for answering that. You’re very brave,” I reward him for his openness, my admiration for this courageous teenager growing more each second. “I’m glad Tom was able to bring you to climax. You deserved to be pleasured too. Do you feel closer to your brother now?”
Glancing at Tom, Bill confesses, “I do.”
“And do you think Tom feels closer to you because of it?”
“I...don’t know.” He sounds uncertain and when he glances to Tom again, he looks uncertain too. “I hope so. We haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet.”
“Is that something that worries you? That he won’t talk?”
“Yeah. I think he might be a bit mad at me.”
“Why would he be mad?”
“Because I sort of…started it. He didn’t want to and I…I pushed him into kissing me.”
“You can’t force someone to do something they don’t really want to do, Bill. Drunk or not, if Tom really didn’t want to kiss you, he wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t have done any of it.”
“I know but…I still feel bad.”
“Don’t feel bad about taking the lead and initiating your closeness. Sometimes people need that, for someone else to make the first move. I’m sure he’ll be thankful that you did, when he calms down. Tom, tell me -” I focus back on the older twin. “After the special bonding you and your brother shared last night, will you forgive Bill for pushing you into it? You know he only did it because he loves you, right?”
Tom refuses to answer me, keeping his turned-away face hidden in the palm of his hand, his eyes squeezed shut, the hung-over teen using his long dreadlocks as a kind of screen to conceal his true emotions, letting them drape over one side of his cheek. I can sense that he’s struggling to hold himself together here. It was a troubling, bewildering, life-changing night for him and he’s still trying to process it all. He’s wracked with sickening guilt and regret; I can see it in every tense line of his body. He thinks what he did was wrong, no matter if the attraction is in his genes or not, and he probably hates himself right now for his weakness. He might also harbour a lot of anger towards Bill for taking advantage of him while he was intoxicated and vulnerable, for coercing him and seducing him, even when Tom nobly tried to stop it. There’s a lot of powerful stuff going on in Tom’s head at the moment and my relentless probing of their intimate experiences together is not making this situation any easier for him to deal with.
In a sympathetic manner I encourage, “Just answer one question for me, Tom, and I will let you both go. Just one simple question. Can you do that?”
“What?” He rasps out brokenly, not lifting his head.
“Do you still love him?” My voice is gentle. “Do you still love Bill after what he did?”
Tom starts to cry. He’s doing it in that macho, fiercely bottled-up kind of way, where the only evidence of him crying is the silent shaking of his shoulders. He keeps his face covered, soundless tears seeping between his fingers, running over the back of his hand and down his wrist.
“Go to hell,” he grinds out from clenched teeth. “I hope you drop dead just like your brother.”
My heart freezes. All the breath dries up in my lungs. I feel like I just got punched in the guts.
“Tom!” Bill gasps, utterly horrified at those callous words. “Apologise!”
“Fuck him,” Tom growls at Bill. “And fuck you too!”
Now it’s poor Bill who looks wounded, the younger boy turning quiet and hurt.
“It’s fine, Bill,” I reply in a tight tone. “Don’t listen to him. Tom’s just angry.”
“Yes, but he shouldn’t say terrible things like that,” Bill insists, appalled as his twin’s unthinking cruelty. “Not about your brother.”
“So, you’re on HIS side now?” Tom blurts in betrayal, swinging to face his sibling, not even trying to hide the anguished tear-tracks on his cheeks. He agitatedly gestures to where I’m sitting.
“You’d choose that guy over me? Huh?”
“No! Tomi, of course I wouldn’t,” Bill hastily assures, trying to do damage control. “I’m just saying…”
“Whatever, Bill. You want to dump me for him? Fine, do it. See if I fucking care.” After choking that out, Tom turns away again, still crying but trying not to, scrubbing a palm over his eyes in a motion of aggravated turmoil.
Gazing at his distressed brother beside him with a similar level of distress showing in his pretty face, Bill finally looks down, not knowing how to reply to that. Discreetly, he wipes a tear from under his right eye, attempting not to look upset. And failing miserably.
Normally, I’d feel empathy for Bill but I’m still shocked and stinging from Tom’s cold comment about Keiichi. Even though I understand why Tom spoke that way to me, I’m still deeply affected by his words and the sharp reminder of my twin’s sudden death, falling to the floor while I watched helplessly, unable to save him. Half of me just wants to curl up in the corner and scream in agony for my missing brother until I have no voice left, and the other half – the crazy, dangerous half – is hissing at me to go over there and rip Tom’s head clean off. I could kill him for what he said. Easily.
“It seems we’re all getting a little too emotional here,” I remark curtly. “Please just answer my question, Tom, and you can both go.”
He sniffs loudly and rubs his runny nose with the back of his hand but at least he doesn’t tell me to go fuck myself so I take that as a sign he’s willing to co-operate.
“Do you still love Bill or not? Yes or no?”
“Yes!” Tom explodes, glaring up at me from the chair with furious, reddened eyes, hating me for making him say this in front of Bill. “I still fucking love him, okay? He’s my little brother and nothing can fucking change that. All right?”
“All right.” Pushing up from my seat, I open the door with the password and impassively stand beside it. “Now you may leave.”
They don’t stir fast enough for my liking, both of them hesitating as if they don’t quite believe that the questioning is over.
“Are you…are you letting us go home?” Bill uncertainly questions.
“No. You’re nowhere near ready. Especially not Tom. Now, move it,” I snap, wanting the twins gone from my sight before I lose control and hit one of them. “Get back to your own room!”
Tom gets up from his chair, throwing it behind him in his fury. Without so much as a second glance he stalks past me, an anxious Bill hurrying after him, trying to soothe his troubled twin but Tom tersely shoves him aside, not wanting to be soothed at the minute.
When they’re gone I suck in a few fast breaths through my nose, gritting my teeth while I try to calm myself.
“Fuck!” I eventually yell, spinning around and punching the wall with a dull thud. The abrupt pain walloping up my arm brings me back to my senses and I swear to myself – more sedately this time - inspecting my bleeding knuckles, the skin torn away by the rough surface of the concrete. Wincing in trepidation, I carefully flex my fingers. They’re stiff and creaky but they all still move. I’m lucky I didn’t break my hand. Still, better my hand than Tom’s face. That kid doesn’t say much but when he does, he sure knows how to make his words count and how to make them hurt the most. Frowning a little, I suck the blood from my skin, one knuckle at a time, hoping the boys are in their room with the door shut and that they didn’t hear me losing my cool. They already think I’m insane enough as it is. Just to be sure, I peek down the hall, relieved to see they’re safely locked away again.
Safe from me.
I could go in there if I really wanted to but I don’t think it would accomplish anything more. I got what I wanted from both of them. I don’t need to see them again tonight. Not in person, anyway. Curious as to how they’re handling themselves after the intense interrogation, I slip into the media booth, my grazed knuckles already forgotten about. On the screen, Bill is attempting to talk to Tom but the older one isn’t responding, isn’t even looking at Bill. He just grabs his pillow and a blanket and throws himself moodily on the couch, turning to face the wall and not Bill.
“Tom, can we please just talk about this?” Bill attempts for the third time, sounding pleading and worried.
“No,” Tom finally drones. “Go away and leave me alone. I’m tired, I’m pissed off, my head hurts and I need more sleep.”
“You can still sleep up here,” Bill offers. “I won’t bother you. I won’t touch you.”
“Bit late for that,” Tom mutters bitterly.
Bill bites his lip. “Tom…”
“Leave me alone, Bill. I’m serious. You’ve caused me enough trouble already.”
“I’m sorry,” Bill whispers guiltily, even though it’s not his fault at all. “Please come and lie up here with me, Tomi. I need you. I love you.”
“I don’t care. Piss off.”
Bill’s face crumples, Tom’s harsh words of rejection cutting him like a blade. Not having anywhere else to go, Bill curls up on his side of the bed, the other side remaining empty. He begins to cry, muffling his miserable sobs with a pillow. Tom can hear him and I see his back tensing with concern. It’s a typical twin thing. No matter how angry they are at each other, they still hate seeing or hearing the other one crying. His first instinct would be to go to Bill and make it all better and if it was any other day, he would do that.
But not today. Today Tom pulls the blanket up over his ears and tries to shut out the sound of his little brother sobbing.
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Captivation