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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.

Chapter List
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Title: Dirty Day (Wicked Games, Part 4)
Author: Robby a.k.a. MrNaked
Rating: NC-17, M/M sex, coarse language, all the tasty stuff
Pairing: Who else? Till/Christoph and Richard/Christoph
Disclaimer: This is all pure fiction; none of this happened, it’s only a product of my sick mind!
Summary: Another turn of the game.
Tunes list (these are the songs mentioned in the story, and that I’ve listened to for inspiration and writing mood): “Dirty Day” – U2, “Faint” – Linking Park, “We never change” – Cold Play

Dirty Day

Nothing is as simple as you think

I’ve become so numb. This numbness feels like an iron veil that covers my whole body, putting so much pressure on me and squeezing every inch of my flesh; I feel like I’m suffocating.

I’m not able to dare to look into any of the other guys’ eyes. It’s not only about Till, nor Richard; it’s about all five of them. I have the starring role, I’m the bad guy now.

If they could only know... What have you gotten yourself into now, Christoph Schneider?

Yes - smiles, jokes, goofing around, work, interviews, video shootings, touring, concerts, hotel rooms, thousands of faces that we see for the first and the last time in our lives, camera flashes, groupies, parties… These days run away like horses over the hills…

Fuck it, man, hit me with another shot of a stiff drink!

“You can’t keep going like this, man”

Flake’s glasses sparkled the other night in front of me, his long hair shone under yellow light, in the room… No, his voice was coming to me through this water in which, I, drunken, was floating.

“What’s wrong with you, buddy?” Olli’s voice came across the table, waking me up from my lagging, the other morning.

I remember looking through my sunglasses at all five of them around the breakfast table, all five of them looking back at me. That’s when I realized; I felt the numbness, like a marble carcass surrounding my painful pulsing temples. Then I remembered, I was having again a terrible hangover, I was again almost falling asleep with my nose on the slice of bread smeared with butter on the plate in front of me.

“Doom, you’re starting to worry me, man,” Paul’s voice drags me back to reality.

Yes, looks like we’re at one of those after-concert parties! Again. For me, just another one of those dirty days.

Paul’s palm grabs the bottom of the glass that I’m holding. I throw him a glance in which I concentrate all my hatred, all my pain, all my anger. At the same moment, my glass is freed from Paul’s grip.

“Man, you’ll become an alcoholic, or end up in a coma, if you keep going like this.” I hear it for the millionth time in these last days.

“Shut the fuck up!” I growl, taking another gulp from that drink that, instead of putting out the fire in my soul, is burning me inside.

“You’re starting to have a drinking problem,” Paul says, with a soothing voice, almost pitiful.

“I can drink without any problem,” I mutter as I put on my face my evilest grin ever. But he’s not amused at all. Not anymore. His worried look in his eyes sinks me even deeper into my own sadness and my pond of regrets.

I bite my lip so I won’t allow this flow of words to explode from my mouth. I’m just trying, again, to wash away its bitter taste with another gulp from my drink.

As wasted as I am, all I feel like doing is to just jump up in the middle of this room and shout, scream so loud that I’d tear off my lungs, so loud that I’d cover all that stupid and nonsense chattering, all the giggling, all that fucking flirting, so loud that I’d finally draw their attention upon me. His attention, especially. To make myself finally heard. To tell him.

To let Till know.

And, as I’d be pouring out all I am thinking, as I’d be flooding this room with all my pain, I’d be cleansing myself of all this shit tormenting my mind.

All I feel like is dropping on my knees in the middle of this fucking room and yelling out my sorrow and my regrets to tear them off me. Because they’ve become so heavy to carry around anymore, so intoxicating…

And, at least, I would have gotten his attention. He’d be forced to listen to what I have to say. Because each and every time I wanted to talk things out with him, to explain, Till just turned his back on me, making his way out of the situation. He did it each and every time I’ve cornered him, trying to make him listen to me.

I can’t totally relate to what he’s feeling, but I still can realize that we, Richard and I, went too far - way beyond any limit.

But no, Till never wanted to talk about it. Him, the man that usually likes to talk out problems on the spot. Not this time. This time he always seemed to be busy, always caught up with other things and other people; too busy for me, every time. He’s too good with others, suddenly so understanding, so attentive, always wearing a start of a smile on the corner of his lips, so funny, so open. Always with others, but not with me.

That ‘closed into himself mountain’ he used to be seems to have disappeared. Now it seems like he was born for a second time, a new man, a new way of approaching things and situations, a new perspective on the world.

And Richard…

“What the fuck has gotten into you, Christoph?” he snapped at me a few nights ago, while carrying my drunken body through the hallways of one of the hotels in which we stayed. “Don’t tell me you grew a conscience and now you’re feeling guilty! What the fuck are you trying to do, drinking your brains out every night? We have a band, man, we have concerts, and we’re on tour!”

I felt like spitting in that pretty face of his, which – since that night with Till – stopped making my heart jump. Since that night, I look at Richard’s gorgeous body, I’m observing him – each fraction of a second of his feline movements – but I don’t feel anything anymore. As if the place inside my heart reserved for him was emptied like a city that’s been wiped off the face of the Earth by an atomic bomb. Nothing. And, since that night, I’ve been searching for that missing feeling, but all I can find is that the respective feeling is long gone. Vanished. Like it never existed.

“Did you talk with him?” I moaned while Richard was placing my so numbed by alcohol body into my bed.

“With who?”

“With the fucking Pope! With Till, who else?”

“Nope.”

“How come?”

“He wouldn’t talk. He’s ignoring me,” Richard confessed, lowering his head, and I could tell he was biting his lips.

“Did you?” he dared, after few seconds of silence.

Suddenly I felt so sober and so exhausted, as if his question threw me into an icy cold pool filled with my regrets and torments. I looked at the man sitting on the edge of the bed where my body, anesthetized by alcohol, was sprawled.

“We crossed a point, Rich, that…”

“He abused me all those years!” Richard shouted, jumping to his feet. “We only played a little prank on him! When have you become such a pussy? What the fuck is wrong with you, man? Like you wouldn’t know?!”

Oh, yes, I knew. He would have never told me what was going on in his life in all those years, but I’ve always offered him comfort, expecting that one day, he’d explain to me the reason for all his sorrows, all those tears he was crying in my arms, the reason for his desperation I could see on his face from time to time, the reason for the bruises and burns I spotted on his body while we were changing for concerts.

I knew I was his closest friend, unknown to others, but not the one to whom he’d confess the hell he was going through.

And each time I was giving him comfort and understanding, without even guessing what was really happening, each time I was hoping and hoping and hoping for one thing that never got to occur between us.

But, on that evening, lying numb and drunken in bed, with him in my room, those hopes weren’t to be found anymore. He meant nothing at all to me, just another one of the many guys that I knew. Maybe only a bit of disgust and disappointment about letting myself be dragged into this madness he came up with, back then.

This is some of what I want to tell Paul, my old pal. But no, instead of standing up and shouting: “Wake up world! This is Schneider speaking! Hear me out, like it or not!”, instead of that, I just squeeze my eyelids like in a stupid attempt not to let my eyes say what my mouth wouldn’t dare to pronounce.

And the desperation to see the “I want to help you, but I don’t know how” look in my old pal’s eyes just enlarges more the wound in my heart, making me moan in the pain of my torn apart soul.

I want to scream out this fucking pain, not to just whimper like this pussy I’ve turned into!

Probably that’s how Richard was feeling back then, when he was running into my arms, upset, abused, bruised; he was listening to my ramblings that were meant to be encouraging, when those most wonderful blue eyes I’ve ever seen on this planet were looking at me, asking me this silent question. How could I not understand what he was going through, those eyes begging me not to make him speak of all that shame, all that madness he was put through in those times.

How to tell Paul, how to tell anyone that I’ve ganged up with Richard; we restrained another guy, we fucked his brains out and made him believe, even for only a few hours, that he fucked his own daughter?

I’ll never be able to delete from my mind that image of Till walking like a madman, rambling the city streets, shaking and talking to himself, that night we released him.

I’ll take this with me to Hell, where I’ll go for what I’ve done.

But, probably, this is hell. My every minute torment, burning me, burning my soul with a flame I can’t put out no matter what I drink.

Because Till never retaliated. I’ve expected the worst from him, for what we did, but he hasn’t struck back. He’s just acting like this thing never happened. He just keeps on being wonderful, making me want him again, and again, forever. His eyes smile, his face seems so cute, his body seems so desirable - that man I once considered to be too butch, and probably too ugly for my tastes.

Do I want him to fight back? Hell, yeah! At least we’d know how we stand. But no, this silence of his is killing me!

“Maybe you should go to your room, Doom.”

Among all those other fluid images in front of my eyes is Paul’s round face, smiling. I open my mouth trying to feel my own lips moving and I inhale, trying to get my lungs to feel the air getting in so I wouldn’t have this suffocating sensation.

Too drunk to even breathe. Too numb.

“Ok.” My lips move again without me feeling them as I see the world getting at a lower level, now I can see Paul’s head from above.

“Do you want me to…?” He offers to help, but he’s already behind me. All of them in that room – the entire world – are far away behind me as I’m climbing steps, getting in the cage of the elevator, stepping out of it, and then walking through the hallway.

“Till, we have to talk, otherwise there won’t be any Rammstein anymore!”

Richard? Yes, Richard talking with that big and tall man.

Till’s laugh sounds so raspy, so understanding, so superior. So enticing...

“Throwing away your own dream for a stupid thing that never took place, Richard?” I hear that big man’s husky and choked giggle. They are standing right there, in front of me, in the hallway. And their images are getting closer to me as I’m walking toward them; feeling like that helmet of cotton that was compressing my head, dissipating itself molecule by molecule.

“Who are you trying to kid, my gorgeous man?” Till’s warm and gentle deep voice sounds even closer to my ears. “Does Caron know what her beautiful husband is doing when she’s not around?” Till adds, right when I get behind him, lost in contemplation of his wide shoulders and thick neck muscles. My mouth is getting tingly.

“Don’t fucking threaten me, Lindemann!” Richard explodes, making the walls tremble at the sound of his voice, and the echoes still shake through the hallway, crossing it back and forth as Richard goes inside his room, followed by the thud of the door shutting.

“We do have to talk, Lindemann,” I say bluntly, like awakening to reality.

“What should we talk about, sweetheart?” The big man turns, facing me.

But, at least with me, faces are at the same level; I’m not a man to whom he’d seem above the rest of the world.

“What should I tell you, Schneider? Should I tell you how dirty I felt back then? Should I tell you how robbed of my last trace of decency I felt? Should I tell you how death seemed to be the most honorable solution for what I was forced to do?”

No anger, no hatred. Only a sad smile in his eyes, two blue still mountain lakes in a quiet sunny afternoon.

This frozen flame exploded, burning my chest, my mind. He was retaliating!

Oh, my fucking God! He knows! And this is revenge, letting us, letting me be slowly consumed in the poisonous fire of my own torment and regrets. He isn’t going to tell to any wife, he’s not coming with any dirty trick; he’s just watching us, watching me, getting destroyed bit by bit by my own shame and nightmares. He doesn’t have to lift a finger; my own crazed brain has been doing all the damage, my own tainted soul is killing me with all that pain. This numbness that has been choking me, strangling me – his fingers clutched on my throat couldn’t do a better job.

“Fuck you, Lindemann!” I spit at him.

“You already have, baby.” He smiles, his warm voice igniting my heels, making me run like fire, straight into my room, to grab that blade, drop on my knees, lift my arm, press the sharp blade on my skin, dig deep in my dead flesh, pull it down in my muscle, watch a red river of blood exploding, running down, howling on the white insensitive stone layer of my skin.

Pain! I want pain! I want out of this cage, out of my numbness, out of this steel foil squeezing and choking me, out, out, out… Another red river! So alive! So flooding my skin! I want out of this death! I want to feel alive! I want to feel again!

Another river howling! Another one breaking the dam of my skin! My blood, scream my pain! Get me out of this torpor! Revive my comatose soul, you, my blood! Scream! Scream for me! Scream my pain! Burn my sins! Revive me! I want to be alive again!

“Don’t be silly, my beautiful man.”

As I raise my gaze, I meet those two blue still mountain lakes again, like I’m awakened by this husky soothing caress of Till’s voice, calming my raging soul.

I feel this strong grip on my wrist, as his hand lifts slowly my bleeding forearm. I see the tip of his tongue slowly caressing his own full and so well-contoured lips.

I dive deeper into his blue eyes, while those so full and so enticing lips press gently on the skin around my wounds; warm and soft pillows for my pain to rest and calm down; a wet and hot tongue licking away with soothing movements those flooding red rivers on my flesh, silencing them, his mouth sucking my wounds, silencing the war inside my soul.

His face, all relaxed in ecstasy, arouses me, his lips kissing my forearm, his tongue licking the blood, tasting it like a rare old wine, enjoying every drop of the precious liquor.

He rises, but my glance is sealed, still lost in those calm lakes with clear blue water – his eyes.

“Stay!”

My fingers clench on his belt, right below his navel. His eyelashes, long black shiny silk, lower in acceptance. My fingers leave one by one the black leather, going for the glittering metal, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants, searching for that alive muscle of his, my hand longing to feel that member pulsing with the joy of life.

Two mountain blue lakes are smiling, motionless, in the quiet sunny afternoon – his eyes.
I raise my chest a bit, feeling that tingling in my lips and on my tongue, eager to move around that palpitating flesh.

I stretch my hand and under the tips of my fingers pulses the hot top of his cock, while I lift and straighten it more so my tongue can embrace the base of his member, to start licking along his balls, sliding slowly up and down, feeling the sensitive skin pulsing and alive. My lips embrace his hot and full balls, my mouth sucking on them, before my tongue starts to travel along his shaft, all the way to the top of that fat hardened cock, so I can put my lips around the wet top, encircling it, sucking on it, while my gaze is lost again in now the most wonderful blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

I close my eyes, my lips are kissing down along the thickness of his aroused cock, and my own hand is unzipping my pants, my fingers, eager to wrap themselves around my hard, aching member.

I feel his fingers clenching in my hair, my head is suddenly jerked, forcing my eyes to look up, my glance to dive again into the smile of his blue eyes.

“I want you to finger yourself while sucking my cock.”

I lower my gaze, looking at the floor between my knees. I dip my finger in my own saliva, I close my eyes while my hand slides along my body, behind me; my finger enters me slowly, while my lips embrace again the thickness of his cock.

“And look at me.”

So I raise my eyes, while my mouth fills with that pulsing meat, while my finger is digging deeper inside me.

My whole body starts rocking gently, back and forth, as my mouth is sliding up and down on that stiff palpitating flesh; and as my hand – my finger – is moving in and out of my body, between my spread legs. Till’s eyes seem to get closer, then get away, then get closer to my gaze again. Then, his own body is departing a bit, his cock, leaving my mouth, is getting above my glance, as a white foamy wave splashes my face, making me squeeze my eyes in reflex and surprise. Thick, milky semen slowly sliding along my cheeks…

Dirty whore!

“Now you can play with your cock, but keep that finger where it is.”

The dirty whore lowers his gaze, spreads his legs even more, his eager palm wraps around his cock, starting to stroke it, rubbing that already wet flesh faster and faster. The dirty whore forces his already numbed arm to move, to dig deeper with that trapped finger inside me. The dirty whore’s gaze is trapped in Till’s eyes, while the same whore’s mouth opens to release that whimper accompanying the sudden explosion and release of seed, splashing on the floor, on his jeans, on his thighs and knees.

“Good boy…”

The dirty whore lowers his head, feeling his face burning, hearing Till’s heavy steps, hearing the door closing.

Slowly, with awkward movements, forcing my achy hands, I take off my t-shirt and, after wiping my face, I start wiping the carpet. But I don’t see the carpet, I don’t see anything; I’m lost in that silence that followed the rage, the war in my soul. And my body starts rocking slowly again, while I’m cleaning something I don’t see - I just know it is there - with that t-shirt on which Till’s cum dripped off my face.

I stand up, I’m shaking. I take off the rest of my clothes and head to the shower. Hot water caresses my naked body, a soothing fluid veil washing off all the dirty remains. I’m resting the side of my head on the wall, letting the water slide along my whole height.

So quiet. So lonely. So calm. So lost. So empty.

“You stupid bitch!”

My shoulder is grabbed. I’m pulled violently out of the water. My face meets that pair of hands that hit me. Richard!

“What the fuck did you do?” His growl shatters my calmness.

“You dirty whore!” I groan back grabbing his shoulders, pushing his body, banging him against the wall.

“You cock sucker!” He yells at me.

The back of his arm hits my face while his other fist punches my stomach, cutting off my breath. But my fingers grab his throat, pulling him down with me as I’m falling on the floor.

“What you made me do, you dirty fuck!” I groan, gasping for air.

“You’re his pet, now?!” He shouts at my face; above me, his eyes are burning like blue flames.

“I used to love you, you bastard!” I yell back, and my head bangs against his forehead. He falls flat near me, and I see blood spreading on his upper lip like a burning red sea, as I turn, rolling above his body.

“Why the fuck did you think I joined you in this shit?” I yell clutching my fingers in his throat.

“Don’t blame me for this!” he hisses, choking under my grip.

“It’s your fucking fault! Who the fuck do you want me to blame?!” I yell again, feeling a sudden awakening between my legs, feeling on my bare skin the touch of his thighs struggling under me.

“If you wouldn’t have wanted it, you wouldn’t have done it!” he growls as my fingers dig deeper in his throat, and my other hand unfastens his belt. “You enjoyed fucking his ass, Christoph!”

He struggles with my hands, all his body twitching and turning. “And now you’re feeling guilty!” he chokes, and I feel all his fibers tightening and stretching under me. “Stop blaming others for what you did, you stupid shit!” he groans, fighting with my hand that’s pulling down his pants. “If you want someone to blame, look in the mirror, you idiot!” he growls, moving his legs, trying to stop my knee pushing open his thighs.

His body – so alive, so shaking, so twitching, so twisting, so fighting against the intrusion of my finger lubing him with my saliva, so struggling against the invasion of that rock hard and stiff cock of mine.

“Scream for me, bitch!” I growl while entering him. “I wanted you all those years, I loved you, you stupid fuck, now I look at you, and you mean nothing to me anymore!” I groan while thrusting inside him, harder, deeper, between those thighs I worshiped and longed so much to kiss and caress. “Nothing!” I whisper with quickened breath. “Nothing,” I repeat, releasing his throat, wrapping my palm around his erect cock. “Nothing,” I moan, thrusting faster, rubbing his cock even faster. “Nothing,” I mutter over his moans, while he cums, whimpering. “Nothing at all,” while my muscles clench between themselves, while my seed is blown inside him, emptying and leaving me with nothing.

I rise slowly to my feet, first my left leg, then the right one. I look at his abandoned body sprawled on the floor. I look at his face – his eyes are closed, he’s still breathing hard and fast, while he wipes the blood with his fingertips.

“It was your own choice, Christoph,” he barely articulates, still gasping for air. “Can’t blame anyone for that, man,” he concludes.

I clench my fist. Yes, it was my own fucking choice. Nobody’s fault, but mine!

“Now leave my room, slut.” I emit this choked growl as I leave the bathroom, heading to the bed.

What a dirty day!

And I need to sleep, I think, as I lay down on sheets, covering my naked body, wishing to fall back into my numbness.

To Be Continued
- 3
- 4
- 5
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Wicked Games