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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Loud knocking on the metallic door of the trailer wakes Tom up. He groans in annoyance and flicks his blurry eyes towards his digital alarm clock. It’s just past 9.30 a.m., far too early to get up on his day off.
“Who the fuck is that?” he mutters in irritation. He’s not expecting any visitors. Then, to his surprise, he realizes there is someone else in bed with him. And it’s not his girlfriend, Billinda. It’s male. Definitely male. The guy has his back to Tom but he knows that chestnut brown hair and compactly muscled body. He’d recognize it anywhere.
Georg Listing. With a horrified feeling Tom realises that his co-star is in bed with him. And they are both naked. He blinks, trying to piece together what had went on the night before and the puzzle falls into place with a click. Well, some of it anyway. With nothing better to do for the evening, he and Georg had gotten themselves drunk with bourbon, flirted with each other and danced a bit then…and then…What? It is all fuzzy after that. And his head is pounding, like two little dudes are inside his skull, whacking away at his temples with sledgehammers. The unknown person raps on the door again, intruding into his brain-racking. Georg, awake now too, moans and shoves a pillow over his head, attempting to block out the noise. Following his example, Tom tries to ignore the knocking, which is not helping his headache one iota, but whoever it is won’t give up.
“Fuck off!” he yells angrily. “It’s a public holiday, asswipe!”
There is peace and quiet at last. Georg pulls the pillow off his head and yawns, gazing at Tom with half-closed eyes. “What if that was important?” he belatedly mumbles, scratching his head.
Not looking at him, Tom scrubs his palm tiredly over his face and makes an annoyed sound. “If it’s that important, they’ll come back, won’t they?”
A terrifying thought strikes Georg and he tenses up, his eyes going large. “Shit. What if it’s your girlfriend?”
“She wouldn’t show up without notifying me first. Besides, Bill’s busy in New York costuming for some fairy tale movie and she always likes to work, even if it’s a day off.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. If that was her, she’d be yelling at me to get my fucking lazy ass out of bed,” Tom retorts.
Knowing that Gustav wouldn’t bother them on a holiday, nor any of the crew, Georg suggests, “Could it be your parents or something?”
The teenager scoffs. “Hardly likely. I haven’t seen my mom since I was twelve and my dad never visits me. Anyway, I don’t feel like seeing anyone right now, no matter who it is.”
Tom hoists the blankets back up and shuts his eyes in an effort to doze back off but he knows he won’t be able to now that he’s been rudely awakened like that. He lies there for a while, pretending to be asleep but really just avoiding having to look at Georg or discuss whatever it was that they did in this bed. He vaguely remembers random snatches of events. They kissed. He knows that for sure. And the fact that they are completely nude under the covers guarantees they must have done a hell of a lot more than kiss. How far did they go? He doesn’t want to think about it, not now. Not while his brain is still half-drunk and groggy and stabbing with pain. He’d dearly love to go back to sleep for a few more hours but it’s not going to happen.
“Goddammit,” he grumbles, rubbing his eyes. “If I find out who that fucker was banging on my door, I’ll kill them!” He rolls over, knowing he has to face Georg sometime so he may as well get it over with, and he finds the older man already looking at him, just as bleary-eyed and disheveled as he is. Their hair is all pillow-mussed and they both have prickly stubble on the upper lip, chin and cheek areas. Tom’s whiskers are much darker than the hair on his head, contrasting with his rumpled golden-blond locks. Georg thinks that the younger male’s unkempt morning look is completely natural, sexy even. Tom’s one of those infuriating people that look good all the time. Even if he tried to be unattractive, it wouldn’t work.
The two actors gaze at each other for a few uncomfortable seconds, not sure what to say. It is Georg who breaks the silence.
“I need something to drink,” he declares, his voice hoarse. “My throat’s drier than a rock.” He sits up and waits for his head to stop spinning from the abrupt change in blood pressure caused by moving into an upright position after hours of lying on his belly. When it’s safe to stand, he grabs his boxer shorts off the floor and slips into them with his back turned to Tom. The teenager doesn’t watch as Georg covers his nakedness, out of both politeness and a kind of weirdness at the thought of seeing the other guy’s bare butt. Although, Tom probably saw it last night. That and a whole lot more. Boxer shorts on, Georg strolls to the fridge and opens it. He nearly slams the door shut when he sees a lone can of orange soda on the shelf. He never wants to touch that shit again for as long as he lives. He spots apple juice in a cardboard carton. Juice is just what he needs. He drinks it straight out of the carton, without asking Tom first, and the cool, sweet liquid soothes his dry throat and gets rid of the awful taste in his mouth. Watching Georg gulp down the juice like water, Tom instantly desires it too, his thirst almost overpowering.
“Gimmie some,” he commands, impatiently indicating to the carton in Georg’s hand. Wiping his mouth, Georg walks back to the bed where Tom is still residing with the quilt around his hips, and passes the apple juice to him. Tom greedily swallows the remainder of the chilled fruit beverage, licks off his juice-moustache and dumps the empty cardboard vessel onto the floor. Georg contemplates picking it up and putting it in the trash where it belongs but this is not his trailer and he doesn’t want to come across like some neat freak so he leaves it right where it is.

“Damn, I needed that,” Tom admits, licking his lips again.
His alcohol-induced dehydration partially rectified, Georg begin to feel much better but Tom’s head is still throbbing and he feels like a zombie, half-dead with his brains rotting into a grey sludge. Georg sits on the bed, his back to the wall. Tom leans against the wall also and peers at the other man exhaustedly, wondering why Georg appears so much more alive than he does. Georg smiles at him, thinking Tom looks adorable first thing in the morning, even if he is under the weather and has pillow-hair. Tom doesn’t smile back. Smiling is the last thing he feels like doing right now. What he feels like doing is telling Georg to get the fuck out of the trailer so he can wallow in his misery alone but even Tom isn’t that rude or inhospitable. He lets his head fall back against the wall and closes his eyes, groaning.

“How ya feeling?” Georg ventures. Slitting his eyes, Tom turns and gives him a scornful look.
“Like crap, how do you think I feel? You?”
Georg shrugs. “I’m okay. I don’t get hang overs.”
“What?” Tom says incredulously. “You don’t get hung over? Bullshit.”
“It’s true,” Georg replies, with another shrug. “I mean, I’m tired and thirsty, but other than that, I’m okay. I must have a good metabolism or something.”
“You don’t even get headaches?”
“Nope.”
Tom utters a sound of disgust and glances away. “Fuckin’ bastard. Feels like my head is gonna implode.” He retrieves a couple of cigarettes out of a packet on the bedside table and offers one to Georg who thankfully accepts, needing a nicotine fix. The blond boy finds a lighter, one of ten strewn about the place, and lights his cigarette, then gentlemanly lights Georg’s. As they smoke, yawning periodically, there is more quiet awkwardness, both of them fidgeting and wondering what to say. Ah, the morning after. Isn’t it great? Eventually, Tom decides to hell with it, he’s not in the mood to play the side-stepping game, so he’s going to cut straight to the chase.
He faces Georg and bluntly asks, “Did we fuck?”
“No,” the other male replies confidently.
Dubious, Tom questions, “How do you know?”
“I don’t remember doing it.”

“That’s ‘cause you were wasted, man.” Tom rolls his eyes. “Of course you don’t remember it.”
“No, see when I get drunk, even really drunk, I still remember stuff the next day,” Georg explains. “I’ve always been like that. It’s probably got something to do with why I don’t get hung over. Sometimes, I wish I couldn’t remember, like if I did something dumb and moronic, but I usually do. And I don’t remember that. I remember a lot of things we did, but I don’t recall us actually having sex.” Georg sweeps his gaze around the bed and the floor, taking note of the items on the bedside table top.
“Besides, there are no condoms or empty packets anywhere.”
“We were thoroughly smashed, Georg. We probably didn’t use any.”
“Or we didn’t have sex,” Georg repeats. He finishes his smoke and crushes the stub out in an ashtray Tom holds out for him. “Thanks.”
Tom puts the aluminum ashtray back on the table next to the bed after extinguishing his own cigarette butt. At least Tom doesn’t throw his smoke-stubs on the floor too, Georg idly thinks. He’d have to say something then.
“Is there any chance you could have forgotten?” Tom enquires. “I’m pretty fuckin’ hazy right about now. As far as I’m concerned, we could have done ANYTHING.”
“Well, it’s unlikely but I guess it’s possible,” Georg admits, going through his brain and not finding memories of any anal action whatsoever. He looks worriedly at the blond teen. “Are you like, sore at all?”

“Why’d you automatically assume I was on the bottom?” Tom huffs, appearing offended. “Just because you’re older doesn’t mean I have to be your bitch. I could have fucked you, for all you know. Is YOUR ass sore?”
Georg gingerly clenches his buttocks together. “No. Yours?”
Tom shifts his butt on the bed, frowning. “Not that I can tell.”
“Then, like I said, we didn’t have sex.”
“Good.” Tom breathes a sigh of relief. “Phew.”
“What, is the thought of having sex with me THAT horrible?” Georg exclaims, his turn to get offended.
“Chill out, dude. No need to raise your voice,” Tom grits, massaging his temples. “I didn’t say that, Mr. Jump-to-the-wrong-conclusion. It’s just that if I lost my virginity last night, I’d like to at least have some recollection of the occasion.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry,” says Georg in a milder tone of voice. “It looks like your virtue is still intact.” After a pause he adds, “What DO you remember?”
“Very little.”
At the short answer, Georg asks, “Like what?” He is quite interested to find out exactly what Tom does recall about their intoxicated tumble.
Tom sighs wearily. “Do we have to talk about this now?”
“I think we should,” Georg says seriously.
Another groan issues from Tom’s mouth and he holds his near-imploding head in his hands. Why can’t Georg just leave him alone? They didn’t fuck, which is the main thing, so why does he have to ask for mortifying details? Why can’t they classify it as a one-off thing, caused by drinking too much alcohol, and just leave it at that? But he knows the guy is right; they do have to talk about it sooner or later. He just wishes it was later.
“Oh, all right,” he grudgingly relents. “I know we kissed.”
“That we did,” Georg agrees. “In fact, you ordered me to kiss you at one point. Remember that?”
“Not really,” Tom says with a wince. Thinking very hard of what else they might have done, he gets a flashback of Georg’s tongue on his lower spine, right near the crack of his ass. God, he won’t be able to say that without cringing. Another flashback of Georg’s strong hand jerking him. That’s even worse! But that’s all Tom can bring to mind at the moment.
“I remember you…um…licking my back,” he says, uncharacteristically shy.
Georg nods. “And?”
At the prompting, Tom sighs again and pretends he can’t recall anything else. “I don’t know. That’s it. Are we done now?”
Seeing right through Tom’s evasive lie, Georg has to hold in a grin. Well, if the kid’s going to act like an amnesiac, Georg will just have to fill him in on the missing links. He’s not ashamed of what they did.
“I licked your nipples too. You really liked that,” Georg says gleefully, enjoying the teen’s squirming. “I kissed your belly. And then you told me to eat you. So I did.”
Tom’s eyes go big. “I said WHAT?”
Georg can’t keep the grin in this time. “I jokingly said I wanted to eat you and you said, ‘Go ahead. Eat me.’ Then you pulled your towel off and showed me everything.”
Tom is speechless for a few seconds at this startling information about his drunken whorishness, but then he utters, “Holy fuck, that’s embarrassing. How many drinks did I have?”
“Too many,” Georg confirms. “But still, you seemed to know exactly what you wanted me to do.”
“So you blew me?”
“Well, I tried.” Georg chuckles dryly. “I think I need more practice.”
Tom swallows. “Did I...did I blow you?”
Much to the boy’s relief, Georg shakes his head. Out of nowhere, Tom has another flashback.
“Aha!” he crows triumphantly. “I remember something! It was something embarrassing YOU did, G. You said, ‘If I ever fell for a guy, it’d be somebody like you.’ You said you could fall in love with me. So there.” Tom gives him a smug smile.
Georg lifts an amused eyebrow. “Tom, that was you.”
The eighteen year old squints in confusion, hoping Georg is wrong and that he hadn’t blurted out that awfully sentimental and humiliating thing but if he did, well, there goes Tom’s last shred of dignity. Although, it’s hard to be dignified when you’re sitting there with no pants on.
“Did I actually say that?” Tom asks Georg fearfully.
“Yes. I’d freely admit it if it had been me.”
Dropping his face into his palm, Tom groans to himself. Oh, this keeps getting worse and worse.
“If it’s any consolation to you, I said, ‘Same here,’” Georg offers helpfully.
“It’s not,” Tom snaps, his temper compounded by his thumping head and his own self-loathing. “Anyway, I was just drunk, okay? Whatever I said, it didn’t mean anything.”
“It did to me,” the older man says softly and goes to touch Tom’s hair but the boy tersely shoves his hand aside, ducking out of reach.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Georg admonishes with a frown. “Don’t you dare push me away, kid. Not after what we did last night.” He grasps Tom’s chin and forces the second male to meet his eyes. Tom glowers sulkily at him, crossing his arms over his chest but he doesn’t turn away.
“We did things, we said things that can’t be taken back,” Georg stresses. “You said things to me, important things, meaningful things, personal things, and you can’t turn around now and tell me that you didn’t mean them because you were drunk. If anything, being drunk tends to make you tell the TRUTH. You may not recall everything you said, Tom, but I do and if you want me to remind you, I will. Do you want me to remind you?”
Tom shoots out a glare that almost fries Georg to a crisp. “No.”
“Well, I know what I said to you,” Georg continues, undaunted by Tom’s surliness, “and it was all true. Every word of it. Last night was the only time we’ve ever been really honest with each other. Last night was one of the best nights of my life and I will never, ever forget it.”
There is a long still minute in which the two actors gaze at each other, Tom marginally shaken at the intensity saturating Georg’s sea-green eyes. He is looking at Tom as if he’s the most valuable thing in the whole galaxy and it both highly flatters and slightly scares the inexperienced teenager.
“No need to get all emotional,” Tom mutters. “It’s not like we got married or anything.”
Georg smiles wryly. “Yeah. At least we didn’t do something stupid like that.”
Tom massages his pulsing temples again, wishing his headache would go away. It’s killing him.

“Georg,” he grinds out with his eyes shut. “I’m fairly certain I’m gonna regret asking you this, but can you tell me exactly what happened last night? Not all the dumb crap I said, but what we did…physically, I mean.”
“You sure you want to know?” Georg questions.
Tom nods within the grasp of his own fingers, still making little circular motions on either side of his skull, above his ears. “We may not have fucked, but I still need to know how far we went.”
“Oooo-kay,” Georg says slowly, figuring out the best and most delicate way to elaborate the unusual way they had coupled. He doesn’t think there is even a name for what they did, or if there is one, he’s not familiar with it. He tells Tom in as few words as he can, not wanting to prolong the kid’s visible discomfort, or his own. It would have been easier if he and Tom had screwed, because then Georg could just say, “We screwed.” Now, that’s pretty self-explanatory: dick goes in, dick goes out. But as they didn’t screw, he has to resort to using clumsy descriptions like ‘thrusting’ and ‘grinding’, trying to explain how they rubbed their groins and cocks together without sounding crude or obscene. Being an award-winning actor, you’d assume Georg would have no problems saying anything, no matter how pornographic, and normally he doesn’t. If he was playing the part of predatory Miles Vanderwolf, he could talk about fucking in all its seedy, graphic details with a perverted leer on his face but he’s not in character now. He’s himself, talking about stuff that HE did, not somebody else, and it’s so much more personal and difficult to speak of. Towards the end, when he reveals that they came on each other’s stomachs, Tom is refusing to look at him, which is good because Georg has flushed to the roots of his brown hair.

“Oh God, I knew I shouldn’t have asked,” Tom woefully drones and buries his head in his hands. Despite having an overwhelming urge to stick his fingers in his ears and loudly go, “La la la la la,” the whole time while Georg was speaking, the descriptive adjectives have stirred Tom’s memory and now he has a much clearer picture of what went on in his trailer the previous evening.
“We shouldn’t have done that, Georg,” he finally laments. “We shouldn’t have done any of it.”
“Maybe we HAD to do it,” Georg suggests from beside him, getting over his own embarrassment. “Maybe it was just one of those things that had to happen, whether we wanted it to or not. Maybe it was out of our control.”
“What do you mean?” Tom mumbles, pulling his knees up to hug them in a self-protective gesture.
“I mean, physical attraction is a powerful thing,” Georg emphasizes. “C’mon, you know this was bound to happen sooner or later. I could feel the heat between us just building up and up and something had to give. If we didn’t give, we would have…I dunno, exploded or something. You know that. I KNOW you know that.”
Tom sighs deeply, his aching head resting on his knees. “Yeah, I guess. But now that we did it, it’s out of the way and we can get over it. I mean, I’m seeing somebody, y’know? We’ve been together three years.”
“I know,” Georg says in a low tone, feeling a jab of guilt for wanting someone who is already taken. But it’s not like he can control who he is attracted to.
“Well, I don’t want to cheat on my girl.”
Georg tries to ignore the jealousy that niggles at him after Tom says, “my girl.” He’d like it much better if there was no girl, but there is, and always has been since he’s known Tom so he’d better get used to it. Unaware of Georg’s feelings of possessiveness, Tom goes all anxious.
“Oh fuck, is that what I’ve done? Have I already cheated on Bill?”
“Depends on what your definition of cheating is. For some people it’s kissing, others it’s full sex. What do you define cheating as?” Georg asks, crinkling his forehead.
“I dunno. Full sex, I guess.” Trying to justify his own actions, Tom points out, “But we didn’t do that; there was no actual penetrating of anyone by anyone. Therefore, theoretically I didn’t cheat.”
“But we did other stuff,” Georg says doubtfully.
“Just fooling around,” Tom argues. “That was just…hell, I don’t even know what that was. Experimentation? Yeah, experimentation. That’s all. It wasn’t anything serious, just like all the other times I’ve made out with guys.”
Georg looks closely at Tom. “Does your girlfriend know you’re bisexual?”
“Actually, no, she doesn’t,” Tom confesses, a little uncomfortable talking about her with the dude he practically shagged only mere hours ago. “And even if Bill did know, I doubt she would give me permission to date you so we can’t do this again, Georg. It wouldn’t be right. We have to end it here.”
Instead of letting Tom know how he really feels about that idea, Georg nods and says, “I suppose you’re right.”
“Oh, shit.” Tom clutches his belly as he is hit with a wave of stomach-churning nausea on top of his thumping headache.
“What’s wrong?” Georg asks but Tom doesn’t have time to answer him. He leaps off the bed, taking the top blanket with him and runs to the bathroom just in time to throw up all the apple juice he’d drank earlier. It looks curdled. Georg quietly sneaks out and peeks through the door, wondering if Tom needs him to hold his hair back out of his face, but the kid seems to have that taken care of. Tom probably doesn’t want an audience watching him paint the inside of the toilet bowl so Georg goes back to the bedroom and waits. The next couple of times Tom retches, gross orange fluid comes out. For a while he kneels there on the floor in front of the porcelain commode, in case he has more to go but his gut is now empty. You’d think he’d feel better after puking but he doesn’t and his head is still pounding like a bass drum.
After flushing the toilet and rinsing his clammy face in the basin, Tom fetches a couple of Aspirin out of the medicine cabinet and gulps the pills down with a few handfuls of water, which don’t seem to want to come back up, thankfully. He makes a face in the mirror, noting that he looks like utter crap for a supposedly beautiful person. Beauty. What a pile of steaming horse dung. It pisses him off when people say stuff like that about him, instead of focusing on his abilities and his talents. The thought of being named in the World’s Most Beautiful People list like Georg was last year makes Tom want to vomit again.
Yeah, that’s why he became an actor. So that he can get his face plastered in glossy magazines and on billboards around the world to promote a fashionable brand of shoe or a chic designer outfit. Right. He only became an actor because, as Georg pointed out succinctly last night, some agent walked up handed him a job on a platter. Tom’s dad had been on his back about him not earning any money and told him his fantasy of being a rock star wasn’t going to happen so he better get his grades up at school or he’d end up being a loser for the rest of his life. He was nagging Tom to cut his dreadlocks off and get a part-time job, to think about choosing a career. His dad would have liked him to continue the family tradition and become a cop but he knew Tom’s future vision for himself didn’t include wearing a badge and he also didn’t think his son had the brains for it either. He didn’t even think Tom was smart enough to go to college so he was lining up a permanent job in a meat factory, saying that labouring was all the wayward teenager could do. Tom did not fancy the idea of carving up dead animals in a slaughterhouse so when the acting gig came up he said, “Screw you, Dad,” and rebelled, moving out of home, quitting school and living his life the way he wanted to.
As well as pocketing some tidy cash for his first film role in Street Thugs, Tom discovered he was actually good at it and he didn’t even need a degree. He was well prepared for becoming an actor. He had spent all of his childhood pretending that things were okay when they really weren’t. In a way, he spent his whole childhood lying. Lying to parents, lying to teachers, lying to his friends. Pretending to be someone he’s not. But now he gets paid to be someone else. It may not be his ultimate profession – that would be music – but he’s in charge of his own life now and even if it doesn’t work out exactly the way he wants it to, even if he doesn’t get a record deal and sell a million albums, at least he’s not relying on anyone else to get by. At least he’s taking care of himself.
If he can call getting drunk to the point of losing his memory and waking up in bed with an older man he works with ‘taking care of himself’. Yeah, he takes care of himself real good. Tom rudely pokes his tongue out at his reflection in the mirror, noticing it is stained a bright tangerine colour, and then drags himself and his blanket into the kitchen. He collapses into the nearest seat, laying his head on his arms upon the tabletop. The bed would be much more comfortable but that’s as far as he can make it. The interior of the trailer appears to be spiraling around like a vortex and walking makes him feel like hurling his intestines up, to be closely followed by all his other major internal organs. As well as a clenching, rolling belly, his skull is almost cracking under the crushing pressure inside and even his eyeballs hurt, as if they’re going to pop like grapes. He feels that sick that he wants to die. Georg comes to his side and touches his shoulder.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I just puked my guts out and my head feels like a ticking time bomb. I’m fucking great,” Tom says nastily, shaking Georg’s hand away. “And can you please stop touching me?”
“Hey, I’m just worried about you, that’s all,” Georg defends, stung by Tom’s tone of voice.
“Well, don’t. I don’t want your pity,” Tom snarls. “I just want you to leave me the fuck alone!”
“I’m gonna ignore your atrocious mood because I know you’re hung over,” Georg says. In spite of Tom’s snappiness, Georg takes the blond’s arm and tugs at him. “C’mon. Go back to bed, kid; you need more sleep. A lot more.”
Tom grumbles and swears at him about having to get up, because it makes him unbearably nauseous when he’s moving but Georg firmly leads him back into the bedroom. Georg has already made the bed up neatly with fresh sheets he found in the closet and before Tom can protest, Georg is ushering him under the covers. Tom drops the blanket he’s holding, too miserable to care if Georg sees him naked. After all the sexual acts they participated in the night before, what does it matter now? Tom climbs into the bed and goes limp.
“Get some rest,” Georg says to the ill boy, tucking him in like a dad would do. “I’ll see you later.”
“Are you leaving?” Tom asks weakly.
“Well, you obviously don’t want me here,” Georg returns, bending down for his own pair of jeans on the floor. He is trying to sound nonchalant but Tom can hear a tiny inflection of pain in his words and it makes the eighteen year old feel like a royal bastard for the way he’s been talking to his incredibly patient co-star and friend.
“I’m sorry, G,” he mumbles, his gaze downcast. “I’ve been such a prick to you this morning. I didn’t mean to be.”
“It’s all right. I’m not holding it against you,” Georg says understandingly, making a move to put his crumpled jeans back on. Tom reaches out to touch Georg’s leg, halting his actions. Georg looks at him quizzically.
“You don’t have to leave,” Tom says softly, full of remorse. “I wasn’t trying to make you go. You can stay here, I don’t mind.”
“Are you sure?” Georg hesitates, even though those are the words he desperately wants to hear. “My trailer’s not that far away.”
Tom yawns, the lure of blessed unconscious nothingness calling to him. “You may as well stay; you need more sleep too. Dude, you got massive dark circles goin’ on there.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Georg rubs at his gritty eyes, catching Tom’s yawn. “Throw me a pillow, then. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Tom waves away that statement. “Stop being chivalrous and get the fuck in here. The bed’s big enough for both of us, as we found out last night.”
The green-eyed actor lets his jeans fall back onto the carpet and clambers onto the other side of Tom’s queen-sized mattress. “Thanks,” he says to the blond boy gratefully. “I was really not looking forward to facing broad daylight.” Here, Georg shields his face with his arm and hisses like a vampire, squinting his eyes.
At the Dracula impression, Tom cracks a feeble smile, finding it humorous even in his foul state. “Just stay on your side, okay?” he orders. “And no touching.”
Georg smirks. “I’ll try not to.”
Settled in bed, the two co-workers doze off almost instantly and remain unconscious for five and a half hours. If either of them snores, neither of them notices; they are sleeping that deeply. Nobody else knocks on the door and interrupts their much-needed napping.
………
Georg wakes up first. With a hard-on. He had a dream about Tom and sex was involved. It was so vivid, the older actor feels like it really happened, except he didn’t get to come and his dick is aching. He can’t stop himself from wriggling over the invisible line dividing the bed and slipping his arm around Tom’s slumbering figure. Tom is on his right side and is turned away from Georg, facing the wall. The blankets are around his waist but his left arm, shoulder and upper back are exposed to the afternoon light filtering in through the crack in the curtains. Raising himself up on his right elbow, Georg hugs Tom around the middle, pressing against him and kissing his bare shoulder. The teenager’s creamy skin is silk-like under Georg’s lips and hands. While he kisses Tom’s flesh, Georg is running his fingertips gently over the other male’s arm. Tom makes a sleepy humming/sighing sound and stirs but doesn’t smack his hand away so Georg keeps doing it.
As he caresses the dozing boy, Georg’s chest is flush against Tom’s back. The blond’s skin is so warm and soft. Georg is very aware that Tom is naked under the covers and can’t resist taking advantage of the situation so he slides his hand down to the other actor’s belly and describes soft circles around his navel. He curls up behind Tom even closer so that his erection is right against Tom’s lower back. The only thing separating their nude flesh is the thin layer of Georg’s boxer shorts. He moves his hand up to Tom’s chest and brushes over a nipple. When he grazes over it again, the peak contracts, turning into a small bead. Careful not to hurt, he lightly pinches and twists the tiny nub and then his fingers drop down, finding the second nipple and making it pucker identically, all the while kissing Tom’s shoulder and upper arm.
Tom is awake now. The kid’s eyes are still closed but Georg knows he’s not asleep because of the way his breathing pattern has changed, become shallower and faster. Slowly, giving Tom ample time to stop him, he inches his hand down the teen’s chest and stomach, towards his groin. Tom is not trying to deter him at all and Georg continues along his path, discovering a solid cock waiting for his touch. When Georg’s fingers curve around it, Tom inhales quickly, but he doesn’t open his eyes.
“I had a dream about you,” Georg whispers, squeezing his younger co-star’s shaft, loving the feel of the boy’s dick hot and heavy in his palm. “A very, very sexy dream.”
Tom returns no answer, still playing the narcoleptic role and being an actor, very convincingly, but the tell-tale increase in his breathing gives him away. Tom is wide awake and letting him do this. Getting even more turned on by the knowledge, Georg strokes the blood-filled male flesh in his hand, wondering what this object would feel like inside of him, plunging in and out of his body in a rhythm he’s only familiar with giving to someone else. What would it be like on the receiving end? To be the one being taken, instead of the one doing the taking? The raunchy dream he just had is fresh in Georg’s mind and he wants to make it a reality. He wants it now. He is just about to say that when he recalls the night before and the words die on his tongue. He clearly remembers asking for it then but Tom wouldn’t give in, no matter how much he pleaded. At the time Georg did not understand why, but now he does.
The girlfriend. Billinda.
Tom has this illogical idea that as long as he doesn’t fuck anyone, he’s not cheating but he’s just in a deep state of denial. If Tom can get naked with another man, if he can kiss and touch them, then he may as well just go all the way because it really doesn’t matter anymore. Georg wonders if Tom remembers saying no, if he remembers Georg desperately offering up his body and begging for sex. The hungover teenager gave no indication this morning that he recalls the incident but then again, he might just not want to talk about it. And so, for fear of ruining the moment, of making Tom upset or angry, Georg doesn’t bring it up or ask for more than he can have. Besides, what Tom is allowing him to do, it’s more than Georg ever imagined he would get to do with his bewitching yet bewildering co-star, especially when Tom said it could never happen again, and it is a zillion times better than nothing at all. Plus, Tom isn’t drunk, which means he wants to do this; he is making a conscious choice to do this. To be touched, to be caressed, to explore the possibilities of male/male sexuality.
He wants to do this. With Georg.
Wanting to get closer to the blond boy, Georg eases his right arm beneath Tom’s head, his bicep under the youth’s neck. He bends his elbow until his forearm is lying diagonally across Tom’s chest, his hand resting on the side of his co-star’s ribcage, feeling him breathe. He holds the second male in an intimate embrace, the whole front of Georg’s body and legs against the entire length of Tom’s back, ass, thighs and calves. Georg’s knees are tucked behind Tom’s. They fit together like two links in a chain. Perfectly. Thankful for the splendid gift of Tom Trumper in his arms, warm and supple and willing and submissive, Georg thinks to himself that he is a very, very lucky man indeed. He tightens his grasp around Tom’s dick; it’s like holding a heated metal rod covered with velvet.
“So hard,” Georg murmurs, his voice thick and husky from sleep. He begins to rock his hips, rubbing his own erection on Tom’s lower back, the slinky fabric of his boxers adding to his desire. While the satiny material is sensual on Georg’s swollen length, it is also hampering his fun because it separates him and Tom and he doesn’t want to be kept apart from the boy he can now call his lover, not by anything. Temporarily letting go of Tom, he hooks his thumb over the waistband of his underwear and yanks it down while lifting his hips and pulling back, revealing Georg’s own sex organ. He can’t take his boxers all the way off with one hand but they don’t have to be fully removed; he just wants to free his dick. Once it is free, he shimmies up to Tom again and makes a pleased sound at the sensation of flesh on flesh. Now, that’s better. He rubs against the small of Tom’s back, the skin there like the finest suede, and takes the teenager’s cock in his left hand again. Tom remains there on his side, his face on the pillow, letting Georg do whatever he desires.
After five and a half hours of uninterrupted, healing sleep and the two Aspirin, Tom’s nausea and headache have disappeared and now the only thing he feels is slowly-growing languid lust. He stays still, hoping that Georg will keep doing what he is doing because it’s pushing the right buttons. And Tom wants his buttons pushed. All of them.
Gradually, Georg moves down lower on the mattress until his shaft is on Tom’s tailbone. He waits to see if Tom will object but the kid doesn’t utter a word. He just breathes quicker and his heart beats more strongly. With his arms around the blond, Georg can feel his physical response and knowing that Tom is excited makes him excited too. Georg grinds his pelvis against Tom like that for a little while, and then, knowing he can handle more, he shifts down even lower. The lure of Tom’s perfect white butt is too irresistible. When he feels Georg’s dick sink into the cleft of his ass, Tom stiffens and grabs the brunette’s arm, speaking for the first time since he woke up.
“Don’t,” he whispers hoarsely, digging his nails into Georg’s bicep in warning. It’s not that he’s scared of potential pain and/or bleeding from having anal sex for the first time, although those factors are a concern, it’s just that if he lets Georg step over that boundary, if he lets Georg into his body, he won’t be able to undo it. Once your cherry’s gone, it’s gone for good. And he’s not ready to lose it yet.
“Don’t put it in, Georg.”
“I won’t,” Georg promises, hearing Tom’s anxiety and kissing the side of his neck reassuringly. “I won’t hurt you, I swear. Just let me do this.” He pushes his hips forward, making his cock slide through the valley of Tom’s buttocks, withdraws and does it again. At that moment, in his exceedingly aroused condition, it’s like heaven on earth to Georg and the closest thing he can get to screwing Tom, without really doing it.
“Is this okay?” Georg asks, genuinely caring about his co-star’s pleasure as well. “If I do this while I stroke you?”
After a pause, Tom nods, still facing away from Georg. The older one can’t tell if Tom’s eyes are open or not. All that’s visible from his position is the back of Tom’s head.
“Just don’t go in, all right?” Tom repeats quietly and relaxes against him, loosening his death-grip on Georg’s arm. Georg is elated and thrilled to know that Tom is trusting him to do the right thing. It takes a lot of trust to let another guy’s cock within the vicinity of your virgin ass and believe that they will not renege on their promise and violate you.
“I would never hurt you, baby,” Georg pledges again and kisses Tom’s neck as he resumes having not-sex with the younger male. Tom doesn’t even comment about being called ‘baby’. Soon, the neck-kisses turn to licks, sucks and bites. Georg’s pre-ejaculate has coated his dick, making it glide effortlessly through Tom’s ass cleft and amplifying the slick, delicious sensation. Tom’s own clear lubrication is flowing forth and Georg covers his palm with it, using it to help him jerk Tom off. With his free hand, the one on Tom’s chest, he is rolling the other male’s tiny budded left nipple in his fingertips. Every time Georg thrusts his pelvis forward, the tip of his cock nudges Tom’s private entrance and by altering the angle of his hips, he could easily shove inside him, forcing that tight little opening to yield and take his hard length right up to the base. Oh, it would be easy, too easy, but he doesn’t do it. He wouldn’t, not unless he has Tom’s express permission. So, he bypasses the temptation to break Tom in and slips harmlessly through the gully of the blond boy’s backside, which again, is nothing like having intercourse with a woman, yet every bit as warm and wet and sexy.
At first, feeling Georg’s dick enter the untouched region of his rear end was a frightening jolt but now, after getting used to it, and after Georg’s solemn oath not to penetrate him, Tom is finding the slipping and sliding against his puckered hole quite good. More than quite good, in fact. He never knew how sensitive he was down here, especially when combined with Georg firmly fisting his cock with one hand, teasing his nipple with the other and sucking on his neck with a hot, possessive mouth. All four points of contact mingling together are turning Tom into the same mindless creature that was writhing and whimpering helplessly upon the kitchen table not so long ago. Nobody else has ever made Tom behave like this: like a greedy whore who can’t get enough. He can’t quit now, not while he’s so close, not even if he wanted to. And he doesn’t want to.
He lets loose a stream of curse words, punctuated by Georg’s name and heavy panting, as he gets closer and closer to orgasm. Georg is panting now too and starting to sweat. Grinding into Tom while masturbating him and trying to control his own burgeoning climax simultaneously is damn hard work for Georg. He doesn’t want to unload his seed until Tom does and is trying to distract himself by going over Miles Vanderwolf’s future lines in his head. But by the sound of it, and the way the kid is nearly crushing Georg’s forearm with his desperate grip, Tom is almost there. Maybe he just needs a little encouragement to get where he wants to go.
Leaning down further, Georg whispers into Tom’s ear, “C’mon, baby. Come now. Please come for me.”
Tom cries out wordlessly and gouges his nails into Georg’s arm as he attains his release, his whole body shuddering with unbelievable convulsions of ecstasy starting in his groin, unfurling though his gut and flooding his chest and along his limbs. His semen gushes onto Georg’s hand, cascading down over the brunette’s knuckles and between his fingers, falling onto the bed in thick droplets.
“Oh yeah, that’s it…” Georg breathes in relief at Tom’s climax. He burrows his face into Tom’s hair, squeezing the pierced male tight and thrusting one more time before ejaculating over the other boy’s lower back and ass. His orgasm is so strong and powerful and all-encompassing that Georg has no idea what he is saying to Tom, except that it involves words like, “Yes”, “God” and “Damn”. Then there is no sound except that of the two males gasping much-needed air into their lungs. As he is coming down from his sexual high, Georg feels his own cum dripping down Tom’s crack and onto his dick, which is still lodged in the globes of the other male’s rump. He thinks regretfully that he probably should have used a condom. Well, too late now. Anyway, it’s not like he came inside Tom’s ass, just over it.
He plants an apologetic kiss on Tom’s shoulder and mutters, “Sorry about the mess.”
Tom mumbles that it’s okay, still recovering from his own shattering climax. Georg extricates his arm from under his lover’s neck and pulls away from Tom. On the floor, he locates the towel that Tom had been wearing like a sarong the night before and uses the fluffy material to clean the opaque white substance off his hand, then wipes the eighteen year old’s bespattered ass and back dry. Tom is lying there on his side with his knees bent up, almost in the foetal position, his eyes closed, his cheeks blushed carnation pink and his long, flaxen hair all rumpled. He looks like he has been thoroughly ravaged and he looks beautiful. But Georg knows how Tom feels about that word so he doesn’t say it. He just thinks it.
As Tom lies there in the bed, he is strangely silent, even after his breath has been caught.
Sensing that something might be bothering him, Georg quizzes carefully, “Are you okay?”
Rather than talk about what he’s thinking, Tom turns around and says, “I’m fucking starving. Want something to eat? I got cookies.”
Hiding his concern, Georg smiles and replies, “I would love some cookies.”
They both get dressed, trying not to watch each other, and then Tom opens a packet of Oreos and pours some glasses of milk. He still has one pint left on the fridge shelf, beside the lonely can of soda. That’s pretty much all the foodstuff he keeps in his trailer. Milk, cookies, chocolate syrup and various types of sugary breakfast cereals, which he likes to munch straight out of the box. All the other nourishment he needs comes from the on-set caterers or take-away restaurants. He doesn’t like to cook. The extent of his cooking skills goes as far as toasting bread and heating microwave dinners. The two co-workers eat and drink in relative silence, Georg wondering what is going on in Tom’s mind and Tom not giving anything away.
“Well, thanks for the food and everything,” Georg eventually says, rinsing his glass in the sink and doing Tom’s as well, then sitting them upside down on the rack to drain. “I have to get going now. I gotta have a shower and go over my lines and get prepped for tomorrow. It’ll be back to work as usual.”
“Yeah, I know. Unfortunately,” Tom mutters with a curl of his lip, already inhaling his third cigarette. His coveted day off is practically over and all he did was sleep and get off, which, as good as it was, he could have done on his own with a dollop of hand cream and access to the Adult Channel. He was going to work on his songs and his future album cover but that’ll have to wait for the next day he has free. He crushes his smouldering smoke-butt in the ashtray and gets up, stretching his lithe form with his arms over his head. Georg can’t stop his eyes from wandering down to the slice of pale skin revealed between Tom’s t-shirt and jeans waistband. He drags his gaze back up when Tom reluctantly says, “I guess I should do the same.”
Eager for a long hot shower back in his own trailer, Georg slips his shoes on and Tom graciously opens the door for him. Georg stands on the threshold, the mid-afternoon sun spilling into the trailer, lighting up his cropped hair and picking out strands of copper and bronze. The two actors look at each other. Georg wants to kiss Tom farewell but he isn’t sure if the boy will let him. He never knows how Tom is going to react to anything he does. It would not surprise him if he gets punched again.
Tom awkwardly clears his throat and says, “You shouldn’t come over here anymore, Georg. And I won’t be going over to your place either.”
Georg’s heart squeezes painfully within his chest. That sounded like a goodbye and Georg doesn’t want to say goodbye. He loves being in Tom’s company and he doesn’t want their blossoming relationship to end. He loves being alone with his eighteen year old co-star, even if they’re just talking. But he knows whether this happens again is purely up to Tom.
“Okay,” he says with an accepting shrug. “If you change your mind, kid, I’ll be waiting.”
Tom looks down at the carpet.
“Don’t be ashamed,” Georg tells him gently, knowing that Tom is having a hard time dealing with what they have done. “You can’t help who you are and what you feel. You can’t deny it. Any more than I can.”
Tom is still focused on the floor, saying nothing, so Georg reaches out his hand and grazes the other young man’s stubble-roughened cheek. When Tom looks back up, Georg leans in and kisses him on the mouth, making sure to pull the door halfway closed behind him so nobody can see what they’re doing. If this is the last time he gets to see the interior of Tom’s trailer, Georg wants something good to remember it by and a kiss will do nicely. He relishes the feel of Tom’s plush mouth against his own, the taste of chocolate lingering on his breath, the coolness of the metal jewellery in his lip. Georg places long, sucking kisses on Tom’s pierced mouth, feeling like he could never get tired of it. He could never get tired of kissing this pretty young man and would do it all day if he could. Tom doesn’t kiss him back, but he doesn’t push Georg away either. Georg gives the long-haired teen one final smooch and pulls back, staring Tom right in the eye.
“I’ll be waiting,” he repeats and slides his thumb over the swell of Tom’s moist lower lip. Then he opens the door fully and skips down the trailer steps, leaving Tom standing there with a far-away gaze on his face, his mouth slightly ajar, lip-ring glinting in the afternoon light.
Georg’s parting words hang in the air, heavy as lead, both a promise and an invitation.
………
After Tom closes the trailer door behind Georg, he decides to call his girlfriend. He’s not sure why he wants to call her now, but feels a sudden urge to talk to her. He reaches for the phone on the wall and realizes it’s been sitting slightly off the hook and has been for at least two days, preventing anyone from contacting him. As soon as he sits it back in the cradle, the device in his hand rings shrilly. It scares the daylights out of Tom and he almost drops it. Picking it up, he holds the phone to his ear and says warily, “Hello?”
“About damn time.”
At the distinctly female voice, Tom stands up straight, eyes going round.
“Bill?”
His girlfriend remarks cheekily, “Who else would it be? Your momma?”
Dropping onto the couch with the phone, Tom remarks in wonder, “You read my mind - I was JUST going to call you.”
“Actually, I’ve been trying to get through to you since this morning. I even sent some secretary around to give you a message, but apparently you told her to fuck off.” Bill sounds both amused and exasperated.
“Shit.” Tom’s face turns mortified. “I was trying to sleep. Sorry!”
“It’s okay. So, apart from sleeping, what else have you been doing on your day off?” She sounds curious.

“Nothing much.” Tom bites his lip as he lies, “Working on some songs. Reading that new script. You know, the one I was telling you about? The comic book hero with the white hair and big-ass sword?”
“Cool. That’s gonna be an awesome movie and you’re gonna be great in it, Tomi,” Billinda replies, buying his fib. If she only knew what he just did in bed with Georg, and did last night as well, she would not sound so enthusiastic. But she’s not going to find out about their drunken naked shenanigans, or about their morning-after snuggle session that resulted in Georg’s sperm all over Tom’s ass. Even though Tom feels so fucking guilty for what he has done behind Bill’s back, there is no way he is going to volunteer any of those details. He doesn’t want her to know. Ever. Before she asks any other questions and forces Tom to lie again, he asks first.
“So, how is everything with you, B?”
Bill makes a noise of annoyance. “Oh, it’s a fucking nightmare.” She is in the end stages of costuming a film in another city miles away from her rebellious boyfriend.
“Why? What’s so nightmarish about it?”
“How about everything? I’m serious; everything keeps going wrong. Bad weather, crew strikes, a set fire. A lot of the costumes got smoke and water damage. And Miss Ice Queen is being a complete bitch, even more than usual,” Bill rants. “She hates me. She simply loathes me. I haven’t done anything to her but she’s decided it’s her mission to make my life as painful as possible. She keeps sending clothes back to me saying that they don’t fit or that there’s a hole in them when she put it there herself. I can’t stand it anymore!”
“That chick is nothing but a fuckin’ bitch,” Tom glowers. It's not the first time the snooty actress has caused Bill trouble. “If I was you, I’d slap her right across her ugly, silicone-enhanced mouth. She’s been asking for it after the shitty way she’s been treating you.”
“That would be my dream come true. Pity I can’t do it or I’d get fired.” Bill sighs down the line. “I just wish it was all over and done with so I can come and see you, Tomi. I miss you so bad.”
Hearing her wistful voice, Tom realises he really misses her as well. He misses the way she cuddles into him at night and the way she toys with his hair and lightly rakes her painted nails over his back as they chat about their day. He misses clothes and shoes strewn on the floor and makeup cluttering the bathroom bench. He misses girlish giggles and out of tune singing around the house. He misses pizza nights and movie marathons, wrestling matches and tickle fights. Tom’s been so preoccupied with Georg and the thing they have going on, he hadn’t realised just how much he has missed Bill. She is not just his girlfriend; she is his best friend. Needing to see her, he fishes a photo of Billinda out of his wallet. In the picture, she is smiling, her made-up dark eyes tilted up at the corners, her raven hair falling sleekly over her shoulders. Seeing her beautiful face and sweet smile, a flood of emotion surges into Tom’s chest and makes his eyes prickle with tears.
“I miss you too, Bill.” His voice cracking marginally, Tom adds, “I love you.”
And Tom is not lying. He does love her. Dearly. He has feelings for Georg as well but they are completely separate to the feelings he has for his girlfriend. Completely unrelated. They don’t even belong on the same plane of existence. Bill is his soul mate - like the female version of Tom, and Georg is his…well, Tom doesn’t know what Georg is yet. But whatever he has with Georg in no way diminishes what he has with Billinda. Tom loves Bill just as much as he has always done; he just feels way guiltier now and more confused.
They talk for a while longer. When Tom finally hangs up the phone and puts the photo away, four words keep echoing in his head, haunting him, tormenting him. Four words, spoken in a soft feminine voice.
“Love you too, Tomi.”
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