Adult-FanFiction.org : Celebrity

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
- 3
- 4
- 5
A/N: Thank you to Darius for his awesome review! Nice to know guys like my story too ^^

Everyone else who's following the fic, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy this update.

.........

Chapter 4. Shime waza.

When I go to my media booth and sit down in front of the screen to observe their reunion, they’re still hugging, Tom looking like he’s never letting go of Bill ever again. He doesn’t even let go to try and open the door. I guess he knew he was going to be my captive the moment I grabbed the gun out of his hand. He probably even knew it when he got into my van. I have no doubt that he’ll attempt to escape later, probably with much violence and anger, but right now Tom is only focused on the fact that he’s finally back with his beloved missing twin. The bigger boy is stroking Bill’s hair with a shaking hand, pressing his face into it and drinking in the scent of his younger brother as if reassuring himself that he’s really holding Bill, that he’s not just a dream or a figment of Tom’s imagination, that Bill’s not dead or murdered as he feared but living and breathing, right here with him, solid and real and warm.

Eventually Tom has to let go but he only draws back far enough to look at Bill’s eyes, Tom cradling the second teen’s fine face in his protective hands.

“Gott sei Dank, du lebst noch. Wie geht´s dir? Bist du okay?” (Thank God you’re alive. How are you? Are you all right?)

Nodding at Tom’s concerned queries, Bill blinks back his tears, his lower lip quivering before he bites on it. “Mir geht´s gut.” (I’m fine)

“Bist du sicher?” (Are you sure?)

With me gone, they’re speaking entirely in German but I can understand their words as easily as if they were talking in English.

“I’m fine, Tom.” Still trembling, Bill reaches up as Tom is holding his face, curling slim hands around his older sibling’s forearms, the smaller boy drawing on Tom’s strength and taking comfort in his presence. “Especially now that you’re here.”

Briefly touching his forehead to Bill’s, Tom asks worriedly, “You knew I’d come for you, didn’t you? You didn’t doubt me?”

“Of course not. I know you’d have gotten here sooner if you could.”

“I’ve been trying to call you all night. I left you fuck-loads of messages.”

“I know. I wanted to ring you back but he wouldn’t let me until today.” Pulling back with a slight frown, Bill queries, “By the way, when did you get a gun?”

Tom grits his jaw, making a small muscle pop out. “When I knew you were being held prisoner by some disgusting, pig-fucking paedophile.”

His furious gaze turns troubled as he stares into Bill’s eyes searchingly. “Has he hurt you, Bill? Has he touched you? Has he...?”

Tom stops and gulps uneasily, unable to say it.

Shaking his head, Bill assures, “He hasn’t. I’m okay.”

Moving Bill’s face to the side to inspect it, Tom scowls at the sight of the younger boy’s purpled cheek. “You’re bruised. Did he hit you?”

“Yes. But only once. Only because I bit him.”

Lifting his eyebrows in astonishment, Tom repeats, “You BIT him?”

“He forced me to eat waffles and I bit him on the finger. I made him bleed.”

Bill sounds awfully proud of this accomplishment and Tom slowly grins, ruffling his twin’s hair. “That’s my brave Billa. I guess those new teeth of yours are good for something besides looking sparkly, huh?”

Bill grins back, displaying his flawlessly white, flawlessly straight dental enhancements. It’s the first time he’s smiled since he’s been in here and it makes him look so much prettier and more appealing. He’d only smile like that for his brother, though. Not for me.

Growing serious again, Tom asks, “So, what does he want? Cash? A ransom?”

“No, I offered him that and he refused. I don’t know what he wants. He wouldn’t tell me.”

“All men want one of two things. Money or sex,” Tom states grimly. “It’s gotta be one of them.”

“It’s not sex. He hasn’t even touched me in that way. He’s has plenty of opportunity to but he hasn’t even tried. And if it’s not money...” Bill shrugs, not able to explain my motivation.

“So, when are the police coming, Tom?”

Bill’s expectant, optimistic gaze causes Tom to glance down uncomfortably.

“Um...they’re not.”

“What do you mean they’re not?” Bill is simply aghast at this news. “Why not? Didn’t you call them?”

“When you first disappeared, I did. I went down to the station and everything. But they told me to wait another twenty-four hours and then officially report you missing. I don’t think they took me seriously, particularly when they realised we were from Tokio Hotel. Judgemental fuckers.” Tom takes a moment to fume. “Anyway, then HE called, told me to take back my claims and say that I found you and that you were fine. He said I couldn’t tell the cops anything or he’d kill you.”

Blinking, Bill asks, “He actually said that? He’d kill me?”

“Well, not in those exact words. He said I’d never hear your voice again but that’s pretty much the same thing, right?” Tom insists. “I couldn’t risk it, Bill. I couldn’t risk him harming you.”

“But now we’re both trapped down here and nobody is coming for us!” Bill goes ashen, an even more terrible thought striking him. “Oh Gott...Does mom know?”

“No. I haven’t told her anything. I didn’t want her to worry.” The deep love and concern that Tom has for his mother is plain to see. “You know how she is. It’d destroy her.”

Slowly nodding, Bill agrees, “Yeah. It’s better that she doesn’t know what’s going on. Have you spoken to Georg or Gustav? Anyone?”

“Yesterday, I asked the guys if they’d heard from you and told them to call me straight away if they did, but I didn’t tell them you’d been kidnapped. I didn’t want anyone to panic. Nobody knows, Bill. We’re on our own,” Tom gravely informs him, hastily adding at his brother’s fallen face, “But don’t worry. I’ll get us out of here.”

“How? This place is like a jail block. He’s got locks everywhere and you can’t open them without a password.”

“I’ll find a way. Trust me.” Tom gazes reassuringly into Bill’s worried eyes. “I’ll get you home before Cujo out there even knows we’ve gone.”

“Koji,” Bill reminds him.

“Whatever,” Tom dismisses. “There’s always a way out of any situation, Bill, and I’m not gonna stop until I find it, all right?”

“All right.” The younger one sounds doubtful but willing to let Tom try. “And don’t bother with the phone,” he adds when he sees Tom eyeing it off. “Trust me, I tried dialling out already and you can’t. He can call us, and apparently we can contact him by pressing the green button but that’s it. There’s no outside line.”

Even though he believes his brother, Tom still has to check for himself and pick up the receiver, a look of disappointment sweeping across his features when he hears the recurring beep-beep-beep of the engaged tone. Forgetting the useless telephone, Tom starts testing the doors of their enclosure, rattling the steel handle on the main entry but it doesn’t budge one way or the other and it won’t unless the right password is put in. He crosses the floor and heads over to the other door on the wall, the one near the couch that leads to the storage room beside them. As there’s no keypad on this door Tom must think he’s got a better chance of opening it but no matter how hard he yanks on the handle it doesn’t move.

“Already tried that, Tom. It won’t open. It’s locked from the other side.”

Squinting into the crack between the door and the wall Tom sees that Bill is correct so he goes over to the kitchen and ransacks the drawers, looking for something to jam into the gap and jemmy the lock with but I haven’t left anything in the room he could use to escape, not even so much as a bread knife. The only cutlery in there is all plastic and therefore useless to him. He abandons his search and returns to the storage room door, turning sideways and slamming his shoulder against it a few times but he has seriously underestimated the strength of my metal deadbolt and it will take more than a couple of blows to bust it. Unless he can turn into The Hulk, he’s not getting through it.

“Forget it,” Bill drones, knowing that Tom’s efforts are totally ineffectual and that he’s just wasting his time. “There’s only an empty room behind it anyway.”

“Yeah, that’s what HE says,” Tom grunts, still shouldering the door with dull thuds. Eventually, he gives up, rubbing his sore shoulder and going back to the main entrance, deciding that is the more promising one to work on. Like Bill did with the one above the corridor stairs, Tom has a few attempts at punching in numbers on the keypad but the constantly blinking red light signals quite clearly that access is denied to him.

“You’ll never guess it.”

“Shut up, Bill. You’re not helping,” Tom warns, starting to lose his patience. He inspects the keypad from all angles and gets his thumbnail under the corner of it, prying the plastic cover off and exposing the circuitry underneath.

“What if I short-circuit it? Wonder if that’ll make the door come open?”

Wearing a nervous expression, Bill comes up behind his brother, peering over his shoulder and watching as the older twin starts fiddling with wires.

“Be careful! Don’t electrocute yourself,” Bill cautions him in unease.

“Don’t worry; I rewired the stereo in my car. I know what I’m doing,” Tom mutters, selecting one of the plastic-coated wires and pulling it loose. He immediately gets zapped, a small crack and spark of light shooting from the exposed end of the wire and connecting with his finger, making him jerk his arm back and yelp in surprise. Bill squeals in fright, scurrying back behind the safety of the couch, peeking over it with startled eyes.

“Fuck! Tom, are you okay?”

Tom hisses and shakes his tingling hand. I thought he’d try to do exactly this so I rigged the keypad up in advance with a harmless current, just enough to give him a shock and deter him from messing with the electronics.

He glares angrily at the keypad, as if it’s the keypad’s fault he got shocked. “Son of a bitch piece of shit!”

“No, don’t!” Bill exclaims as an infuriated Tom picks up a metal-legged chair with a wooden back and vengefully slams it against the naked keypad, crushing it and sending sparks and bits of plastic flying into the air before it dies, the little red light fading to blank. It’s completely destroyed but the door still doesn’t open and this pisses Tom off even more, the dreadlocked teen repeatedly bashing the chair against the rectangular steel obstacle in his way, all the while loudly venting his frustration, shouting and swearing in German, cursing me and demanding that I give his gun back.

“Tom, quit it! He’ll hear you!”

Ignoring his brother’s anxious urgings, Tom carries on yelling, smashing and crashing. The chair is getting bent and twisted out of shape, scratches and small dents appearing in the surface of the door. It’s really quite pointless and all his aggressive display is doing is stressing poor Bill out and ruining a nice piece of furniture.

I give a displeased sigh, exiting the viewing booth and making the short walk down the corridor to their room. Using the good keypad outside their door, I put in my Personal Identification Number and it unlocks, swinging open. When he sees me Tom pauses, the busted-up chair held over his head, poised for another blow. He’s breathing heavily and wild-eyed, pumped on adrenaline and violence like a rioting prison inmate.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I scold. “This isn’t Alcatraz, you destructive little punk. Control yourself.”

“Fuck you,” he spits, lifting the chair higher, preparing to hurl it at me.

“Go on,” I say threateningly. “Try it. See how far you get.”

“For God’s sakes, Tom, put it down!” Bill pleads from the sidelines but his older brother is too uncontrollably angry to listen.

He swings at me.

I wait for the right moment and then flash into action, kicking the chair out of Tom’s hands and using his stumbling momentum as an opportunity to grab him, spin him around and pull him back-first against my chest, my arm encircling his throat. I hook my left leg around his, keeping him off balance and preventing him from trying to kick me or stomp on my foot. I’ve got Tom in an unbreakable head-lock and I clench my arm, pressing the knob of my wrist-bone into the side of his neck, just under his ear, holding it in place with my other hand.

I start to squeeze.

“NO!” Bill screams in helpless horror, rushing over and tugging ineffectively on my arm. “Let him go! Don’t kill him!”

“I’m not. Stay back, please,” I instruct, pushing Bill away with my elbow before tightening my grip around Tom’s neck. The older boy struggles and panics, clawing at my arm, trying to get it off. Though it may look violent, I’m not hurting or strangling him. He can still breathe and is panting as he fights against me in unsuccessful desperation. The panting turns to hyperventilating as he feels himself growing dizzy and light-headed, his vision blurring. He begins to thrash in sheer terror, doubling his efforts to get free. He’s so scared now, he’s actually whimpering.

“Shh, I won’t hurt you,” I murmur in his ear, holding him still. “Relax, Tom. You’ll be all right. Just go to sleep.”

He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him. He thinks he’s dying but in fact I’m simply applying pressure to the two carotid arteries either side of his throat, a quick and safe way to neutralise an opponent. I’m not even squeezing that hard. It’s about knowing the right pressure points to squeeze against. In approximately six seconds Tom goes limp in my arms, completely losing consciousness, just a floppy bundle of limbs and baggy clothes.

“Oh my God! What have you done to him?” Bill’s voice is quite a lot higher than normal in his frantic, agitated state. “What did you DO?!”

“Calm down. He’s perfectly fine,” I assure Bill as I carefully lower his unconscious brother to the floor, unhooking my arm from around his throat. “I just used a sleeper hold on him to make him pass out. In Judo it’s called ‘shime waza’. He’ll wake up in a minute or so.”

Turning Tom over onto his back, I quickly scoop him up, his head tipped back and long dreadlocks hanging over my arm, blond tips nearly touching the ground, the male bump of his larynx showing prominently beneath his arched neck. He’s a lot heavier than Bill, his body firm with muscle beneath the layers of his loose clothing. As I carry him over to the bed, the younger twin is right beside me, fretting all the way.

Lying Tom on the mattress, I kneel beside him, checking his vitals. All normal, his chest rising and falling with regular breaths. Still greatly alarmed, Bill clambers next to his sleeping sibling, gazing down at Tom’s closed eyes and slightly slack mouth, Bill touching the other boy’s face in distress.

“He’s just asleep?”

“Just asleep. He’ll be fine. Trust me.”

I gently take Bill’s hand and move it down, placing it on Tom’s neck, just under the other boy’s jaw.

“See? Feel his pulse? I haven’t killed him.”

Feeling his twin’s strong heartbeat beneath his fingers, Bill’s anxiety eases a little.

“That vein right there – there’s another one on the other side of his throat,” I explain. “I just pressed on them both at the same time. Doing that stopped blood from reaching Tom’s brain for a few moments. Basically, I just forced him to faint. I know it looks scary but it’s harmless.”

“Will he wake up?”

“Absolutely. I’ve done this many times before. Sometimes they wake in two seconds, sometimes two minutes. It varies from person to person. But they always awaken with no harm done. It would have been a very frightening experience for him, however,” I warn Bill, “and he’ll be disoriented so you might have to reassure Tom when he wakes up. Think you can do that?”

Nodding, Bill keeps staring down at Tom’s face, watching for signs of returning consciousness. The other teen’s leg twitches and his eyelids flicker. He’ll be awake any moment now and I don’t want to be in the room when he does. I’ve heard enough swearing for one day.

“I should go. Tell your brother that I regret having to do that but he was out of control and needed to be subdued. Also, tell him not to destroy my property anymore or I’ll handcuff him to the bed.”

“I’m sorry,” Bill apologises on his disobedient sibling’s behalf. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t do it again.”

I nod, getting up and exiting the room, locking the dented door behind me. Once in the media booth, I sit down just in time to witness Tom waking up. It’s not like waking up in the morning, when a person is usually all slow and sluggish like a groundhog coming out of hibernation. It’s quite the opposite, Tom jerking back into instant life as if jabbed in the heart with a needle full of adrenaline. To him it’s as though only a split second has passed and he still thinks he’s fighting against me. He roughly shoves and pushes at Bill beside him, not realising it’s his own twin.

“It’s me! Tom, it’s only me,” Bill yelps, trying to ward off Tom’s flailing arms. “He’s gone. Koji’s gone!”

Coming back to his senses, Tom dazedly sits up on the bed, blinking around at the empty room. “Where did he go?”

“I dunno. Out.”

Scratching at his jumbled dreads in confusion, Tom asks, “What the fuck happened? Why am I on the bed?”

“He pulled a Judo move on you. It’s called ‘shime waza’. He made you pass out for a minute or so. Don’t you remember him squeezing your neck?”

“Oh.” Rubbing his throat uncomfortably, Tom obviously remembers that part. “That was a Judo move? I thought he was just choking me.”

Replaying my statements, Bill elaborates, “He said he regretted having to do that but he needed to subdue you.”

“Subdue me? It felt like he was trying to kill me.” Tom swings his legs over the side of the bed and lets out a shaky, angry breath. “Asshole.”

Apologetically, Bill mentions, “Well, you were kinda freaking out.”

“We’re locked in a fucking basement!” Tom glares at his twin. “I think I have the right to freak out, don’t you?”

Biting his lip, Bill nods, knowing he had his own hysterical freak-out the day before, only when Tom wasn’t there to see it. Tom seems annoyed but he’s just embarrassed. I bet he doesn’t like anyone to see him lose control like that.

“He said what he did was harmless but it would have scared you.” The younger Kaulitz tentatively touches Tom’s shoulder. “Are you all right?

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” Tom returns gruffly, not wanting to admit how terrified he actually was. “Got any smokes?”

“No. He took them all. I haven’t had one since yesterday.” Bill pouts unhappily. “I’m starting to crave nicotine quite intensely.”

“Great. Stuck underground with a psychopath and no damn cigarettes. Some shitty holiday this has turned out to be.” Plonking his chin moodily into his hand, Tom stares dully at the floor for a while. Bill remains silent, giving Tom time to adjust to their captivity, the smaller teenager fidgeting with his own bangs in an attempt to make them sit diagonally across his right eye without any hairspray.

Letting out a heavy sigh, the brooding male eventually glances up and looks across at his long-haired best friend.

“God, it’s good to see you, Bill,” he admits. “When I came out of the restroom in the park and found you gone... when I saw your broken bracelet lying on the ground next to your lit cigarette... my heart just stopped. I knew instantly that something had happened to you. I knew somebody had taken you. But I didn’t know who, or why or where. And I didn’t know what they were going to do to you, if they were gonna hurt you or...”

He halts as his voice cracks, trying to swallow the sudden tightness in his throat.

“I was so fucking scared, Billa,” he shakily whispers, letting his little brother see the paralysing fear he’d faced. “I thought I’d lost you forever. I thought you’d been-”

Tom’s breath hitches and he breaks down like a crumbling wall, dropping his anguished face into his palms, broad shoulders quaking with hoarse sobs, powerless to prevent them from coming out. It surprises me. In all honesty, I had expected Bill to be the one falling apart at their reunion but it’s actually Tom.

“It’s okay, Tomi. I’m okay,” Bill quickly assures him, scooting closer and gathering Tom into his slender arms. Even though Bill was the one who’d been taken, his only concern is for his sobbing sibling, Bill hugging the bigger boy and crooning words of comfort.

“Hush, I’m here. Nothing bad happened to me, Tom. I’m all right.” With a gentle, loving hand Bill strokes soothingly over the other’s dreadlocked head. “I’m here with you now. I won’t leave you. I’ll never leave you.”

Bill might be the smaller, more frail-looking twin but right now, he’s the stronger one, supporting his broken-down older brother. By Bill’s automatic reaction, I’m betting he has seen Tom cry before. Maybe not often, but enough to know how to handle the situation and how to calm Tom down. Still uttering comforting assurances, Bill guides Tom to lay down with him on the bed, so that they can embrace fully, curling up to each other like two orphaned possums in a basket, arms and legs entwined. Burying his face in Bill’s neck, tears soaking into the other boy’s black hair, Tom whimpers and hugs Bill back with a neediness and vulnerability he’d never show to anyone else, or in front of anyone else.

In public they are very, very careful not to do anything that might be interpreted the wrong way. Even though they’re identical twins and have the God-given right to be closer than normal people, they barely even touch each other if they know anyone can see them. Even if they start to, even if one of them forgetfully lapses and reaches out to the other, they stop as soon as they realise what they’re doing, not wanting to add fuel to the incest rumours by having one brief moment of innocent intimacy blown out of proportion.

In public, they don’t touch, they don’t hug; they don’t behave like the bonded brothers they are meant to be. Because of this, and their very different dress styles, some people wouldn’t even realise that they’re twins. But in here, alone, where they think nobody is watching...here they can drop the detached act and show just how close they really are and how much they depend on each other.

And I’m the only one who gets to see it.

Finally, Tom stops crying, his cheeks and lashes wet. He sniffles, Bill offering him some tissues from the box on the bedside table so he can wipe his face and nose. Tom’s eyes are all bloodshot and puffy and he seems utterly drained but he still looks heartbreakingly handsome, even in his emotional anguish. Out there in TV land, he always acts so cocky, confident and cheeky that it’s easy to forget he’s only nineteen years old. He comes across as much older and bolder than what he is. But that’s only his guitar-hero persona, an exaggerated depiction of himself, larger than life. When all that boastful showmanship disappears, he’s just an unsure kid, every bit as sensitive and insecure as Bill is. Tom likes to act as though he doesn’t need anyone or anything but he does.

He needs Bill. And Bill needs him right back.

Huddling together and closing their eyes, the two reunited boys continue to lay there, Bill’s fingers entangled in brownish-blond dreadlocks, Tom’s in silky ebony strands, their body poses almost perfectly mirrored on the bed. They don’t talk. They don’t need to. They can sense what the other is feeling without words, without speech, without even conscious thought.

Their arms around each other say everything they need to know.

.........

To be continued...
- 3
- 4
- 5
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Captivation