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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
- 23
- 24
- 25
A/N: Hope you enjoy this update and that it surprises you, shocks you and leaves you wanting more. WARNING: contains violence and extremely rough sex.

Chapter 24. Bloodlust
After breakfast, I call Bill and Tom to warn them that I’m coming over.
“Good morning, boys,” I jovially greet them when their door opens. “How are we today?”
“We’re fine,” Bill answers with a small smile. He doesn’t seem as tired or emotionally exhausted as he did last night when we spoke in my room. In fact, he looks a hell of a lot better. Tom has the same aloof, unfriendly expression on his face as he always does when he’s near me, his gaze deliberately fixed to the side so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with me. He stands close to his twin, protecting Bill in case I decide to snatch the other boy away again.
“Did you enjoy your chocolate croissants?”
“Yes, thanks. They were delicious,” the younger teen replies. “Oh, before you go on - Tom has something he wants to say to you, don’t you, Tom?”
Bill’s unsubtle elbow-nudge jolts the other male into lifting his eyes and meeting mine, albeit with great reluctance.
“Sorry for what I said the other day,” Tom mumbles unconvincingly.
He doesn’t mean a word of it – he still wants me to drop dead. He’s only apologising because Bill told him to. But still, that alone pleases me - that Tom’s willing to do what his little brother asks. It means that the truce they formed after their fight hasn’t been broken. They’re best friends again. That’s the great thing about twins – they can never stay mad at each other for very long.
And I can’t stay mad at them either.
“Thank you, Tom. Your apology is accepted,” I courteously return. “But I do need to speak to you privately in the conference room. Bill, you’ve been exceptionally well-behaved lately so you get the day off.”
I smile fondly at him, like he’s my teacher’s pet. He seems surprised, pleased and confused all at once. Tom scowls venomously at me.
“Why do you want to see me alone for?” His tone is sceptical and demanding. “What are you gonna do to me?”
“Nothing bad. I promise I won’t hurt you. I just think we need to do a little trust-building exercise.”
“A what?”
“You see, me and Bill, we have a certain level of trust going on. We have a level of honesty and mutual respect.” I glance approvingly to the brunette boy before focusing back on Tom’s suspicious face. “You and I haven’t reached that point yet, Tommy. You don’t trust me. You don’t respect me. And I would like the opportunity to change that.”
“Good fuckin’ luck,” he mutters sourly. “And don’t call me Tommy.”
“I’m in charge here and I can call you whatever I want.” I politely indicate to the doorway. “After you.”
Jamming his hands into his pockets, Tom obstinately refuses to comply, staring at me in open disobedience and keeping his feet firmly planted on the floor. I sigh patiently.
“Come with me now please, Tom, or I’ll be forced to drag you down the hall by your dreadlocks. You don’t want that, do you? Being humiliated in front of your brother? Again?”
Giving an annoyed growl of defeat, he hitches his baggy pants up, unenthusiastically following me down the corridor in loping strides, bitching under his breath the whole way. I can feel his irate gaze practically burning a hole into the back of my shirt with its furious heat. I’m sure if he had a knife at that moment he’d plunge it right between my shoulder blades. He’s probably even thinking of trying to shime waza me, like I did to him, but the moment his arm comes around my neck will be the moment I throw him ass over head and slam him onto the floor.
He manages to make it to the conference room without attacking me. Once inside with the door locked, I turn and seat myself opposite him at the table. He is sitting there staring hostilely at me. This the first time we’ve been completely alone since I let him out of my van that night. If looks could kill, I’d explode on the spot.
“Smoke?” I suggest, opening my packet and holding it towards him.
He does not accept the offer.
Shrugging and lighting up a cigarette of my own, I stuff the packet back into my front shirt pocket and then ask, “Is there something else you wanna say to me, Tom?”
“Yeah. Actually, there is.” Finally verbalising his turbulent emotions, he snaps, “I hate your fucking guts! That’s what!”
I lean back and casually exhale a cloud of smoke. “Why?”
“Oh, gee. Let me list the many reasons,” the guitarist answers with heavy sarcasm, starting to count off on his fingers. “One, you kidnapped my brother. Two, you drugged him and three, tied him to a chair.”
He sits forward in his seat, glowering murderously at me. I have a feeling Tom’s been waiting a long time for this moment, to let loose without Bill being here to hear him.
“Four, you locked him alone in a room and left him there. Do you have any idea how scared he was, waking up in this shit-hole and not knowing if he was going to be raped or killed or God knows what?”
“I realise he was scared but I never had any intentions of harming your brother. I like your brother. Very much.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” he replies disgustedly. “He says you didn’t touch him while he was unconscious but I don’t believe that. Someone like you wouldn’t be able to help yourself around a pretty target like Bill. What did you do to him while he was passed out in your van? Did you take his clothes off?”
“No, I did not. The only item of Bill’s clothing I loosened was his studded collar, so he could breathe better. I treated him with the utmost respect.”
“Respect?” Tom’s eyebrows rise ludicrously. “You don’t respect him; you just want to fuck him! Admit it.”
“I will admit that Bill is an exceptionally attractive young man but if I was going to sexually assault him, wouldn’t I have done so by now? I would have done it before you even got here, while I had him all to myself. Now, why do you think I didn’t do that? Hmm?”
Tom chooses to ignore the question I’ve returned.
“Five,” he brusquely ticks off on his pinky finger. “You hit him.”
“May I point out that I only hit Bill because he bit me? I did warn him not to. But you’re right – it was wrong of me to do that. However, I have apologised and he accepted.”
Again, Tom ignores me, continuing with his rant. There’s no mention of the things I’ve done to Tom himself, only what I’ve done to Bill.
“You’ve repeatedly frightened my brother, intimidated him and humiliated him.” Tom sticks out his other thumb. “Number six: you shoved your dick in his mouth!”
“I didn’t shove it in; he volunteered. In case you’ve forgotten, he was just doing what YOU didn’t have the balls to do.”
“He didn’t volunteer! You tricked him,” the irate youth accuses. “You made him blow you and you made me watch!”
“You didn’t have to,” I remind him. “Bill told you not to look.”
“Yeah, well, I did. And you know what I saw? You shooting your load in his hair. In his HAIR!” Tom emphasises in disgusted outrage, pointing to his own dreads. “You have no concept of how utterly degrading that was.”
I feel a pang of remorse. “Actually, I do know, and I’m awfully sorry for that. It was out of character for me. I wasn’t quite…myself…that day.”
“You aren’t sorry at all, you twisted bastard.” He glares poisonously at me. “You got off on it. You enjoyed it and don’t tell me you didn’t because that would be a fucking lie, just like everything else you’ve ever said.”
His hateful attitude begins to affect me in a negative way.
“Okay, you got me. I DID enjoy it,” I rub in with relish. “Bill enjoyed it too. Did he tell you that? How thinking about it turned him on? That he offered to do it again?”
Tom’s glare flares even angrier but there’s also a tremendous amount of jealousy in his eyes. He spits, “And that brings to me reason number seven why I hate you.”
“Which is?”
“Because you’ve corrupted Bill. You made him believe in that sick Genetic Attraction fantasy of yours. You’ve changed him, made him act differently and do unusual things. Things that brothers shouldn’t do. What happened between us the other night…It’s not his fault. It’s yours!”
“I didn’t force you to do what you did,” I answer, grinding out the butt of my cigarette in the ashtray in front of us. “I didn’t make you kiss Bill. I didn’t make him do anything to you and I certainly didn’t force you to lie there and enjoy it. All I did was supply the alcohol. The rest you guys did on your own.”
“I still hate you,” he grits out again, dismissing my reasoning. “And I’m going to get you back you for what you’ve done, you son of a bitch. I swear to Gott I will.”
“So, do you feel like you’re becoming corrupted now, too?” I goad him. “You think you’re turning bisexual like Bill? That you’re losing your famous straightness? Is that what’s really bothering you, Tommy?”
“Shut up!” He jumps to his feet, grasps the edge of the table with both hands and violently flips the piece of furniture over, making me leap from my chair and out of the way. It’s a heavy table. He probably couldn’t have done that when he first came in here with his skinny arms but with all the serious weights training he’s been doing lately, his strength has increased dramatically, as has the size of his biceps. With both of us standing, Tom faces me off, his dark eyes blazing and voice raised furiously.
“What bothers me is that none of this would have happened if you’d kept your filthy paws to yourself and left my brother alone! Out of everyone in the world, why did you have to pick him? Huh?”
He stalks closer and shoves me in the chest, too angry to be afraid of me.
“Why did you have to come into OUR life and fuck it up?”
“You’re lashing out. This kind of aggression is understandable, especially in boys whose parents are divorced,” I reply in a patient, patronising tone that’s sure to piss him off even more. “You’re bewildered and frightened by the changes you see in Bill – as well as in yourself and your relationship - and you don’t know how to handle it.”
“Handle this, brotherfucker,” he snarls, bringing up his fist and smashing me in the face, snapping my head to the side. It was a hard hit. I could have easily blocked it but I let him do it.
Sneering, I turn back to him. “Is that the best you can do, Tommy?”
“Stop calling me that!” When he pulls his arm back I let him hit me a second time. And a third. And a fourth. Fireworks explode painfully in my skull and behind my eyes. I stagger sideways, giddy and unbalanced with each blow. With my full consent, Tom punches me until I crumple to the floor, unable to stand and beginning to bleed from the mouth. Nowhere near finished, he cruelly kicks me in the belly and then stomps on my ribs a few times with his foot. White-hot pain splinters through my side, causing me to curl up and gasp for agonised breath.
Kicking me over onto my back, the muscular musician straddles my chest, pinning me down with his weight, and keeps on punching me in the face - busting my lip open, splitting my eyebrow and making my nose gush like a crimson fountain, pouring into my mouth, over my chin and down my neck. I splutter and spit it out, struggling not to drown on my own blood.
“I’m going to kill you,” Tom swears, yelling now. “I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT!”
I lay there unresisting as he batters me, punishes me, takes his revenge. I don’t fight him. He needs this. He needs to express his anger and his emotion and I admit I have it coming, after everything I’ve put him through. He deserves to get some payback and so I lie there and take it, hit after vicious hit, the ringing in my ears so loud it deafens my hearing.
Tom blames me for everything that’s turning his life upside down and making him feel confused, angry and guilty. Last night he was blaming Bill but now it’s my fault. Though I wasn’t even there in the room with them that night, he blames me for what happened. In his eyes, it’s me who got them drunk and it’s me who ‘forced’ them to do things they shouldn’t have done. He blames me for teaching Bill how to suck cock and he blames me for the fact that he let Bill do it to him.
He blames me because it’s easier than blaming himself.
He’s swearing through gritted teeth as he hits me, my blood splattering onto Tom with every bone-crushing punch. It’s all over his fists, his arms, his T-shirt, spraying onto his savagely snarling face like scarlet paint.
He doesn’t stop. Ten bloody fingers go around my neck and squeeze, the crazed teenager intent on choking me to death and then ripping my mangled corpse apart with his bare hands. Fearing that he really WILL kill me if I let him, I pry his fingers away and shove him off me. Coughing for breath, I flip over and dizzily attempt to crawl to safety, droplets of bright crimson dripping from the tip of my nose onto the tiles, forming a trail of gore. Tom grabs me by my ponytail and yanks, stopping me, my scalp screaming with the harsh jerk. He hooks his arm around my neck and wrenches me up off the floor, pulling me against him back-first and compressing my throat with his bunched biceps, cutting off my oxygen. This is not the harmless Judo move I did on him. This is plain strangling.
“You will never have Bill,” he growls jealously. “He’s my brother. Mine! Not yours. He belongs to ME.”
Even though I can’t breathe and grey patches are beginning to blot out my vision, something twists darkly in my belly and tautens my loins. With him behind me, growling so possessively in my ear, his breath hot on the side of my face… it makes an electric chill run down my spine. This is the most aggression I’ve ever seen Tom display and, my God, it turns me on. His chest and stomach are pressed to my back and I can feel the hardness of his body, can feel each and every single muscle tensed and tightened against me. I can feel his strength and his heat. But most of all I can feel the sudden hardening of his cock against my ass and I want more. I want it in me. I give a suffocated whimper and grab desperately at his arm, trying to pry it off my constricted windpipe.
I somehow choke out two words.
He freezes at first, staring at my face, his strangle-hold loosening in surprise so I can gulp in heaving lungfuls of blessed air.
“What?”
“I said…fuck me,” I hoarsely repeat between puffs. “Fuck. Me.”
It doesn’t take long for his astonishment to turn into something else entirely.
“Oh, you want some of THIS, huh?” He jerks his pelvis against my rear, grinding into it, letting me feel his male weapon. He growls into my ear again, still sounding aggressive but in a much more sexually aroused tone this time.
“Is that what you want, bitch? You want my dick?”
“God, yes. Please,” I moan, not even trying to hide the begging tone of my words.
“Oh, you’ll get it.” Whipping his belt buckle undone with one hand, he heatedly promises, “You are gonna get it so fucking hard. I’m gonna fuck you up, man. I’m gonna hurt you so bad…”
“Do it,” I urge, spreading my thighs and arching back needily into his solid frame. “Do it, do it…”
I’m fumbling with my pants and as soon as I have popped the button and unzipped the fly Tom yanks them down my thighs, letting my hard-on spring free. He pauses for a moment and I know he’s staring at the Gothic letter ‘K’ tattooed on my lower back, at the very base of my spine, something that only my brother has seen in close detail. He pushes me forward onto my hands and knees. I feel his cock jabbing at me, urgently seeking a way in. It’s so big and I’m not ready.
“Wait,” I croak, quickly spitting into my hand, a mix of blood and saliva, smearing it beneath me and pushing two fingers into my entrance in an attempt to open myself up before Tom does. It’s still not enough. When he smacks my hand away and starts jamming himself into my reluctant hole, I inhale a pained breath, stiffening and trying to pull away from him, needing him to slow down. But he won’t. He grips my waist with both hands and keeps going, a relentless blunt force tearing his way through my innards.
I gasp. Loudly.
Once he’s all the way in, Tom holds himself still for a short while, panting raggedly as he tries to deal with with the overwhelming feeling of being inside another guy for the first time. His fingers tighten around my middle, keeping me motionless as well, my own breaths coming in shallow, uneven rasps as I too attempt to cope with the abrupt penetration.
Four years of celibacy, gone. Just like that.
Though I wanted this and asked for this, I’m glad he has stopped because it gives me time to adjust to the stiff throbbing width impaling me, ripping and burning, my out-of practise flesh ill-prepared for Tom’s rough entry. If he’d done this before, he’d know that shoving in so quickly would result in much suffering for the receiving party but he hasn’t and so I can’t fault him for the painful state I’m currently in. He just doesn’t know any better. He’s almost as much a virgin as Bill is. Unaware of my discomfort, Tom begins thrusting, impatiently pulling out and pushing back into me, each plunge like the stab of a knife.
“Fucking bitch,” he hisses, stabbing me deep, again and again, hurting me just like he said he would.
Tears burn in my eyes, my teeth clenched in torment. Drawing on all my martial arts training, I try and will myself to deal with the situation and work through it, like I do when I’m in a fight and someone is beating the shit out of me in the arena. Thankfully, my body listens, soon accepting Tom’s ruthless invasion, some of the agony fading as my inner muscles expand and stretch accommodatingly.
Holding myself up with one shaking arm, I reach underneath to take hold of my own cock, which has amazingly remained erect through the trauma and is leaking with clear drops of anticipation. I stroke it in time with Tom’s thrusts, pain mingling with pleasure in an intoxicating blend. It still hurts but somehow, it’s an exciting, fierce hurt, the whole situation bringing me to a level of arousal I haven’t experienced for years. With his thick, unyielding dick ploughing into the depths of my body, pulling out and stretching me wide again and again, I feel like I’m being taken, dominated and possessed and it’s been so long since I’ve felt like that; I almost forgot how much I missed it.
I groan and lower my spinning head to the floor, submitting to him completely, giving Tom back his masculinity and his power, letting him be the man. He just grunts and keeps screwing me, keeps taking what he wants. He must be able to see me pleasuring myself as he fucks me from behind and probably thinks I’m a needy whore but at that moment, I am. I need this just as much as he does.
“I hate you, I hate you,” he starts to pant, over and over, using the same impassioned tone that he might if he were telling someone how much he wanted them. In his mind hating and wanting are one and the same thing right now and he slams into me, hitting me with his hips as hard as he did my face with his fist, making me cry out in tortured pleasure with every savage thrust. Tom’s hateful words get louder and louder the closer he gets to orgasm, while I’m yelping like a whipped dog as he’s ramming into me. Thank God the walls are solid concrete and Bill can’t hear us or see us because this bestial kind of rutting is crude, brutish and disgraceful and I’d be humiliated beyond belief if he saw me like this - on my knees, bloody and beaten, being completely owned by his angry twin brother. And worst of all, loving it.
His thrusts are now so feral and jarring, I have to put both palms on the floor to steady myself or I’d fall face-first onto the tiles and break my nose all over again. I don’t need to touch my dick anymore because I’m just about to come anyway so I let his next few hip-snaps drive me over the edge, his balls smacking against mine as he forcefully jams himself into my over-stretched hole. My belly muscles convulse and tighten, hot white liquid ejecting and splashing onto the ground beneath me while I’m sobbing through my violent orgasm. Feeling me clench around his cock in climax, Tom joins me, roaring as he rams home repeatedly and comes deep inside my battered body.
“Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU!”
After a few jerking shudders from Tom, everything suddenly goes very quiet and still, except for the rasping sound of us panting for breath. My heart is pounding crazily, the nerves in my stomach and thighs twitching with residual shocks of sensation. My hair is all in my face, sticking to my sweaty, bloodied skin, some of it in my mouth. Tom is gripping me so hard around the waist his nails are digging in, and if they were longer like Bill’s I’d be left with ten little cuts.
I hiss when he eventually pulls out from me, leaving my torn flesh stinging and tender. I can feel wetness trickling down my thigh but I don’t know if it’s sperm or blood. Probably both. The soreness between my legs mingles with the rest of the bodily damage his severe bashing has left me with. I’m in a messy state; the bleeding, bruised, exhausted kind that I’ve usually only been in after a tough tournament in the martial arts arena, battling an opponent of equal strength and determination.
Only this time I didn’t fight back.
I can hear Tom fixing his jeans and refastening his belt behind me. Wincing with every movement, I pull my pants back up and turn around to slump against the nearest wall, wiping my bloody nose with the sleeve of my shirt and fishing the hair out of my mouth. Tom is staring down at his own shirt and all the blood on it. My blood. It looks like he just decapitated a goat.
“Go wash yourself off,” I tiredly instruct, indicating to the conference room sink. “Don’t let Bill see you like that.”
He obeys without comment, numbly removing his T-shirt, rinsing it under the faucet and using the wet article of clothing to wipe himself down with. Luckily, the material of his top is a pinky-orange colour so the bloodstains won’t show. While he’s robotically cleaning his arms, neck and face, I get out my packet of smokes and light up, wordlessly offering one to Tom when he returns, cleaned and wearing his damp, wrung-out shirt. Slumping next to me on the floor, he takes it without saying anything, still shell-shocked over what just happened.
“I’ve never let anyone do that to me before,” I mutter, drawing in on my cigarette and coughing at the resulting pain in my ribs. “Count yourself lucky, Tommy.”
Tom doesn’t seem to know what to think about that, the nineteen year old visibly shook up by what he’s done. It’d almost be rape if I hadn’t asked for it.
We don’t talk any more. We just finish our smokes and then I laboriously get up to let him out of the room. The session is over and there’s nothing more Tom needs to learn today. As we’re walking over to the door, I halt and grimace agonizingly, clutching my stomach and leaning against a chair, breathing deeply with my eyes closed to stop myself from throwing up. Or blacking out. Or both. My body hurts all over – my head, my ribs, my belly, my back - dull in some places and sharp in others.
“Koji?” Tom ventures tentatively. “Are you…are you okay, man?”
It’s the first time I’ve heard him address me by my real name. He must actually be really worried about me. I nod sluggishly, my fingers gripping the metal chair-back, eyelids still squeezed together as strangely pretty patterns float behind them.
“I’ll be fine. Don’t concern yourself.”
My speech sounds slurred, like I’ve been drinking. I think I have concussion. It’s not the first time I’ve been smacked in the skull too hard and the symptoms I’m experiencing are unpleasant but quite familiar. When the waves of dizziness and nausea pass, I straighten and hobble the last few metres to the door, typing in the password with my hand over the keypad as usual so Tom can’t learn what it is. I can hardly see what I’m doing and have to put it in twice; all the numbers have gone fuzzy on me. When the door unlocks and swings ajar, I exhaustedly motion for him to go back to his own room – too messed up to even speak anymore - and he does so, throwing an apprehensive glance at me over his shoulder as he heads down the corridor, as though wondering if I’m going to be all right.
When he’s gone, I shuffle into the viewing room and drop into my leather chair. There’s a blurred image of Bill on-screen, hands on his narrow hips, standing in front of Tom and scrutinising his brother’s dishevelled appearance.
“Why is your shirt wet? Your face is all red. And why are your knuckles scraped?”
Thinking quickly, Tom fibs, “I…I’ve been sweating. He made me punch a bag. You know, to vent all my anger towards him? It was part of the trust-exercise thing.”
“Oh. Did it work? Are you less angry at him now?”
“I don’t know,” Tom answers quietly, dropping his gaze. “Maybe.”
“That’s great, Tomi!” Bill sounds delighted at his stubborn sibling’s change of heart. “See, Koji’s not so bad, is he? He’s not such a monster after all.”
“If you say so.”
“I don’t think he’s evil or psychotic. I think he’s just lonely,” Bill muses sympathetically. “He misses his brother. That’s why he has us here. To remind him of what he once had. Imagine only being half a twin. Half a person.”
His expression grows sad and sorrowful. “Poor Koji.”
That’s where I have to switch the monitor off. I can’t handle the pitying look on Bill’s face. In spite of what I have done to him – to both of them - he actually feels sorry for me. He pities me. And why not? I’m a pathetic, fucked-up train wreck of a human being and as Bill brutally pinpointed, only a fraction of the man I used to be. His acute perception strikes a nerve within my shattered, damaged core, such unexpected compassion and kindness from a mere child jarring me with a fresh wave of gut-wrenching pain, none of it having to do with Tom’s beating.
Wiping away unwanted tears with shaky hands, I clumsily haul my aching, battered body out of the chair and exit the media booth, limping to my room for a long, hot shower, dully watching the redness of my blood swirling down the drain, barely even feeling the razor-sharp sting of my many cuts and grazes.
After that, I tend my wounds as best as I can, including taping up my broken nose, then take a handful of pain-killers and flop onto my bed like a sack of freshly-slaughtered meat, vaguely pondering before I lose consciousness if I’ll even wake up again in the morning.
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Captivation