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Complications Of The Flesh	By : runningnakedinthepark Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 1262 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- 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: Complications Of The Flesh 4/10
Author: Robby a.k.a. Mr. Naked
Rating: NC 17
Pairing: Till/Christoph, mentions of Till/Flake
Disclaimer: Never happened.
Beta: hannelore_k
Author’s note: Based on lisa_thecat’s wonderful “Dirty Story”.

IV.

*And I don’t get too attached too much anymore; it’s a different world…*

I had these moments when I was thinking of that old movie about the old, rich guy falling in love with a cabaret dancer. I thought that it was about me.

If I didn’t find him the next day, I went there the following day, and cruised the streets until I spotted him. On his corner, waiting to pick up a client. I didn’t ask him what happened. I felt too stupid for that. And I didn’t want to spoil my chances of seeing him again.

Why?

I got to see him then in the following days though. For a few hours a day he was mine. And, for my money, he would smile, he would cuddle with me, he would do anything I asked. I was already thinking to buy him stuff, to help him to get out of the situation he was in (I assumed it wasn’t quite the most desirable thing in the world to sell your body like that, risking so much). I was already thinking of asking him to see me in other circumstances as well, even to come to my house.

There were the days when he didn’t show up. We didn’t actually have set a place and an hour. I would just drive around until I found him. Some evenings though, I wouldn’t find him. It was the worst. It was as if I had inside me this creature made of fire that was fighting to rip me in two. It was consuming my heart and my lungs; it was making me feel I was slowly losing my mind. That was when I was seriously thinking to take further this thing I had with him, to talk to him and ask him to accept my help.

“You weren’t on your corner yesterday.”

“I didn’t feel like going out,” he would reply, invariably. “I had enough money.”

Was this the truth? Who was I to keep account, anyway? He didn’t owe me any answer; he didn’t owe me anything as a matter of fact. But did it even occur to him how I felt in those days, in those hours, like I’d been thrown inside the cage with my own most fierce demons, and those demons would rip my flesh piece by piece?

During our first encounters he would call me pet names. I assumed that this made his clients feel good. The short-term illusion that they were the “stud”, “baby” or “love” of this gorgeous guy. I asked him to stop.

“How should I call you then?”

I gave him my name. My real name. Till.

He didn’t comment at all. I wondered if he thought that this was my real name or I had this kink about being called this way.

I always wonder too much about too many things, I know.

It was as if I was living only for those few hours I got to spend with him almost daily. To have his hands touching me, his lips kissing along my body, his blue eyes to look at me, and only at me. That smile, the way he’d lower his head when he was starting to smile, as if a bit embarrassed, the dimples he made when he smiled.

To have him on top of me, as we lay on the bed, while he kissed along my chest and abdomen.

I loved running my fingers through his dark, curly locks as he licked and suckled on my skin.

I also kept wondering, and soon the questions started crawling out. I wanted to know more about him, how did he get to be a callboy, couldn’t he find something less risky to do for a living, and such.

He took me in his mouth, the sudden wet touch of his tongue surprising me. I curled my fingers through his hair and pulled gently.

“You’d rather suck my cock than talk about yourself, eh?”

He laughed quietly, but didn’t let go of my cock.

“You know, it doesn’t always have to be sex,” I said, but he continued licking along my member. “I just enjoy being with you.”

He straightened his back, rose to my level and placed a kiss right above my left nipple. Then he stretched out and got the condom and the lube.

I grabbed his shoulders and made him look at me.

“I mean it,” I said looking directly into his blue eyes.

His blue eyes… He turned his glance to the right. He turned his glance to the small pack between his fingers. He kept his glance lowered as he ripped the condom wrapper. He kept his glance on his hands, as he was rolling the condom over my erection. Then he lifted his head and smiled at me.

“I know,” he said. “But first I’m gonna fuck your cock.”

He lubed himself, and then he coated my member with the oily substance. He straddled me, and carefully slid my member into him

I leaned my head, trying to look into his eyes. What was I looking for? I couldn’t read anything on such a beautiful face! Beauty is the perfect mask behind which anything can hide.

Christoph rode me like a cowboy from hell. My hands held him and squeezed his lean thighs, my nails digging into his perfect flesh. His abs were contracting in a fascinating way as he did that obscene, yet graceful dance on top of me. He sighed and moaned; my glance left his face and I stared at his huge erection thinking that I wanted to take care of that too. And I did.

I came, long, inside him. He leaned over me, and then slid by my side in bed – he was just as exhausted and sweaty as I was. I started kissing his chest, and then went lower, over his flat abdomen. My breathing was still rushed, I was still a bit dizzy, but I continued suckling on his skin until I got between his thighs. Those heavenly thighs that I worshiped so much. My shrine. I could have started a new religion based on my devotion to those smooth, white thighs.

I wanted him to feel good; I wanted to see him cumming – fighting that battle with his own body and then having to surrender with long moans. I thought of using a condom, but I dismissed the thought. I wanted to taste him. So I started kissing, licking and suckling over the skin of his erect member. Each of his squirms under me, as a new trace of pleasure crossed his body, each slight breath and sigh, his fingers running through and tugging at my hair, all these were just stirring me more. And when he came, I swallowed, again thinking that I was risking big time, but I didn’t care.

Then I lay by his side, took him in my arms and listened to the quickened pace of his heart. I felt good. I was at peace. It didn’t matter about the poor and dirty motel room we were in; the bed with a headboard of iron, resembling rather a bed in a hospital 50 years ago, or the stained sheets. Having him there, his warmth, his silky skin I was drawing invisible patterns on, his eyes and his beauty, that was enough for me.

But what about him?

“It felt so good,” he whispered staring at the ceiling. “You’re so good,” he added.

I wondered how much his compliments were worth.

“I have to go.”

He sat up, breaking the veil of warmth embracing our cuddled bodies. I felt cold and covered in sticky sweat.

To be continued...
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Complications Of The Flesh