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Wicked Games	By : runningnakedinthepark Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 2287 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Rammstein. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Title: Take Another Little Piece Of My Heart (Wicked Games 7)
Author: Robby a.k.a. Mr Naked
Rating: NC-17 Warning: very disturbing images!
Pairing: Who else? Richard and Christoph
Disclaimer: This is all pure fiction; none of this happened, it’s only another demented product of my sick mind! Not suitable for those with sensible stomachs!
Summary: Another sick twist of the story. Remember, it’s all just a game.
Feed back: Yes, please
Tunes list (these are the songs mentioned in the story, and that I’ve listened to for inspiration and writing mood): “Piece Of My Heart” – Janis Joplin, and another one, you’ll figure which one.

Take Another Little Piece Of My Heart

“… And please, tell Till to come too.” He ended the conversation and turned off the phone.

Weird! Richard wants to make up with me. He hadn’t taken his revenge on me so far, for luring Till into my room and having sex with him, while Richard was watching all thanks to the modern technologies. Who’d have guessed I’d enjoy these gadgets so much!
So, he took his revenge on Till, beating the shit out of him. Guess we underestimated good old Richard!

But now he wants peace. That’s basically what he told me on the phone. He asked both of us to dinner, in his room.

I told Till that too, but now, this evening, seems like I can’t find him anywhere. He’s not in his room, he doesn’t answer his phone, and the other guys don’t know his whereabouts. It’s like he disappeared from the face of the Earth!

Oh, well, I’m going by myself then!

So, here I am, knocking on Richard’s door, wondering if I’m going to find him and Till there, naked, having hot steamy sex, in Richard’s poor attempt to get even with me.

But, no, the door opens and here’s Richard, smiling like on his wedding day, wearing neat and formal clothes, looking like he’s going to a pretentious cocktail party, not just about to have dinner with his old mates.

I can’t help but look at my worn out and wrinkled pink shirt, my jeans and my comfortable old shoes and compare my clothes with the impeccable white shirt Richard is wearing and his black suit.

“Hello, Christoph!” he smiles, inviting me in.

I step in… This isn’t a hotel room any longer, this is a splendid dining room in a royal castle. Dimly lit, perfumed candles all around the walls, with glittering and playful flames, heavy velvet curtains, a big table in the middle of the room, with flowers, candles again, in silver holders and discreet music in the background, a dark and still warm voice singing barely audible about the torments of love.

Is this a date or what the fuck?

“What’s the catch, Richard?” I mutter, refusing to step forward inside the room.

“What catch, dear?” his smiling lips almost whisper.

“The catch, Richard!” I almost snap at him. “What’s with the candles and all this shit? And your clothes?”

His smile fades little by little until his face becomes serious, in his blue eyes floats this shadow and, finally, he pouts, but not getting furious.

“I know Till likes this stuff, and since it’s a “kiss and make up” dinner, I thought it was proper to dress nice.”

Weirdo!

“Oh, well, if I knew… I could have…” I mutter, embarrassed by my own unfounded suspicions. “But since Till isn’t here yet, I can go and change,” I say quickly, grabbing the door’s handle.

“No, no, no, you’re fine!” Richard stops me enthusiastically, wearing his wide smile again. “Pink is perfect. The color of alive, healthy skin.”

I frown, but I go near the table, sit on that fancy satin cushioned chair fit for royalty, rather than to snap at Richard about his stupid and weird comments. I really don’t want to ruin this, if it’s indeed a kiss-and-make-up dinner.

He surely is up to something, though, the little whore! If only Till would be here, at least I wouldn’t have this freaky feeling. But probably they’d gang up to play some wicked shit on me, if Till was here too.

On the table, a yellow cover with gold shades, over a long dark blue one, napkins folded very pretentiously, with rings and all the stuff, beautiful china, porcelain so delicate that it’s almost transparent, crystal glasses, fancy silverware…
What the fuck?

“Why are there only two plates?” I hear myself thinking out loud.

“Well, so far it’s only the two of us… Wine?”

He stands near me, his warm smile seems to melt in the warmish feeling of candle flames playing. His suit is impeccable, black and fluid, I can inhale the discreet scent of his aftershave. His face looks like white porcelain. A porcelain doll, smiling.

“Yeah, good idea,” I mumble and watch him bringing the bottle, surprising me with his very professional manner of opening it, and then pouring the dark liquid into that glass with complicated designs in front of me.

“Red wine?” I ask, not really complaining about his choice but rather to break this weird silence between us.

Though it’s not a cold silence, the atmosphere, even though dark, is warm and relaxed, with all the nice scents and playful candle flames, with all that background noise of slow music.

“We’re having red meat, tonight,” he announces on the same warm tone, still smiling. Isn’t his face hurting already from all that grinning?

“Red meat? Hmmm…” I say more for myself as I taste that dark wine, so thick, so perfumed and organic at the same time, a strange sweet taste for a red wine, making me think of blood. Human blood.

I can’t help taking another sip of that wonderful liquor and wondering where he got it from; it seems to be expensive stuff.

“You don’t like it?” he asks, smiling sweetly while he sits in front of me. I can’t help noticing his feline movement; so fluid, the perfect way he gets the bottle and pours himself some wine, like a ballet dance.

At least now I know there’s no funny stuff in the wine, since he’s drinking from it too.

His long fingers pick a cigarette from the pack, and light it with the same studied and elegant movements that look so natural on him.

He either really wants to make up with us, to forget all, since he put up so much into this, or he’s really up to something nasty, I think while studying his perfectly arched black eyebrows on his smooth skinned face.

But he looks up, back at me, smiling sweetly. He blows the smoke between pursed lips, not in a too feminine way, but not the usual male gesture.

“I’m alright with it,” I answer eventually. “Anything good would do, as long it’s not something weird like frog legs or…”

“…pig balls?” chuckles Richard.

“Oh, man!”

He takes another drag from his cig.

“Though, I heard they are tasty,” he giggles, blowing the smoke.

“I wouldn’t eat anyone’s balls,” I mumble and Richard starts to laugh.

“Like that sicko that ate that guy’s dick. Literally!” bursts Richard, laughing. “Ever wondered what human flesh tastes like?” he asks, his face suddenly regaining that sweet allure and warm smile.

“Are you trying to spoil my appetite, man?”

“More wine?” he asks wearing the same warm and sweet smile.

“Yes, please,” I answer, looking around me at the room.

Near us is the dumbwaiter they use for room service, with plates and other things, covered by silverish domed lids, like bellies of strange creatures of stainless steel, reflecting the dance of candle flames like tiny diamonds on an expensive jewel.

“You really want us to make peace,” I say, thinking it would be the right time since the conversation warmed up a bit.

“Of course!” he smiles back at me, while pouring more wine in my glass. “I think this childish nonsense should stop.”

He puts the bottle back in the ice bucket, with the same fluid movements.

“That would be great,” I reply, just because I don’t know what to say. “But do you think Till would just give up? Especially after getting bashed like that?”

“Well, he said it himself, that this went too far, so it has to stop,” answers Richard, putting out his white cigarette and standing. “Speaking of Till… shall we eat?” He asks raising one of the lids, revealing a plate, beautifully arranged in colorful designs with raw lettuce leaves, slices of tomatoes, lemons, sauce poured to complete the design on the white plates, semi-transparent slices of almost raw meat, all looking more like paintings, making one feel a bit ashamed that they’re going to spoil all that beauty created with so much care, a science known by only a few.

I tip my head on the side, not knowing what to believe any more.

“Shouldn’t we wait for him, though?” I ask.

“Don’t think so…” he answers and seems to choke a giggle as he puts the plate in front of me. “Anyway, he’ll be with us…” he adds, putting out other carefully and deliciously ornamented plates filled with different courses. “In spirit, of course,” he concludes and winks.

“Of course,” I repeat in a whisper, bewitched by the candle flames’ dance reflected on his satin-like skin, in his darkened blue eyes, on the small corners on the ornaments of our crystal glasses, on the edges of porcelain plates. In the dark purple ocean of the wine cupped by the thick layer of glass.

“Probably he’s still upset with you,” I try to explain out loud, but more for myself than for Richard.

“I’ve already told him how sorry I am, and apologized,” his warm voice wakes me a bit to reality. “He’ll show up later, I’m sure.”

“Probably it’s not enough, just the apologies,” I say, watching him pouring some more wine.

Delicious dark liquor! Like meant only for gods in a wild garden.

Cling!

“Cheers!” Richard says, raising his glass for me. He throws me one of his gorgeous smiles and then sips his wine.

I raise my glass, and take a sip too, feeling that warm rush in my chest and in the skin on my face.

Damn Till, the big grumpy fat ass! He repeated it so many times, that he wants this stupid thing between us three to stop, the fucking hypocrite! And now he doesn’t show up. Maybe he suspected another prank.

“I should call him,” I say, getting the delicate fork between fingers, feeling its cold touch on my heated skin.

“You can try, but don’t think it will work.”

“How come?”

He just shrugs and smiles sweetly as he gets his fork and knife, starting to cut the piece of meat dipped in sauce, on his plate.

“He should get over it,” I say, starting to cut the meat on my plate.

Richard chews his piece slowly, but still smiles back at me.

Stupid Till, he has no idea what’s he’s missing! Only this atmosphere, the candles, the music, and mmmmm, the delicious sweet incredible taste of food, all is worth putting weapons aside and having a nice, quiet peaceful dinner for a bit.

“What kind of meat is this?” I can’t prevent myself from asking, bewildered by this incredible taste I never got to experience before.

“Red?” chuckles Richard, and his already pinkish cheeks glow deliciously in the candle flames.

Strange, but it makes me laugh too, calming and relaxing all inside me.

“Of course,” I reply and have more, then sip some more of that wine with a flavor of cinnamon and dried apricots. “It’s so soft and sweet,” I say putting the glass back on the table. “They say human flesh tastes sweet,” I whisper, remembering Richard’s earlier comment, as my gaze is lost in contemplating the reflections of the golden table cover seen through the rounded foot of the glass.

I raise my head, my glance meeting Richard’s porcelain-like face, and I look back at my plate and take another piece with my fork.

“You went through so much trouble to get this all ready, and he doesn’t show up. He’d have loved all this,” I mutter, chewing on my meat.

“I know,” Richard smiles back, a frozen by sadness smile accompanied by another dark shade in his blue eyes. “I wanted to make peace with both of you and decide where we go from this point on,” he adds and has another sip of his wine.

“You’re not upset anymore with me about that web-cam thingie?”

He shakes his head slowly, smiling.

“Liar.” I grin, taking another piece of meat.

He bats his eyelids and his smile gets wider, as if he’s admitting that I’ve figured him out.

“Oh, well, what has been, has been, what will be, will be…” he says as he raises his glass at me and has another sip. “I think we three have to choose from the other two.”

I finish chewing my piece, swallow and wash it down with some more wine. Richard stands up and pours me some more in the precious crystal glass in front of me.

“And who would you choose, pretty one?” I ask, grinning, indulging myself with some of that incredible wine.

“Hmmmm,” he says, smearing a tiny slice of bread with some gray-pinkish paste.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Liver… Want some?”

“Of course.” I smile, and even if I don’t really fancy liver, I accept because I really want to make peace with him.

So I’m having liver, too.

“Well?” I ask again, chewing on the piece of bread smeared with the pink-grayish liver paste.

“Well, to be honest,” he starts, leaning over the table toward me, like getting ready to share a secret. “I’d like to have you both, at the same time,” he whispers and ends his sentence with a wink.

I grin, evilly, feeling this hot flash of heat exploding inside me and crossing all my body to my head only at the thought of it, only picturing that mentioned three-some. I’m tempted to lean over the table too, to pick from his wine-wet lips a kiss, but he raises his chest, leaning his body comfortably on the back of the cushioned precious chair.

You little whore!

I pick another piece of that incredibly tasty meat and chew it, aroused already, my brain overworked at that image.

“Who would you choose?” he asks suddenly, smiling, shaking his glass in slow circling movements.

The liquid in the crystal thing is so thick and has that dangerously attractive dark purple color, hypnotizing my eyes, like a forbidden ocean of lust and secret pleasures. Looking at it, it feels warm and mysterious like blood itself. Human blood.

“Honestly?” I say, trying to steal some time to be able to put my thoughts in order, a bit embarrassed and worried about the consequences of what I’m about to say.

He nods, smiling and relaxed, as he picks on his fork another piece of meat, raising it to his mouth, cupping his lips around the soft pinkish piece and sucking on it.

I bite my lower lip, have another sip of wine, getting ready to share.

“I’d like to have you both, too,” I confess, propping my gaze into those dark blue eyes, glittering in the rhythm of the candle flames’ dance.

“Why am I not surprised?” he chuckles, and his lips kiss the piece of meat and then he places it on his tongue with a delicate, slow and studied movement.

I grin again and get the last piece of meat from my plate and start chewing it, feeling like all my taste buds have opened wide to receive, to be caressed, to be penetrated by that exquisite taste unknown to me until now.

Then I have another sip of wine, the finest and most divine liquor ever tasted. Perfumed blood of a dark god.

“Maybe we should find him and tell him that,” I suggest, giggling, pouring myself and then into Richard’s glass another round of wine. “Though this is so delicious, I wouldn’t share with anyone!” I laugh. “But with intimate friends.”

He raises his glass again at me, so I do the same, and we drink in silence. Then I put the glass on the table, looking at Richard; I can feel the wide smile on my face, I feel all this peaceful and hopeful warmth inside me, streaming from me, like an aura, like a deep understanding of things, a complete acceptance of myself.

He lights himself another cigarette, takes his first smoke, blows it out carefully, then he reclines on his chair, smiling peacefully and quietly at me, like an artist pleased with his work, content and at peace with himself.

“Do you want more?” he asks. “There’s still plenty.”

I look at him, hesitating.

“I’m full, but this is so great… I’ll try to call Till again,” I say and get my cell phone, while Richard pushes toward me another plate on the table.

I take another sip of wine, closing my eyes in delight, then I dial the number with my thumb. I pick another piece of meat and start chewing on it, sort of smiling, while I’m listening through the phone to the sound at the other end of the line.

I throw another glance at the smiling Richard in front of me, and wink at him. His tempting lips move making the warm and so full of promises smile even wider.

Over the slow music, a so deep voiced discreet lament, over the smoke coming from his cigarette, above the perfumed scent of glittering candles, my ears pick a new sound.

I raise my eyebrow, becoming suddenly a bit intrigued. That sounds so familiar!

I look again at that man in front of me, beautiful as a porcelain doll, he’s still smiling, relaxed and warm.

But I know that sound! It’s a phone ringing sound.

I lower the hand holding my cell so I can listen better to that sound. It’s coming from another room, near us.

Richard sits still in front of me, only warmth and smile on his face.

I stand up. That’s Till’s cell phone!

Richard looks up, his eyes so clear, so blue, so calm, so pure.

Till’s in the other room?

“What the fuck, Richard?” I whisper and I start walking, guided by that ringing sound.

Richard sits there, calm, sucking another drag of smoke from his cigarette.

I leave the room hastily and get to the other one. I turn the lights on, still hearing that muffled ringing sound.

No one’s here!

“Where is he?” I yell, looking around, trying to trace the ringing sound.

But I can’t hear his answer, only the clinging sounds of a bottle pouring dark blood-like wine in a fancy crystal glass.

The muffled ringing tone is still struggling to reach my ears from wherever that phone is.

I run to the wardrobe. I swear it’s coming from there. I open the doors. I hear Richard’s steps behind me. I look inside the wardrobe. Clothes and the phone, on a shelf in front of me. And a watch. I turn my head.

Richard is in the threshold, propping his shoulder on the opened door’s jamb, holding the glass in one hand, the cigarette in the other, wearing his best smile.

“Where the fuck is Till?” I groan, choked, getting that “I knew it!” raging feeling, stirring my guts, flaming my body.

I look again in the wardrobe.

“With us, as I told you,” comes Richard’s sweet and calming voice.

I grab the phone to turn around and throw it at that stupid little whore. In my haste, I grab the clothes as well, but they slip between my fingers onto the floor.

I know those black clothes. I know someone that wears black almost all the time.

“What the fuck?” I growl, stunned.

The clothes are shredded and I swear I can see huge dark stains, even on that black fabric.

“Cut the crap Richard!” I groan as I pick up the clothes, scratching the stain with my finger. “Where the fuck is Till?” I shout, turning around to face that little tramp.

“I told you, he’s here, with us,” he replies undisturbed, still with that fucking grin on his face I’d like to smash right now!

“Where?” I yell, alarmed, seeing the dried dark red particles on my fingernail scratching the fabric.

“Here,” he whispers, and his eyes look like they ignited from themselves, a blue, hot flame. “Inside,” he adds, petting his abdomen with one hand, while he raises the glass at me, throws me another glance above the edge, and takes another sip, lowering his eyelids in delight.

“Huh?”

Clothes, phone fall on the floor. Near them – the watch, with red dried stains.

My gaze floats slowly to meet again that traitor’s peaceful and content smile. My brain refuses to complete the picture!

“What the fuck did you do?” I whisper in disbelief.

“Cooked dinner and had it with a gorgeous man,” he says on an understanding tone.

“This is a sick prank,” I whisper, unable to compose my voice, suffocating in my own rage.

“Is it, love?”

“You sick fuck!” I choke, and kick the clothes with my foot, on the floor.

My feet finally un-glue themselves from the damn floor, I’m running, I pass by Richard like flying. I get in the other room. I see the table. The flowers. The wine. The plates. The glasses.

“Fuck!” I yell and pull the golden tablecloth.

Everything falls crashing to the floor, desperate sounds of a crumbling world. I kick the pieces with my feet, crushing and destroying them.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Flowers die silently under my foot, pieces of glass squeak under my weight, dark blood-like wine flies landing on the golden covers, spreading in the texture, silverware falls all around.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

“You didn’t like the meal?”

He’s there, again near the open door, his stupid fucking accomplished smile, his pure blue eyes.

“You, sick fuck!” I whisper, shaking, with hoarse throat.

He leans his head on the side, wearing a so understanding smile.

But my guts are boiling revolted inside me. This bitter torpor rises to my throat, flooding my mouth. The room spins with me, but, no, the sick fuck, won’t get away with this!

I run toward the bar, the fridge, the fucking fridge! I snatch the fucking door almost pulling it off its hinges. The big packages wrapped in plastic fall over me. Everything is red, sticky, bloody; all this meat wrapped in fucking plastic bags landing on the floor at my feet, staining me with dripping frozen blood. All is blood, the wine is blood, the halls of the hotel are flooded by huge tidal waves of blood, everything has the stench of blood, blood comes from my open mouth spilling everything from inside me, dark purplish blood with pieces of meat floating in it falls on the white tiles of the bathroom floor. Human blood.

You sick fuck! my thoughts scream as I stand up, putting the foot in front of me to run to grab that idiot’s throat and choke him to death.

But my foot slips on the red blood spewed on the floor, the room spins around me as I feel the cold sturdy impact of my head on the tiles… the ceiling is above…

This image of a huge room covered in icy cold white tiles, with a large dissection table in the middle - Richard, wearing his black suit and shiny white shirt, leans over the table, over the obscenely bloody humongous pieces of flesh; his hand wearing a latex glove rises to his mouth, putting in its corner a half smoked white cigarette, smudged with blood. He drags a smoke, his fingers leaving a red stain on his porcelain like cheek as his hand goes down to reach the carving knife. He blows the smoke, squeezing his eyelids a bit, his face contorting from the dense smoke entering his blue eyes. His gaze is concentrated on the red fleshy mess in front of him, his face is long, white, ruthless and sharp like the long large bladed knife he carves the meat with.

And everything goes black.

To be continued
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Wicked Games