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Improvisation	By : Rina76 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Tokio Hotel Views: 1721 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Georg Listing, Tom Kaulitz, Bill Kaulitz or any members of Tokio Hotel. This story is a complete work of fiction and not true. I don't own this fandom am not making any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
After work, Georg has a shower and washes the styling wax out of his hair and the makeup off his face, dresses in jeans and a blue button-up short-sleeve shirt, slams back some courage in the form of a can of cola shot through with rum and heads straight on over to Tom’s trailer, which is not that far away from his. He raps loudly and waits. There is no answer but the lights are on inside so he raps again and gazes around the lot. A cute Japanese girl walks past, a trainee member of the set design team if he remembers correctly, and smiles at him in greeting so he smiles back, making her go all coy and giggly. If only his smile had the same effect on Tom. If it did, Georg wouldn’t be here right this minute, waiting outside Tom’s door and wondering what, exactly, was going on in the other guy’s dysfunctional mind. Just as he is about to knock again, the door opens and Georg is standing there with his hand poised in mid-air. That hand quickly drops back down to his side when he sees what Tom is wearing.
Or rather, not wearing.
The eighteen year old boy is only covered by a white towel, which Tom is tucking in at the corner. A towel and nothing else. His long blond hair is dripping wet and the droplets fall onto his shoulders, running along the line of his arms and over his chest, leaving shiny tracks on creamy skin. Georg’s eyes can’t help but to follow the drips of water and they lead him right to Tom’s belly and navel, visible above the towel slung around his slim hips. It’s the first time Georg has seen Tom’s bare chest and stomach and it was definitely worth the wait; the kid was hiding a smoking hot body under those baggy outfits.
“Hey, G,” Tom cavalierly greets him, looking a little amused at Georg’s open scrutiny of his scantily-clad form.
Georg closes his gaping mouth, wills his wayward eyes back up to Tom’s face and replies lamely, “Hey.”
There is a moment of awkward silence and then Tom inquires, “You wanna come in?”
“Are you sure?” Georg hesitantly returns. “Looks like you were in the shower.”
Tom shrugs. “I was just getting out anyway. C’mon in.”
Not needing to be asked twice, Georg climbs up the stairs and swivels his head around, the overwhelming messiness of the place the first things that strikes him. On the carpet there are used towels, sneakers separated from their other half and various discarded items of clothing. There are ashtrays overflowing with crushed cigarettes on every flat surface, along with empty drink cans, pizza boxes, CD cases, music magazines and reams of lined paper with scribbling on them, presumably Tom’s song lyrics. An acoustic guitar is leaning against the wall. And the stereo is on, blasting the not-quite-dulcet tones of one of Tom’s worshipped rock bands. It’s pure chaos in here which is not at all surprising to Georg.
“Wow, my trailer IS nicer than yours,” he remarks jokingly.
“Don’t mind all the shit,” Tom mutters and grabs some dirty clothes off the table, hurling them through the open doorway of the bathroom where they land in an untidy pile on the floor. He kicks more stuff into a corner so Georg doesn’t trip on any of it. The whole place reeks of stale smoke with a lingering residue of another, sweeter aroma, reminiscent of perfume. Incense. It’s the same scent Tom has in his hair, something like sandalwood. It’s nice.
“Back in a few seconds,” the teen promises, opening a window to let fresh air in and then disappearing into the bathroom to thread a pair of tube earrings back through both of his empty lobes and a silver semi-circle into his bottom lip, needing the mirror to match jewellery to holes. He screws the ball onto the end of the lip ring to secure it and, feeling more like himself again, comes back into the living area.
“You want a drink?” Tom offers, peering into his refrigerator and drying his hair with one of the towels he picked up from the floor at the same time. “I got orange soda, Coke…no, wait, I drank all of that. Um, I think I have some coffee-flavoured liqueur in here somewhere.” He doesn’t tell Georg that that’s what his girlfriend drinks and he keeps it there especially for Bill.
“No thanks,” Georg replies. “I’m fine.” He hears the fridge door closing. Having duly noted all the clutter and not minding terribly, even though he himself couldn’t stand to live in such a mess, Georg turns around to ask Tom what he came here to ask him.
And gets distracted by the damn towel again.
All he can think of is how Tom is utterly naked under that strip of fluffy material. If they are going to have an adult conversation, it cannot be done while the boy is in such a tempting state of undress.
“Are you going to put some clothes on, Tom?” he says, more of a hint than a question.
“Why?” Tom half-smiles, tosses the towel he has been drying his hair with back onto the carpet and leans against the fridge door in a provocative pose. “You don’t like my body?”
Georg gulps and his Adam’s apple bobs. The answer to that is plain as day. He can’t stop looking at the kid. He drags his eyes away from the bellybutton that he wants to trace with his tongue and makes himself meet Tom’s teasing gaze. He’s not here to ogle the teenager. He’s here to get some definitive answers and steels himself against the other male’s distracting beauty and flirtatiousness.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Georg grits out, feeling a surge of anger at how Tom is treating him. You can’t ridicule someone in the morning and then flirt with them at night. You can’t fuck with people’s heads like that. It’s wrong.
“What? What am I doing?” Tom asks in bemusement. His damp hair is in drastic need of a comb and is all tangled around the sides of his face like a bird’s nest.
“This,” Georg blazes, indicating to the offending towel. “You, standing here half-naked, making a pass at me, when this morning you were positively delighting in pointing out my failings. Did it make you feel good, huh? Do you enjoy making other people feel like shit?”
Georg’s abrupt flare of temper has Tom taken aback. He racks his brain for something he said or did during the day’s shooting. Did he say something about Georg’s acting ability? If he did, it would have only been a joke. He can’t remember anything that might have pissed Georg off like this.
“What the hell are you talkin’ about, Georg? What’d I do this morning?”
“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know,” Georg spits. “The hoodie!”
“The hoodie?” Tom’s face is the picture of total bewilderment.
“The black one. You were wearing the hoodie that I…you know…” Georg is gesturing at Tom’s belly.
“Came on?” Tom supplies helpfully.
“Right,” Georg returns stiffly, feeling his face heat at the reminder. “All right, let’s say it. I came all over your fucking hoodie, and it was extremely fucking humiliating and you had to remind me of it, didn’t you? Like I don’t feel bad enough. I hope you’re happy now, you spiteful little prick.”
Tom frowns at the accusation. “Aw, man. I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I just ran out of stuff to wear. That’s all. I mean, look at this place. Ain’t no other clean tops around.”
Now it’s Georg’s turn to be bewildered. “Y…you mean…?”
“I wasn’t trying to humiliate you, G,” Tom scolds. “Why’d you think I would do somethin’ shitty like that?”
“Because the other night, after I did it, you couldn’t get away from me fast enough, that’s why,” Georg proclaims. “I thought you were…I don’t know…disgusted with me or something. Were you?”
Tom actually laughs. “Fuck, no. I wasn’t disgusted. At all. In fact, I thought it was kinda hot. I’ve never made anyone do that before.” He sounds pleased about it.
Georg shakes his head, as if trying to clear all the puzzling thoughts that are fogging up his brain. “Well, why did you leave so quickly, then?”
Tom lifts his shoulders, appearing a tad foolish. “I dunno. I just got freaked out. You know me. I have no idea what I’m doin’ half the time.”
“Really. You can’t tell.” Georg’s tone is droll. Then he recalls what Tom just said about his little…accident. “Wait? You thought it was ‘kinda hot’?’
Tom smiles slowly with those pierced lips. “Yeah.”
“And you weren’t mocking me this morning?”
“Nope. It’s just a hoodie, dude. If I really wanted to humiliate you, you’d know it.”
“Oh,” Georg says, his vexation dissolving, replaced with befuddled relief. “Oh, well… er…Sorry, then. I was wrong about you and I apologise for calling you a prick.” He shuffles his feet and looks down, feeling very stupid indeed for his monstrous mistake.
“It’s okay,” Tom graciously replies. “So, that’s why you came here? To yell at me about the hoodie?”
“Well, yeah. Mostly,” Georg adds.
“And the other reason?” Tom probes, tightening the towel where it is tucked in, making Georg glance at his abdomen again, the muscles there tight and lean. Tom’s fingers are resting on his thigh, right on the side of his groin.
“Other reason?” Georg parrots dumbly, his brain not functioning properly when in the vicinity of Tom’s bare belly and chest.
“Like, did you come over here to seduce me or something?”
Tom’s eyes are sparkling with mischief, as if he knows precisely how much he is affecting the other guy. Which he does. He sees the way Georg is drooling over him. And it’s so cool. He’s getting that feeling of power again.
“Um…” Georg flounders at the long-haired male’s unusual behaviour. He’s only used to Broody, Scowling Tom, or Aloof, Distant Tom. Flirty, Seductive Tom is new. But not altogether unwelcome.
“Do you… want me to…to seduce you?” Georg asks hesitantly.
“Well, why don’t you try it and find out?” Tom runs the tip of his tongue over his lip-piercing in a thoroughly licentious way.
Georg realizes something. Something that he would have noticed sooner if he hadn’t been so busy perving at Tom’s semi-nude body. He narrows his eyes.
“You’re drunk. Aren’t you?”
Tom grins at him lopsidedly and puts his thumb and his forefinger about half an inch apart. “Only a lil bit.”
Raking his gaze around the trailer again, Georg deduces that all the empty cans littered about the place used to contain coca-cola and there is a two thirds-full bottle of bourbon sitting on the bench top next to the sink. It’s not hard to put two and two together.
“Fuck, Tom. What are you thinking?” he exclaims. “If you show up for work with a hangover - or worse, don’t show up at all - Gustav will bust your balls.”
Tom snorts. “No, he won’t.”
“Oh, yes he will,” Georg declares.
“No, he won’t,” Tom says again, with a confident smile. “Because we don’t have to go to work tomorrow. Public holiday, remember?”
“That’s tomorrow? Shit, I was supposed to meet Andreas and the gang tonight.” Georg looks at the digital clock on Tom’s stereo and groans, realising he’s missed his friends by a couple of hours. “Aw, they would have left by now. Andreas scored us a cabin by this secluded lake and we were gonna go fishing and waterskiing. Dammit. They’re gonna kick my ass for not showing up.”
“So, I got you all to myself tonight, huh?” Tom begins with a wicked grin. “Seeing as you ain’t going anywhere, you wanna have some drinks with me? We can get as fucked up as we want, man. What do you say - you up for it? Or do you have something better to do?”
Georg debates this. He would have had something better to do if he’d remembered to meet his buddies at the designated location but having a brain like a plate of scrambled eggs lately ensured that he completely forgot about their plans. Missing those plans means he has to make new ones, like drinking in a trailer with his co-star. Not as much fun as skiing on water behind a speeding boat or cooking freshly-caught fish on a campfire but what else can he do? Besides, at least if he’s drunk, he and Tom will be on the same level. And maybe, with the help of the alcohol, he can find out once and for all how the boy really feels about him.
“All right,” he sighs. “Make me a drink; I don’t have anything better to do.”
At this news, Tom whoops and gets a clean glass for Georg out of the cupboard, setting it next to his own on the bench.
“Take your shoes off, man. Make yourself at home,” Tom suggests. As Georg does that, Tom pours a substantial amount of bourbon in each glass and then rummages in his fridge.
“Oh, crud. I forgot I’m outta Coke.”
“I could go get some,” Georg volunteers but Tom shushes him.
“Don’t worry, I still got plenty of soda.” He cracks open a can and tips the bubbling orange liquid on top of the amber liquor in the bottom of the glasses. Georg raises his eyebrows at the unorthodox combination.
“You expect me to drink that?”
Taking a tentative sip, Tom grins and hands him a glass. “It’s not bad. Try it.”
With a great deal of trepidation, Georg has a mouthful of the orange brew. He wrinkles his nose. “This tastes like crap, Tom. Seriously.”
“It will still get you drunk,” Tom replies with a smile, as if he’s looking forward to seeing Georg relax and loosen up a bit more. Tom pushes Georg into the padded booth-style seat surrounding the table, brings over the bottle of hard liquor and some more cans of soda and plonks down gracelessly next to him, the towel miraculously staying tucked in. Georg isn’t sure how he’d react if the thing fell off and Tom’s family jewels were suddenly on display. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see what’s underneath; it’s just that he’d prefer to have a bit of foreplay before greeting Tom’s penis.
“Now, this may not be your ideal choice of beverage,” Tom says, “but once you start drinking, you’re not gonna care anymore. Cheers.” He holds his drink up, clunks his glass against Georg’s and then drains half the fizzing liquid in one guzzle.
“Yeah. Cheers,” Georg mutters and grudgingly follows suit. He manages to down the gross orange potion that Tom concocted with only a small grimace of revulsion. Because he hasn’t had anything to eat since lunch, and on top of that can of rum and cola he chugged before coming over to Tom’s trailer, it doesn’t take long for the older male to start feeling tipsy. And with Tom constantly refilling his glass and ordering him to drink it, he is well and truly on the way to becoming completely fucked up, as Tom had eloquently put it. Oddly enough, the bourbon/soda mix starts to taste acceptable after a while. Trust Tom to come up with something weird and inventive like this.
“So, what took you so long, G?”
At Tom’s casual query, Georg swallows the peculiar fusion in his mouth and asks, “What do you mean?”
“To come over here,” Tom says with emphasis, as if Georg should have known instantly what he was talking about. “What took you?”
“You‘ve been waiting for me?” Georg asks in disbelief.
“For seven whole fuckin’ days, dude.”
Georg just stares at him.
“What? What’s that look for?” Tom begins to appear self-conscious.
“You’ve actually been waiting for me to come to your trailer?” Georg asks once more, not sure he heard right.
“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”
“But…but I thought you didn’t want to continue with…with what we started,” the older actor stammers, overcome with the startling disclosure.
“Well, I do.”
“But you stopped me…” Georg says, recalling how Tom grabbed his hand and pushed it away when he reached out to touch the kid.
“Like I said, I was freaked out.” Tom shrugs nonchalantly. “I didn’t want you to do it then. But I do now.”
Georg is speechless for a whole minute. Then he shakes his head in perplexity and announces, “You are the most confounding person I’ve ever met in my entire life. If you wanted to see me so much, Tom, why didn’t you just come over?”
Tom rolls his eyes. “Duh. ‘Cause it was your turn, stupid.”
“My turn?”
“Yeah. I come to your trailer first, and then you are supposed to come to mine, and so on. Except you never showed.”
“Well forgive me, but I haven’t learnt the rules of the world according to Tom Trumper yet,” Georg says in a voice heavy with sarcasm. “Maybe you should write them down for me.”
Tom’s reply is to grin and fill Georg’s glass again. “Drink this and stop being so mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you.” The brunette empties the whole glass in a few gulps and slams it down on the table. “Much.”
“What? Why are you still pissed? I told you I didn’t mean anything by the hoodie,” Tom says in his own defense.
Georg waves away that statement. “Not about the hoodie. I’m talking about the way you exited my trailer the other night. You wouldn’t let me touch you and you didn’t say one word to me before you left. I thought you had rejected me, like you couldn’t stand to be around me anymore after what happened.”
“That’s not why I left,” Tom stresses. “It had nothin’ to do with that, I swear. I wasn’t rejecting you.”
“Well, that’s how I felt. That’s the impression I got. You hurt my fucking feelings, Tom.”
Frowning, Georg stares into his drink as if it is a crystal ball, seeing the little bubbles form on the bottom of the glass and then break free and float to the surface in a never ending cycle. He knows the alcohol has finally taken effect. That’s why he’s being so honest about his emotions. Men are supposed to be macho and not show emotion but Georg’s never been good at that macho thing, whether he’s been drinking or not.
The person who caused Georg’s upset is silent for a short while, and then Tom says regretfully, “Shit. I should have said something; I shouldn’t have just walked out. I’m really sorry, man.”
Georg sighs dramatically and turns to face Tom, who is looking suitably guilty. The older male smiles and there are lines at the corners of his eyes.
“Aw, I forgive you, kid. Just don’t do it again, all right?”
“I’ll try not to,” Tom mumbles, busying himself with pouring another drink. “Wanna refill?”
“Why not?” Georg slides his glass over on the table. “I’m too drunk to notice how awful it tastes now.” The room seems to be swaying like they are in a ship at sea, not a trailer on solid ground, and Georg’s limbs feel like they belong to a rag doll, all floppy and loose. He is very relaxed and his words are beginning to sound less articulate and more intoxicated. Tom is already slurring like a pro.
The blond teenager fills the glass up with both types of beverages, more of the alcoholic one than the other, slides the drink back across to Georg like a bartender and quizzes, “So, what was the second reason you came over here? You never told me.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble, Tom, but it wasn’t to seduce you,” Georg lets him know with a wry grin. “I actually came here to ask you something. Something important. Well, to me it is, anyway.”
Tom is gazing at him, his interest piqued. “So ask.”
Georg sucks in a brave breath and comes out with it. “How do you feel about me? And please be honest; good or bad, I need to know.”
“How do I feel about you?” Tom repeats, stalling for time while he thinks about how to answer that without giving too much away. “Well, put it this way: I like you.”
“You like me?” Georg is both hopeful and slightly disillusioned. “That’s it?”
“No, I mean, I LIKE you,” Tom emphasizes, feeling a blush coming on. “More than I probably should.”
Now definitely hopeful, Georg pries deeper into the response Tom gave him while trying not to put too much pressure on the kid. “Listen, I’m not asking you out right now or anything, Tom, but am I the kind of person you’d possibly consider dating? Like, in the future? If you were single? Hypothetically speaking, would you date me if you could?”
After a pondering pause, Tom slowly replies, “Hypothetically speaking, yes, I would. But it would have to remain a secret thing between us two only. We couldn’t come out as a couple in public.”
“Why not?” Georg creases his forehead questioningly. “Are you concerned about what people would say?”
“I don’t give a fuck about anyone else’s opinion,” Tom snorts. “You’re a pretty big celebrity, Georg. I just wouldn’t want the paparazzi following us around, taking pictures of us together everywhere we go.”
“I wouldn’t want that either,” Georg concurs, thinking that for their own well-being they probably should keep their relationship private, if they ever actually have one, that is.
“What about my age?”
Tom shrugs. “What about it?”
“Well, I’m twenty five.” This is something that worries Georg somewhat. Seven years age difference may not be much to some people but it might matter to Tom who is still only eighteen. “If we were to date – and this is still purely hypothetical – are you sure my age would not be a problem?”
“It wouldn’t be. I don’t even think about how old you are.” Tom closely regards his brown-haired co-star. “I just think you’re fucking hot.”
After he lets that revealing piece of information slip out, Tom ducks his head and hides behind his hair, unable to believe he said that in front of Georg. He contemplates saying he was only joking, but it’s too late to go back on his words now. Anyway, it’s true. Georg is undeniably genetically blessed. There’s the athletic tanned body, the flashing white teeth and the deep ocean-green eyes, their tone even more saturated by the blue shirt he is wearing, like seawater reflecting the sky. From the manly brows to the chiselled angles of his face, to the lines scored across his forehead, to the firmly-set lips, to the crescent-shaped grooves on either side of his mouth, right down to his pointed nose, there’s not one part of Georg that Tom doesn’t admire. His unique features are too sharp to be called pretty, but he’s still one of the sexiest guys Tom’s ever seen. However, he didn’t have to say it out loud. Avoiding the older actor’s keen gaze, Tom winces, thinking that Georg is going to laugh at him for saying such a lame thing.
But Georg doesn’t laugh. He just says, “Really?” in a delighted tone of voice. When Tom doesn’t take back the compliment, Georg grins widely. Tom thinks he’s hot! Georg has had hundreds of girls tell him that in the past, both in letters and right to his face, but the knowledge that Tom just said it thrills him like nothing else. He can’t stop grinning.
“Thanks, kid. That’s the most flattering praise I’ve ever gotten.”
The second male’s reply is a short, self-conscious, “Whatever.” He’s still hiding behind the long tangles of his hair.
“Don’t hide from me, Tom. I’m not mocking you,” Georg cajoles, gently moving aside a section of slightly-damp blond locks. “C’mon, look at me. Show me those pretty eyes.”
When the other boy reluctantly turns to him, Georg feels his heart skip a beat. It’s just like when he saw Tom for the very first time. Peeking back at him are two captivating uptilted pools of dark chocolate, offset by thick sweeping lashes. Tom’s nose is straight and perfect. Those pierced lips are so soft and full, they look like they would bleed clear gel if you made a cut in them, like the fleshy leaves of a succulent plant. With the heart shape that his forehead, cheeks, jaw and chin taper down to create, the teen’s features are lovely and feminine and strong and masculine both at once.
“My God, you’re beautiful,” Georg breathes, and the words come directly from the depths of his soul.
“Shut up,” Tom says quietly.
“But you are. And I don’t just mean on the outside either. You’re beautiful here too,” Georg replies softly, laying his hand on Tom’s chest, right over his heart.
“I said: shut up,” Tom repeats and drags Georg’s hand away.
The older male frowns. “I’m not messing with you, Tom. I mean it. You’re-”
Tom abruptly leans over and slants his lips against Georg’s, stopping him from completing that sentence. It is a firm, aggressive close-mouthed kiss. Tom pulls back, looks him squarely in the eyes and growls, “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”
“Okay. Shutting up,” Georg utters meekly, the kiss catching him unawares, delighting him and intimidating him at the same time. He doesn’t know why Tom can’t accept a compliment like a normal person but for the time being, Georg will keep his thoughts about the boy’s beauty to himself.
The acclaimed actor excuses himself and goes to Tom’s bathroom to siphon off some of the copious liquid he has ingested in such a short period of time. He almost expects his urine to be orange like the soda he has been drinking but it isn’t. When he returns, Tom has a white filter between his lips. The teenager wordlessly offers the packet of cigarettes to Georg, who accepts one, even though most people don’t know he is a smoker. He just does it cautiously, making sure he’s not photographed so he doesn’t influence his young fans to take up the bad habit. Tom lights up with a match and puffs out a grey cloud. He lights Georg’s cigarette for him before shaking the match out and letting the small burnt stick fall into a glass ashtray buried under a pile of used butts in the middle of the table. They smoke in silence for a minute or so. Well, relative silence, not counting the sound of some rock track thumping from the stereo system. The interior of the trailer rapidly becomes hazy with the combined effects of two people smoking at once.
“So, how do you feel about ME, Listing?”
Tom’s unforeseen question makes Georg look up. Tom is feigning great interest in the cherry end of his smoke. He blows on it to make it glow brighter and the smouldering tobacco eats away at the paper it is encased in like a tree being ringbarked.
Georg draws on his cigarette, takes it out of his mouth and exhales toward the roof. “I just told you.”
Tom humphs. “You said I was beautiful. That doesn’t mean anything to me. I hate it when people focus on appearances. It’s all superficial shit.”
“I hear you,” Georg agrees. “But I also said you were beautiful on the inside. That’s gotta mean something. How many people tell you that, huh?”
After a pause, during which he drags on his cigarette and releases a stream of smoke out of the side of his mouth, Tom mumbles, “You’d be the first.”
Georg taps his ash on top of the other ashes, used butts and burnt matches that are forming a pyramid in the centre of the table top and quips cheekily, “I hope to be the first for a few other things, if you know what I’m sayin’.”
Against his will, Tom’s lips curve up at the corners. “You’re a bit too sure of yourself there, old man.”
“Old man?” Georg retorts. “That’s rich, coming from a punk kid with piercings and long hair. Anyway, it’s not age I’ve got on you, but experience. I scored my first television commercial while you were still pooping your pants and stuffing crayons up your nose. How long did it take YOU to get a job?”
“Fuck you,” Tom lazily rebounds.
“If you want,” the short-haired actor can’t stop himself from raunchily tossing back.
It takes Tom a few ticks of the clock to get what Georg means but when he does, his dark eyebrows rise up that far they almost disappear under his hairline. “What?”
“You heard me. We’ll have to do it sooner or later, Tom. I mean, you’re already half-naked so why not sooner?”
After the proposal is reinforced by Georg, Tom blinks. “Like, tonight? Right now?”
“Sure. Let’s go,” Georg challenges, tilting his head toward the bedroom. “You can be on top if you prefer.”
“Are you serious?” Tom squints at him.
“I’m dead serious. Are you?”
They get into what looks like an extreme staring contest, but they are only attempting to decipher if this is just harmless alcohol-bolstered bantering or if they really mean it. Finding the whole thing suddenly ridiculous, Tom can’t hold in a juvenile snigger. Georg’s lips twitch and he soon joins him. They laugh and jostle each other like jocks in the change room after a winning game.
“Damn. We are so fucking drunk,” Georg enunciates with a large grin, causing small hollows to pop into his cheeks.
“I knew you weren’t serious,” Tom drawls. “Asshole.” With the hand he’s holding his cigarette in, the boy punches Georg on the arm and dumps ash on his blue shirt.
“Ow.” The brunette rubs his tenderised bicep and brushes the ash away. “Who says I wasn’t serious? You’re the one who wasn’t serious, Mr. I-freak-out-every-time-someone-touches-me.”
“Screw you.” Tom flips him off, the middle finger raised and the thumb extended in a universal gesture of rebellion.
“Okay,” Georg says with a straight face. It doesn’t last long and they both break out into drunken laughter again.
“Do you know you get these little dimple-things in your cheeks when you smile?” Tom enquires, poking one of them with the tip of his finger.
Batting the other boy’s hand away, Georg glowers, not very convincingly, and says, “Yes, and I hate them so don’t point them out.”
“But they’re cute!”
“Are not!”
“Are too, old man,” Tom jibes, poking him again in the cheek. Resignedly accepting that this is going to be his new nickname from now on, Georg watches as Tom drains the remainder of his drink and pours them both fresh ones. Tallying up a rough estimate in his head, Georg equates with Tom’s heavy-handed servings that would make around eight to ten standard drinks he himself has consumed in the past hour. God knows how many Tom’s had. Georg decides that this is going to be his last one or else he’ll be throwing his guts up later which is not what he has in mind for the rest of the night. What he has in mind involves the removal of that towel around Tom’s waist, provided Tom doesn’t bolt out of there again like a skittish deer in the woods. But this is Tom’s trailer so where’s he going to go? Nowhere, that’s where. Georg likes the idea of Tom being trapped in here with him. He likes that idea a lot.
“Argh, I can’t stand it anymore. I gotta do this,” Georg blurts out, taking Tom’s face in his hands. Opening his eyes wide, Tom catches his breath, thinking he is going be kissed but Georg just weaves his fingers through the brambles in Tom’s messy hair, carefully untangling the knots until he can comb through it without snagging. He sleeks Tom’s blond mane back neatly; Tom makes a noise of irritation and smacks Georg’s fussing hands away.
“What? It was buggin’ me,” Georg tells him, thinking that the kid’s hair is far too pretty to stay scruffy and uncombed.
Tom soon gets over the unwanted grooming when he hears the opening notes of his favourite rock tune throbbing out of the speakers of the sound system.
“Hey, it’s my song,” Tom exclaims and jumps from his seat, turning the volume on the stereo up a few notches. He grabs his glass with one hand and Georg’s bicep with the other.
“C’mon, get up and dance with me,” Tom urges, tugging insistently at the second guy’s arm.
“I don’t know how to dance,” Georg protests but Tom is already forcing him to his feet.
“Bullshit, you fucking liar. You do so. I saw you dancing with Hannah when we went clubbing that time so now you can do it with me.”
Georg groans. “Aw, do I have to?”
Tom just grins and pulls him in, slinging an arm around Georg’s neck while holding his drink up out of harm’s way with his other hand. A lit cigarette is dangling between Tom’s first two fingers. He starts moving his body, rolling his hips and shoulders in an interconnected, wave-like motion.
“Dance dirty with me, Georg,” he purrs, becoming Flirty, Seductive Tom again. Not objecting to the swift personality change in the slightest, Georg’s hands snake around Tom’s trim waist and they begin to move as one, finding a rhythm to go along with the rock beat thumping out of the speakers. As they dance close together, the two co-stars are gazing into each other’s eyes, feeling a slow burning heat beginning to simmer between them. The way Tom sensually undulates his body against Georg’s is unbelievably sexy and makes the older actor think lewd, naughty thoughts. Under his palms, and the warmth of Tom’s skin, Georg can feel the oblique muscles in Tom’s waist tightening and relaxing as the blond boy spirals his hips, his towel-clad thigh brushing against Georg’s groin. Georg feels a little embarrassed when he springs into an erection, but Tom just smiles. That’s the whole idea of dirty dancing, for certain body parts to get stimulated and the blood to get pumping.
Georg is entertaining the idea of dancing Tom right into the bedroom when the younger male suddenly swings them both around in a circle and accidentally splashes his drink over the kitchen seat, extinguishing his own cigarette in the process with the orange tidal wave.
“Shit!” Tom lets go of Georg and hastily sets his now empty glass down on the bench, flicks his sodden cigarette into the sink and bends to pick up the towel he had been drying his hair with earlier. Kneeling on the padded seat, he starts to mop up the puddle before it soaks in too much. There is a maid who regularly comes to clean his trailer but she won’t be here for a couple of days and he can’t leave sticky soda sitting there for that long or it will attract ants or bees or something.
As the blond teen is leaning over, mopping the wet cushions, Georg is drawn to gaze at Tom’s leanly muscled shoulders and bare back, his eyes soon wandering downwards. The shape of firm buttocks is clearly visible under the towel Tom is wearing and Georg can’t resist the tempting sight of such a gorgeous boy on his knees. He crouches down on the floor behind Tom, cradles the kid’s narrow hips in his palms and places a kiss on the flawless creamy skin just above the edge of the terry-towelling material, right at the base of Tom’s spinal column. Tom instantaneously stops what he is doing, forgetting about his task of cleaning up the spilled drink. Georg’s lips are soft and moist, as if he just licked them. Tom receives a second, strangely intimate kiss on his lumbar region and he inhales quickly, waiting for Georg to do it again. And he is not disappointed. Georg does it lots more times, pressing his warm mouth all over Tom’s lower back, adding some enticing flicks of his tongue for good measure.
Shuddering, Tom moans, “Not fair.”
Georg pauses long enough to query, “What’s not fair?”
“What you’re doing to me.” Tom lets his head fall forward with a sigh. “You have discovered my hot-spot. You know you’ve rendered me powerless now, don’t you?”
Georg doesn’t answer, he just smiles and licks a wet line halfway up Tom’s spine, making the teenager close his eyes in bliss.
“You bastard,” Tom mumbles, not really mad, just pretending to be. He kneels there on all fours on the kitchen seat with his head hanging down, unable to move with his erogenous zone being attended to, like a puppy when its owner finds that one ultra-sensitive patch of skin amongst all that fur and scratches it. Except Georg’s not scratching; he’s kissing and licking and oh, it’s heavenly. Bill used to kiss him there but she hasn’t done that for a while and Tom only now realises how much he had missed it. Even though he doesn’t have a tongue-stud like Bill does, Georg is doing a very good job of it, good enough to make Tom forget about his raven-haired girlfriend back at home. Tonight, there’s only this trailer and there’s only Georg Listing. He feels the older man’s hands slide down to briefly cup his covered buttocks, squeezing them softly and sliding back up again. Strong yet gentle fingers ease the towel right down to Tom’s crack and then a hot tongue leisurely trails up his tailbone. Tom shivers in both pleasure and fearful apprehension. He is aware that Georg could, at any given moment, whip that towel off and he’d be bare-butt naked and in a totally vulnerable position, but he can’t budge. He can only moan. As that tantalising tongue comes precariously close to the cleft at the top of his ass, he shivers again, undecided if he wants Georg to go there or not.
Apparently, he does because he makes a noise of bitter disappointment when he senses Georg pulling away and he turns around pouting. “Dude! Why’d you stop?”
“My knees are dying on me, that’s why,” Georg answers, standing up. There are two audible cracks as his knee joints pop. He wriggles his toes in the cream carpet, not such a good colour for messy Tom, and then holds his hand out to the teenager.
“Come on, let’s go somewhere a little more comfortable.”
Tom snorts. “That sounds like a cheesy pick-up line.”
Georg raises a brow debonairly. “Is it working?”
Tom looks up at him, an excited glint in his drunken chocolate eyes. He grins crookedly and takes Georg’s hand. “Looks like it is, you suave motherfucker.”
Georg smiles and helps Tom up, leading him over to the bed.
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